#lets just get this out of the way instead of vaguing lmao
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build me up
sweet stepdad!leon x fem reader
tags: mdni. 18+. stepcest. afab reader. sex toys (dildo). slight voyeurism. masturbating. pet names. oral (f receiving). multiple orgasms. daddy kink. not proofread.
notes: first actual fic i'm posting in.. 2 years? pretty proud of myself even if i'm really rusty lmao anyway, this is based on an ask i sent to @lipglossanon of sweet stepdad, so hopefully i did it justice!
You didn't hear the creaking of the old wooden floors as Leon came home — you didn't even hear him call your name when he didn't find you in your usual spot on the worn couch. He said he would be working late tonight, that an emergency came up at the office and they needed his expertise. So, needless to say, you didn't realize he was watching you from your door, his tall and muscular body leaning against the frame, enjoying the show you were unknowingly putting on for him.
Quiet moans escape your lips, your face scrunching up in pleasure, as you work the toy in and out of you. You’re on your back, flimsy shirt pushed up so you can tease your perky nipples, while your other hand holds onto the thick base of the dildo, pushing as much of the length in as you could. A deep blush covers your cheeks and stretches down to your chest, coloring your skin with a pretty shade of pink. Your legs spread slightly more as he silently observes, almost as if your body knew of his presence, giving him a better view of your glistening pussy. Evidence of your arousal make the light shine off of your inner thighs and the silicone toy, drawing Leon's attention even more. Who could blame him for the way his cock twitches, stiffening at the irresistible sight in front of him.
"Feel good, sweetheart?"
You start from the sudden voice, eyes shooting open before they settle on him and you visibly relax, shoulders falling back to the mattress.
"My poor baby just couldn't wait for me, huh?" His voice is thick with arousal, the rough sound making your pussy clench around the thick dildo. Leon takes a few steps forward, licking his lips as his eyes rake over your captivating body. You open your mouth to say something — apologize, maybe — but he cuts you off before you get the chance. "Don't let me stop you. Keep going, darling."
You hesitate for a moment, suddenly feeling self conscious despite everything the two of you have done together. Masturbating and pleasuring yourself with a toy just seems so… intimate.
"Go on, show daddy how good you can take your little toy." Instead of teasing you like you initially anticipated, he watches you with rapt attention, palming the front of his jeans. A surge of arousal flows through you at the movement, feeling your heartbeat quicken at his heated gaze. Licking your lips, you nod shakily and begin moving the silicone dick again, quickly returning to your previous pace.
“Such a good girl,” Leon praises, grunting softly as he squeezes his shaft through the rough material. “You were made f’r taking cocks.” You gasp sharply at his words and rub at your clit with your other hand, feeling the familiar build up in your abdomen.
“D-daddy.” Your needy whine is barely audible over the loud squelching noises from your pussy. “G’nna cum.”
Leon hums, taking the last couple of steps necessary before he’s at the foot of your bed and climbing onto it. He walks on his knees, stopping in between your spread legs and placing his large hands on your thighs. “C’mon, baby. Wanna see your pretty face when you cream on this fake cock.” His touch sends electricity through you, rubbing your soft skin as your legs begin to tremble. You cry out his name as you feel a gush of slick oozing from your still stuffed cunt.
You’re only vaguely aware of your surroundings, the soothing timbre of his voice making the come down feel syrupy and slow. Blinking up at him, he smiles at you — a soft one, filled with adoration and love — before he leans forward to press light kisses to your neck.
“Did so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his slight stubble scratching against your skin, breath warm. “‘m so lucky to have a girl like you.”
You sigh contently, your fingers finding their way into his silky hair. One of his arms rests next to you, holding his weight up, the flexing muscle visible out of the corner of your eye. He continues to cover your throat in kisses, all sweet and caring, before his teeth gently scrape at your skin. It’s a barely there sensation, but it makes you whine nonetheless. Leon lifts his head enough to look you in the eyes, his hand trailing up your side before it stops at your ribcage.
“Want something, pretty baby?”
You nod, shivering at the warmth of his hand, your eyelashes fluttering shut. “Want you, daddy.”
He groans faintly and moves his hand up to cup your breast, kneading the fat gently and rolling your sensitive nipple between his fingers. “Mmm, so lucky…” Leon watches in reverence as you react to his touch, committing every single detail to memory. Ducking his head back down, he leaves a trail of wet kisses down to your soft tummy. When he moves his hand to grab at the toy that’s still partially in you, you expect him to replace it, filling you up with his thick fingers or fat cock like he always does.
But he doesn’t.
Your breath is knocked out of you as he pushes it back in.
The angle that he has allows the toy to penetrate you even deeper. Each thrust has his fingers brushing against your swollen clit, making you writhe in pleasure. You can barely keep your eyes open when the tip rubs that sweet spot, back arching off the bed.
“That’s it, baby,” He whispers. You aren’t even sure when it happened, but Leon’s mouth found its way back up your body, his tongue darting out to lick at your areola. His breath teases along your skin, your nipples hardening as he places more sloppy kisses around your breast. “Want you to feel good.”
Leon’s spent enough time with you to know how to coax an orgasm out of your body and he uses the knowledge to his advantage. He presses the toy as deep as it can go, the tip pushing against your cervix, making your legs kick out under him. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to lift a finger.” He uses his thumb to rub at your clit, fast circular motions that make you see stars.
“D-daddy, please,” you manage to whine out, panting as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. It’s hard to focus on anything other than where he’s touching you, making you feel lightheaded as another climax washes over you. A pleasant, almost numbing feeling courses throughout your entire body, your cunt weakly spasming around the toy as he slowly begins moving it, easing the fake dick out of you. You whimper at the drag of it against your raw pussy, but he just shushes you, pecking the corner of your lips.
“Such a good girl.” He mutters, tongue pushing easily into your mouth. Leon kisses you slowly, savoring each moment, until the need for air becomes too great for both of you. He’s breathing heavily as he pulls away, his eyes taking in your swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He just can’t get enough of you.
He shifts again, this time pressing his mouth against your lower thigh, right above your left knee. A high pitched whine leaves your throat when his lips travel higher. He gently nips your skin, his warm tongue soothing the slight pain that follows it. “Just one more, baby. Wanna clean your pretty pussy.”
He waits for your shaky nod, squeezing your doughy thigh lightly before he laps at the slick that’s still drooling from your cunt. You’re a little looser than usual from your earlier orgasms, so he can effortlessly press his hot tongue into your hole, fucking in and out. Your hips buck up, pushing his nose against your sensitive button. The vibrations from a deep moan makes you cry out his name, body thrashing weakly underneath him.
“Always so sweet,” he groans, drawing back slightly to sloppily kiss your clit. “Could spend ages here.” He sucks the bundle of nerves in between his lips, latching onto it, making your third climax sweep through you. You can’t even form a coherent thought as you coat his lower face with your cum, his tongue cleaning up everything he can.
You feel too spent to try and move, your entire body feeling heavy with exhaustion. He pulls away from your sore pussy, pressing a loving kiss to your stomach. You don’t catch what he says as your eyes begin to droop, but when you open them again, he’s carefully wiping your thighs with a wet towel. You make a low whining sound, looking at him with pleading eyes, wanting him to come closer. He smiles as he notices you’re awake, gently brushing his lips against your forehead.
“Feelin’ alright, darling? I didn’t overdo it, did I?” He grabs a water bottle that he must’ve brought with him, offering it to you.
“‘m fine,” you mumble groggily. “Just tired now.”
He hums and opens the bottle for you, helping you drink some, before laying you back down fully. You fight to stay awake longer, but your body feels drained and the warmth of Leon holding you against his chest makes it nearly impossible. You drift off to sleep as his hands rub your back soothingly, whispering hushed praises against your head.
#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy#resident evil smut#resident evil x reader#stepdad leon#perce.doc#resident evil#.resi
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hi!! first of all, i am a frequent reader(???) of your blog because your writing is immaculate and you seem so sweet and fun to talk to you, thank you so much for all the work that you do
second of all, i really hope your request are indeed open so that i am not spamming you🫶 in case they are closed, i am so very sorry and freely ignore this
I was wondering if i could request a little reader x either james or if the spark comes to do poly! i will NEVER say no to that lmao, where the reader seemingly out of nowhere starts feeling down, voicing that she doesn't think she's a good person? because she thought of all the friendships and extremely close people that left her and she just feels hurts and confused?
need some hurt/comfort rn, i know i am a little mean, and probably not the nicest person out there, but thinking of all the failed friendships/folks that i loved so dearly makes me feel like perhaps i am not a good person and that thought plagues me a bit ng
either way, thank you so much in advance, i hope you are well, getting to take care of yourself and have a lovely rest of day, evening of whenever you are reading this!
Thanks for requesting honey, love you <3
James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words
James is talking to you about the movie he wants to go see, and if you were a better girlfriend—if you were better, period—you’d be listening, chipping in occasionally but mostly just letting him talk with the same adoring attentiveness he always gives you. But instead, you’re still stuck in the pub you’d left a few minutes ago, watching the surprise play over Sirius’ features. The flash of something you suspect might have been hurt in his cool gray eyes before he covered it up with skillful quickness.
“And whatever I say, I can’t seem to lure the boys to another sci fi film,” James goes on, “so I’m afraid you might be conscripted for that one.”
“Okay.”
“Really?” The disbelief in James’ voice brings you back to attention. “I thought you’d have more qualms after that last one.”
You did swear to James that he’d never be dragging you to another of his nerd movies again. But maybe this is your opportunity to turn over a new leaf. “You want to see it, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then we’ll go.”
The two of you walk under a streetlight, giving you a clear view of your boyfriend’s skeptical expression. “You’re really alright with it? We can go see that new rom com instead, if you want.”
See, this is the problem with being around James. He’s so, so good. It makes you seem even worse in contrast. And he makes it impossible to be selfless, because he always has to be the most giving person in any situation. It makes you want to cry from both love and frustration.
“Let’s just go to the one you want to see,” you say, and despite your best intentions the words come out with a slight edge.
“Alright,” he says slowly. Now you can feel his eyes on you, your own gaze vaguely ahead as you keep pace alongside him on the sidewalk. You live in a more shadowy part of town, but the clouds obscuring the moon make the darkness complete. James’ voice is tentative. “Hey, are you okay?”
You chew your bottom lip. “Do you think I upset Sirius earlier?”
“You mean that joke you made?” It doesn’t help your anxiety that he knows exactly what you mean. No chance it flew completely under everyone else’s radar, then. “No, he was fine.”
“You don’t think he looked…I don’t know, shocked? Like his feelings were hurt?”
James’ gaze burns into the side of your head, but you won’t look at him. “No, angel. I think your sense of humor can be a little…” he fumbles for the right word, and a worm of unease writhes in your gut “...brash, sometimes, but Sirius is made for that stuff. The last person you’re going to offend with that is him. He gets it.”
You sigh and nod, doing your best to convince yourself he’s telling the truth.
“Hey.” He bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “What’s going on in that head of yours? I can hear you thinking.”
“I just don’t really know if I’m a good person.”
Your voice is quiet, but you know James hears you perfectly. His steps actually fumble for a second, like he might stop in his tracks.
“Of course you are,” he says. “I mean—listen, of course I would lie to you even if you weren’t, though I guess we probably wouldn’t be together if I thought you were a bad person, but—anyway, you are. You are a good person.”
You force a laugh, ignoring how your throat contracts around it. “Sorry. I know you’d lie to make me feel better, Jamie. You’re too nice.”
“I would,” James acknowledges, following as you go up the front steps to your apartment and dig around in your bag for your key. “But I’m not right now.” He ducks his head as you twist your key in the lock, jockeying for a view of your face. “Sweetheart, why would you think that?”
“I don’t know,” you mumble as you step inside. You set your keys down on the table by the door and knead at your chest, but it does nothing to relieve the hollow ache forming there.
“Yeah you do,” James says softly, hot on your tail. “I know you, you don’t just say these things. Come on.” He takes your shoulders in his hands, trapping you, and you drop your gaze to avoid meeting his eyes. (You know how that goes. They make you feel all soft and melty and get you to talk and talk and talk.) “I can’t be fully honest with you if you’re not honest with me,” he says.
“I just know—I know I can be really mean sometimes.” Your voice cracks on mean, and James tightens his grip on you, holding you together while you crumble. The pressure in your throat is hot and thick, but it feels so good to cry. Like your outsides finally match your insides. “I want to be better but I don’t know how.”
“Sweetheart.” James’ voice sounds like heartbreak. His hands slide from your shoulders, wrapping around your upper back and squeezing painfully. “Darling, you don’t need to be better. Or, not more than anyone else. You’re already a good person.”
You make a miserable choked sound, frustrated with him for only telling you what you want to hear and frustrated with yourself for not knowing better.
“You are,” he says, half desperate. “Know how I know?”
You take your face from his shoulder, eyeing guiltily the glossy wetness of your tears and snot on his jumper. James takes your face in a big hand, finally succeeding in angling it towards him.
He’s giving you a little smile despite his own watery eyes and the deep crinkle between his brows. He takes your look as enough prompting to go on.
“Because bad people don’t worry about if they’re good people, angel.” The words are emphatic, beseeching. Begging you to understand. “They don’t try to do the right thing. You being worried about Sirius is just proof that you care. Do you think a bad person would get themselves so worked up” —he thumbs at the wet skin underneath your eye, smiling thinly— “over whether they’re being too mean? That just doesn’t happen, love.”
You swallow thickly, letting James press a solid kiss to your temple. He holds your face between his hands like you’re something special. Something worth having.
“I wouldn’t be with someone who was always being actually mean to my friends,” he tells you, voice dropping into a lower register. You know he’s being sincere. James would never let anything happen to Sirius or Remus, certainly not by someone he’d brought into their orbit. “But we all know you don’t mean anything cruel by the things you say. It can be a little…”
“Brash?” you supply, and James smiles.
“Yeah,” he admits, “sometimes. Anyone who knows you doesn’t take it personally, though. You’re kind in your own way, it’s just not always what people are used to.” James tilts his head, assessing your expression and giving you full view of the earnestness in his in turn. “You’re a good person, sweetheart. And please don’t worry about being that kind of mean to Sirius, alright? He can take it.”
#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x you#james potter x y/n#james potter x self insert#james potter fanfiction#james potter fanfic#james potter fic#james potter hurt/comfort#james potter fluff#james potter imagine#james potter drabble#james potter scenario#james potter blurb#james potter oneshot#james potter one shot#marauders#the marauders#marauders era#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#hp marauders
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Stuffed Full
Yandere - Gojo Satoru x CursedKitty! Reader x Geto Suguru
A/N - Again another part of CursedKitty universe! This is basically a smut series at this point but im not complaining lmao, this was partly requested by a lovely anon, which i also mixed with a request from someone on AO3 <333 Ty my lovess, ive been so busy recently and ive been getting little sleep but ive finally got another part for you all, they seem to get longer and longer lmao, And thank you all so much for all the love on my CursedKitty Universe <3333 It means a lot to me that you all enjoy it so much, i love to read any comments you guys leave it really makes my day :,) <333333 Ily all so much i hope you enjoy my second written smut ever </3 If you want to request anything feel free! <3
summary - You beg them for cock so don't be surprised when you get two.
warnings - she kinda begs for it so ig consensual? But Dubcon to be safe, female anatomy, smut, two cocks in one hole, double stuffed, clit play, squirting, a lot of cum, lots of praise, dumbification? i think so, very vague yandere vibes but theres something there, crying during sex, overstimulation? probably, shes desperate lol, heat vibes, (let me know if i need to add more please)
genre - Oneshot
wc - 2.3k
-not edited yet, will be soon-
It’s the end of the day when Geto and Gojo come back to see Kitty. They arrive at the high end apartment complex and start making their way up to the top. It’s paid for by Gojo who has the most money amongst the two of them, but Geto pitches in with the bills every now and then and food stock when they want to stay here instead.
It wasn’t often that they’d use Gojos apartment, but it was nice for some privacy every now and then. True privacy. It was also good during their vacation times. It’s especially come in handy now that they have a cute little kitty to look after.
They only keep things stocked really for them since Kitty doesn't need to eat any human food, but every now and then she gets curious about the snacks they eat. Being able to smell the scent of the chicken broth, or Gojo’s sweets looking particularly alluring with bright colors and fluffy insides.
So they’d feed her every now and then while she has fun enjoying the new tastes and textures in her mouth. Besides, they have fun too, pulling her into their laps and squeezing her hips and flesh while she nibbles on the soft sweets in their hands and licks the remaining scraps off of their fingers.
When they get to the door Gojo begins unlocking it and they make their way inside. Runes decorate the door on the inside, as well as every window in the apartment. Just a precaution they’re taking to ensure she doesn't accidentally escape, to keep her contained.
Gojo lets his bag slump to the floor while he stretches obnoxiously, looking forward to the entire week off they have with Kitty. Geto trails in behind him and actually hangs his bag up, closing the door behind him he calls out, “Kitty cat, where are you?”
A shuffle and thump could be heard down the hallway before the pitter patter of bare feet on the floor could be heard coming towards them. When Kitty rounds the corner she practically pounces on the first person she can see.
Her hands immediately gravitate towards Getos trousers, where she tries tugging and pulling on them in an attempt to get to what's inside.
A startled sound escapes Geto as he instinctively grabs onto her wrists and pulls her hands away from his dick. Now holding her squirming arms in the air his brows furrow as he looks to Gojo.
“Don’t look at me!” he says, holding his own hands up in the air in a mocking act of surrender. He’s leaned up against the back of the couch, one leg hooked over the other as he watches on in amusement from behind his glasses. “What’s got her so riled up?”
Geto huffs and looks back down at the squirming curse in his arms. She’s resorted to crying, large drops of tears trickling down her cheeks and dripping off of her chin. Her bottom lip is wobbling and she's looking up at Geto almost pleadingly.
The more the two men take in the curse the more they notice and the more curious they get. They notice the light sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, the way her thighs try and rub themselves together and the sticky wet sounds they make when they do.
Geto seems to clock it a second before Gojo does. Cooing down at the Kitty caught in his arms he practically purrs, “Awh, such a good kitty, were you trying to ask for my cock? Is that it? Need my cock to make yourself feel better?”
She's blubbering, pretty tears still falling down her cheeks as her hands still try and squirm away from his hold. She seemed to register his words at least somewhat as she looked down to his trousers again before looking back up at him with those begging eyes.
God, he can already feel himself hardening in his boxers.
“Oh? Kitty is asking to be stuffed, is she? This is a first.” Gojo says, already standing up and making his way to the bedroom.
Geto follows shortly behind him, lightly dragging Kitty along with him as she fumbles over her steps, his strides being bigger than hers. He hums in response to Gojo. Gently sitting Kitty down onto the ruffled sheets. It's clear she was in them before they got home.
Gojo grabs onto Kitty and pulls her further up the bed, pushing her onto her front when she tries to grab at his trousers as well. He keeps his hand on her head and pulls her hips up with the other, flipping the loose shirt over her ass and hips to rest on her arched back.
Her hips wiggle and Gojo groans. He brings one hand up to massage her ass, fondling and gripping the flesh. “She’s dripping Sugu.” He murmurs, voice dropping a few octaves and becoming husky.
Her tail had been curled around one of her thighs the entire time, some of the fur wet with slick as it uncurled itself and rested against her back, the tip flicking back and forth every now and then.
His hand pushing her head into the sheets briefly massages her scalp when she starts whining, becoming restless. A gentle purr starts up in her chest while her ears flatten against her head but she still continues to squirm.
“Okay Kitty, don't worry you’ll get your milk soon.” He brings the hand that was groping her flesh to his zipper, pulling down his trousers just past his hips, his boxers following shortly after. He spits in his hand and takes his already hard cock, giving himself a few quick pumps before lining himself up to her pulsing hole and pushing his way in.
He leans over her, one hand still keeping her head down while the other goes back to gripping onto her hip, no doubt bruising the flesh beneath his fingers. His glasses slide down his nose as he finishes sheathing himself inside of her.
Her little hands are resting either side of her head while gripping the sheets beneath. Her eyes are half lidded and small pants leave her open mouth, leftover tears dribble over her water line and soak into the sheets below her.
Gojo groans squeezing his eyes shut tight while his chest heaves, her tight walls still trying to suck him in further while they pulsate and flutter around his hard cock.
When his eyes open again he catches Geto’s gaze from where he's standing at the edge of the bed in front of Kitty’s head. “You didn’t waste any time, huh?” he says while raising an eyebrow.
“I was already hard and besides, she was begging for it.” Gojo responds after catching his breath.
“You didn’t even prep her.”
“She can take it.”
“Can she?”
“Are you jealous I got here first Sugu?”
Geto goes quiet for a second at that while they stare each other down. It’s only when Kitty starts trying to move her hips and whine again that he speaks up. “So what if I am?”
It’s Gojos turn to go quiet for a second until he blurts out, “I’m sure she can take two.”
Geto stares at him in shock as a small smirk graces Gojos face, his glasses slid down far enough that his eyes are exposed. A glint of mischief and lust present in the irises.
Geto sighs before smirking himself, “I guess we’ll find out.”
Gojo huffs out a laugh before reaching under Kitty and pulling her up with him so they're both kneeling on the sheets. She yelps when he pulls her up, his cock moving inside of her, before leaning against his chest. He rests his head between her fluffy ears while watching Geto climb onto the bed and kneel in front of Kitty.
Geto unzips his trousers and pulls them just below his hips exactly like Gojo did. The impatience getting to him as he eyes her dripping pussy being stuffed full with Gojos cock. He brings one hand between her legs to swirl loose circles around her engorged clit while he pulls his cock out.
Kitty squeals and her hips jolt at the sudden contact of his cold fingers to her hot flesh. She begins mewling at the consistent pleasure to her nub while Gojos cock presses against all her sensitive spots from inside. Her ears are pressed flat to her head while she twitches and gasps in his arms. Her hands grasping on tightly to the arm wrapped around her middle holding her up.
“Can feel her squeezing me.” Gojo murmurs into her hair, head tilted slightly so he can watch Getos fingers pleasure the cursed kitty in his arms.
Geto shuffles forward a bit more so he's pressed against Kittys front, her perky breasts squished between them while he stops circling her clit to rest the hand on her hip. The hand still gripping tight on his cock guids it to her already stuffed hole.
“It’s going to be a tight fit.” Is all he says before trying to squeeze his way inside the desperate Kitty they caught.
She wails at the extra intrusion, Gojo trying to calm her down with hushes and coos, using his hands to caress her flesh. When Geto is about half way in he stops for a second to groan and pant, murmuring about how tight she is before pushing the rest of the way in.
Kitty squeals at the feeling, being stuffed full with two cocks overwhelming her senses. She's mewling and blubbering, the pretty tears from before had returned to caress her cheeks. Geto joins Gojo in rubbing and whispering to Kitty, giving her a second to get used to them together. They weren’t that cruel.
Gojo brings his hands up to fondle and massage her Kitty ears, helping her relax faster as a small purr tries building in her chest, Geto continuing his caresses over her hips, sides of her breasts, shoulders and back.
It’s Gojo that starts moving first, beginning to thrust in her tight walls the smallest amount. Geto’s breath catches at the feeling before he begins to do the same.
They’re alternating between thrusts, whenever Gojo pulls out a bit, Geto pushes in. They’ve resorted to resting their hands on parts of her flesh to give them something to hold onto as they pick up the pace.
Gojo has one hand on her hip and the other arm wrapped around her middle. Geto has one hand on the other hip and the other hand holding the back of her head, pressing her into him more.
The more their pace picks up, the louder Kitty gets, sputtering and gurgling between the two of them, gasping and mewling as well. Her little pussy was stretched to its limit, pulsing and gushing at the unrelenting pleasure. It was getting easier and easier for the two to move inside her from all the slick she was producing.
When they’re finally at a consistent pace they both lean down to whisper and murmur in her ears, barely making out words of, “Such a good girl.”, “Such a pretty little Kitty, taking us so well.”, “Letting us fuck you at the same time, naughty Kitty.”, “ You’re my perfect little curse aren’t you?”, “God, listen to your pussy taking us so well.”
Neverending praises being fed to her while they pounded her with their cocks.
She's almost sobbing by the time they’re about to cum, her chest heaving, cheeks and chest flushed, eyes lidded while the tip of her tongue pokes out of her mouth, droplets of tears still fresh in her eyes.
When the two of them start panting and groaning, their rhythm starts to get sloppy, one of them reaching down with two fingers to rub and flick over the exposed nub. The juices that have dripped onto the sheets below provide more than enough lube to smoothly glide over the flesh.
They can both feel her tense up around them, an inhuman shriek leaving her as her whole body shakes. Gojo throws his head back and starts fucking into her with a rabid pace, chasing his orgasm with Geto. Her walls suddenly tense up further, almost making it impossible for them to move as her walls pulse and gush fluid, squirting out juices onto both of their cocks and soaking the sheets below them.
Kitty goes limp between the two of them. Holding her up while they finish groaning and moaning, fucking their orgasm up into her.
None of them move or say anything for a few minutes after they finish cumming. Leaning against each other while they try and catch their breath.
Eventually Gojo pulls out, bringing a whine out of the overstimulated Kitty in his arms. More of her juices, now mixed with their cum, drip from her hole, onto the ruined sheets below and down the length of Getos cock which was still inside of her.
No one says anything as Geto shuffles the both of them up the bed a little before collapsing onto his back, Kitty tucked into his chest with an arm going around her back and the other burying itself into her hair to massage the base of her ears.
A few light mewls escape her as another gentle purr begins building up in her chest, content now after being stuffed to the max.
Gojo comes back a few minutes later, collapsing into a pile on the sheets next to the pair after having run a bath for them all to relax in.
He looks over at the two, making eye contact with Kitty as she gazes at him with half lidded eyes. The small purr audible if you listen in closely. Gojo reaches over with one hand to caress her cheek. Dancing the tips of his fingers under her eyes and down the sides of her face.
“We really picked a cutie, didn't we Sugu?” Gojo murmurs.
Geto hums in response, voice husky, “Never letting her go.”
Gojo huffs a laugh as he brings his hand back to join the other tucked behind his head. “Wouldn't dream of it. Our pretty little curse.”
#Enjoy my second attempt at smut <3#geto x reader#gojo x reader#geto suguru#gojo saturo#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere geto#yandere geto suguru#yandere gojo#yandere gojo satoru#CursedKitty#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#gojo x reader x geto#gojo smut#geto smut
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hello, gallagher aventurine and dr ratio with an asuka!reader?
(teen!reader who despite being a kid, acts grown up and wants to be seen as an adult)
As someone who absolutely LOVES Asuka (Although Rei is still my all-time favorite, and idk what that says about me lmao-) I absolutely adore this request, Anon!! So thank you so much for this ask, and I hope you'll like this!<33
Content: Platonic relationships, slight angst, older brother figures hsr men, teen reader, vague mentions of potential childhood trauma regarding reader, sfw
Reader has no set pronouns!
((Not proofread))
》GALLAGHER
Gallagher found your rather bratty behavior quite amusing, which is why he simply played along at first. You often helped him out in the bar and it was kind of funny to see you trying to act like an adult, even going as far as ordering him around.
He knew that it was most likely all because of an underlying issue from your past, but he wasn't the type to confront you on it immideatly. Instead, he simply let you do your thing whilst making sure you were still having fun deep down.
He also makes sure to let you know that you can talk to him whenever you want to open up or just need some advice on things. He's patient and has all the time in the world for you. And even if you never open up to him, he'll make sure that your life is relatively easy anyway, so that you can still be a kid in peace.
》DR. RATIO
Both of you are awfully stubborn, and it shows whenever you two get into a daily argument over the most smallest things. He knows something is wrong with you deep down, but he also just doesn't have the patience needed whenever you tell him off again for daring to insinuate that you are indeed still just a child. And yet, as frustrated as he can get sometimes, he still tries his best to be the bigger person in the end. He is above arguing with a kid... but God do you make it hard sometimes to keep that up.
With that said, he tries to compromise with your need to feel like an adult by simply giving you much harder subject matters that are way above your grade level. And unsurprisingly to him ofcourse, this seemed to work and quell your angers.
You really just wanted to be respected as an equal to him, and so he let you work up to it, knowing you'd get there eventually.
》AVENTURINE
Similar to Gallagher, he finds your attitude rather amusing at first, although there was still some seriousness in him regarding your situation. You were hellbent on being seen as an adult, so much so that you'd talk back, get into fights and ignore all his orders just for a slither of recognition from him. You thought that all of this would make you into an adult, but alas, it just made you look more like the hurt child you were deep down.
After observing your behavior for a while, Aventurine eventually makes his move and calmly asks you why you want to be an adult so badly over a game of cards. He knew he'd be met with alot of attitude at first, but when he dug deeper, he finally figured out that you simply wanted to be taken seriously. He reassures you afterward that he never doubted your abilities, as he let's you win for the first time ever.
Alrighttttt!! I hope this was okay, Anon, and thank you again for your request!<33
#honkai star rail#honkai star rail fanfic#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#hsr x reader#hsr#hsr x y/n#hsr gallagher x reader#hsr gallagher#gallagher x reader#gallagher x you#dr. ratio#dr. ratio x reader#dr. ratio x you#hsr dr ratio#ratio x reader#ratio x you#veritas ratio#hsr veritas#hsr aventurine x reader#hsr aventurine#aventurine x reader#aventurine#aventurine x y/n#aventurine x you#aventurine honkai star rail#aventurine hsr
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All Settled
Rick Flag x F!Reader
(past: Rick Flag x June Moone)
For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: caught in a storm
Warnings: 18+, language, pining, arguing, light angst
Word Count: 3.1k
A/N: They're aruging, they're pining, they're stuck in an airport together. We love to see it! also idk i might write more for these two eventually I'm not sure i just don't know but there are Vibes i might explore later lmao
Suicide Squad Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon @beardburnsupersoldiers @words-and-seeds (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)
It was perfect, really. Not in the way that it was good, but in the way that it happened and all you could do was laugh, shake your head, and think to yourself, “Of fucking course.”
“This funny to you?” Rick asked, clearly not as amused as you as he dropped his bag to the floor with a loud thud. It wasn’t nearly as loud as the clap of thunder that sounded right before he’d spoken to you, though.
“I mean,” you said with a shrug, also letting your bag slip down off your shoulders, albeit with less drama, “it’s a little funny to me, yeah.”
He shook his head, scuffing the toe of his boot along the tiled floor. You could tell by that and the tightness of his jaw alone that he was fighting the urge to punt his own bag across the floor. “Glad you think so.”
You didn’t let it faze you—Rick and his short fuse weren’t anything new to you at this point. “Yeah, because getting mad about it like you are seems to be so much better.”
He opened his mouth to fire back at you, but he stopped himself when he saw the traces of amusement on your face, that you were just going to take whatever he said to you in that moment and flip it right back onto him. You were one of the few people in the world that he would request time and time again to assist with Task Force X whenever he could, whenever he got enough leash to bring in an extra body on his side of things. But it didn’t make him any less annoyed with you in moments like this.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot, Flag,” you said as you dropped into one of the many empty chairs behind you. Lightning flashed outside, bright light coming through all the airport windows for a split second. “We’ll be outta here first thing in the morning.”
He shook his head, trying to figure out if he wanted to pace and be angry about the situation, or sit down next to you and be angry about it instead. His exhaustion won out just enough to get him to sink down into the chair beside yours.
“Made it through all that shit, and we get stuck on the layover. That’s,” he shook his head, “that’s just…”
“Perfect,” you finished for him with a laugh. You looked over at him, watching as he shook his head and tried not to look like he wanted to laugh right along with you. “Look at the bright side,” you stretched your legs out in front of you, crossing one over the other, “least we didn’t get stuck in this storm with the rest of the team.”
The sigh he puffed out turned into a laugh, shaking his head as he thought about the scenario you’d just put into his head. “Fuckin’ A.”
“Exactly.” You let your head drop back to rest against the top of the seat. You stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds in silence before saying, “We should’ve gotten a hotel room.”
Now it was his turn to laugh at you. “Seriously? We’ve been stuck out,” he gestured vaguely, not wanting to say exactly where even though there weren’t many people around, “you know, and you’re gonna bitch about sleeping in an airport?”
Turning your head to look at him, you raised your eyebrows and replied, “I’m off the clock, Rick—I’d like to sleep in a real bed if at all possible.”
He chuckled, shaking his head at you. “Poor thing,” he mocked.
You laughed, elbowing his arm off the rest that separated your chair from his. Like he had any right to give you grief about complaining at this point. “Fuck you.”
Neither of you said anything for a bit after that. The two of you sat there in your insanely uncomfortable airport chairs, with posture that wasn’t fit at all for the caliber of soldier that the both of you were. Both of you were watching the few people who were stuck at the airport with you. Your flight had been one of the last, but it seemed like a couple others that were scheduled to leave late got pushed off until the morning. No one was dedicated enough to getting a hotel room to go outside in the rain and wind to get a cab. So you watched everyone putting together makeshift beds of their own out of their luggage, draping themselves across chairs. Whatever it took to be at least mildly comfortable.
You’d been still and quiet for so long that Rick thought that you might’ve fallen asleep. Tilting his head, he glanced over at you to find you very much awake. Your eyes were fixed on the small cluster of people who were at the gate across from yours. Among them was a woman with two children, young enough that they thought this was all so fun and exciting.
“Why do you always say yes?” he asked you, watching you as you watched everything around you.
Your face contorted in confusion but you still didn’t turn to face him. “Hm?”
“When I put in the request for you, why do you always say yes?”
You chuckled, finally facing him. “Why do you keep requesting me?”
“’Cause I know you won’t let me get shot.”
You laughed at that, trying not to be too loud as everyone continued to hunker down to go to sleep. “Yea, I guess that’s fair.” You pulled your legs up, feet resting on the edge of your seat as you wrapped your arms so that your hands interlocked and rested on your shins. “Maybe I just like making sure you don’t get shot.”
He smiled, a tiny grin that was briefly illuminated by another strike of lightning. “Can’t like it that much.”
You arched your brow. “Want me to start saying no? Leave the big bad Colonel all on his own?”
He shook his head at you. “Not what I said. I just, I don’t know.” He crossed his arms, letting them rest over his stomach as he looked at the same place you’d just been looking. “You always seemed like you were looking to settle down. This,” he laughed, “this shit ain’t settled.”
You hummed in amusement as you nodded. “It’s not.” You paused. “I’m just, I don’t know, guess I haven’t really found someone to settle with yet. Not gonna give this up with no reason to.” You waited for him to look at you. “Lucky for you, though, huh?”
He nodded, gave you a quick smirk, but he didn’t say anything else in response. You couldn’t tell if there was more that he wanted to say. Either way, it didn’t matter much. He sunk down a little farther in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him. The heel of his boots rested just on the far side of his ridiculously large duffle bag, ensuring that no one would be able to try and snatch it without him noticing. You shook your head at the precaution—it didn’t seem like anyone in present company was going to want any of his fatigues and t-shirts that hadn’t been washed in a week. You let him have that, though. You watched as his chin dropped and tucked towards his chest, eyes falling closed even though he probably wouldn’t actually fall asleep for a long time.
“Think you’re ever going to?” you asked, propping your chin on your knees as you did.
His eyes were still shut as he asked, “Ever gonna what?”
“Settle down?”
His eyes slowly opened, muscles tensing as he processed the two-word question. “I don’t know.”
You were nearly kicking yourself for ruining the moment. Things were fine. You didn’t have to pry, but you did it anyway. You just couldn’t let things lie—it was a habit you always meant to work on and never got around to it.
“Sorry,” you said, your voice tentative in a way that it hardly ever was with anyone, least of all with Rick.
He looked at you, brows meeting in confusion. “For what?”
You knew that answering the question was just going to dig a deeper hole, but you also knew that you weren’t going to be able to ignore the question, either. Stubbornness was one of the traits that you and Rick shared.
You shrugged, wishing that you could pull your legs in farther, make yourself smaller and disappear out of this conversation. “It’s not my business. I know that…it’s just…I know since June you sorta just—”
“Got it,” he cut you off.
You fought the urge to sigh with everything in you. You were annoyed with yourself, but you were annoyed with him too. “Right.”
There was just enough of a shift in your tone to keep him hooked into the conversation, even though it was evident that neither of you wanted to continue it. “What?”
You shook your head. “I’m not doing this with you, Rick.” He went to try and argue but you kept talking before he could. “You don’t wanna talk about it so we’re just, we’re not gonna talk about it. Forget I fuckin’ said anything.” There was a long stretch of silence and before you could use any impulse control you said, “But to be fair, you asked me first.”
He sighed. “We doin’ this right now?”
“What this are you referring to, exactly?” you snapped, voice hushed. The rain beating down and echoing against the roof helped to hide some of your conversation.
“Since when do you wanna talk about that? About all my shit? About, about June?” He hesitated on it but he still managed to get the question out. You couldn’t remember the last time he actually said her name.
You were too caught up in your frustration to empathize about it though. “Are you serious?” You let your feet drop back to the floor, adjusting yourself in your chair so that your entire torso was turned and facing him. “You’re gonna sit there and pretend that I’m the one who never wanted to talk about it?” You scoffed. “Fuck’s sake, Rick. The only reason I found out the two of you broke up in the first place was because Boomer made some asshole comment and you nearly tossed him out of the helicopter. You have never wanted to talk to me about all of that. About anything, really.”
Rick’s fists were clenched at his sides, trying to keep himself from getting too defensive but you weren’t making it easy for him. You never did. He didn’t make it easy for himself, either. “Hey—”
“Actually, now that I think about it,” you cut him off, “you never talk to me about anything outside of work. You know all about me, but I don’t know shit about—”
“That’s not true,” he interjected, voice firm enough to give you pause. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
Your shoulders slumped in defeat at that. He wasn’t wrong. But you weren’t completely wrong either. You both knew plenty about each other but there were always a series of walls that Rick kept up, ones that you never got around to building for yourself. Moments like that made it hard not to feel the distance.
“Whatever,” you finally said, not wanting to give in and actually tell him that he was right.
He was still shaking his head at you as he went back to staring at his boots. “Don’t know why you care so much anyway—not like you ever liked her.”
“What? I,” you sputtered as you shook your head, “I had no problem with June. What are you talking about? I barely even knew her.”
It was true. Outside of the events of Midway City, you had next to no contact with June. Rick was pretty much her sole protective detail, hence how the rest of their entire situation played out. You were part of his team that time around too, although despite being his right hand, you were far from the top of his priority list the way that you were all the times after that when you guys handled ops together. But that was the only time you ever really spent around June, and to say that you really spent it with her would’ve been a stretch even under the most forgiving circumstances. But still, you never had a problem with her.
He let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle—either way it was full of attitude. “Right.”
You huffed, shaking your head. “Fuck you.”
You angled yourself away from him, turning your body so that you were facing forward again. Part of you wanted to get up and walk to another part of the airport. It would’ve been pointless, though. In just a few more hours the two of you would be sitting next to each other on the plane anyway. There was no escaping him until the trip was over. For a split second, you let yourself indulge in the thought that maybe next time you’d say no when he asked you to tag in.
“Should’ve gotten out when she did,” you mumbled.
You heard the sound of his clothes rustling as he turned to look at you. “What was that?”
You didn’t hesitate, not looking at him but speaking just a little louder, and a whole lot clearer. “I said you should’ve gotten out when she did.” You turned and looked at him, wanting to hit him with the full weight of what you were going to say next. “Maybe then you’d still—”
“Don’t fuckin’ go there,” he said, tone low but brimming with anger.
You rolled your eyes, slumping back against the chair. “Yes, sir.”
There were only about ten seconds between your response and him speaking up again, but those seconds felt like hours to Rick as he tried to force himself to just be honest instead of angry for once. Or at least be honest while he was being angry.
“It was because I wouldn’t give it up,” he finally said, bitterness coating his voice.
Your face scrunched in confusion for a moment before you turned your head to look at him. “What?”
“She left because I wouldn’t give it up. She wanted nothing to do with any of it after everything that happened. I got that. She was just waiting for me to walk away from it too.”
“You got into this shit for her—why didn’t you walk away?”
“Think Waller was just gonna let me walk?”
You shrugged. “Not at first. But she’d get tired of fighting you eventually.” You paused. “She probably would’ve ended your entire military career though.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed, “no thanks.”
“How long did it take her to realize you weren’t gonna quit?” you asked, figuring that if he was gonna open the door you might as well take a peek inside.
He shook his head. “Longer than it should’ve for someone as smart as she is.”
“Love makes you stupid.”
He let out a laugh, one that was one part sadness, one part humor. “Yeah, it does.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be. Not on you.”
“You really love this shit, huh?” you asked, really processing the full weight of what he was telling you. Rick had turned his whole life on its head to save June. He said it himself that she was the only woman he’d ever really cared about. From the way he was acting during everything leading up to what happened at Midway City, you were certain that he would’ve done anything for her. But apparently not.
If he laughed you couldn’t hear it over the rumbles of thunder. “’Bout as much as I hate it.” He looked over at the windows for a moment, able to see the rain pelting down in the dark, then he looked back at you. “Stupid, right?”
You chuckled quietly. “That’s how you know you love it.”
“What’s your excuse, then?” he asked. “Because I know you sure as shit don’t love this.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling in the hopes that it would hide all of the thoughts that were racing through your brain because of his question. “Just an adrenaline junkie now, I guess.” You looked over at him. “Regular military ops just don’t do it for me anymore.”
He was slowly starting to let the tension drop out of his shoulders, his guard slowly coming back down as the both of you began to get back to some sort of common ground. “That’s it, huh?”
It wasn’t the time to get into it. It probably wouldn’t ever be the time to get into it. “That and, like you said, someone’s gotta keep you from getting shot.”
He was shaking his head at you, but at least this time he was almost smiling while he did it. The two of you had always had that going for you—no matter how quickly things tensed up between you, you usually managed to cool back down almost as quickly. Some of that was from all the years and hours you’d spent together, some of it was because in the situations you found yourselves in out in the field, there was no time for grudges so it was best to just let shit go if you could. But for yourself, you also knew that there was an element of not wanting to hang onto that, not with him. It’s why you’d always say yes when he asked you.
For a few seconds it was quieter than it had been. The rain lightened enough to not be echoing as it fell against the roof. The thunder and lightning subsided, and the conversation between you hit a lull. So when Rick cleared his throat, it seemed louder than it really was.
You turned to look at him and found him already staring at you. You raised your eyebrows, silently prompting him to say whatever it was that he was gearing up for. His brows scrunched for a split second, a final hesitation but he was still going to go through with it.
“We’re…?” he trailed off, his tone enough to fill in the rest of the question for him.
You smiled, nodding. “We’re good. Don’t worry,” you shifted in your chair so that you were leaning against his side, your head resting on his shoulder, “I won’t leave you hanging next time you call.”
He chuckled, wanting to shake his head and come back with a snarky remark, but he didn’t have it in him. Tilting his head, he looked over at you and for the first time in a long time, he felt a pull of something deep in his chest. A feeling that he wasn’t sure he could afford to put too much stock in. He let his head drop to rest against yours. “Thanks.”
#suicide squad#the suicide squad#rick flag#rick flag x reader#rick flag x you#x reader#x reader fic#suicide squad fanfic#the suicide squad fanfic#fanfiction#my writing#drabblesmc#navy and roo's sleepover#navy and roos sleepover#slumber party#slumber party bingo#rick flag fanfiction
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Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) I ch. VII
✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.
Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader
AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series
Rating: M, 18+
Word Count: 6,656
Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), cute date on the back of jk's car trunk, jk nervous, jk gives lots of gifts & flowers to oc, oc is obsessed with clearance chocolate, auntie oc and uncle kook take care of yoongi's twins, jk & oc become guinea pigs for yoongi's kids lmao, mention of dentist!yoongi, jk's mommy issues get mentioned, jk has personal daddy issues but he working through them, jk being good hubby to oc, just a rollercoaster of emotions ngl
Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+
A/N: Hello! thanks for being patient with me guys!! Important: the flashback for this chapter follows events of chapter V and will refer to it. And yes it's thier first date! Kind of 👀👀 that will be for you to decide. Then we have present day jk and oc being guinea pigs for Yoongi's crazy twins hehehe. Ok pls, enjoy 💞
<< ch. VI ༓ ch. VIII >> ┃series masterlist
You know how some couples have multiple weddings that lead to disagreements over their real anniversary date? Or maybe it’ll be when the relationship was made official or what the first sign of attraction was? Yeah, that’s you and Jungkook when it comes to pinpointing exactly when your first date was.
If you ask your husband, he’ll tell you it was weeks after you were discharged from the hospital during your postgrad studies. But in your opinion, it was far before his timeframe.
You see due to a group of overly eager college freshmen, you had sprained your ankle and cracked a rib. Jungkook stayed with you the entire first two weeks of the recovery period. He'd bring study notes to you, your favorite food, hell even art supplies he bummed off Taehyung to help break up your mundane days in the hospital.
When the time finally came that you were well enough to finish the healing process at home, he suggested a dinner out would be an excellent way to celebrate.
"...do you wanna go out to dinner?" Jungkook pops the question more causal than expected.
"Are you asking me on a date…?"
His reply is barely audible but you hear it and for the first time, your professor sounds truly timid. "Uh, well…let's go with hang out like friends do."
You’re convinced that this was the first time he asked you out, thus leading to your first date. Your husband, however, thinks it was too vague to tell. He prefers to see it as more a pre-date instead.
So, was it a date?
Was it an unspoken pre-date?
The jury’s still out about this one.
4 years ago
It’s a gorgeous day with the way the sun beams on the hood of his car. A few scattered clouds, fluffy and white, float across the sky as well, offering shelter from the heat. You were discharged from the hospital only yesterday and Jungkook was already insistent on going out today, saying that a little fresh air and a change of scenery would be good for you.
“Where are we going?” You turn your head from the passenger window to look at the man inquisitively. It’s a simple question but the tension of the unknown nibbles at you from inside.
“One of my favorite spots,” Jungkook replies with his eyes set on the road. “Hope you don’t mind the drive. It’ll be another fifteen minutes.”
“It's fine. Why can’t I know where we’re going though?”
He hesitates to answer. “Do you not like surprises?”
You shrug. “Sure I do, as long as I know about them ahead of time.”
A hearty laugh follows your words and it sends one of the warmest feelings through your whole body. You didn't think you were being funny, but after being stuck in the hospital for two weeks, it's nice to feel something other than dismal. Jungkook is good at lifting your spirits at the most unexpected of times, you hum to yourself.
He looks handsome today too.
You can’t stop yourself from thinking about it as you watch a few strands of his dark hair blow over. He has his window cracked to let in a gentle breeze and though it causes him trouble here and there, he remains mostly unbothered.
The oversized white T-shirt he chose to wear is something you're still taking time to adjust to. Much more casual compared to what he wears during his lectures. But you like it with the loose-fitting pants he's paired it with.
"If it's necessary for you to know where we're going then I guess I have no choice." Jungkook looks in your direction but your gaze lingers down his torso. "__."
"Yes?" You immediately blink up at him, hoping you don’t look too flushed. Once he directs his attention back to the road you'll make sure to check yourself in the side-view mirror. Using your phone camera might look a little too obvious.
"I was saying if you need to know where we're going I'll tell you," he repeats. "But if it's possible I'd really like for it to be a secret until we get there."
"Alright," you concede. "I guess I could stand the wait this one time. This is your only freebie though. No more surprises after this."
"No more checking me out," he mutters.
"What?"
"Nothing."
.
"Can I open my eyes yet?"
"No." Jungkook opens his door and hops out of the car. "I'll be right back."
"Wait where are you going?" You know he wants whatever this is to be a surprise but you've been told to keep your eyes shut for the last five minutes. You're a little nervous to say the least, especially if he's about to disappear somewhere. "Jungkook?"
No response.
"Hello? Jungkook?" You're tempted to open your eyes when you hear the trunk of his car suddenly pop open. Several rustling noises follow as he digs around. "What are you doing back there?"
"You'll see soon. I'm almost done so just sit tight for a moment." He unzips a bag and then pushes said bag around the floorboard. The sound of something crashing on the ground perks up your ears in the moments following, earning a tiny 'shit' from Jungkook.
"Everything alright?" You're seriously getting antsy now.
When Jungkook swings your door open, a cool breeze hits your legs. "All good __. But now, I'm going to need you to trust me because I'm going to help you out of the car."
What?
"Um, I do have crutches I can use you know. You don't have to carry me anywhere like before. Dr. Kim said I should–"
"You won't need them this time. We're not going far okay?" He ducks his head inside and guides your arms around his neck. "Can you scoot forward a little?"
You do as he says until he tells you to stop. And with one arm supporting your lower back and the other firm under your legs, you're lifted out of your seat.
"Okay." The ground underneath his feet crunches as he straightens himself back up and out of the vehicle. "Now you can open your eyes."
As soon as you do your jaw drops.
"Surprise!"
Jungkook watches your stunned face as you take in all of Seoul from your perched position.
"I hope you don't mind that I didn't take us to a traditional restaurant. This is an overlook I happened to stumble on years ago when I first moved here. Not many people know about it because it's kind of off the beaten track but I get a bit adventurous sometimes."
He carries you around to the back of the car.
"Since you're still recovering I won't make us sit on the ground but I brought food that we can eat in the back of my trunk. There's a pillow there you can lean against too. And I made sure to park at an angle so we can watch the sunset."
"Wow...Jungkook I don't know what to say."
"It's cheesy isn't it?" His previously eager tone drops and you can't help but feel a pulling at your heartstrings. "I'm sorry if this isn't your thing. I probably should have asked."
"I love cheesy." You crack a small smile and Jungkook breaks out into a grin again, causing both of you have butterflies in your stomachs. "You're very thoughtful for doing this. I'm sorry about my initial reaction. I'm just shocked."
"Well, we're friends now, aren't we? You should get used to this kind of stuff from now on." He walks up to the trunk and carefully sets you down. "Here, lean back." He fluffs the pillow and then gestures for you to lay back.
Once you're comfortable, he hops in next to you and grabs the baby blue gift bag from the corner of the trunk. You don't know how you missed it before given its size and very decorative packaging.
"Before I give you this to you please know that I don't expect anything back okay?" His hands are shaky as he holds the bag on his lap. "This is just something I wanted to give you after your injury and having to be in the hospital for so long."
You nod your head in understanding but are not fully convinced. "And you're giving this to me as a friend, yes?" You take the bag from him and slowly open it.
"Mhm."
You narrow your eyes at him before reaching into the bag. You take out a very large, sturdy box. "God, Jungkook. This is so heavy. What's in here?" You tear apart the wrapping paper and open the smooth lid. "Oh my god, you didn't?!"
They're chocolates from the dessert shop you told him about last Sunday night. You had mentioned it in passing because you were craving sweets but not in the slightest did you think he'd take it to heart. The shop was at least an hour's drive away.
"Don't worry." He sees the pressure creeping on your face. "I was going that direction anyway. But I saw it on my way back and was reminded that you were craving it the other night. Uhm, there's also a coupon in there too. They included that in the purchase."
"Jungkook....you really didn't need to do any of this for me." You grab the small card laying at the bottom of the bag that reads 20% off. "Thank you so much."
"Oh, I almost forgot!" You're taken aback when he jumps off the trunk to scurry to the backseat. He returns in mere seconds with a generous bouquet of pink and purple hydrangeas. "These are for you too."
You shriek and grab them out of his hand, feeling a little giddy. Hydrangeas are your absolute favorites. "Sorry, that was really rude of me. These are so beautiful, though. Thank you. I don't know what to say."
Jungkook sits back down and pulls forward a freezer bag. "Seeing you this excited is enough. I brought us a lot of food too so, we should probably eat it before it starts going bad. This bag can only do so much preserving." He digs out box after box of yummy food from fresh strawberries to sushi. There are drinks too; banana milk and soju.
Your stomach growls as you watch him set the food between you both.
"Well, don't be shy." He hands you a plate with chopsticks. "Dig in."
.
"You look very pretty in that blouse..." He stabs his straw into his milk and takes a large sip. "The color really suits you."
"Oh, thank you." You manage the words once you swallow the strawberry you're eating. "Yours too."
Jungkook combs through his hair with his fingers. "Thanks, this t-shirt really brings out my eyes don't you think?" You laugh and shove his shoulder lightly.
"Stop, I'm being serious. I don't see you in this type of style often. It looks good."
He gives a playful shake of his head. "Where did you get that shirt anyway?" He gestures at your top again.
"At a store," you reply dumbly. "It was on sale. Gotta love a good deal right?"
"Yeah, absolutely. Never pay full price."
"That's exactly what I try telling my roommate. She only buys the best of the best but I think she could get the same thing 50% off if she waited long enough."
"You know Taehyung's the same way. Nothing but luxury from head to toe. I'm surprised he paints in a basic t-shirt and jeans some days."
You chuckle, feeling the air light and fresh. "Painting gets messy so it's better you not wear your best and brightest clothes. Sometimes I'll just wear a giant t-shirt that already has paint stains and nothing el–"
Shit.
You cringe at how quickly you can run your mouth. Jungkook doesn't need to know your painting attire evident from his sudden frozen up form.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
"I'm embarrassed."
"Don't be. I've heard worse." Jungkook clears his throat and looks out to the view in front of you. "This really is a beautiful spot is it not?"
Thank you for the deflection, you silently say to him.
"Yes, it's the best view I've seen in my life. I can't believe you found this place. It's like seeing everything for the first time again."
.
"__."
"Hm?"
"Is it weird that I–" He stops mid-sentence, hands rubbing his thigh. "Is it weird that I brought you here?"
"Of c–"
"No wait, wait that's not what I wanted to ask." He runs his fingers through his hair again, doing his best to keep eye contact. "What would you say if someone were to ask you out?"
You relax into a tight-lipped smile and quirk your head to a slight angle. "I'd probably say no because I'm on a date with you right now."
At this Jungkook's milk slips from his hand, spilling on his pants. You grab some napkins next to you and help him wipe the spillage off.
"We're on a date?" He stands the milk upright. "This is a date?"
"Yes, it very obviously is. I don't wear this top for just anyone you know." You close your mouth instantly and sit up straight. "You weren't meant to hear the last part."
"Wait, go back. I thought this was us hanging out. Remember? At the hospital, I said–"
"C'mon the flowers, the specialty chocolates, taking me to one of your secret hideouts. Not to mention packing all this food to share. It is most definitely a date. Do you not want it to be?"
"No! I mean of course, yes. But I would have dressed a lot better." He looks down at himself, embarrassed. "I just threw these on before I left the house."
"And what else would you have worn? I see you in dress shirts and slacks twice a week at the school, if not more."
"Oh, I guess you have a point." He lets out a sigh. "To be honest __. We don't have the most proper relationship for that kind of thing, do we? It's annoying that I keep saying it but I am still your professor until the end of this semester at least. Us dating would be kind of a breach of contract."
"So you won't call this a date because you think it's forbidden?" You cross your arms.
"Well not entirely. It's just...I'm scared. There it is. And if we plan to do any sneaking around business I need to know you...shit, this is going to sound so middle school of me...I need to know you're interested in me __."
"For fucksake Jungkook, I wouldn't have agreed to come if I wasn't interested." You move closer to his side so you're inches from his face. "You're the kindest person I've ever known and I'd like to know you more like you've been doing for me the past two weeks. You've gone out of your way so many times for me that I seriously can't keep up. And while I can't say that I'm in love with you since it's much too soon, I've become very attracted to you. It just sucks we're in a bit of an odd position with school and all. But we can make this work. I'm also in post-grad so I don't think we're doing anything that risky."
"What about Taehyung?"
"That's all you got out of what I just said?"
"Sorry, I'm just asking because you seemed into him at the art exhibit. You're both artistic after all." He fiddles with his fingers. "I'm just the guy who you got stuck with this year because you couldn't major in art."
You feel compelled to take one of his restless hands in your own, so you do–holding it loosely.
"Kim Taehyung was simply a visual interest," you say. "I never thought about anything serious with him. He's also faculty so unless he saves my life or something, I'm not really considering anything beyond a friendly report."
A moment of silence is exchanged as Jungkook lets your response sink in. And as long as your eyes aren't fooling you, you'd say he's more than pleased with it.
"So...you really wanna do this?" Jungkook asks with more anticipation than nervousness this time.
"Yes." You nod.
"Wow, okay um, well when do you want to go out?" He kicks his feet back and forth. And when he reflexively squeezes your hand you can't help but grin at his eagerness. "I'm free every weekend if that works for you."
"We should probably get to the end of this date first Dr. Jeon."
"Nooo, I like Jungkook. Can we stay with Jungkook when it's just you and me? Also, this isn't a date. We need a do-over."
You laugh, seeing a new side of him. He's more, hm, whiny than you thought–it's cute.
"Jungkook, we don't need a do-over. This can be a date if we want it to be. It's got all the elements already. Look." You lift his hand in yours. "We're already holding hands.
"Nope. When are you free?"
"How about this coming Friday after 4pm? Is that too far out?"
He shakes his head fervently. "It works perfectly for me. Let's do 4:01pm." Your baffled expression causes his own eyebrows to knit together. "What? You can't do 4:01?"
"I–yeah sure I can but I didn't expect you to suggest a time so soon."
"Well, you said you'd be free after 4pm right?"
You nod.
"Then it's a date!"
He smiles wide and you do the same.
Present
"Kook, grab us a cart. You won't believe what's on sale!" You stuff about five gold-foiled boxes under your arm. The yellow tag next to the price says 75% off which means you are for sure buying at least ten of these.
It's times like these that your husband enjoys watching you most. You can barely reach the self where the clearance chocolate is, nevertheless, you're on your tip-toes with arms fully extended above your head to grab at every box of sweets you can.
His inner hero wants to help but he's learned early on not to get in the middle of you and your favorite snack. It's better he listens to your request to get a cart instead.
"Don't hurt yourself in the five minutes I'm gone okay honey?"
"Mhm," you mumble, not really paying attention. "Kook this chocolate has caramel and orange inside. Oh my god, look." You show him a box of chocolates with cherry filling. "These are to die for. I need like six of these."
"Here give me some of those." Jungkook takes the boxes of chocolates from your arm when he sees them slipping from your hold. "I'll put these in a cart while you keep digging. But if someone else comes along, let them have at least one this time."
He knows how much of a little hog you can get with your candy.
"Are you kidding? Finders keepers." You reach for another box, the ones in the back are always the best.
"__."
"What? I'm doing all the hard work here which means I get to keep all the chocolate."
"Fine, fine. Be sure to check the expiration date too." Jungkook turns around to stalk toward the front of the store. If he doesn't get his butt to a cart soon, his wife is going to turn into a grizzly bear.
A very cute grizzly bear.
But a grizzly bear nonetheless.
"Did we really need thirty boxes of these?" Jungkook dumps the grocery bags on your kitchen counter. "I love you but this is insane. Who's going to eat all of this chocolate?"
"Well, I was planning on sending the twins home with some." You rummage through the bag then move to stack them in the pantry. "They'll be here in an hour so it can be a surprise from us."
"Yoongi's twins? You're going to send the two children whose father is a dentist a whopping bag of chocolate?" Jungkook hands you another box to put in the pantry. The little assembly line works well when putting groceries away.
"I'm only giving them one box okay? So Yoongi can shove it."
You hear a snickering behind you.
"Honey don't push the man who could likely yank all your teeth out of your head and end with, 'will that be all?'"
You roll your eyes. "Yoongi doesn't scare me like he scares you. But if you're so worried I will get his permission ahead of time."
Jungkook's mouth opens in response until he feels a slight vibration in his pant pocket. When he takes it out to check his initial good mood drops about ten degrees.
"Kook?" You watch as he reads whatever it is on his phone.
"Nothing." He switches off the device and places it face-down on the counter. "It's just dad."
"Something about your mom I'm presuming?"
Being Saturday, it's been a few days since Jungkook had his fallout with his mother. They were originally planning to stay in town until Friday but left Thursday morning instead due to Mrs. Jeon feeling "unwanted".
Your husband's been in close contact with his father ever since.
"Yeah," Jungkook lets out an exasperated sigh. "She's journaling again apparently. It's what she does to cope with frustrations like me."
"I'm sorry Kook." You rub his arm soothingly. "Maybe she needs some time to think about everything that's happened. I know you want her to talk to you but maybe it's not all bad that she's jotting things down first."
"Yeah, maybe." He takes your hand and presses a light kiss against the back of your knuckles. "It's whatever though, Mom can have her fit. I'm not going to let her ruin one of the only free days I get with my wife."
You smile and quickly peck his soft lips–something Jungkook wishes would be longer.
"Love you," you say and return to your original task of putting groceries away.
"Listen to me you two gremlins," Yoongi says on a bent knee. "Eomma and I will be back by 8pm. Until then your uncle Jungkook and Aunt __ are in charge. You know the rules, no jumping around on the sofas, don't into Aunt __'s paints, stay out of Uncle Jungkook's office, and under no condition are you to get into sweets."
He flicks his eyes to you for a brief moment then sets them back on the two seven-year-old girls in front of him. They look adorable with their matching space buns.
"But Appa–"
"No Eun-ji."
"Can't I just have one? Pleaseee?" She stares up at Yoongi with large eyes, hands clasped together. His second daughter Ari quickly does the same.
"We promise we'll brush our teeth right after."
Yoongi's face remains unmoved at his twin's relentless need for chocolate. Sure, he may be the one more likely to cave to requests when it comes between him and his wife but sweets were definitely off the table. His girls just got their teeth cleaned a couple days ago too, cavity-free, and he intends to keep it that way.
"Did you even bring your toothbrushes?" He knows for a fact they did not being that they weren't staying the night.
The twins exchange looks before breaking into a goofy grin. Mrs. Min leans down next to her husband at the moment and draws her girls into a hug.
"Appa and I will bring you back something better than chocolate tonight, okay?" She kisses her daughter's cheeks and then stands up. "Be good."
"K..." The twins let out a small huff then turn to set their backpacks on the living room couch.
"Hey," Yoongi calls after them. "Where's my hug?"
You let out a snort when you see Eun-ji face her dad again, tongue sticking out. Her sister gives a similar attitude with her hands on her hips and scrunched-up face. These girls might be in elementary school now but boy, those teenage years are sure to be rocking.
"Turn." You hear Ari from across the living room. She's standing on the sofa with her small hands holding a chunk of your husband's hair.
"Like this?"
"No the other side."
With his legs crossed on the floor, Jungkook shifts his head toward your direction with widened eyes. At this point, most of his hair has been pulled back into tight braids and finished off with yellow and pink hair clips. The only section left to do now was the underside.
"How do I look?" he asks you.
"Oh, you look breathtaking honey." You feel a soft makeup brush swipe across your cheek, courtesy of Eun-ji who's decided you needed a 'makeover'. You're not sure if that means a seven year old cramped on your style or what, but either way, you're getting bronze cheeks and glittery eyeshadow.
It's only been half an hour and the twins were already making you and your husband do their utmost bidding.
"Ari honey," you coo. "You should become a hairstylist when you grow up. You're doing such a good job with Uncle Jungkook's hair."
"I know," she sasses. "I'm good at this stuff Auntie. Everyone says that I am the queen of doing hair."
You and Jungkook giggle from the small child's gumption. It's good she's confident, you mouth to your husband.
He nods back. "Eun-ji's doing a great job too. You should see the glitter she's chosen for you."
"Not yet Uncle Jungkook," Eun-ji pipes up. "She can't look yet. It's a surprise!"
"Ah okay." He throws you playful eyes, eyebrows bouncing up and down suggestively. "A surprise huh?"
You flutter your eyes closed when you see Eun-ji dab her palette and reach forward to paint the eyeshadow over your lids. "Yup." she nods her head. "I'm giving Auntie the best color ever."
"Wow I can't wait to see honey," you say. "This wouldn't happen to be your favorite color would it?"
The tease in your tone makes Eun-ji grin. Of course, you can't see it but Jungkook can and it causes him to break out into a boisterous chuckle.
"You're so cute Eun-ji," he says, clapping his hands together.
"What about me?" It's Ari's sassiness making a comeback as she pushes the final yellow clip into Jungkook's hair.
"You're cute too Ari." You reassure the child and open your lids once Eun-ji gives you the okay. Not a second following that you're thrusted forward a hand-held mirror.
"What do you think?"
You glance at yourself in the reflection, blush blue eyeshadow that covers up to your eyebrows and bronze blush. You have ruby red lipstick on as well, Eun-ji's personal favorite.
"I love it, sweetheart. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome." She gathers all the makeup containers and tools she can fit in her hands before making her way to your husband. "You're turn Jungkook."
"Okay, but can I pick what color this time?" Your husband smiles at the child with mirthful eyes.
"No." She sets the make-up in front of him and pops open a bright, Barbie pink lipstick.
"Anti-ti-ti-ti fragile, fragile!"
You watch from the kitchen as the twins jump around in the living room. After your makeover, the girls felt like a karaoke session was in order. They convinced Jungkook to join them so there he is with a microphone in his hand, belting the lyric of 'Antifragile' by LE SSERAFIM.
"Come on __!" Ari calls to you, breath heavy from all the rambunctious dancing. "Sing with us!"
You laugh and whisk the bowl of flour and sugar in front of you. "No you guys keep going. I'm a little busy at the moment."
"Doing what?" She runs up to the kitchen island where you stand, trying to peek inside the bowl.
"I'm making cookies."
"Really?" She rushes to the other side of the island to pull out the stool from underneath. Once she settles herself in the chair she looks at you with eagerness. "Can we eat them?"
"Hmm..." You pretend to think. "Didn't your dad tell you no?"
"Yeah, but you always give us sweets. Even if he says we can't have them."
The child has a point.
"How about this, if you help me make these you can eat them. But you can't tell your dad okay?" Ari nods. "Good, you can stir this for me while I crack some eggs."
"Just what are you doing?" You jump when Jungkook walks up behind you. "You wouldn't be giving these sweet girls something their parents told them they could have, would you?"
"Dad will be really mad if he finds out," Eun-ji joins in on the scolding. She turns down the music from the tv and folds her arms.
"Well I–"
"If you're going behind Yoongi hyung's back you're going to need some help, honey." Jungkook slides one of the kitchen draws open and reaches to take out a small plastic bag. He throws out two brand new kid-size toothbrushes, orange and blue. "Had a feeling we'd need these tonight after seeing you stock up on all that chocolate today."
"Now girls..." He turns to look at Ari and Eun-ji who seem to be busy mixing the bowl of flour and sugar together. "Hey girls."
They lift their heads.
"Make sure to brush twice before your dad gets back. This stays our little secret, understand?"
"Okay," they say in unison.
"Thank you Kook." You lean your head against your husband's firm chest, resting for a moment. This whole situation is kind of funny if you think about it. But you really hope you don't get beef from Yoongi later.
"Anything for you," Jungkook quips and kisses your head gently.
"Ew..." You hear Ari say.
"No it's not," Eun-ji bites back. "It's romantic, like the movies."
Ari scrunches her face at her sister. "No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"Nope."
You and Jungkook wait for the two of them to simmer down but they keep going at it. Yes, no, yes, no...back and forth until one of them scoops up a handful of the flour in the bowl and tosses it at the other.
"Uh okay, no more! No more." You and Jungkook lunge forward to sweep the bowl out of their reach.
"How about you let Auntie and Uncle finish making the cookies and you two go back to karaoke?" Jungkook successfully persuades the twins and they run back into the living room in search of the next biggest hit to jam to.
You lock eyes with Jungkook now, wordless.
"Hm?" He hums at you.
"Mm." You shrug your shoulders and move towards the fridge but not before you're flicked with some of the flour yourself–your husband's hand powdery from the mixture. "Kook!"
You wipe your face, and light laughs fall from both your lips.
"Okay girls, get brushing!" Jungkook guides the twins to the bathroom. "Your parents are going to be home in fifteen minutes and that means these teeth need to smell like nothing my fresh mint." He squeezes the toothpaste on each girl's brush.
"Bursh, brush, brush," he chants and you shake your head as you wash the cookie sheet in the kitchen sink.
The twins have eaten about three cookies each and with chocolate stains all over their faces, they're going to need more than a 2-minute teeth brushing.
"Honey, I'm cracking the windows open and lighting my candles." Jungkook rushes around the house in search of his vanilla bean scents.
"I don't think that's going to take away the smell in such a short time. We should probably just take the beating Kook," you holler back.
"Oh, we're definitely getting dragged out tonight." He yanks the candle jars open and lights them. "The smell of freshly baked cookies is still too strong to hide but I'm hoping these candles will act as a distraction."
You hit your husband with the kitchen towel, the snap of it making him throw you a startled look. "Shit–do you not see the lighter in my hand?"
You roll your eyes. "Relax drama queen, you didn't have it ignited yet. Anyway, the candles aren't necessary if we're opening all the windows."
"It'll help though."
"Not really."
"Well, I think they will."
Jungkook goes back to lighting his candles and once he has the twentieth one lit, he's thoroughly pleased with himself.
As soon as the twins finish cleaning themselves up, they help scatters them throughout the house, leaving them in as many corners with surfaces as possible.
"Okay, that's it! That's the last one." Jungkook high-fives the twins and you toss the last dish in the drying rack.
"Good job team." You laugh and join them in the living room.
Eun-ji plops herself on the sofa with her backpack in her lap. "I had a lot of fun tonight."
Ari joins her on the couch with her own backpack in hand. "Me too." She pauses and then says something that you and Jungkook were very much underprepared for.
"You would make good mom and dads."
"You think so?" Jungkook shocks you by responding first.
Ari nods. "If you had kids, we could all play together. And we can have all the cookies we want because we'll be best friends. And best friends share everything!"
"So you want Auntie and I to have kids so you can keep hiding cookies from your dad?" Jungkook lunges forward to tickle the child mercilessly. "You little cookie monster!"
Ari rolls around on the couch, giggling repeatedly. You can't help but feel the thumping of your heart as you watch the scene unfold. And for the slightest moment, you imagine what it would be like with your own child.
All those thoughts are put to an abrupt end however when the doorbell rings.
Jungkook flies to the door to let Yoongi and his wife in. He flashes you a little smile before opening it, ensuring you that whatever happens he's got your back.
"Were you guys baking in here?" Are Yoongi's first words as he and the Mrs step inside the entryway of your house.
"Um, no? No, I don't think so." Jungkook feigns ignorance. "It must be coming from our neighbor's house."
With the twins home with their parents, you and Jungkook curl up together in your bed. You nuzzle your head in his inner shoulder and his arm holds around your waist.
"Those girls are a lot," Jungkook says. "But you know, I have to agree with them this time–it was kinda fun."
"Yeah?" You aimlessly trace circles on his chest.
"Still crazy, but yeah. I felt like I had a lot of good energy inside me tonight. And you know something else?" He looks down at you.
"What?"
"We'd make pretty damn good parents."
You bolt up from your reclined position the second the words drop.
"You can't keep doing this to me Jungkook," you say, your hands gripping the soft comforter. This isn't the first time he's teased you with having a baby and every time he does, you don't know what to take it as.
Is it a joke, is he serious, or just talking?
"You know how I feel and–"
"Hey." Your husband leans up to stroke your back with warm hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry honey. I don't mean to confuse you. I really am thinking about it you know? With everything that's been going on with my parents lately, I know I've been hard to pin down but I really am serious when I say we'd make good parents. Or when I say we might have a possible baby to make one day."
"Might. Could make. Maybe." You stare straight at your husband. "I know you're warming up the idea but you're still talking in such vague terms. I'm not at all trying to rush us to decide on a baby or not. But I just don't want to get a false sense of hope...that you'll say yes."
"Come here." He draws you into an embrace and kisses your cheeks, both of them. "I'm sorry for being an idiot. I admit the first few times I was more loose with what I was saying than I should have been. But I swear I, it was never my intention to be leaving you guessing. I'm so sorry."
"I just want to know what you really think Kook. So I can be sure where you're at through this whole thing. The last few days have thrown a wrench at us with all the stuff your mom's been doing. But I'd still like to be in the loop of things."
"Yes, of course. I'm going to tell you everything right now okay?" Jungkook takes a breath. "I want to give you a baby so bad and I think I'm 70 percent there. But I'm also 60% not there because I'm terribly scared that once it happens, once we have a baby...that I'll revert back to my original mindset of not wanting one."
"Kook–"
"Hold on a second."
You close your mouth and allow him to continue.
"I've already started seeing and feeling being around kids differently than before. So much so that I think we could be happy if we started a family together because I'm so happy when I'm with you. And if there's anyone I could do that with, it'd be you and only you. So yes, I want us to have a baby, as many as you want, but I want to be 100% there first."
"Okay, that's fair. I'm not going to lie that I don't feel a little out of body from what you just said. Just to clarify, you're saying yes to how many babies?" You shine your eyes at him. "You said you want to give me as many babies as I want right? How many would that be?"
"My limit is yet to be determined." He grins at you. "It seems I might need to repeat some things if all you got out of what I just said is that I'll give you as many babies as you want."
"No, actually." You grip his hand. "I heard what you said and thank you. I feel a lot better knowing your thought process through this whole thing. We both need to be 100 % in before deciding on this next step in our lives. And about you being worried that you'll revert back to not wanting children. I'm no expert but I don't think that'll be true given your recent exposure with kids has made you feel better than worse. You said it yourself–you had a lot of good energy inside you tonight."
"True. You make an excellent point there. I think I still need some more time though. I was even thinking that maybe I'll....talk to Hoseok about this."
"I'm glad to hear that Kook. Hoseok is an amazing man and I know talking to him about all this will be nothing but beneficial for you."
"Thank you for being patient with me." Jungkook pulls you both down on the mattress, closing his eyes when his head hits the pillow.
"Same to you." You snuggle back into his chest. "I really hope we can have a family together."
"Me too," you hear him mumble before you close your own eyes.
A/N: Yup I told you this would be a long one. Ty for sticking with me! Also, what do you think? Was it a first date or not? LMK your thoughts 🥰
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"is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" part 3
(gif by @pascalsky)
cw: neighbor!dbf!joel x f!reader, smut, manipulation, misogyny (sorry), dubcon (but it's ok), penetration, oral m and f recieving, gun present, implied underage sex but it's not really, threats of violence, uhhh jumping from a roof?
synopsis: you're on a terrible date and call your neighbor joel for help. he helps you out in more ways than one...
a/n: this is my first attempt at smut, please be nice
w.c. 3k lmao
part one + two + four
You try not to roll your eyes as your date, Jack, blabbers on about how much make-up turns him off, how he prefers his women natural, and how much of a womanizer he is.
The whole evening has been like this, only interrupted by him sending his friends at an adjacent table looks saying, "Oh yeah. Look at this catch. I'm gettin’ sum tonight." As if you're not sitting right in front of him and have eyes.
"I'm just saying," Jack continues, and you force yourself to listen. "There’s beauty in youth and innocence, right? Like, any man who says he wouldn’t choose 18 over 25 is lying," He looks so full of himself, leaning back in his chair, spreading his scrawny legs as much as possible.
You want nothing more than to knock this guy off his high fucking horse and teach him some sort of lesson. Scare the creep and cockiness out of him. You've been mulling it over all night, pretending to listen to his awful misogyny, and you have a vague idea about what you could do, but it involves taking him home, and you're not sure it's worth it.
"Sure," you lie. "A lock that can be opened by many keys versus a key that opens many locks et cetera." The remark is meant to challenge him, but he bites.
"Right! You get it!" He leans forward on his elbows. "You know, I rarely meet girls as smart as you. Females can't usually," He taps a finger to his temple. "keep up with me."
That almost makes you laugh out loud. Who does this guy think he is? But you bite your tongue and smile politely, as he snaps his fingers at a waitress.
"Hey!" he all but yells. "I'd like to pay for the little lady and myself." You want to wipe the satisfied grin off his face, but instead you send an apologetic look to the poor waitress, and excuse yourself.
In the bathroom you take out your phone and set your plan into action.
YOU: I need your help.JOEL: Where's the body?
YOU: On its way to your bedroom.
JOEL: Key’s outside.
All of the lights in Joel’s house are off as you approach, and you’re crossing your fingers in your pockets, hoping that means he understood your vague explanation over the phone.
"So…" You turn to Jack and gesture up at your neighbor’s house. "This is me!"
He raises his brows, impressed. "Wow," he replies. "You live here? On your own?"
"Mhm," you humor him through a smile threatening to escape as a laugh. He grabs your hand pulling you towards him, but as he leans in to push his lips to yours, you swerve.
"Quick, before the neighbors see," You grab his hand and lead him up the stairs to porch, squatting down by the door mat. The key is there. You flash Jack a quick smile, before turning to unlock Joel’s front door.
Back in Joel Miller’s bedroom. Everything just as you last saw it. He really wasn’t joking about not changing the sheets, you think, as you plop yourself down on the mattress.
Jack is quick to follow, throwing himself at you. His hands are all over the place, squeezing your tits way too hard, sucking himself onto your lips like a vacuum cleaner. You can barely get out of his grip enough to stop him from tearing at your shirt.
"You first," you say, out of breath, and he pulls his shirt over his head. He's... for lack of a better word, ripped. Breathing strained, he's flexing his washboard abs at you, and you're more impressed with the amount of time he must have spent working on it, than you are turned on. "Pants too."
He stands up, quickly undressing, before he starts pulling at your skirt. Ideally, you wouldn't let it go this far, preferring to not let him touch you at all, but he has already pulled your skirt and panties off, and placed himself between your legs on the bed.
"Want me to go down on you?" he grins. "I'm really good at it."
You disguise your laugh as a cough. "No that's fine, I'm good."
As if he didn't hear you, he disappears between your thighs, and starts lapping at you, slightly above the right spot.
"You like that?" he asks you, almost immediately. You don't.
"Mhm," you manage, biting down on your lips to stop from laughing at the absurdity of this guy's unjustified confidence in his own abilities.
“Your body is amazing,” he says, but before you can thank him, he continues, “like a solid 7/10. If you shaved, you’d be an eight.”
Thank God he’s too busy doing whatever it is he’s doing down there, because you can only gape and roll your eyes at the backhanded compliment.
After about a minute of slurping, he asks you if you're close yet, and you just can't keep it in anymore. You let out a snort, and he looks up at you confused, but only for a second, because the next thing you know, Joel Miller bursts through the door.
Armed with a rifle.
"Get the fuck out of my house," he yells. Jack leaps to his feet, quickly gathering his clothes.
"Oh shit," he whispers, looking to you for help. You cover your mouth to hide your grin, playing along.
"Daddy!" you yelp.
"That's right," Joel replies, placing his foot on Jack's crumpled up jeans, just as the owner is about to reach for them. "That's my baby girl you're trying to fuck.”
Jack steps away, unsure of what to do. "I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't— I didn't know..." he mumbles. "Wait, how old are you?" He turns to you, hands in the air.
You feign innocence, thinking of the most scandalous number you could get away with. "16...?"
His eyes widen and he swallows harshly. "I'll leave right now."
"Yeah you will."
Joel stares him down, making no signs of moving from the doorway he's occupying. Jack looks back and forth between the two of you, unsure of what to do, before Joel breaks the silence again. "You can use the window." he cocks his head towards the second story window at the end of the room.
"What?" Jack looks at you again, genuine concern in his eyes. He takes a moment too long to move, because Joel yaps again, pointing the rifle at the half naked man.
"Move!"
And towards the window he goes. He pushes it open, one leg outside, looking back at you for support you’re not going to give him. Then he meets Joel's threatening stare, and climbs all the way out on the gable. Joel walks towards the window, watching as Jack slides down the roof, yelping as his feet hit the ground underneath.
Joel throws his jeans and shoes out after him. "And don’t come back!" he bellows.
You're still laughing when he puts the rifle down and turns towards the bed.
"Too much? S'not loaded," he assures you.
"Kinda wish it had been," you giggle back.
He snickers and sits down next to you. You've covered yourself with his sheets but feel strangely at ease considering how undressed you are in front of him.
"You doin' alright?" With his brows furrowed at you, he looks genuinely concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine," you smile reassuringly. He smiles back and lays down on top of the covers. “It was funny.”
"Did I come in here too early?"
"No, you came in way too late," you laugh. It didn't bother you too much, but deep down you wish you had been interrupted before the asshole put his mouth on you.
"Oh..." Joel looks away, and you wonder if it's the light, or if he's actually blushing. "So, you... Did you... Finish already?"
It takes you a second to realize what he's talking about, and then you laugh again. "No, oh my god, no!"
You cover your face with your hands as you giggle, embarrassed, and feel the bed shift under his weight as he moves. When you look back up, he's right next to you.
Joel carefully brushes your hair behind your ear and leans down to plant a kiss on your shoulder. Goosebumps appear down your arms, and you shuffle under the bedsheet, feeling a rush to the pit of your stomach.
"Do you want to? Finish?" The question should have caught you off guard, Mr. Miller being your dad's friend, your neighbor through most of your childhood. But it doesn't. You already know you want to.
You nod slowly, and feel your breathing get heavier, as Joel's hand moves the covers away. You're still wearing your shirt, but you feel more naked than you have been all night.
Joel's hand continues down your thigh, caressing and squeezing lightly, and you press your legs together to alleviate some of the pressure building between them. Then he looks up at you, placing his other hand on your cheek, and leans in. For him you don't swerve.
His lips touch yours lightly, only a delicate brush, before he kisses you harder, properly. The force of the feelings arising in you takes your breath away, and you fall backwards onto the mattress. Joel follows, without breaking the kiss, landing carefully on top of you. As your mouths explore each other, you open your legs, inviting him between them.
The jeans covering his bulging erection is rubbing against your own growing need, and you could get off just like that, but you suspend it by shoving your hand between the two of you, cupping him. He groans into your mouth, just as you gasp into his at the feel of his size under your palm.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, moving one of his big hands to explore your chest.
“Been thinkin’ about you. About these.” He gives the breast in his hand a light squeeze, covering your neck and collarbone in light kisses.
“Been thinking about you too, Miller,” you sigh back at the sensation. “For years.”
He stops for a second, and you can feel him smile against your skin. Oh God, what did you just say.
“Years? Really?”
You can feel yourself blushing, the blood previously between your legs now in your face. Why did you say that?! You suppress the need to get up and knock your head against a wall over and over again.
Joel’s kisses continue, moving down to your belly.
“Fucking cliché,” he looks up at you, grinning like a devil.
“Well,” His mouth is at your inner thigh now, giving it a careful bite. “I guess dreams really do come true.”
And then his tongue meets your wetness, moving through your folds, from your core to your clit, in one long movement. Your hands grip at his dark curls, as he repeats the motion, dragging soft moans from you.
Joel looks up at you again. “He didn’t do it like this, did he?” he says, mouth full of poise and pussy. His soft lips swipe your clit, and you stifle a laugh as you shake your head. No, he didn’t. No one has.
The hard tip of his tongue caresses your swollenness, and you can see him moving a hand down to clutch at his own. The thought of him touching himself makes you even wetter. You long to see him, to feel him inside of you.
“Joel,” you moan, as you near your finish, but you don’t want to go there yet.
He looks up at you, only his dark eyes visible over your pubic bone.
“Joel, I want you.”
He laughs softly at that. “You’re having me right now, baby,” His thumb rubs at your center as he says it, causing you to grasp at the bedsheets. Not yet, not yet.
“I want you inside of me.”
He pauses, giving your sex a final taste before he sits back on his heels.
“I bet you do,” he says as he removes his belt and opens the zipper of his jeans. They’re strained around his hardness, and you sit up to knead his bulge, looking up at him with eyes full of compliance. He pulls his jeans and boxers down for you, his hard cock springing free, and you gasp at the sight of him.
He chuckles at your reaction, but makes no comment, other than pumping himself carefully a few times, nudging it towards your face.
“Come on, now”, he says, and you get closer. “Give it a kiss, get to know it.”
It’s not like you haven’t done it before, but you’ve never wanted to like this. You kiss the head of his cock, before grabbing the base with your hand, placing little kisses all over his shaft as well, prolonging the tease. From the soft moans it elicits from him, you suspect he wants it as much as you do.
Joel’s own hand comes to join yours around him, carefully parting your lips with the head, silently urging you to quicken. So you go all in at once. You open your mouth, taking him as far back as you can, triggering your gag reflex, making your mouth fill with spit. He groans loudly at that.
“F-fuck,” he sighs, throwing his head back. “Holy shit, girl”.
You smile, mouth full of him, and give him a few strokes with your fist while waiting for your mouth to re-fill with saliva. You go at him again, this time pumping him into your wet pit, head bobbing back and forth over him.
His hands grab at your hair, almost holding you back with the force of his grip on you.
“Careful, angel, careful,” he stutters. “You’re driving me insane.”
Joel moves his hand to your jaw and carefully drags you off of him with a soft pop.
He pushes you back down on your back, his naked groin against your own, lowering the rest of his clothed body down to whisper in your ear.
“This what you want?”
You swallow harshly, the taste of his dick still in your mouth. “Yes. Yes.”
“Yeah?” he repeats, teasing your opening. His eyes search for yours, and you meet his thirsty gaze.
“I want you.”
It’s the confirmation he needs. He pushes inside of you, the stretch of his girth stinging pleasantly as he opens you up. A grunt escapes him as he bottoms you, and you yelp at the sensation. “Ah!”
He pauses and looks at you. “You good?”
You are. “Yeah, it’s just a lot.” you admit. “You’re… big.”
He grins at that. “Just tell me what’s too much, baby.”
Grabbing his hips and pushing him back in, you grind against him. “Slow,” you say.
“However you want it, princess.”
He cages your head with his strong arms, the ones you’ve been secretly pining for when you’ve caught him mowing the lawn bare-chested through the years, and you squeeze his bicep, your other hand grabbing his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. He groans into your mouth as he lets you work him slowly in and out of you, and he pushes his tongue into you as well, filling you up where you’ve so desperately craved him.
You move your hand down to touch your throbbing clit, sighing as relief washes over you. You’re so close, you can feel yourself pulse around Joel’s cock.
“Come on, baby, you can do it,” he coaxes. “You’re choking my cock so good.”
His words of encouragement send you over the age, and your back arches as you reach your climax. You feel him fighting with your body to stay inside of you, your walls clamping hard around him. Your breath catches in your chest, legs shaking, and as your orgasm nears an end, Joel’s hips slam into you over and over again, his pubic bone grinding against your sensitive clit as he fucks you hard. His breath quickens in your ear, nearing his own finish. His arms are snug around you, holding onto you for dear life.
“Come inside me,” you whisper, hands on his ass to let him know you don’t want him to pull out. The words seem to hit the spot, because a second later he comes with a series of moans, and a few scattered “fucks” and “holy shits”.
You feel his hardness soften inside you, twitching, sending aftershocks of orgasm through you, his and your own. His exhaustion quick in his clothed chest, pressed firmly against your own. You don’t dare to move, worried it’ll send him the wrong signal, that you want him off you. You don’t. So you lay still, breathing softly through your nose.
Joel kisses your cheekbone as he rolls over, covering you both with the comforter, and you snuggle into his side. A minute goes by, only filled with your eventually calm breathing, before Joel turns to you.
"Was it everything you thought it would be?" he jokes.
You punch his shoulder and bury your face in you chest as you both giggle at how the evening has ended. His hand carefully plays with your hair. You turn your head upwards to plant a kiss on his cheek, his stubble tickling you skin.
"Don't get to comfortable," he huffs, and moves his hand from your hair to caress your arm which lays draped across his midriff.
"Why?" you reply without looking up at him, hoping the disappointment isn't too obvious in your voice.
"Promised your old man I'd help set up his new DVD player tonight," he says. "So don't fall asleep on me 'cause I gotta get back up soon."
You close your eyes in relief, comforted by the fact that he didn't mean "don't get comfortable with us, with this".
"We probably shouldn't arrive together, anyway," he continues. "You're supposed to be at a terrible date, remember?"
You sit up on your elbow, looking at him earnestly.
"If you go over first, will you promise to comfort me when I come broken hearted and crying through the door right after?"
He chuckles at that.
"'Course I will." He sits up too, planting a kiss on your hair, before getting out of bed. He tucks himself back into his underwear, still fully clothed, grabbing a shirt that hangs over a chair in the corner of the room.
"Give me 15," he says, buttoning his cuffs, heading towards the open bedroom door.
He looks back at you tangled in his sheets, and nods towards you.
"Gotta change 'em tonight," he decides. "Next time I want just you and me on them."
He winks at you, and closes the door behind him.
a/n: screams what did i do
thanks to @toxicanonymity for the date's name lmao
#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#my writing#tlou fanfiction#tlou au
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Lute x really flexible/gymnast fem reader with toned abs and legs that she's a little insecure about?
ORRRRR
Idk if you watch helluva boss, but: Lute reacting to her gf snapping a neck/suffocating a demon with her thighs like Millie did to that agent?
Your choice!!! (You might be able to combine these, idk)
i do watch helluva boss! blitzo's probably my spirit animal lmao. So i decided to do both! ( your request also strikes a nerve that may or may not include milly + moxxie )
𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐆𝐲𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫!
𐐒 includes : lute x fem!reader
𐐒 cw : fluff, hurt/comfort, swearing, lute struggles to be soft, suggestive
𐐒 summary : Lute can tell somethings up with you, she just has to confront you
𐐒 word count : 757
𐐒 note : hcs i wrote at the start of this are included! loved working on this request it just took some time to get out p e r f e c t l y ~
The lieutenant picks a spot next to you on a cool cloud, her black wings folding in on themselves firmly.
"Hey," she starts.
"Hey," you repeat.
And the way she stares at you make you feel like she knows somethings wrong. That classic, sharp stare of hers. It makes you shrink a bit more into yourself, hiding parts of your skin from her as if they were wounded.
Lute looks ahead, mushing the cumulus under her hands as she stares ahead towards the training grounds. You had been watching her train. . . but only watching.
"So, you aren't going to train anymore? You know I-. . ." Lute catches her voice with a hiss. Its so incredibly hard and so awkward for her to get her words out.
WHY
You watch with a little smile as she rips two little chunks of clouds out. Gripping them tightly against her face in frustration.
If she were scolding her army, or telling Adam to watch his mouth, this would be so, easy! But. . . she was talking to you. Her girlfriend, and she knew something was wrong.
Getting there, to that honest softness inside her was- fucking hard!- but she had to try.
With a new found determination, she turned her whole body towards you, eyebrows hardened into a flat line.
"I love you," Lute sat forward, letting her warm hands rest on your legs, "and I want you to tell me what's bothering you. . . You know you can tell me anything. I can handle it." She offered a reassuring smile.
With a shaky sigh, you turned to face her, watching as the dark angel now took your hands in hers, rubbing little circles into your skin. It felt like a barbed wire was clutching at your throat, nerves clamping around your heart.
Maybe she'd think its stupid.
With a long, shaky breath, your lips parted in soft confession.
"I'm just not feeling that confident in. . . in how I look," your tone broke from the weight of the truth, head falling with shame.
Lute let her grip slip of your grasp, the pair of pale hands cupping your face instead, insisting that you looked up at her.
Your eyes popped open with surprise.
The way she was looking at you: her golden eyes held an unspeakable softness to them, edged with those dark lashes that made her intimidating. . .
She's only ever looked at you like that.
And now, there was a little patch of scarlet blooming across the bridge of her nose. The sexiest blush that made your heart speed up.
"So that's why you didn't want to train huh?" Lute tsked you, wiping tears from your eyes you didn't know you had with her thumbs. "You remember that sinner I saw you kill?"
It was your turn to blush this time. Vaguely remembering that guys neck you snapped with your legs. "Oh god," you mumble, trying to hide and squirm from her hands.
"Hey!" Lute laughs, pulling you closer into her lap.
God she's strong.
She lifted your legs over hers, motioning for you to put your arms over her shoulders whilst she nestled hers around your waist. The dark feathers of her wings expanding like a protective wall around her back to yours.
Honesty is a virtue, she reminds herself.
"Seeing you kill that sinner was- literally the sexiest thing I've ever witnessed."
"Lute!"
She laughs, giving your middle a firm squeeze "You're the sexiest thing in heaven, and there's not one thing about you body that I don't worship." This time, she sighs, glancing you shamelessly up and down.
"Gods, I'm horrible at this. . ." Lute lets her head plop into your shoulder, glancing up at you in order to gauge your reaction.
"I love you, and its for a lot of reasons," she mumbles, straightening up in your arms. So close you can feel her breath on your lips. "Just don't forget that."
Lute biting her lip until it bleeds
physical affection all the way with your body (she'd have trouble taking her hands off you when no one else is around)
And to put it simply, she may not tell you all the time that she adores your body, but she definitely shows it
supports you in anyway and always shows up to watch you during practice or competitions (on that note she'd be the one cheering the loudest for you)
she's super proud to be your girlfriend / call you hers
squish her head like a watermelon whattt
#hazbin hotel#headcannons#headcanon#imagines#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin lute#lute x reader#lute x y/n#lute x you#lute x fem!reader#gymnast#hcs#hazbin hotel lute#reader insert#x reader#fem reader#female reader#fluff#suggestive#hurt/comfort#oneshot#drabble
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children of the storm
I have many thoughts. look under the cut to read them >:D (click for quality tumblr fucked it up bad)
my hands slipped and made a new au for wojira duo. whoops.
so the au starts around the time that seabound ends, with nya as this big-ass water dragon thing and kinda just wandering around the ocean saving random sailors out of habit. within her first week or so she starts hearing a soft hum in her head, and eventually, the voice starts to speak a bit. in this form, she is the most connected to her element than she ever has been or ever will be, so she’s finally able to connect to the other half of her element, wind, aka morro. she's hearing his thoughts, basically.
but morro’s dead, right? kinda. a little. let me explain.
for some reason, the writers never bothered to establish the existence of a new master of wind after morro died (which totally shoulda happened btw), so that implies that morro never died to begin with. I decided to make the explanation as vague and random as possible because that's what I’m best at!! yeah.
in this au, it's revealed that morro never actually got sent to the departed realm in the s5 finale, and instead was manifested as a huge purple dragon similar to nya’s current form. this only happened because he never had anyone to pass his element to, so he was instead sent to guard the skies by the first master himself until morro could find someone who he deemed fit enough to wield the wind after him.
of course, morro being the stubborn asshole he is (affectionate), chose that brooding in the mountains is a better fate than giving up his wind. he lives on the highest of all peaks in ninjago, where no one will try to find him. he decides that he may as well stay true to the task the first master put on him; he’s not sure he can handle the guilt of going against him after what he did to wu.
ok enough about the emo bitch. back to the cool one. nya has developed a mental link with morro now that they’ve both reached the highest point of connection with their elements. she eventually works up the courage to talk to him, and he reluctantly responds. in canon, nyad is the one to help nya remember her life, but in this version it's morro. she freaks out when she realizes who she's talking to, but morro isn't acting like a vengeful psychopath, so over a few months nya and morro begin to talk to each other more and more. eventually, they become friends :D
I have more planned, but this is all I'll put for now because it's already getting way too long lmao. send me an ask if you wanna hear more tho, I'll gladly share!
#wojira duo#morro ninjago#ninjago morro#morro wu#lego ninjago#ninjago#ninjago fanart#ninjago au#morro#nya smith#nya ninjago#ninjago nya#wojira#ninjago wojira#seabound#ninjago seabound#ninjago crystalized#ninjago crystallized spoilers#crystalized spoilers#rikkos aus#children of the storm au#rikkos art
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eunseok as a bf pls!! 🫶🏻
imma try to be as unbiased as I can since he's my literal bias 😭
euseok as your boyfriend based on astrology
(reminder that this for fun and astrology is something I study for a hobby, these are all inferences based off of observations and not exact fact unless I knew him myself !!)
warnings: small mention of sexual innuendo but nothing extremely graphic I'll only do NSFW asks if requested.
Pisces Sun: Briize have questioned how Eunseok and Wonbin are both pisces but are sooo different personality wise, this is why it's important to take other placements and aspects into account !! His other placements lead to his sun sign manifesting/presenting differently. He will be super intuitive about how you feel, will tell if you're uncomfortable, excited, scared without having to ask or you telling him. differently. Very willing to accomodate things for you, would be very willing to share and would even have a plan right away if you needed anything. Would want to help you feel better if you were upset IMMEDIATELY especially since his capricorn moon would want to search for solutions over letting you ruminate. Would compare experiences he's had with yours so you never feel isolated.
Capricorn Moon: The moon is uncomfy in capricorn leading to being very restrictive with their emotions, this causes people to stereotype Eunseok as "cold". However Eunseok having a capricorn moon whilst having a pisces sun and mercury (&his moon/saturn is well aspected rather than harshly) could make him have good emotional regulation. He would be more reserved and closed off with his feelings but wouldn't leave you completely in the dark, however he might have a hard time expressing himself but wouldn't lash out his suppressed emotions at you. He'd want to be your rock..like literally. His pisces placements makes him understand your emotional standpoint and cap moon will help aid you with logic. Extreme gentleman type, he'd even want to essentially protect you in a way. Eunseok would be quietly protective, very protective of your emotions/well being and would help you address your feelings. Would tell you what you need to hear not what you want to hear and would have very good advice when you were in emotional dilemmas. Would be very grateful that you can understand him better than others.
Pisces Mercury: yk how nobody ever knows what he's gonna say next. This is why LMAO. His handwriting might be a bit messy or his text would be lowkey vague or random..like he'd randomly tell you he's 5 mins from your house when the convo was a completely diff subject. Or instead of just texting back he'd call ? However he'd be sort of stuck on how to express himself (literally said if he accidentally liked his crush's post on insta he'd delete the account.) When pursuing you he'd be shy to let you know he likes you until he found a fun lighthearted moment to fully confess to you with. He'd surprisingly know what you mean when you aren't making sense at all like you could be spewing nonsense and he'd...get it ? Makes you laugh to the point you tear up a little bit. Would laugh/joke you out of your panties I fear. LOl
Aries Venus: I feel like this (+his mars) is the fuel for the "Eunseok fwb/player/sneaky link" fanfics tbh 😭😭. I've dated an aries venus so I have a personal understanding of the placement. He'd mess with you, A LOTTT omg if you had no haters Eunseok would be dead, but it all comes from him being unable to be sappy with you and only can express his complete fondness for you through teasing you. Wouldn't let people that weren't him mess with you however LOL He'd want to take the lead of the relationship. Would flirt at random 😭 which would leave you so flustered because whereee did that come from ??? the compliments and flirting would be DEEP. Might be into a little push and pull dynamic as long as you understood each others feelings. Would value his independence however and would want/let you indulge in your independence and own time as well. Now there's an observation that aries venus can fall out of love fast once they feel like the spark and energy is gone which can be true but his venus is in retrograde..based on other aspects in his chart it seems like the venus in retrograde neutralizes the flaky energy of his venus in aries making him less likely to just ditch you. Would want lots of passion and exponential energy in the relationship.
Sagittarius Mars: I have this placement HA. I doubt severe arguments would happen or he'd at least not be quick to anger/he wouldn't be mad for that long like aries mars. Would use physical action to exert built up energy (that time he was super excited and started dancing too hard). Super forward and blunt which once again make his flirting so jaw dropping. Is secure the majority of the time but will just have random moments of being jealous. Loves winning like yea you're his s/o but he still loves the taste of sweet victory. Sag rules the hips and thighs (wink wink) so he might be attracted to how your hips look or like when you wear clothes that accentuates yours. Might hold you by your hips or lower waist. May sit you on his lap or would lay his head across your lap. Keeps a hand on your upper leg.
Other Aspects:
Sun/Saturn Sextile: Very responsible and reasonable. When a serious situation unfolds it'll be easier to rely on him with support and trusting him with certain task won't be regrettable.
Mercury/Saturn Square: Even when being honest he might censor some of his feelings for your sake, like if he was upset he'd let you know he was upset but wouldn't go into that much detail.
Potential Toxicity: (reminder that any/everyone is capable of having toxic or negative traits, these could be POTENTIALLY true)
Aries Venus+Sag Mars: Isn't negative or toxic by itself ofc but if expressed negatively he might be super dismissive about his romantic past and carry past worries into the new relationship without fully acknowledging/processing it, can also be a bit too nonchalant to where he can be unintentionally harmful.
#riize#riizenet#riize x reader#riize imagines#riize icons#riize moodboard#riize scenarios#riize fanfic#riize fics#riize reactions#riize fluff#riize smut#kpop astrology#riizefanfic#riize eunseok#eunseok#eunseok x reader#briize#love 119#riize astrology#riize anton#riize wonbin#riize sungchan#osaki shotaro#sungchan#jung sungchan#nct
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You know all those fics that have Tim/Dick/Jason go back in time, kill the Joker, stop all the tragic events, blah blah blah? Make it Cass and Duke.
See, neither of them were there for the pivotal events OR the fallout, so whenever they try to fix stuff they are going off of secondhand stories and vaguely mapped events:
"Ok . So we stopped Jason from dying, now we just have to-Goddammit, WHY IS THE JOKER AN AMBASSADOR TO IRAN, B NEVER MENTIONED THIS."
After bailing out Young Justice "TIM YOU ARE A HORRIBLE BANDAID BABY."
I don't read a lot of those fics but my beloved does so I'm going to write this off second hand knowledge lmao XD
Cass would 1000000% not let them kill anyone, but I think Duke could make a convincing enough argument to Superman to put him in the phantom zone lego batman style lmao
gd Cass and Duke saving baby Jason from the joker and he's just like in the hospital like thanks guys can you bring me my homework I'm behind 🥺🥺 and Duke has to be like I'm surprised but not Surprised Surprised you know?
Babs will still be Batgirl at this point and they def have to fix that, not by breaking her legs or anything but I think either 1) they convince her that she does way more good in the world as Oracle or 2) some convoluted universe reason she becomes disabled anyway
not to mention I think Cass would just put like baby Tim down for a nap once they get to anything dangerous a la Steph, cause no way does he know what he's doing lmao
and Speaking of Steph, they don't want to stop her from being Spoiler ya know, being Spoiler was and is sooooo important to Steph, but it got her hurt so bad, so instead of directly intervening like a sane person, Cass and Duke just shadow Steph for months trying to keep her safe in the meantime, or!!! even better, they enlist the help of baby Cass (who they found on the street and introduced to Babs early) to keep Steph safe
(and please imagine the Talking To Bruce gets from Duke and Cass once they get closer to the whole Steph As Robin plan)
I think Cass and Duke would assume that Dick and Tim would be mostly fine cause like they're mostly fine when they know them so the big cosmic to-do list gets kinda pushed around for (what to them is) bigger ticket items
Dick's chronic not talking about it disease comes to bite him in the ass 😔😔😔😔
#cassandra cain#duke thomas#jason todd#barbara gordon#tim drake#stephanie brown#dick grayson#batfam#my dearest snow in the dms: I THINK THEY SHOULD GET TO HAVE THIS AS A TREAT
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run to you: ch.6
A/N: and we're back! originally thought this would be out last week but i couldn't shake the feeling that it needed more so i delayed it a little and sure enough, an extra 4k words came out lmao. we get a lot more of marcus' POV with this chapter which is nice to write, and some more flashbacks that make my heart hurt. let me know what you think! enjoy angels! x
P.S i've been god awful at replying to reblogs and comments lately but i just want you to know that i treasure you all so damn much, and i read every bit of feedback left again and again and i swear i could cry with how much you all mean to me, so thank you for taking the time to read this story and leave me kind words - forever will appreciate you beauties ❤️
Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and ‘You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.
Word count: 6.6k (i hope this makes up for the wait lmao)
Warnings: angst (obviously), swearing, Patrick Jane is a warning, heartbreak, lots of talk of lies and the undercover job, a very brief moment of softness, talk of murder and descriptions about the circumstances, vague description of a bullet wound, talk of death, jealous!marcus is being birthed LMAO sir u have no right
main masterlist | series masterlist
This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.
The room is blurry.
You’re highly aware of how you pace like a caged lion outside his closed office door but simply can’t find it in you to still your anxious limbs. You catch the bright green eyes following your movements from across the room, but you struggle to hold his gaze longer than a second in fear of what you’d find swimming in them.
Surely Jacob must know now after the meeting. He’d know it’s your fault. Is he angry? Does he see you differently now? People are dead because of you and your mistake. You should’ve known better than to get caught up on the history you and Marcus share, and now you’re going to have to pay for it. You’ll have to carry those lives on your shoulders for the rest of your life.
It’s bitter.
The tears are hot when they spill over your lash line and track down your cheeks, but you’re quick to wipe them away and instead focus on the ceiling, blinking wildly in hope to calm the sting of more.
What are you going to say? What can you say?
There’s very little that would make up for this. A simple sorry wouldn’t cut it. There’s the promise of doing better next time, but would he believe you? Would he even let you stay on the case? You don’t know exactly when you started caring so much about it all—hell, you didn’t even want to be here in the first place, but now? You feel like you’re doing something, something good and worthwhile, and it feels nice after the hell ride the last couple of years had been.
You were on the right side now, but apparently you didn’t belong here.
God, what are you going to say?
You don’t get much more time to think about it. The door is wrenched open and the agents that had been speaking to him privately step out, giving you a small nod in greeting before wandering off and finally giving Marcus the opportunity to see you standing there waiting, glued to that spot on the worn carpet.
Frozen. You’re frozen, unsure of whether to say hello or goodbye, or skip straight to the apologies that are building on your tongue.
His eyebrows raise in obvious surprise as he falters in the doorway, obviously not expecting you of all people to be waiting for him, and you see the quick flutter of something unidentifiable through his eyes.
For a moment, nothing is said, but then the words fall from your lips in a panicked burst—
“It’s my fault.”
The expression of shock quickly gives way to confusion, and his eyes bounce between yours in an effort to follow your train of thought.
“What is?”
“The murders… it’s my fault, isn’t it? I did something wrong. God, Marcus, I—I’m sorry, I swear I’ll do better—”
He wordlessly steps aside during your little ramble and you take the silent offer of entering his office, anxiety growing with the click of his door closing behind you. You start to pace again, your heart beating thickly in your throat. Your mind races with the what ifs, and how he’ll go about dismissing you from the case.
Are you in trouble? How much? Have you pissed off the FBI higher ups? Are they sick of you? Is it enough for them to just throw you back into jail and forget about your silly little existence?
A chill creeps along your spine and you start to feel sick.
No.
No, he wouldn’t do that. Not again.
He said to trust him. He said he wouldn’t.
Would he?
“Please don’t send me back,” you beg softly, eyes filling at the mere idea of that tiny cold cell you called home for far too long and his face only creases further as you start to shake, “I promise I won’t make any mistakes again, I just—please, Marcus, I-I can’t go back—”
“Just… just stop,” he demands quietly, stepping forward with one hand perched on his hip and the other held out in an attempt to soothe your trembling voice, “I need you to sit down. Now, please.”
Sit down? How could you possibly sit down? You can’t, not when you’re shaking like this. You don’t think you’d even manage a single step with the fear running along your nerves like it is.
He obviously sees the state you’re quickly falling into and comes closer, hauling the visitor's chair out from beneath his desk and sliding it right up to you. He keeps a hand raised to your arm as you slowly lower into it, palm never touching you but lingering just a short distance away should you really start to break down and have your legs give out from beneath you.
Marcus drags his own chair out and slides it around his desk before stopping in front of you and taking a seat quietly. He gives you a moment, clearly studying the tears that run down your cheeks with a deepening frown before he leans forward, bracing his forearms along his thighs and looking up at you with a slight shine of concern.
“What’s going on?”
He must want you to say it, to own up to your mistakes and give him the satisfaction of watching you crumble. Didn’t he get enough of that the first time?
You sniff pathetically, looking at him with a slight scowl.
“You know what’s going on. I’m not an idiot, Marcus.”
He shakes his head, “No. No, you’re not. So, can you tell me what happened? Why do you think you’re at fault for the murders?”
“That guy out there,” you mumble, wiping your cheeks with your sleeve and recalling the pressed light grey three piece suit, “he said the buyers knew that the painting was a fake, and that’s why they were killed. They knew it was a fake, Marcus, so I didn’t do a good enough job to—”
He silences you again with a flash of his hand and you swallow the desire to snap at him for it. He presses further, eyes locked with yours and you almost feel like you’re in an interrogation with how focused they seem to be. Determined.
“What guy?”
“The consultant,” you mutter quietly, “uh… Patrick, I think it was?”
The change is immediate. He sits back in his chair and looks away, almost angry. No, he is angry, but it’s not at you. He glances at the door with a small roll of his jaw before he sighs sharply and shakes his head. The usual warmth in his gaze has turned molten hot with his irritation and you can’t seem to look away.
What the hell is his problem?
“Don’t listen to a single word that comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t get to just walk in here and start acting like he knows everything about this case because he doesn’t.”
The bitterness in his voice comes as a shock.
You feel it play across your face, your eyes darting over his tightened expression in search of answers. He clearly doesn’t like the consultant, but why? You’d assume the FBI would be tight with anyone they chose to work with, and Marcus seemed to be friendly with his co-workers. He’s a damn good agent, you know that for a fact, so what’s the issue?
Maybe it’s the case—he must be stressed. Is it dragging longer than he anticipated? Had there been a lot of bumps along the road? Was this Patrick guy making it difficult?
Marcus sighs quietly, shifting in his seat and dropping his gaze to the floor.
“Look, there’s a lot of reasons this could’ve happened, okay? It’s not your fault at all. They may have already had some issues, there could’ve been bad blood from a previous deal, they could’ve asked for more than what was arranged, they might've refused to go through with the deal… we don’t know, but I don’t want you to put this on yourself. It’s not your fault.”
Staying quiet, your teeth pinch and pick at the soft skin of your inner bottom lip. How can he say that if he doesn’t know? He just said himself that there are a lot of reasons, so how does he know for sure that you’re not the reason for this happening?
It has to be you.
"Look at me," he says softly, and your eyes fly up to meet his automatically. They’re cooler now, calmer. "It's not your fault, okay?”
It takes a moment, but eventually, you give a shallow nod.
The worry slowly eases, and as much as a part of you wants to keep placing the blame on your shoulders because that’s all you deserve, it’s not as strong as the pure sincerity emanating from him.
For once, you find yourself not doubting him. You’re not the reason people have been killed. You’re not in trouble. You’re not going back to prison.
Relief.
It’s comforting, sweet and warm, and spreads out from the back of your hand. It’s not relief, it’s him. You feel the rough surface of his palm on your skin, his thumb brushing soft reassuring strokes back and forth, and it’s only then you realise his hand is covering yours.
How long has it been there?
You study the way it looks, taking a moment to recall the past touch of something similar, something just as warm and reassuring and suddenly your throat feels thick. You hate that it feels nice, that it feels familiar, even after so long.
For a brief, brief second, you allow it, mind hazy and heart aching with the flood of memories and the ghost of fingers along your body, lips beneath your ear… but it’s not him. It’s not Alex.
You pull your hand out from under his and Marcus immediately recoils, hand clenching into a tight fist as he brings it to rest on his lap.
A chill creeps over the back of your hand from the loss of warmth and you pull your sleeve down to cover it.
“I’m sorry for anything Jane said. If I had known he’d say something like that, I would’ve spoken to you beforehand. I’ll uh… I’ll get Agent Wilson to take you home. I need him back at the office to dive into what evidence Teresa’s team has given us, and you can get some rest.”
“Sounds good,” you murmur, slightly thankful you wouldn’t have to return to your workspace with the slight ache building in your temples. You feel for Jacob, who’s probably about to endure a late night at the office, but something else piques your interest. “Teresa?”
That’s a funny coincidence.
Alex had an ex named Teresa he'd told you about. He’d worked with her, and apparently had fallen pretty hard and fast, too. She had left him for another man, leaving him broken and lost and… oh.
Oh, fuck.
Is it—?
“Patrick.”
You don’t need to say anymore.
Marcus, who had seemingly followed your silent thought process easily, gives a humourless huff followed by a nod, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. Suddenly it all makes sense—his exhaustion, the bitter feelings towards Jane. The pressure of the case, mixed with stress of not only working with your fake ex and ex-fiance, but also the man she had left you for? Shit.
The bags beneath his eyes make sense.
You should laugh, say he’s getting what he deserves and Teresa made the right fucking choice in picking another man over him because he’s nothing but a liar and a fake, but the thirst for a bitter jab is short lived. That would be a low blow, despite everything he did to you.
“That must be hard,” you mutter, reaching for the strap on your bag and readying it over your shoulder.
“It is,” he replies softly, “but this case is a lot harder for others.”
When you glance up you find he’s already looking at you.
He holds your gaze for a moment longer before you let your eyes drop and finally stand from the chair, thanking him quietly for the time he took to talk to you. He smiles, albeit sadly, and says anytime.
You risk a quick final glance over your shoulder when you close his door, and it’s no surprise to find that he’s watching you go.
—
The morning sun bounces off of his skin where it starts to seep through your windows, breaking through the night and alerting you to the early hour.
He’s asleep, face tucked into the back of your neck and warm breath fanning over your skin. You’re still cocooned in his arms, feeling much too hot to be comfortable enough to sleep with the temperature of his bare skin against yours, but reluctant to leave his embrace.
You’d endure the stifling heat for a bit longer, just to soak up the most of this moment. There’s never been someone like him before, never been a feeling like this. It hangs in the quiet stillness as the sun starts to wake, something new and sweet and promising.
His fingers are still intertwined with yours, his hold now looser since his breathing evened out. You study the way his skin looks against yours, how easily his hand overlaps the size of yours and how rough his palm feels on the back of your hand. You brush your thumb along his, heart running wild in your chest.
“What’re you doing?” He mumbles sleepily into your skin, pressing his lips into your shoulder.
The movement of you twisting and turning his hand must’ve disturbed his sleep. You tuck your hand, still tangled with his, close to your chest as a heat rises in your cheeks.
���Looking at our hands,” you reply quietly, slightly embarrassed that you’ve been caught, “sorry for waking you.”
The arm draped over you tightens, and you relish in the feeling of pure and utter safety. Nothing can hurt you here. It’s just you and him, and the growing morning light. There’s no work, no stress, just him and his hold. You want it all the time. You want it forever.
He hums, pressing himself impossibly closer.
“What’s interesting about our hands?”
You watch as he moves them back into view, feeling the way his lashes flutter against the skin of your throat as he adjusts his face to see them better himself. His facial hair rubs and tickles along your shoulder, and you squirm away from the pleasant feeling.
“Nothing,” you smile, turning your face as best you could to meet his eyes, “I just liked the way they looked.”
His nose runs along yours, his own grin soft and tired.
“Get some sleep, Scribbles,” he mutters, pressing a long kiss to your lips and you damn near have a meltdown at the tender fondness of it, “before that beautiful smile of yours keeps me up any longer.”
“Smooth talker,” you tease lightly, exhaustion finally starting to coax your eyes into closing, “goodnight, Alex.”
He sighs, burying his face into the side of your head.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
—
His hands are sweating.
He doesn’t move for a moment, willing his heart to stop beating so damn hard. The soft feel of his slacks rubs against his palms as he rakes them down his thighs before finally standing, smoothing down his tie and attempting to act like your sudden visit to his office hasn’t shaken every thought he has in his head.
You were an unexpected visitor, but not an unwelcome one. No, never unwelcome. He’d first thought he was going to have to chase you through the damn building to sit you down and talk to you about the developments of the case, but apparently the universe had other plans.
Leave it to Patrick fucking Jane to get to you first.
The slight rush of anger returns, and he feels his defences heighten—defensive over the case, over his team, over you. He doesn’t know exactly what had been said between you both, but clearly it had been enough for you to get the wrong idea. He’s not too sure if Jane was digging for more information about the case and coming up with his own theories, or simply trying to figure out who you were and what you were doing there.
Either way, he doesn’t like it, and he needs to ensure it won’t happen again, but he can’t talk to him. No, if he tells Jane to back off then his interest in you will no doubt only grow, and he doesn’t want that. You don’t need to have Jane picking away at your brain for his own sick pleasure on top of everything else.
He leaves his office just in time to see you and Wilson disappear, and he relaxes slightly knowing you’ll soon be safe at home, no doubt bundled under a blanket with a sketchbook. His eyes scan the bullpen until he sees her, and he quickly strides the distance between them until he’s right there and asking for a moment in private.
She hesitates, and he doesn’t blame her, but soon Teresa is following him just a few steps out of hearing range and he internally delights at the slight frown working its way between Jane’s brows from across the desks.
“We need to lay some boundaries,” Marcus murmurs, crossing his arms defensively across his chest when she merely rolls her eyes at his words.
“I’m sure you and I can both be professional, Agent Pike—”
Agent Pike? Is that what it’s come to now? Sure, he knew this was going to be awkward, but he didn’t expect for her to act as coldly towards him as she is. She was the one who left him, after all.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Jane—”
“—is an integral part of my team, and won’t be going anywhere.”
He exhales sharply, fighting the urge to roll his own eyes at her interruption.
“Understood, Agent Lisbon, but if we’re going to work together, he needs to reel it in on the theories with people that aren’t fellow agents, and if he continues to upset the civilian members of my team, I’ll be more than happy to kick him off the case along with the rest of your team.”
“You’re talking about the artist,” Teresa deduces, nodding in understanding with a vague twinge of interest and remaining unbothered by the threat of getting booted out of the investigation. “I saw them talking. Jane says she’s the one responsible for the replicas.”
Marcus sighs, arms tightening against his chest. It’s not a question but he gives a nod of confirmation anyway. He highly doubts that would’ve been something you would’ve freely admitted to a complete and utter stranger, so he assumes Jane has already been playing his little mind games.
“How’d she end up forging paintings for the FBI?” The interest grows, he sees it play across her face. “Doesn’t exactly seem like a dream career path for an aspiring artist.”
There’s a slight tone there. He doesn’t know what it is, but he doesn’t like it.
“That information has nothing to do with this case,” he replies firmly—defensively, “and it will remain that way. She has nothing to do with this investigation beyond providing her skills. Keep him on a tight leash, Agent Lisbon. I won’t tolerate it happening again, understood?”
There’s a barely there smile playing at the edges of her lips as she answers and it does nothing to calm his unease, “Understood, Agent Pike.”
—
Some of the faces on the table are familiar, and it almost feels like deja vu.
Most of the suspects in this case are new and some fully identified, however there were a few faces he vividly remembers from before. The people you had worked with, some had been jailed—like you, only with a much longer, unforgiving sentence—while others had slipped through the cracks and were simply left to return to the work that had first landed them in handcuffs.
Those who are in that deep never fully climb out of the hole, so it was more than likely he’d see them again in time.
And sure enough, some of their pictures scatter the chaotic table top of paper and files smeared everywhere, only he wasn’t expecting the obvious bullet hole in one of their foreheads. No question about how they were murdered, but the execution style of it certainly seemed personal. Did she know whoever held that gun?
You hadn’t been close, but you had been friendly enough with her during the rare times he would see you in a group back when he went by another name.
He knew all about her before even shaking her hand. She was young and naïve, lured into the illegal art trade business by the prospect of good money and no debt… much like yourself. She was talented, smart, an Ivy League dropout once she couldn’t climb atop of those heightening tuition fees.
He sees the reflection of you in her, all that wasted potential.
Could this have been you?
The images assault him before he even knows what’s happening. You laying there on that cold stainless steel autopsy table; you laying there with that gruesome hole right in the middle of your forehead; you with no family to pick your body up from the morgue.
It’s gut wrenching. He feels sick.
The photo drops from his fingers and he clenches his fist, heaving a long sigh of exhaustion and letting his body slump tiredly back into the chair. Other agents around the table mirror his position and energy, and with that, he finally decides to call it.
“Go home, guys,” he instructs, cutting through the silence and the shuffle of paper, “get a good night's rest and we’ll look over it with fresh eyes in the morning.”
There’s a sigh of relief that runs through the room, and no one wastes any time. They leave with various farewells and soon it’s just him and Wilson in silence. The man hasn’t moved much except from standing and fiddling with his folded jacket that had been previously hung over the back of his chair and Marcus waits, lifting an eyebrow in interest to urge the man to speak.
“Am I needed here tomorrow, sir? What about Picasso?”
A brief smile tugs at Marcus’ lips at the nickname.
“Yeah, we need you here. I’ll send her a text and let her know not to expect you.”
The other agent shifts on his feet, almost like he wants to object, but eventually he gives a nod and slinks out of the room with a quiet goodnight. Marcus watches the door close and briefly wonders if you’d spoken to Wilson about your shared history.
It would explain the sudden coolness he was getting from the young man, when in the beginning it was nothing but excitement and gratitude at being hired.
Marcus doesn’t mind—you need a friend, and Wilson is definitely a good guy. Besides, he deserves every bit of icy judgement from his previous choices.
He slides his cell from his pocket and types a simple text telling you not to bother preparing for tomorrow because Wilson would be in the office, hoping the alert of his message wouldn’t disturb you in your sleep and sends it without another thought before standing and starting to gather the loose documents spread out. He’s surprised when a notification sings out not even a minute later.
Is everything okay?
Eyeing the late hour at the top of his screen, he frowns at your pixelated words and replies quickly—
Everything’s fine—just lots of things to do. Did I wake you?
No, I was awake. I can’t sleep.
And you can’t. You’ve tried. You’ve tossed and turned and fluffed your pillow, kicked off your socks, put your socks back on, flicked a blanket off, wrapped yourself back up… and still nothing. You couldn’t get comfortable, you couldn’t still your mind long enough to let dreams take over.
Marcus feels his brows narrow at your words, and concern starts to creep into his system. Are you rattled about today? Do you have whatever Jane said to you playing on repeat in your mind? He starts to type his response, pausing when he starts to feel like he’s crossing some kind of line.
He reads the words over and over, wondering if he should just leave it and say goodnight. There’s an urge to talk to you, a want to hear your tired voice seep into his ears and maybe just pretend for a minute or two that everything didn’t fall to shit between you.
Do you mind if I call you?
You frown, thumb hovering over the screen as you deliberate an answer. This won’t help you sleep. If anything, it would only stir your thoughts up even more.
Yes. Yes, you do mind.
You don’t even want him to have your number, let alone to start calling in the middle of the night. No, he absolutely can’t call you, so why can’t you get your thumb to type out that three letter word to get him off your back?
Marcus holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable denial. He wouldn’t blame you. Of course not, but he still has that small flutter of hope tightening his stomach. It was always there, always waiting.
I don’t mind.
The message is delivered and received almost immediately and you miss the chance to take it back. You appreciate that he asked, though. That’s a good thing, right? He was giving you a chance to lay a boundary, and you believed he would’ve respected it should you have said you did mind.
You don’t bother with a hello when the phone eventually starts to vibrate in your hold and instead just lift it to your ear, wondering when your heart started beating so fast, when your throat got so damn dry.
“Sorry,” he breathes, the sound of shuffling and movement crackling down the line behind his voice, “I’m not much of a texter.”
“I know,” you reply quietly, huddling deeper under your comforter and tucking it beneath your chin.
Alex didn’t like texting, either.
Neither of you make another comment about it.
“I hope you’re not still thinking about earlier,” he says, and you imagine the hand that would rake through his hair as he busies about on his side.
Is he still at the office? That’s a late night. How much work is there to do? Do cases usually take this long?
“I’m not.”
And that’s the truth.
You stopped placing the blame on yourself once you made a few comments to Jacob in the car. Talking with Marcus helped, but Jacob calling you an idiot and saying it wasn’t your damn finger that pulled the trigger eliminated any remaining doubt. You didn’t hurt anyone, and even if your piece did have a mistake that alerted them to the authenticity of the piece, they made the choice to hurt others instead of just running.
“Have… have many people died during this case?” You ask carefully, before rushing to reassure him, “It’s okay if you can’t tell me. I get the whole classified thing.”
He snorts quietly, and your mind paints the picture of that pretty smile, those small dimples creasing his cheeks before you can help it.
“‘Classified’? We’re not running Area 51. The details of the case aren’t out there, but the murders are hardly a secret, you just don’t watch the news.”
“I watch the news,” you defend, knowing it’s an absolute lie.
You hate the news, you hate the constant drum of negativity and lies, you hate the motives behind it and how easily it can sway one’s mind.
Marcus chuckles softly, “You hate the news.”
Your cheeks start to ache, and it’s only then you find you’re smiling. It drops from your lips the second you realise and you shift under the blankets, a small frown starting to deepen between your brows.
“Well, maybe I don’t now. It’s been a long time since you knew me—I’ve changed a lot since then.”
He’s quiet, almost thoughtful, and then, “Have you? No more orange juice out of martini glasses?”
You can’t help it.
A huff of amusement breaks free from your lips and you’re smiling again.
You blame it on exhaustion, on stress, on anything that’s not him. It’s too nice, it’s too familiar. You don’t want to cross into these waters. You want to keep the space between you, barely talking and staying far, far away from each other until you can live your life with him nowhere near. You want to be free of him.
“Yeah well, my martini glasses got taken with the rest of my stuff when I went to jail so I can’t do that anymore.”
The slight tinge of iciness to your tone does well to kill the light hearted mood slowly creeping over the conversation and you’re almost glad for it. Almost.
A small part of you wilts from the warmth leaving your system, the walls steadily building higher and higher. You shouldn’t feel bad, and yet that feeling stirs to life in the pit of your stomach.
No, he deserves worse.
You push those tiny feelings away, burying them as deep as possible in some hidden part of you until their ache couldn’t be felt anymore. You couldn’t allow yourself to lower the walls you had built because of him. He doesn’t deserve to know you as you are now, slowly healing and on a journey to find peace.
He clears his throat softly and the gentle sound of it crackles in your ear.
“Right. Look, about that… I just…” a sigh, “I’m—”
Don’t say it.
Please don’t say it.
You don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t mean anything anymore. An apology will never, could never, make up for any of it. He could say it a thousand times, again and again, and it will never fix it. The devastation left in his wake had been violent and cutting, and the scars left from it would never heal fully. It was just something you’d have to live with. It was all a part of you now, whether you wanted it to be or not.
He sighs again, and another moment of silence passes.
“I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll let you know when Wilson will be back, okay?”
“Okay,” you breathe, eyes following the dark lines of your bedroom furniture and the print framed on your wall.
A few more minutes pass and neither of you say anything, almost as if you’re both waiting for something else, something more. You don’t know what it is, and don’t care to find out, so you exhale softly and tuck yourself further in your bedding.
“Goodnight, Marcus.”
“Goodnight.”
—
This is dangerous.
It’s not good, it’s not professional, and yet, he just can’t fucking help himself. It all feels so normal, so natural. He wants it all the time desperately.
If only things had been different, if only he could’ve met you under different circumstances, where he didn’t have to hide behind a fake name and bullshit backstory. If only things didn’t have to be this way, maybe you two would stand a chance.
If only.
He’d soak it up while things felt somewhat normal. In the safety of your home, he can let his guard down a little. He can pretend. He can play the doting boyfriend madly in love to perfection, because that’s all he wants. For as long as he can remember, that’s all he’s ever wanted. Someone to be his, someone to call him theirs, and here, he has it.
He has it all with you.
His head tilts as he watches you from where he reclines into your kitchen counter, a smile slowly tugging at his lips as you sway to the music falling from the speakers.
“Why a martini glass?” He asks curiously, holding the stem of his own glass and swirling the bright yellow liquid within it.
You’re full of wonderful little surprises and quirks, and he takes them all in eagerly. He wants to know you, he wants to see the very core of you. He’ll soak in it all for as long as he can, ensuring to remember each and every thing about you.
The guilt lingers though, as it always does. It pushes through the warmth filling his system, bitter and unrelenting in its reminder of what he’s doing, what he’s already done. He used to think he was a decent person, good and true and fighting the good fight, but after this? No, he’ll never think like that again.
You’re the undoing to his entire being, and he both adores and resents it.
You grin, spinning away from the stove and sipping at the cold orange juice from the glass set beside you. “The question is—why not?”
He chuckles, giving a slow nod. “A fair point. Very fancy glassware for a simple breakfast.”
“Life is too short to keep fancy glassware in a cupboard—I’ve got to enjoy it all while I can!”
The self loathing triples.
God, you have no idea.
—
“Absolutely not.”
He’s adamant.
He doesn’t care how stubborn he seems, how defensive he must look standing at the head of the conference table with his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that Jane’s eyeing him up with a new spark of curiosity, he doesn’t care that some of his agents look at him with a mix of confusion and others with understanding.
He doesn’t fucking care.
“She’d know a lot,” Jane says finally, unbothered, “given her history. I’m sure she’d be able to assist in further identifying some potential suspects, maybe even fi—”
“Her ‘history’?” Marcus snarls quietly, glare landing on the consultant. “Her ‘history’ has nothing to do with this investigation, and she’s to be left completely out of it, Jane.”
The man smiles, and it makes Marcus’ skin crawl.
How does he know about your history? How does he fucking know? How does he know who you are, what you are? Have they been digging information up on you?
There’s not a lot to be found seeing as Marcus ensured to have your name left out of case files and merely left as an anonymous source in court documents.
Your own arrest and court files had been buried, along with most of your case details struck with a thick permanent black mark, unidentifiable to anyone reading over in the future, so what does he know?
Jane eventually yields with his hands playfully held up in surrender, and lets the subject of you drop. He wants you out there, walking the path of your other life to start asking questions about the murders and the thefts. Does he not realise how much danger that would put you in? You couldn’t simply just reappear one day and start asking about things you should know nothing about.
Marcus feels anger simmer under his skin.
The debriefing continues with no further mention of you. There’s more talk of the murders, more talk of which painting they’ll go after next and details ironed out in careful preparation, but still, Marcus can’t shake the thought in his head that maybe Jane was right.
He couldn’t entertain that thought, though.
The mere idea of you landing yourself back in with the wrong people after going through so much pain and healing, the image of you potentially getting hurt and, god forbid, killed… it set him on edge. It turns his stomach. It’s too much risk, and he doesn’t feel comfortable putting you in that position, especially after ensuring you that you wouldn’t be in any danger at any point during this case.
He wouldn’t lie to you.
Not again.
That was a silent vow he made to you and strictly to himself. Never again. Going forward, you’d only hear the truth fall from his lips and that’s that. No more lies, no more going behind your back—none of it.
It’s most definitely too little, too late, but still. He refuses to do it anymore.
He goes to the comfort of his office after the debriefing, intent on closing the door firmly behind him to have a minute of peace to gather his thoughts and emotions, but the body that had been tailing him from the conference room fills his door frame and he lets them in without a word, closing the door immediately after.
“Look, I don’t like the guy, but he has a point, sir,” Wilson says as he stands in the middle of the room, hands diving into his pockets, “and I know she’d want to help more if she could. She feels pretty useless just stuck in that room all day, even if she does enjoy the art.”
He’s shaking his head before his co-worker can even finish, striding across the office and taking a seat in his desk chair. His elbows meet the arms of it and he slouches in the seat, fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose to will away the headache threatening to grow in his temples.
“It’s out of the question.”
“Look, sir, I get it. I get that you wouldn’t want to put her back in this shit—believe me, I don’t want her to be either, but don’t you think that’s a decision she should make herself? She’s stronger than you think, and she didn’t get a lot of choice the first time ‘round.”
So he does know.
Marcus heaves a quiet sigh, looking up at the younger agent and studying his features.
There’s a swirl of worry swimming in the green eyes gazing levelly back at him, and it’s what Marcus focuses on most. It was easy to see the connection you and Wilson had made within the month you two had spent together, so that makes sense to be concerned for your welfare, but is there more to it?
It’s not his business, but he can’t help the train of thought once it’s on the tracks. Does what you share with Wilson go deeper than what it appears to be? Is there something growing between you both? Is it mere friendship, or romantic?
Fuck.
Do you like the guy?
He swallows, eyes flicking away from the admittedly good looking, much younger agent as the hideous feeling of jealousy starts to sting at his system. He has no right, no right whatsoever, to feel this way, and a part of him understands that, but once that horrid green little seed plants itself in his heart, he starts to feel the familiar wash of inferiority.
Not that he stands a chance with you now anyway—he set fire to that bridge long ago, but still… it was that damn shred of hope in the centre of everything. God, now is not the time for this.
He pushes it all away, returning to the calm and cool headed agent he’s had to force himself to be lately. It’s usually not such a struggle to be confident with his experience and skills in this position, but you made it highly difficult by being a part of this investigation.
As much as he’s enjoyed seeing and talking to you again, despite how icy and indifferent you’ve been acting towards him, he’ll be glad to see the last of you once this is all wrapped up.
“I’ll talk to her about it,” Marcus finally relents, unsure of if he's making the right choice.
He’ll just have to ensure nothing bad will come of this, that you’ll be safe and remain unharmed because, god knows, his heart wouldn’t be able to take that.
-
tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld
#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike x f!reader#marcus pike x you#marcus pike#pedro pascal x reader#the mentalist fic
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𝙿𝙰𝙲.𝟶𝟷𝟽 : 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎? 𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙳𝚁?
Let’s say you decided on which DR you want to shift to. You already created some type of script, whether it’s physically, digitally or perhaps you just have a vague idea in mind on what you want to experience there. Now, you started getting unsure if this is really what you want… Or if you should focus on another DR instead. I will try to give you some guidance here on your situation! But don’t take this too much to heart, just use it as additional inspiration, okay? And if you like to read more pac readings from me, feel free to check out my masterlist as well. Also, I don't own any of these beautiful pics.
𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴
Is this really what you want to experience? - What you have in mind or what you have on your script will be a challenge but yes, it seems to be something you really want to experience. Don’t be afraid, you're strong enough to handle it BUT it’s better to restrain your wild/aggressive side and your subconscious desire for (self) destruction a little bit and to avoid any open and (especially) unnecessary fights/scandals there…
Should you edit your script? Or focus on another DR? - Yes, you could perhaps edit your script (or plan) for this DR in a way that you will have more of a cool relaxing experience or more moments of relaxation in general (instead of constant stress and 24/07 new ‘plots’ lmao). Also, your script could perhaps mirror some of your fears (fear of abandonment/commitment). You might actually not really know what this DR will bring you. I feel like there are a few moments you want to experience but you probably left the rest open or rather up to the universe. There might be a possibility that you will at some point just aimlessly drift around the world until you truly find meaning in your existence there. I think you’re meant to keep this open, don’t try to force a direction/or a final end destination in your script. Define what exactly you want to experience, shift there and see what happens then. Go with the flow and give yourself time in your DR to make up your mind. You don’t just decide the meaning of one’s existence within one week, right? :) Regarding the DR itself, the one you have in mind might not be the best choice right now out of all your DRs, perhaps you should focus on another DR first before shifting to this one. The advice here is to think logically/rationally while choosing your DR. If your choice is influenced by greed or materialism, then you might have to rethink your choice. Obviously it’s up to you which DR you choose, just know that every decision is a commitment to some point… So, ask yourself: Are you ready for the commitment?
𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝚃𝚆𝙾
Is this really what you want to experience? - Undecided. That is something only your subconsciousness knows. Your dreams and intuition hold important information that will guide you. Follow your instincts and remember to focus on the now. It is not wise to constantly dwell on the past or on what ifs. There is also a sense of energetic protection here. So there is no need to worry too much about how the experience will be.
Should you edit your script? Or even focus on another DR? - No, I feel like you worry too much about your script… Are you the type to make extremely detailed/long scripts? Constantly updating and adding more things to it? Sometimes you need to let things rest for some time for them to start blooming. You usually grow fond of an idea only after some time has passed. It seems like there is a feeling of being stressed to live up to something… too many responsibilities or influences here that turned into a burden for you. You might feel disconnected from your script/DR right now. Consider meditating on your situation for clarity. I don’t think you should focus on another DR. This DR you’re focusing on is ‘the right one’ for now, but to move forward you must overcome this inner blockage which I think is partly caused by a subconscious fear of commitment. Start being more grounded, face your ideas (from your script) - is it just nice to imagine or is it something (after really experiencing it) that will bring you a sense of fulfillment or growth? Because I see that behind the veil there is a lot of joy, creative self expression and emotional fulfillment waiting for you, you just have to reach out for it…
𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴
Is this really what you want to experience? - To be honest it feels like a slight no. What you have scripted or what you have in mind for your DR might seem perfect or without flaws …on the outside. But the experience is not completely matching with who you are and what you need. It feels like it’s something that is out of touch with an aspect of yourself. Perhaps you’ve got wealth, finance and freedom going on but you're completely isolated and alone in your DR (materialistic needs met but emotionally unfulfilled). There is just a contradiction with what you truly need…
Should you edit your script? Or focus on another DR? - I don’t think you should focus on another DR right away. This DR you have in mind is fine but I feel like you didn’t know what you should go for, so you just decided to go for something even though it's not really completely fitting. Do you perhaps have a fear of the unknown? I also feel like a lack of planning or lack of mental preparation is causing an issue too here. You should definitely edit your script/your plans for your DR. In your DR there shouldn’t only be material comfort but also emotional comfort. I really feel like your emotional world has been completely neglected while drafting your script/your DR. It will be important to build a solid foundation of who you are, what you need and who you want to be (in your DR) first. Try to integrate something that fuels your ambition, helps you grow and gives you satisfying experiences. A certain structure would be nice too. You might like a little chaos here and there but please give yourself at least a little bit of structure…
#t.tarot#shiftblr#shifting#pac reading#tarot reading#desired reality#shifting community#pick a card reading#pick a card#pick a picture
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a/n: part two for this request - "may i request a fem reader x anthony lockwood where reader is a super talented fittes agent who constantly trades barbs with lockwood but he soon realises she fancies him so he ends up teasing her during missions by doing small stuff like pulling her close and calling her babe when no one is around - since quite a few of you wanted one! if you want to find it on my masterlist, it's called Love, simply because I'm terrible at naming my fanfics lmao. i hope you enjoy!
warnings: mentions of death/suicide (very vague), language
female reader
taglist: @cassiopeiia24 @nessa-stark @galactidiot @randomfanficreader @tom-foolery-time
part 1
Loneliness. Terrible, suffocating loneliness. It's thick and cloying and it's getting harder to breathe. God, your throat is closing up and your lungs hurt, weighed down by this strong sense of isolation and abandonment. How are you meant to function when it's so powerful, so heartbreaking? It's overtaking your heart, filling your lungs, intoxicating your blood.
With a feeling like whiplash, you're torn from your vision, and your hand is tugged away from the tree branch and placed on someone's chest. You can feel someone's heartbeat, steady and reassuring, and your own slows. Breathing is a little easier now.
"You're okay, love. I'm here."
The voice shakes you out of your daze, and your eyes snap open, only to be met with the face of Anthony Lockwood.
The setting sun is working wonders on him. Gold and orange rays of light fight for dominance on those high cheekbones and the tip of his nose. His dark eyes swirl with hues of copper and caramel. His lips, turned down slightly with worry, hide the possibility of a bright smile as you look at him.
"Don't -"
"Call you that," he finishes. "Yes, I know. You realise that the more you tell me not to, the more I will."
You scowl at him, but you don't move. A month ago, you would've pulled out of his grip and away from him within a second but, now, you can't bring yourself to.
He knows this all too well, and he revels in it. More often now does he find some excuse to have you touch him. Oh, (name), pass me some salt bombs, won't you? Followed by a not-so-subtle brush of fingers. Do I have lavender in my hair? Get it out, please, the scent becomes too strong sometimes. And there's usually no way for you to get out of shaking it out of his hair because he often puts your hand there himself. Let me walk you home. Then he'll drape an arm over your shoulders, keeping you close or safe as he calls it.
Maybe you've bolstered this attitude of his because more often than not, you don't object. Yes, you'll call him an idiot or a twat or something more insulting, but you've come to welcome these touches, however fleeting they may or may not be.
So, now, with your fingers splayed over his white shirt, it's almost as if you can't bring yourself to move. It doesn't seem like Lockwood is particularly fussed about moving, either.
"What did you see?" he asks, eyeing you carefully. "Something seemed different."
Despite your team's displeasure about paired up so frequently with Lockwood and Co for certain cases by DEPRAC, you haven't been too bothered by it. You and Lockwood have begun working like a team, figuring out each other's tells and habits while still throwing insults and remarks back and forwards. He's become used to watching you use Touch to figure out where sources are, learning how your body reacts in accordance to different things.
You don't want to tell him that this particular vision fed into your own feelings, so instead you say, "It was just stronger than usual. We're close. Very close."
At last, his hand releases yours, and he places his hands on his hips, staring up at the towering tree before you. Members from both of your teams linger around the whole park, scouting out for any clues as to where the source is, seemingly with no luck. The reason for that is likely the pairings. Lucy and Kat and Ned, George and Bobby and Kipps. None of them are getting on particularly well.
"You think it's the branch itself?"
"I'm not sure." You flash your torchlight on the thick branch. "This guy, well, you know... His body was found here after days of just..."
"Hanging there."
"Thank you for that input. But yes. It would make sense. The rope had to be cut off because it was tied so tight. And the emotions were extremely strong, so it would be my best bet."
"Well, whatever you say, love."
You purse your lips. "You're insufferable."
"You love that about me."
Fighting down the urge to strangle him, you pull your silver net out of your belt. "I say we place the net over the branch, see if the ghost still appears. If it does, well, we're fucked, to put it simply. I'll be completely clueless. But, if it doesn't, then we can secure it in place overnight and get someone to remove the branch in the morning."
"Aye, aye, captain."
"Shut up."
Lockwood grins at you then, so bright and dazzling that for a moment you're frozen.
Maybe it affects you the way it does because it's something you've lacked for years. You can't remember the last time someone smiled at you with such joy before Lockwood, as if you've done something to deserve it.
Gently, he takes the silver net from your hands and swings out over the branch before stepping back and looking at it like he's just finished some incredible piece of art. You roll your eyes, glancing back at your teams again.
"I think Barnes pairs us up on purpose," you say. "He knows we don't all get on."
"We get on tremendously," Lockwood remarks. "We went from you insulting my clothes and face, and me making fun of your moods, to being the best of friends."
Frowning, you say, "I wouldn't say 'the best of friends'. I tolerate you, Lockwood. And your face and fashion haven't improved over this last month, I hope you know. I mean, come on, grey tie and pink socks? It's like you're taking inspiration from some raw salmon. Do I have to buy you some socks for your Christmas?"
He nudges your shoulder with his. "You hear yourself? You're on about getting me a Christmas present!"
His fingers brush yours then, and you almost jump from the contact. His hand is warm against the back of yours, and your fingers twitch slightly with the urge to entwine with his, even if part of you is telling you not to do it.
With a jolt, you step away. "Let's wait for this ghost. I'll let the others know about the plan."
There's something in his eyes, an unfamiliar spark within their darkness, that sends heat to your cheeks and a flutter in your stomach. But you turn away, adamant that you won't fall for his charm or whatever this is. You won't. Maybe.
--
"Oh, I've been looking for that!"
You turn as you throw a bag of pasta into your shopping basket, stopping short when you see Lockwood standing on the opposite side of the aisle. He's dressed in his usual shirt-trousers-ridiculously-long-jacket get-up, grinning with a basket hooked over his arm. For a minute, you're confused about what he means, and then you realise which hoodie you're wearing. His grey one.
In your defence, you thought you had picked up your grey Fittes one and had been a little confused by the length of it on you, but now you realise that it is not yours at all but the one he gave you a month ago. The one you keep forgetting to give him.
"Oh, yes. Um, I'll get it back to you soon."
He laughs and says, "You've told me that for weeks now. You might as well keep it now, love."
You glance down at the hoodie, fingers fiddling with the old hem. "I'll get it back to you."
"Whatever you say."
His smile is blinding, and you find yourself smiling, too. It's only a little tug at the corner of your lips, but you can see the happiness in his eyes at the sight of it. It makes something in your chest feel warm and proud and loved.
Loved. The word sends sparks down your spine. When was the last time you felt like that?
"Well, I have to get going," Lockwood says, gesturing to his basket. "George is getting tetchy and we have almost no food left in the house. I'm worried I'll get home and the house will have been destroyed in his rage."
You snort. "Kipps is the same at the Fittes offices. I try and steer clear of him when he's in a mood. He's worse than me."
"Worse than you? Sorry, love, but that's hard to believe."
"Oh, be quiet." You give him a look, and humour glints in his eyes. "I was going to offer to give you warnings of when he's particularly irritated, but I won't, now. You can just suffer."
"You have to admit," he says, "that Kipps is awfully funny when he's mad. He goes red as a tomato."
"He does."
Lockwood's smile softens to something more private, and your heart skips a beat. You want to curse at yourself. It's been a month of spending more cases together, of him walking you home late at night or catching you unawares, and already you feel differently about him. Once, you saw him as nothing more but an arrogant boy whom you couldn't stand, whose very presence had you on edge. Although you enjoyed taking the mick out of him and riling him up, you wanted to keep your interactions to a minimum.
But now?
God, you're not sure what changed. Maybe it's the way he smiles at you like he's proud of you for everything you've done and gone through, and so endlessly happy with you for simply existing. Maybe it's the gentle touches of reassurance and how he has somehow come to know your tells of nervousness or apprehension. Maybe it's how he's come to know you so well, well enough to slip little snacks you like into your kitbag for you to find on later cases when it's just you and your Fittes team.
Even now, you can spot your favourite biscuits in his basket - biscuits you're aware nobody in his house likes.
"I'll see you around," Lockwood says with his enchanting smile.
It brings out a slightly bigger smile from you. "See you, Lockwood."
As he brushes past you, his fingers twitch as if to latch onto yours, and he says, "Call me Anthony from now on, love."
"All right," you murmur. "Anthony."
--
"I'm going to kill you one day."
Lockwood breathes a laugh, peering around the corner of the street. "Who would provide you such amazing entertainment if not for me?"
You draw your rapier. "Anyone. Quite literally anyone. You know, there's this thing called salt, and Kat puts it in Bobby's coffee when he's not looking sometimes. However, now is really not the time for that. Are those Rawbones still looking for us?"
"No."
"Oh, good."
"Well, not really. They've found us."
A horrible wail pierces your ears, one that Lockwood can't hear, and you flinch, glancing past him and to the ghosts that are leering at you. Rawbones, terrible variations of Wraiths, with no skin and bulging eyes. The sound of their teeth grinding sets the hairs on your arms on end., and the glare you send his way is scathing.
"I told you we should've just left!"
"Nonsense." Lockwood's rapier is moving fluidly in front of him, keeping the Visitors at bay. "You're the best agent I know besides myself. We can handle these."
Scowling, you throw a salt bomb at each of the two Rawbones. "Just because we can, doesn't mean we should. We've no way of finding a source!"
"Hey, think about it. If these guys kill us, then at least you won't have had to get your hands dirty killing me. Either way, we can dispatch them easily."
You glower at him and throw another salt bomb, watching the flakes disintegrate parts of the other-light and speckle the ground. "Who would even want to haunt a street with a greasy chippy and stinking public toilets?"
He grins as he looks back at you. "Maybe they were particularly fond of the chippy. Can't beat fish and chips on a Friday night. Are you a mushy peas or gravy kind of girl?"
"At the moment, neither!"
One of the Rawbones takes its chance with his peas-or-gravy distraction and launches towards Lockwood, but it never gets the chance. With all your force, you shove him out of the way, and you both slam into the wall. A harsh chill overtakes you, and you're dimly aware of a tingling pain in your arm, but you ignore it, throwing another salt bomb.
Lockwood takes up holding them back with his rapier, and it's then that you notice your jumper's sleeve steaming, a section of it burned away by ectoplasm. You hadn't been expecting to be out so late and for so long, so you didn't think to bring your thick jacket with you. Regretting your decision, you stare as the skin of your arm starts turning blue.
"Anthony?"
"Mm?" He doesn't look away from the ghosts.
"We - we have an issue."
"Do we? I think we're handling this quite well. My shoulder hurts from slamming into a brick wall, but -"
"Anthony!"
He glances back at you, his eyes immediately drawn to your burned and smoking sleeve, and the blue, swelling skin beneath. He pales momentarily, gritting his teeth, and something overtakes his expression. Anger. But not at you.
"Cover your ears and get back behind that bin over there."
"You can't be serious. It's surrounded by mouldy bananas and -"
"Go!"
The urgency in his voice has you moving before you even realise it. Ducked behind the big bin a few feet away, you peer around it and try to block out the horrible smell. Lockwood is still holding off the pair of Rawbones, but he's holding something in his free hand. It's only when he's running over to you to take cover that it was a magnesium flare.
An explosion shakes the ground, and although you had covered your ears, they still ring loudly. You can't hear what Lockwood is saying, but he drags you away by your good arm and down the street in the opposite direction from the ghosts. They're not gone permanently, but the flare has given you enough time to make your escape.
It's only when you're a few streets away that you both stop to catch your breaths beside an old phone box. You're struggling, feeling as though you're trying to breathe through a single straw, and your skin feels weird. Overly aware of the inner workings beneath it.
"Anthony," you repeat, but your voice isn't as strong.
Your legs are shaking, and you can't feel your arm anymore. You can faintly hear him speaking in the phone box, asking for an ambulance, and then he's in front of you, catching you as you stumble against a shop wall and to your knees. He tears the sleeve off your jumper, preventing any more ectoplasm from getting on your arm. Not that it would make a difference. It's already getting worse.
"You'll be all right, love," he promises, holding you close to his chest as you shiver. "An ambulance is coming. They'll be here soon."
You don't have the energy to speak, but you manage a small nod.
"They'll give you an adrenaline shot, and you'll be fine. You can get right back to insulting me."
His shirt is warm beneath your hand as you grip it weakly. It's a strange sensation feeling your organs slowly stop working. Already, your pulse sounds weaker in your ears.
"Hey, stay with me."
Your eyes find his and, for a moment, everything's all right. They're warm and soft and so, so comforting, and he's giving you that private smile he's taken to sharing with you. His cheeks are rosy, and salt is dusted in his hair like snow. Your lips tug in a meagre attempt at a smile.
"You're an asshat," you manage. "We should've gone the way I said."
He breathes a laugh. "Yeah, we should've."
His hand brushes hair from your eyes, lingering on your cheek for a moment, and you lean into the touch, relishing in the feeling of his pulse against your skin. If you don't think too hard, you can pretend it's yours and that your organs aren't on shutdown.
"Hey, look," Lockwood says gently. "See the lights, love? Ambulance is here to help you. You'll get that adrenaline and you'll be fine."
And you know you will be. His voice is so genuine that you know he's not just saying it to ease your mind. You've seen agents and civilians with ghost-touch, seen their skin turn blue and swell and their lives slowly drain away when the ambulances took too long to reach them. But you'll be okay. As long as Lockwood stays with you.
--
Giving Anthony Lockwood your address was the best idea you've ever had.
He knows where you hide your spare key outside of your flat, so he lets himself in as you lounge on your sofa, watching the news on your old TV. For now, you're out of action, your arm still taking time to recover from ghost-touch, though you're all right in most other senses.
Your arm aches still and has taken to staying a faint shade of blue, and sometimes you have the unshakeable fear that you've not been cured of the ghost-touch, but you always come out of it fine.
The one benefit of being on sick leave is that Lockwood stops by every single day without fail with a coffee from your favourite café, along with a fresh packet of your favourite biscuits and a newspaper. You're not big on reading the newspapers, but you figure he brings them simply because his face is appearing in them more and more, and he wants to show off.
"Oh, you're an angel," you murmur as you take the coffee from his hands, taking a long sip of it and sighing contentedly.
He beams at you, scattering the biscuits onto a plate. He does that so you can gradually eat them over the day without having to struggle to pick them out of the packet, but you're sure he knows that you scoff them all the minute he leaves. As soon as you're back out of your flat and working, you're going to have to get back to your morning runs. Maybe the runs can be you running to the shop to buy more...
"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he says, bringing the plate over and setting it on your coffee table. "I'll pretend you've said it because you adore me so and not because I've turned into your slave."
You smile sweetly over the lid of your cup. "You don't have to get me stuff. I've told you this. It's your fault for being a stubborn ass."
He laughs, sitting at the end of the sofa, just beside where your feet are curled up. "And there's the name-calling. Glad to know you're getting better, love. Besides, if I can make life a little easier for you, I may as well. Now you owe me."
"So it's not out of the kindness of your heart, then?" You roll your eyes, taking another sip of coffee. "And I thought we were friends."
Raising an eyebrow, he says, "Just friends?"
For a second, something in your chest constricts and you can't look at him. "I mean, if you really want to say best friends, you can go for it, but I'm not really in the business of -"
"Just shut up and admit you like me already, love. It's agonising watching this play out."
You freeze, mouth slightly opened and eyes wide. Lockwood looks at you with a smug expression, eyes glittering with something - mischief, glee. Swallowing the lump in your throat and closing your mouth, you look away from those dark eyes of his.
Growing up how you did, it's always been hard for you to discern your feelings beyond irritation and anger. The more time you spent with Lockwood, the more things you felt and the more confusing everything became. Finally, you had a friend, someone you could laugh with and explore a part of you that you've never been permitted to. You've found out that you like things you never thought you would, like walking home in the dark, pulled close to someone's side. Shopping with the hopes of seeing the people you know and care for. Reading. Feeling someone's arms around you. Being smiled at in a way that makes you feel warm and mushy inside.
Lockwood has been the one to start the change, to awaken these feelings inside of you. Before him, you were lonely. Horribly so, and your anger was a way for you to mask that. But ever since your time spent together, one particular feeling has always stood out, and you've never been able to understand it.
Love.
You're not really sure what love is, but you know you feel it when he's around. When he grins at you in that special way of his, or when he plays with your fingers on long walks home, trying to figure out what each line and crease means as if he's a palm reader. When he keeps you close to his side and steps in front of you, shielding you from ghosts even though you're more than capable of taking care of yourself.
Love might be the feeling of happiness in your chest when you look at him. It might be the flutter you get in your tummy when his name is spoken, or his skin touches yours.
"I..." You struggle with the words.
But he understands. You know with the way the corners of his lips twitch and his nose crinkles that he understands. You've never been good at communicating verbally, something he's begun to learn.
"I've known for a while," he says. "I'm irresistible, after all."
The humour helps ease the whirlwind in your mind. "You're insufferable."
He leans over, his fingers brushing yours before latching on. You've had this exact conversation before. "You love me for it."
You do. You really do.
So you don't move away when his face nears yours, watching as he slowly comes closer, closer, closer. His eyes are so bright, speckled with so many shades of bronze and copper and gold, and so happy.
No, you do move. You lean forward, and all of a sudden your lips are on his and his hands are pulling your face impossibly closer and you're clutching onto him with your good hand. And you're spiralling, down and down into this feeling people call love, falling onto it like a soft bed you've never had the privilege to sleep in before. There's an ever-so-faint taste of bitter tea on his lips, which are so soft it shouldn't be real.
But it is. It's so, so real, and you're kissing him. He's kissing you. The world melts away. You feel like you're exploding in bursts of colour and flowers and stars until you're nothing more than the air that surrounds you.
And when he pulls away, you smile wider than you ever have before.
#anthony lockwood x reader#lockwood x reader#lockwood and co x reader#lockwood and co fanfiction#lockwood and co#lockwood and co netflix#anthony lockwood#lucy carlyle#george karim#x reader#fanfiction#givemea-dam-break
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((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))
“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞
From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa
anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)
Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence
15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”
When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed.
Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.
He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay?
But, uh. Let’s back up a little.
—
Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.
He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air.
Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.
So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.
With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.
"What's going on here?"
The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.
"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”
He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.
“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.
The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.
“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”
“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”
Tim stops in his tracks.
“Forty-eight—?”
“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”
Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive.
Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front.
Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.
It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.
Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—
And then Tim thinks about the call.
The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later.
He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.
“Today,” he repeats.
She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”
"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."
—
He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.
Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.
Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.
Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.
He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.
As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.
“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”
The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.
“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”
“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.
“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”
“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.
“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”
“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”
—
The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape.
He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.
He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.
By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.
“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”
He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this.
Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.
Fuck it.
He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.
Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’— which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.
Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.
He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.
Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—
And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.
“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”
He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.
—
Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.
See, here’s the thing.
The thing is, he has options.
He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down).
He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.
And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.
No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.
With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:
“Hand over your wallet!”
He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.
Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.
Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.
The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.
“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”
The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.
“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”
The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”
Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight.
His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.
“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”
“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.
Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.
“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”
Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.
“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.
Tim blinks. So do the muggers.
He knows that voice.
“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.
Everything happens pretty quickly after that.
Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.
Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes—
Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.
Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop.
So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.
Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.
“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”
Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.
Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”
Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.
Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.
“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.
Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.
“Yeah. Had.”
So much for the League, Tim muses.
Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror.
“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”
Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”
Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.
“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed.
God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way.
“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”
—
They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.
“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”
“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”
Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”
“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”
“Again. Fucking ew.”
“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”
“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”
Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”
Jason thwacks him upside the head.
“Ow! What the fuck?”
“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”
“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”
“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.
Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”
Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.
“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”
Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.
Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.
“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”
Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”
Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.
“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”
“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”
The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.
Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.
“Jason—!”
“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”
“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”
“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”
“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.
“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”
The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.
“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”
Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.
Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.
“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”
“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.
“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.”
Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.
“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”
He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.
And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.
He knows, okay?
“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”
“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”
Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.
And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to.
But he still means it.
“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”
The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.
“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.
The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.
But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.
Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”
Jason’s grin is electric.
He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.
Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—
—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.
“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”
“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.
“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”
Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch.
The kiss is— bad. At first.
Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.
Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.
Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.
“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.
“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”
Tim is already asleep.
#one hundred thousand years have passed#i creak up out of the soil gasping and hacking and coughing#'i lived bitch'#'have some jaytim that grew legs on me'#my writing#asked and answered#jaytim#ladytauria#hurt/comfort#this one is sillier and more light-hearted than the other ones#the hurt is more like 'near tears travel exhaustion' than your typical aftermath of violence lol but it so definitely counts#i held a gun to the head of the muse that said 'this is way too short' and pulled the fucking trigger#i KNOW it's a very fast get together but i did Not want this to become my next 5 digit wordcount fic okay. okay. oka#the bones of a long 'tim and jason vs the league of assassins' fic is hiding here#and if i actually wrote that this would have ended much differently#but i am Not Writing That okay I am Writing Cowboys and also Werewolves Right Now. I Do Not Have Time For This!!!!!!#prompt fill
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Hive Troopers!
But what if the Kaminoans crossed Jango's DNA with some sort of Nabooian or Alderaanian honey bee? It probably helps them communicate on the battlefield, and obviously they get the benefits of not needing a jetpack! I've got a lot of thoughts about these boys, but I'll just give some of the basics for now:
The troopers can use communicate sort of like a hive mind! It's not as sophisticated as using communicators, but they can convey feelings and vague ideas
Their antennae are very sensitive! They can be used to sense touch, smell, taste, some vibrations, temperature, and more! I think that ARFs like Waxer and Boil would probably learn to use them with a lot more skill through their training, in the same way they'd learn to use more complex or advanced HUD modes.
I think that troopers' stingers would be closer to the stingers that wasps have: retractable, and doesn't cause them to die after one sting by getting ripped off.
Troopers' wings are also probably way more durable, I can't imagine the Kaminoans sending them into battle with anything fragile like that, so they probably modified the DNA. I think the wings are pretty flexible instead of being breakable.
I'll go into this more another time, if anyone is interested, but I think that the distribution of internal organs would be significantly different with the addition of the secondary abdomen.
The boys are FLUFFY!!!
I think that the fluff would be kinda waterproof (I mean,,,, they grew up on Kamino and all) but on the other hand I think it'd make fire waaaay more dangerous. I think that blaster bolts could also cause the fluff to catch fire....
Can they make honey? yeah dude they're beeeeeees
They probably made space-mead out of it lmao
I have a lot of feelings about the way cadets are grown in little tubes land sleep in tubes on the walls like bees use honeycomb for their larvae and its all in large curved structures and how the whole thing seems just a touch like a hive......
They can DEFINITELY dance maps like bees can!!!! The ARCs and ARFs are the best at it.
They don't have compound eyes, but they do have hexagonal pupils!
I'm gonna doodle more of this whenever I have time, so let me know if you want to see anything specific, or have any fun ideas from this? I'd love to talk about them!!! <3
I also want to say that I have been VERY heavily inspired by @mothask! Please go have a look at their amazing fluffy moth boys!
@yukipri's winged au is also a huge inspiration for this! Y'all have GOT to go check out "Take Flight, Brothers All" on ao3 it's SO GOOD!!
And finally, a lot of the ideas I've developed about the bees' ARF training have come from the Reconstruction Corps AU (specifically Open Skies), created by the amazing @cacodaemonia!! I've got a lot of plans for Wax and Bo as ARF bees that I'm so excited to get started on!
So much love and appreciation to all of my inspirations!!!!! <333333
I have no idea if anyone's made anything like this before lol, but if anyone has I'd love to know!!
<3 I do not give my consent or my permission for my art to be re-posted or reuploaded on this or any other website <3
#stars i love these boys#so fwuffy#fives is definitely up to no good#i feel bad that fives is missing his other half lol echo will have to be in my next post#let! boil! have! a nap!!!!!!#did waxer get his name because he's the best at making beeswax...?#fives#arc trooper fives#trooper fives#clone trooper fives#cody#commander cody#clone marshal commander cody#cmc cody#marshal commander cody#waxer#trooper waxer#clone trooper waxer#lt waxer#lieutenant waxer#boil#trooper boil#clone trooper boil#rex#captain rex#cpt rex#clone troopers#Star Wars#Star Wars the clone wars#swtcw
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