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#killed my boy!! goddamnit!!!

fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

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Grays II

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays - Part I | Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, matchmaking elements, meddlesome mother, lots of teasing, not-quite-friends to lovers dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, oral sex (F and M receiving), protected sex, dirty talk.

Word count: 8.5k

Notes: It's here - 4 months later! First of all, thank you so much for the love for Grays Part I. I still can't quite believe the reaction to Frankie and Shiv, you guys sure know how to make a writer feel special 🥰 This one was so much fun to write, and nervous as I am posting this follow-up, I'm telling myself to let go of my insecurities and just enjoy it because that's what it's all about. I hope y'all will have a good time at this wedding with the gang 😘

Francisco Morales likes to think of himself as a reasonably competent man.

He can pilot a helicopter under intense enemy fire. He can take out a target from miles away in the tightest of spots.

But he can’t do his fucking hair.

He glares at himself in the mirror. He can’t put his finger on it, it just doesn’t look like how you did it. He’s already washed it out and started over twice, and for a second, he considers driving to your salon. A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s far too late for that now.

Leaning over the sink, he says to his reflection, ‘Focus, pendejo. You can do it.’

He’s a pilot for fuck’s sake. He’s a man of procedure, he can follow steps. He just needs to break it down.

Hair half-dry - check.

Hair mousse applied - check.

Now he just needs to dry his hair all the way and style it - but the how is where it gets hazy.

Frankie closes his eyes and casts his mind back to your salon. He’s sitting in the chair and you’re standing behind him. He wills himself to recall what you were doing with your hands, but all he remembers is the scrape of your of your fingertips on his scalp, the ghost of your breath on the back of his neck, and then -

Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.

He scrubs a frustrated palm down his face when his cock twitches in his haphazardly ironed dress pants, not for the first time… hell, not even the fourth time since he left your salon on Wednesday afternoon.

‘Goddamnit,’ he bites out, dropping the hairdryer with a clunk and grips the porcelain sink. He needs to calm the fuck down.

He didn’t ask for - this, whatever this is. You’re you. You’re Shiv. The loudmouth with the wild hair he’s known since fifth grade. The fourth wheel at guys’ drinks when Will can’t make it. A relentless tease on a good day, and downright insufferable when you get enough tequila in you.

And quite possibly, the only person who’s ever driven him to the brink of unconsciousness with just the touch of their bare hands.

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe you’re right. It has been a while since he’s been with a woman. He just needs to get laid at the wedding, get this weird tension out of his system. And then hopefully, he’ll be able to go to sleep without being kept up by you telling him to go harder, deeper -

By the time he gets his head out of his ass, it’s too late for second-guessing. He rakes his fingers through his hair, sets it with hairspray, and quickly rubs the beard oil he bought in town yesterday into his whiskers. He takes a moment to look himself over while he clumsily does up the tie he borrowed from Pope.

This is as good as it’s gonna get.

He’s the designated driver tonight. By some miracle, he’s only five minutes late when he cruises into Pope’s driveway, where all three of the boys are waiting and sipping on beers.

‘Damn Fish, you look good,’ crows Santi as he climbs into the passenger seat, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You should get your hair cut at Shiv’s from now on.’

‘Only if you keep paying for it,’ retorts Frankie while he backs out of the driveway. He pauses as he changes gears, and adds in a grumble. ‘She’s making me use shampoo and conditioner.’

Pope barks in laughter, twisting in his seat to give Benny a knowing grin. ‘Someone had to, you caveman.’

The younger Miller brother ribs good-naturedly, ‘You ready for some action tonight, Fish? I brought some extra rubbers just in case.’

Meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, Frankie rips into him mercilessly. ‘You know your small ass condoms don’t fit me, Benjamin.’

The car erupts with playful jeers, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile as he palms the steering wheel.

‘That’s some fighting talk, Fish!’ goads Santi, punching him on the arm.

Will joins in the banter. ‘You better watch out, little bro. Big Dick Morales came out swinging tonight.’

Benny grins. ‘Ok, I see how it is. Let’s make it interesting, Fish. Whoever picks up a one night stand first wins a hundred bucks.’

Frankie shrugs in mock nonchalance and quips, ‘I mean, I can use the cash. Shampoo ain’t cheap.’

Benny chuckles and clasps his shoulder. ‘You’re on, man.’

It’s eight on the dot when you lock up the salon. While you did RSVP for wedding drinks - opting out of the sit-down dinner earlier in the evening - you hadn’t planned on actually going. But it seems like the whole town did, you’ve barely had two customers walk through the door all afternoon.

So you let Ashton go home early, and after a quick snack, you take your time getting ready. Might as well have a Saturday night out - your first in many months.

The hotel is just a short Uber ride away. When you climb out of the car, you bite your bottom lip at the unfamiliar tension humming under your skin.

Nerves.

You’re nervous.

And worse, you know exactly what you’re nervous about.

Or more precisely - who.

‘Pull it together, Shiv,’ you mutter under your breath. Steeling yourself, you stride into the hotel.

From his vantage point at the bar, Benny watches in amusement as Frankie glances towards the doors of the reception hall yet again. He doubts the pilot even knows he’s doing it, or at the very least, he doesn’t think that anyone would notice.

Grabbing his beer, Benny sidles up to his friend. ‘Looking for something, Fish?’

Frankie takes a sip of his Coke and feigns nonchalance. ‘Yeah, looking to win that hundred bucks from you.’

‘Dunno ‘bout that. I don’t see you trying very hard.’

‘Biding my time, Miller. Just make sure you have enough cash to -’

When Frankie breaks off in the middle of his sentence, Benny doesn’t need to look to wager a guess what caught his attention.

Turning around as you approach, he flings his arms out to give you a hug, eyeing you up and down appreciatively. ‘Babe, look at you all dressed up! Doesn’t she look nice, Fish?’

In lieu of an answer, Frankie stares intently at some invisible spot over your shoulder until Benny elbows him right in his stomach, jerking him out of his trance. ‘Fish?’

Frankie clears his throat and stutters. ‘Um. I - I don’t know.’

You arch an eyebrow at him. ‘You don’t know if I look nice?’

Benny has to stopper his mouth with beer so he doesn’t laugh out loud at the panic on Frankie’s face as he fumbles for a response. ‘I mean. Um, nice… pants?’

‘It’s a jumpsuit, Morales. Try to keep up,’ you reply and take two steps towards him, which has him backpedalling so fast that he upsets the table behind him, sending half-empty glasses spilling wine all over the white tablecloth.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he growls at you like a cornered stray.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pull him upright by his tie. ‘Is he ok, Ben? He’s even jumpier than usual.’

‘Well, it’s a funny night for him. Watching his ex get married and all.’

‘I swear to God, Benjamin Miller, if you don’t shut the fuck up -’

‘Pipe down, Morales, we’re just messing with you,’ you shush him, tugging on his slightly skewed shirt collar to set it straight. ‘Can’t believe you own a tie.’

‘Borrowed it from Pope,’ he grunts without making eye contact.

Smoothing the lapels of his slightly crumpled suit jacket, you probe, ‘You’ve been using shampoo and conditioner like I asked?’

Frankie huffs a dry laugh. ‘I don’t remember you asking.’

‘Someone’s mouthy tonight,’ you tease. ‘And the beard oil?’

He concedes with a sigh. ‘Yes, Shiv.’

‘You look good, Francisco,’ you grin and reach up to push his curls back from his eyes.

He looks away as he admits, ‘Took three fucking tries.’

At least he holds still when you make small adjustments to his hair, shoulders stiff with hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You catch yourself missing the way he leaned into your touch in your salon, and you have to forcefully push that thought away as you push your fingers through the roots to boost the volume. His curls feel softer already than you remember them, with a noticeably healthier sheen.

After a final rustle to loosen up his fringe, you wink at him. ‘Mark my words, the bride will rue the day she dumped your ass when she sees you.’

A voice from behind you interrupts. ‘It’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it?’

Trading a look with Frankie, who gives you a sarcastic thumbs up, you put on a smile and turn on your heels. ‘Mrs. Morales, it’s been too long!’

‘I see you haven’t dyed my son’s hair like I requested,’ she says by way of a greeting, drawing you into an embrace.

Frankie’s taunt is so quiet that you nearly miss it. ‘Told you she’d come after you.’

Without skipping a beat, you elbow him in the ribs, ignoring his pained oomph from behind you. ‘You look wonderful tonight, ma’am.’

‘You can’t sweet talk your way out of my question, young lady.’

You cross your arms with a sigh. ‘I didn’t dye it because he looks good with the grays.’

‘Well, I don’t think so.’

‘In my professional opinion, he does,’ you retort pointedly.

‘If he looks so good, why is he still single?’

Frankie throws his hands up in exasperation. ‘Gee, thanks a lot ma.’

You turn to Benny, who has been silently watching you two spar. ‘What do you think, Miller?’

He dithers, eyes darting around in desperation until he spots Santi and his older brother coming back from the bar. ‘Look! Here are the guys, let’s ask them!’

‘Ask us what?’ asks Santi, giving you a kiss on the cheek and a glass of bubbly.

‘Do you think my son looks good with the grays?’

Your eyebrow twitches when Mrs. Morales carelessly ruffles his hair to emphasise her point. To your surprise, Frankie bats her away with an irritated ma!, before hastily rearranging it.

‘Your honest opinion, if you please,’ you add.

The boys hum and haw, sipping their beers and shooting uncertain looks between you and Mrs. Morales, clearly uncomfortable being caught in the middle. Upping the heat, you narrow your eyes at them, and Will folds first.

‘Yeah, I mean - he looks good,’ he mumbles, avoiding the Morales matriarch's glare.

‘Pope?’ you prompt.

‘Cabrón rocking those grays,’ he nods supportively.

‘Ben?’

‘Uh huh,’ he replies vaguely, but at your menacing glare, clarifies, ‘Yes, I meant - yes, ma’am.’

Mrs. Morales scoffs. ‘They’re men, what do they know! I don’t see him catching any girls’ attention.’

Ah, that’s the easy part. You look around, scanning the crowds - and bingo, you see a brunette staring openly from across the dance floor. You hold up a finger for dramatic effect. ‘Excuse me for one second.’

Frankie looks ready for the earth to swallow him whole by the time you return with the said woman in tow. Pointing straight at him, you ask, ‘Lucy, this is Frankie. Do you think he’s hot with the grays?’

To her credit, she’s a good sport, and plays along with a cheeky wink. ‘Yeah, he is. You wanna dance, handsome?’

‘Yes, he absolutely does!’ you answer quickly before he can get a word in.

‘What the fuck, Shiv?’ Frankie seethes through clenched teeth, literally digging his heels in, but to his despair, his shoes skid uselessly on the tiled surface as you push him towards the dancefloor with this complete stranger.

Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

‘Have fun, Fish!’ calls out Pope impishly, which earns him an emphatic middle finger.

You beam at Mrs. Morales smugly. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

‘You better keep it up, young lady,’ she says over her shoulder as she turns to leave.

You raise your drink. ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs M. I promise you - he’ll be leaving with his future wife tonight!’

Santi is minding his own business, sipping on his beer as he stakes out the ladies, when a hand shoots out from nowhere and snatches the bottle from him.

‘What the fuck, man?!’ he bristles indignantly.

Frankie polishes off the drink in one mouthful, before slamming it onto the table and demanding, ‘Where’s Shiv? I’m done. I’m not fucking dancing with anyone else.’

Pope jerks his thumb to the other side of the room. ‘She’s arguing with your mother.’

Frankie flops into a chair, the dress shoes that he never wears are pinching his feet and he fights the urge to kick them off. He folds his arms across his chest petulantly, one palm over his mouth as his eyes wander across the hall to you, where you’re gesturing madly at his ma, embroiled in an impassioned discussion, probably still about his damn hair.

You’re all dressed up tonight, which is new to him - he’s only ever seen you in jeans when you go out drinking with them, and he’s certainly never seen so much of you. The ‘jumpsuit’ (he learns something new every day) is black and cut low both front and back, and fuck, all he sees is soft skin and the dip of your curves and red lipstick -

Pope must have nipped to the bar while he wasn’t looking, and a fresh bottle of beer appears under his nose. Glancing up at his best friend, Frankie mutters, ‘Thanks.’

‘You can’t marry her, Fish.’

He chokes violently at the casual non-sequitur, spraying beer everywhere. ‘What the fuck, Pope.’

Santi beams. ‘You got that look on your face, man. I’ve seen that look before.’

‘I don’t have a look on my face.’

He chuckles, mostly to himself. 'Damn, I really should've seen this coming.'

‘What are you even on about -’ Looking up, Frankie spots you making your way over and panics. ‘Shut the fuck up, pendejo.’

‘Why aren’t you dancing, my little debutante?’ you ask when you come within earshot.

Santi chortles and takes his leave, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck, Fish.’

You sink into the empty seat next to him and he deliberately twists his body away from you, drinking deeply from his bottle to drown out Santi’s words ringing in his ears.

‘So, I heard you have a bet going on with Benny. I want splitsies if you win.’

Frankie rolls his eyes, staring resolutely anywhere but at the swell of your cleavage. ‘No.’

‘40/60.’

‘Fuck off, Shiv.’

‘30/70?’ you counter-offer.

He sighs. ‘You’re impossible.’

Ignoring him, you jump up with a happy squeak when someone Frankie vaguely recognises as a girl who used to be in your class approaches with a shy smile. You pull her close by the crook of her arm and ask, ‘Morales, you remember Sadie?’

He tries not to scowl too openly as he too gets on his feet. ‘Sure, hi Sadie.’

Herding them towards the dancefloor, you grin, ‘Go dance, get reacquainted.’

As he passes by you, Frankie grits his teeth and curls his fingers into the meat of his palms to crush the urge to reach out and touch you.

But it’s easier to fall into your well-rehearsed roles, to toe the line that has been drawn in the sand since you were teenagers. And easier is certainly the safer option when it comes to you.

So he throws you a deliberate glare over his shoulder, with a deadpanned, ‘I hate you.’

You blow him a kiss and grin wider.

Frankie can’t hold back a relieved sigh when the interminably long song finally ends, and the woman he’s dancing with - he won’t even pretend he remembers her name - tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jacket after tapping in her number. ‘Call me, gorgeous.’

He stopped counting after the eighth woman you shepherded his way. This is it. He’s not above hiding in the toilets if that’s what it takes to make this stop.

Except he’s not quick enough. He spots you out of the corner of his eye, marching straight towards him with a fresh glass of water and a look of purpose on your face.

He doesn’t exactly know what came over him. He could probably blame it on the one and a half beers that he downed, or being pushed to the end of his tether. Whatever it is, there’s something he has to say to you, and it can’t wait.

You push the glass into his grasp. ‘Here, hydrate.’

‘Shiv -’

You’ve already swivelled around, your focus somewhere else. ‘Where is she? She was literally just behind me -’

‘Shiv -’

‘Mind you, she’s a sweet girl, but clearly not the brightest tool in the -’

His patience snaps, and he barks, ‘Shiv!’

You spin around, brow furrowed in confusion, and snarl back, ‘What?’

Frankie pauses, and you blink as his warm eyes hold yours. On an exhale, he says, ‘You look nice tonight.’

You’re vaguely aware that your jaw has gone slack, but only because his eyes follow the movement, dropping to your mouth. He considers you for a moment, head tipping just slightly to the side as he watches you. Then, satisfied that he has your attention, he brings the glass of water to his lips, throwing his head back as he drinks.

Your breath catches in your throat when his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow, before he leisurely swipes his lips with the back of his hand.

Except in your mind, it’s not water that he’s wiping from his mouth.

In a perfectly mirrored imitation of what transpired between you earlier in the evening, he takes two measured steps forward, prompting you to back up against the table behind you. The tinkle of glasses falling over hardly registers in the back of your mind.

The fabric of his suit is cool on your skin, brushing your bare arm as he looms over you, so broad and warm. Though his front barely makes contact, your peripheral vision gives and all you can see is him.

‘What are you doing?’ you croak the same words back at him, hating the way your voice shakes.

Frankie smiles - really smiles at you, with no colour of the usual irony or sarcasm. Warmth settles into the creases in the corners of his eyes as he holds up the empty glass. ‘Just putting my glass away,’ he says coolly, an edge of cockiness at your tragically obvious reaction to him.

You feel your cheeks heat up as he does just that - the back of his hand bumping into your forearm as he moves, the breadth of him pinning you against the table. He doesn’t pull away, clearly basking in the way the tables have well and truly turned -

‘Hi! You must be Frankie, I’m Jan.’

Frankie squeezes his eyes shut in irritation at the voice behind him, nostrils flaring as he collects himself. A resigned smile tugs at his lips, and he tips forward, his words grazing your ear. ‘Catch you later, Shiv.’

You only let your knees buckle when he’s safely out of sight.

You’ve barely stepped back into the reception hall from a much needed bathroom break to clear your head when someone grabs you by the arm, tugging you onto the dancefloor.

‘Benny!’ You reprimand, stumbling over your feet. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Relax, Shiv. Frankie can survive on his own for a second.’

‘You’re just jealous that he’s hogging all the ladies’ attention.’

He scoffs, palms on your waist as he sways to the music. ‘He has an unfair advantage, ok? How do I compete with the bride’s ex?’

Clasping your hands around Benny’s neck, you catch Frankie’s eye over his shoulder. You wink at him casually, having somewhat recovered your bravado - it’s easier to pretend from a distance anyway. He rolls his eyes at you over Jan’s head, but he doesn’t look away, watching you with a hint of something you can’t quite make out.

Glancing up at Benny, you ask a tad bashfully, ‘I know we give Frankie a hard time about all this, but is he - ok?’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

You hesitate. ‘Well, we’re not exactly that kind of friends.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, the kind who sit around having heart-to-hearts and painting their nails.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What kind of friends are you, then?’

‘I don’t know, he probably doesn’t even count me as one,’ you admit. ‘He barely tolerates me on a good day.’

Benny shoots you a cryptic look, but before you can quiz him on it, he changes the subject abruptly. ‘Can I swing by the salon tomorrow morning? I have a promotional shoot at half past eleven.’

‘As long as you bring donuts and coffee.’

He twirls you around. ‘Deal.’

Frankie slinks out of the hotel, somehow managing to dodge both you and his mother on his way out, which he takes as a win.

It’s cold outside. He inhales deeply and feels it burn down his throat. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he watches his breath mist in front of his face, savouring the quiet.

‘Hey.’

His shoulders stiffen. He knows he should’ve been the bigger man. Should’ve sought her out first, to congratulate her.

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

When he turns around eventually, she smiles brightly at him, her engagement ring catching the lights.

Closing the space between them, he presses a kiss to her cheek. ‘Congratulations. You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she replies. ‘I’m glad you came. Your mum too - it was a long way to travel.’

His gaze falls to his shoes. ‘Yeah, well. You know she loves you.’

‘How are you?’ she presses on, always one for polite conversation. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

Frankie shrugs but doesn’t answer.

‘Just because it didn’t work between us doesn’t mean I want you to be happy.’

He nods slowly. ‘I appreciate that.’

She points behind her. ‘Well, I should go back inside.’

‘Of course. I’m happy for you,’ he says. And he means it.

The hotel doors swing open, and Frankie looks up at the sharp clack of heels on the concrete. You pause at the sight of them by the curb.

‘Are you leaving, Shiv?’ the bride laments as you walk over to give her a hug.

‘I am, I’m afraid, gotta open up shop early tomorrow,’ you pull back. ‘Come by the salon any time, my treat.’

Once the bride is out of earshot, you turn to Frankie, hands on hips. ‘Alright, no more shirking, Morales. Get your ass back in there, your mother is on my case again.’

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Oh no, I’m not going back in there without you.’

You sigh dramatically. ‘Am I the only one in this town who’s not scared of your mother?’

‘You should be,’ he snorts, then nods towards the parking lot. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

Taken aback by his offer, you hesitate. ‘Um - I thought you were the designated driver for the guys tonight.’

He brushes off your concerns with an easy shrug. ‘I’ll come back to get them after I drop you off.’

Typical Frankie - he walks off without even glancing back to see if you’re coming with him.

You smile to yourself and follow.

You must be drunker than you realised, because you’re staring. Again. For what must be the fifth time in the ten-minute drive.

It’s a lot of staring, even for you.

His jacket lies abandoned in the backseat, his tie jostled loose and the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened, sleeves bunched up to his elbows. You watch from the corner of your eye as his left hand grips the top of the steering wheel steady, fingers flexing every now and then on straight stretches of road.

As if you’re not already discreetly squeezing your thighs together, he’s also rubbing his right palm idly on his leg, the innocent rustle of fabric against skin getting you far too hot and bothered under the metaphorical collar.

And then - your eyes trail higher - settling on the heavy bulge at the top of his spread thighs.

Fuck. You’re definitely drunk.

You mull silently to yourself that you actually prefer him in his beat-up jeans and threadbare t-shirts before catching yourself. You weren’t aware you had any preferences when it comes to Frankie Morales. And you have no business doing so.

Clearing your throat, you break the tense silence. Well, tense for you, anyway. He seems completely oblivious to your inner strife.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t win the bet.’

His lips quirk, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

‘I had another five girls lined up for you, you know.’

He scoffs. ‘No, thank you.’

You reach over to punch him on the arm playfully. ‘C’mon, you know you enjoyed the attention, Morales.’

‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’ he peers at you.

You make a face of disbelief. ‘If you hated it that much, why did you go along with it?’

Cruising into your street, his truck rolls to a smooth stop outside your salon. Frankie kills the ignition, then turns towards you. His answer is simple, and hits you right between the ribs.

‘Because you wanted me to.’

You force a chuckle in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Since when did you care about what I wanted?’

He smooths his palm over the steering wheel and holds your gaze. ‘Sometime when I wasn’t looking.’

It would be simpler to pretend you didn’t understand what he means. To brush off this pull between you as a champagne-induced episode that you could sleep off. If you did, you could still show up at Tuesday nights drinks next week as if nothing has changed, and carry on.

It would be simpler. So you ask -

‘Do you want to come in for a nightcap?’

Frankie follows two steps behind you as you grapple with the keys on the doorstep. Once inside, the salon is quiet, and you strategically turn on the lights by the backwash, the semi-darkness making it more homey than it would have been if fully lit up.

‘I would invite you upstairs -’ you pause and add hastily, ‘I don’t mean upstairs like, upstairs in that way - it’s just that my apartment is tiny, and the backwash is the closest thing I have to a couch. Are you okay with beer?’

‘Beer’s good, thanks,’ he answers. ‘Need a hand?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘Oh god, please no - it’s a disaster upstairs. I’ll be right back.’

The rickety stairs creak loudly under your heels, and once you let yourself into your studio, you fall back heavily on the door, taking a second to catch your breath.

You invited him inside.

He said yes.

You leap into action, shoving all your dirty laundry into the already full hamper. You try not to think too hard about why you’re cleaning up, you just hope you’re not making too much of a ruckus while you’re at it - because you have a boy waiting for you downstairs.

Francisco Morales, of all people.

Despite having been in each other’s lives since high school, you’re pretty sure you’ve never been alone with him. Not even once. There’s always a buffer with Pope on his side, Benny on yours, and Will in the middle. And while some find Frankie hard to read, you’ve always known exactly how to act around him. You have an unwritten playbook - you bait him with cheap jokes, more often than not joining forces with Benny to gang up on him. He rolls his eyes and snaps at you to shut up. It’s the longest running show in town.

But this? Alone, after his ex’s wedding, in your salon? You’re going off-script and off-piste. Dangerous enough on a good day; outright stupid after a night of drinking.

Frankie is quick to help when you reappear, armed with beer and a bag of ice, using the backwash sink as a makeshift cooler. Your shoes clatter onto the floor as you settle in the chair next to his. Hugging your knees, you hold out your bottle, which he clinks with his.

‘Did you have fun tonight?’ you ask, rather mundanely.

‘As much fun as one is expected to have at an ex’s wedding,’ he answers with a sardonic smile. Taking a sip of beer, he adds, ‘Gotta admit, you winding up my ma pretty much made up for it.’

‘That never gets old,’ you smirk. ‘Although, I promised your mother you’d leave with your future wife tonight - so that’s a bust.’

You startle when Frankie chokes on his beer, his eyes visibly watering as he thumps a fist on his chest. When you ask if he’s ok, he won’t meet your gaze, downing more of his beer.

Not thinking anything of it, you move on. ‘You know, she sent a bunch of customers my way when I first opened up the salon.’

His voice is still a bit tight from his coughing fit. ‘And I’m sure she’ll deny it till the day she dies.’

‘I can’t figure her out,’ you admit. ‘I can’t decide if she hates me or not.’

‘She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t understand you.’

You hum, unconvinced.

He nudges your knee with his. ‘She was really proud of you when you opened the salon, you know.’

You toss him a sidelong glance. ‘You talk to your mum about me?’

He’s ambiguous in his answer. ‘She asks after you sometimes.’

‘And how would you have anything to say to her? We’re not exactly bosom buddies.’

Frankie concedes with a wry smile, ‘Benny talks.’

‘Ha!’ you laugh, echoing his words from a few days ago back at him. ‘Benjamin fucking Miller.’

He goes quiet for a second, looking around your salon as if taking stock. ‘It’s pretty amazing that you’ve built all this.’

The unexpected compliment catches you blindsided. You reply diplomatically, ‘Ashton helps me loads.’

Frankie’s eyes widen in feigned surprise. ‘Are you going humble on me now? What have you done to Shiv?’

‘Shut up,’ you grumble good-naturedly, adding, ‘Ben tells me you’re doing really well yourself.’

‘Yeah. I got promoted at work last month, and I’m saving up for a house,’ he replies, a hint of pride in his voice. ‘Things are looking up.’

‘You’re actually acknowledging your achievements?’ you gasp in mock outrage. ‘What have you done to Francisco Morales?’

With a shrug, he leans forward to put his empty beer bottle in the sink, but he doesn’t sit back. Instead, he sways even closer, one palm landing on the leather of your seat next to your knee, eyes darting to your lips. His voice is deep as he rasps, ‘Can I kiss you?’

It would be so easy to say yes, but when have you ever made things easy for yourself?

Instead, you blurt out, ‘Why?’

Frankie looks amused, like he expected this from you. Slowly, not wanting to spook you, he gently plucks the beer that you’ve barely drunk from your grasp.

‘Because all fucking night, while you were throwing woman after woman at me, I just wanted to have a drink with you.’

He leans in close.

You stop breathing.

‘Because since Wednesday, every time I wash my hair, I get hard thinking of you touching me.’

Closer still.

Your lungs ache.

‘And because when you told me to go harder, deeper - I nearly lost my fucking mind.’

He’s hovering over you now, and you can almost taste the bitter sweetness of the beer on his breath. He smirks at you, but there’s only warmth and mischief in it when he teases, ‘Speechless for once?’

‘Shut up, Morales,’ you breathe and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

And then you’re kissing him. You’re kissing Frankie, and he’s kissing you back.

It’s messy, and disorientating, and you clumsily fumble over each other until he’s sitting up in one of the chairs, with your thighs on either side of his narrow hips as you straddle him. He’s licking up into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip, his hands gripping your sides almost painfully hard.

‘Is this really happening?’ you garble into his lips, ripping off his tie and undoing his shirt buttons as fast as your shaking fingers allow you to.

‘If you want it,’ he mumbles back, loath to pull back from you even for a second to shuck off his shirt. ‘If you want me.’

He kisses you wet and insistent, but he doesn’t push you, waiting for you to make up your mind. Reaching behind you, you tug on the tie that holds your jumpsuit together with a decisive pull, letting the fabric ripple down your bare front and pool around your waist.

Frankie bites his bottom lip so hard it goes white. ‘Fuck,’ he cusses, his grip on your hips twitching as he stares at your tits. ‘Can I, please -?’

‘Touch me, Francisco.’

Your poor second-hand Ikea bed that Benny helped set up when you moved in was not made for this.

This being the way Frankie effortlessly tosses you onto the mattress, his arms flexing with an easy strength that goes straight to your head, as you stare giddily up at him.

His hair - your handiwork - has been well and truly undone, errant strands falling over his eyes as he watches you, his broad frame looming over the foot of the bed. He pulls at his belt, which falls open with a careless clink, and he makes quick work of his now crumpled trousers, kicking them off impatiently.

Your head is swimming, yet somehow, you muster the strength to shuffle towards the edge of the bed, rearranging yourself to sit on your haunches, knees folded neatly beneath you. Boldly, you reach out to slide his dark boxers down his hips, and they fall around his knees and onto the floor. His cock springs free, half-hard and heavy, and Frankie swallows thickly as you tilt your face towards him.

‘I want to suck your cock.’

His eyes close as if he’s in pain, nostrils flaring at your words. Taking advantage of his distraction, you wrap one careful hand around his length, and he jerks violently at the first velvety slide of your palm against him.

‘Fuck, Shiv -’ he chokes, eyes flying open at the contact, pupils completely blown. He protests weakly, ‘No, stop, need to get you off first -’

You shoot him a lopsided smile, pumping him slowly, your pulse racing at the way you feel him swell in your grasp. ‘Can we not argue this one time?’

You lean forward and, holding his gaze, flatten your tongue and lick your way up the underside of his cock. His breath stutters, one big hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his eyes wide and almost frantic as you press open-mouthed kisses on his sensitive flesh.

With an insolent grin, you tease, ‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you, Morales?’

He whimpers, and you know you have him.

His size is obvious by sight, but you really feel it in the pressure bearing down on the hinge of your jaw as you sink down on his cock, fighting to squeeze the girth of him into your mouth. The guttural groan from Frankie makes your pussy clench, and he tastes like he looks - clean, and all man.

There’s no way you can take all of him, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. He’s hot under your touch, muscles pulled taut with tension that you can feel thrumming under his skin as you take your time with him. Focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat, you bob patiently up and down on him, slicking up his length with your spit, working him slightly deeper with every stroke - until you’re so full of him that you gag, hard.

Frankie is slack-jawed when you release him with an obscenely wet pop, spit trailing from your lips to the swollen tip of his cock, eyes wild as swipes his thumb across your puffy bottom lip.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he declares, almost solemnly.

Slinking down his front, one hand securely around the base of his cock, you take him between your lips again, moaning at the salty taste of his precum, which makes him quake above you. As you swallow his length and pump your fist in tandem, your spit wetting your fingers, you peer up at him through your lashes - nothing could’ve prepared you for the utter wreckage that you find on his face.

His lips are pulled back, baring his tidy teeth into a snarl as he very clearly struggles to hold himself back from fucking your mouth. You feel every bump and vein in his cock with each descent, the wet squelches filling in the gaps of his low grunts and moans. His grip in your hair stings as he starts panting in earnest above you, and somehow he gets even harder on your tongue, making it harder to breathe -

‘Stop, stop,’ he wheezes suddenly, pulling back in a hasty retreat that has you whining at the sudden loss of him. ‘C’mere.’

He practically hauls you up against him, kissing you deeply, delving into your mouth to taste the bitterness of himself on your tongue. The world tilts on its axis when he tips you back onto the bed, and holding himself above you, he peels the jumpsuit off, leaving you in just your panties.

‘Gonna eat you out, baby,’ he drawls by your ear, trailing one palm up your body, which stops at your tits and squeezes. ‘Get you good and ready to take my big cock. How does that sound?’

‘Fuck, yes, Frankie, please,’ you beg.

There’s no shyness when he pushes your legs up and apart, and instead of taking your panties off, he hooks a finger under the thin fabric and pulls it to the side, his eyes darkening as he stares down at you.

‘So pretty,’ he praises you lowly. Holding your breath as he sinks onto his front, you breathe heavily in anticipation as his shoulders slot neatly underneath your legs. ‘Look at how wet you are for me. All this from sucking my cock?’

You nod frantically. ‘Frankie -’

Straight to the point as always, he ducks his dark head and drags the broad of his tongue over your clit - and you’re gone.

Admittedly, you have not had the best experiences with your exes. There was always too much gratuitous moaning and too little finesse, and afterwards, they always act like they deserve a medal for failing to get you off. But even if your past lovers had been more adequate in the field, you’re sure it still wouldn’t have prepared you for this.

Frankie goes about it with a quiet focus that veers on reverential, the intensity in his dark eyes watching you makes your knees weak. He’s obviously picking up signs and reactions from you and adjusting his game plan accordingly, the pilot in him clearly in the driver’s seat.

Not that he’s silent - far from it, you feel the reverberation in your core with every satisfied hum deep in his chest, and the occasional, muttered fuck, so wet, want more in between licks and groans. But there’s nothing performative or showy about it, just a forthright competency that has you hurtling towards a toe-curling orgasm.

‘Frankie,’ you whine when you feel it about to hit. ‘Frankie Frankie Frankie -’

‘Eyes on me,’ he slurs against your sopping folds, and you listen - for once - watching him watch you fall apart on his tongue, thrashing in his hold as he grips you harder to keep you in place while he laps you up, until the burn of his patchy beard on your inner thighs makes you arch away from him from overstimulation.

Your pussy is still fluttering when he sinks two thick fingers into you, and he hisses at the way it clenches around him as he fucks you, leaving his digits slicked and slippery.

‘So tight, baby,’ he declares through gritted teeth, working you open for him. ‘Gonna feel so fucking good on my cock.’

You point towards the nightstand. ‘First drawer,’ you pant.

Needing no further prompting, Frankie yanks your panties off and flings the soaked scrap of fabric over his shoulder, then lunges at the cupboard where the condoms are. You scrape your nails over his thighs as he kneels over you, his usually steady hands visibly trembling as he tears into the wrapper and rolls the rubber over his heavy cock. He watches you with hooded eyes and settles between your legs, kissing you desperately as the swollen tip of him nudges at your entrance.

‘Ready?’ he asks, nose skimming yours sweetly.

You wind your arms around his neck, holding him close. ‘Fuck me, Frankie.’

The first push is a tight squeeze, and you can’t help the wince at the slight pinch as he sinks into you slowly. With a grunt of effort, he buries face into the slope of your neck and breathes, ‘Fuuuuck. You ok?’

‘Give me a second,’ you gasp, feeling your walls throb tightly around his length. ‘You’re so big, Frankie.’

He tangles his tongue with yours lazily in a deep kiss, before brushing his way down your throat and sucking on one nipple, making you cry out. He murmurs against your skin, ‘I know, but you’re doing so well for me, baby.’

Shifting your hips, Frankie groans when you slide him in deeper, the friction making you quiver beneath him. ‘Move, Frankie, please.’

He starts carefully, his strokes measured and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of him as he draws back then sinks back in, exhaling shakily. ‘You feel so fucking good.’

‘Harder,’ you demand when you feel your pussy relax around him. ‘Fuck me harder.’

‘Shit,’ he growls and snaps his hips, drawing a squeal from you as he hits somewhere deep inside. You wrap your legs around his waist, bracing yourself as he drives into you again and again and again, the bedframe hitting the wall with each thrust.

‘So good, Frankie,’ you plead in between hard pants. ‘Keep going. Don’t stop -’

Looking up at him, you admire the way his hair falls over his eyes, swaying with his movement. Absent-mindedly, your fingers wander into his curls and his reaction is instant - he cries out, arching into your touch, his hips faltering as he seems to lose his rhythm. ‘Oh fuck, baby, been thinking about those hands all fucking week, just wanted to feel you touch me again -’

As wrecked as you are on his cock, you smile at his confession and slide your hands languidly in his locks, dragging your nails on his scalp, your chest swelling with pride when you watch his face - dazed and completely wrecked - fucking you so hard that you’re sure the bed is about to break.

When he finds his voice again, it’s your real name that slips past his lips. ‘Gonna cum so hard, oh fuck - I’m gonna -’

Frankie’s thrusting frantically into you, eyes screwed shut until his hips stutter and then - after one perfect moment of stillness suspended in time - shudder after shudder thunder through his body, your name a broken record as he spills into the condom, his scratchy baritone moaning into your neck as the frenzied energy bleeds out of him.

His weight pins you to the bed as he catches his breath, and you play with his curls gently, basking in the rumbling purr in his chest as you run the strands between your fingers. Eventually, gathering himself, he rolls off you to let you breathe, tying the condom neatly and tossing it into the trash can.

For a second, Frankie lies on his side, watching you quietly. You watch him back, casting your gaze over the curls stuck to his sweaty forehead and his broad outline backlit by your nightstand light. Before self-consciousness can settle into the small distance between you, he cracks a smile and quips, ‘You did say I’d get laid even if it killed you.’

You laugh, which makes him grin. One strong arm reaches out to tuck you into his side, securely beneath the duvet. You hum at the tickle of his beard on the back of your neck and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

Right on the cusp of sleep, you sass, ‘Guess you’ll have to split the winnings with me after all.’

Any other day, you would’ve woken up if you heard someone on the stairwell. Hell, you’d hear if they were knocking on the salon door downstairs.

When you’re rudely shaken awake by frantic knocking on the studio door, you realise it’s because your hearing has been impaired by the side of a very warm body smooshed into your ear.

‘Shiv! Open up! I need to leave in fifteen minutes for my photoshoot!’

‘Shit,’ you croak, throat dry, limbs flailing as you try to sit up. ‘I forgot about Benny.’

‘Fuck him’, grouses Frankie, pulling you back into his arms, eyes still closed.

‘I can’t, I promised to help him with his hair. Fuck, do we need to hide you, or -’

‘The door’s thin, Shiv, I can hear him. And we put two and two together when you guys disappeared last night. We're pretty, but we ain't dumb!’

Frankie lets you go with a grumbled Benjamin fucking Miller under his breath, but he visibly perks up when you stumble out of bed naked.

You half-jokingly shield your boobs from his view. ‘Are you perving on me, Morales?’

He smirks, leaning back into the pillows with his hands folded behind his head while he eyes you appreciatively. It’s not fair how his triceps flex deliciously with the movement. ‘Why bother covering up? I’ve seen everything already.’

Trying - and failing - to shoot him a stern scowl, you pull on a robe and yank the door open, nearly careening backwards at the sight of Benny’s grinning face right in the doorway.

‘Since when did you bang paying customers?’ he demands in lieu of a good morning.

You roll your eyes and usher him downstairs. ‘He’s not a paying customer. He’s on Pope’s tab.’

Benny flops into his usual chair, making it squeak, one eyebrow up as he does the air quotes. ‘Well, I guess we now know what kind of friends you guys are.’

‘Shut up, Miller,’ you gripe, but your mouth twists into a grin, giving you away as you set up.

‘Damn, that good, huh?’ he laughs. ‘I mean, Fish does have a rep, but I've never had insider confirmation.’

You point your styling scissors at him menacingly. ‘Shut up, or I won’t be held responsible if my hands slip by accident.’

Benny feeds you a sugar donut while you work quickly, trimming the ends before styling it, going for a tousled bed head look. You hear the water pipes run upstairs and the carpeted floors creak when Frankie gets up. Trying to play it cool, you only briefly glance up, catching a glimpse of him in the mirror as he makes his way down the stairs in his rumpled shirt and trousers, zipping up the fly when he reaches the bottom.

‘Morning, stud,’ sing-songs Benny, which earns him a slap on the head. ‘Ow! What the fuck, Shiv!’

Frankie loiters behind you for a second, scratching the back of his neck, before pulling you to one side. Not that it affords you much privacy anyway, with Benny wriggling his eyebrows impertinently at the two of you in the mirror.

‘I - uh -,’ he starts haltingly, one hand rubbing at the silver patch in his beard sheepishly. ‘I had a really good time last night.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ you smile.

His voice dipping lower, he asks, ‘Can I take you out to dinner sometime?’

Benny, being the shithead that he is, interjects loudly. ‘Hey lovebirds, I’m kind of on the clock here, if you don’t mind -’

‘She’ll get to you when she gets to you, Benjamin,’ snaps Frankie, one hand on his hip and the other pointing a stern finger at him.

Something about him being so assertive sends heat running up and down your spine. Stepping into his space - beaming when he doesn’t back away - you smooth a palm over the front of his shirt, unintentionally catching the rabbiting of his heart underneath.

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug nonchalantly. ‘Do you intend to come back as a cash-paying customer?’

His eyes flash with want, one hand closing around your hip and he leans down to let his heated words brush by your ear. ‘Not if I can keep paying in other ways.’

Reaching up, you run a hand through his curls, preening at the way he closes his eyes at your touch. ‘Alright then, take me to dinner, Francisco.’

Peering around you, Frankie barks, ‘Miller, I’m cashing in on our bet.’

‘Fuck’s sake. I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,’ he gripes, digging into his wallet reluctantly.

Swiping the bill from Benny, Frankie winks at you before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth - chaste, but charged with meaning. ‘Looks like you paid for your own dinner, Shiv.’

With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head and playfully push him towards the door. ‘Get outta here before I change my mind!’

‘Yeah right - as if you would now that you know what you’ll be missing.’

You’re not sure which makes your jaw drop - his cocksure declaration or the roguish confidence with which he walks out the door. In either case, Benny howls with laughter as you struggle to stay on your feet, your kneecaps having been rendered completely useless.

Just as Frankie climbs into his truck, Ashton whistles to a stop outside the salon on his wheels. Jaw dropping at the sight of the disheveled pilot nodding at him through the windscreen, he abandons his bike right on the curb and dashes into the salon, the door banging against the wall as he rushes in.

‘Excuse me - what the fuck did I just miss?’ he demands frantically.

You roll your eyes. ‘Calm down, Ashton, it’s not what it looks like -’

‘It’s exactly what it looks like,’ interrupts Benny as he starts singing. ‘Shiv and Frankie sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-’

He breaks off with a yelp when you stuff a donut into his mouth to shut him up, sugar flying everywhere as Ashton picks you up and spins you around, squealing like a banshee the entire time.

‘You guys are the fucking worst,’ you laugh, out of breath by the time Ashton lets you go.

Glancing outside, where Frankie is still parked watching the whole embarrassing episode, he gives you one last wink and an amused grin before he pulls away from the curb.

In an almost exact repeat of the scene from a few days ago, Ashton joins you at the window, and the two of you watch, shoulder to shoulder, as Frankie smoothly steers his truck out of your street.

‘He even drives sexy,’ sighs Ashton dreamily. Nudging you in the side, he adds slyly, ‘You’re in so much trouble, Shiv.’

You grin. You know you are - and luckily, it’s not a spot of bother that you’ll be in a hurry getting out of anytime soon.

Notes: I'm so excited to have finally completed this little two-shot. The two of them have been hanging out in my head all these months, it feels amazing to finally yeet this part into the world! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you had as much fun as I did with these two 🥰 Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ❤️

Now that I've got you here, if you want more of Shiv, I wrote some silly little drabbles of her hair appointments with our handsome Pedro boys for a recent milestone celebration. There are also some fun thoughts that came out of an impromptu Grays sleepover we had last week 🤍

I'm sure we'll see more of Shiv and Frankie somewhere down the line. For now, thank you again, I love you all so much ❤️

#fuckyeahgrays2 #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales twoshot #frankie catfish morales fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales #frankie friday

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 2 months

Text

The Fixed Cup

He thought for sure things had settled down between him and Eddie after Vecna. He thought maybe he and Eddie could finally be friends, but how could he be friends with someone so annoying? Steve hoped that once their bat bites healed, they would stop bitching at each other. . . Boy, was he wrong. It's like everything about Eddie set him on edge, and it didn't help that they were stuck in this quarantine that the government had set up for them. Luckily, it was in their own houses, and Eddie was lucky enough to get stuck in his.

"I swear to God, Robin, I'm going to kill him," Steve complained into the receiver. "I mean it this time, and it will be self-defense too because I think he's also trying to kill me. If I trip over his shoes one more time. . ."

"Hmm, well, like I said before, I'm not helping you bury the body," Robin said casually.

"Aw, come on, big boy, it's so much fun watching you clean up after me," Eddie taunted from the other line.

"Get off the other line, Eddie! Goddamnit!" Steve cursed.

"Well, then, how else will I find out what you and Robbie say about me?" Eddie said.

"Well, I think you're a lovely person, Eddie," Robin said.

"Well, I'm glad someone thinks so," Eddie replied.

"Robin!" Steve whined.

"Just keeping you on your toes, Steve," Robin said. "Well, as much fun as this is. . .I'm going to call Vickie."

The line went dead, and Steve scowled before slamming the phone back on the hook. He ran down into the kitchen to find Eddie giggling at the island.

"Munson! You're such an asshole! You know I only have a certain amount of time to talk to her! Why the fuck do you have to do that?" Steve asked.

"The more you keep letting me know it bothers you. . .the more I'm going to do it," Eddie cackled. "It's fun riling you up."

Steve let out a holler and started chasing him around the kitchen. Eddie ran out laughing.

"Dick!"

Of course, it was mostly Eddie who enjoyed taunting him, but there were times that Eddie would get as annoyed with him as Steve did with Eddie himself.

"I told you I don't want to watch some dumb laundry basket game!" Eddie yelled as he grabbed for the remote.

"And I don't want to watch some stupid nerdy cartoon!" Steve yelled as he yanked back the remote.

"You're a douchebag!" He screamed.

"Oh, like you're one to talk!" Steve screamed back.

Eddie shrieked and dove on top of him. Of course, they would wrestle around with it for a while until their wounds gave them no choice but to collapse on the floor in exhaustion. They were mostly healed but still not healed enough. Steve’s not sure what it was. Maybe it was the fact that they were stuck here together with no one else. Maybe they missed their friends, Eddie missing his uncle, or maybe it was the fact that neither one of them could stop the nightmares that came every night. They were on edge all the time, whenever they were around each other. Sometimes, they just crossed the line.

"Eddie!" Steve exclaimed. "That's not a cup you drink out of! There's a sign!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, is the peasant living in King Steve’s house supposed to drink out of the poor cups?!" Eddie exclaimed as he slammed the cup down.

Of course, slamming it down on the table caused it to shatter.

"It's my grandmother's!" Steve said through gritted teeth.

"I'm sure your mommy and daddy can buy your granny another one," Eddie rolled his eyes.

"She hand-made that," Steve said, his eyes glittering with tears.

"And she can't make another one?" Eddie asked.

"It's kind of hard to do anything when you're dead," Steve snapped.

"Shit, man, I'm so - ," Eddie started to say but was startled when Steve slammed him against the wall like Eddie did that day in the boat house.

"I wish I never - " and Steve stopped himself.

"What? Saved my life?" Eddie asked, bristling.

Steve stared at him, gripping the collar of his shirt, and for once, he didn't know what to say. Eddie pushed him off of him and stormed upstairs. They didn't speak to each other for days after that. Steve thought it would be a blessing, but he found that he missed the sound of Eddie's voice. Steve had woken up in the middle of the night, after struggling to go to sleep, and walked into the kitchen to find Eddie gluing the cup back together.

"Almost as good as new," Eddie said, and Steve found himself smiling. "I mean, I wouldn't drink out of it. . ."

"Maybe I can use it as a pencil holder," Steve said and paused. "Thanks. . .and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. . ."

"I know. I'm sorry, too, man," Eddie said softly.

"I know that it doesn't seem like it, but I'm glad I'm stuck here with you," Steve said.

"Yeah?" Eddie asked and he nodded. "Back at ya."

And for a little bit, it seemed like they were almost getting along until. . .

"I didn't ask you to clean my room, Harrington. You're not my goddamn mommy," Eddie snapped.

"It was driving me crazy!" Steve exclaimed. "Just like you do! I'm sorry if I didn't want you to trip in the middle of the night!"

"You don't have to worry about me, Harrington! I can look after myself, thanks!" Eddie growled.

"It's hard to tell! You couldn't even follow simple instructions! All you had to do was follow the plan. Instead, I find you almost dying in Dustin's goddamn arms!" Steve yelled.

Eddie screamed and pushed Steve up against the wall, pressing his body up against his. They were so close that their noses were almost touching. Eddie pinned Steve’s hand above his head.

"Shut up!"

"Fucking make me."

Eddie growled again before slamming his lips to Steve’s. His eyes widened before he melted into the kiss, moaning into Eddie's mouth. He nibbled on Eddie's lip before swiping his tongue over it and slipping into his mouth. Steve felt his body move on his own and freed himself from Eddie's grasp. He pushed Eddie back onto the bed before ripping off his shirt in a quick single motion, dropping it onto the floor. Eddie was propped up on his elbows, waiting for him. The realization hit him in that moment. . .Holy shit, he just made out with a guy! It wasn't long before Eddie made that same realization, and he looked just as startled as Steve felt. Leaving his shirt behind, Steve quickly ran out of the room. They quickly avoided each other, and not talking seemed to last longer than the cup incident.

"Robin - ," Steve croaked on the phone when he picked up.

"Jesus. You sound like shit," Robin said. "Did you and Eddie get into it?"

"Something like that," Steve said. "I wish I could tell you, but it's not just my place to say."

"I swear to God, I'm willing to risk breaking quarantine. Do I need to come over there?" Robin asked. "Did Eddie do something that requires me to kick his ass? Because as much as I like him, I'll kick his ass if he actually hurt you."

"Eddie didn't do anything wrong. I think I just realized something is all," Steve said and paused. "I kind of wished we were on the floor of the bathroom for this. . .Do you think that it's possible to like girls and also like guys?"

"Oh, dingus," Robin said softly, her voice full of love. "Anything is possible. Especially that. So, you don't actually hate Eddie?"

"Turns out. . . Not so much. . .not at all, actually. I don't think I ever hated him," Steve admitted. "What do I do?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do? Do you want to do something about it, or do you want to fill out the rest of your life full of regrets? You told me to go for Vickie, and you were right. Sometimes, things do work out for the best," Robin said.

"I want to do something about it," Steve said.

"Go get your man, Steve," Robin said with a grin.

Of course, actually doing something about it was harder than he thought. Steve had chickened out a couple of times. His house made it easy for them to avoid each other, and when they did come together, it was completely awkward silence. They didn't even fight over the remote anymore. Steve missed the sound of his voice even more now. What was it going to be like when the quarantine was over? Nothing happened until Steve woke up from a nightmare, went downstairs, and broke down crying in the kitchen. The kitchen light flickered on.

"Steve?" Eddie asked, and Steve jumped.

"I'm fine," Steve sniffled.

"You don't sound fine, man," Eddie said. "Nightmare?"

As soon as Eddie touched his shoulder, Steve burst into tears again and hugged Eddie around the waist.

"You were dead. You were dead and I was alone in this house again," Steve sobbed.

"Oh, sweetheart," Eddie said, running his hand through his hair. "You've got me no matter what. I'm here."

"Would you still be here if I told you that I'm starting to fall in love with you?" Steve asked and pulled back, his hands on Eddie's hips.

"Even more so, big boy," Eddie said, cupping his face.

He stepped in between Steve’s legs and leaned down to kiss him, falling into Steve’s lap. The kiss was short and sweet. . .getting its point across perfectly.

"I'm starting to fall for you too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You want to come to bed with me? Keep the nightmares away?" Steve asked.

"Absolutely."

Eddie took his hand, and together, they walked upstairs. When the quarantine finally ended, Robin was the first one through the door. Steve was at the stove, making breakfast.

"Please, tell me you settled things with Eddie," Robin said.

"Nope! Still hate the guy! Thought for a moment that there was something else, but I was wrong! The man is just so goddamn annoying - " Steve ranted.

"Steve! Are you fucking serious?" Robin asked.

Suddenly, Eddie pounced into the room wearing Steve’s yellow sweater and one sock.

"No, but he is fucking me. We worked things out, Robbie," Eddie said, kissing Steve.

Steve giggled against Eddie's lips as Robin yelled in frustration.

"Assholes!" Robin exclaimed and plopped down at the island. "So, tell me everything."

"Hm, everything? You want all the gory details of Steve railing me so hard into his mattress that he nearly breaks his back?" Eddie asked.

"Eddie, don't scar my best friend!"

"What can I tell her? Oooh! He likes holding hands during sex," Eddie said.

"Aww."

"Eddie!"

Steve rolled his before smiling fondly and kissing Eddie.

"Aww, what happened to your grandma's cup, Steve?" Robin asked.

"Don't worry about it, Robin, it's all fixed now. . ."

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kanmom51 · 7 months

Text

Jikook - what we see is what we get

When we get to see it.

Not seeing it doesn't mean it's not there though.

Was sitting today BTS songs just playing in the background while I'm working on my post. All this shit just happening around us, around JK and JM (yes, JM is part of it, he's also affected by it all), and The truth untold comes up.

This version:

youtube

One of, if not their best performance imo. The emotion just pouring out of them.

This song. It kills me every single time. Brings me to tears every single time. JM turned away from JK singing "and I still want you" in every performance. Well, other than their last 3 in Seoul, changed by them, performed by them, ending facing each other JM singing "but I still want you". Defiant.

youtube

All about the need to wear that mask to hide your true self for fear you might not be loved for who you truly are, that you might be seen as ugly, a monster. And the two of them, changing the staging, turning to each other, looking into each other's eyes, while changing the "and" to "but I still want you"... do people understand this? The enormity of this moment?

And then this song comes up, this performance:

youtube

This was on day 2, while on day 3 we had this:

Omg, my YT logarithm is trying to kill me today.

And got me thinking about this moment we got on day 3 as well.

youtube

This love, people, this chemistry, us not seeing it as often for the lack of BTS ot7 content doesn't mean is gone. It's very much still there. We just aren't as lucky to be able to see them in that one frame as often or even at all. But when we do, there is no denying it. Even if it's for the shortest of moments.

We saw it in 2020 (have people forgot memories 2020 for god sake?)

We saw it in 2021

So much more, so little image allowance... But you can find it all in my masterlist.

We saw it throughout 2022 in their Seoul and LV PTD concerts.

And in JITB even if briefly,

And in Busan and Run BTS episodes.

And we even got a little touch of it in 2023, when there was no way of keeping them out of the frame, like in Jhope's enlistment BTB, D-Day in Seoul and even when not being in one frame, in those lives we got to enjoy when the one joined the other in their comments and even without the other even making that kind of appearance.

Letter, goddamnit.

Oh and then we had JM literally flying across the world to be with JK for his Solo debut (if only GMA concert wasn't cancelled, damn it), and them dipping off for their 4 day private trip in CT.

It's sad how short people's memories are. Really. I am reading all sorts of fanfictions being put forward as "this is what happened with Jikook over the years", stating facts that are not facts, creating non existent drama, because people love the drama.

This is a loving couple in a long term relationship. You know, that boring kind. The stable, loving, filled with respect and no drama. The one where one supports their partner when they are struggling. One where just being with each other is fulfilling (cough JK coming to JM's room in LA just to be with him in the same room for hours cough).

Funny how people are talking about them breaking up 2020-21 during the pandemic when JK literally had a slip of the tongue spilling the beans they live together, they are one household, in Run BTS episode 142 they were each gifted a knife. JK all proud and piping up "we got 2"...

JM just sitting there all quiet, smirk on his face.

Stories about breakups. Stories about sexually experimenting but no actual emotional commitment. All while ignoring the constants. Those things that are just there, all the time, whenever we do get to see them:

That electrical chemistry between those two.

The way they look at each other constant over the years.

The way they talk to each other constant over the years.

The way they touch each other constant over the years.

The way they talk about each other.

The way their interactions are so different from the others or their own with the others.

The way the others are around them, their reaction to Jikook.

All still there!!!

*PS:

I wrote this post yesterday before JK's Radiohead appearance and his TikTok post-delete.

I guess now would be a good time to repeat what the wise @ourwinterspring (yes, I'm mentioning you again, lol) once said (well a couple of days ago, that is):

Rumors are created by haters

accepted by fools

and spread by idiots

#Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook #Jungkook #Jimin #JK #JM #Youtube

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year

Text

Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil

Alejandro Vargas X Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Death and Violence

Author's Note: What's better than a killer working with the COD boys? A friendly commissioned killer working with the COD boys. Enjoy! -Thorne

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

It was a grisly scene the five of them had walked in on. Three bodies, tied to chairs in the center of the room, gunshot wounds to the head. The others stood back in disgust and confusion, she on the other hand, walked towards the bodies, gathering information.

“Based on the state, I’d say in the last twenty-four hours. Clean shots. Executed from the front. Looking for a professional killer.” She walked around on body and paused, fingers trailing along the man’s ears; she frowned—they’d been sewn shut. Curiosity got the better of her and she went to the next man, poking up an eyelid; she went to the next and pushed his mouth open, then she stepped back. “Christ in a handbasket, he’s here.”

“Who’s ‘he’?” Ghost asked and she looked back at the men.

“The Judge’s Executioner.”

The four men shared looks of confusion. “El verdugo del juez?” Alejandro repeated and she nodded.

“Ten to one, you two,” she said, looking at Alejandro and Rudy. “These are corrupt judges from Las Almas. If they weren’t openly being corrupt, then they were in secret.”

“How do you know this?” Rudy asked and she sighed, nodding at the bodies.

“I recognize the calling card.” She stepped back. “We international assassins, at least the ones of us who’ve garnered enough pull in the underworld, leave calling cards behind. Ways we can be recognized to other assassins.” She pulled out a single card and lifted it for the men to see. “It’s why I leave Ace of Spades on mine.”

“You’re an assassin?” Alejandro asked, bewildered and she nodded.

“I’m what you would call a lawful assassin, Alejandro. I don’t kill good people, only very bad people. The type of people that deserve nothing but death. The Ace of Spades is the highest card in the deck, trumps other cards. It also symbolizes death in some meanings, new beginnings in others.”

“So, you leave the card behind on the body to let people know a new beginning is coming?” Rudy questioned and she nodded. “Huh…so what’s the calling card here? And how do you recognize it?”

She pointed to the bodies. “I’ve seen it in the news, but also heard it from others. We call him the Judge’s Executioner. Only kills corrupt judges, always in threes, and leaves the same symbolism behind.”

“Which is?” Ghost asked.

“Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.” Her expression blanked a little. “You can check yourself, I already have, but one’s got his ears sewn shut, the next his eyes removed, and the last his tongue cut out.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Soap said, a sick look on his face and Rudy agreed, but Alejandro and Ghost both looked.

“It’s a way of him saying that these judges were in dirty deals. One saw and spoke but heard nothing, one spoke and heard, but saw nothing, and the last saw and heard, but said nothing.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you look in their personal files, Alejandro, evidence will show their corruption.”

Ghost grunted. “Doesn’t seem like a bad end in my opinion.”

“It’s not,” she said. “I’ve seen the people he’s killed. These men and women were in serious shit. Human trafficking, drug trafficking, murder, rape, you name it, they’ve done it.” She groaned. “Goddamnit, now I’ve gotta go hunt him down.”

“You’re going to kill him?” Soap questioned, shock in his tone.

“No, but I’ve gotta talk to him.”

“Why?” Rudy asked.

She huffed. “Assassins are like wolves. We’re territorial. You do not hunt in another assassin’s territory until that assassin has packed up and moved on. Not only is it just incredibly stupid and brings in the Feds, it’s seen as extremely disrespectful to the art.”

“The art…?”

“The art of assassination.” She looked around the room, knowing there was either a camera or a microphone near. “You know I’m here, Executioner. I’ll be on my own tonight. Find me or I find you.” She looked at the men. “I’d better start hunting. I’ll be back at base when I can.”

Alejandro started to follow. “It’s not safe for you to go around Las Almas alone.”

She cocked a brow. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much. I’ve only spent the last thirty years honing a razor-sharp instinct and skill.” Her tone had an offensive lit to it. “Not safe for you,” she mocked, voice lowering as she muttered, “like I haven’t been killing since I was eight fucking years old.”

“Spades,” Ghost called. “Call in when you’re done.”

“I’ll do whatever I want,” she retorted. “But I may call in when I’m done. Depends on whether or not I’ve been shot.”

***

The church bell chimed three times when she met him in the alley. They stood a few feet from another, both dressed in all black, hands free here they could both see.

“Been a while, Executioner. Glad to see you still in good health,” she greeted. “I think it was Brazil in fifteen?”

He simply nodded.

“You’re here for something more than the judges, aren’t you?”

Another nod.

“Not me…not the army…not my two…the cartel?” she hummed, eyes narrowing. “You’re after El Sin Nombre, aren’t you?”

This time he didn’t nod, but she knew.

“Aren’t we all,” she chuckled, tone turning dark as she warned, “You’re treading on territory already claimed.”

His head tipped to the side.

“I was here first. You’re invading.” She rested her forearm on the gun at her side. “We can let bygones be bygones but El Sin Nombre, is mine, not your kill to claim.”

She saw a flash in his eyes.

“You know the rules. No one’s going to take kindly to finding out that you’re treading on other assassin’s territories. You’ll start an all-out war if you do.”

He shrugged.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” she griped. “You’re a lot of things, but this isn’t one of them. You don’t give a damn about anyone else’s reasons, only your hunt. Mexico’s a big place. Lots of corrupt judges in all cities. Find another. Now.” This time, her hand went to her gun, and she gripped it. “Or this is going to turn ugly. Very fast. And I promise you,” she warned, tone dripping with an invitation to a serious threat. “You will not walk away from me alive.”

They stared one another down and then he tipped his head down, stepping back.

She let go of her gun and watched as he backed off, turned heel, and disappeared into the night, leaving her standing in the alley alone; she turned her head to the side and griped, “You two can come out now.”

Slowly, but surely, Alejandro and Ghost emerged from the shadows, expressions of “I got caught” written all over their faces, well, Alejandro’s face at least; Ghost’s eyes held nothing.

“Seriously?” she asked. “You fucking chaperoned me?”

“Tailed,” Ghost replied.

“Same shit, different name.” she reached up, rubbing her temples. “I told you I could’ve handled this. This was not my first rodeo.”

“We were just making sure you were safe,” Alejandro said. “Solo nos asegurábamos de que no te tomara por sorpresa.”

She inhaled deeply, pushing the irritation away, the earnestness in Alejandro’s voice warming something cold and dead inside. “Thank you for looking out for me. It wasn’t needed or desired…but thank you.”

Alejandro’s smile was prevalent, and she knew Ghost was probably smiling beneath his mask, and she walked with them. “Take me to a bar, Ale. I need a beer or five.”

“Let’s get back to base and we can open a bottle of whiskey together.”

“Sounds good. Make some food too. I’m starving. And pissed. Hunting makes me hangry.”

As she climbed in the back of the jeep, Ghost questioned, “So, what happens now?”

“In what regards?”

“Is he leaving?”

“If it’s not tonight, he’ll leave tomorrow, but yeah.”

“So, what was he after?” Alejandro inquired.

She hummed. “El Sin Nombre.”

“I’m glad you got him out then. We need El Sin Nombre alive.”

“For now…at least.”

“You’re gonna kill him, aren’t you?” Ghost asked.

“Planning on it.”

Alejandro sighed. “And there’s nothing I can do to dissuade you?”

“Sure, pay me two million U.S. dollars like my client did and I’ll cancel the contact.”

“There’s something wrong with you, Spades,” Ghost muttered. “Like I know you’ve got morals, but shit, you’re fucked up.”

She shrugged. “I work on commission, boys. I don’t get paid to do nothing. And El Sin Nombre has a very high limit on his head. I just happened to get the contract first. Which is also why I was fit to be fiddled with Executioner here.” Sitting back, she closed her eyes. “I don’t expect you two to be in alignment with my job. I’m not a good person. I kill people. And one day, I’ll face those consequences. But I bring the long arm of the law to those who have escaped it for far too long. I won’t apologize for it.”

The two men were silent for some time and when they got back to the base, Ghost was out first, leaving her and Alejandro alone; she climbed into the front seat and sat with him in silence.

“Espadas,” he murmured, and she hummed. “Though I do not agree with how you go about your justice…I do not think you’re a bad person. Creo que eres una buena persona, una mujer aún mejor debajo del exterior endurecido que has construido.”

She smiled sadly, not looking at him as she laid a hand on his at the gear shift. “Don’t waste your heart on someone like me, Alejandro,” she whispered. “I’m not worthy of it.”

His hand turned up, grasping hers and he decided, “Yo decidiré quién es digno de mi corazón o no.”

Turning her head, she gazed at him quietly. “I don’t exactly know if I can make you as happy as you’re hoping for. I…don’t expect to be alive until I’m eighty.”

Alejandro lifted their hands, pressing his lips to the back of hers. “Then we will enjoy the time we have until it is over.”

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zeroducks-2 · 1 year

Text

I was thinking of something my gf said about Under The Red Hood, about the whole "did Bruce hit Jason in the neck or shoulder" conundrum.

I hadn't really wondered about it too much previously, I just assumed Bruce is a fucking asshole because he threw a batarang at this boy who supposedly was like a son to him, after getting him back from the dead, at the very high risk of killing him. Like idgaf of the circumstances okay? Fuck off Bruce. So it's not like I really cared if that was the shoulder or the neck (even if it does look like the neck) because it's the principle that's fucked up.

But anyway, recently my gf said something and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I went back to UTRH and looked for panels and GODDAMNIT SHE'S RIGHT-

So, the answer to the question "did Bruce aim for Jason's neck or shoulder when he threw that batarang?" can be answered with BOTH. Let me explain.

The scene is Bruce and Jason's last confrontation in UTRH, and they just started to fight. It's a brutal fight made even more desperate because chemo has just been dropped on Bludhaven and Bruce cannot physically go check on Dick because Jason is preventing him, so they're both desperate, no one is pulling the punches.

it starts out like this:

With a batarang thrown behind Jason that bounces back from a close distance, and which allows Jason to choose his wound, because it's aimed to his shoulder and head.

Sounds familiar? Basically this blow is thrown in a way that takes away someone's balance, forcing them to move from a spot if they want to avoid a potentially fatal blow. Jason dodges of course and gets hit on the side of the shoulder, giving back with one of "his tricks", and the fight continues.

Now take a look at how the fight ends:

with the same opening blow, a batarang thrown behind Jason, aimed at his shoulder and head. Clearly aimed to destabilize Jason and make him let go of the Joker, but Jason does not move and does not let go until after he's been hit.

The implications of this are huge. It's a known fact that Jason does not think he's going to walk out of this alive, but here he actively chose to let Bruce hit him in the neck, solid on his position until the end.

There's also a bit, a few panels prior, regarding how both Jason and Bruce wouldn't fall for the same trick twice:

Never twice.

Bruce used the same move twice with that batarang throw, and again it implies that Jason should have seen it coming and he did. Bruce won, in the sense that he managed to not do what Jason demanded - shoot him through his face or watch the Joker die - he "managed to find a way to win" and keep his conscience relatively clean because he didn't shoot a gun, and it was Jason's decision not to move and to let that batarang hit him in the neck when he could have dodged it. And everybody still loses.

DC writers do have a tendency to depict Jason having suicidal tendencies. I'm pretty sure at this point that it comes from this, and that whatever the fuck happens in RHATO when Bruce beats the living hell out of him, and Jason does not defend himself, is supposed to be some kind of parallel to this particular dyamic of UTRH (a bad parallel but still).

I rest my case.

#long post #I am indeed pretty sure this is what Winick intended when he wrote this scene but somehow it was lost on most readers #me included #jason todd #bruce wayne #under the red hood #when I see Bruce acting all concerned dad around Jason (in canon) I get the heebiejeebies #HE SHOULD STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM YOU HEAR ME #LIKE #DON'T YOU EVEN DARE TOUCH HIM YOU PIECE OF SHIT #AHHHH

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anotherwritingblog12 · 5 months

Text

The minute before

Bruce took a calculated risk and this was the consequence. He had managed to get everybody out of the building before it inevitably collapsed under him. He would do it again in a second. Everyone was safe.

Everyone except him.

He was under an alarming amount of rubble, there was a fire somewhere and a burst pipe that kept screaming a few feet behind him. He was trapped under a fallen piece of wall, he could barely turn his head to see his surroundings.

Bruce was badly injured, he could tell because he couldn't quite feel anything. He could see the blood in his suit, in his gloves, he felt around his head and he was definitely bleeding. But he didn't exactly feel pain. Maybe he felt a tad lightheaded. He had pressed his distress signal on the way down, he would be fine.

That's when he saw Alfred.

Just standing there, next to Bruce, in a perfectly clean and pressed fitted suit. Looking at him.

Alfred had died 2 years prior, and his death still haunted the manor and everyone in it. Bruce wanted to think his death had brought the family together but it had only brought to light every problem they ever had tenfold.

If he was there, Bruce was definitely dying.

He wanted to talk to him, but he feared if Alfred answered back Bruce would be tempted to follow him all the way to the afterlife to be with him again.

Bruce knew this was a product of his imagination. Unless it wasn't. He wanted to tell Alfred everything he couldn't before. He wanted to apologize for everything Bruce had put him through, for his transgressions as Batman, as a father, as a son.

If he was dying why couldn't he feel it, goddamnit? Maybe he was already dead and Alfred was just here to get him to the other side.

He didn't want to die, he had so much to do still. This couldn't be the end-- The Batman beaten by a pile of rubble. No. Bruce tried to move but the wall simply wouldn't give and the more he struggled the more blood would pour out of him.

Bruce wouldn't be able to say goodbye. He had to tell Dick he didn't need to take up his mantle, none of them did. Bruce wanted to apologize to Damian for what he'd said after Alfred's death. Had he done it already? Probably, but one more time couldn't hurt.

Hurt. God he had hurt them all so much. He argued that they all hurt him back too, but he was the adult none of that mattered. They were all adults now, they would survive. He wanted to tell every one of his kids he was proud of them for everything, everything they had ever done had been a testament to their strength.

He felt tears running down his face. He looked at Alfred again and Alfred looked back with a questioning look in his face.

"My boy," Alfred said.

"I'm sorry--I'm sorry. I can't go." Bruce cried harder.

"I know," Alfred replied. Bruce stared at him wide eyed.

"I know," Alfred repeated. "but your body doesn't. Its holding out until you're rescued, and you won't feel anything until you're out there again."

Alfred moved closer to him. "There are instances in which a person will wait until they are safe to give into their injuries. Once the adrenaline rushes out of you, you will die, Master Bruce. You need to fight it."

Bruce shook his head. Alfred was right, of course he was.

"How?" Bruce asked.

"Feel. Feel how many things you still need to do here. Your kids need you, everyone needs you. You need them. You're getting out of here and you are going to live."

Bruce wanted everything to stop. He wanted everything to be over, the rubble gone, he wanted the fire to stop burning and the pipe behind him to run out of fucking water.

"I miss you so much." Bruce sobbed.

"I never left you." Alfred replied.

Bruce would live. He would see his kids again, he would love them and then they would fight. And Bruce would continue to put himself in dangerous situations that would get him killed, but he would be alive to do so. He hadn't even told Clark that he loved him, he couldn't die before seeing him again, he was going to wine and dine him so bad.

That's when he felt the ground above him shake. Then some of the rocks above him where moved and he could see a glimpse of light. Then more shuffling above him and that's where he saw Superman.

"Batman!" Clark said and dove straight into the building. He moved the wall from Bruce's chest, but Bruce still couldn't move.

"I'm getting you out of here okay?" That's when Clark noticed the bleeding in Bruce's head. "Just-- just hold on."

Clark grabbed him delicatley and with such gentleness, but the moment he started flying everything hit.

He was saved now, the adrenaline begins to dissipate, and everything comes back. His back hurt so much he started struggling to breathe, his right arm was definitely broken, and his head, his head was going to explode. His ears started ringing and his vision started to blur. He was drifting off.

"Bruce! Hey we're almost in the cave everyone is there we'll get you better."

Was that Alfred? Alfred's voice was so soothing, he could fall asleep to it again, just like he had done so many times in his childhood. Bruce had just seen him, hadn't he? Did Bruce even say hello? He would now. Bruce closed his eyes.

Bruce woke up freezing. He was in the cave, good. It must have been a rough patrol becuase he coulnd't remember falling asleep. He was laying in the medical cot plugged into a lot of a lot of machines.

He turned his head and found Clark sitting in a chair next to him, sleeping. He looked so uncomfortable, and he hadn't shaved. Bruce reached out to him and moved Clark's knee to wake him up.

"Christ, you look terrible. Please take a flight around orbit, you know Gotham doesn't get any sunlight."

Clark opened his eyes drowsily and then fully. He jumped when he saw Bruce.

"Bruce. Oh God. Let me tell the other's you're awake. How are you feeling?" Clark looked at Bruce with such softness and a hint of fear.

That's when everything came back to him. The building, the rubble, the fire, the pipe, Alfred.

Bruce was alive, he did it, he did it because of Alfred.

"How long was I out?" Bruce asked.

"Too long." Clark rubbed his temples, he was looking at him like Bruce had just handed him a million dollars.

"I'm sorry." Bruce said.

"No, no, everything is okay now. You're okay and everything is fine. The kids will be here in no time, don't worry." Clark looked so beaten up. Bruce grabbed his hand.

"Thank you." Bruce said.

"Of course." Clark whispered.

They looked at each other in silence. Bruce was rubbing circles in Clark's hand.

"I love you." Bruce finally admitted.

"I love you too." Clark answered.

There was a shriek in the cave.

"I can't it took Bruce almost dying for you to confess your feelings to each other? I owe Jason so much money." Dick Grayson was standing in the cave along with the rest of his kids.

Everything was perfect.

2:24AM

#superbat #superbat fic

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marshmallow---pillow · 4 days

Note

Read your latest fic, poor AK!Jason… he’s been tortured so much and thank goodness Joker is dead

Thank you!! :D

Sorry for taking so long to answer, college has been hectic lately!!

thank goodness Joker is dead

Yes :) , 🤡->💀🥩🍖

Read your latest fic, poor AK!Jason… he’s been tortured so much

Jason will be smothered in love and affection. Do not worry :)

_Excerpt_

Jason's almost dozing off when he finds him, curled up on the couch that overlooks the green patch outside, basking in the sunlight like an oversized kitten. With the way he sniffs out the best sun spots to nap in—he might as well be one.

His hair is sticking out in all directions, giving him a boy-ish look—or bird-like—An adorable Robin. The ruffled look of his over-sized Tee does nothing to negate the observation. He's fallen asleep reading, because of course he has.

Dick soundlessly treads towards him, and crouches next to the couch—just reveling in the sight of his brother, safe and whole, for a small moment. He's missed him so much. Jason's face is pressed into his book. His face is slightly flushed from staying in the sun for so long. His hair is disheveled—unruly, black curls sticking out all over the place.

In a moment of pure self-indulgence, he reaches to smooth them out, despite the fact that they never stay down. Jason's eyelashes are so long, he realizes, the sun light is making them obvious. How do they not get tangled up when he blinks? The thought rises unbidden. And that's the sign he needs to go to sleep. He hasn't been able to for days. Never has, not so away from his baby brother. Not after what happened the last time he took his eyes off him.

("There has been an incident"

Screams, screams, laughter. An ugly, disfigured sound that digs into his ribs and writhes, until he thinks he's laughing too.

He doesn't know who's screaming. He knows the thing beneath his fists is. He thinks he's screaming too. )

Jason looks so peaceful.

Nightmares rarely spare him enough sleep. He's interrupting Jason's much needed rest. But he can't bring himself to get up, or remove his hand from his brother's hair. They're so soft and fluffy, jet black ringlets droop over his forehead, his cheek, which has just lost it's hollow look—so he looks his age. If not for the J-shaped brand hiding under the red-blue wonder woman band-aid, and the scarring around his mouth, he'd be a normal teenager, napping on a mid-summer Sunday afternoon.

As if sensing his thoughts, Jason's face twitches. Like a mouse. Adorable. His brain supplies delightfully. The fact that he was about to coo at a dozing teenager reminds him that his brain has the tendency of taking pot-shots off him when it's gone too long without sleep. But Jason looks so adorable—Alright, time to go to bed. He moves to press a small kiss on the kid's locks, breathing in the smell of vanilla and mallow.

"Weirdo", Goddamnit.

"Hey, Jay"

Jason emerges from his cocoon, and stretches. Like a cat—Sleep. Yeah he needs sleep.

"Hey Dickface"

There are creases running at the side of his face, from where his face was pressed to the book.

"Missed you, Jay"

Jason pauses, "Missed you too", he doesn't meet his eyes, slender, scarred hands snaking to the hem of his tee to fiddle with it instead.

"Dick?"

The anxious lilt of his voice shakes the sleep out of him, and suddenly he feels his muscles tense, just as they do when he's about to make a kill.

"What happened to—to—"

"Mhm?", he encourages, resting a hand on his shoulder. He knows what's about to come. It makes sense, Jason was only partly conscious from blood loss and exhaustion.

(Soft, breakable flesh. Brittle bones. Viscous blood—red. Why is it red? Why is it human?

Why did you kill my brother? )

What brought this on?—Doesn't matter anymore. This conversation has been long due.

(It looks grotesque, child-like (Even in death it's mocking the actual, breathing child it killed), curled up in it's own blood and piss. The blows land and it's all spit and guttural screams. It doesn't have a tongue— not anymore. Dick won't get his answers, but he can't stop. Can't stop screaming.

Why did you kill my brother? )

"—the Joker?", Jason's voice has fallen an octave. He presses another kiss to his forehead for being so, so brave. He couldn't say his name without flinching before.

Jason leans into it, eyes closed. Oh his sweet baby brother. He lifts an arm in invitation. Jason slides down immediately, curling up next to him. He cards through his hair, trying to find the words.

(Why did you kill my brother?

Toothless, broken jaws move. He punches it again. And then again. And then again. Stop laughing. Cell—Cell—the mouth forms words.)

Jason let's him take his time, basking in the affection—like a cat curled up in the sun— he idly brushes off a stray eyelash from his brother's cheek, and then rubs small circles on it.

(His brother is so thin— soft, birdlike bones and whimpers as he wraps him in a cocoon, and holds him and weeps into his matted hair, kissing it over and over again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.)

Jason's eyes have bags under them. He traces them with his thumb. Jason hasn't been sleeping well either.

(How do I tell you I ripped Gotham apart when I couldn't find you in it? Without making you anxious about what'll happen if I'm too late aga—

"I killed him"

Jason exhales, his shoulders relax, as if Dick's just taken the weight of the heavens off his fragile, birdlike shoulders. Did Jason not know? Was he stewing in dread all this time? How could he have been so blind?

Jason nestles closer, looking content, as if he's in the most comfortable spot on the planet, and not into the hard kevlar of his Renegade suit.

"Just making sure", he can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. He can't help the abrupt laughter that bubbles up his throat like carbonation. He can't even bring himself to mind. I love you so much little brother.

Jason's laugh is beautiful sound.

#Now introducing: joker 2.0 #previously: Dick Grayson #Something that would've been true had joker actually killed jason #His apprenticeship really took the little sanity he had in him #Jason's death would've been the last straw #nightwing #renegade! dick grayson #slade wilson #Deathstroke #wounds au #jason todd #arkham knight #arkhamverse #dc #red hood #the arkham knight

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leoncillo · 11 months

Text

Oh god I thought my brain wanted a break. But I guess not? I just blacked out and this was in my notes when I came to idk y'all 🤷🏽‍♀️

SFW, GN reader (although I use "pretty"?), Black reader, Zohakuten best wingman

You notice the boys have been a bit listless so you decide to take them out. But individually. It must be tiring always being part of a group, right?

Sekido

Sekido jumps and nearly screams when the first thing he sees as he opens his eyes from his day time sleeping, is you straddling him, inches from his face.

"What the hell?! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!"

"Is that even possible?" you ask, pondering with your finger on your chin.

"What do you want, you nuisance?!"

"Get up! We're going on a date."

"Do you know how long it'll take those idiots to get ready? Why didn't you let me plan this ahead of time?" he grumbled.

"Oh they're not going. It'll be just me and you tonight" you said booping him on the nose.

His face heats up and his cheeks start to match his eyes.

"Hehe are you blus-ahh" you yelp as he grows flips you off of his legs.

"How rude!"

"Just...just go get ready yourself! We'll meet at the door in 20 minutes" he said as he marched off to the shower.

20 minutes later

You could feel all eyes on you as you walked down the stairs. You settled on dark distressed flared jeans and a modest white blouse with a cutout window with a black and white cross body bag and white tennis shoes. You decided to keep your makeup natural and to put your hair in a low ponytail to hang over your shoulder.

"You look so pretty!" shouted Urogi.

"You look lovely, dear" said Aizetsu softly.

"I might have to be jealous of Sekido for once" Karaku said, snickering.

You reached the bottom only to realize Sekido and Zohakuten were both missing.

"Wait where is he-"

"I heard that you green eyed son of a bitch!" said Sekido as you all heard him approaching the top of the stairs, only to get smacked upside the head by Zohakuten.

"Watch the language, goddamnit. You're going on a date!"

There was complete silence.

Everyone's jaw was on the floor as Sekido descended the stairs.

His hair was neatly combed and shiny, with a few strands out to frame his face. He wore a burgundy long sleeved turtleneck paired with some crisp black slacks and black loafers. A gold chain adorned his chest, a gold watch held his wrist, and a gold belt buckle around the front of his waist. Was he wearing earrings?!

"No way! I can't believe it! Hahaha" said Karaku, nearly falling off the couch.

"You look good, Sekido!" shouted Urogi.

"You clean up nice" said Aizetsu.

"All thanks to me. You're welcome, y/n" said Zohakuten.

"Y/n?"

You didn't realize you were still speechless until his well defined chest was right in front of you.

"Right. Y-You look amazing, Sekido" you said as you looked away from each other, both a blushing mess.

"Shall we go?" said Sekido as he held out his hand.

As you two walked to the car, you remembered that this was your idea, that you're in control, and mentally got your game face ready. You snatched the car keys out of his hand and motioned him to the passenger side.

"Aht aht. I'm driving. You don't even know where I planned to take you anyway."

Sekido grit his teeth, but nodded and listened. You knew he didn't like NOT being in control, so you kissed him on the cheek for playing along.

"Jesus can we just go?!" he said flustered.

After about 20 minutes of driving, you pulled up to a nondescript warehouse building on a side of town neither of you have been to before.

Even for a demon, Sekido felt a little weirded out as he looked at the building from top to bottom. "Are you gonna try to kill me or something?"

"What?! Nooo, silly. You'll see. Let's go!" you said grabbing his arm and leading him inside.

Inside there were several made up stations and soundproof rooms. A bored looking college student sat at the registration booth and looked up lazily at the two of you. "How long?"

You hummed to yourself in thought. "Two hours, please."

Sekido quickly glanced at you, still extremely confused. Was this some kinda love hotel or something? The thought made him start blushing again.

"Right this way."

The college student let you inside one of the rooms and pointed at the long aprons and face shields for you, before leaving you to it.

While you were suiting up, Sekido looked around the room at the mannequins and ceramic dishware and vases and the line of baseball bats hung on the wall.

"Y/n, what the hell is this?" he turned to ask only to see you launch a glass bowl at the wall. "What in god's name are you doing?!"

"It's called a rage room, honey" you said trying to pry the next bowl from his hands, "smashing stuff is the point!"

"I'm not completely following? Humans these days are so weird!"

You thought for a second, "Hey remember that one mission you were on when Urogi got too excited and blew all of the windows out of the building?"

CRASH

A plate went flying into the wall.

"I'm still paying the bill off for the damages!" he said growling and reaching for a vase.

"Now you're getting it! But hold back a teeny bit. You're still a demon, dude" you said, eyeing the dent in the wall.

"What are the fake humans for?" he said eyeing the mannequins.

You grabbed a bat off the wall. "Remember Douma at the last upper moon meeting?...or just him in general?"

The bat was out of your hands in seconds and smashing into the mannequins crotch.

"Yeah!" you said hyping him up and giggling at the growing grin on his face.

"Are you not gonna keep smashing?" he asked.

You usually solved your anger issues pretty easily, but you figured you could find something in this world to be mad at and shrugged.

You threw a mug into the air and hit it with a bat. "I hate parallel parking!"

Then, you sent a plate into a wall "I hate meetings that could be e-mails!"

Sekido's smile only grew wider at your display of anger as he continued his assault on the mannequins and you thought you heard a "Karaku" in his rambling somewhere.

"Ouch!" you stopped after a flyaway chip of ceramic somehow made it past your face shield and nicked your cheek.

Sekido dropped everything immediately and made his way over to you. "What? What happened?!"

"Eh. I'm guess I'm still klutzy enough to get hurt through a shield" you said going to touch the cut on your cheek.

"Don't touch it! Let me see." he said, as he held your face gently and looked you over before kissing the cut and turning away, "You'll be okay. Put some of that human ointment on so it doesn't leave a scar. Let's go home before you hurt anything else."

"Aww, Seki, you-"

"I said let's go home!" he said , storming out and hiding his face.

#demon slayer #hantengu clones #sekido x reader

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running-with-the-feels · 4 months

Note

Erron Black & our sweet southern boy Kuai Liang have a conversation, Go

ohohohoho I like how you think

It would probably happen during Kotal Kahn's reign as he brings Erron with him to Earthrealm in the mkx comics so I hc that he's a body guard during all alliance meetings

Erron: Goddamnit, how much longer do I gotta be 'ere?

Kuai Liang, southern accent pooping out: I dunno, I'm bout worn slap out

Erron, eyeing him curiously: Where'bouts you from?

Kuai Liang: Texas, you?

Erron: Also Texas, surprising that you are tho, I always thought you were born in Arctika

Kuai Liang: Yeah, most people do

Erron:.....

Kuai Liang:......

Erron: So the mac'n'cheese here sucks, right?

Kuai Liang: Jesus, it's the worst

Erron: I think I would genuinely kill a man for a good bowl right abouts now, can't get that in Outworld

Kuai Liang:......I reckon I remember my Ma's recipe, wanna sneak into the kitchen and try to make it?

Erron: does a chicken have legs?

Kuai Liang: Excellent

they then sneak off and bond over food. Erron petitions Kotal for more mobility between Outworld and Earthrealm solely so that he can get Kuai Liang to cook him southern food more often.

#kuai liang #erron black #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x #mortal kombat 11

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tio-trile · 9 months

Note

all your takes are correct and you should say it!

no but forreal like. i respect the show as its own thing, i guess. but like, as someone who is an aziraphale enthusiast through-&-through i hate how the show massacred my boy! where is my bitch! my bastard! my asshole with a heart of... questionable? gold! i guess kudos to michael sheen for capturing azira's sass but like. i wanted more malicious compliance. more casual manipulation. more 'if this angel hadn't been a fucking pedant, he would have fallen long ago' energy!

i kept watching season 2 and constantly calling out 'he would NOT fucking say that!' especially in the last episode like!!!! you're telling me!! aziraphale, who could not even be truly bothered to lift a finger to revive a fucking dove he accidentally killed, said YES to ruling heaven in gabriel's stead? NO!! NO HE WOULD NOT-- oh fucking right crowley didn't revive the dove-- GODDAMNIT

IT ALWAYS CIRCLES BACK TO THE DOVE I--

good omens s2 was really just Expensive Fanfiction and it shows

Oh yeah the actors did an absolutely incredible job, my highest respect to them! But yeah I've read somebody saying that "(Book!) Aziraphale is a bastard...but not like that (in season 2)" so yeah, ↑this. AND THE DOVE--*shot

#ask #anonymous #good omens critical

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phantomdecibel · 1 year

Text

Me desperately beating back Epic: the musical with a mop as it persistently scuttles towards me: Leave. Me. Alone. I. Don’t. Have. Time. For. Your. Nonsense-

Epic:the musical, picking me up and fucking eating me alive: :) its just an infant :) it’s just a boy :) what sort of threat does he pose :) that I cannot avoid? :) if you don’t end him now :) you’ll have no one left to save :) you can say goodbye to :) penelope :) when does a man become a monster? :)

Me as I drop my mop, sobbing: please let me go I have a family-

Epic: the musical: :) six hundred lives at stake :) it’s just one life to take :) and when we kill him our then journeys over :) no dying on me now :) defeat is not allowed :)

Me, still sobbing but now also drafting multiple animatics and painting sketches I’m never going to finish: goddamnit

#Odysseus’s journey back to Ithaca is how me trying to get my sleep schedule back on track is going #which is to say #not well haha #the feelings this dam musical evokes in me are just too much #the IMAGERY #the epic the musical brainrot strikes again #epic the musical

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angel-gone-south · 6 months

Text

Psycho Killer

Killer! Butters w/ Detective! Reader

emeto warning. nsfw mention. murder. (choking and gore) you’ve been warned.

°•. ☾ .•°

Butters was a good kid. He was a good kid, he swears and he promises. It’s a shame nobody’s ever believed him though.

His father was ‘on a late shift.’ Butters and Linda knew what he was doing, truly. Out getting his ass rammed by some guy who didn’t give two shits if he was married or not.

It was October. Halloween was less than a week away, but it’s not like his parents would ever let him participate. The most he’d ever been allowed to do was carve a pumpkin and go trick or treating a few times, mostly in secret. Linda called it evil, the devil’s day. Stephen couldn’t give two shits, but he couldn’t be bothered to fight with his wife either.

Butters knew their marriage falling apart was his fault. When he was a kid he found out his father was ‘wrestling’ around with other men, and his mother went psycho. She tried to drown him, and then cover it all up.

Perhaps that’s why, when she started her usual berating as he was unloading the dishwasher, he snapped back at her.

“Leopold I will never understand why you’re always out of the house. It must be that Kenny boy getting you hooked on drugs or sex or something,” She started. Before she could get another word out, her son had dropped the stack of ceramic plates in his hands. “Oh, now look what you’ve done, you fucking idiot! You’ve ruined your grandmother’s nice plates. Go get the broom.”

But he didn’t move. His fists were at his sides, arms shaking and tears dripping down his quickly reddening cheeks.

“No. Fuck you.” His mother gasped incredulously.

“Leopold, you do not talk to your mother that way, you insolent-!” She choked. Her son’s slender hands wrapped around her throat as he sobbed.

“Will you just shut up for once?! I don’t need you to tell me everything I’m doing is wrong! I know you hate me! You’re just- you’re such a fucking bitch!” He slammed her back into the wall as she clawed at his hands that shook with the force and pressure he was exerting.

“L-Le.. Leo-” Her gasping enraged the poor boy even further.

“NO! It’s my turn to talk goddamnit, and you have to listen! I know I’m not the perfect son, but I do what you ask! I’ve always done everything you’ve ever asked of me, no questions! I didn’t even fucking tell anyone you tried to kill me! For once can you act like a good mom?!”

He hadn’t even registered he was doing it. She couldn’t breathe as her only son brutally smashed her head against the army green walls of their kitchen.

It must have been ten or twenty minutes before he calmed down and dropped her limp body. Butters stood in a trance, staring at the blood and brain that smeared down the wall. For a few minutes he felt strangely calm, the only noises he could hear his breathing and the furnace kicking in.

The front door opened. The blonde boy was still on autopilot, so he moved to the living room. Little splats of blood covered his face and shirt, hardly noticeable from a distance. As his father opened the door, he noticed his son staring him down with dead eyes. The milky white of one of them had never failed to perturb Stephen- especially because he couldn’t remember why it was like that or how he got the scar that ran through it. Everything about his son he saw as freakish.

“Butters? Where do you think you’re going? Where’s your mother? Linda? Linda!”

Butters was silent as he moved closer to meet eyes with his father. In the past years he’d finally grown to be taller than the closeted man.

“She’s in the kitchen.” Butters’s voice wasn’t more than a whisper. Stephen could barely move before he noticed his son was holding one of the knives from the drawer.

“What are you doing with that, you little freak?” His fate was sealed. Butters twisted it as he jabbed his father in the stomach, unfeeling for the man who’d abused him all these years.

“Righting a wrong,” That was the simple statement as he kneeled with his father, shushing him as he choked and groaned in pain. “It’s your fault.”

°•. ☾ .•°

When you went into work on the morning of October 26th, you expected nothing different. South Park was the quietest town you’d ever been in. Go in, maybe find a missing cat or two, and go home.

On this particular day a young man about your age ran up to you. He was absolutely frantic, ranting and raving like a fucking madman. You stopped your coworkers from detaining him, instead grasping his hand gingerly and bringing him into a back room where he could have a hot drink and calm down.

“What’s your name?”

“Kenneth. McCormick. I-I live down past the train tracks. I-I woke up to a letter on my nightstand. I-It was from my best friend. Leopold. H-Here.” He passed you a piece of notebook paper.

‘Ken.

I’m sorry. I have to go.

See you someday, okay?

Leo’

“I didn’t know what to do. He’s gone. I-I tried to go inside his house a-and it’s locked. Please check on him. I hear his parents didn’t show up to work this morning either.” You pat his hand, holding it in both of yours.

“We’ll do our best, honey. Go on home now.” Your stomach sank as he left.

Leopold Stotch was a boy you knew all too well. You grew up with him, only a year older than the boy. You never were brave enough to stop the other kids from picking on him. He and Officer Barbrady were the reasons you decided to become a law enforcement officer. ‘Protect the innocent’ was your personal mantra.

You huddled into your jacket as you knocked at the Stotch household door. When nobody answered for several minutes, you peeked in one of the windows.

You paled, and your stomach twisted. You radioed in, speaking frantically. When the others pulled up you’d already managed to shakily pick the lock, kicking the door open softly.

It smelled awful. This shit was not your cup of tea, for sure. Rotten meat, sickly sweet. You nearly upchucked your breakfast, especially at the mere glance into the open kitchen where Linda’s brains splayed across the wall and her back.

You shivered, leaving and sitting on the curb as some of the other officers phoned the coroner. You stared at the ground, knowing that if they didn’t find him too, well, there’s only one person to blame.

Butters.

°•. ☾ .•°

His leg bounced as he sat in the motel room he’d booked. He thought about calling you. Turning himself in. You’d probably help him, be a character witness to him and his parents, right? He could plea temporary insanity. The murders were messy and hasty and he had left the knife and his dirty clothes in a pile in his room.

His eyes bore holes into the burner phone he held, and his teeth bit down hard on his lower lip when he finished your number. He hit enter, trembling as he brought the cell to his ear.

“Hello, you’ve reached [Name]. How can I help you?” He teared up at your voice, his own scratchy as he spoke.

“Gosh, [Name], you sound so pretty nowadays.”

“Leopold?! Leopold, where the fuck are you? Do you even know what happened?” He chuckled. You always were one for silly, frivolous questions.

“Yeah. I did it,” For a moment he felt almost proud, but the pangs and stabs of guilt ushered themselves back in quickly. “I didn’t mean to. Sh-she started yellin’, and I grabbed her, and then dad came home and… well. You’ve seen what I’ve done.”

“Leo you have to come back,” Your voice strained. He wished your distress wasn’t caused by him. “We can work this out. Y-you just snapped, went crazy, right?l

“I can’t. You know what they’ll do to me. I’m not made for prison, darlin’.” Your heart fluttered at the nickname and you cursed the blush that rose to your wet cheeks.

“Leo, please,” He cut off your begging.

“I can’t. But I couldn’t live with myself if I never said goodbye to you. I love you, okay? I… I wish it coulda been different, though. Woulda liked to marry you, maybe. I always wanted to hold you, wondered what it felt like.” His admission wracked a sob from your throat.

“I love you too.”

“Goodbye, sweet thing.” With that, Butters brought his heavy boot down on the cheap burner phone, severing your connection, permanently.

°•. ☾ .•°

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crabonfire · 2 years

Note

poly tf2 mercs x reader??

lmao sorry- my mind cant make up which character to like so

you have no idea I have been YEARNING for someone to request this! I'm literally polyamorous myself and oh my god thank u so much!!! I let out a loud squeal when I read this bcs I was so happy

Poly!Mercenaries X Reader!

characters: all mercs :)

Scout and Pyro

Engineer, Demoman and Soldier

Spy and Sniper

Heavy and Medic

warning: none!!!

note: reader is gender neutral! plus if u like this I might make a part two with different polyamorous mercs :D

♡Scout and Pyro♡

• scouts love language is acts of service and pyro's is quality time.

• someone needs to put all three of you in a psych ward

• sometimes when you all go on a walk in the street Scout will accidentally cause trouble with someone and Pyro will join in and fight them and you either join in or get them out before the cops come.

• oh my god.

• they're pretty fun to be with. Scout is usually a flustered mess whenever Pyro or you show any affection towards him due to the fact he had to fight for affection from his mother as a child. Its new to him, especially by two of the people he adores.

• Pyro and Scout draw together, and whenever your down they will both make you doodles of stuff that makes you happy. They will make your room super comfortable while Pyro gets a bunch of snacks from the fridge, sitting together to get ready for movies!

• You guys have this thing where whenever one of yall are feeling down, Scout goes to buy an insanely terrible movie and the last person to laugh or groan at the movie wins. It really cheers you up.

They're not the best at comforting words, so they show comfort by actions.

They're both pretty clingy! An hour away from you Pyro is already whining while Scout is just trying to make due. But usually they'll still have a good time together, sometimes going on their own dates while your away.

If they go somewhere, they'll get you something from there as a "souvenir" and beg you to come there the next time they go so nobody gets left out.

• Scout loves peppering the both of you with kisses, he doesn't mind that Pyro has a mask usually he'll be silly and blow Pyro a kiss from the distance. It makes the both of you giggle, he's such a goof.

Pyro gives you both mask kisses...Well more like boops. Though if your far into your relationship, day by day he'll start opening up more about himself. He starts by not wearing gloves around you, to lifting his mask up slightly to give you both a proper kiss. (random but I headcannon my boy has a tooth gap :D)

It makes both of your hearts melt to know he trusts you enough to do this, and he's thankful for your patience.

The three of you look very chaotic to other people but alone together you are just real sweet to each other. They both get so calm around you that they don't feel the need to show off or cause chaos, yall just wanna hang out sometimes yk?

♡Engineer, Demoman, and Soldier♡

• Engie's love language is quality time, Demo's is words of affirmation, and Soldier's is acts of service AND quality time.

• goddamnit yall r so cute

• the actual power couple

• Let me describe to you what they are like

Dell's the calm one, he's usually the one getting the three of you out of trouble but he himself loves a little fun sometimes.

Demo is the fun one, he always takes you all out on interesting landmarks and sometimes even dangerous activities that might kill you.

Soldier is the loud one, he will not shut the fuck up. He loves to hear yall talk about your day, loves to gossip about how work has been, but also loves to speak about his achievements and show all three of you off to random people he meets.

• "THIS IS ENGIE! HE HAS 11 PHDS AND HE IS A GENIUS! SMARTER THAN YOULL EVER BE."

"Aw geez Solly, ya don't have to say that..."

And then

"DEMOMAN! BEST FRIEND AND BOYFRIEND, I LOVE HIM. HES VERY SWEET! HE CAN SWOON ANYBODY!"

"Lad...yer makin me blush."

or even

"THIS IS Y/N! ARE YOU SHOCKED BY THEIR GORGEOUSNESS? I AM TOO. DONT GET TOO CLOSE, YOU MIGHT FALL FOR THEM."

"Pfft-Soldier..."

• in general yall r just adorable. They're all so sweet to each other and to you too, yall always eat together and they'll always be there for you if you wanna rant or vent about your day.

All of them are amazing listeners, and good at comforting...how?? How did you get so damn lucky? They'll cuddle up around you as one of them holds you, listening to you talk and ramble about how bad of a day its been.

Soldier will give you a motivational and surprisingly really helpful speech, Demoman will hype you up and tell you it's gonna be okay, and Engie likes to make you your favorite foods to make you feel better.

They're not as touch starved as others may think, but one day they don't see you they start to miss you a lot. Please don't leave them alone for too long, they can go mess around together but it doesn't feel the same with you left out.

♡Sniper and Spy♡

• snipers love language is physical touch and words of affirmation, Spy's is quality time and gift giving.

• you get so spoiled with affection by them

• sniper was always a secluded man, so was spy. But brought together they were amazing....and then your here? The whole relationship is so sweet.

• Sniper will hold your hand any chance he gets, Spy holding your other hand. You three like to go on quiet walks at noon, enjoying the weather and even going to a cafe on the way.

• Spy absolutely spoils the both of you with gifts, expect a gift from him atleast two times a week.

• you guys don't really go to loud areas since Sniper doesn't enjoy them, so your dates are usually real intimate.

I'm talking picnics under a tree as the sun is setting, watching the clouds as the three of you joke and talk about.

Or, romantic dates by the sea...enjoying the scenery and maybe even going for a swim.

You three are the most calm couple out of all of them I'd say.

Even though sniper and spy have many differences, they still are so cute together! they match like puzzle pieces and are great to be with.

• though...there are times those differences do get to them. Sometimes they'd have petty fights over...something. if this does happen, just talk to them both about it and give them some time, they'll just hug it out and it'll be fine then.

• if your ever upset, they will try their best to be there. Sniper will comfort you with the sweetest things you've ever heard, holding you tightly. While Spy gets a reservation at a private restaurant booked for the three of you that night, taking you out and making you forget about your troubles.

♡Heavy and Medic♡

• Heavy and Medic both are acts of service and quality time.

• aw :)

• okay this might be even sweeter than all of them

• the two of them are even more secluded than Sniper and Spy. Medic is usually always in his medbay working away, while Heavy is usually resting, cleaning Sasha, or doing light reading to pass the time.

They're not much talkers unless the topics really interest them, so that's why your here!

The three of you are like that old couple down your street who do the most corny shit ever, knitting for each other except its with medic and heavy and you lmao

• Heavy and Medic teach each other their language, and you get taught too! If you also happen to speak another language, expect them to wanna learn it.

Yall have duolingo sessions and it's the cutest shit ever.

"Okay now say, 'Apa kabar, nama saya' then you say your name."

"...Apa...Kahbar? Nahma saye-"

"Pfft-BAHAHAHHAAHA-"

you laugh your ass off as the two of them are desperately trying to spell what your saying. They end up laughing too! It's a fun thing you three do in as little dates.

(ps what I wrote is read as uh-pah- kuh-bar- nah-ma sa-yuh" it's indonesian!! fun fact otd)

• Heavy likes to write the both of you Russian literature, you both don't quite understand what they mean but after a couple months of studying with him you both melt due to how sweet they are.

• Medic loves to ramble about his experiments, he will never ever ask you to volunteer unless its something that he knows won't hurt either of you.

When Heavy misses the both of you, he will carry you both in his arms and hug yall tightly.

"Heavy has missed you both."

"Aw, I've missed you too babe."

"Ja, its been boring without jou!"

Yall are just really wholesome.

• if your ever upset, truthfully speaking they won't know how to comfort you in words. So they will show it by just being there for you.

Heavy will squeeze your hand while letting you cry into him, as Medic made you tea as it soothes the nerves. They will both just let you cry it all out, not knowing how to reply much.

But the next day, they will just make sure that day is amazing. They will both go out of their way to make sure nothing van ruin your mood for that day to make up for yesterday. Broke your favorite pencil? Heavy will get you a better one. You feel dizzy? Come over to medbay, Medic will prepare and make sure they never bother you again.

They're so sweet it gives you cavities, even though they don't know how to say it, they sure are good at showing you. (I love men sm♡)

Hope u enjoyed!

we need more poly mercs.

-sincerely, a polyamorous person