#thanks for sending zip <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[zipquips]

hiya <3

have a look at these moths that look a bit like pigeons to me :)

(alcides aruus)

omg they're gorgeous!!!!!! the colors and pattern is so pigeon like that's so fucking cool holy shit

[catt-nuevenor]

A Brief Guide on Uploading ChoiceScript Demos to Itch.io

Since Dashingdon is shutting down, and there will be a lot of folks wanting to host their ChoiceScript demos elsewhere, I thought it'd be a good idea to provide a brief guide on how to do so for itch.io.

This is for Windows in the folder actions, but it shouldn't be too difficult for folks to translate for Mac. This also assumes you haven't changed any of the files within your game folder other than those found under 'scenes'.

Within your game folder, locate the 'web' subfolder, right click it and select 'Send to' then 'Compressed (zipped) folder. Name your newly compressed file something sensible, and I recommend moving it to a new folder outside of your game files, just to keep everything neat and tidy.

2. Assuming you already have an itch.io account, navigate to your dashboard, and click the 'Create New Project' button.

3. Name your project as you like, and under 'Kind of project', select the 'HTML' option.

4. Set the 'Pricing' to 'No Payments', you cannot use ChoiceScript for profit unless it is with the Choice of Games or Hosted Games publishing labels. No one wants to get in trouble unnecessarily here.

5. In the Uploads section, upload your newly zipped file we made in step one. After it's finished uploading, you'll be given one drop down and two tick boxes. You need to tick the 'This file will be played in the browser' option.

6. I've found so far that 'Viewport dimensions' work quite well for desktop at 1080 x 640. Either use these numbers or experiment and find what works best for you.

7. You must tick the 'Enable scrollbars' option for your game to display properly, otherwise options, text and buttons can be clipped off the bottom of the viewport.

8. Continue filling out the rest of the form, or skip it for now and scroll all the way to the bottom to the 'Visibility & access' section. Here make sure you have 'Draft' selected. This prevents others from finding your game until you're ready, and I always recommend play testing things before you make your work public.

9. Finally, hit the 'Save' button, then go and have a look at your creation by hitting the 'View page' link. And there you go! When you're ready for public release, just change the option in section 8 to 'Public'.

---

A few things to bear in mind about hosting on itch.io:

There isn't currently any way for your readers to save their game. I'm sure someone could write in a plugin similar to Dashingdon's at some point, but as for right now, this isn't available. See addition/edit below.

Make sure you properly tag your game with the 'choicescript' and 'interactive-fiction' tags. There are an awful lot of games on itch.io and it's easy to get lost in the crowd. Make sure folks can find you by having the right tags.

I hope this brief guide was useful to folks.

Best of luck to you with your writing!

---

Addition/Edit:

Thanks to @hpowellsmith for bringing this to my attention. You can add save functionality to your game by using this addon:

The ChoiceScript Save Plugin

Just tried it out on my own game and it works perfectly.

Rather than run through the addon author's own tutorial here, I'll just forward you to the Readme on their Github page.

One small note I would add is when it asks you to make the two small additions to your index file, make sure you right click the file and open it with your coding program, don't double-click it as this will just open it in an internet browser, and it won't give you the access to what you need to change.

[mxtantrights]

Four times Red hood blushed because of you, and one time Jason Todd blushed.

The first time it happens you don’t notice. How could you when he wears that mask on his face all the time? It’s the two of you on a rooftop. You just raided a warehouse filled with scarecrows fear gas and made sure it didn’t land in the wrong hands.

You were coming off a high. That’s why you offered to get a bite to eat with Red. Red. That’s what you call him because you two are coworkers. You get the job done and have a few laughs, and part ways.

When he hands you a taco in silence you thank him in a stupidly wild accent that can't be real. And he chuckles. You hear it. You know you do, but you can't believe it. You made the Red Hood laugh!

It felt good. You wanted to make him laugh again.

What you didn't know was that he actually found it so cute. And was blushing underneath is mask.

2. The second time is an incredibly inappropriate time. The league had called on you to help them with an investigation. Which you were kind of feaking out about but trying to be cool.

You couldn't really be cool when Superman literally said your vigilante name out loud. You tried your hardest but you couldn't contain your excitement. You turned to Red hood and jumped up and down as soon as the meeting was over.

He laughed and told you yo calm down. But you started yapping about how Superman was the first hero you looked up to and how much of an honor it is that he knew who you were and acknowledged you.

Red Hood tells you that you remind him of the Robin that used to love Wonder Woman. Which makes you laugh and agree that that Robin knew what he was doing because he's right.

3. The third time is completely by accident. You're going down the zip line trying to get across from one building to another. And Red is waiting for you on the other side. It was your first time.

You scream the entire way as the speed picks up. Then before you know it, it's over. It's over and you're on top of another building but you can't quite find your footing. So you go crashing into the only thing there in front of you, which is Red.

He grabs you by the waist as the bath for you go down. You land with a groan. He cradles your fall entirely.

When you let out a breath and pick yourself up a bit, you're really close to his mask. The closest you've been to him since the two of you met.

He clears his throat and asks if you're okay. To which you nod, you're not about to go use your words when you know your tongue is heavy and you don't even know the alphabet. Red is tough and lean underneath you. You're aren't sure what you were expecting.

You pull yourself up quickly and offer him a hand to get up. He takes it and once again the two of you come face to face. Or, mask to mask. If he could see you now, fully he would see how hard you are flushing.

4. The forth time is rightfully earned. You just closed a case all on your own. No help from anyone. You did the investigation, you did the recon. And you got the perps into the hands of those who would deliver justice.

It was a pretty blood scene so you're a bit covered in it. Your suit is laden with blood stains and it got over some of your mask and face. You thought it would be better idea to shower in one of the safe houses rather than drag all the evidence back into your own home.

Red was there, cleaning his weapons like he usually does. And you walked in with all of that on you. It's like something in him just kickstarted. He looked at you, took you in, and all he could say was 'Hi'.

You gave him wave and told him you were going to shower the night off you.

As soon as you get into the bathroom, Jason smacks himself in the forehead.

5. It was a normal day. It was laundry day. You had a lot of shit to wash because honestly both your jobs keep you busy and you weren't about to send your things off to the cleaners.

You're in the local laundromat in great sweats and a blue hoodie. Your headphones are over your ears as you read through some threads online about Red. Not the ones trying to dissect his identity. The ones that are giving him credit for cleaning up the city.

So you're distracted when someone taps on your shoulder. You don't scare easily, and you know that if you're in trouble you can handle things. You turn around to see who it is and what they want.

A tall guy with a tuft of white hair amidst his dark brown hair. And his arms are practically poking out of his muscle tee. You haven't had a decent date in a while. A while being like a year now.

You remove your headphones.

"Can I help you?" you ask.

He nods, "Yeah, I'm sorry but I think you might have taken a piece of clothing into your dryer?"

He points over to the dryer. And there in the tumbling wad of clothes you try to decipher which piece of clothing is not yours. You can see a jacket you don't own. And a shirt that doesn't have any graphics on it, which means it's not yours.

Your eyes widen, "Wait seriously? I'm so sorry."

"Don't sweat it, I just wanted to know if I could pay you back sometime?" he asks.

You look at him then. Tall. Hot. Does his own laundry. Gotham is a cesspool but this guy is probably one of the good ones. Why not?

"Yeah?" you ask.

He looks away from you then for a second. His hand coming behind him to scratch as it his neck. And you see it. A very faint but still present blush dusts across his cheeks and down his neck.

a/n: based on this comment I got on a post! I hope he's bbg enough for you!!

[glystenangel]

you up?

SoftBoyfriend!Sukuna x GN!Reader Oneshot (Modern AU)

summary: you and sukuna can't sleep w/o each other, in a cute way

tags/warnings: 18+ blog but this story is 100% fluff, established relationship, being clingy, calling each other baby, sukuna's highkeyyy a softie cutie baby boy, shortnsweet like sabrina carpenter

~1k

thanks for reading and enjoy<3

_________________

You’ve been tossing and turning all night.

It was getting more and more difficult to sleep without Sukuna.

You hadn’t been dating for very long. Less than a year, but ever since you started sleeping over at his place, you can’t seem to sleep on your own.

Somehow, your bed feels empty. Worse, you feel alone.

“I want to see him.” You mutter to yourself, yawning into the heel of your palm before smoothing it over your cheek.

A few quiet moments pass, and you can hear your frustrated, sleepy breathing through the silence. Warm puffs of air breeze past your lips as crickets chirp outside of your window.

You worry at your bottom lip for a drawn out minute, indecision tugging at your brain.

Then, you remember that Sukuna had gifted you a key to his apartment last week.

“Happy six months. Come over anytime, babe.” He had said, placing a hand on top of your head.

Sukuna had punctuated the end of the sentiment with a sweet kiss in the space between his forefinger and thumb, right where your temple was.

You reach up and touch the spot, feeling vaguely pathetic because of how much you miss your gruff yet affectionate boyfriend.

The persistent thought repeats over and over.

I miss him. I miss him. I miss him.

Finally, you sit up with a resolute sigh and swing your feet out of bed.

You quickly bundle up and then grab your keys, nerves fluttering in your stomach as you run your thumb over the metal grooves of Sukuna’s apartment key.

In all honesty, you’re so excited to see him. You just hope that he won’t be too weirded out by you coming over so late.

You pick up your phone and start typing a heads up to him, deftly switching hands to open the door.

“Oh, shit. Hey.”

The familiar voice startles you, and you look up to see Sukuna standing right in front of you.

The roguish grin donned across his face is absolutely infectious. The lifted corners of his mouth only widen when you mirror his expression, the point of his canines complementing the sharp cut of his jawline. Even though every part of Sukuna seems rough, especially with his huge stature and penchant for swearing, his gaze is so soft and open whenever he stares at you.

It’s one of the many reasons why you love him. Plus, he looks too pretty with sweatpants hanging off of his hips.

He also has on a zipped open, baggy jacket that fully displays an olive green band tee. If you look closely, you can see peeks of his ruffled, rosy toned hair underneath the black baseball cap and jacket hood he had thrown over the mussed strands. He touches the brim of it with a hand to lower the cap further, and his sleeve slides down to reveal the tattoos inked above his wrist and further up his arm.

The shy gesture has you immediately jumping up to hug him, a stunned laugh leaving you but feeling happy nonetheless at his unexpected appearance.

“Sukuna!” You exclaim, heart warming when he reciprocates your joy and wraps strong arms around your torso.

Held in his arms, you realize the embrace provides a fond reminder that it really is the little things.

The brush of his cheek against your own, the faint scent of woodsy cologne, and the steady heartbeat beneath your fingertips when you slide your hands down to his chest.

He bends down to kiss around the crown of your head and then your smiling lips. He keeps his hands clasped over yours, and you can feel the rhythm of his heart quickening from your touch.

You hum into the press of his lips, keeping your hands softly resting on his solid chest.

Once Sukuna pulls away, he sends you a nervous look. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him embarrassed, so you practically swoon at how adorable his hesitation is.

“I was just about to call you. I know it’s late and I don’t mean to be weird but-” He bites his lip, and then rakes a large hand across the back of his neck, “Damn it, I missed you. Couldn’t sleep without my new teddy bear, I guess.”

He sweeps his sightline up to you, as if gauging your reaction, and you smile so widely that it hurts your cheeks.

“Really, baby?”

He gazes at you for a brief moment, drinking in your features and then letting out a smitten sigh, “Of course, baby.”

You start laughing as he steps closer to dot your cheeks and nose with a flurry of kisses.

“I missed you. I missed you. I fucking missed you, okay?”

“Okay, stop!” You breathlessly command, and he lets out a tired grumble.

“Okay, okay. Don’t act like you didn’t miss me either though.”

“I did. I was actually about to head to your place.” You sheepishly draw out his apartment key from your pocket, and it glints in the low light.

Sukuna smirks at your admission and then scans you from head to toe.

His eyes flit over your pajama clad figure approvingly, “Guess we had the same idea, huh? God, we are the fuckin’ cutest. Makes me sick.”

He fakes a gag at the end of his sentence, clutching at his stomach and rolling his eyes.

You push his chest with a sarcastic scoff and a scrunch of your nose, “Whatever.”

“You love me, and I love you.” He proudly declares, and then yawns into his hand.

You take in his sleep softened face, beaming at how handsome he still looks with heavy lidded eyes and disheveled hair. Sukuna remains striking even when obviously exhausted.

You love it.

And him, unfathomably.

“I do love you.” You agree, grabbing his hand and tugging him further inside your home, “Now, come inside. I love sleep too.”

He curls his fingers around yours, trying to hide his smile by bowing the brim of his hat and failing miserably.

“I think I’m already dreaming.”

_________________

End Notes:

warming up getting back into writing with some wholesome fluff! this is also partially a thank you for the "in the heat of battle" oneshot reaching 2k notes which is so so wild - thanks everyone! lmk what you think of this one, and ty for reading!!😚😚

[cursedyuri]

a soft n smutty piece for fall coziness… <3 the changing seasons always make me feel melancholic and i feel like ellie would take care of r if she was the same :)

tw: depression, nsfw, 18+ only

the sun filters into your bedroom through the half-drawn curtains, a warm glow that paints everything golden. you stretch out under the covers, hand reaching for sunlight, palm open against the blankets as warmth envelops your fingers. numb with cold, you defrost.

even as your hand soaks in the warmth of the sun, guilt twists inside you, ice cold. the phone in the kitchen has rung out three separate calls today, shrill and blaring in the silence of your apartment; you've melted too deep into the mattress to answer. the kitchen may as well be miles away.

she’s probably worried, you fret. what if she thinks i’m dead? i need to call her back.

but as much as you want to force yourself to leave the comfort of your duvet, the you-shaped crater in the bed, you can’t do it. you just can’t.

you’re not surprised when you hear the sounds of your girlfriend’s arrival, ellie’s key scraping the lock before she swings the door open. you’d given her your spare key months ago. she’d only used it on days like this.

you hear the rustle of plastic, the harried zips and thumps of ellie removing her boots at the front door. and then she’s appearing in your doorway, her face twisted with worry; brows drawn together, lips turned downward. she looks heartbroken.

“baby,” she says, voice tinged with a cocktail of equal parts relief and concern, “god, i thought you were—”

“dead?” you interject. your voice softens when you add, “i’m okay, el. i’m sorry i didn’t pick up the phone.”

“no, it’s okay, don’t worry.” she pads over the worn carpet, plastic bag crinkling at her side as she approaches you on the bed. “i brought breakfast.”

she holds up the bag for emphasis; you can see three to-go boxes inside. the smell of hash browns and scrambled eggs and pancakes wafts out towards you, and you hate the way it makes your mouth water. she knows breakfast is your favorite. you can hardly resist it, even this late in the day, as the sun sets outside your window.

“thank you.” you smile up at her. it’s forced—it doesn’t meet your eyes. she notices, because she always does.

“you don’t have to eat right now,” she clarifies. hazel eyes swoop over the bed, appraising the blankets splayed out over you in disarray, and she hesitates. you hold out your hand for her in encouragement. “come here, ellie.”

so she does. she sets the bag of breakfast food on the nightstand, then climbs over you with a clumsiness that seeps through her caution. you smile. genuinely. and then she’s kissing you, soft lips pressed to yours as her auburn locks tickle your cheeks. the kiss is gentle and languid, slow and soft and encouraging. she tastes like home, and you realize you’ve been aching for this feeling all day, body numb in the confines of your bedroom. you lose yourself in her kiss, sighing deep through your nose. her tongue is warm and wet against your lower lip; she works your mouth open and licks into you, sending heat rushing to your belly where it pools like molten gold.

you’ve found yourself in a haze lately: a fog so thick that it blurs out all feeling, leaving you spent in the silence of your apartment even after days of doing nothing. days of just thinking.

but ellie breaks through the fog as her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing soothingly over the apples of your cheeks. her tongue slides deliciously over yours and you moan without thinking. she freezes for just a moment. she draws back and you nearly whine, eyes barely opening to peer up into his.

“we don’t have to do anything,” she assures you as she leans forward to kiss the bridge of your nose. “not if you’re feeling down.”

your heart swells with affection for her: her disheveled hair, her soft gaze, her flushed lips swollen from kissing. her consideration for you. her love.

“but i want to,” you breathe. “i want it, ellie.”

so she disappears into the crook of your neck, the warmth of her mouth sending a shiver rocking through you as she presses kisses to your sensitive skin. each kiss gets more heated, her lips parting to suckle on the flesh right over your pulse. you moan and she pauses before murmuring against your throat, “are you sure?”

you nod almost frantically. “i’m sure, i’m sure.”

it doesn’t take long for her to undress you, which you’re grateful for. she works your shirt off and rolls your panties down your thighs, her hands smoothing back up over the supple skin.

on days like this, when you’re hardly afloat in the tidal wave of your melancholy, she tends to hold you with gentle wariness, as if you’d shatter if she moved too quickly. and you love it. the obvious adoration in her gentleness, in the need to take things slow.

but you decide you don’t want that today.

when her face is within reach again, you pull her in for a heated kiss. it quickly evolves into all tongue and spit and teeth, your lips smacking audibly as you trail your hands down her sides. you grip the soft cotton of her shirt and slowly pull it upwards, exposing inch by inch of pale, freckled skin, and when your fingers brush over her ribs, you feel the slow shudder that afflicts her. her body responding so instantly to your touch makes you dizzy with arousal; that pool of heat in your stomach grows ever-larger. it doesn’t help that she’s touching you too, the calloused pads of her fingers delicious against your skin. she grips and squeezes you in all the right places, drawing sharp breaths and high moans from your throat as her hands explore every inch of you.

suddenly, it’s hard to remember what came before this. the haze that had lingered over you for days. all you can think about is the feeling of ellie’s body against yours, her jeans scratchy as she rocks her hips down to yours. you hook your legs around her waist, bare cunt desperate for friction, even through a layer of denim.

you pull back from rushed, sloppy kisses to gasp at the sensation—you shamelessly rub yourself against her through her jeans, unable to find it in you to worry about the mess you’re making. ellie watches you in awe, your eyes half-lidded as your hips roll upward, your pretty lips parted in a delicate “o” shape.

“fuck it,” she rasps, and she’s lurching back to sit up on her heels, ripping her clothes off in a blur of fabric. her shirt falls off first, and then she works her way out of her jeans, so eager she stumbles a few times. you beam at her, eyes clouded with lust, and when she finds her way back between your legs, the feeling of her bare skin against yours has you gushing impossibly wetter. you find yourself in the same position as before, only now without the barrier of ellie’s clothes between you. you grind yourself up against her, twitching and gasping each time her pelvis glides over your clit; you can feel how wet you are, how messy you’re leaving her. and she can feel it, too, evident each time she moves her hips against yours and moans with her head tucked against your shoulder.

your impatience is a balloon that’s been filled and filled and filled, and it finally pops. you reach between your writhing bodies to ellie’s cunt; her teeth close around your shoulder when you give her clit a few slow strokes, fingertips pressing hard into the bundle of nerves. she soothes her bite with her tongue and then laughs under her breath, uttering lowly, “i’m sorry, fuck, just feels good.”

you hum in response, pausing to reach into the nightstand drawer, where you keep a harness and strap for situations like this. she draws in a shaky breath, turning her head to kiss your neck again, tongue circling your skin before she pulls back to slip into the harness. then she’s back on you, pulling you in for another heated kiss as she drags the tip of the strap through your folds and up to the bud of your clit. you’re soaked everywhere, and her cock feels so smooth as it glides effortlessly over you; you’re barely breathing.

ellie’s voice is in your ear, quiet but thick with lust. “let me eat you out first.”

and it sounds amazing, it really does. any other time, you’d relent, let her mouth at your cunt for hours until you’re so fucked-out you can’t think straight. but that’s not what you need right now.

“i need you inside me,” you tell her, voice low and sultry, almost unrecognizable from its usual timbre. ellie hears it, too, the husk in your tone making her grit her teeth with a low, gravelly moan. “shit, baby—can’t say no to that.”

she slides into you so easily, your cunt opening smoothly around her as she pushes in to the hilt. you both sigh in pleasure, you at the feeling of being so deliciously full, her at the satisfaction of watching your expression dissolve into pure bliss.

“so fuckin’ wet, goddamn,” ellie murmurs. she draws back only to fuck into you again, and you whine when she brushes up against the end of you. the spot that only she can find. that only spurs her on—she starts fucking you in earnest without much buildup, too pent up to be patient and slow and intentional. she knows what you want, you realize, flooded with arousal as her hips slam into yours. her strap drags perfectly through you, so deep you see stars behind fluttering eyelids.

“ellie,” you moan, brows pinched together, mouth hanging open.

she doesn’t slow down, skin smacking against skin as she fucks herself into you. “what do you need, baby? i’ll give it to you. i’ll give you anything.”

another moan tears out of your throat at her words, your arms moving up to snake around her neck and reel her in for another sloppy kiss. “more,” you gasp, your foreheads pressed together, slick with sweat. “more, please, more.”

ellie gives you one last, searing kiss, then pulls back to readjust. she stills inside you while she grabs hold of your legs, palms squeezing the doughy flesh of your thighs before she pushes them toward your chest. your knees are up by your shoulders like this, and you reach your hands around to support yourself, though your own touch can’t rival her. “good girl,” she praises when she notices what you’re doing, allowing your hands to replace her. she instead brings her attention to your hips, holding them still while she pulls almost all the way out and fucks back into you. and it’s rougher, now, more intentional. ellie moves faster, harder; you cry out a blissful oh my god, tears burning in your eyes from the sheer pleasure of it.

this is it—this is what you needed. and ellie gives it to you exactly how you want it, her body smacking against your ass and the backs of your thighs, her cock hitting that sweet spot within you so rhythmically that you find your brain is entirely empty. the ceaseless noise in your head has quieted, in its place is sheer pleasure.

your release sneaks up on you; you’re not thinking straight, overwhelmed with lust and the warmth it floods through your veins. you come suddenly but with so much force it nearly knocks the wind out of you. squirming and shaking under ellie’s towering form, your cunt spasms around the silicon cock and she groans out in delight.

spent, ellie lowers her weight on you, still careful not to crush you beneath her. you’re both catching your breath, but she can’t drive away the urge to kiss you. slower, this time. more loving.

“hey,” she says, “i love you.”

you smile against her lips, giving her another few pecks before you tell her, “i love you too.”

her arms are warm, lithe, and strong around you, holding you as close as she can. but when you start to wiggle underneath her, she groans in disapproval.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i just—i really wanna eat some pancakes.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Down Home 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The world's most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Because of this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖

It’s a slow day. Every day is slow out in Tumble Down. The township’s name tells the whole story. Everything there is in decline. It’s hard to imagine there was ever a time when the people weren’t tiny and forgotten in the hubbub of the bigger world. Since the mines closed and the canning factory was outsourced, it feels even smaller. 

Smaller isn’t so bad. It’s simpler. You all know each other’s names and faces. You say hi and how are you and do what needs to be done. Simple is, simple as. 

You here there isn’t much to do in most small towns. Not for fun or for work. You’re one of the lucky ones. You got a job down at the diner in your sophomore year. It helped pay for your daddy’s new engine and since then, it keeps you all afloat in the rising waters of disparity as they close in on Tumble Down. 

You hum to the old radio that sits on the shelf you make sure to dust. The speakers crackle from time to time and the signal gets wonky in storm season, but the music’s never bad. It’s the classic stuff that always played in your mother’s kitchen. 

You wipe down another table. Not because it needs it, just because it’s something to do. The day has been long and listless. Even the breakfast rush was lower than usual. 

Darnell, the cook, whistles along from the back. Everyone knows he isn’t as mean as he looks. He just likes his space. 

As you go back to the counter and lean on it, staring at the ticking clock, a roar cuts through the distance. You blink and look up, narrowing your eyes at the dusty country road outside. Wind rustles through the tall wheat in the field opposite and the noise rumbles closer and closer. 

A man pulls in a motorbike. He’s going so fast that he has to circle the gravel lot before he can slow down. It’s not Lenny and his prized Harley but another man on a more modern-looking mount. Not far behind, another motorcycle zips through and the riders straddle their bikes as the survey the restaurant. 

You narrow your eyes. You probably need glasses but you make do. The last time you got your eyes checked, you didn’t have enough for the frames. 

The one man wears blue and red, an odd helmet on his head. Not a helmet at all but a sort of mask. The other man has dark hair to his chin and a beard to match. He’s all in black but his left arm shines with gold ripples. Not a sleeve, an arm, made of metal. 

“Oh my lord,” you murmur in shock, “Darnell!” You holler over your shoulder, “you’re not gonna believe this.” You turn to the window as he pokes his head around, “not sure I do myself. Tell me my eyes aren’t lyin’.” 

He looks above your head, an easy task for the mammoth cook. He hums and swirls around his spatula. “Thems those boys on the news. The one that was in the old war. Grandad’s battle.” 

“I’m not going crazy with boredom?” You bubble. 

He snorts. It’s as close to a laugh as you get from him. You spin back and hurry around the counter to grab a pair of menus. Still, you don’t want to seem too eager. You put down the menus and fiddle with a napkin holder instead. 

The bell over the door jingles and swipe up the menus and turn. You really can’t believe it’s them. Yet, as Captain America removes his cowl, you’re certain. They look just like they do on the TV. Even with your sight, you can tell. 

“Hello, fellas, how are you doin’ today?” 

The dark-haired one, the Winter Soldier, glances at the other, his cheek dimpling, “well... we’re... uh...” 

“We’re doing great,” Steve Rogers answers brightly. “Starving. You guys serve bacon? My buddy’s dying for some.” 

“Um, yes, sirs, yes. Can I sit ya down?” You ask, hugging the menus closer. 

“Please,” the Captain accepts as the other man stays silent and pensive, his eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on your apron. 

“Just here,” you sweep away and wave them on with you. You stop beside the nicest booth and lay down a menu on each side, “have a seat.” 

They do just as you bid. The blond puts his cowl on the table and unhooks the shield from his back to lay on the far end of the seat. He smooths back the sweaty strands of hair as his companion stretches his metal fingers. You sway nervously by the table, twitching as you remind yourself how to do your job. 

“Well, can I get ya started with coffee? You look beat from the road.” You beam with the smile Mr. Welk says could outshine the sun. 

“Not just the road,” the dark-haired one mutters as he rolls his shoulder. The one that connects to his real arm. “I’ll take one, please.” 

“Can I get an orange juice, please,” the Captain asks. 

“Course ya can. I’ll be right back. You have a look at the specials and give it a think,” you bounce and spin around. 

You go to pour the orange juice and a cup of black coffee. Darnell lingers by the window. He only ever really appears to put a plate up but he watches the new arrivals. 

You bring their drinks and step back, clasping your hands behind you. 

“Did ya need cream or sugar for your coffee, sir?” You ask. 

“Black’s fine,” he assures. 

“No need for the sirs. Steve, Bucky,” Captain America insists, “we’re off duty.” 

“Right, sorry about that, ssss...Steve,” you correct yourself. “You need some more time?” 

“Think I’m decided,” Bucky intones, “what about you?” 

“Set,” Steve confirms, “I’ll have the sunny side up with toast and sausage. Can I get some fruit on the side as well, please?” 

He hands over the menu and you take it as you hold your smile. Your cheeks ache. Not because you have to force it but because you can’t stop. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Tumble Down ever. If Darnell wasn’t there, no one would believe you. 

“Overeasy, bacon, extra bacon too, and some french toast, and uh... home fries.” Bucky offers up the second menu, “please and thank you.” 

“Alrighty,” you preen, “I’ll put your order in.” 

“Got it,” Darnell growls over the empty diner. 

“He’s got good hearing,” you giggle nervously as you look between the men. “Ummmm, sorry, I’ll leave ya be.” 

“You’re not bothering,” Steve assures. “I can see you’re dying to ask.” 

He gives a gentle smile. 

“Nah, oh, gosh. I’m sure ya get it all the time. I don’t wanna be one of those,” you put your hands up. “Really, you all look like you could use the peace and quiet.” 

“Well, actually, I’ve been stuck with this meathead for days,” Bucky scoffs, “so please, I’d love to hear someone else’s voice.” 

You laugh again. They’re funnier than you expect. They always look so serious on the TV. 

“What... what are y’all doing here in Tumble Down? It’s a bit far from... anywhere.” You ask sheepishly. 

“Tumble Down? Is that what it’s called?” Steve scratches his neck above his stained collar. “Well, we couldn’t get a signal so we’ve just been riding through. Saw the sign down the way and figured we’d get a bite.” 

“He’s lying. He was falling asleep on his bike,” Bucky teases. 

“Sure,” Steve shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I’m tired of you.” 

You giggle again, “I thought y’all were friends.” 

“Friends, partners, cursed with each other, have your pick,” Bucky snorts. 

“He’s playing,” Steve says. “Look, we’re boring. Despite what you think. We’re a couple of old men bickering with each other. What about you? What about Tumble Down?” 

“Ah, nothing really, sir. Steve,” you squeeze the menus tight at the edges. “Nothing going on since the coal law and that. Everyone’s all but run out. All but us.” 

“Just you? Your family?” Steve wonders. 

“Jesus, Steve, nosy much?” Bucky says over the brim of his mug. 

“Sorry. He’s right. Like I said. Crotchety old man. I talk to the pigeons.” 

You laugh again, “oh my, you are a hoot!” You slap your thigh emphatically, “I’m still my ma and pa. It’s just the three of us. They need help with the animals and that.” 

“Animals?” Steve wonders, his posture shifting towards you. 

“Chickens, cows. They got a farm. Was my grandpa’s. And his ma kept it going after he didn’t come home from... well, you’d know more about that time than me, I think.” You give a forlorn look to the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry about your grandfather. Great grandfather,” he corrects himself. 

“Lotta good men gone,” Bucky mulls grimly. 

“Yeah, my great granny said as much. I wouldn’t know though, but I heard the stories,” you dare to look at them again. “Sorry to bring up the bad memories.” 

“Nah,” Bucky waves you off casually. “I got this nifty arm outta it.” 

“And I got a shield so, you know, not all losses,” Steve chuckles. 

“I s’pose,” you agree. “I’m gonna check on that food for ya. You good with your coffee?” 

Bucky raises the mug, “delicious.” 

You nod and turn with a swish of your skirt. You go up to the window and look over the ledge. “How’s it going, Darnell?” 

“Going. I’m happy it ain’t Raylene here. She’s got a mouth on her, don’t she? Them sort don’t deserve that trouble,” he tisks. 

“They’re nice. And Raylene is too. She’s just... Raylene,” you say, “can I help with anything?” 

“I don’t wanna be rude but I’m tired of tellin’ ya to stay outta my kitchen. You know the grill likes to spit,” he shakes his head. “You go, I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.” 

“Alright,” you back away and turn back. 

Steve and Bucky lean over the table, their voices low as they chat. As you move around behind the counter, they both sit up and the former clears his throat. You smile as you take the cloth from your apron pocket and wipe the already clean counter. 

As the radio buzzes, you hum without thinking. Stevie Ray Vaughan’s smoky voice mingles with the emotion plucked through electric strings. Your dad’s a big fan. He has old tapes with concerts on them and even went to one himself. 

The bell rings and you nearly jump out of your shoes. You turn and scoop up the plates as you thank Darnell. He grumbles that he’s going out to have a smoke; his code for having a Tootsie Pop by the backdoor. 

You bring the meals over to the table and set them down before the men. Their gazes make you sweat. It’s all a little more intense with no one else there. 

“Thank you,” Steve says and Bucky echoes him. 

“Not at all. Anything else? Water? Ketchup?” 

“It all looks great as is,” Steve says, “you got a nice voice.” 

“Oh, really? Ha, I was just humming out of tune. Sorry if I was too loud.” 

“Not at all,” Bucky picks up his fork as he leans forward. He tilts his head. “You know this one?” 

“Sure do. It’s Fleetwood Mac,” you answer. “One my all times.” 

He grins and nods as he looks at Steve. Steve watches you with a smile of his own. 

“Do you sing?” He asks. 

“Me? Only in my shower or to the chickens. They usually hide in the henhouse then.” You tinkle with laughter. 

“Ah,” Steve nods. 

“But if... if ya really wanna suffer, I could try it,” you smile, “but uh, you know, Stevie Nicks, she’s one of a kind.” 

“I’ve had worse,” Steve says. 

You look between him and Bucky. You chew your lip and think. You follow the song as you try to recognise which verse it is. You squint and perk up as you catch your place. 

“You just let me know when you’ve had enough,” you say before you start. Not only can you tell your pa that you met the super soldiers, you can tell him you sang for them. It’ll be a nice bit of excitement for the dinner table. 

[shewroteaworld]

How He Made You Feel

Pairing: Jake Peralta x Reader

Premise: Right before the first sleepover of your romantic relationship, Jake puts a high school teacher behind bars for attempted sexual assault. The case brings up some difficult high school memories for you.

Warnings: mentions of sexual assault, mentions of sexual harassment, downplaying of sexual harassment

Word count: approx. 2,500

A/N: I'm back! Let me know in the comments if you want more Jake Peralta fics. (I'm not sure there's an audience for it.) Hope you enjoy! <3

Jake Peralta is the king of cinnamon buns. Eating the ones you bake, that is. 

“This is like heaven on my tongue!” He moans. He licks some cream cheese frosting off the top. “Babe, these are seriously amazing.”

Your back relaxes. “Thanks, Jakey.”

Right after your shift at the 99th precinct, you zipped to your apartment to chill before the first sleepover of your romantic relationship (no pressure). Rather than chillaxing, your anxiety sparked, and kneading dough became the outlet. Your in-a-pinch cinnamon buns never fail to soothe your soul or anyone’s taste buds. Now that you’re in his kitchen, you’re grateful for the baking conniption. Jake’s indulgence gives you a moment to ground.

As he gulps down another bite, his eyebrow quirks. “Jakey?” He flashes that cheeky grin you love to hate.

Your face warms. “I never said that.”

“Nope! No take backs! It’s on the record!”

You scoff. “Aren’t you a little young for hearing loss?” 

“Hey!” He pokes the edge of your forced frown. “You said it, and you know it, and it was adorable.”

Your heart beats in your ears. “You liked it?” 

Jake’s eyes soften. “Yeah, I liked it.” He smirks mischievously. “And you’re getting all mushy on me.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please, Peralta.” 

“I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.” He pokes your side.

You jerk away. “You don’t, and you know it.”

“If you say so! But I know what cutesy-nickname territory means.”

The buzz of his phone spares you from his ribbing. “Our DoorDash is here. I’m going to pick it up downstairs.” Jake slips on his slides.

“Kay. Thanks.”

He leans over his kitchen chair to kiss your cheek. “Course. BRB.”

Jake rushes out his apartment door. In his absence, you observe his place: the mopped kitchen tile, his clean olive green couch, his stash of beginner recipe books tucked on a shelf above a kitchen counter. When you first transferred to the 99, you couldn’t imagine Peralta had an inkling of an organized domestic in him. 

Your tan trench coat hangs next to his leather NYPD jacket on the coat rack in the hall. Your heart palpitates. That was the first stitch of your domestic lives being sewn together. You wring your hands.

Jake doesn’t care about stains. You’ll eat Indian take-out from the container while watching some corny comedy he loves and you bemoan on his bare sofa. You tidy the kitchen table anyway.

The wave of anxiety begins to crest as you straighten junk mail from random magazines and political campaigns. You brush crumbs off the new placemats you forced on him through Office Secret Santa. (Weave placements are a recipe for soup-spill disasters.) You leave the manila files of cases he’s working on untouched off to the side.

You pour two tall glasses of water.  So what if you ordered drinks? Jake’s bloodstream will become half orange soda if someone doesn’t counteract his addiction.

Just as you’re setting the glasses down, there’s a knock on the door.

You jump. Your hand jerks, sending a manila folder flying to the floor, its confidential contents scattering behind the island on impact. Shit. 

“Forgot my keys, babe!” Jake calls.

“Coming!” 

Upon opening the door, a smiley Jake awaits you, holding a white cardboard box to his chest. The mouth watering aromas wafting from it don’t calm your cortisol levels. 

His head tilts. “Why the long face?”

You step aside. “When you knocked, I jumped and slapped one of your files off the kitchen table. I’m sorry.”

His brow furrows. “It’s no problem.” He says, as if he doesn’t understand why you’re on edge. 

“Everything spilled out.” You elaborate. Though you wouldn’t describe Jake as neat, he’s particular. Though the order of his files and notes are Greek to everyone else, it makes sense to him. He hates when someone “tidies” it without his permission.

Jake walks towards the kitchen. “Yeah, on the floor, not another dimension. It’s okay. Besides, it doesn’t need to be in any specific order– I closed that case today. I’m returning everything to the file room first thing.”

You trail behind him. “Did you close while I was uptown with Boyle?”

“Yep.” He plops the takeout box on the table. He kneels down to gather the rogue papers. “While you were out gathering evidence, I was cracking the code on this creep.”

Your eyebrows knit. “Sexual assault case?” You sort your take out into categories: his, hers, and shared. 

Jake taps a stack of papers straight against a countertop. “Attempted.  And he was a fucking high school teacher. Luckily, it was all on security cam. Easy win.”

The styrofoam carton of lamb samosas trembles in your hand. “That’s upsetting.”

“Majorly. Sadly, he’ll probably get off easy. I mean it was attempted. Not that it should’ve been full-on assault or that what happened isn’t terrible–”

“I understand what you mean, Jake.” You assure. It’s how sex crimes go. 

You open your potato samosa carton. “These are the bomb dot com,” you say. It’s an easy lay up for him.

“That ass is the bomb dot com!” Your chest loosens at the change of topic.

You shoot Jake a glare. He puts his hands up. 

He picks up the last of stray papers as you grab plates and utensils.  When he’s done, he grabs the drink holder, your Pineapple Fanta and your pink lemonade each tucked in a cardboard slot. “Let’s go sit, m’lady.”

You reach for the drink holder with your free hand, but he twists his torso away. He nods towards the living room. “Relax. Pick a show. Remote’s on the coffee table.”

When Jake joins you on the couch, you immediately reach for your potato samosas.

“You weren’t kidding when you said those were your favorite.” Jake chuckles.

“Absolutely not. Try the lamb. They should be in the center– that’s the shared column.”

Jake affectionately rolls his eyes. “You treat life like an Excel spreadsheet.”

“Someone has to.” The cold condensation on your small pink lemonade chills your hand. “Hopefully, a detective would.”

He grabs his chest as if you struck him. “Your passive aggression is a stab to my heart!”

You pop open the container of jasmine rice. “What subject did that teacher teach?” You ask.

“The creeper?”

“Mhmm.”

Jake opens a container of chicken saagwala. “History.”

You hum disappointedly. “History teachers were always the coolest. Especially the male ones.” You stab your plastic fork into the rice and reach for the curry. 

“Now I wish I slept less in history class.” Jake remarks. 

You stare blankly at the coffee table as you spoon your (hopefully) extra spicy curry onto your plate. 

The couch sighs as Jake sinks back into the cushions, his left arm stretching to lay behind you on the sofa’s back. “Such a scumbag. The girl was barely legal–could’ve been one of his own students. To make matters worse, she looked 16.”

In your head, you count your breaths. You zone in on the white grains of rice you’re absentmindedly pushing into your curry sauce. 

You see your high school hallway. You remember the misery, the pressure. Mr. Johnston.

“You listening to me, babe?”

He taps your calf with the tip of his slide. You flinch.

“Sorry,” he says. Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“That’s alright.”

In your peripheral vision, he leans forward. “You okay?”

You nod. “I’m great.” You click on his TV. “Just got a bit lost in my thoughts for a second.”

You feel Jake studying your side profile.

You click on Netflix. “Let’s do something lighthearted.” You drop down to his My List. Thankfully, you don’t have to search long to find something passable. 

“This one okay?” You ask. “I’ve been wanting to watch this too.”

“More than okay.”

The strings of the production company’s opening music fill the living room. You fiddle with your fork. Queasiness bites at you.

You need to shake this. This was your first sleepover with Jake. Don’t ruin this experience for yourself. It was so long ago. Nothing happened. It was uncomfortable, but you were alright. It was nowhere close to what that victim experienced. You’re fine. Is your asthma acting up?

You rest your plate on the coffee table. “Keep watching. I need the restroom real quick.”

You speed walk across the apartment to his bathroom, locking the door behind you. You turn the faucet to screeching cold. You dip your head into the basin and splash ice water in your face.

Your lungs gasp open from shock. Your brain drops back into your body. 

Everything’s safe. You’re okay. Tonight will be great. Don’t let some creep going to trial rattle you like this and ruin the evening.

You find a clean towel in a drawer and dry your face. After taking a detour to his bathroom to toss it in his hamper, you take three final deep breaths, your hand over your heart.

You’re fine. Nothing’s happening.

You return to the couch with a soft smile. “Sorry, Jake.” 

“No problem. You okay?” He asks again.

You hate lying to him. “Yeah, I just had to pee.” 

The movie snaps back to action. Though you didn’t ask, he paused for you. As the film unfurls, as predicted, you poke fun at the plot and Jake ardently defends it. The banter warms you, but the knot in the pit of your stomach refuses to unfurl.

Once your plate is clean, you lay your head on Jake’s shoulder. As the leading actress does something you don’t register, Jake’s laughter ripples through your hollow chest. 

It was so long ago. Nothing happened. It was uncomfortable, but you survived it. He never touched you. It was so long ago. He must be retired by now. It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing to be your fault. Nothing criminal happened. Nothing. It was so–

“(Y/N).”

You gasp. You snap up straight. The movie’s been paused. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t get your attention.” Jake says gently. 

Your heart sinks. “It’s…I’m just in my head.” You roughly run a hand through your hair. “So sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. What’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You stare at your knees.

Jake intertwines his fingers with yours. “It’s definitely substantial for you to be distracted like this.” He squeezes your hand. “I’m here.”

You smile sadly. “I don’t want to bring the vibe down.”

“Acquiring (Y/N) lore rivals catching bad guys as my favorite thing to do. Telling me about your feelings could never bring the vibe down. ”

A courteous dismissal gets tangled in your throat. Is that really what you want to say? 

Your free hand fiddles with the end of your hair. “I really don’t know how to talk about this.”

“Take all the time you need.”

You force a deep breath. “Your case threw me off.”

His eyebrows knit. “The teacher–creep one?”

You nod. “The teacher…you said he harassed a young woman who looked 16.”

He nods.

“It reminds me of an experience I had in high school when I was 17.”

His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “How so?” He asks gently.

“There was… this science teacher– Mr. Johnston. One semester, I had to walk by his classroom everyday. I had to walk from my homeroom on the opposite end of the school, so sometimes I would get there right after the bell rang. When I was alone, he would always offer to walk me to class…even though it was only a couple doors down from his.”

Jake nods. 

“He said he was trying to make sure I didn’t get in trouble for tardiness…but he never told my teacher he walked me. And he did it even after he knew I wouldn’t get in trouble and that I was only going two doors down from his classroom.”

“That’s definitely weird.”

“He also used to do this weird thing where he would walk right behind me…I think it was supposed to be copying my walk to tease me. One day, he came up super close behind me– close enough to smell my perfume. All I could think about was how close to my ass he was.”

Anger cuts through Jake’s expression. “Did anyone see this?” 

“Some other teachers did. They didn’t see anything wrong with it…they laughed it off everytime. I guess they saw it as a harmless joke. But, it made me really uncomfortable. Everyday I would pray that he wouldn’t say hi to me or be weird and would just let me walk to class. I figured maybe I was crazy, making something out of nothing, but it just felt wrong. At the time, I tried to block it out, I had other stressors to deal with…but right after I graduated, I reflected on it and other stories I heard about him…and I was creeped out.”

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry. Did you ever report this?”

“I confided in another teacher about it, but I never formally reported anything. I don’t know if he ever talked to his colleague about his behavior. Plus, I didn't think there was anything concrete to report.” You sigh. “It felt so wrong. I remember being so afraid of being alone in a room with him…he was a co-advisor for some extracurriculars I was a part of. There, he was always completely indifferent towards me but in those hallways in the morning…”

“With less people.” Jake notes. “And colleagues who didn’t take his behavior seriously.” 

You nod. 

“(Y/N), I’m so, so sorry. That isn’t okay.”

“I’m still not really sure if anything did happen to me. He didn’t touch me….he just…”

Jake shakes his head. “Followed you down hallways and got close to your body. That’s not okay.” He squeezes your hand again. “How did it make you feel?”

“Violated.” You admit.

Jake nods. “That’s what matters. How he made you feel matters. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Tears well in your eyes. “Thanks, Jake.”

Jake offers you a tissue. “Do you know what ever happened to that teacher?”

You wipe your eyes. “I believe he retired…not 100% sure.”

His face hardens. “I can track him down if you like.”

“No, Jake…there’s nothing to report. No evidence. Just a dead-end case of “he said she said” from over 10 years ago. Even if I reported it earlier, I doubt anything could have happened.”

Jake groans. “This sucks. I’m sorry for what you went through. No one should feel uncomfortable with a teacher at school. Jesus, every time I think I get what women go through, I learn it’s worse than I imagined. I’m so, so sorry.”

You dab your eyes. “Thank you for not belittling what happened to me. It’s great to have someone like you...you don't downplay what I feel."

He kisses your nose. “It’s part of my boyfriend duties; it’s what I’m here for.”

You press a tender kiss to his lips. “Thank you for being a safe space to talk.”

He returns the peck. “Forever and always.”

Jake Peralta is a goofball. He can be messy– both literally and figuratively. But at the core of it all was a mensch’s heart. 

[zipquips]

Squeeeeeeeeeze!!! You've been given a hug! Send this to all the people who deserve a hug. See how many you get back 😊 Now let the hugging begin! 💜

lina!!!!!!!!!!! big hug for you <3333333333

[sydsaint]

Gotta show my Latino Papi some love <3

Summary: The reader is Damian's plus one at Dominick's wedding.

You and Rhea are taking the afternoon to buy dresses and get your hair and nails done for Dominick's wedding later in the day.

"What about this one?" Rhea pulls a ruby red dress off of the rack and presents it to you.

You look up from the rack you're looking at and examine the dress. "Not really my style." You shrug. "But I bet it'd look killer on you, Rhea. You should try it on." You suggest.

Rhea nods in agreement and hangs the dress over her shoulder while she browses for a few more options to try on. You go back to browsing the rack you're in front of and come across a pretty black dress.

"How about this one, Rhea?" You pick the dress up and present it to Rhea. "I like the neckline."

Rhea turns around and almost instantly nods her head. "YN, yes." She beams. "That will look so good on you."

You giggle and hang the dress over your shoulder so you can browse some more.

You and Rhea both collect four or five dresses to try on and head for the dressing rooms. The two of you have been friends for years so you opt for one of the bigger rooms and share.

"Zip me up, yeah?" Rhea asks you after she's pulled on a black dress.

"Sure, turn around." You nod.

Rhea turns her back to you and you pull the zipper up her back. She turns back around and you compliment her. "How is it you manage to look good in literally everything?" You jokingly complain.

"It's a gift, really." Rhea giggles. "Here, try this one on." She picks up the black dress you picked out and hands it to you.

You begin pulling on your dress and Rhea slips out of hers to try another one on. You get settled into your black dress and admire yourself in the mirror. "I really like this one." You admire your reflection. "What do you think, Rhea?" You turn back to her.

Rhea turns around while she's shimmying into the red dress she picked out and her eyes widen. "Damn, YN." She compliments you. "You might look too good in that dress." She teases you. "How badly are you trying to impress Damian tonight?"

You giggle with Rhea and grab your phone from your bag sitting on the bench. "Do you mind if I snap a quick pic?" You ask Rhea. "I wanna see what Damian thinks of this one."

"Sure." Rhea nods since she's got her dress on by now and is admiring herself in the mirror. "Let's take a few together after you're done." She adds.

"Yes!" You agree and snap a quick mirror picture of yourself.

You send the picture to Damian then take a few with Rhea for fun. You decide on the black dress, and Rhea choses the red. The two of you get your hair and nails done then head back to the hotel to wait for your dates to come pick you up.

"Yeah, we're good, Damian." You call out to him and reach for your clutch sitting on the table.

Damian comes into the door and you watch his gaze flit over Rhea and come to a halt when it reaches you.

"Well?" You ask Damian with a giggle and do a little sin for him. "How do I look?" You ask him.

Damian chuckles and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. You could easily become addicted to the way he looks at you.

"You look absolutely stunning, princessa." Damian shakes his head and walks over to you and wastes no time in pulling you into his side by the hips.

"Told you that he wouldn't be able to keep hiss hands to himself." Rhea laughs.

"You won't ever hear me complain." You grin and lay your hands on Damian's chest. You smooth out his tie for him before tugging him down by the neck for a kiss. "You look handsome too, baby."

You and Damian share a quick heated kiss while Rhea collects her bag. She walks over to the two of you and loops her arm with yours. "Let's get going, yeah. Wouldn't want to let Dom down on his big night by being late."

Damian nods and strides over to the door. He swings the door open and steps off to the side. "Right this way, ladies." He grin at you both. "I'll go on ahead and pull the car around for us."

"Thanks, babe." You touch Damian's arm gently as you and Rhea pass him.

Everyone arrives at the wedding venue about half and hour later and heads inside. You and Rhea find your seats at a table near the bride and grooms place. Fancy cream name-cards mark your spots for you.

The ceremony is beautiful and you shed a tear or two for your friend and his girlfriend, now wife.

The real fun begins after the ceremony. Everyone files into a immaculately decorated space with plenty of room for dancing and a wide array of foods off to the side of the room.

"You hungry at all, hun?" Damian asks you after you've found your table with Rhea and a few other friends from work.

"I'm aright for now, Damian. Thanks." You shake your head. "Dom and his girl look so happy." You gush. "Gosh, I can't wait until I finally get to plan my wedding."

Your comment earns a giggle from Rhea and a wide-eyed look from Damian. The two of you have been ating for about a year now.

"No pressure, Damian." You laugh when you see the guilty look on his face. "I'm content just the way we are."

Damian sighs in relief and plays it off like he wasn't freaked out. Everyone mingles at the table for a while until the dancefloor begins to fill up. You watch people dance for a while with a longing look in your eyes. You know Damian isn't much for dancing. So you try not to get your hopes up.

"YN, Amore, dance with me?" Damian gets up from his seat next to Austin after a while and offers you his hand.

"Oh, you don't have to, Damian." You shake your head at him, but Priest persists.

Damian keeps his hand outstretched to you and flashes you a deabonaire smile. "Come on." He urges you. "I know you want to get out there. And I'm not opposed to once dance." He insists.

"Really?" You take Damian's hand and he leads you out onto the dancefloor. "Thank you, Damian." You smile at him as a slow song starts to play.

Damian pulls you close to his chest and the two of you sway to the soft music. "I know I said it before, but you really do look stunning tonight." He compliments you. "I know I don't say it often. But I love you, YN."

"I love you too, Damian." You blush and lean in a little closer.

[ln4bub]

Hey ! I love how you write, Do you think you could do 3,16 and 48 of charles ? Thank you in advance and continue like that, that’s amazing!

A/N - I’m praying this isn’t too repetitive compared to my last fic but i’m proud of it so enjoy <3

sorry for the delay, I've been super busy and then got sick over the weekend but I'm back

—————————————————

You had no problem being a passenger princess whenever Charles rented a car on a Grand Prix weekend. You enjoyed being able to control the music, resting comfortably in your seat as you admire your boyfriend. The way his hands wrap around the gear stick, or the way his thumbs move back and forth over the wheel when in traffic. Your sleepy mind drifts to the thought of Charles' thumb tracing patterns on your thigh instead of the wheel, his rough fingertips leaving goosebumps over your soft skin.

Your tongue slips out to wet your lips, your mouth suddenly feeling dry as you continue to roam your eyes over Charles. His jaw is clenched slightly, attempting to concentrate on the road whilst also processing his frustration over the results of qualifying this weekend. Your hand reaches out to rest at the base of his neck, gently scratching at the hair and smiling as the tension in his jaw eases. You lean over the centre console, pressing a kiss to his jaw, leaving a soft red stain in your wake.

"Tout va bien mon amour?" Charles murmurs, eyes darting over to you before quickly returning to the road. "All good honey, just thinking." You hum, your hand travelling over your boyfriend's thigh. You feel the muscle clench under your touch, his legs closing slightly. The sight makes your own legs squeeze together, dampness beginning to coat your underwear as your thoughts run wild.

"What are you thinking about cherie?" Asks your boyfriend, his hand coming to rest atop yours. The consistent speed of the motorway meant he could neglect the gears for a little bit of time. "Your hands, how they feel on my skin, how much I like the way you touch me." You mutter, words barely audible over the faint music and passing cars surrounding you both. The breathy tone to your voice was beginning to affect Charles, heat prickling the surface of his skin. Your hand was migrating up his thigh, closer to where he was starting to throb with need for you.

"What are you doing mon amour? I am driving." Charles mutters, his eyes darting to where your hand now rests in his lap. You squeeze his bulge gently, his mouth dropping open at the feeling. "Want to make you feel good Charlie, please can I?" You whisper, your Ferrari red nails scratching his neck in an attempt to get him to agree to your request.

"I am never going to say no to that, but if I have to pull over you won't be able to walk for a week, do you understand?" The dominance in his tone sends shivers down your spine and shockwaves to your core, nodding happily in agreement with his demand. "Of course I understand mon homme." You purr, the French escaping your lips making Charles harder than before. He loved the effort that you had put in to learn his language, his heart filling with joy at the foreign words on your tongue. It made his stomach fill with butterflies and shamelessly he felt his cock throb in his jeans.

You reach over, encasing the metal of his zip in your fingers, pulling to release him from the sudden tightness in his lap. He sighs in relief as your hand delves into his underwear, his cock hardening further at your touch. The weight of his cock in your hand causes you to release a breathy moan.

Leaning closer to your boyfriend, you kiss his neck gently. His stubble scratches your lips, but the quiet groans leaving his mouth as you slowly pump his cock make it worthwhile. You detach yourself from his neck, adjusting in your seat so you can lean over to reach his lap. His hand rests atop your head softly as you pull him free from bis underwear.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his glistening head, pre-cum leaking from the reddened tip. You purse your lips, press a wet kiss to the head of his dick. You feel it twitch at the sensation before you engulf his head in your mouth. Charles groans at the warmth, relishing the way you swirl your tongue, dipping it lightly into his slit to taste him.

“So good to me cherie, always want to make me feel good.” Charles mutters, eyes flicking down to his lap before returning to the road. You hum around him in agreement and he chuckles, “Don’t talk with your mouth full baby. Come on, you have until we get home to make me finish in your pretty little mouth.” You moan at his words, the vibrations sending tingles up your boyfriend’s spine.

Your mouth travels further down his shaft, leaving rings of red lipstick as you go. The salty taste on your tongue makes you dizzy, desperate for more. You double your efforts, head bobbing and tongue swirling faster than before. Charles’ cock is saturated with your spit, allowing your hand to move smoothly over what couldn’t fit in your mouth.

Charles had managed to keep the car steady, but the feeling of your soft hand wrapped around the base of his cock while the warmth of your mouth surrounded his head was making his job harder. You don’t hear the indicator as Charles pulls the car over, and you don’t question anything when Charles’ other hand threads itself into your hair.

You moan around his cock, pre-cum spilling onto your tongue as Charles moans your name. “So fucking perfect mon amour, don’t stop, gonna fill your mouth, gonna cum for you.” He mumbles, head thrown back against his headrest, neck straining.

His hips buck into your mouth, fingers tapping your head in warning. You take him as deep as you can, choking on his thick cock as it hits the back of your throat. The constriction of your throat sends him over the edge, his cum filling your mouth. You whimper at the taste, swallowing all he gives you. You keep sucking, your tongue swirling around his length as it twitches with sensitivity.

Charles groans, pulling you off his length as he pants. His chest heaves, head still thrown back as he tries to catch his breath. "Fuck baby, that was so good." He mutters, voice breathy and strained. You smile, kissing his cheek. Charles turns his head, capturing your lips with his own. "So good, but I had to pull over so it looks like you won't be able to walk if I'm done with you. Put your seatbelt on, no promises I'll follow the speed limits to get us home." He tells you.

You smile shyly, a blush coating your cheeks as your thighs clench. Your whole body tingles with excitement as Charles pulls back out onto the main road, you were hoping for this after all.

Taglist: @myownwritings

[maxillness]

🇬🇧 || Secret Love Song || LH44 x Russell!Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, age-gap, degrading kink, praise kink, sub!lewis

Wordcount: 1.4k

“Oh, fuck. Just like that, baby” He moaned from above her. His hands were tangled in her hair as his back was pushed up against the door of his drivers room

“Your lips feel so good around me” He couldn’t stop praising her, even though he knew she was gonna be in charge when they got to her place after the race later

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this; saliva dripping down your chin, red cheeks, my cock in your mouth” His body was starting to sweat as he twitched in her mouth

“Just like that. Fucking hell, I’m gonna-“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence before he shot his hot loath down her throat

She stood up as she swallowed his cum. He zipped his trousers back up before kissing her tenderly “I’m gonna return the favour when we get to your place after the race, okay love?”

“If you win” She kissed his cheek before leaving the room. They both managed to get back to the others without being seen leaving his drivers room

“Where were you?” George asked her with a hint of concern in his voice

“I was just at the bathroom, no need to worry your pants” She chuckled as she walked over to him

“I’m just looking out for you” He said with soft eyes

“George, I’m 20, you don’t need to look out for me anymore” He had always protected her through out their childhood, he was worse then their parents

“You’re right. I’m sorry”

Normally after her and Lewis had fucked or she would have sucked him off, they would be clingy with each other. Her lips would be all over him. On his lips, cheek, neck, throat, chest, stomach, anywhere they could be, they would be

But they couldn’t this time. Nobody knew they were together, and god forbid they ever told anyone, her brother would absolutely destroy him, both on and outside the track

I wanna kiss you so bad rn

She heard the ping of the message she had sent across the garage. She looked over to Lewis who had picked up his phone. He looked over at her before typing

I want to kiss you too love, but you know we can’t <3

She knew it was true, but what if they fucked with the rules? What if they stood in the corner and it was just a little peck before going back to talk to people they were talking to before

Win the race and my lips will be all over you ;)

She smiled as she sent the text. She looked over at Lewis who was blushing hard. He was talking with Bono who looked confused at him

She could hear their conversation, but she guessed Lewis’ excuse for his slightly red cheeks would be something like it was hot in the garage

It gave her some kind of rush, knowing she was the only one to draw this kind of reaction out of him

It also made her folds wet, but she would never dare to tell him that

She spend the rest of the day in the garage, sending him texts with either different kinds of praises, promises to fuck him when he wins, or wishes about the two of them

You’re always doing so good for me

You better do good on the track, Hamilton

I’m gonna fuck you dumb when you win

I’m gonna fuck your brains out

I wish you could hold me in your arms

I wish you could kiss me before your race

Every time she sent a text, she looked over at Lewis who would just blush harder every time, if that was even possible

Her brother had questioned her multiple times who she was texting, but she would always say it was one of her friends

Like wise did he ask Lewis, who said it was either his parents, his neighbour who was sitting Roscoe, or one of his friends

Stop sending me all those text love

Why? I can see you like them <3

She looked over at him, eyes went down to his slight boner in his trousers

You drive me crazy woman

At least I fuck as good as I drive you crazy ;)

He won the race, of course. I mean, if he hadn’t my won, maybe he wouldn’t get to fuck his teammates sister

“You need a lift home?” George asked her

“No thanks, George” She didn’t give him a reason why, but he brushed it off like he was used to it

“You did so good, baby” Her hand was on his inner thigh as he drove them to her apartment. His breath was heavier as her handed hockey closer to the place where he needed her the most

“Thank you, love” He said, his words almost getting caught in his throat. Her hand started stroking his thigh, making him harder by every stroke

They had barely entered the apartment when Lewis was all over her. His hands on her waist, pulled close to him as his lips were on hers and her hands were on his ass, squeezing him every so often

“Fuck, I want to return the favour, love” His lips traveled over to her jaw

“Then get to the bedroom, Lew” Her hands traveled him to stroke his sides

“No, I want you now” He backed her back so her ass hit the dinning table “Please” His hands went to the back of her thighs, lifting her up on the table

“Lewis, we should go to the bedroom” He had already gone to his knees as she spoke

He didn’t listen to her words, he instead proceeded to pull her closer to the edge of the table. He lifted her skirt up, giving him access to pull down her panties as she bucked her hips

She gave in, and let him do what he wanted to her. He threw her panties the floor beside them before spreading her knees, giving him more access to her cunt

He pulled one of her legs over his shoulder before darting his tongue out to lick through her folds

She moaned at the contact between his tongue and her clit. He flicked over it with his tongue as he entered her with on of his fingers

As her moans started getting loud, he inserted another finger “What wouldn’t your teammate think, huh? If he knew how you fuck his little sister” He hummed at her words giving her extra pleasure

She bucked her hips into his face, grinding on his tongue she came close to her orgasm “Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good for me” Hs Eleanor’s her head back, rolling her eyes into the back of her head “Fuck, I’m gonna cum”

A few more thrusts of his fingers and flicks of his tongue, and she came around his fingers. He rode out her high before pulling out of her and standing up

She got to the ground “The bedroom, Lew” He kissed her quick before going to the bedroom

She chuckled at his eagerness. She walked into the bedroom, seeing him already stripped naked and laid on the bed

“Good. You’re already ready for me” She smirked as she walked over to him

“I’m always ready for you, love” He said pulling her into his lap. She pulled her shirt off and unhooked her bra. She threw them both to the floor

She spit in her hand, and started stroking him slow. She lined herself up with his cock, slowly pushing him in making them both moan

“Fuck, you always fill me up so good, Lew” She smirked as she started moving. She loved hearing his moans and whimpers coming from him

“You sound so pretty” She kept praising him as he started bucking his hips up into her, meeting her thrusts

He gripped her hips tighter, slamming her down onto him. Both their moans were loud and heavy as they came closer to their orgasms

“You feel so good around me. Fuck, love. I fucking love you” He spoke between his moans “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum, fuck, please”

Her fingers went to her clit, circling it between her fingers. Her actions pushed her closer to her orgasm

“Cum for me, baby” He came into her, holding her down onto him. Him coming into her, sent her over the edge, coming around him for the second time today

She pulled off of him, going to the bathroom to get a damp towel to clean them both up. She laid down beside him, scooting close into him under the duvet

“I love you” He sighed holding her close kissing her forehead

“I love you too” She kissed his chest laying down hearing his heartbeat

[hauntedkingdomprincess]

reader breaking anh!luke’s innocence and filling every sexual desire he’s had cuz he’s the chosen one and deserves it:(( <3

Ooh yeah.... love it. ❤️ some sexy thoughts about this prompt below the cut (18+ only!) - also, yay! My first ask!!! (Thanks @weirdogirl888)

- Luke is still feeling awkward about being thought of as a 'chosen' one

- actually he really wants to be considered just a normal guy in your eyes; he can't take the pressure to lean into the expectations of being the one with a girl, especially for a first time....

- he eyes you and knows you have been fluttering your eyes in your direction. He's enjoying the attention...

- and loves your attributes, eyes, lips and curves...

- it was seeing him in that flight suit that started those sexy sweet thoughts for you

- of course, after blowing up that Death Star, (first time) celebrations are in order... giving him the courage to actually kiss you too (and dreaming of more)

- he's had those naughty private thoughts before... dreaming about having a sneaky feel up in his x-wing, or perhaps you kissing down his treasure trail...

- but as soon as he's back, he knows he wants to actually touch you...

- the moment you see him, you pull him aside, feeling bold thar this chosen one *evidently* desires you back...

- your hands cannot help but touch his strong arms, his firm chest, and brush his cheek in kindness to settle him as he's trembling with anticipation

- "tell me what you want", you whisper, and he shudders in anticipation

- "I don't know how to ask" he blushes, until you begin kissing his neck

- your hands wander and pull down the zip of that flight suit

- and he doesn't fight it.... [he's loving it]

- in fact, he evidently adoring all of your attention, tenting slightly in excitement...

- he cannot believe you want him as much as he has privately touched himself thinking of you... wanting you

- he's sensing your arousal through the force

- and still working up the courage to touch your body as he craves....

- your body is so warm to his touch, and you take his hands to place them on your chest, showing him how hot his touch is making you...

- your nipples stand to attention

- your hand continues to trail down towards his growing member

- and it springs to proud attention at the hint of your fingers wandering beneath his flight briefs

- he's beading already (and it's so hot to you, you lick your lips in excitement)

- "show me" you ask firmly and seductively... "exactly as you dreamed when you touched yourself before the mission"

- he sighs heavily, drunk on desire as your body is firmly pressed against his...

- in your mind's eye, his warmth is projected out to you... the warmth hardness of his cock now firmly the centre of his lust.

- you instinctively know he wants you to suck it, lapping at his hardness

- its size and girth is most impressive [better than you hoped]

- he sighs with your palmed touch, causing him to leak and moan. You tease your fingers up his virginal shaft...

- "tell me..." you whisper... as you lower yourself on your knees

- "put me in your mouth" he whimpers as you lick his rosy head beading with salty want

- you take him deeper and deeper ... taking him all in... bobbing up and down to his breathy moans of anguished delight

- he's wanted this moment for so long

- until you feel a twitch that is unmistakable... he's getting close...

- but you don't stop now...

- you see him watching a holoporn in his mind's eye, a memory of discovery of women's bodies, and it's so hot

- he likes tits, a lot, and can't help wondering what women taste like...

- he cums to the thought of pussy in his memory of watching the holoporn... he's so inexperienced and eager...

- now he's here with a woman and he can cum with her this time...

- running your hand between the wet folds of your velvet, you ask him to open his mouth to receive your glistening middle finger....

"Taste me" you command... and he licks your finger deeply....

- the taste sends him wild, breaking his lingering shyness.

- He MUST have you. He MUST taste you...

- he may be the one but your pussy has him on his knees now, stripping off your dress and panties with fervour

- he drives his tongue in... determined to greedily taste all of you, much to your loud moans.

- soon his face is coated in your juices, as he whimpers with delight at your whimpers and his occasional pumping of his cock with his hand

- the other hand reaches up to squeeze your magnificent tits, running his open palm across your pert pink nipples over and over.

- he squeezes each tit in turn

- it's quite a sight to see the chosen one worshipping your folds with such need, whimpering with joy...

- you imagine you are being watched in this joyful explosion of lust

- at the thought of being seen, you cum quickly and powerfully on his tongue with shouts of praise - "you're doing so well" you affirm. "My good jedi"

- still he's pumping his huge throbbing cock, his erection agonisingly wanting you

- "do it" you shout... sensing his hunger... "fuck me as you dreamed" you whimper, not waiting to recover from your own explosion, your knees trembling in ecstacy

- now he's in control, now he's gonna have you...

- he spins you around, your bust pressed into the base wall, your ass rubbing up against his swollen rod... he doesn't care if anyone sees....

- he pushes in, slowly at first, and seconds later all the way, hilt deep, and exclaims at the tight, wet sensation

- he's finally fucking you... exactly as he wanted.

- he pushes in slowly and steadily, building up a good rhythm

- he feels so big

- his hands rubbing your arms and back, and soon gripping your hip and running across your breasts

- you feel so wet, he begins to chase release in this feeling of bliss

- you shudder and shake, the sensation so overwhelming in his force projections, and his body so alive with pleasure in your slick folds, your pussy gripping him tightly

- he feels so enraptured, he almost can't take it... it's better than he dared dream

- you can't take much more of it either... his cock is too deliciously big to bear. You sweat at the touch of this man within you have unleashed

- "come for me" you shout, not caring who hears [and someone did hear]

- "come with me" he begs you...

- and you hear it as an order... an order from the chosen one

- your pussy squeezes him, clamps his fullness hard as you cry out "yes, yes! More please... Luke!!!"

- he thrusts hungrily, pushing deeper than ever, and you feel his pink head swell within

- he moans loudly, and shudders "Oh maker, yes baby" as he erupts white ropes inside your wet velvet

- your core pounds and spasms at the feel of his cum hitting your walls, soaking your sex

- he grips you tightly in his arms, clutching you close, his mouth buried in your neck... he moans again and again, coming so hard....

- you both finish, and he lets you go, loosely cuddling your body in your sweaty shared afterglow

- his kisses are lusty and awkward, but playful as he smiles with deep satisfaction

- "we are doing that again!" You smile as you reassemble your simple dress... your breasts still perky and arousal wholly evident

- he gushes in joy, and hugs you in delight. "How about tonight?" He asks as he looks into your eyes... "we need to celebrate"

- "yes, we do" you breathe out and smile... "many times".

Hope you like!! ❤️😘🥵😈

[willows-peak]

*･ﾟ✧ Sending Pics To Nanami

tags: fem! reader, established relationship, male masturbation, nanami fantasizes about you a lot, hand jobs, oral (m recieving), fingering, nanami fat cock truther, pet names (princess, dear, baby, sweetheart, beautiful) nanami talking you through it, mating press, overstim

word count: 2.6k

MDNI

a/n: i saw this drawing right here and almost imploded from horniness. enjoy

⋆｡˚ ♡ Nanami grunted as he nearly slammed the door of his house shut, his body falling against the cold wood as he breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, he was home. Home from the bright school lights, lessons all filed away and paperwork confirming the exorcism of all the curses he'd gotten rid of finished and forgotten about. While that alone would be enough to stress anyone out, he had the added pressure of his pants becoming impossibly tight this morning, thanks to you, and this little 'problem' managed to follow him through the whole day.

Nanami never tried to pretend you didn't have an effect on him, but sometimes, he was made aware of it at the worst of times like today.

You <3

> *4 image attachments*

> "good morning baby :) i've missed you all day, this trip is taking forever to be overr"

Nanami groaned under his breath as he stared at the photos you'd sent, wishing for a second he could reach through his screen and tear off the panties and shirt you were wearing, his shirt no less. Photos highlighting the beautiful way your body curved out around your hips, your thighs pooling out from the position you had yourself in. Shirt pulled up just enough for him to see your breasts falling out from the loose fitting fabric, your face making it into the frame enough for him to see your adorably pouty lips.

Nanami

> "You look gorgeous, dear. I miss you too, we can talk after work today."

His tone over text was always calm, and to the point. If you didn't know him, you wouldn't ever guess he was palming his half hard erection through his slacks, sighing out your name into his empty room as he stared at the phone in his hands, not even risking blinking in fear of missing the details of your body.

But, just his luck. His eyes regretfully broke contact for a moment, long enough to see the time at the corner of his phone. He'd risk running late if he didn't finish getting dressed, regardless of the hard on he was sporting now. So, he was all but forced to readjust his cock up to his shirt, making sure it was unnoticeable before zipping up his pants and hurriedly throwing on his jacket to his car.

And, being the responsible and collected man he is, he didn't even entertain the idea of getting off in any nearby bathrooms or break rooms, even when the throbbing of his hard on was making his brain cells fuzz out by the minute. You really did have him wrapped around your little finger, just a few pictures and he was glaring daggers at the clock sitting next to his desk. Your body didn't leave his mind the entire day, Nanami thanking whatever granted him mercy that today wasn't a day he'd have to speak to anyone, because by god was that not in his available schedule right now.

His hands clenched together as another flash of your naked breasts ran through his mind, everything in him almost screaming to come up with an excuse to leave early and fuck his fists to you until he could calm down. Try and pretend it was your pussy tightening around him as he pushed you into another orgasm, a thick ring of cream forming around the base of his cock as he fucked you though your release-

Nanami threw his head back in frustration as his cock twitched yet again, grumbling and forcing his mind to focus on the work in front of him.

~☆.｡.*

The moan that fell from Nanami's lips at the feeling of his thick hand groping his bulge almost startled him, temporarily making him lucid enough to move to his bedroom to take care of himself. at least he already had tissues in there..

His jacket was the first to be torn off his body, being tossed carelessly to the otherwise tidy floor beside his dresser, his goggles joining the small pile soon afterwards. The cold air of his room washed over him for all but a moment before the overwhelming heat of arousal came back to him, making him hastily unbutton his shirt while he reached for his tie, wrapped snug around his neck. A light sheen of sweat had formed on his chest, tiny droplets clinging to the short hair sitting on the valley of them. He swore through clenched teeth as he threw the thin piece of cloth to the side as well.

Without the support of his boxers, his cock leaned down into the air in front of him, the tips of his fingers able to feel the soft pulsing of the bulging vein resting on its side. He almost felt remorse at the way his hand could so easily wrap around his girth, large fingers reaching base to tip too quickly for his liking. It was nothing like how you did it, your smaller hands struggling to make your fingertips meet as you stroked him as best as you could.

Nanami's hands clambered in his pockets before pulling out his phone, the screen warm from the contact of his thigh all day long. He knew he wouldn't be able to relieve himself without seeing you, not when you were the one who made him like this in the first place. Your photos sat there, unchanged and making his already foggy head spin wildly. He'd left the page of your messages stuck on his screen in his morning rush to work, not daring to close out and lose the sight of your perfect body sitting pretty all for him.

He fumbled with his zipper for a quick second before getting it down, his button popping off and allowing the tough fabric to fall down to the middle of his thighs. "That's right.." he muttered, his hand freely squeezing and stroking over his boxer covered dick now. With the awkward angle it had been adjusted to, the waistband of his underwear had been stained with pre cum, a thin strand of the liquid connecting his tip to the bottom of his abdomen. A quiet 'fuck' made its way out of his lips as his hand pulled the wet fabric down, his cock finally free from its restraints.

And you'd always try so hard, too. your brows would furrow as you tried your best to make your hand fit around him, squeezing down near the base where he was thickest before letting up at his tip. Your other hand was almost always occupied as well, either joining to work his shaft while you slowly licked across the slit of his head, or reaching down to massage his heavy balls and meeting his hungry gaze with your needy one.

Nanami's brow lowered as he pumped his cock, a rough and quick pace as the tension throughout his body didn't seem to go away just yet. He squeezed the now red tip of his length, a droplet of pre cum coming out and painting his hand. The hand that was wrapped around himself now reached to his side where a small bottle of lotion rested, pumping out a few globs before slathering it across himself. As his hand continued squeezing and rubbing up and down, his mind continued wandering to how you worked your mouth around him.

How your mouth would so slowly wrap around him, inch by inch sinking into your mouth and down your throat as his hand came to rest in your hair, playing with it while your nose eventually came to meet with the thin patch of blond hair around his cock. Your pretty lips would be so stretched, too, lines of drool forming and falling freely as he'd use the grip on your hair to carefully move your head backwards.

~☆.｡.*

Your tongue would curl up and caress the underside of his cock, Nanami feeling the way you'd smile when he'd moan your name under his breath. Your throat was so tight, deliciously constricting around him every time he'd push your head back forwards. The way he could catch glances at your fingers rubbing against your pussy through your shorts, cut off moans and sloppy half gags echoing through the room as he held your head still in favor of fucking your throat himself. And you'd take it all, eyes dusting over with tears from the pressure and looking up at Nanami through your long, and soft lashes.

Nanami has slumped down onto the floor at this point, groaning and panting into the thick air surrounding him as he stared at the photos on his screen. The fact that you were wearing his shirt of all things was lighting a flame in him he didn't know he had, his eyelids lowering as his memory gifted him with the last time you'd worn his shirt around him. How it so quickly devolved into you, nestled onto your bed with your legs spread wide and whining at Nanami to fuck you already. His fingers were smoothly scissoring inside of you, a quiet squelching noise reaching your ears and making you flush.

And he'd always feel so bad afterwards, when he could see the aftermath on your face. Cheeks wet with drool and tears, taking deep and short breaths through your puffy lips with his cum making them glisten brightly. But you would always smile up at him, thanking him with a raspy voice and leaning into his palm as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, wiping away any remnants of his cum from your soft lips.

~☆.｡.*

He was resting against your neck, pressing small and casual kisses all across the skin as he shushed you gently. "I've got you princess, it's ok.. you know you need this" he reminded you, chuckling at the way you tightened around his fingers from the basey purr of his voice right next to your ear. Through more begs and whimpers of his name, Nanami would eventually deem you stretched out enough and finally push himself into your wet cunt. And it would always take every amount of restraint he possessed to not move, a true gentleman to the end for you.

"Nanamiii....s' too bigg..'' You squeaked out, hands now tightly holding your thighs to your chest as Nanami bottomed out inside you. But he knew you could do this, you've taken him countless times before, you could do it again. And he would hold your face with his steady palms, pressing his lips to yours as he talked you through the adjustment.

“That’s right, beautiful, relax for me.”

“Breathe for me, in through your nose, out through your mouth”

“You’re doing so well for me..”

“I’m right here baby, I’ve got you”

~☆.｡.*

“Stay with me, sweetheart…Theerre she is”

“Move your hips down, show me how you want it.”

“I know dear, I know.” while he brushes stray strands of hair out of your warm and flushed face.

His hand came down hard to the base of his dick, the wet sound of his precum and the lotion almost mimicking the way your pussy would sound as he bullied himself into you. The way you’d squeak and moan out loudly as his hips snapped down into you, thighs quivering from strain but you would still hold them up for him as he fucked you senseless. Nanami could never get enough of the way your mouth would fall open into an ‘O’ shape as he fucked into you, the head of his cock rubbing up against your g-spot with such precision that you couldn’t hope to last long.

“Fuck, n-nanamiii, don’t- oh m-my god, don’ sstop, ye-es” your eyes could never stay facing forwards when he was fucking you like this, his hips pistoning deeper inside you with every thrust it felt like, his hands tightly gripping onto your hips as he yanked you up and down to meet his thrusts halfway. Sweat started to form on his forehead, abs clenching as he took breaths through gritted teeth. “Stay still, don’t run from this…” he’d growl out, your body squirming around too much for him to fuck you properly.

~☆.｡.*

Nanami, through bucks into his hand and husky calls of your name, fails to notice his fingers hovering dangerously close to the call button next to your profile. You were so close, at the mere press of a finger he would be able to hear your sweet voice again, regardless of the poor quality of the phone’s speaker. He could feel himself growing close, his stomach tightening and his body curling into itself as he fucked his fist for you.

“Jus’ like that, fuck yes..” he whispered to himself, his grip loosening on his phone as he let his eyes close. His fantasies were much too strong to rip away from, especially from how well he remembered the feeling of your wetness dripping out of you onto his balls. And how your hole would try and suck him in when you got close, weakly pulsing around him as you messily begged him to make you cum. “Kento, kento, b-baby, ple-ase i need it, don’ stop-” your sentences were hurried, words being constantly thrown together and cut off by moans and cries as Nanami pushed into you.

His thumb found your clit with practiced ease, rubbing rough circles against it and relishing in the way your shut tight eyes would shoot open in surprise and then roll back with overwhelming pleasure, head tossing back and your back arching as you came around Nanami. Your cum dripped and oozed out of your stretched wide hole and coating Nanami’s cock as he fucked you through it, shushing you and holding you with his free arm as you shook and whimpered out.

“Shhh, t-take it baby, just like that.. Feels good huh?” he’d ask, grinning at the way you choked out a yes and nodded up at him, your body still racked with the aftershocks of your orgasm along with his mean thrusts. “Inside, innsidee, k’nto, give it t’ me, i wan’ itt, oh gggodd-” you’d cry out, sniffling and squirming back at the overstimulation starting to set in. Thankfully for you, Nanami could never last long when you came like this.

~☆.｡.*

A loud moan left Nanami’s lips as his cock throbbed harshly, his orgasm crashing down on him as thick ropes of cum beaded out of his dark red head, covering his palm and thumb as he continued to move his hips up into his hand through his orgasm. His head came to rest against the hard wood of his door, his orgasm slowly tapering down as his body was drained of energy. He let out a long, broken sigh, his hips finally stilling and letting his cock rest on his palm.

He took a minute or so to catch his breath, using the arm that held his phone to wipe his mouth of the drool that managed to escape his lips when he left them parted. Blowing out a deep sigh, he glanced down at the mess he’d made between his legs and noted that his cum had thankfully stayed to the floor and his thighs, avoiding his pants or his belt. His phone blinked silently, indicating he’d received a message. He scoffed out in annoyance, automatically assuming it to be Gojo or his supervisor informing him of yet another week’s worth of filing he was assigned to.

He slid his lockscreen open, noticing the notification had been from you when checking and fixing the scowl that unknowingly made it on his face.

You <3

> 2 images, 1 video

> sorry, i’ve been needy all day without you :(

Nanami, after a few seconds of silently staring at the unopened video, decided to skip the formalities of replying and instead pressed the call icon after seeing you begin to type. 

[hottpinkpenguin]

Letting Someone Go - Part 5 (The End!)

Benny Cross X Female Reader part 1 is here! part 2 is here! part 3 is here! part 4 is here! A/n: ahhh it's always so hard to write a satisfying ending. i rlly hope you enjoy it, and i want to thank everyone for reading this series!! i am officially taking Bikeriders requests, so if this story got your mind thinking about what other Benny/Vandals boys content you'd like, feel free to send it my way! Word Count: 3683 Warnings: none for this chapter

You woke up the next morning with a split lip, a black eye, and a hangover. Before even opening your eyes, you knew you were back at Zipco’s house based on the strong Patchouli-incense-over-bourbon smell. Not on the lumpy couch though - you were in his bed. You opened one eye and instantly regretted it: the world started to spin and you barely managed to grab at the wastebasket someone had left by the bedside before you emptied your stomach. You wretched until there was nothing left to come up, just bile and bloody spit. Unwilling to test your vertigo by standing up and walking down the hall to the bathroom, you called out for Zipco in a watery-thin rasp.

“Zip?” 

Silence. It seemed like the house was empty. Zipco was many things, but a quiet housemate was not among them. Wherever he went, he was slamming doors, knocking furniture, thumping on the rickety floorboards. 

“Zip ain’t here.”

The voice startled you and you whipped your head around - another immediate regret, as it renewed your nausea. Benny was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, smoking a cigarette and watching you closely. He must have slept here, you realized, as you took in the wrinkled tshirt stained with your mascara and blood and his mussed hair. 

“Where’s Zip?” you groaned, shutting your eyes in a vain attempt to stop the spinning. 

Benny stood up and walked out of the bedroom as he called back to you. “He took Kathy home. I asked him to stay with her for the night, keep an eye on things.”

Kathy. Last night. The memory of that awful night came back to you hard and with a vengeance. You whimpered, pressing your face down on the pillow as if you could blot it out. From down the hall, you heard the sound of Benny rummaging around in the kitchen for a few moments. You willed yourself to focus on that noise and breathe deeply through your nose and out through your mouth. 

You felt the mattress give under his weight as he came back and perched on the edge of the bed. “Here.” He handed you a bag of ice, coaxing you to lift your head and place the ice against your swollen lip. He brushed back strands of your hair out of your face with a tenderness you’d never seen from him before. 

“Thank you,” you croaked, voice cracking. “For last night. Helping me. For everything.” 

He nodded softly and offered you a cup of water. “Try to drink it,” he encouraged. You obeyed, wincing at the bad taste in your mouth and the soreness in your throat as you swallowed. The water settled in your stomach with a cooling rush, and it helped lessen your headache marginally. Benny just kept sitting there, fussing over you like a nursemaid. It was achingly touching, but surprising and strangely intimate. After a few moments, you cleared your throat and forced yourself to sit upright, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to set off the spins again. He helped you prop yourself up against the headboard, one of Zip’s pillows tucked at the small of your back.

“How’s Kathy?” Why you asked that question was anyone’s guess. You were grasping at straws, overwhelmed by Benny’s presence and his assiduous attention to you. You couldn’t care less how Kathy was doing, and you knew you were risking the moment between you two - whatever it was - by bringing her up. 

Predictably, Benny’s face crumpled from concern to something harder. He held your gaze with a wary seriousness. “You really wanna know how my wife is right now?” 

Wife. 

You pursed your lips - bad move, you felt the split open up and fresh blood coat your tongue - and looked down at the water glass in your hand so he couldn’t see the tears in your eyes. You hadn’t known Kathy was that to him. You’d never really considered the possibility. Four years is a hell of a long time, a reprimanding voice in your head reminded you. What did you expect?

Why didn’t the guys tell you? A flash of anger at Zipco and Cal and Johnny flared in your chest. It was irrational, you knew, and a displacement of your real pain. The anger fizzled out as quickly as it had come up, leaving you alone with a sinking grief. 

Benny must have noticed your reaction. “You didn’t know.” Not a question, an observation. One he must have suspected because you heard the sound of confirmation in his voice. His words didn’t sound unkind, although there was an edge of pity there that you hated. Unable to meet his eyes, you simply shook your head. 

“I figured one of the guys told you.” 

“Yea, I would’ve figured that too.” 

You ran a finger along the lip of the water glass. Anything for a distraction. A thick silence that threatened to bloom into something permanent settled between you. 

“Congrats,” you managed with a small, bitter laugh. “How long?”

Benny turned away from you, bracing his hands on his knees and looking at the wall. “Y/n, don’t do this.”

“Do what?” you demanded, embarrassment staining your cheeks. Not only had he just dropped this hundred pound disappointment on you, but now he expected you not to struggle with its weight?

“Hurt yourself,” he replied sadly, turning back to you. His eyes drank you in and caused your breath to tangle in your throat. Once again, you couldn’t hold his gaze, and let your eyes drop to your hands. You knocked that one set of your knuckles were scraped and bruised, and a snippet of memory - men dragging you up a stairwell, you thrashing against them and screaming out for help - smacked you like a freight train. The sob that bubbled in your lungs refused to be stifled. 

At the sound of it, Benny stiffened. “I’m sorry. I should’ve left. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I’ll go, send Zip back over.” 

You looked back up at him and found you could look through him. Talking to the wall behind Benny, you felt your mouth moving as words came pouring out before you fully knew what you wanted to say. “Aight then, Benny, you best get your stuff and get out, then.”

It was the exact same line you’d said to him four years ago when he’d made you tell yourself that he was in love with someone else. Unlike then, this time your words dripped with poison. 

He flinched slightly at your words, and you figured that was about as much as you could hope for. Benny Cross was many things, but he would never be the kind of guy who would collapse for a woman. Especially not one that he didn’t love. 

For a heartbeat or two, he looked at you while you looked through him. It was a test. Who would break first. Both of you knew the answer. Benny was incapable of breaking. You’d been craving that from him for too long and had been disappointed too many times before to delude yourself now. Benny was going to leave, exactly like you’d told him to. He wasn’t going to argue, or apologize, or ask why you were angry, or stubbornly ignore your dismissal in an attempt to get through to you. He was going to leave because that’s what he did. Although not with Kathy, that vicious inner voice reminded you. Just you. 

Right on cue, Benny broke eye contact, hesitating momentarily before standing up from the edge of the bed. Your eyes followed him as he walked over to the chair he’d been sitting in, picked up his leather jacket and threw it on over his shoulders. The icy shell around your heart threatened to thaw as the realization that this might be the last moment you ever saw him overtook you. 

He moved to leave without looking back to you, although he did stop at the door.

“Why’d you come back?” he asked, his voice low and full of something approaching emotion. 

“For Brucie’s funeral,” you replied robotically. 

You both knew it was a lie. Benny waited, turning slightly so his body was angled towards you, but still not looking up at you. 

“What do you want me to say, Benny? That I came back for you? That I stayed away for so long because of you? You already know all that shit.”

He fidgeted with his leather riding gloves methodically, tucking them into the sleeves of his jacket. You’d never known Benny to care about stuff like that. You had the fleeting thought that he was stalling against what you both sensed would be your last goodbye. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled heavily. “I’m sorry for everything.” 

And with that, Benny vanished once again from your life, leaving behind that all too familiar ache like a gaping hole in your chest. 

***********************

Benny was riding back to Kathy’s apartment when he realized that he didn’t want to. The last thing he wanted was to get an earful from Kathy, although he knew precisely that’s what was waiting for him. An earful for getting involved in another fight over the club, for getting involved with you, and for leaving her behind. He deserved it, but he didn’t want it.

He also didn’t want to turn around and back towards the girl he’d just left, with her face busted up and her spirit broken. All because she’d come back hoping for something from him. All she was going to get was disappointment. That’s all Benny had for anybody else. He’d disappointed Kathy by not being a good husband. He’d disappointed Johnny by not being a good Vandal, not being willing to take over the charter. And he’d disappointed y/n simply by not being good. Most of all, Benny was his own biggest disappointment. He realized, sitting on the back of his bike idling at a light that had long ago turned from red to green, that he wasn’t sure what he’d imagined for his life, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. It wasn’t watching the people around you get hurt, time and time again, all behind your own failures. 

So, instead of turning left on 53rd St. to head home, Benny kept going straight on 55th until it linked up with Rte 34 in Naperville. He gassed up in Wyanet and didn’t stop until he hit the Nebraska line. Benny rode west until he got tired of staring at sunsets, and then turned north, meandering up into colder country. 

Epilogue

At first, the running theory about what happened was that one of the guys from the night before had found Benny, somehow, on the way back from Zipco’s place and jumped him. Beat the shit out of him, took his bike, dumped him on the side of a road somewhere. Maybe even killed him. But, as weeks turned into months without any news and without a body, a different understanding took hold: Benny Cross had simply left. 

Kathy stuck around but drifted steadily further away from the MC. She stopped showing up to Junker’s on Friday nights, stopped hanging out at the Vandals’ house parties, stopped asking Johnny if he’d heard from Benny. You saw her a few times in the years after Benny left, usually at the laundromat or the corner store, somewhere neutral. She never acknowledged you, and you figured that was probably the smart thing to do. There weren’t any words the two of you could exchange that would do anything for either of you. Better just to let sleeping dogs lie. At some point, you saw Kathy Cross for the last time, although you didn’t know it would be the last. Word reached the MC that she’d met some wealthy Cincinnati lawyer in a pop shop and had moved in with him a few weeks later, into some swanky highrise overlooking the Ohio River. You had a suspicion that Kathy’s days of logging time on the back of a bike were over. 

While Kathy exited the Vandals’ scene, you found yourself quickly at the center of the club. You and Zipco decided after a few months that you made great friends, but shit roommates. You moved into your own place a few blocks down from Junker’s and opened a body shop for bikes with the money your daddy left you in the will. Your first employee was Cal, and your first customer was Johnny. From that day forward, the Vandals MC kept your business buzzing and your books balanced. You named the shop Cross Roads Bikes. Customers who didn’t know you asked why “cross roads” was two separate words; usually, you just told them that you’d been drunk when you filled out the business license application and had put a space in there by accident. Customers who knew you didn’t need to ask what happened. 

In spite of that, somewhere along the way you woke up one day and realized that this was the closest you’d been to happy in a long long time, maybe ever. It struck you as strange, because since the day you’d met him, you’d only seen happiness as part of your future if Benny was in it. Yet, here you were: happy (ish) and Benny-less. Funny how the world works.  

You didn’t know why Benny took off or where he’d gone, but you did know one thing: Benny broke three hearts the day he left McCook. Johnny took Benny’s absence harder than the woman who married him and the woman who loved him. Johnny changed the day Benny left. He seemed to age two days for every one that passed. His laughter dried up and his leadership got sour. Between Cal, Zipco, and a few of the other old guard, the Vandals held themselves together, but everyone could see that the winds of change were brewing, and the MC was on the edge of a permanent change. All that was left to do was to hold your breath and wait.

You were with Johnny Davis the day he died. You remembered the way that young kid had shot him, point blank, in some old abandoned parking lot on the western edge of town. All the light was gone from Johnny’s eyes by the time you reached him. The Vandals you knew died with him in that weedy parking lot that night. 

Zipco left about a month later for Texas. He sent you a few postcards, called you a couple times. After a while, there wasn’t anything left to say. You never stopped sending him his favorite bottle of bourbon at Christmas. Every once in a while, a customer would come in from out of town and tell you that your shop was personally recommended to them by a drunk, grouchy old Latvian who worked on a shrimping boat outside of Corpus Christi. 

One by one, the new Vandals stopped coming into your shop for their repairs and tune-ups. That was fine with you. You didn’t recognize any of the newcomers, and you doubted they recognized you, apart from vague memories of seeing you drinking and laughing in Junker’s next to the guys that they considered to be the past. Cross Roads Bikes was about four years old at that point, and you’d built enough of a non-MC customer base to survive the turnover. The day Cal came in and told you he’d turned in his patch and was planning to head back out to California, you knew that your last tie with the club had been cut. In some ways, it was relieving, in other ways, terrifying. You and Cal got shitfaced together that night and told old war stories about all the guys you’d known and lost. You cried like a baby when, two weeks later, you were standing on the sidewalk, watching Cal’s taillight fade into the Illinois dark as he headed out to the West Coast for the next chapter of his life. 

Much to your surprise, it was Sheila and Becky, Johnny’s widow, who became your new club. They took to bringing you sandwiches at the shop and sitting on the counter with you for lunch breaks, telling the did you hear? kind of stories that bond people with a loose circle of mutual acquaintances together. It was easy and fun and all three of you seemed to know that this was it. If you all let yourselves drift away, who was going to tell stories about the guys you’d all known? About the Vandals’ early days, the glory days? You three were all that was left. Ironic, you thought. A men’s club, survived by three women. 

Your life fell into a pattern. Productive, purposeful, content with little stains of sadness at the edges. But mostly, a good life. You were happy, and getting used to it every day. At some point, your life became predictable.

That’s why, one crisp fall morning as you stumbled out of bed at 6:00am to the waiting pot of Zipco-strong coffee and the stack of yesterday’s mail on the counter, the last thing you were expecting to see was the outline of a man sitting on your front porch steps. The black leather jacket with an original Vandals patch on the back, the Harley parked across the street, the tousled blonde hair. It was a ghost of a memory. 

You opened the front door a crack and looked down on the profile of Benny Cross. He was looking up at the neon Cross Roads Bike sign that Johnny and the rest of the club had gifted to you for your one-year anniversary at the shop. When he looked up at you with those same old blue eyes, it was like stepping into a dream.

“Hey.”

You closed the door behind you, offering him your mug of coffee as you wrapped your robe around you against the chill. “Hey.”

He scooched over to make room for you to join him. You did, tucking your knees up against your chest for warmth. The cold concrete of your porch steps bit into your backside. 

“Looks good,” Benny commented softly, gesturing up at the Cross Roads sign. The text was superimposed over an image of a motorcycle - an all-black 1965 Harley Electra-Glide, to be exact. The same bike that happened to be sitting across the street from you, where Benny had parked it. 

“Yea, yea,” you agreed gently, looking up at the sign with a sad smile. “Hope you don’t mind, I stole your bike. And your name.” 

When you looked back at Benny, a half-smirk was spreading across his face. He looked the same, although you could see that the road had been riding him just as much as the other way around. You knew that life. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while, sharing the same cup of coffee and a cigarette, letting the sun rise above the rooftops across the street. It was a comfortable, companionable quiet. It was the first time since you’d met Benny that you didn’t have the burning desire to try and put your feelings into words. After almost ten years of your heart orbiting his, you realized in the cold November morning that you had finally learned how to let him go. It was a bittersweet feeling, and you knew you’d never be able to put it into words, even if you tried. So the two of you were quiet together. 

When the city began to wake up around you and the demands of another day couldn’t be ignored any longer, you rose from your seat - cursing the way the cold made your hips stiff - and offered him a hand to help him up. He took it, thick calluses on his palm from years of riding. He stood up, still tall enough to tower over you, his jacket thick with the smell of the road - leather, diesel fuel, sweat, and cigarettes. 

“How long you in town for?” you asked as you held the door open for him behind you. He followed you in, kicking off his dirty boots at the door. 

“Not sure,” he replied with a note of nervousness. “Depends on how long you’ll let me stay.”

You smiled to yourself, your back turned to him as you refilled your coffee mug and poured a fresh one for him. 

“I got plenty of room, and plenty of work for ya, Benny. Long as you promise that you won’t leave without sayin’ goodbye this time.” He accepted the coffee in your outstretched hand with a heartbreakers’ smile. 

“Funny you mention it. I hadn’t planned on leavin’ this time.” He looked at you with a question in his eyes. You weren’t entirely sure what the question was. Do you forgive me? Is this ok? Are you alright? Did you miss me?

Whatever he was asking, your answer was yes. A very simple word, and easily one you could have said. But, just like moments before, you found that words just wouldn’t suffice, even such a simple one. 

So you crossed the kitchen, dropping your coffee mug and letting it splinter into pieces on the tile floor, splashing hot coffee on your ankles, and wrapped your arms around him. Benny’s mouth tasted exactly how you remembered, and when he folded his arms around you, you swore your feet no longer touched the ground. He was warm and strong against you, and for every question he pressed through that kiss into your lips, you answered with an enthusiastic yes. 

As you floated away into the sky towards what you’d heard others call “cloud nine” from your kitchen, the rest of the words of that old poem came drifting back to you:

Of all the things that can create, love is the one I most appreciate.

One thing I’ve come to know, nothing kills you slower than letting someone go.

But I will also tell you this, coming back to life can happen in the space of a single kiss.

***********************

Taglist: @real-lana-del-rey @putherup @dontcrydaddy @gilli-vanilli @faephoria @summer56 @seresinhangmanjake @patrycqv @rose-deathman @bellesdreamyprofile @imusicaddict @bruher @ripvanwinklee @meninecanela @enchantedinfinity @landlockedmermaid77 @nctma15 @hearts444emily @kajasagmo @1800imgay @oh-you-mean-me @allie-jay @suspicious-stain-in-spain

[naomijoestar]

HELLO 😍I absolutely love the clown stand post! Can you do the same for Bucciarati gang as well?

Masterlist here <3

I’M SO GLAD YOU LOVED IT! Thank you @stretch-time for the idea <3 Also I sincerely apologize for the extremely late reply, I have been so busy! Requests are currently turned off until I complete the other asks I have in my inbox <3

(Stand side notes: it’s small in size but not as small as the sex pistols, stand abilities: cartoon physics type of stuff, you’ll understand what I mean when you read)

Bucci gang with a goth reader who has a cute clown stand

(La Squadra version here)

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno’s calm, serious demeanor doesn’t waver when he sees your clown stand for the first time. He’s trained himself not to judge a stand by appearances, but even he is taken aback by the sight of a bright, cheerful clown at your side. Giorno quickly assesses the potential of your stand, wondering what abilities could possibly match such a strange look.

He tests it by sending Golden Experience to strike. However, your clown pulls out a massive mirror, reflecting the punch back toward Golden Experience. Giorno’s eyes widen, and he steps back, reassessing his approach. The clown smirks, pulls out an oversized bucket, and dumps a seemingly endless stream of banana peels onto the ground, causing Golden Experience to slip and stumble.

Every time Giorno tries to counter, the clown anticipates it, pulling out ridiculous objects that disrupt his strategy: an anvil to block his punches, a giant mallet to deflect attacks, and even a cartoon bomb that sends Golden Experience flying back when it goes off. Giorno begins to respect your stand’s unique power, realizing that while it looks innocent, it’s a master of psychological warfare—each item it pulls out makes him question what absurd attack might come next. With a small, impressed smile, he finally says, “I underestimated you.”

Bruno Bucciarati

Bucciarati remains polite, even respectful, when he meets you. But his brows raise when he sees your cheerful, colorful clown stand. It doesn’t align at all with your goth aesthetic, which only makes him more curious. “Interesting choice,” he says, in a tone that’s equal parts admiration and confusion.

During your sparring session, Bucciarati sends Sticky Fingers in with a zipper punch, expecting a quick victory. However, your clown smirks, pulling out a giant hand mirror, which Sticky Fingers punches instead, causing the zipper to close around Bruno’s own fist. He watches, surprised, as your clown quickly sets up an obstacle course of oversized props: a giant spinning top that Sticky Fingers has to dodge, a pie that ends up splatting on Bucciarati’s face, and even a door that leads him in circles.

Despite this, Bruno begins to chuckle, realizing your stand’s playful nature is a surprisingly effective strategy. At one point, he zips through the air to get the upper hand, but your clown pulls out a huge net like a cartoon hunter, snaring him mid-zip and dropping him to the ground. Bucciarati finally laughs, wiping pie from his face. “You know, I expected a serious fight, but this is a refreshing change.”

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia takes one look at your clown stand and bursts out laughing, doubling over as he tries to catch his breath. “What is that? It’s adorable!” he snickers, clearly underestimating the threat. But his laughter quickly turns to surprise when your clown pulls out a toy slingshot and launches a rubber chicken at his face. The slap from the chicken’s beak leaves him blinking in shock as he wipes his nose, muttering, “Did that thing just hit me?”

Enraged, he summons Aerosmith, sending it diving toward the clown. But your stand pulls out an enormous balloon, which Aerosmith crashes into, its tiny propeller spinning uselessly against the inflated surface. Narancia’s jaw drops as the clown cheerfully waves at him before producing an enormous spray bottle labeled “Bug Repellent” and dousing Aerosmith with it, sending the miniature plane spiraling out of control.

Frustrated, Narancia shouts, “Alright, now you’ve done it!” But every move he makes is thwarted by the clown, who starts producing absurd obstacles for Aerosmith to dodge: fake trees, tunnels, even cartoonishly large bubbles that trap his stand inside for a few seconds. By the end, Narancia is out of breath and flustered, but even he has to admit, “Okay, that was kinda cool…but you better not tell anyone I said that!”

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio’s first reaction to your clown stand is a deadpan stare. He’s entirely unimpressed. “You’re kidding me, right?” he mutters, crossing his arms as he sizes up both you and your stand. He half-heartedly summons Moody Blues, not expecting much from a cutesy clown stand.

But the clown immediately bounces into action, producing a giant pair of glasses and plopping them onto Moody Blues’s face, temporarily blocking its vision. Abbacchio tries to remove them, but the clown has already pulled out an enormous pair of handcuffs and snapped them onto Moody Blues’s wrists, binding it in place. His eyes narrow, annoyed that his stand has been bested by something so ridiculous.

Growing more irritated, Abbacchio commands Moody Blues to break free, but the clown whips out a bucket of quick-drying cement, dumping it over the cuffs. Abbacchio watches, slack-jawed, as Moody Blues struggles, the cement hardening around its wrists, temporarily immobilizing it. When he finally frees his stand, he mutters a string of curses under his breath, annoyed but impressed by your clown’s effectiveness. “I’m not saying I respect it, but…fine. You win this round.”

Guido Mista

Mista laughs heartily the moment he sees your clown stand, nudging his Sex Pistols to join in. “A clown? That’s hilarious!” he says, grinning. But as soon as he gives the order to attack, the clown whips out a toy gun, pointing it at Mista with a mischievous glint in its eye. The Sex Pistols cheer, thinking it’s a joke, until the clown fires rubber bullets at them, each one sending a Pistol ricocheting off in surprise.

Annoyed, Mista sends more bullets your way, only for the clown to deflect each one with oversized comedy props: an umbrella that spins bullets back, a massive rubber glove that bats them away, and even a mirror that sends them flying back toward Mista. “Hey! That’s cheating!” he shouts, but the clown merely shrugs, honking its nose in response.

Frustrated, Mista tries to outsmart the clown, but each time he tries a new strategy, your stand counters with something even more absurd. Finally, the clown pulls out a comically large magnet, attracting all of Mista’s bullets and forcing him to back down. He’s left scratching his head, baffled. “Alright, I admit it. You got me. But that thing is still creepy in a weird way…”

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo’s analytical mind is immediately confused by your clown stand. “A clown? Is this some kind of joke?” he sneers, his impatience clear as he activates Purple Haze. He expects the battle to be quick, underestimating your stand entirely. But before Purple Haze can make its move, your clown snaps its fingers and produces an oversized gas mask, strapping it onto its face with a smug grin.

Purple Haze’s virus-filled fists swing toward the clown, only to be deflected by an enormous rubber mallet that sends it staggering back. Enraged, Fugo watches as the clown starts hurling ridiculous items at Purple Haze: pies filled with an anti-viral cream, a giant magnifying glass that shrinks Purple Haze’s hand momentarily, and even a huge eraser that somehow removes patches of Purple Haze’s virus fog temporarily.

Fugo’s patience wears thin as he tries to keep up with your clown’s unpredictable tactics. Each time he thinks he’s cornered it, the clown produces another cartoonish item to counter his moves. By the end, Fugo is seething, his face red with frustration. “I don’t understand how that thing works!” he snaps. You simply smirk, watching him struggle to make sense of your clown’s absurd yet effective abilities.

There it is! I hope the long wait was worth it, if you’d like anything specific added or anything changed you can always message me and I’ll fix it!

If you have anything specific you’d like me to write for any jjba character/squad parts 1-7 you can request it if my requests are open!

[devilmademewriteit]

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend’s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

AO3