discoscoob

[discoscoob]

girl, resurrected - 12

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Warnings: MDNI!!! adult situations, see ch1 for full TWs. chapter map

12. naked is a state of mind

After fucking each other so completely stupid, the sun is shining full on through the window by the time either of you wake again.

You sit up on Jack's broad chest, pressing a slow kiss to his soft, full lips. "Hey, sleeping beauty."

You mean it, too. He's innocent as a boy in slumber, so lovely in all his lines and angles. In this light you can see the dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and the little scar that notches his eyebrow. His earlobes have tiny little divots where once he must have had earrings. You stroke your fingers through the velvety soft fuzz of his buzzed hair, smiling down at him.

He grumbles playfully, squeezing your curves in his big hands. "That's not how the story goes."

"Why not? It's the 1990s, sweetheart, we are liberated."

He opens his eyes then; they are a warm amber, dancing with light all for you. He offers you a lazy, sated smile.

"Yes ma'am." He knows better than to argue with a lady before coffee.

You laugh softly, because after sex like that you're pretty sure he'd agree to anything you said. The existence of UFOs. The final fate of Jimmy Hoffa. Your secret identity as the Queen of Sheba...

"I'm going to shower."

"Hmm."

"Care to join me?"

"Umhmm."

You can tell it's going to take him a little longer to wake up, so you kiss him again and slide out of bed to start the water. As you open the tap you feel bereft without his bare skin pressed to yours.

Well fuck.

You don't wait for him, stepping into the warm stream. It feels good; you're sore all over, like you've been engaging in seriously strenuous physical activity...it's been a while since you've used some of those muscles.

Your eyes are closed; you don't see as Jack pauses in the doorway to admire you, the water sluicing over your body, the steam curling all around—again he finds himself thinking it: you're his dream girl.

You feel the change in the water as he steps into the shower, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his broad chest. His hands slide up your torso slowly, mapping out the curves of your hips to the soft swell of your breasts, cupping them in his large hands and kneading gently as he nuzzles into your neck. You can already feel the thick, hard length of him pressed against the small of your back, the heat of him searing your skin even through the warm spray of the shower.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmurs against your skin, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat and shoulder. "I can't believe I got to wake up to this today."

"Likewise," you sigh, leaning back against him. He holds your weight easily with arms around your waist, and you stand like that in the soothing warm stream of the water together for a little while, enjoying the intimacy of it. "It's been like…a dream," you admit, feeling shy now that you're awake and out of bed and conscientious of the fact that this is real life, and not the cloistered bubble of carnal delights you made together in the shadows of your room.

"I haven't had a dream this good in a long time," he admits, kissing your temple. "Maybe…not ever."

You nod, agreeing, even if there's suddenly a huge lump in your throat. You slowly turn in his arms, looping your arms around his neck. Here you are, naked in the shower with this total hunk, and the thing you want most…is a hug. And goddammit if he isn't happy to give it, wrapping you up again in those strong arms and holding you close.

He seems to enjoy it as much as you, and maybe you're both a little more fragile than you let on.

Jack doesn't rush you, waiting for you to pull back just enough to press your lips to his in a soft, slow kiss that leaves you both sighing. He draws back to look down at you, swiping your wet hair back out of your eyes with so much tenderness in his expression you think you might just melt into a puddle and slide down the drain.

"Can I wash your back?" he asks with a renewing sparkle in his eyes, and you don't think you would deny him anything in that moment, he's so beautiful. You watch with parted lips as he lathers up with your bar of soap, lips curling in what passes for a wicked smirk from this sweet man. His strong hands knead into your back, holding you against him. You rest your head on his broad chest, moaning as you feel the little knots and kinks smooth out like tarmac under a steamroller beneath his sure touch.

"God, you're good at that," you moan as he makes it to your shoulders. His hands make you feel so small, and he chuckles against your ear.

"It's just…knowing how the body is put together." You guess he is into physical fitness and all that, but it doesn't account for how he utterly bewitches you with his touch. "It's fun, finding out what you like." There is that sparkle in his high-polished eyes again, and you know you're doomed. DOOMED!

You groan as he works out a particularly stubborn bastard of a knot over your shoulder blade. "With great power…comes great responsibility…" you grumble into the dip of his pecs, winning a rumble of laughter that's like a balm to your heart.

"Yeah? Well unfortunately, being responsible means I can't be inside you right now," he laments, thinking of his exhausted supply of Magnums. "I guess I'll just have to get my hands dirty…" He bends down to catch your mouth in a sultry kiss, his tongue stroking yours as his soapy fingers knead at your breast, toying torturously with your peaked nipple.

"Not fair," you moan unintelligibly into his mouth, and you don't know how it's possible to be so silly and sexy all at once. It's as though the blood in your veins has been replaced with pure joy, and you arch against Jack, rubbing the ridge of his erection against you belly.

"Two can play this game," you threaten playfully, reaching for the soap.

"Oh no," he chuckles, his fingers gliding between your legs just as your hand grasps his magnificent hard on. His laughter swifty fades into a moan, and the two of you don't say much more for a little while, or at least not in intelligible words. His thick fingers massaging your clit make your knees tremble; maybe you're not the only one, the way he leans over you on the shower wall. You cling to him, pumping him in your fist, relishing his every sound. You find a mutual rhythm together, and it's almost embarassing how quickly you reach release like this, a simultaneous eruption that makes you see stars and loose control, your head rocking back hard against the tiles as ecstasy has its way with you, Jack painting your belly with thick white ropes of his cum.

Afterwards you pant and laugh and try to hold each other up, Jack kissing your bruised head. "Are you alright?" he asks, clearly still amused.

"I don't know," you titter, snuggling into the warm bend of his neck again. "Why are there little birds flying around in here?"

"Poor baby," he fusses, kissing your face all over with exageratted affection. You laugh, trying to shake him off, but he's got you locked up in those beefy arms and there's no getting away.

"Jack!"

"You feel better?"

"Yes! I'm cured!"

You finish the rest of your shower giggling and kissing like lovesick idiots. Cleaning up only comes as an afterthought.

You didn't think it was possible to be this happy again. Jack is pure bliss, with the added bonus of something totally new—he feels absolutely safe.

You're so glad you have time for a real breakfast with this man, which he helps you whip up sans shirt in only his boxers, and you think you just might expire.

He's got to know how insanely attractive he is—but he's just so humble about it all. You can tell that he likes it that you cannot stop staring, but he doesn't rub your face in it—unless you count all the kisses, sweetly bestowed while you're cutting fruit and mixing batter and pouring out pancakes into the hot pan. "Let me help you with that," he teases, standing behind you at the stove with his arms around your waist.

"Does flipping pancakes require excessive amounts of brawn, Officer Traven?" you ask, leaning back against the warm wall of his body. This is something…you could really get used to.

"Uh huh. Dangerous work. Ow!" He jumps as a bit of bacon grease pops out of the pan onto his bare skin, and you can't help but laugh a little. "See, it's dangerous in here," he insists, pinching your middle playfully.

"Ah!!" you squirm against him, but his arm is like iron around you, and there is no escape from his kisses on your neck, and the two of you fall into a laughing fit all over again while trying to make one decent pancake.

With a full spread covering your tiny kitchen table, you smile contentedly at each other over your cups of coffee, playing footsie under the table. How does your heart fit in your body right now? You know it's stupid, but you feel like you're floating on a cloud.

"So…want to hang out today?" he asks, the tender note of hope in his voice a heartbreaking thing. There's nothing you want more.

"I wish I could, but I have to be at the shop today."

"Oh." His expression falls, and fuck if you don't feel like you just kicked your favourite golden retriever.

"But maybe later, if you want? We could catch that movie or something?"

The way he beams at you isn't fair. It lights up your brain as surely as any drug, and you find yourself crawling into his lap, indulging in langorous kisses that taste like maple syrup while his hand roams up your back inside your camisole, and its a wonder the two of you don't break the flimsy kitchen chair.

Bliss.

💕💕💕

Unfortunately you have to look somewhat professional today—you don't get to hide in the back room like a dragon with her treasure hoarde as much on weekends, forced to mingle with the public in the interest of selling things. Go figure. You go back into the bedroom to get dressed and primped.

Jack dresses more quickly, then hangs out in the living room in his rumpled suit from the night before. He abandons the jacket, rolling his sleeves up his muscular forearms. There are worse costumes to do a walk of shame in, or at least the cab ride back home.

When you walk out in your blazer and skirt (and your stompy boots, Larry will allow it today) your heart plummets. Jack is sitting on your couch with his jaw clenched, the shine of unshed tears in his eyes—your sketchbook is clasped in his huge hands.

TBC...

chapter map

Our playlist so far:

hand in my pocket - alanis morissette

6 underground - sneaker pimps

come as you are - nirvana

miss world - hole

even flow - pearl jam

wonderwall - oasis

closing time - semisonic

ready to go - republica

blood sugar sex magik - the red hot chili peppers

the way she loves me - tonic

slide - the goo goo dolls

naked eye - luscious jackson

[discoscoob]

[discoscoob]

ALIEN 1979, dir. Ridley Scott  

[discoscoob]

Marked

Pairing: John Wick x Reader

Summary: Both you and John are marked. Only problem is, John is extremely protective of you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, protective John Wick.

Word Count: 270

A/N: Ahhh very excited to get this side blog started with drabbles! Requests are open :) please enjoy

The firelight flickered in John’s eyes, but it wasn’t warmth you saw in them. The blood oath marker sat between you on the worn wooden table, its weight heavier than the steel it was cast from. Two halves, two drops of blood.

His and yours.

You hadn’t thought it would ever be used. Neither had John.

But when Santino slid it across the table, polished thumb pressed against the crest, there was no denying it. A Marker shared is a debt doubled.

“You both swore,” Santino said smoothly, eyes shifting between the two of you like a predator choosing which flank to strike first. “One cannot be fulfilled without the other.”

John’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as if he were grinding his teeth against the words he wanted to spit. You could feel it radiating off him, the storm building, the way he hated not just the job but the fact that you were tethered to it now.

Your hand drifted toward the marker, fingers brushing the cool metal. John stopped you before you could touch it, his hand wrapping firmly around your wrist. His voice was low, ragged with something dangerously close to fear.

“You don’t do this,” he muttered. “Not like this.”

But you both knew there was no choice. To refuse meant death. To accept meant stepping into the field.

Together.

And as his grip lingered, as his eyes met yours with a protectiveness that burned hotter than any firelight, you realised something you hadn’t dared before: John Wick could survive hell itself. But when it came to you, he wasn’t sure he could survive losing.

[discoscoob]

girl, resurrected - 11

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Warnings: MDNI!!! adult situations, see ch1 for full TWs. chapter map divider by saradika

11. i want to wake up where you are

You wake still laying upon his chest in the early morning, just enough soft blue light filtering through the window to admire your extremely well-toned pillow. He stirs slightly as you trace the dips and swells of his chest and arms and abdomen with the tips of your fingers. You continue your sensual journey downward, exploring the V of his hips, the muscular swells of his thighs. Next you follow with your mouth, kissing the thick scar that bisects his abdomen, tracing it with your tongue.

He moans louder when your mouth keeps traveling down, your chin brushing the silken tip of his growing hard-on. "What happened here?" you ask softly, kissing the scar just below his belly button.

"Shrapnel," he he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep and renewed arousal, and when he doesn't offer more information you leave it at that, connecting it might be something traumatic from his tour in the Middle East. It twists you up inside, thinking about how much it must have hurt.

Now you definitely owe him a blow job.

He reaches down and tangles his fingers in your hair, gently guiding you lower as your lips and tongue map out the hard planes of his abdomen. You can taste the salt of his skin, feel the heat emanating from his body.

As you dip your tongue to taste the beading precum at the tip of his cock Jack inhales sharply. "Fuck, baby, that feels so good," he breathes, his grip on your hair tightening.

You peek up at him through your lashes, teasing the nerve-rich ridges of his glans with your tongue. Jack's eyes shine like onyx, heavy-lidded and lust-filled as he gazes down at you with parted lips. "Please let me have that pretty mouth?" he encourages with an edge of desperation that soaks you between your legs.

Emboldened, you lean down to taste the entire length of his cock from root to tip. Jack shudders and inhales sharply at the sensation. "Christ," he hisses.

Spurred on, you take him into your mouth, your lips stretching obscenely around his girth. You swirl your tongue around the head, lapping up the salty beads of moisture leaking from his tip.

Jack groans, a deep, guttural sound of pleasure. "Fuck yes, just like that baby," he urges, his hips canting upwards slightly as if seeking more of your heated mouth.

You relax and take him deeper, all the way to the back of your throat. You swallow around him, utterly unable to fit him all in your mouth, feeling the thick length pulse against your tongue. Jack throws his head back with a strangled groan, his fingers convulsing in your hair as he tries not to be an asshole but fuck do you have a mouth to die for.

You set a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down his shaft. The wet sounds fill the room, along with Jack's increasingly loud groans and grunts of pleasure. His balls draw up tight in your gently kneading hand—and you withdraw with a wet pop.

He looks down at you wild-eyed and panting; it's the closest you've ever seen this man to panic, and you can't help but smile wickedly up at him. Bless this man, but rather than protest he laughs, rocking his head back with that breathy, self-conscious mirth that pierces your heart. "Baby…no fair."

"We'll see about fair." He can't tell in that moment if it's a promise or a threat, and maybe you're feeling it too keenly, how perfectly this man makes you come undone. You owe him some payback for knocking down your walls.

You sit up to straddle his lean thighs, making a show of reaching for the last condom on the nightstand, carefully tearing it open and rolling it down his rock-hard length. His stare smolders with lust as you mount him, teasing his tip with your damp cunt.

Jack watches you with hooded, hungry eyes as you teasingly brush your dripping folds along his sheathed length. It feels too good on your throbbing, needy clit; you can't stop. His hands come up to grip your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to surge upward and bury himself inside your welcoming heat.

"My pretty little cock tease," he rasps with a sparkle of enjoyment in his dark eyes, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

You just smile coyly at him, a glint of mischief in your eyes as you continue your maddeningly slow torment. You circle your hips, painting his tip with your arousal, letting him feel how ready you are for him.

You line him up and slowly sink down onto him, taking him to the hilt in one torturously smooth motion. A strangled groan tears from Jack's throat at the exquisite sensation, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Fuck," he grits out, his eyes squeezing shut as he revels in the feeling of your tight walls gripping him like a velvet vise.

You start to move, rolling your hips in a sensual rhythm that has Jack's breath coming in harsh pants. He meets your movements, thrusting up into you with powerful snaps of his hips. The room fills with the squelch of flesh against flesh and the creaking of the bed as you both lose yourselves in the age-old dance.

Jack sits up, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, suckling and nibbling at the sensitive peak. His hands slide around to grasp your ass, kneading and squeezing the rounded globes as he pulls you harder against him with every thrust.

"So fucking tight. This pussy was made for my cock," he growls against your breast, his hot breath sending tingles down your spine.

His dirty words only heighten your arousal, pushing you closer and closer to the peak of your pleasure. You can feel yourself tightening around him, your body instinctively seeking its release. Yet as though he knows you need something a little more, he licks his thumb while looking you in the eye, and reaches between you to rub your swollen nub in tight, purposeful strokes.

Finishing move.

It almost annoys you, how perfectly he already knows how to unravel you. How he pays attention, listening to your body, listening to you. The added stimulation is almost too much to bear, and you feel your climax building rapidly, your body pulling tight as a bow on top of his.

"God Jack, just like that," you cry out, your voice high and breathless with impending ecstasy.

Jack drinks up your desperate pleas, watching you with wonder, his thumb moving faster, pushing you ruthlessly towards your peak. "That's it baby, cum on my big dick. Love feeling this sweet little pussy when you let go," he urges, his voice a low, seductive growl.

With a scream of his name, you shatter, your body convulsing violently as your orgasm crashes over you and through you. Wave after wave of pure, unadulterated bliss radiates out from your core, your inner muscles clamping down around Jack's pistoning length.

Jack groans, a guttural, feral sound, as he feels your release gripping him so tightly. He doesn't let up, just keeps fucking into you through your climax, drawing it out, making it last longer.

With a last, sharp thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you and holds himself there as he finds his own release. It's surely your imagination, that you feel the hot splash of his seed filling the condom deep inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he empties himself into your spasming depths.

Finally, he collapses back against the bed, and you on top of him. You both lay there panting, happily dying in the aftermath of your intense coupling. Jack's arms wrap around you, holding you close, one hand stroking reverently down your back.

"That was... fuck, that was incredible," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your sweat-dampened temple. "I never…fuck. Nevermind."

Maybe he hopes you didn't quite make out the last bit of his pleasure-drunk babbling. You give him the graceful out, humming softly in response, too sated to form words or panic.

Jack chuckles at you and himself and pulls you even closer, your face tucked into the crook of his neck. You can hear his heartbeat slowing gradually beneath your cheek as you both drift off into a contented sex-coma snooze.

TBC...

chapter map

Our playlist so far:

hand in my pocket - alanis morissette

6 underground - sneaker pimps

come as you are - nirvana

miss world - hole

even flow - pearl jam

wonderwall - oasis

closing time - semisonic

ready to go - republica

blood sugar sex magik - the red hot chili peppers

the way she loves me - tonic

slide - the goo goo dolls

[discoscoob]

Rules: search [your name] vibes + [a color] and share your results.

Tagged by: @scarlettspectra, @devilsadvocatevhs and @thatgingernerdgirl 💜

[discoscoob]

protect me from what i want...

Donnie Barksdale x Reader † Mood Board

[discoscoob]

✐･. ˳ . PROBATION

Part 1 ｡ Part 2 ｡ Part 3 ｡ Part 4 ｡

Pairing: loser!pathetic!cyber felon!depressed!sub!Thomas “Neo” Anderson × probation officer!f!reader Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Warnings (for this part): - Word count: 2.2k A/N: Requested by @discoscoob Summary: Neo just got out of jail after serving time for hacking and you're assigned as his probation officer

“Won’t your boyfriend worry that you’re not home yet?” Thomas asked, handing you a plate.

You took it without meeting his eyes, setting it into the sink. “My boyfriend is none of your business, Anderson,” you said dryly.

“…I see…” Thomas murmured, something unreadable threading through his voice that made you glance up. He studied you for a moment with an expression you’d never seen on him before, then pushed away from the countier. “… you don’t have a boyfriend,” he concluded as he was already moving toward the desk, not giving you the chance to answer.

You let out a huff, rolled your eyes upward, and set your mug down a little harder than intended, muttering under your breath, “Figures.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the steady rush of the faucet and the occasional clink of dishes against the sink.

“You always like this?” Thomas asked suddenly.

You paused, turning just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. “Like what?”

“…Like you don’t let anything get to you. Closed off. Controlled.”

You turned back to the sink, running a frying pan under the stream of water. “Depends. Right now? I’m doing my job.”

He perched on the edge of the desk, one hand pressing into its surface, eyes following your every movement. “So… your job… is washing dishes?”

A flicker of irritation ran through you and with it, a strange, reluctant thrill. You hated how easily he could unsettle you, and yet you couldn’t deny the pull of the challenge. He was too good at biting, even in his depressive state. 

Carefully, you set the pan in the rack and drew a steadying breath.

“No, Anderson,” you said at last, keeping your voice steady. “I’m not here to scrub pans. This isn’t about dishes.”

You grabbed the towel, rubbing your hands with deliberate care. “It’s about you not giving up before you even start. That’s my job.” 

“You think I haven’t tried already?”

You turn around, giving him your full attention. “Have you?”

He met your gaze for a brief moment before looking away.

“I don’t know what it’s like for you.” You crossed the room in a few steady steps, stopping beside Thomas and reaching past him to grab your tote. “But I do know this - staying in the same place guarantees nothing changes. You have to move forward.”

Thomas shifted slightly to give you room, but his gaze stayed on your hands, following the way you collected the containers one by one. “Move forward,” he echoed. “That’s what everyone says.”

“And you don’t believe it?” Your hands moved mechanically while your attention stayed fully on him.

He shook his head faintly. “Move where? To what?” His eyes searched your face with a flicker of desperation, but the moment they caught yours, they darted away again.  “Every plan, every… damn thing I try… it all falls apart. I’m tired, okay?” His voice cracked, sharper than he intended. “Tired of failing. Tired of being reminded that I’m… nothing.”

At that last word, your hands stilled on the strap of your tote. 

“Don’t say that,” you said firmly. “That’s not true. You’re not nothing. You’re exhausted, yeah. Burned out. But that just means you have to start differently.”

He let out a short, bitter sound. “You make it sound simple.”

“It’s not simple,” you countered, fiddling with the straps as you lifted the tote onto your shoulder.  “But you…..” 

Glancing at him again, you saw him slouched, thumb tracing idly along the dusty edge of the wood. His eyes had gone distant, lost somewhere far from the room. You studied him for a beat, then let out a soft exhale and set your bag back down.

“Look,” you began carefully, “It feels like the world’s stacked against you. You were in prison and you lost a piece of yourself in there, and the system doesn’t exactly make it easy to get it back. But you’re out now. On parole. That is a chance.”

He snorted under his breath, eyes fixed anywhere but you. “A chance to fail again?”

“A chance to start differently. That’s all you can control right now. You can’t change what’s behind you, but you can decide what comes next.”

The room fell quiet. This time, he didn’t argue.

Finally, you picked up your tote, slipping the straps over your shoulder. “I should go,” you said softly, pausing with one last glance at him. “… I believe you can do this.”

Thomas straightened, almost reluctantly, following you to the door, and just as your hand reached for the handle, he called out.

“Wait.”

You froze, glancing back. He was holding out a cassette in a scuffed plastic case with no label, his hand tense around it.

“What is it?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Thomas stared at the cover, thumb brushing over the worn edge. “Blade Runner,” he said quietly, “The director’s version.”

Your brow arched as you took it carefully from him. The spine had BRDC scribbled in black marker.

“You said you’d never seen it,” His voice dipped, and he cleared his throat. “So I thought… maybe you’d watch it sometime.”

“Anderson,” you said quietly, “do you realize you’re handing your probation officer a pirated copy of a movie?”

He shut his eyes tight, lips pressing together as he realized how fucked up he was. “I-”

“Relax,” you cut him off, tucking the tape back against his chest with a light push. “I’ll take a look.” You catched his gaze. “But I hope you’re not hiding anything else.”

He shook his head slowly, and something doubtful flickered in his eyes, but you let it pass for stress, for exhaustion. 

“Good,” you said, reaching for the handle again. “and don’t forget to keep looking for a job.”

“Officer YN?”

The sound of your name seemed to startle him as much as it did you. This was the first time your name had passed his lips.

You turned. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, almost too soft to hear.

You gave him a brief, understanding nod. “See you next time, Thomas.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

At the next check-in, Thomas said he’d found a job, and you felt a real pulse of relief. He didn’t say much about it, just that it paid and that they didn’t ask too many questions. 

A few weeks later

You didn’t have to stop, but your hand turned the wheel before your brain caught up, guiding the car down the street.

You parked in front of the diner tucked between a laundromat and a discount liquor store. The sign was faded, but the windows were large, letting in a bright afternoon sun.

Inside, the air smelled of fryer oil and scorched coffee. Ten tables, all scuffed up, half of them full. Men in grease stained workwear hunched over plates, shoveling food between muttered complaints. At one corner, a tired-looking woman stared down at her drink while the man across from her, clearly a little drunk, ranted loud enough for the room to hear. At the counter, a jittery young man lingered, eyes darting nervously at every sound. This was the kind of place that didn’t care who you were, as long as you had cash

You stepped up to the counter. The guy behind it smiled out of obligation.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Want a menu? We’ve got a few specials today.”

You shook your head. “No, thanks. I’m looking for Thomas Anderson.”

The smile fell. He glanced past you, then nodded toward a narrow hallway.

“Back there,” he said, not thrilled, but polite enough.

You moved down the hallway. The kitchen opened beyond a swinging door, and the heat hit you, clinging to your clothes. Then you saw him.

Thomas stood over a deep sink, arms submerged in gray, sudsy water. His apron was damp and stained, hair clinging in dark strands to his forehead and curling behind his ears. The back of his neck was pink from the heat. He worked quietly, hands moving fast but careful, sliding them toward the guy rinsing next to him.

You lingered for a moment, watching him before finally stepping closer. 

“Hi, Thomas.”

He startled, eyes widening, but when he saw you, he turned back to scrubbing a plate. “You here to arrest me?” he asked, voice flat.

You sidestepped a puddle on the floor that probably deserved a health inspection. “Depends,” you said casually, tipping your head toward the back door without explanation.

Thomas glanced at the other guy beside him, muttered something under his breath, then stripped off his gloves and tugged the apron loose.

A minute later, he pushed through the heavy door and followed you into the narrow alley behind the kitchen. The diner’s clatter faded, replaced by the distant hum of traffic. Thomas sank onto a stack of crates, squinting against the bright light.

“Didn’t think you’d check up on it,” he said. His voice was low and tired.

You shrugged. “I check on things.”

He gave a small nod, eyes dropping to the ground.

The crate creaked under your weight when you sat beside him, close enough to feel the faint heat radiating off his shoulder.

Your eyes drifted over him - the same tired face, the same pale skin, only now marked with redness from the harsh detergents.

“You doing okay here?”

Thomas glanced toward the far end of the alley, then back, tugging a tired, crooked smile across his face. “It’s not exactly coding, but I haven’t gotten fired yet.”

You gave a small, approving nod “That’s progress,” you said softly. 

That earned a faint smirk. “Yeah, well… I watched you wash dishes and got inspired. You’re very motivating, you know.”

You almost laughed, your smile breaking loose before you could stop it.

For a beat, Thomas froze, staring at you with wide, dark eyes.

“What?” you asked, still smiling so hard your cheeks ached.

“Woah.” His voice tinged with boyish candor. “You actually can… smile?” 

Your eyes widened a fraction, and you quickly let it fade, schooling your expression back into its usual flatness. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I liked it,” Thomas blurted. The words slipped out too fast and his shoulders stiffened the second they hit the air. He fumbled, looking away. “I mean… it makes you look… less… terrifying.”

You gave him a long, steady look, noticing the restless bob of his throat as he swallowed. His gaze flicked back to you. Thomas couldn’t quite hold it, but God, he tried. And just then, sunlight spilled  across his face, catching in his irises and softening them, turning the usual obsidian into a warm, honey-brown glow. 

And you hated how much you liked the way he looked in that moment.

“That supposed to be a compliment?” you asked, steady, though heat pricked at your neck.

“Yeah,” he admitted, raking a hand through his hair. “Guess I’m not great at saying things right.”

You looked away, feeling the heat already creep into your face/ “You don’t have to say anything, Thomas,” you told him, trying for evenness.

“Maybe not.” He tilted his head, eyes flicking toward you again, like testing the waters, studying your profile. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t like when you’re human.”

Silence hung between you for a moment.

He gave the empty can a lazy kick with his boot. “Thanks for showing up.”

You blinked. “I didn’t come for you. I had a case nearby.”

“Sure you did.”

He didn’t press further, just leaned back against the stack of crates, hands laced behind his head, squinting at the slice of blue sky above.

The quiet stretched.

“I miss it,” he said finally, voice low. “Programming.”

You stayed quiet.

“It was the only thing that ever made sense to me. Coding always followed clear, consistent steps. It never changed its mind, it never lied. Code could be simple, or it could be a mess, and if it broke, that was on me. At least I knew how to fix it. I liked that.”

“Why hacking, Thomas? Why not take all that skill and go to a corporation instead?”

“‘Cause corps don’t care about people like me. They’d stick me in a cubicle, patching their busted code for a pack of chips. I didn’t want to be a cog.” He shifted, crossing one leg loosely so that his calf rested on the opposite knee. “Hacking… it felt different. Like I was free. Like, for once, I had control.” He gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh. “Now I’m stuck scrubbing plates and burning my hands in greasy water.”

“But it’s not forever. You’ll get back to what you love,” you said gently.

He gave a small nod. “Yeah… doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

“I get it,” you said. “Even if I can’t fix it.”

Thomas shot you a sidelong glance, studying your face for a moment before looking away.  “I wasn’t asking you to.”

“I know.”

Silence settled once again. A sudden yowl split the distance, followed by the crash of something toppling as cats scattered. You both glanced that way, then back.

Thomas muttered, almost to himself, “Sleep was never really my thing… so I’m thinking of asking for more hours. If I’m gonna be in hell, might as well go for employee of the month.”

You snorted. “That’s the spirit.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Maybe I’ll hack the vote.”

You shook your head, almost smiling.

“You try that, and I’ll personally drag you back to jail.”

TBC

divider by suupersonic

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I’ve never drew chibi, so I gave it a try while I was working in my uni. Maybe, I’ll even print it as a keychain for myself

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SPEED (1994) Keanu Reeves + …plot

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L. Viterbo (XIX) - "By Moonlight"

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girl, resurrected - 10

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Warnings: MDNI!!! adult situations, see ch1 for full TWs. chapter map divider by saradika

10. if you could only see the way she loves me

As it turns out, Jack was right about the condoms.

You sleepily wake in the middle of the night to his big body spooning yours; you were right that day on the beach. He absolutely enfolds you in his arms, and with a contented sigh you snuggle back against him, relishing this rare delusion that you are absolutely safe, and everything is absolutely good.

You're not sure if you wake him, or if he is just aware on some level that goes deeper than consciousness. His arms tighten around you, and soft lips find the sensitive hollow of your neck. There are parts of Jack that are more awake than others, the length of which you feel pressed into the curve of your ass. He grumbles like a sleeping bear behind you, a deep vibration you feel as much as hear as his hand travels the curves of your body, cupping the weight of your breast and squeezing gently. "So beautiful," he whispers in your ear. "Can I have you again?"

He punctuates this with the roll of his hips against your back side, and the sound you make may not be proper language per se, but it is an affirmation of some kind. His touch drifts down your middle, strumming at the cleft of your pussy that is still wet from earlier. "Mmm, baby. All that for me?" He circles your clit while teasing you with his mouth hovering over yours, dangling those coveted toe-curling kisses like the most irresistable honey trap known to [wo]man.

"All yours," you sigh, knowing you're giving too much away and too drunk on this man to care.

You feel Jack's lips curve into a smile against yours as he hears your breathless affirmation. "Mmm, you have no idea how long I've wanted to hear that," he rumbles, the deep baritone of his voice sending shivers down your spine, making you writhe back against him. You get some satisfaction when he moans against you, his teeth grazing the curve of your shoulder.

His fingers continue their maddeningly slow slippery circles around your clit, teasing you, stoking the embers of desire again. You squirm against him, chasing more of that delicious friction. But Jack just chuckles at how cute you are, and holds you in place with the iron strength of his arms.

"Nuh uh, I've got you, sweetheart," he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe, every hair folicle on your body standing at attention. You shouldn't like it so much, that he can just take you however he wants you. You realize the fact that you trust him just wrecks you all the more.

Your whimpering protest dissolves into a gasping moan as Jack slides two long fingers deep into your soaked channel. He pumps them slowly, curling and twisting, stroking along your inner walls. His thumb continues its circling of your clit, the dual sensations making your toes curl.

You can feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against your backside, and you clench around his fingers in anticipation. Jack groans, the sound rumbling through his broad chest. "Fuck, baby. You drive me crazy," he growls.

He removes his fingers and you keen at the loss, but it's short lived. He's remarkably fast at rifling through his pants pockets on the floor for another condom, tearing it open and rolling it on. A second later you feel the broad head of his cock nudging against your entrance. With a swift roll of his hips, he sheathes himself inside you, filling and stretching you completely.

"Oh god," you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder, gripping desperately at his muscle-corded arms. Jack sets a deep, steady rhythm, his hips rolling against your ass as he fucks you nice and slow, his thick fingers moving in time against your clit. The wet sounds of your coupling fill the room, punctuated by your increasingly loud moans and cries.

You're going to get a noise complaint.

It's totally going to be worth it.

"Yeah? Tell me all about it," Jack urges, his voice strained with pleasure, loving hearing you, his unflappable coffeeshop girl, come undone on his cock and his fingers.

His deep voice in your ear only heightens your arousal, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your pussy clenches desperately around him, trying to hold him deep inside you.

"Greedy girl," he teases. "Think you can you take it all for me?"

"Yes, please," you whine, finding you're not, in fact, too proud to beg.

He obliges you with a thrust of his hips, burying himself to the hilt inside your needy cunt. You both cry out, a sound of pure, double-edged, unadulterated pleasure. Knowing he won't last much longer, he doubles his efforts to make you cum, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.

You can feel every thick inch of him as he pistons in and out of you, stretching you wide, filling you utterly. Your body yields to his, pliant and eager, accepting each powerful thrust.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jack groans, his breath hot against your ear. "Like you were made for me."

He hitches your leg up higher on his hip, changing the angle of his thrusts. Now he's striking that spot deep inside you with every pump of his hips, sending you hurtling towards your peak. Your inner muscles flutter and clench around him, trying to draw him in deeper, a pleasure so intense forming between your hips that you think it might break you. Jack feels you trembling on the edge as you hold on to him for dear life, your limbs shaking as you strain for release. He loves having you like this, helpless and clinging and pliable in his arms, but your tight little pussy gripping his dick like it belongs to it. Not for the first time he thinks: you're his dream girl.

"Let go, baby. I promise I've got you."

Maybe you actually believe him, because for once in your life you do as you're told, his words and his hands and his perfect cock pushing you over the edge; you cum with a scream of ecstasy, the golden rush of it filling your loins and spreading up your spine. The clench and flutter of it brings Jack with you; with a guttural shout, he buries himself to the hilt inside you and holds himself there, shuddering as he fills you with spurt after spurt of his thick, hot seed. Finally, he collapses back against the bed, pulling you with him so that you're draped across his broad chest.

You both lay there panting, deliriously happy, utterly fuck-drunk as you try to catch your breath. With a shaking hand he ditches the condom in the waste basket before wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead that fills you with a drugged-out warmth all over again.

With his big hand cradling the back of your head, you feel like nothing bad can ever touch you again.

"Jack?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Jesus fucking christ."

He laughs, that boyish sound that always sends you, though it's tinged with the velvety softness of post-coital bliss.

"Yeah."

The rumble of his deep laughter in his chest against your ear is the last thing you remember before the oblivion of sleep pulls you down again.

TBC...

chapter map

Our playlist so far:

hand in my pocket - alanis morissette

6 underground - sneaker pimps

come as you are - nirvana

miss world - hole

even flow - pearl jam

wonderwall - oasis

closing time - semisonic

ready to go - republica

blood sugar sex magik - the red hot chili peppers

the way she loves me - tonic

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I never got the "your cat would eat you if you died" hangup. its not like im using the meat for anything anymore

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･ﾟﾟ･｡⋆.ೃ࿔*:･｡･ﾟﾟ･

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ALICE IN WONDERLAND (1951) dir. Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson, Hamilton Luske

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⋆˖⁺‧₊☽🔮☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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🌿🍂🌾🌼🪵