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enhadiares · 2 months

Note

Hiiiii ❤️ Little request 🥰👉👈

can you do Enha Jay # mafia something like that it's kinda rare to find fics like that

love your fics so much sorry if i bothered you

🕷️A/N: IM SORRY IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO ANSWER YOU I REALLY AM 😭🙏 I HOPE YOU FORGIVE ME AND LIKE THIS ☹️☹️ I'll make a part of this if people like it and make it more yandere.

CHANCE

🕷️Warning: YANDERE THEMES , mentions of gun shot

🕷️ Pairing: mafia!Jay × doctor!reader

🕷️Synopsis:In the heart of a bustling city, Dr. (Reader) a renowned surgeon known for her unwavering commitment to saving lives, finds herself entangled in an unexpected situation when a notorious mafia leader, Jay Park, is brought into her emergency room, bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound and what's worse is that , he gets obessed with her.

It was a usual day for (reader). The sun shining brightly, doing it's job perfectly showcasing her . How she was at her workplace again right on time . Very punctual indeed. With being punctual (reader) was also very hardworking.

She's a doctor at the be:lift hospital. She loves her job . It gives her a sense of comfort knowing she helps people heal , maybe there's a chance that she would save someone from dying.

Life is a very valuable thing which you can get just once . There may be second chances and she's here to give people just that. Second chance to live their life again , this time while taking care of their mistakes , learning from them and not repeating them again.

Second chances , very fascinating and amusing aren't they? Some people get second chance while some don't , it's upon fate .

Back to (reader) , she had just completed an operation successfully , saving yet another life. She felt at ease knowing she gave someone another chance to live .

Suddenly her peace was interrupted by loud noises , people were screaming in a hospital? Oh how rude - she thought. She was going to go stop them and ask why they were screaming in a hospital in the first place , they should know that it might disturb the patients.

But just as she was about to open the door she heard footsteps , they were getting louder as seconds passed by implying that someone was coming towards her . They also sounded like they were in a hurry . Maybe someone is very serious! - a thought crossed her mind and without any further ado she opened the door only to be my by 6 men , all in a similar attire : a black shiny and shimmery blazer , colour like that of a black hole with shining black boots where one could see their reflection. Upon studying their faces , she could sense they were panicking.

“Are you the doctor? Hurry up , he got shot!” one of the guy stated. He looked young yet authoritative, like he had some power.

(Reader) quickly nodded , it was about someone's life! She has to save him. She called out for some nurses and took the injured patient to the operation ward while the other waited outside for them.

He got shot? How would he get shot? He isn't dressed up like a cop. Is he a criminal? Her eyes widen at the thought but she wasn't sure about the assumption she's making . Should she prioritize saving the life of a potential criminal , or adhere strictly to her oath as a healer?

As Dr. L/n and her team work tirelessly to stabilize the patient's condition, tension fills the air. The presence of the person's six brothers, each with a intimidating aura as his own, looms over the hospital.

As the operation progresses, Dr. L/n is faced with unexpected challenges. The bullet has caused severe damage, and the patient's condition deteriorates rapidly. Despite her expertise, she fears that his chances of survival are slim.

With time running out, Dr. l/n makes a bold decision. Drawing upon all her skills and determination, she pushes herself to the limit, refusing to give up on her patient. In a high-stakes gamble, she performs a risky procedure that could either save the patient's life or seal his fate.

As the operation reaches its critical moment, a hush falls over the operating room. Every second feels like an eternity as Dr. L/n and her team fight to wrestle the patient back from the brink of death.

Finally, the monitors beep with renewed vigor, signaling a glimmer of hope. Against all odds, his heart begins to beat steadily once more, and his breathing stabilizes.

The surgery is a success.

A sigh of relief escapes her as she removes her mask to breath properly.

----

She goes out to inform the six individuals outside the room , awaiting for their companion to be saved.

“The surgery was a success. The patient is out of danger now”

She could hear multiple sighs of relief. They all felt like they could finally breath again , their tensed shoulders relaxed a bit after hearing the good news.

“You'll have to come with me now , I have some questions to ask" said Dr. l/n . She needed to know what exactly caused this.

“We need to see hyung first” the young yet intimidating guy proclaims.

“sure this way , but only two of you can enter as we can not have he patient feeling overwhelmed” (reader) sighs yet expresses her duties.

“I"ll go check on him guys” states the young guy

“I"ll accompany you !" Another voice asserts . He looked mature , maybe he is the eldest .

Dr l/n leads the way to the operating room where he patient lies . Upon reaching the guys rush towards him while she stays back just to observe.

Meanwhile Jay finally regained his consciousness back and opened his eyes , to be met with a sight of an angel , or so he thought.

Was he already in heaven? Oh he can't be with the number of crimes he has committed. So who is this angel like individual?

Upon seeing his eyes open , the other two individuals rush towards him.

“Jay! Are you okay?” questions the elder guy

Oh so his name is Jay - thinks (reader)

The younger one hits him “ofcourse he is not fine heeseung hyung , would you be fine if you were shot?”

“I'm just trying to be caring Jungwon!”

There goes their introduction too.

Despite the chaos and danger that surrounds him, Jay is captivated by her grace and skill, feeling a stirring within him that he's never experienced before.

As Jay awakens in the recovery room, his thoughts are consumed by Dr. L/n . Entranced by her beauty and kindness, he becomes obsessed with the idea of making her his own, convinced that she is the one who can bring light into his dark world afterall she's the one who brought him back to life right?

Jay is occupied with the thoughts of his newfound obsession, but his is brought back to reality by his two companions inquiring about his condition. To which he replies that it's fine because he can't seem to focus on anything else than the angel standing infront of his eyes.

He's observing her - Her beautiful face as if carved especially by God , every inch of her face and body screams perfection to him. Her shiny black lucious hair which turns brownish under the lights , her small button nose , or her eyes - she possesses brown almond-shaped eyes, framed delicately by medium-length eyelashes that accentuate her gaze. Her lips, adorned with a soft shade of pink, exude a subtle allure, adding a touch of warmth to her features.

Oh he was down bad for her . Was this what people refer to as love at first sight?

A knock interrupts all their activities.

“We all need you outside , the patient needs to rest and we need your statement” says a nurse

They bid their byes and inform him that he'll be out soon but all he can think about is how to get his hands on his angel and make her his.

----

The interrogation is stopped. The individuals were influential people and so they can do whatever they wished and they did not wish for this information to be out so they hushed everyone with their power. They wanted jay to be safe so they commanded for him to be shifted at their house where a doctor would help him if needed and fortunately for Jay , (reader) was chosen since she operated on him.

----

The next day , Jay is shifted to the nursery that is located in his big mansion. (Reader) was surprised at how big the mansion was , so they were rich rich.

Upon entering she also noticed alot of individuals wearing black blazer with guns in their hands . Were they that rich that they needed bouncers? The girl thought .

She helped Jay get comfortable and brought him lunch in time . While feeding him , she decided to interrogate him personally, maybe he could provide her with some information.

(Reader): Mr. Jay, can you recount the events leading to your injury?

Jay: It was a confrontation with a rival organization. We were negotiating a business deal when things turned violent.

(Reader): Were there any specific triggers that escalated the situation?

Jay: It seemed like a premeditated ambush. They were armed and ready when we arrived at the meeting point.

(Reader): Did you have any indication of hostility prior to the encounter?

Jay: Not explicitly, but tensions have been escalating between our groups for some time.

(Reader): I see. And how did you manage to escape the altercation?

Jay: I made a split-second decision to flee when the gunfire erupted, sustaining this injury in the process.

(Reader) : and what exactly do you do if I may ask?

Jay: You'll get know soon.

He expressed making (reader) frown . Why is it not the right time? What does he do that can't be spoken casually? Her thoughts are interrupted when someone comes barging in the room.

“Jay hyung I'm glad you are alright, we are planning to make them regret their actions by acquiring their company and killing them”

Her eyes widen at the word killing that the younger individual just slipped so casually. Was she in danger? Are these criminals?

“You should really read the room and check your surroundings before you speak Niki” said Jay rather calmly .

“i know I said soon but i didn't know it would be this soon , but now you know I guess. I am Jay Park - a mafia , a criminal or whatever your vocabulary describes individuals like me, but don't be scared , we won't harm you” he said with a eeire smile

All the words went from one ear and escaped through another , all (reader) heard was that he's a mafia. Confused and terrified, she finds herself thrust into a nightmare as Jay reveals his true identity but she knew better , she needed to act smartly and calmly. She took a deep breath .

“That's none of my business Jay , although I'm glad that I'm reassured about my safety”

Despite her initial fear, she senses a vulnerability within him so she doesn't ponder further . Niki mutters an apology and quickly leaves before he gets yelled at.

“I"ll be leaving tomorrow either way” speaks yn

“No you're not” Jay replies casually as if it was supposed to be common sense

“Umm yes I am , a nurse would be replacing me tomorrow” She filled him in with the necessary information

“No you won't ever be leaving me , this is your house from now on”

Her eyes widen at the words that left his mouth but later she started laughing.

“Omg you had me there Jay , I must say . You have a great sense of humour” she stopped laughing when she noticed Jay's face remained monotonous and serious . No sign of humour could be sensed from him.

“you're joking right?” questions yn in disbelief

“Whatever you want to think but you aren't going anywhere . If you can't piece it together , I'll piece it out for you . I love you and now you are mine ”

Would reader give Jay a chance ? Or would he need a second chance?

203 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 8 months

Text

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.

warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed

a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”

🤍Masterlist

. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled.

“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.”

“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”

You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder.

“I’m sure of it.”

All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.

“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.”

“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.”

Partner.

That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself.

And then he met you and the definition changed again.

You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why.

You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).

“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”

And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days.

“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions.

Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts.

Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed.

Which could be:

Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.

Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here.

He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?

Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.

And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.

Then dark. And light.

You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all.

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.”

You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime.

“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath.

“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”

“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee.

“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold.

He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.”

Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.

“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”

In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee.

“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets.

“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.”

“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night.

He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.

“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids.

“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it.

Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since.

Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks.

Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair.

Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation.

Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay.

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold.

You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love.

So much fucking love.

In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants.

You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.

The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare.

“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.

Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him.

“Baby–,”

He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,

I’m not worth this

With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall.

You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer.

His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.

Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in.

You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.

Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut.

This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars.

This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day.

That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.

And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.

He just wonders how stable it really is.

His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.

“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”

Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head.

“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful.

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you.

Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you.

You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees.

But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now.

His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it.

He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch.

Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart.

The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips.

“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs.

Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes.

His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it.

He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford.

Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair.

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.”

He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.

He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole.

In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair.

“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh.

“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty.

Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible.

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean.

He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face.

You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine.

You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point.

Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now.

His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level.

You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.

“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls.

But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest.

His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table.

Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock.

“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?”

At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich.

“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.

“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.”

“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.”

His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork.

It almost brings him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”

He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.

Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist.

You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.

“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”

It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.

“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain.

He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.

“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.”

You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.”

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it.

His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done.

“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.

“I wanna fucking marry you.”

With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.

He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him.

“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow.

“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy.

The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire.

He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust.

He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again.

You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.

The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm.

“B-baby, please–,”

Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer.

“No crying until after I’ve made you come.”

“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.”

“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him.

Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.

“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”

And he unravels, divinity calling his name.

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep.

The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again.

Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more.

Baby, please.

The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst.

With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs.

The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet.

Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling.

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor.

His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull.

“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face.

“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.”

You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest.

“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”

“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.

“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.”

Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips.

You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all.

You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed.

“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you.

“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.”

Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.

He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach.

Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.

“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”

“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”

His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.

“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.”

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

#frankie morales #fransisco morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader

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big-tiddy-bi · 1 year

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This is part 2 of the Danny yelling at the justice league fic. It was going to be a one shot but @phoenixdemonqueen called one of the lines I wrote cool, and I started squealing, flapping my arms and jumping around my kitchen so I had to write more <3 also hydrate or diedrate

Tw for body horror, idk if it counts but better safe than sorry <3

——————

Greek mythology has many myths on of which is Theseus and Pirithous. Pirithous full of hubris decided, with the help of Theseus to kidnap the goddess Kore and try to forcefully marry her. Before they can enact this honestly genius plan, that was sarcasm by the way, her husband traps them in chairs with snakes and leaves them there for the furies to torture.

Most stories have a lesson And the lesson of this one is very important. Don’t Be Stupid, Stupid.

Currently John Constantine was trying and failing to tell the justice league. “Are you fucking stupid” and deadman told them “to fight someone from the infinite realms is suicidal”.

After Danny’s stunt most of the non-magical justice league wanted to hunt him down to “set the record straight”, when they said that John and deadman left the room.

On the day the justice league stated in the email, they stood at a sign stating “welcome to Amity, the most haunted place in America”.

One of the most loved groups of people, the justice league walked through the city like ghosts. They were used to stairs and whispers, but usually of worship and maybe small insults but not like this. Could feel the distain in the air, like the city itself was trying to strangle them.

A tall blonde teen in a varsity jacket screamed at them to leave, that they weren’t wanted, but with much more explicit language.

Flash tried to make a joke, and the resulting glare from the rest of the league could have killed him on the spot, and several of the residents through things at him after they heard him.

They walked up to the building that held mayor’s office. Batman’s face was unreadable, unlike Superman’s whose expression told all his feelings of worry.

In the building they heard several voices, on of which matched phantom, ridiculing the mayor. Who just kept sighing in utter annoyance.

Wonder Woman opened the door to the office to be met with a comedic scene. Phantom floating in one corner of the room flipping of the mayor, who was also flipping him off in return. A goth girl with vine tattoos trailing from her wrist up her arms was slipping some papers onto the table, with the title mandatory vegan in bold letters while the mayor was distracted. two boys one with a tattoo around his eye similar to the eye of Ra, the other had on a shirt that said “I know all your secret identities, don’t test me” both sitting on beanbags playing a video game that was projected on of the walls of the office. one girl with beautiful curly hair was coming through the window arms filled with take out bags, a couple from a Chinese restaurant and the others a fast food place. A woman with red hair was helping her in, holding a tray full of drinks.

All of them turned their heads in unison, phantom and the two tattooed individuals eyes glowing green. the mayor and the redheaded woman’s glowed green.

The window person finished coming through, and set the bags down on the mayor’s desk next to the drinks. The pulled a toxic green knife from behind her back, the redhead woman got into a defensive position her cheeks torn open so she could her hundreds of teeth, razor sharp. The mayor leaned forward in his chair, placing a hand on his desk, mouth turned up in a grin, showing of his sharp canines.

The red headed boy quickly moved to the back of the room, while his video game partner stood up, holes appearing on his body, one of his eyes rolling back into his head leaving another hole, all dripping with sand. The goth woman slowly grew liken and moss in her shoulders, it slowly crawled up one side of her face, she opened her mouth and vines sprung from it, wrapping around her head ripping her skin a flower came out replacing her face.

Phantom was the worst, he grew into a vaguely human shape thousands of mouths opened up on his body, some in other places around the room.

Phantom asked in a distorted voice “ were our warnings not enough for you?”

Batman spoke up “we came here to” but he was interrupted.

The sand being spoke this time. Angerly “ to gravel at our feet for forgiveness, to beg in a futile attempt to win back fame?”

Batman responded again “no, we are here” but he was interrupted again this time by the flower woman

“Without our permission, without the permission of the public, you governed by none.” The flower petals began to pulse “ you who could be saving people, come here to plead like dogs praying for table scraps” she yelled.

“We are here to talk” Batman finally got to say.

The redheaded boy responded this time. “ Bruce Wayne, these actions are unbecoming of you”

The entire justice league was taken aback. “Don’t be surprised” the redheaded woman said “you and your kin’s bodies may be living, but you belong to death the same as us”

“Let’s hear them out” the mayor said “after that you can end them in anyway you wish” he was bluffing of course, none of the heroes on team phantom would ever kill someone, but the justice league didn’t need to know that.

The curly haired woman spoke “ so, if you want to talk then talk”

Superman answered this time “ we never got your messages, we only found them while cleaning out the servers”

What sounded like every voice ever heard replied “what do you mean” the voice, voices? Sounded surprised.

“Exactly that” Wonder Woman answered.

“Someone hacked into our system and deliberately hid all communications from amity” the flash continued

Phantom appeared behind Batman. Intangible hand going into his throat and wrapping around his trachea “if you are lying, I will destroy each of your families”

Phantom floated through Batman to get back in front. In the blink of an eye everyone was back to normal.

“Tell us about this breach” the mayor said crossing his arms. “ so we can take care of it”

————————-

Tell me what you think <3 this is my first part two

@skulld3mort-1fan @mynameisnotlaura @justwannabecat @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @thegatorsgoose @yjfk @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @iglowinggemma28 @bleuyellow93 @aconitewolfsbane @fox-sama97 @catmeowbored @stargirl1331

#fanfic #danny fenton #danny phantom #sorry for spelling mistakes #dc x dp #dp x dc #part 2 #I thought making vlad more annoying and less murder your father vibes would be fun #they we’re having a we have/going to get ghost powers club meeting #Eldridge Danny phantom

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nebulousbrainsoup · 3 months

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comfortable | l.sm

🌸 SUMMARY: it's been a year since you and your best friend have seen each other. while the day may look the exact same, he can tell you are not. as always, you find comfort in his open arms and wise words. 🌸 PAIRING: best friend!dk x reader 🌸 GENRE: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort 🌸 AU/TROPE INFO: non-idol au, unrequited love 🌸 WORD COUNT: 1.8k 🌸 WARNINGS: just some language and pining, nothing much else! 🌸 RATING: PG 🌸 A/N: hahaha i'm self soothing with fanfiction again! huge shout out to @hwaightme for sending me the song that inspired this fic (Comfortable - Lauv) and 10 cherry blossom photos with nothing but the prompt "bittersweet realizations." beautiful dividers by @saradika-graphics! 🌸 masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee? suffer tag: @pyeonghongrie-main

It was an inevitable fact of life, it seemed, that despite any earnestness put behind them at their inception, childhood promises could not help but be broken. It had been a year since Seokmin had seen you, the best friend he promised to spend every day with countless times through your youth. You had both protested against the gentle warnings from your families that adult life was difficult, busy, and often drove people apart at least physically, if not emotionally. Daily after school adventures had morphed quickly into weekly video chats and promises of monthly visits home as you both went off to university. By the time your first rounds of midterms hit, you had decided texting as much as possible and calling to catch up monthly had to be enough to sustain your friendship.

There had been a looming emptiness in both of your lives with the adjustment, one Seokmin was blatantly aware was in the shape of you.

You had filled the void with coursework and a bit of dating here and there, oblivious and confused when no one and nothing filled the hole entirely.

To the best of your abilities, you still texted daily and called when you could, but with budding careers and the time zone differences you found yourselves in, no matter how small, it was difficult. Circumstances and responsibilities piled atop each other and before either of you knew it, it had been a year—almost to the day—since either of you had seen each other or spoken for more than thirty minutes at a time. But promises made in adulthood were ones with knowledge and logic behind them, leaps and bounds easier to keep than the rose-colored naivety of adolescence, so you made certain to keep the one you had made the last time you were here.

“We’re coming next year. Barring any life threatening emergencies, of course. If we request work off now and plan everything else around this, we can make sure we see each other at least once a year.”

Last year had been a nearly identical day to this one, the sky a similar pale blue and the cherry blossoms a soft pink as though they were making up for the lack of clouds above them. The late March air was still chilly, leaving each of you curling further into your sweaters and clutching a warm drink to your chest as you wandered through the park in search of the other. Seokmin was fighting the swarm of butterflies you always seemed to awaken within his stomach, resisting the urge to quicken his pace in hopes of finding you sooner. A soft smile tugged at his lips as last year’s chastising came back to him, “You passed me like three times, then! Slow down and look, Minnie, aish.”

The crowds seemed to part on cue as he blinked back to the present, his soft smile spreading into a grin for a brief moment before it fell again. Even from a distance and amongst the meandering crowds, he knew today would be different than the year previous, and his heart ached as he made his way toward you.

Last time, you had been looking for him with just as much urgency and excitement as he had you, spinning aimlessly and ignoring the confused and disgusted looks anyone else threw your way. You had spotted him at the same time as he had you, as though zeroing in on each others’ presence, and skipped into his open arms, joyous shouts and giggles echoing from you both. Your eyes had shone as your smile crinkled them when you finally broke apart, and Seokmin had wanted nothing more than to sweep you back into his arms and kiss you breathless. He had stopped himself, instead pulling you in for another quick hug and asking after the partner you’d texted him about a month prior. You were full of life before and brightened even further as you gushed about them and your loyal best friend swallowed down the pieces of his shattering heart.

Today, you looked like a small storm cloud had taken residence above you, shoulders slumped forward as you slowly turned and scanned the crowd. Seokmin’s heart broke all over again. He tugged the corners of his lips up into his signature grin as your tired eyes found his, a weak smile gracing your pretty face for a fleeting moment. He softened a bit as he swallowed bile, still holding his arms open and raising his brows in question and invitation.

It looked like the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders as you closed the distance between you in a few short strides and threw your arms around his waist. He let his forced smile drop as he pressed his nose into your hair and bundled you tightly to him. He clung to you nearly as hard as you did to him, hands roaming soothingly over your back. The pair of you stood there in the middle of the path, swaying lightly, until the pointed nudging and shoving of passersby became too much for your balance to bear.

When you separated, he couldn’t help himself. His smile did not return, concern etched into his furrowed brow as he asked, “What’s the matter, Y/N-ie?”

Seokmin watched in real-time, throat tightening, as the weight of the world fell back across your shoulders. Your bottom lip quivered, leaving him grasping his cup tightly to keep himself from smoothing out the twitch with his thumb.

“Can we find somewhere quieter first?” You murmured, shifting awkwardly on your feet.

He nodded, freeing one of his hands from its death grip to tug your own into its hold. “Bench time, then.”

The further away from the crowds he guided you, the more your weariness seemed to set in. You were uncharacteristically silent and, in his worry, so was your usually-bubbly companion. By the time you were settled on opposite sides of your favorite bench in the park, he could tell the dam in front of your emotions was close to shattering.

Sure enough, everything came out within minutes. The little spats and arguments you’d attributed to “growing pains” as you settled in with your new partner had not gone away in the slightest, evolving into nearly weekly fights over the same three topics, each of you trying to shoulder the blame alone. One miscommunication piles on after another, and by the time you’ve finished, Seokmin feels some of your weariness like its his own, his heart aching to see you hurt.

“I just feel like I’ve hit a wall,” you sighed, head lolling back onto the bench. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve asked them time and time again to just tell me when they don’t know what’s the matter and to tell me what’s wrong when they do because not knowing fucks me up more than knowing, you know? But they won’t, so I always go into any ‘discussion’ a little pissed because it’s another case of them keeping shit from me and me pushing too hard to get them to just respect my boundaries and—”

“It sounds like you’re both walking on eggshells to keep the other happy,” he cut in, watching as your mouth snapped shut.

“That’s… yeah, maybe,” you sighed, silence falling between you again. “Have you ever been so in love with someone that you would do anything to make them happy?”

“Yes.”

The speed of his answer startled you, and you snapped back to look at him with a suspicious frown. “We’re talking about that later. I’m offended that I don't know about this person.” Seokmin huffed a sigh, rolling his eyes and hiding his sad smile behind a sip of his drink. “It’s like… I want to do everything I can to make them happy, but nothing is enough.”

“I’m no therapist, and I know I’m not exactly a relationship expert,” he hummed, “but you need to ask yourself why you’re still putting yourself through this. Do you really want things to work out? Do they? Are you both willing to put in the work to actually make it happen?” Your eyes fell to the ground, lips pursing in thought, and the sight tugged at his heartstrings. “If the answer to any of those is no, then you’re probably just staying with them because they’re comfortable and familiar, and that’s not healthy.”

You swallowed thickly and your bottom lip shook again, and Seokmin wanted nothing more than to take his words back if he was going to be the one to make you cry. His jaw dropped open to offer an apology, but before the words could leave his mouth, you were meeting his gaze with renewed softness and energy. He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“When did you get so wise, Dokyeom?” you teased, a pretty, bittersweet little smile pulling at your lips. “I’ll think about it tomorrow. Today is meant for you and me.”

With a deep breath and a final swig of his now-cold drink, he hopped up to his feet in front of you, extending a hand. “Then let the distractions commence! I heard there’s a new convenience store around the corner. We can go grab snacks and have a little picnic!”

You laughed, full and bright, for the first time today, and Seokmin felt his heart mend, just a stitch. “Ah, what did I do to deserve you? That sounds perfect.”

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, your best friend reached down and snatched your hand, pulling you to stand beside him. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve me; you’re stuck with me. It’s part of the DK package, remember? You deal with all of this,” he dropped your hand to spin in a circle, arms thrown wide, “and in return, I am at your beck and call.” He finished with a flourish, bowing deeply before straightening up and grinning brightly.

Once more you were laughing at his antics, and he felt the tightness in his chest lighten, only to return as a flash of something, unfamiliar and curious, flashed in your eyes as they flickered over his body. “I guess that was the deal, huh? Still, I stand by my statement. You really are the best, Lee Seokmin.”

He huffed a sigh, eyes flickering to the ground as he was rendered speechless at your words. “Well, thank you. Now, can we quit the sappy stuff and move onto the food?”

You grinned, nodding eagerly as you started down the path ahead of him. “If we eat as much as we did last time, though, you may have to pick me up and carry me back home.”

Seokmin let his earnestness show in his expression as he smiled softly at the back of your head. “Always.”

TAGLIST: @justhere4kpop @tastymintchocolate @bahng-chrizz @elllisaaa @jjeongddol @buzzkillem @atinyinateezverse @hooniewnderland @yessa-vie @unlikelysublimekryptonite @kangnina

#k-vanity #cultofdionysusnet #dk x reader #dk fluff #dk angst #lee seokmin x reader #lee seokmin fluff #lee seokmin angst #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom fluff #dokyeom angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #neb.svt #nebulous writes #neb.comfy

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daytaker · 4 months

Note

greetings from clown anon, adored the fic very silly <33

i apologise if i’m filling up your inbox but may i ask for an mc that’s a mortician? that or is just desensitised to death and knows a lot about it, like i imagine whenever the brothers in early season 1 used to do like very specific threats mc would be like “uh actually that’s not how that works” essentially acting like a bit of a smart ass completely glossing over the actual threat

thanksies in advance (´∀｀*)

Clown Anon MCs - [ Clowncore MC | Death-Fixated Science Geek MC | LeVeyan Satanist MC ]

(I'll be real I have no memory of the specific threats and I was too lazy to go look for them but I will follow along the lines of the prompt anyway.)

I'm going to do this one in bullet point form. Hope that's okay.

(CW: a bit gross at times. not quite gore.)

Now I Am Become MC, Destroyer of Worlds: A Death-Fixated Main Character in Obey Me!

Read below the cut.

They're extremely curious about demon anatomy. And not in a kinky way. They want to see how similar the structure and layout of demon organs are to human organs. They want to get full body X-rays when those wings and tails pop up. They want to get it on video when they appear and disappear. Because what the fuck. Yeah, yeah, they get it, magic exists, but still, what the fuck?!

They fully expect Beel to keel over and die one day from overeating. There is no way any single individual can consume the way he does and survive. They're actually hoping that if he does, they'll be able to carry out the post-mortem and see what exactly was going on with that stomach of his. I mean, yes, they'll be very sad he's gone, but at least he'll have died as a martyr to science!

Dead shadow hog? Taxidermied. Dead fire newt? Taxidermied. Dead devil zebra? Brought home, dissected, taxidermied. The brothers don't really like to go to their room because of the constant dizzying stench of formaldehyde that comes from it.

Sometimes they'll just sit and stare at one of the brothers. If asked what they're doing, they'll simply say, "Observing." Reactions to this range from Beel's "Oh, okay," to Levi's "I'M GOING TO MY ROOM AND NEVER LEAVING FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE."

So Solomon's immortal, is he? How immortal, exactly? Is it just that he'll never die from old age? Could he die of a disease? Surely he could die from injuries, right? Has he tested this? Can they test it? Please?

....Please?

Wait, wait, wait. Satan came from where? How? Why? What the hell? Lucifer, take your shirt off, they need to do some investigating. Satan, you too. Lucifer, show them your back. No scars? Not even from ripping your own wings off? Hm. Satan, do you have a bellybutton? ...That's weird, you definitely didn't need an umbilical cord. And you're saying he came out full-sized? Stop telling them it's magic! Magic is just science that people don't understand yet.

Actually, all of you get in here and strip, this has been a long time coming. MC needs to figure out what the hell is happening here.

Why not?

Pleeeease?

Satan, let's talk about one of your murder mysteries! They do this exactly one time, and never again because MC kept interrupting to point out plot holes and inconsistencies. It was so annoying. It kind of ruined the genre for him for a little while.

Leviathan, MC wants to ask you about how you survive underwater. Levi--- Hey, where are you going? Levi?

They write their paper on comparative anatomy of demons, angels, and humans. Diavolo gets a little queasy after the first page and gives them an A. He doesn't want to read the rest, he trusts they did a thorough job.

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spider-man-199999 · 1 year

Text

Paris to Tokyo

pairing: college!Peter Parker x Reader: 18+; academic rivals to lovers

word count: 5K

warnings: smut; slight angst; unpotected sex

summary: You start your new life at college, expecting it to be the most exciting time of your life, only to be met with Peter Parker, who decided to dedicate his free time to making your life a living hell

a/n: I've been dying to write an enemies to lovers type of fic, it's also my first time writing anything with suggestive content in it, so bear with me please. The heading is the most random thing I could come up with I'm sorry

College was the place you were looking forward to the most since you graduated high school. It was supposed to be a place where you met people with similar interest, went out with them to have fun and engage in intellectual converstaions. And it was exactly like that, for the most part. Growing up as a natuarally intelligent kid had you been putting little to no effort in school and always got you good grades. This quickly escalated into you trying a bit harder with each test and striving for more academic validation. At some point you even managed to become the best student in your class. But sitting hours on end on a desk and studying was still something very foreign to you. Sure, you would revise from time to time on topics that were harder to remember or things you couldn't recall from class, but it never went further than that. And maybe a degree in Biophysic was not the wisest idea given that backgroung. So, when college came around and you started the new classes on topics your common knowledge could barely help you keep up with, things went downhill very fast. For the first time you were faced with faliure, hard work and putting hours on end to study. It felt like everyone around you was more knowledgeable, more prepared, more educated on literally any topic that was discussed in and outside of class. Being at the bottom of the academic foodchain was mildy infuriating, to say the least.

And after the first few months of sleepless nights, filling up all of the holes so you could catch up to speed, you finally did it, and it felt more rewarding than anything else. This assisted you into making casual conversations with so many people from your different classes, one of them even inviting you to a study group that had been going on for months. You happily agreed to that idea, thinking it would be the best way to keep up with everyone in the class, not only academically but socically as well.

The day of the study group finally arrived on what seemed like the most normal, yet the most exciting Tuesday. They added you to a groupchat, everyone texting back and forth until all of you had agreed to go grab a coffee before heading to the library. You had tried your best to look presentable for this study date, putting on some white wide-leg dress pants and a neat navy blue t-shit that hugged your body very well. You hair was in a sleek bun, having a white buttonup because the weather was slightly chilly. Almost everyone had arrived there on time, which took you by surprise since you were used to being the only one being on time. After the cheerful greeting and formally learning everyone's names, you went inside and grabbed a coffee, returning to them promptly. You stood by the door, since the group had formed a circle around the entrance of the small shop.

"Was I the last one?" You asked concerned, looking around and counting the people.

"Actually, we're waiting for Peter" Someone said, everyone giggling softly and shaking their head.

"Who's Peter?" You asked, and as soon as you did, you felt something push againt your shoulder, sending you a step forward so you wouldn't come crashing down from losing your balance.

"I'M SO SORRY" you heard from behind you, turning around to see a boy with a worried expression on his face, paper cup in his hand. He was handsome, hair pushed back, warm eyes and nervous smile, leather jacked over a black t-shirt.

"That's Peter" someone stated, pulling you out of your trance. Peter chuckled, moving past you and motioning for everyone to go, since he was the one you all had been waiting for.

On the walk there you kept staring at the back of Peter's head, annoyed that he pushed you with the door, frusrated because he didn't even bother to introduce himself to you. Not that he really had to, you already knew well enough who he was. The guy who always came in rushing because he was late, somehow still managed to sit directly in front of you, blocking your view, no matter where you sat. He was the guy that would beat you to every question, the one who would always have the best grade on the tests. He leaned way too back in his seat, back pressed to your desk, pushing it, as you would try to keep up with writing everything down. And he would always ask you for a pen, every single time.

The study room was spacious and bright, it had a big round table for everyone to sit at, as well as two whiteboards and plenty or outlests for chargers and what not. It looked like the perfect place to study with a large group, excluding the fact Peter was there as well. You all took random seats around the table, Parker sitting across from you, almost as if it were on purpose. You held back an eye roll when he smiled at you cockily, making you look away and take out your laptop and notebook from your bag. The screen managed to block out most of Peter's face if you sink into your seat low enough. The conversation in the room flowed naturally, it was so interesting and engaging and you were having a blast speaking to these people. Soon enough all of you had solved the first homework questions, you quickly grabbing a pen and writing it down in your notebook. As you were in the middle of writing, an outside force closed your laptop. Your eyes looked at the laptop, seeing a pale male hand, fingers spread. You stared at it for a few seconds, noticing how pretty the hand actually was, long and straight fingers, follwed by a slim wrist and a muscular forearm. Your gaze trailed the hand up to Peter's face, looking into his eyes with annoyance already.

"Hey, do you-" before he even managed to finished his sentence, you had taken out a pen from your pencil case and placed it on your laptop, next to his hand.

"Thank you" he muttered, you not even looking back at him. This routine, as much as it was annoying, gave you some kind of comfort as well.

"How come you never have a pen with you?" You asked after a while, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Oh, well actually I do have one, it's easier to just use yours"

''Unbelieveble"

"Come on, like you would ever need a second pen for anything"

You hovered over the table and grabbed the pen from his hand in a swift motion, he looked a bit taken a back, as well as the few people following your interaction.

"Actually, I need it now" you said, putting the one you were using away and continuing your writing with the one you just got back from him.

"You're being unbelieveble now" He said slightly irritated, reaching to get his won pen from his backpack.

"The two of you, cut it out, you're acting like children!" someone shushed you, making you blush when you realised it wasn't just you and the curly-haired boy in the room.

You gulped softly, mummbling a sorry to everyone as you kept writing down.

"Us cut it out? She was the one acting like a child, making a big deal out of a pen!" Peter whined and complained, starting to write down things in his notebook after he got a few angry glares from other people.

Around the time the group got to the third and final question for the homework you were feeling confident enough to try to contribute to the assignment.

"So you're basically saying that principle of hemodialysis is the same as other methods of dialysis - it involves diffusion of solutes across a semipermeable membrane?" you asked, as you were brainstorming through the question.

"Oh come on, y/n, this is the easiest question so far!'' Peter said, leaning froward, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Ever since the pen situation, he's been worse than ever before, taking every opportunity to show of how much smarter he was, followed by a cocky smirk.

"Intermittent dialysis therapy is used in chronic uremia to re-establish body water solute concentrations that cannot be achieved by the natural organ. In this sense, the dialyzer becomes an artificial kidney and it is through the transport of substances by this device that chemical and biophysical control consistent with continued survival is achieved." He explained, solving the question for you.

"She had it figured out, you could have let her be" Someone you didn't remember the name of said to him, making Peter's head turn in that direction.

"She obviously didn't, keep in mind her highest grade is my lowest" He snapped back.

You could feel the tension in the atmosphere thicken with each second, things were about to escalate very quickly. His words stung a bit and you felt something like a ball stuck in your throat after he said them. He didn't know how much work you had put in and he was incosiderate enough to just assume the worst of you. Before things managed to get any further, or worse, out of control, you slammed your thick notebook shut.

"Since Peter was kind enough to solve the last question, I think I'm going to call it a night" you said, fighting back the tears. Your voice gave you away as it wa slightly shaky, earning a few sympatheric looks.

You shoved your things in the bag as quickly as you as possible and walked out, trying to get as far away as possible. You were trying not to break down the whole walk back to your dorm, bitting your lip, brushing away some stray tears that ran down your cheeks with your sleeve. You were mentally blaming yourself for everything, for not walking fast enough, for not knowing enough, for deciding to join the study group, for even deciding on this degree to begin with. By the time you made it to your room, your phone was already blown up by text messages from Natalie, the person who originally invited you. She was a small blonde, blue-eyed beauty that was just as smart as she was pretty. You could bet on your own life that she was class president and the prom queen in high school. She was more than kind to you this whole time and her text messages suggested that she was worried about you too. With a quick click you deleted all the messages from your notification centre and threw the phone on your bed, followed by your bag. Hot tears ran down your face, breathing heavily as you were preactically sobbing at this point. You sat down on the floor, not being able to hold in the frustrstion anymore as you finally broke down, letting all of the shame, pain and anger flow out of your system through your tears.

A couple of hours had gone by, your tears were dried up on your face and neck as you lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling. Your phone kept buzzing from time to time and you finally gathered the emotional strenght to reply to the messages. Sitting on the bed, you unlocked the device and scrolled through the unred chats. The groupchat had sent the written solutions for the questions. Natalie had probably sent you 20 messages apologising and asking if you were okay. The guy who defended you had also sent you a message. His name was Brad and he looked like any normal person did. You texted him first, thanking him for standing up for you even though he did not need to do that. After him it was Natalie, who called you immediately after you hit send to reply to her first message. You picked up hesitantly, since you knew your voice was definitely going to sound like you had been crying.

"I am so sorry for everything! If I knew you and Peter were on bad terms I wouldn't have done this to you" She immediately spat out

"It's okay, I we aren't on bad terms, well... weren't"

"Have you been crying?"

"No..."

"I'm really sorry! I spoke to him after the whole thing, he's usually nothing like this! He himself couldn't explain why he acted like this"

"Nat, I really, really don't care"

"He said he wanted to make it up to you! He asked me himself for your number and your dorm room!"

"Please tell me you didn't give him any of that information"

"Well..."

"Oh my god now he knows where I live" you whined, bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them.

"He wanted to apologise! He looked very sincere and worried"

"Yes, all the psychopaths do, that's why they're so hard to recognize!"

"I'm sure he wouldn't just show up at your door trying to make amends, you'll be fine, plus he's a really cool dude, give him a chance to prove he's not an asshole"

"He had his chance, it was today"

After you two said your goodbyes and hung up, you deicided it was finally time to take a relaxing shower. As you walked out, you heard a knock on your door. Still wrapped in a towel, one hand holding it in place, you opened the door to a Peter Parker, leaning on the doorframe. You blinked a few times rapidly, trying to process what you were seeing.

"Why are you here?" You asked, after carefully calculating your tone and your words

"You weren't picking up your phone" he replied, trying to step a foot inside. You blocked his action with the door.

"I didn't say you could come in"

"Can I come in then?"

"No, good night Parker" With that you tried closing the door on him but he grabbed it, not letting you close it.

"Look, I'm here to apologise for what I said earlier. You don't have to forgive me"

"And I don't, go Peter"

He looked shatter at your words looking into his brown eyes, you almost felt sympathy for him, like he really did feel sorry about what he did. Despite that, you kept your composure, looking at him with all the resentmet you had for him, a sigh leaving his lips as he let go of the door. He didn't need superpowers to know he fucked up, so he left. And you on the other hand, were more devistated than before, but your ego was bruised and your self-esteem ruined. The only person, no matter how annoying, you didn't want to think less of you, thought less of you. Yes, it was good that he wanted to apologise but this was not going to undo his words and the image he obviously had. You didn't even know if the apology really was his idea or was forced on him by the others in the group. You shook you head, dismissing the thoughts as you got ready to sleep. Sleep always helped with heavy emotions and you hoped you would feel better in the morning.

A few weeks went by and you still refused to forgive Peter for what he said. In your heart, you knew he was really sorry at this point but you enjoyed his suffering as you roasted him slowly on low heat. He tried all the cliché ways, buying flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals, buying you coffee before every study date. Your neighbours were convinced that the two of you were dating and would always ask about him when you gathered in one of the rooms to eat together or drink. You denied that but they rolled their eyes and never believed. In the mean time Brad tried to get closer to you, even inviting you on a date. You accepted hesitantly, since your heart seemed to be someplace else, liking all of the effort and attention from Parker more than it should. You told Natalie about the date, the two of you had become very close, spending a lot of time together, which often resulted in Brad and Peter tagging along. To say the boys were not getting along would be an understatement. Eyes throwing daggers at each other with every glance, snarky, rude comments were exchanged back and forth. But when you told the pretty blonde about Brad, she was more than excited about it finally happening . She would go on and on about how she knew he liked you ever since the first study session you had together and how he had a very heated fight with Peter after you left. You were grateful for him and what he did, and somehow it still felt wrong to be going out with him.

The night of the date had arrived and you were almost ready, putting in your earrings as you heard a knock on your door. You took a quick look in the full lenght mirror, fixing the long black dress you were wearing. It had a long slit on the left side, exposing your leg, no sleeves and a turtle neck. You had tied your hair in a ponytail, so your light make up would be more visible in the muffled evening lights of wherever he was planning to take you. You opened the door, still not wearing your chunky leather boots but just stockings.

"I thought we were going to meet in front of the library" you said as you opened the door but to your sursprise, someone else was standing there.

"You're not going on that date" Peter said firmly, almost as a command

"You're the last person that's going to tell me what to do" You snapped back at him "Why are you here Parker?"

He walked inside, closing the door behind himself. Peter seemed slightly distressed, looking you up and down with a dark expression.

"Do you really hate me that much?" he asked, leaning his back against the door, his arms behind him as he looked down at his feet. "Or do you just want to hurt me by going out with the guy I like least? Like really? All the guys are in your feet and you decide to go out with Brad, and look as gorgeous as this."

You could hear the annoyance and sadness in his voice, a bit taken a back from all of the things he just said to you. He just loved doing that, didn't he? Saying the most obnoxious things to make you feel bad about yourself.

"Wait, what?" was all you managed to say, taking a few steps back until your butt pressed agains your desk, making you stop. Books and make up palletes were scattred on it. Peter looked up at you, smiling weakly.

"I've liked you, this whole time" he confessed, staring directly into your eyes "Please, don't go on that date"

"Make me" you said faintly, surprised by how you almost whispered it. There was no way he could have heard that. But somehow he did, taking a few rapid steps towards and wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I'll make you forget everyone else but me" he whispered in your ear.

Feeling his hot breath near your face made your heart beat faster, one of your hands resting against his upper arm, looking up into his eyes. You were having a hard time processing what was actually happening, a sudden fear it was one of his games to make fun of you. You tried pushing him away after the realization, but his grip on your waist tightened.

"I'm serious, y/n" he said "I've liked you since I saw you, and I would make everyone sit away from you so I could be near, I would ask you for a pen so I could talk to you. And I tried to show off because I wanted to impress you, I wanted you to think I'm smarter so you could ask me for help in class."

For some reason you believed him, nodding lightly to let him know that. He lifted you up with one arm, sitting you on top of the desk. You were having a hard time vocalizing what you were feeling but you didn't want him to feel awkward because of your silence. Your arms wrapped around his neck, his hand falling on your exposed leg. You looked down at where his hand was, your skin burning with desire to be touched by him more. Your eyes met his again, his filled with hopefullness and lust. He got closer, titling his head to the side and he kissed you softly and sweetly. You returned the kiss, hands cupping his face and bringing him closer to you. Peter deepened the kiss, turning it in a heated make out session as one of his hands romed around your leg, going up your dress so he could touch more of you and the other one placed on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. You spread your legs, pulling him by the belt so he could position himself between them, your hands going to his hair and playing with his messy curls as your lips and tongues danced against each other. After what seemed like a forever of heated, hungry kisses and filty touching, you broke the kiss so you could catch your breath. You panted havily, chest rising up and down rapidly. Peter pressed his forehead against yours, both of you closing your eyes to collect yourselves.

"Should I at lest text Brad and tell him I'm not going?"

"Well, there goes my hard on"

You hit his chest lightly, both of you giggling at his stupid joke. He looked around, noticing your phone that was charging on the bed, moving away from you to grab it and hand it to you. You unlocked the phone trying to find your chat with Brad while Peter found his previous position, viciously attacking your jaw and neck with kisses. You tried your best to be concentrated and write a normal message, but made a few spelling mistakes nonetheless. Peter nibbled on your neck, which earned him a slight flinch from your side.

“Peter, please, we’re not 16, no hikeys”

He ignored your words, continuing his act the way he had planned it, kissing, licking and sucking on your soft skin while you begged him to stop. His hands were all over your body once again, touching everything that was exposed to him, one hand travelling further up your leg than before, almost landing on your ass but hesitantly stopping. You noticed his uncertainly, pressing your cheek against his so you could whisper in his ear.

“Don’t stop now, Peter” you breathed in his ear, your own hands exploring his body.

He didn’t waste a second after that, grabbing your butt in his hand and pressing his lips against yours. Your hands moved under his shirt, touching his toned stomach. Your were quite shocked to what your fingertips were pressed up against, not expecting him to be as muscular as he actually was. You knew he worked out because you had seen his toned arms in a t-shirt too many times for your own good, but you were definitely not expecting that. Hands quickly slipped him out of his jacket, reaching to pull up his shirt in the heat of the moment but he stopped you, moving slightly away. Your lipstick was smudged all over his mouth and it made you giggle.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked you, his hands finding their way back to your waist. You nodded, undeniably longing for him and his touch, his presence.

“Good, because if we keep this up any longer, I probably won’t be able to hold back” Peter muttered, removing his shirt and tossing it on the floor before he pulled you in again, kissing you.

You took that as a signal that you had to get undressed as well, reaching for the hem of your dress pulling it up. He grabbed your hands when he noticed the act, stopping you from doing what you had planned so he could do it himself. Suddenly you felt the cold air from the room against your skin, along with Peter's warm hands, making you shiver. You undid his belt, helping him pull his pants down, breaking your kiss in the process. You laughed soflty at how he was jumping on one leg while he was trying to kick his pants off, shaking your head.

"What?" He asked

"Nothing, nothing, I'm really missing a date right now for you jumping on one leg to get out of your pants" you bursted out laughing, him joining you shortly after.

"No, it's going to get so much better, trust me" He stated, grabbing you and lifting you up, throwing you on the bed. You squeaked softly from his actions, not expecting it. Soon enough he had your hands pinned down with his, hovering over you. A soft gulp at the sight from you made him chuckle, kissing on your neck once again. He had already left a mark there, starting to suck on a second spot next it.

"Peter really! It's going to be so hard to cover them up" you whined, secretly enjoying his lips and teeth on your skin like this.

He looked at your face, smiling viciously at you.

"I just want people to know you had a good time"

"Yeah, with Brad? I was suppsed to be on a date with him" you teased him, chuckling softly. His expression changed suddenly, he seemed almost angry. His hands let go of your wrists, travelling down your skin as he reached the hem of your panties. His fingers played with the hem of them before slipping in under the thin fabric, the middle finger going between your folds. He could feel how wet you actually were, making him smirk with that cocky smile he had, looking into your eyes. You were holding back a small moan from his touch, looking at his pretty face.

"Can Brad make you this wet baby?" He asked.

You shook your head no, keeping eye contact with him. His middle finger started moving up and down tesing your clit before entering you slowly. This time you couldn't hold back and you moaned, closing your eyes. His smile remained present as he insedted a second finger inside of you, starting to move his hand teasingly slow. Your body squirming underneath him, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, rocking his hips against your leg while he fingered you. You could feel his erection through his boxers, making you even more needy than you already were.

"Parker" you moaned out softly, remembering your hands were actually free and you could move them, immediately attaching to his shoulders, which was the closest body part besides his head. He looked up at you after you called out for him, grabbing your face with his hand and kissing you.

"Peter" you moaned again against his lips, feeling his skin shiver from that. I never considered what effect you actually had on him. "Please, I want to feel you."

After you begged him, he wasted no time pulling your panties down, unressing himself as well. His arms spread your legs forcefully, positioning himself between them. You didn't really manage to follow everything he was doing because you were too eager yourself, pushing up against him in hopes to speed up the process. He pinned you down by the waist, shaking his head in disapproval at your actions. Peter didn't like it when you disobeyed him, even though it was the only thing you were good at doing. He lined himself up to you, teasing you lightly with his tip as a warning before he inserter himself inside, both of you moaning from the act. You felt something like actual electricity when he did that, making you breath heavy from the ecstacy. His hips moved rythmically, along with yours. He was still holding you by the waist, standing on his knees while he fucked into you. You moved your leg up on his shoulder, making him smile and kiss it, one of his hands running up and down it while both of you looked into echother's eyes. You enjoyed the view, so much, his naked toned body, his messy hair, that gorgeous face, your leg on his shoulder while he moved. It was hypnotysing, breathtaking, made your legs shake alone. He could feel you tighthen up around him, making him laugh softly.

"So soon?" he asked, noticing how you started squrming more than in the beginning, legs shaking from time to time, moans becoming more freaquent

"Peter, I'm really close" you managed to say, hands gripping on the sheets around you. His grip on your waist taightened as he went faster and deeper, making you whines more prominent than before. You walls started clenching around him, feeling yourself already starting to cum on him. He placed a hand on your lower stomach, applying slight pressure on it which really sent you over the edge, whole body shaking, heavy breathing and moaning uncontrolablly. He had to hold you down while you came, leaning forward and pecking your lips after you calmed down.

"I need a moment too" he whispered against your lips "Can you handle it for me?"

You nodded, letting him continue rocking his hips into you. You were covered in sweat and so was he, bodies pressed against eachother as he moaned softly in your ear, your legs wrapped around his waist to stop the shaking from the overstimulation.

"Peter" you mumbled against his ear ''I think you're really hot... like, way hotter than I expected''

"Fuck" he replied, pulling out of you and stroking his lenght a few times before he came on your stomach, both of you panting. He lay down next to you for a second, kissing your forehead and hugging you.

"You did so well" he praised you, starting to leave small butterfly kisses all over your face. You laughed softly, cuddling into him.

"We should go take a shower"

"Are you suggesting a second round in your shower?"

"No! Well... maybe, okay, yes"

He laughed at your reply, shaking his head.

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ramblingoak · 4 months

Text

Naps With Copia Mary

Napping With An Outlaw

For @da-rulah 💙 who requested a special nap with cowboy!Mary Goore

Mary Goore x GN Reader

While obviously not Copia this is similar to the Naps With Copia series. Just a nice soft nap with the cowboy!Mary Goore from my fic The Cardinal's Bride. You do not need to read that at all to enjoy this!

Warnings: Brief descriptions of blood and stitches, Mary is a terrible patient (and a tease), sfw, 1,400 words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

“What the hell, Goore?!”

You had finally finished with your shift in the saloon. A long day of filling drinks and slapping hands away when they got too close. All you wanted was to wash off and crawl into bed. A bed that you had been daydreaming about for most of the day. Except right now your bed was occupied with the last person you wanted to see.

Especially since they were bleeding everywhere.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Goore. Why are you here?” You took a few steps closer, your eyes widening a bit when you saw the gash on their head. “And what the fuck happened?”

“Ran into an old friend.” When you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him Mary sighed, “We had a little disagreement.”

“I can tell. So, why are you here ruining my sheets?” Mary looked a little sheepish then, picking at a tear on their pants before looking back up at you. “The pout isn’t gonna work on me, Goore.”

“What will?”

“Nothing. I am tired. Too tired to deal with you bleeding all over my things. Get out.”

“Oh come on! You owe me!”

“Like hell I do, remember a few months ago when you came crawling back here after running into that Cardinal guy again?” Mary winced and became very interested in the hole in his pants again. “You’re kidding me.”

“This time wasn’t my fault.”

“Uh huh.” You sighed and took a few steps closer, reaching out to prod at the wound on Mary’s head. They hissed and tried to jerk away but you grabbed their chin to keep them still. “Stop being a baby.”

“Stop poking me!”

“Do you want my help or not?” Mary finally relented, staying still and leaning into you a little bit. “Thank you. Geez Mary, did you get hit by a rock or something?”

“A frying pan.”

“A fry–you know what, I don’t wanna know. Alright, lean back ok? I’m going to go get some clean water and the sewing kit from the Doc.”

You ignored Mary’s groan, quickly leaving your room and heading down the hall. The Doc would be down at the tables this time of the night so it was easy to slip into his room and grab his kit. After getting a job here it wasn’t long before you were helping out all over the place. While the town was relatively quiet there still was the odd bar fight or even a random shoot out from time to time. Enough action to warrant hiring someone just in case.

When you made it back to your room Mary was still on your bed. For a moment you were frozen, worried that they had been hurt a lot worse than you had thought. You dropped the kit and rushed over to your bed, your hands landing on Mary’s chest and shaking him. Mary wasn’t yours by any means, you had no doubt Mary never had trouble finding a warm bed no matter where they were. But that didn’t stop your heart from plummeting when you thought they might be gone.

It didn’t stop you from wishing things were different.

“Ow, ow, ow! What the shit?!” Mary shook themselves awake, immediately swatting at your hands to get you to stop shaking him. “I am injured here! You’re supposed to be fixing me, not making things worse!”

Pinching their nipple wasn’t something the Doc would recommend but hearing Mary’s indignant squawk was worth it.

“Just making sure you’re alive.”

You smiled when Mary groaned and dropped back against the bed. They had definitely been through the ringer, whatever had happened. You couldn’t imagine an outlaw such as The Cardinal using a frying pan of all things, but you supposed anything could be a weapon in the right hands. Mary was thankfully still when you began cleaning the wound on their forehead. The blood was caked in their hair so you did your best to clean it without having a tub to dunk them in.

Maybe you could talk them into a bath tomorrow.

“That feels nice.” They were practically purring as you let your fingers rub against their scalp, trying to avoid the gash. It would definitely need at least a few stitches. “I knew I came to the right place.”

“I’m glad you came here too.” That got you a lazy smile, the one that had lured you into Mary’s orbit to begin with. “Time for the stitches.”

Mary whimpered, clenching their eyes shut as you got to work. The gash wasn’t that bad but you knew how vain Mary could be. It would look a lot better after this and they’d certainly whine about it a lot less. The whole thing was over in a few minutes and after tugging Mary into a sitting position you helped them out of their shirt to clean up the rest of them as best you could.

“Mmm, I knew you’d try to get me out of my clothes.”

“You caught me, Goore. That’s what I wanted to do the minute I saw you in my bed.”

“Anything else?” Mary grunted when you tugged on their boots, chucking them across the room so you wouldn’t trip on them in the morning. Their pants were next and you groaned with the effort it took to tug the stupidly tight things off their legs. “Well, sweetheart?”

Mary was grinning at you, the only thing covering them the sheet they had pulled over their lap. It was an attempt at modesty you weren’t used to, typically Mary spent most of their time in your room naked. Not that you minded but it was pretty obvious by the way Mary was squinting and the yawn they just let out that Mary was in no condition for anything but a thorough cuddle.

“Actually yeah, there’s one other thing I’d like to do with you.” Mary kept the grin as you moved closer, their hands going to your waist when you got onto the bed next to them. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss over the stitches before dropping a few more across their face. The strength seemed to leave Mary’s body then and you wrapped your arms around their shoulders and tugged them back down onto the bed. “Let’s take a nap.”

“That’s not very sexy.”

“Neither is having you bleed everywhere.”

“Not bleeding any more.”

“Yeah but it’s hard to kiss you when you’re yawning constantly.”

“Other things besides my mouth you cou–ow! Fine! Ok, ok I’m sorry.” Mary let out a pained groan when you pulled your fingers away. “Pinching an injured man, does Doc do that?”

“No, but he also doesn’t kiss his patients either.” You reached down and pulled the blanket up over you both, your eyes trailing over Mary’s body as it disappeared underneath the fabric. They had some new scars since you saw them last and you made a note to ask about them whenever Mary was feeling better. For right now rest was the most important thing. “Go to sleep Mary.”

“Hmm, I guess.” They wiggled around in your bed, wrapping their arms around you and tugging you so your back was against their chest. Mary’s breath ruffled the hair next to your ear making you shiver. Their arms tightened around you in response and you couldn’t help but smile, letting yourself relax and enjoy the feeling. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

Mary’s voice was muffled against so you turned your head to try and catch their eyes.

“What?”

Those gorgeous green eyes of his sluggishly opened and they gave you a lazy smile before repeating themselves.

“When I wake up? You still gonna be here?”

“Of course, Mary.” They let out a soft hum, tugging you back against their chest. You felt their breath evening out as they began to fall asleep and while you were tired yourself you couldn’t help but tease them one last time. “It’s my bed anyway.”

It was Mary’s turn to pinch you, quickly followed by his fingers digging into your sides and tickling you. After you screeched trying to get away an unfortunately aimed elbow had him groaning and demanding mercy. You turned in Mary’s arms, humming as you brushed their hair out of their face.

“Terrible bedside manner.”

“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Goore.” You kissed their pouting lips, their cheeks and their forehead until Mary settled down again, their breath evening out once more. Right when you were on the edge of sleep yourself you smiled against Mary’s chest, murmuring a promise into their skin before sleep took you, “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

@pinklunarprincess your nap is next 😉

Naps With Copia: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

#my fics #my writing #naps with copia #cowboy mary goore #mary goore x gn reader #mary goore x reader #mary goore fanfiction #mary goore fanfic #reader insert #the cardinal's bride

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storeecbrcod · 6 months

Text

Orange Peel Theory

Ghost x Reader fic

“Give the damn thing to me, Lt. Thought you wanted an orange, not orange juice.” He glared back at you, an action most people would have stopped in their tracks from seeing. Instead, you plucked the fruit from his hands, easily sliding your thumbs into the hole he had made and peeling back the skin. He huffed at how easily you’d peeled it, fingers deft and graceful compared to his own.

“There,” you said with a smirk, holding out the fruit. “Now I don’t have to watch you fumble.” He scoffed, moving to grab it from you. You managed to steal a segment of orange, popping it into your mouth with a grin before moving away. He stared at your retreating form, the sting of citrus in cuts on his fingers oddly similar to the sting in his chest.

It was odd how you were always there to offer help with such mundane things. You were simply the FNG when that had happened, a bright force among such dire circumstances. A sergeant who, despite seeing more than enough acts of war and sacrifice, had managed to hold on to what humanity you had left.

Humanity that came as small actions no one expected or demanded, ones you just took to because you could. At first, Ghost found it annoying; always offering help, always checking in on him, always stepping in with his duties to try and make them go faster so he could rest earlier. It infuriated him. He’d never do things like that, it opened up way too many opportunities to be taken advantage of.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

A light rap on his door. Hesitant, shy.

“Lt?”

He sighed, getting up from his bunk and trudging over to the door. Irritability shifted under his skin, like he wore too many layers and they were bunched up under each other, not moving no matter how much he tossed and turned and pulled at them.

He swung the door open, a huffed, “What?” leaving him. He froze nearly instantly, seeing your face look back at him.

Dark undereyes, red capillaries pulling at the corners of dull white sclera like a mirror. An exhausted, yet worried pinch ghosting your features.

“Sergeant,” he started slowly, frozen in place. The irritability swelled, but he couldn’t find it in himself to take it out on you. “What do you need?”

A glance sideways, a shaky breath poorly concealed. Regretable, shameful.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you mutter. “Just- just can’t seem to settle. Soap’s out field, of course, and Gaz is working with Price on recon-”

“Inside,” he said gruffly, leaving you at the threshold. He stopped halfway to his bunk before turning, looking at your surprised form with a raised brow. “Move your feet, sergeant.”

Eventually, it all evolved into a back and forth game. You’d find little things to do for him, little ways to make his day better. You’d visit his office during your rounds, picking up piles of paperwork or files he was about to deliver to someone else in the base, somehow always tricking him into telling you who they were intended for.

You’d find little bits and pieces he’d misplaced and put them somewhere he knew to look, smiling to yourself when you heard him huff in mild irritation when he eventually found something somewhere he’d ‘fucking looked before’.

You’d bring him a tea, or a snack when he had spent entirely too long in his room or hunched over paperwork.

You’d fill his water bottle when he was training in the gym.

You’d peel his oranges.

You never noticed how he’d lead on your conversations, watching your cheeky smile as he gave you the name of the intended recipients of his work.

You never noticed how loud your smile was, even if you weren’t facing him in the same room.

You never notice how sometimes he’d purposely avoided being seen by you outside his office so that you’d assume he had been there all day and bring him treats.

You never noticed how he left his water bottle out for easy access.

You never noticed how Soap or Gaz would throw him a confused or knowing look when he grabbed yet another orange, days in a row when he didn’t even really like them that much.

It soon divulged into a game of hide-and-seek tag, really. You’d always do something for him, something small, and he’d always do so in return. He was a lot sneakier about it, managing to turn a lot of your own tricks back on you and never being caught.

“I know what you’re doing.”

He looked up, his face neutral as the pen in his hand stilled. He raised a brow. “And just what am I doing, sergeant?”

A small huff, a cross of your arms. Defiant, playful.

“You’re taking my stuff just so you can say you found it when you return it,” you accuse.

He doesn’t know how he managed to keep a smile off of his face, even if his mask was able to hide it somewhat. He doesn’t know how his voice remains even, either, as he turns to you properly with a long sigh. “Why would I do that?”

“Well-” you splutter, suddenly falling short for a moment. “I wouldn’t know. Seems like you’re going soft.”

“Soft?”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

Another silence. This time, he can’t keep a smirk from tugging at his lips, his eyes sparkling with mirth. He waited for your response, watching as you shifted uncomfortably. For an amazing and competent soldier out field, you sure were pretty awful at concealing your thoughts and feelings around him.

A shake in your resolve, a sideways glance. Flustered, cute.

Cute?

He couldn’t help but think of all the things you’d done for him over time. At some point, it had become the norm for you and him; helping each other out in tiny ways while never acknowledging them. Small boosts of morale and easiness provided that was eagerly accepted.

Like when he helped you get back to sleep after a particularly restless night filled with waking night terrors and the silent tears that he had learnt to not mention, rather swiping them away without another word. Like when either of you were sure you wouldn’t make it another day, either one of your heads resting on the other’s chest.

There were times where you would text him, his contact given to you purely for basic communication or emergency that quickly descended into the occasional conversation.

03/9/20-- 11:47 Heard you got caught in cross fire. What, bullets don’t phase through ghosts? I’m the one with the jokes love, not you Quit your bitching, old man You picking on the injured now, huh? New low And here I was about to offer to bring you some real food, not hospital food. But I guess I have a new reputation to uphold Not a reputation if only one person knows about it. I can keep secrets I’ll be there in 10 minutes Thanks, love

04/11/20-- 05:23 You up? No Yeah, good one. Slick Glad you think so, sarge. What do you need? Need a fucking coffee, wanted to know if you wanted a tea Are there sticks in the woods? Dunno, would have thought one was up your arse with your sunny attitude yesterday. Milk and sugar, like usual? Yes please

29/11/20-- 18:03 I’m glad you’re going home this time Why, need a break from me? Now that you mention it… But no, just think you deserve some actual time off instead of lurking around here like you always do I lurk. Yes, you lurk. You take your call sign too seriously sometimes I’ll keep that in mind

29/11/20-- 18:07 Did I do something wrong?

He struggled being away from you, he found. He hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed being around you, how much he took the little game for granted. Now, when he lost something, he found himself wishing you were there with him until his keys magically appeared. He missed waiting for the small knock on his door as you walked in with cups in your hands, maybe a paper bag with a muffin or such.

He hadn’t eaten an orange since he went on leave for the holidays.

24/12/20-- 22:58 Happy holidays, Sarge I should have said it earlier, but todays been hectic Not that you really care anymore

24/12/20-- 23:01 I wanted to invite you over for a drink or two, maybe a nice dinner, but thought it would be better for you to spend it with your family Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have family? I would have spent my holiday with you if you asked I should have asked

24/12/20-- 23:17 I’m sorry

24/12/20-- 23:23 I miss you

24/12/20-- 23:39 What a day to lose your humanity I would have helped you

25/12/20-- 00:01 Merry Christmas, love I miss you I love you, too A Christmas miracle, I guess

Thumbs plunge into tough skin, ripping and tearing. Yet, nothing leaks from the cavity. No, it comes away easily.

A chuckle, the burn of citrus in cuts on his fingers and in his chest. Ire, melancholy.

25/12/20-- 00:06 A Christmas miracle I peeled my own orange

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw ghost #cod fanfic #cod x reader #ghost x reader #reader x ghost

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jiveyuncle · 8 months

Text

"Lance," Keith sounds breathless. "Back when we found my lion - the glowing symbols. What did you say about it?"

Lance is still staring hard at where Keith's hand rests on the control panel's screen, face scrunched in disbelief. "That is was written in code?"

Keith shakes his head. "No, no, about the Galra not being able to find it because of something to do with quintessence."

Lance's brow furrows further as he tries to recall what all he said so long ago, then his eyes flick up to meet Keith's. "Um? They were directions - quintessence infused." His lips purse as he tries to list everything. "The inscriptions would only be revealed in the presence of an Altean."

Keith removes his hand from the panel and the stars wink out. He strides toward Lance, mind racing. "Lance," Keith exhales. "I saw similar symbols back on Earth. Back when Hunk, Shiro, Pidge and I found the Green Lion in the cave."

Lance's eyes are flicking rapid-fire between Keith's, "But I wasn't there with you that time."

Keith grips Lance by the arms, hands squeezing tight. "Then why did the cave still light up?"

Lance almost looks as if he's stopped breathing.

Keith shifts his hold from Lance's arms, to hold his face. "The whole time I've been amazed at how much a couple of aliens look like us humans," Keith presses his forehead to Lance's, "but maybe I should've been thinking about how much we look like you."

And Keith can see it - in Lance's face - the moment the full meaning of everything clicks, and then Keith's being crushed in a bone-breaking hug. A wet laugh finds its way into the crook of Keith's neck. "Allura and I weren't the only ones to survive."

Keith raises his arms to squeeze Lance back just as tightly and buries his nose in his hair. "I think we're gonna need another look at the cave back on Earth."

A little glimpse at the Humans-are-the-crossbreed-descendants-of-Alteans-that-fled storyline reveal. I tried to layer so many hints and foreshadowing throughout the fic, and the reveal was just so satisfying to write. Idk if it’s been done before (probably) as I joined this fandom wayyy late but this AU is clogging all my brain space. I’m feral. If you ask me, I will scream your ear off about how this fills a ton of plot holes in canon and strengthens some of the choices made by different characters. Actually, I’ll rant about it on the next post since it’ll be the last batch of artwork for the fic. I’m so excited to draw more stuff within the AU. I just have so many thoughtsssss about how everything connectsssss ahhh

Fic: Sure and Indelible on AO3:

#klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #altean lance #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #black paladin lance #fanart #fanfic #sure and indelible

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yuri-is-online · 2 months

Note

hi, thank you for answering! i really love the fyuuture kid au!! could i ask for cater!yutu? 👀 i wonder if yutu knows there is more to him, and if yuu remembered that too in the og timeline to tell their son

👀 you may. I have a separate fic I am supposed to be writing for him but I had thoughts...

notes: they/them used for Yuu, cw for discussions of mental health and suicide, but no one self harms and nothing is described. General fyuuture kid au info can be found here and the first post can be found here. More of it can be found under the series section of my masterlist.

Yuu's memories of Twisted Wonderland are less concrete thoughts and more feelings. They know how Cater made them feel, and bits and pieces of his personality but they lack memory of the context, so their memory tries to patch up the holes. In other words, they don't remember Cater's act was an act, and they explain him to Yutu as a creative, friendly person, who likely struggled with a form of depression.

"Your father would sometimes find himself feeling despondent, lacking energy, and motivation. There is a chance as you get older that you might feel that way sometimes too, but that's not because you are a failure or because you did something wrong. I won't hate you if you feel that way and I will never judge you for it. I will always be there for you."

It's a good call, Yutu does find himself having some periods of depression as he gets older from time to time, and the early conversation Yuu had with him allowed him to feel comfortable with discussing that with his parent. The idea that his father had similar struggles comforts him, doubly so if Yuu does as well. He thinks about his dad a lot actually, Yuu's lack of memory means Yutu's over active imagination tries to fill in the blanks.

There is a part of him that thinks his father might have lost his battle with depression and that Yuu's memory loss was due to grief. He respects his father a lot, and is determined to take care of his own and Yuu's physical and mental well being to honor him. Yutu likes to think that is what his dad would want.

He loves music, he finds playing guitar and singing to be very soothing, but he's not super interested in being in a band; he is much more interested in maybe jamming a bit and just talking with his friends. Pretty much exactly like his dad now that I think about it.

I like the thought of Cater! Yutu wanting to be a psychologist when he grows up... and knowing that Yuu isn't the wealthiest person starts working part time to save up for college. He's a very driven person, and deeply interested in what makes people tick.

Cater! Yutu is one of the Yutu's who is A) in a different dorm than his dad (Octavinelle, not Heartslabyul) and B) who sort of prefers your world to Twisted Wonderland. He warms up to Twisted Wonderland after traveling into the past and actually gets to see what it's like, but he really didn't like fighting monsters or seeing what had happened to his father, speaking of which-

He tried asking about what his father was like before he was transformed into a monster, but he didn't get a lot of clear answers. Crewel tells him that he was very outgoing and peppy, a good enough student who was really into an app called magicam that isn't around anymore due to the *gestures vaguely at the apocalypse* and Sam told him a neat story about his New Year's sale and how well his dad could work a crowd. "Good with people." That's something he hears a lot, but nothing to suggest he wasn't always happy. They do have some recordings the pop music club made they pass along to him that Yutu treasures and keeps close.

Yutu had to fight his dad's monster form multiple times to try and rescue people from the Queendom of Roses. It was painful to see a monster who is actively trying to kill him and people he has come to care about and then have him pointed out to him as his dad. There isn't any life left in Cater's eyes to recognize him, but Yutu still wants it to be there. He has so many questions and no one left to answer them.

When he travels back in time, Yutu doesn't interact with Cater immediately. His mind still associates him with blot and grueling fights, so he hangs back around Yuu and Adeuce. It was a bit difficult to get used to being around them, but it helped that Deuce is very polite and his focus on being an honor student is kind of cute. Ace though...

Ace is suspicious. He tries telling those suspicions to Cater, "Hey don't you like Yuu haven't you asked them out a whole bunch you should be worried about this-" blah blah blah, look Cater wasn't there to see Yutu arrive, and he knows the froshes like to exaggerate. There is no way Yutu fell out of the sky and it isn't a big deal that he knows so much about Yuu. They're probably just childhood friends, and those never win even if it would be kind of cute- hey maybe they're related??? It doesn't matter, Cater is determined not to think about it. Which leads to a series of miscommunications where Cater tries teasing Yutu but it just makes him look like an ass for assuming things.

Yutu actually finds this sort of interesting. Now that he actually is talking to his dad, well no. Now that he has actually heard his dad open his mouth and speak it is sort of difficult to think of him as a blot monster or to be afraid. Overblot Cater never said something like "yikes a tron 3000." He thinks he gets what Yuu was remembering about him, Cater can come off as very fake sure, but there are traces of the real him in what he does and says. His dad likes the color yellow, catchy music, being praised when he does something cool, and he wants to be taken care of by someone. Someone Yutu suspects is his parent~

It also helps that he has been stealing Yuu's phone while they're asleep (he tried their password from the future it still worked rip bozo) and scrolls through Cater's magicam feed to try and get a sense for what he liked in between all the trends. He noticed the skateboard stuff and made sure to ask about it by saying something about how "oh I heard about it from Yuu, they thought it was really cool."

Cater isn't really ready to be a dad, but he is surprisingly chill when he learns just who Yutu is.

"Oh please you're here aren't you? You wouldn't be unless I wanted you." Cater sounds so ridiculously sure of himself that Yutu half wonders if he is talking to someone else. But no, it's his dad. His very creative, very good with people, sometimes a bit depressed dad who respects him enough to be honest with him. "You have to know that Yuu wants you to be here, right? I didn't screw that up for you, did I?"

"It wasn't you." He needed to say that out loud for himself, because it wasn't. Yutu's Cater was dead a long time before he ever got to see him. "It looked like you, but it wasn't you."

They like to play music together sometimes, but in typical pop music club fashion they usually just eat snacks and talk. Yutu wants to play some of the music on the recordings Crewel gave him with Cater and Cater wants to make new tracks. He is a bit disappointed that there was no magicam in the future for Yutu to tell him about, but he is just as happy to hear weird trends from Yuu's world.

Cater likes to bring Yuu in to these jam sessions sometimes. He does like to do couple stuff with Yuu on magicam sometimes, but he prefers to keep his more genuine emotions and moments to himself. He will get very embarrassed if he finds out that Yutu has been taking pictures with the ghost camera behind his back.

The future that Yutu came from scares him, he would prefer someone else take the lead on figuring out how to fix it, but if monsters begin attacking in this time? Well he has no problem taking point on that, hey he's heard kids find things less scary if they see their dad's there to protect them.

And Cater is pretty scary when he's mad about missing out on something ♡

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #future kid au #cater diamond x reader #cw depression

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 3 months

Note

i have a request! can u write a fic where r just feels like crap like she has no motivation to do any work or study for uni and maybe steve just helps her out? ly <33

i’ve been in these similar situations where depression or a funk is soooooo bad i just rotted in bed in the dark. if you’re ever feeling alone you could always come into my inbox/dms to talk.

steve harrington x gn!reader

masterlist

everything feels drab. draining. grey. there’s not an ounce of energy in your body to even lift your head from your pillow. the little shimmers of light filtering through your shut blinds felt blinding on your heavy eyes.

work sucks, taking every single piece of your soul everyday. school is stressful, having a breakdown after a three hour study session in the library. you want to drop out, you want to be unemployed- you just want to barely exist.

there was a gentle knock on your bedroom door, you couldn’t even mange a simple hum or “come in”, you just stayed silent. a faint creak of hinges signaled that your guest was peeking into your room.

“honey?” it was steve. his tone was soft, not wanting to disturb, “you awake?” you just did a light shuffle, moving your head from under your blanket. a nonverbal invitation to enter further.

steve closed the door behind him and made his way to your curled in side, the bed dipping with his weight. his palm rested on your covered hip, a comforting back and forth swiping. “how we feeling today?” a question steve asked when you were in a funk.

left cheek pressed into your pillow caused your lips to pucker and butcher your answer. steve leans in closer, asking for you to repeat yourself. even that felt like too much work.

“empty.” the one word pushed from your mouth, heavy on your tongue. eyes staring a hole into your wall, smile and laughing faces mocking you.

steve rubbed a line over your hip, “okay.” said in a tone a sad mother uses on their kid. you felt like you just disappointed steve. it’s not like you want to be down, it just happens and is a bitch to deal with.

a blur started to cover your sight, “i’m sorry.” throat getting choked by the oncoming tears. you wanted to bury yourself away.

“hey, no, no. it’s okay to feel this way. everyone feels this way at times.” hand leaving your hip to caress at your cheek, wiping away the few tears beginning to drop.

“it’s- it’s different.” “i now.” you both know that’s not the whole truth.

steve tucked a few greasy hair strands behind your ear, “why don’t we get a bath? feeling clean is always a nice step for a better mind. i could change your bedding as well, also make a snack to eat. what you say?” his thumb a simple weight on your cheek, his fingers pressing lightly into your neck.

a bath does sound nice. you were starting to feel the oil clogging your pores and you had a inkling that your room was starting to develop a smell that you were ignoring. you know what they say, a clean space helps a clean mind, or something like that.

“that… that sounds nice.” making eye contact with steve for the first time today.

his smile was beautiful. “okay, i’ll get it ready then come back.” before leaving he pressed a love filled kiss to your forehead and another before walking to the bathroom down the hall.

less than five minutes later steve reappears in your doorframe, a new glow following him. “your bath, ma’lady.” standing before you with a hand stretched out in waiting.

“will you stay with me?” pushing your comforter away and swinging your feet to the floor. steve took your hand, holding you delicately like glass. “for a little. i gotta do my other stuff. i can wash your hair if you want.”

“please?” already feeling your shoulders loosen at the feel of steve’s fingers messaging your scalp. he smiled, sickly sweet before presenting a kiss into your crown, “anything for you.”

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington angst

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luvfy0dor · 8 months

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Hey! I just found your fics and love your writing. I was wondering if you could do a fluff fic of bsd characters x a gender neutral reader who has lost their voice or is mute. I don’t know who you write, but maybe atsushi or sigma? Thanks :DDD

BSD W/ Mute GN!Reader !! ༉‧₊˚.

╰┈➤ Sigma, Atsushi ♡

Description; As the title says!! I'm not really sure what else to add lol

Warnings/Disclaimers; Sigmas is a little longer than Atsushis, so apologies for that! They are both pretty similar, but I did my best!! ♡

A/N; Ahhh this is so cute!!! Absolutely!! I'm going to post like...a master list of characters I will write for soon, but I will absolutely write for them!! I really hope I fulfilled this request respectfully!!

Sigma !! ༉‧₊˚.

Sigma spends all of his free time obsessing over his customers at the Sky Casino. Any medical issue or detail, he'll know about it and do his very best to accommodate you. He's very aware of your inability or unwillingness to speak, but that would not stop him from trying to communicate with you.

Scenario ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Mid-poker game, you started to feel a bit parched, and that feeling is what led you to the bar. You weren't exactly in the mood for anything else on the menu, so you settled on water. While the bartender catered to other customers, you grabbed one of the napkins and a pen, jotting down the letters. While you wrote it down, you could almost feel someone staring holes into the back of your head. You turned around, only to see no one in particular looking at you. You twisted back around, feeling a bit unsettled.

A couple seconds later, you're surprised to see someone appear next to you, completely disregarding all of the open seats. The man sits down, his long hair falling gracefully over his shoulders. He smiles before grabbing a napkin and a pen, scribbling onto the thin paper.

"I don't mean to be creepy or rude, but you look lovely. You're very good at poker, too." You read on the note. You smile a bit and nod, scribbling down a reply. "Thanks, I like your hair. It's a pretty color." You pass the paper back. The bartender brings you your water and you hesitate to get up, noticing the man scribbling down something else. "My name is Sigma, yours?"

You think for a minute, deciding whether or not you wanted to give your real name. This guy claims his name is Sigma, you've never heard such a ridiculous thing, but he was dressed nicely and seemed sweet. You grabbed the pen.

"Y/n. Do you talk? Sorry if that's rude lol" The paper is now back in his hands. You can see a smile appear on his face. Instead of grabbing the pen again, he nods. "Yes, I do. Would it make you more comfortable if I verbally talked to you?" He said with the tilt of his head. "I just know you don't, so I thought maybe you'd feel a little less alarmed by me, but I guess it makes me seem weirder." He says with a quiet and embarrassed chuckle, his deep voice throwing you off a little.

You had a lot of questions. How does this man know you can't/don't talk? Who gave him that whack ass haircut? Why was he so interested in you? Not that you really minded his company, but why? You decided to quickly sum up your thoughts, unfolding the napkin and writing gently, hoping the thin sheet wouldn't rip.

"Either is fine. Your voice is nice. How'd you know I don't speak? And what made you wanna come up to me?" He read it over and you could tell he was grateful for the compliment.

"Oh, thank you. I just know my customers very well and do my best to accommodate them. I feel like that's something a good manager should do. And I don't know, I just noticed you stepping away from the table and thought I should take the chance to voice my thoughts." He says, his voice firm as he makes continuous eye contact with you. He rests his head in one of his hands. You grab a new napkin, the original being filled up with conversation. The sound of the ink transferring from the ballpoint to the the napkin going unheard because of the noisy surrounding.

"That is, be careful though, some people might think you're a stalker. You seem like a good person to run this place. And that's very sweet of you, thank you." You slide the paper back over to him, taking a sip of your water. A couple of minutes ago, you were slightly off put by Sigmas presence, but you didn't mind it one bit now. You actually enjoyed it a little, it didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable like most conversations strangers strike up with you in public. Sigma let out a quiet chuckle, nodding.

"You're right, you're right. You're also very interesting. I would really love to talk to you more, do you think you'll return to the Sky Casino soon?" Sigma asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he bites down on the inside of his cheek. He nervously watches you pick the pen up and scribble down a couple words.

"We've barley talked, but I absolutely plan on coming back. Do you want my number?" He reads the paper, nodding. Not too enthusiastically, but making sure he doesn't seem disinterested. You smile and write the numbers down clearly.

"###-###-####, if you message me I'll reply before I go to sleep, left my phone in my suite." With that, you continue sipping your water as you walk away from the bar. If you said you weren't feeling a little giddy you would be a big fat liar. You look around the casino, trying to decide what you wanted to do or play next, your heart a little warmer and your throat a little less dry.

------༉‧₊˚.

When returning to your casino suite, you were greeted with a dry and message-less phone. You thought perhaps Sigma had either blew you off or he was busy with his manager-ly duties. You brushed it off and practically fell asleep the second your head hit the pillow, drifting off into a dreamless rest.

The next morning, however, you received the message you were anticipating so highly.

"Hey, so sorry I didn't message until late. Would you like to go to get something to eat in the morning, maybe?" You smiled, typing out you're reply.

"Sounds good, when and where?"

Atsushi Nakajima !! ༉‧₊˚.

Atsushi is unaware at first, thinking you were just quiet and reserved, but once he's informed by Ranpo that you're infact mute, he actually tries to communicate with you more.

Scenario ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The sun shines through the windows of the ADA, hitting your back warmly. You filled out the papers you were given, neatly writing down words on a mission report. The soft singing of birds occasionally served as distractions, pulling your attention away and out the window. You're pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening, light footsteps walking through the open space.

Atsushi and Kyouka were in the middle of eating some donuts that they presumably bought for everyone in the ADA, considering the large quantity. They had two dozen donuts, including the ones in their hands.

"Hey, Y/N! Uhm, we have some donuts if you want some! There's a bunch of different kinds." Atsushi says, walking towards your desk with the donuts. This time around, Atsushi seemed far more confident when speaking to you. He proudly set the donuts on your desk with a few napkins, letting you have your pick. You picked out your two favorites of the flavors, setting them on the napkin and smiling up at him, giving him a small, appreciative nod.

Atsushi smiled back, his cheeks slightly pink. You both can hear the door open and turn back to see Ranpo and Yosano walking in, mid-conversation with each other. Ranpo almost immediately spots the boxes of donuts and double takes, making his way over.

"Oooo, these looks real good, Atsushi! Did ya get them from that new place down the street?* He asks, taking a bite of one of the donuts. "Oh, yeah. Kyouka wanted to try it." Kyouka nods in confirmation, humming in satisfaction with her strawberry-frosted donut. "Ohhh, and I see you worked up the courage to talk to y/n, too!" Ranpo giggles, pointing over at your donuts. Atsushi started to blush a bit more, his eyes averting to you at your desk.

You tilt your head curiously. Ranpo notices, deciding to answer the question he (correctly) assumed you had.

"Atsushi was all nervous to talk with you because he thought you didn't like interacting with everyone." You nod in understanding, softly laughing. Atsushi scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Sorry, I hope that's not weird or nothin'." Atsushi mumbles.

You just shake your head, reassuring him that it's alright. You took a post-it from your desk and started scribbling down some writing before peeling it from the stack and passing it to him. He softly whispers the sentence aloud to himself.

"You can talk to me anytime, I don't bite. I think you're very cool." A smile appears on his face. "Thank you! That's very nice of you. I would compliment something about you, but I really don't know all that much. You look very nice, though. Maybe we could...y'know, set something up and get to know each other? Hang out?" He says, blushing as he looks anywhere but into your eyes.

You smile and nod, grabbing the post-it gently from his hands. You write down your phone number and put a little heart next to it, also writing down specific times you're going to be free within the next week. You hand back the paper to him and he smiled, nodding.

"Alright, I'm free friday night, too. Is there any other day you'd prefer more or..?" He asks, trying to ensure that friday night is the best option. You just shake you're head and mouth "No, Friday." He smiles "Alright, then it's...it's a date." He grins and makes his way back over to his desk, giggling and grinning like an idiot.

#bungou stray dogs atsushi #bungo stray dogs atsushi #bsd atsushi #atsushi nakajima #sigma #bsd sigma #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #sigma x reader #atsushi x reader #bsd headcanons #fanfic #fanfiction #bsd fanfic

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