#Best Decompression Table

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[thescarletfang]

don't want you like a best friend

Jack Abbot x F!reader

3.6k

Warnings: MDNI!!!!! 18+. face-sitting, oral sex (f recieving), deceased wife kinda mentioned, implied age-gap (reader mid to late 30s in my head)

Summary:

You look up to find him staring at you like he has you memorized.

Fuck it. He asked. 

“He didn’t want to go down on me.”

The air gets sucked out of the room as your statement lingers between you. To his credit, Jack keeps looking right at you. Your face is on fire but you refuse to break eye contact first. You feel absolutely insane, and you think if this goes on for one more second you are leaving and walking to PTMC and jumping off of the roof. 

Another muscle twitches in Jack’s jaw and your eyes flick to his knuckles flexing where he holds the mug, the only tells that he’s registered what you’ve said.

When he speaks, it comes out gravelly. “What?” 

or

Jack can't handle that nobody's gone down on you in years.

******

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jack smirks at your declaration, his eyes flicking over to where you’re melting into his couch. You glare at your attending — the man who has, over the last three years, become your friend. 

“Kinda seems like you wanna talk about it,” he quips, voice full of mirth as he takes a sip of his tea. You raise your own mug to your lips, letting the English Breakfast warm you all the way to your toes. 

It’s the end of both your days but the beginning of everyone else’s. The sun has just crested over Pittsburgh, slicing through the gray, industrial smog with shimmers of a spring morning. 

It had been a hell of a night, so when Jack asked if you wanted to come back to his place for some tea to decompress, you’d agreed immediately. It’s a ritual between you, one forged from the fire of ED trauma and the feral atmosphere of working the night shift. Sometimes it’s your place. Other times – like now – it’s his. 

You’ve been friends with Jack Abbot since the second year of your residency, and now in your final year, you feel calm with him in a way you don’t feel with anyone else. 

You consistently ignore the fact that he is devastatingly handsome and the best man you’ve ever met. It’s fine. You are fine and you can compartmentalize and you do not – repeat, do not! – have something as juvenile as a crush on your night shift attending because that would just be…ludicrous. 

Which is why earlier this week you had found yourself on the first date from hell with a radiologist. Jack had asked how it’d gone, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and you’d glared at him.

Which brings you to now, hiding behind your steaming mug of tea and burrowing into Jack’s ridiculously comfortable couch. 

You sigh dramatically. “You really want me to relive the trauma?” 

Jack barks out a laugh from the other end of the couch. “Jesus. That bad? Where d’you find these guys?”

Your face burns. “At least I put myself out there.” There’s a hint of defensiveness in your statement and Jack (who you sometimes suspect knows you better than you know yourself) clocks it immediately. 

He clears his throat, eyes catching your gaze. “I’m not makin’ fun of you. C’mon, you know that.”

You narrow your eyes at him but don’t say anything for a moment. He rubs a hand along his scruff. 

“Tell me what happened,” he says in a low voice. 

“It’s embarrassing,” you mutter, draining the last of your tea. You avoid his stare as you sit your mug (the one you always use at his house, the one with a disturbing anthropomorphic stethoscope with eyelashes and lipstick, a gag gift you’d gotten for Jack’s 48th birthday last year), on his coffee table. 

Jack shrugs. “It’s just me.” 

Yeah, it’s just you. 

He doesn’t even know he’s everything to you, and that’s the beginning and end of it all. You want to extinguish these stupid feelings because the truth of it is, if Jack reciprocated anything, he’d have made a move already.

Three, going on four years of closeness and tea and meals and movies and shared life and all of it. Of panic attacks and impatience and forgiveness and everything that makes up a foundation together. 

And never once has it ever crossed a line into what you so desperately yearn for. 

So, you go on dates. You hook up with men you know you’ll never build something with, and Jack remains firmly on the side of friendship. His hand continues to burn through your lower back when he passes behind you during a procedure, and he texts you good night every single fucking night and he’s so guarded and also the warmest man you know and the contradictions are pushing you toward a breaking point. 

But at the end of the day, you cannot blame him. He lost a wife before you ever knew him, you see the shadows he carries and the pain that lives in his eyes and you think, okay. Okay.

This is enough.

Friendship is enough. 

You look up to find him staring at you like he has you memorized.

Fuck it. He asked. 

“He didn’t want to go down on me.”

The air gets sucked out of the room as your statement lingers between you. To his credit, Jack keeps looking right at you. Your face is on fire but you refuse to break eye contact first. You feel absolutely insane, and you think if this goes on for one more second you are leaving and walking to PTMC and jumping off of the roof. 

Another muscle twitches in Jack’s jaw and your eyes flick to his knuckles flexing where he holds the mug, the only tells that he’s registered what you’ve said.

When he speaks, it comes out gravelly. “What?” 

The spell is broken and you groan, closing your eyes and leaning back so far into the couch you think it’s going to swallow you up. You have never been this humiliated in your life and it’s honestly freeing in a bizarre way. The words pour out of you. 

“You heard me! He said he doesn’t do that or whatever. Got real pissed when I told him I like, cannot physically just jump into penetration and need a partner to—to get me ready—”

A loud crash cuts you off and you realize Jack’s dropped his mug. It rolls underneath the coffee table, and you note that at least it seems he’s finished his tea. 

You look at Jack and you’re startled to see his neck is flushed and there are twin pink spots on his cheeks. 

His eyes are dark. 

You suddenly feel warm in a different way. 

Your heart begins to beat too quickly and the room suddenly feels too hot, Jack’s living room too small. You stand up, flustered. You and Jack never talk about…sex or hookups or anything like that and this is unchartered territory. You feel unmoored.

“It’s fine, I can’t remember the last time I hooked up with someone who actually wanted to do that—”

Jack makes a choked noise but you’re grabbing your purse from where you’d flung it on the couch, and you’re crossing his living room toward the door.

“Anyway, thanks for the tea, I’ll see you tonight—”

Jack says your name and you pause, hand on his doorknob. You take a breath and turn around. Jack’s no longer sitting. He’s standing in front of the chair, watching you closely. And then he crosses to you slowly, deliberately, his eyes refusing to look anywhere but into your own. 

You want to die and yet you physically cannot move. 

“Don’t go,” he says, voice gravel. He stops a space away from you. 

Your chest is rising and falling too quickly and you wish the floor would swallow you up. You let out a disbelieving laugh. 

“I am…mortified,” you tell him. “I can’t believe I told you any of that—”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he tells you, softly. “Those fuckin’ assholes are the ones who should be embarrassed.” 

Your skin tingles. “Yeah?”

Jack nods, taking a step closer. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. “Yeah. Like I said before, where do you find these fuckin’ guys?”

You laugh weakly. “It’s rough out there, Abbot.”

Jack lets out a breath through his nose and he–he bites his lip for a moment, his eyes boring into yours. Your legs are quickly turning to jelly.

What. Is. Happening.

“I uh—I’m gonna ask you something,” Jack starts, voice frayed at the edges. “And you gotta promise not to slap me.”

You laugh because you can’t help it. “What?”

The corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up by just a fraction and he swallows roughly. 

“Promise you aren’t gonna slap me.”

You look at him for a beat and when you realize he’s serious, you nod. “Okay. I won’t slap you.”

Jack steps even closer, his eyes flickering over your face, his head tilted down just slightly. The sharp line of his jaw begs for your fingers but you keep your hands at your side. 

“When was the last time you came on someone’s tongue?”

Your mouth drops open and you gape at Jack, a ringing in your ears that wasn’t previously there. Did he—did he just—?

“Jack,” you choke but he doesn’t flinch. 

“Tell me,” he urges, his fucking eye contact making your entire body light up. “Tell me the last time one of those fuckin’ assholes made you come on their tongue.”

You—you actually whimper—and Jack clenches his jaw so hard you think he’s going to break his teeth.

“I can’t remember,” you tell him quietly. “Years, I think.”

Jack nods, like you just told him the guy in T-5 needs to be intubated. “I’m gonna say something else now. You really gotta promise not to slap me, okay?”

You squint at him. “When have I ever given you the impression I’d slap anyone? Jesus.”

He grins now, boyishly, and it’s so lovely that you think, please. Please feel the same way I feel. Please. 

“When Robby threatened to put you on day shift, you definitely seemed like you wanted to slap him.”

You laugh. “Robby is a little shit.”

Jack laughs right back. “Yeah, he is.” He pauses, takes a breath. The air shifts again and it’s warm and you’re in his orbit, you feel yourself gravitating toward this man always, always, always. 

“Let me.”

Two words he says to you in a broken voice you’ve never heard from him. You frown, confused. 

“Let you what?”

Jack doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Let me make you come with my tongue. Ride my face.”

“Jesus,” you practically squeal because you have never been spoken to this way before, this way that is so sexy and blunt and you never in a million years thought Jack would say this to you, no matter how many times you’ve dreamt of it. You stare at your friend, gobsmacked. 

“Let me make you feel good,” Jack says in a low voice. You study him. He looks completely sincere. “Please.”

Is he-–is Jack Abbot begging you to let him make you come?

You have died. Surely, you have ceased to exist in this realm and you are looking down on another version of you in another world because Jack—he’s never given you any indication he’s ever even looked at you in a way that wasn’t platonic. 

“You’re insane,” you tell him because he is. This man is out of his mind.

Jack throws you a challenging look, quirking his eyebrow. “Am I? ‘Cuz from where I’m standing, any guy who refuses to go down on you is fuckin’ insane.”

You have quite possibly never been more turned on in your life, but you need to Think Clearly because this could — it could —

“If you do this, this could change everything,” you tell Jack honestly, and you know he sees the trepidation in your eyes. You wonder if he can read your fears, can read how badly you want him and have always wanted him. 

Jack shrugs. “So let it.”

Your eyes prick and you really need to get it together because you cannot cry at a time like this!

“But you don’t like me like that,” you say and you might as well have shoved Jack because he stumbles back as if your words have physical force. 

“What?” This man! This man has the audacity to look affronted and you scoff at your disbelief at his reaction. 

“What do you mean ‘what?’” You wave a hand between you. “You’ve never once made a move, Abbot. Excuse me if I am shook that you want to—to tongue fuck me all of a sudden.” You practically hiss “tongue fuck” and cannot believe the words have flown out of your mouth. 

Jack groans, runs a hand down his face. “Christ. The mouth on you—” he shakes his head, puts both hands on his hips and it’s so stupidly adorable. “You’re a doctor, I know you’re smart, you gotta know why I haven't made a move.”

You glare at this sassy man in front of you because how dare he. “When a guy doesn’t make a move, it’s usually because they’re not into you! Which you clearly are not! Into me, I mean.”

Jack looks at you like you’re the biggest idiot he’s ever seen and like he’s about five seconds away from grabbing your face and bringing it to him. 

Instead he stares for a moment and swallows. Your eyes follow his Adam’s apple, the way it bobs nervously. 

“You’re—you’re—” Jack breaks off and you’re so thrown by hearing him stutter. He’s always so sure. “Fuck, look. I’m old and—and you’re so good, you’re fuckin’ everything, what the hell do you want with a bum like me?”

His voice is so broken and you read between all the lines, everything he’s not saying.

I’m old.

I lost this once. 

I’m no good.

I don’t deserve you.

“Jack,” you whisper, and your hands come to cradle his jaw. He huffs out a breath of air, closes his eyes and leans against your hands. The motion makes you brave. 

“I want everything with a bum like you,” you tell him, your bleeding heart exposed and lying on the floor between you. Jack’s eyes fly open, dart between yours. 

“Yeah?” he croaks. He lifts his hands to your wrists, holding your own hands in place as they cradle his scruffy jaw. 

“Yes, you idiot,” you say, the words floating on a little laugh. “I’ve been waiting for you for…well, for a long time.”

Jack’s eyes glisten. He swallows. “I didn’t—I couldn’t ever let myself think that you’d ever want me as anything more than your friend.” He takes a breath. “I was willing to be just that forever if it was the only way you’d ever have me.”

You grin at him. “But you offer to let me sit on your face?”

Jack’s eyes flash. “Yeah, I’m kinda doing all this backwards, huh?” Then, “I’m not good at this. I haven’t done it in awhile. Not since—”

He breaks off roughly and you skate your hands down from his jaw to rest against his chest. You look up at him and you hope your eyes ground him. 

“I’m not good at this either,” you say. “We can…figure it out together. If you want. If you want me.”

Jack twirls a lock of your hair in his hands for a moment before he tucks it behind your ear. “You have no idea how badly or how long I’ve wanted you. Jesus. I want you so bad.”

You smile. “Oh good. Cuz I want you too.”

You catch sight of the relief in Jack’s eyes for a moment before he bends down and presses his lips against yours. You squeak into the kiss, so shocked that it’s finally happening and you can feel Jack smirk against your mouth. His tongue traces your bottom lip and you open for him and oh my god.

Jack’s tongue.

It’s licking into you and all you can taste is tea and Jack and holy fuck, he is such a good kisser. You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and his hands find a home on your waist and your bodies bend together. 

He pushes into you, and a hand comes up to cradle the back of your head just as your back hits the door. Jack breaks away from your lips, his own trailing down your throat and you gasp for air. You press into him and feel his hardness against your belly and you throb between your legs. 

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” Jack pants, resting his head on your shoulder. You run a hand through his hair, gripping those salt-and-pepper curls that drive you insane.

“So taste me,” you tell him because you are an insane person. Jack makes you feel insane.

He pulls back, looking down at you and before you can say anything, he grabs you under your thighs and picks you up with strength you are—quite frankly—shocked by. You are not a tiny human and Jack’s nearing fifty and you’re wrapping your legs around Jack’s waist and oh my god, you’d die to see the way his arms are probably straining and flexing. 

“Hold on,” he growls and begins walking you toward what you assume is his bedroom but you’re a little distracted because he’s sucking on your neck. You grind into him and he moans and you’re moaning and it’s so much.

“I can’t believe you’re carrying me right now,” you gasp as Jack shoulders his way through the bedroom door. 

“I’m in great shape,” he defends and you’re about to say some smart-ass comment but it dies in your throat when he tosses you — tosses you!!!! — onto his bed. You bounce for a second before you lie on your back. 

Jack kneels on the edge of the bed and you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at him and trying to catch your breath. 

“Take your clothes off,” Jack says, voice low and you can actually feel yourself get wet. He’s so commanding.

You sit up, shrugging out of your t-shirt. You drop it over the edge of your bed and raise an eyebrow at Jack, who’s still just kneeling and watching you. His eyes skate over your simple cotton bra like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“You too,” you tell him and it spurs him into action. With one hand he reaches behind his head, tugging his t-shirt off and oh my god. His chest and his broad shoulders and his tousled hair. 

He leans down, his hands meeting the mattress and he crawls over to you, caging you in as you lie back down. His lips find the spot between your shoulder and neck and then his teeth skate over your bra strap and is—-is he—yes, he is pulling your bra strap down by his teeth.

“Jack,” you whine and he grinds his clothed cock over your core, fucking you into the mattress without actually fucking you and your head buzzes. 

He must sense your desperation in the way you say his name because he leans back and clothes are shed quickly. Your bra, his shoes and pants, your shoes and pants and then finally he’s looking down at you in only his briefs and you’re completely naked, your tits rising and falling and he’s panting, holding himself up, muscles corded in his arms and neck. 

“I’m ready for you to ride my fuckin’ face,” he says, voice wrecked with need and you whimper again. He gently scooches you over and lies down on his back and you sit up, throwing a leg over him, your bare cunt meeting the skin of his chest. 

His hands grab onto the meat of the back of your thighs, drift to grab handfuls of your plush ass and he moans, “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.”

You hover above his mouth, your hands find the top of his bed-frame and you look down. The sight almost destroys you.

Jack is looking up at you, curls disheveled, mouth glistening, a red flush down his neck, and your thighs are on either side of his head. He breathes you in and you almost come from that alone.

“Come on, baby,” he growls. “Ride me.”

You don’t need to be told twice. 

You sit down — on his face — and you can feel his groan reverberate through your core. From this angle, his tongue hits so deep and you haven’t felt this in so fucking long.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you’re babbling, your hips already grinding against his face as he laps at your center. “Fuck it’s so good, Jack it’s so good.” 

Jack’s eyes are open as he eats you because the man maintains eye contact like a motherfucker. His hands dimple your ass cheeks and he rocks you over his face while his tongue fucks you deep. The sounds that fill the room are obscene, your pussy wet and dripping. You slap your own thigh as you feel yourself getting so, so close—

“Yes!” you scream, gutturally, primal, you didn’t realize you were this loud during sex but it’s never been this good. “Right fucking there, fuck me right fucking there, Jack.”

Jack’s tongue is relentless and it finds your clit and he sucks hard and you’re done for.

“Oh fuck, I’m coming, Jack—-Jack, fuck, fuck!” Your vocal chords are shredded as your hands slam against his bedroom wall, your hips grinding against his tongue as your climax hits you, your nerve-endings on fire. 

You can’t catch your breath. You’re trying to and look down as Jack licks up all your juices, kisses the inside of your thighs, looks up at you. 

He looks so debauched, lips glistening, eyes pussy-drunk on you. 

“You taste unbelievable,” he tells you, his voice husky. “I could die down here.” 

You laugh, a wild free thing dislodging itself from your throat. You’re still straddling his chest, hands still braced on the wall. You move to get off, but Jack’s hands lock into your waist, keeping you in place.

“I’m not done,” he tells you, and — is he pouting?

“Jesus,” you say because you are spent and somehow already you feel yourself throb again. “You’re not?”

“Fuck no,” he tells you, and kisses your thigh. “Ride me again.”

You lick your lips and Jack’s eyes trace the movement. “I’ll ride your tongue again but then I need you to fuck me with your cock. Deal?”

Jack chokes on a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he can’t believe you're his. 

He leans up, and right before his tongue licks into you again, he grins. It lights up his entire face. 

 “Deal.”

[mariasont]

PRIORITIES & PRETTY THINGS - A.H

your beauty routine is sacred, but so is aaron's favorite way to decompress. looks like tonight you'll have to manage both

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, smutty smut, kinda free use policy, hotch using u for stress relief, p in v, twinkie (boycotting the name creampie), alexa play CPR by cupcake, AFAB, fem!reader, praise, dirty talk, aftercare, maybe a little breeding kink? talk about kids for like a singular line at the end, also mention of their first kiss which can be read here but not necessary to understand wc: 2.9k

Your love affair with beauty did not have the glamorous, instantaneous sparkle like most people choose to assume. In truth, it began behind a bedroom door barricaded tight against preteen anxieties, something that was constructed by braces flashing in garish shades of bubblegum pink and galaxy purple and bangs unevenly chopped by an overly eager parent.

Yet, somehow, fumbling with frosty blue eyeshadow and watermelon-scented gloss taught you self-expression, how to build confidence from the ground up.

Puberty decided to throw you a bone eventually (thank god), but by then makeup had embedded itself as more than something done for vanity. You would consider it a soul-mate level connection nurtured through midnight eyeliner tutorials, endless afternoons reading magazine spreads, and racking up Sephora points that probably rivaled some small countries economies.

Aaron loves giving you endless grief about your overflowing vanity drawers. Overflowing being his word choice, by the way, not yours. He loves grumbling about the avalanche of cosmetic boxes spilling from your shared closet, loves sighing (dramatically) each time another package lands on your doorstep.

Your face looks perfect without this, he insists regularly, always cupping your cheeks so you’re forced to meet those sincere eyes of his. 

But he overplays his hand — all gooey-soft affection pulsing through his pupils, twitch tugging his mouth upward.

He would never actually begrudge something that makes you so shamelessly happy, even if your spending habits are probably sending him toward an emotional breakdown. Therapy’s overdue anyway, in your opinion.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, brings out Aaron’s inner drama king quite like watching you spend approximately a million years applying the very products he loves to call a sparkly money pit.

You’re wrist-deep in said sparkly money pit when Aaron materializes behind you. Not that it fazes you. Your boyfriend-detecting instincts are now advanced to border on psychic talent (and way hotter than being able to predict lottery numbers).

“Hi, handsome,” you greet, flicking your eyes up briefly to gift him your best flirty, mirror-reflected smile. 

You hope he’s sufficiently distracted by your lips to overlook the fact that you’re still nowhere near ready. And true to form, Aaron’s eyes drop obediently.

His fixation on your mouth is practically Pavlovian by now, something you first discovered when he walked headlong into a door frame mid-argument simply because you had pulled your lower lip through your teeth to avoid saying something that might’ve gotten you bent over his knee.

Needless to say, the fight was quickly forgotten, replaced by a much more enjoyable, hands-on type of interaction.

“Honey.”

You recognize that tone instantly, hearing it countless times before. It’s his signature prelude, a gentle warning shot before he points out the obvious — that Spencer and his girlfriend are undoubtedly sitting at your reserved table right now, politely studying menus, patiently pretending to understand your stylish definition of on time.

And then, right on cue, will come the entirely fair (but completely predictable) mention of your solemn promise to be ready to go the nanosecond his work call ended.

“Nearly ready, cross my heart. Just two more seconds. Okay, maybe three. But four tops. Five, like, absolutely worst-case scenario.”

Aaron’s fingertips skate possessively along your waist, slipping beneath your robe to reclaim their preferred real estate.

“I’m not particularly worried about being on time right now,” he murmurs into the shallow dip at your neck, nose nudging the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Your mascara wand skips slightly, completely giving you away. Not that Aaron’s much better at hiding it, his poker face vanishes at moments like this, evident both in the rigid slope of his shoulders and (oh, hello there!) in the very prominent, enthusiastic proof making itself known against your ass.

“Yeah,” you giggle, bumping your hips back against him for emphasis. “I can feel how not worried you are.”

You struggle to fathom how he managed stress before you. Occasionally, you entertain yourself by picturing it — Aaron Hotchner being told to inhale deeply through a mindfulness app? Or earnestly attempting downward dog stretches in your living room? (You’d pay good money to see that.) Or perhaps he’d stress bake, an apron hugging his waist, forehead creased in the cutest serious-face as he glares suspiciously at measuring cups.

Each scenario gets progressively more funny and less believable.

Once, in those deceptively ‘innocent’ days before your relationship became official, you suggested Aaron adopt a new workout regime to help loosen that chronic, tightly wound demeanor of his. Admittedly, you were implying something a lot less treadmill-focused and considerably more… horizontal.

He diplomatically chose to ignore your entirely transparent proposition. Outwardly, anyway. 

What neither of you anticipated, however, was just how accurate your advice would prove. Because nothing drains Aaron’s tension faster than having you trapped beneath him, diligently working out every ounce of strain against your eagerly receptive body.

Which is precisely why, employing your best bedroom voice, you once generously offered Aaron permanent, round-the-clock access to you anytime the mood might arise. No rules, no red tape. Just full, unrestricted access to you.

In hindsight, you should have anticipated the lengthy, serious discussion that ensued after.

Your easy-going, no rules proposition quickly evolved into an impressively comprehensive negotiation, complete with detailed guidelines and exhaustive clarifications.

His eyebrows had knitted together with that intensity of his, repeatedly insisting that you were always in complete control, and then thoroughly checking — then double-checking, then triple-checking — that your consent was crystal clear, until your cheeks burned hot from the combination of embarrassment and sheer excitement. 

Emphasis on excitement.

Knowing him though, you weren’t necessarily too hopeful that he would actually take you up on your offer.

But when he did, it happened so fast, your brain hardly registered the transition from scrubbing dishes to being perched on the countertop, skirt punches around your waist and legs spread.

He’d walked in fresh from a meeting with Strauss, appearing completely unruffled except for the thunderclouds brewing darkly behind his eyes.

Without even a hint of warning, he had hoisted you up onto the island, plunging into you with such sudden decisiveness that all you managed was a surprised little squeak, fingers digging into his shoulders as he split you open in demanding strokes.

Afterward, he casually tucked himself away, tidying his clothes as if straightening his tie after an entirely routine briefing.

He leaned back against the countertop — yes, the one that had been slicked with both your juices — and resumed your unfinished dishes, nonchalantly asking, “Did you do anything interesting today?” like nothing had happened.

Your cheeks run hot at the memory.

“You do realize Spencer will totally freak if we’re late, right?”

“Then you’d better keep working on that makeup,” he murmurs, sliding his hands lower, “and I’ll handle my own priorities.”

Aaron never bothers fully stripping down when taking advantage of this arrangement. And you know that some part of you should be frustrated at that. It should promote at least some token complaint about fairness or reciprocity or whatever.

But instead, the sight of him, belt hitting to floor with a decisive thunk, pants unfastened just enough to take what he wants, well, it melts any kind of objection from your head, leaving only knees feeling more akin to jelly.

You barely suppress a shuddering breath as his cock springs free, hot and demanding against your thigh, marking your skin with a tacky trail of precum.

You attempt to steady your hand, refocusing on your left eye, guiding the wand in patient strokes from base to tip, each swipe sculpting them into perfectly fanned-out strands.

Aaron, however, is far less concerned with patience or perfection. His fingers hook into your robe, tugging it upward to reveal your hips and ass in one movement.

Goosebumps burst along your freshly moisturized skin at the exposure, and even so, you swear the air feels about ten degrees warmer. His right palm flattens between your shoulder blades, tipping you forward, presenting your body like an inviting dessert for ravenous eyes.

He positions himself between your folds, the thick tip of his cock flirting at your entrance before gliding over your puffy clit in sluggish, repeated motions. Your lips fall open on a soft, breathy gasp, eyes blinking dazedly around the blackened spoolie.

A very distant (and honestly not very reliable) part of your brain registers mild surprise at how soaked you’ve gotten. Which is stupid because you should really should expect it by now.

Being with Aaron has transformed you into a creature constantly on the edge, trembling in anticipation, your senses warped in a constant, intoxicating fog of lust.

Living together had only exacerbated that lust a thousandfold. You were constantly surrounded by his addictive pheromones, wrapped nightly in sheets saturated with his heat, body trained to climb him on any remotely available surface — the couch, the corner of his desk, the shower, the bed (obviously), and even once, tipsily, sprawled across the living room floor after a bottle of wine dissolved all remaining inhibitions.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers, dragging his head at your now sopping opening. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your pretty face before dinner.”

“Awh, baby, you know I look even better when I’m —” The retort snaps into a choked-off whine as he pushes into your cunt with one fluid thrust. 

Your wrist spasms without permission, sending the mascara wand skidding haphazardly across your eyelid and streaking your cheek in sloppy black lines. Your pelvis crashes clumsily into the countertop’s hard edge, a sharp little reminder that maybe multitasking is apparently not your strong suit.

Aaron’s fingers card through your hair, sweeping it aside to bare your neck and shoulders. His other hand slowly peels your robe downward, exposing inch after inch of bare skin to his warm mouth.

Tender kisses rain softly down your spine as he draws his hips back, leaving you momentarily empty, only to surge forward again, ripping a sweetly startled whimper from your lips. 

The spoolie clatters into the sink, splattering the porcelain in the process.

“Guess it’s a good thing I don’t mind explaining to Spencer exactly why we’re late.”

He wouldn’t dare, of course he wouldn’t, but your body still preens at the implication, cunt tightening greedily around him as though daring him to prove you wrong.

Because, lately, Aaron has grown noticeably more brazen, perhaps due to the ease and intimacy building in your relationship, or maybe he’s finally giving into your bad (amazing, really) influence.

You’ve noticed it in tiny habits, like when he purposely rolls his sleeves up, putting those mouthwatering forearms on display after overhearing you confess just how much they distract you. Or how he picks ties that perfectly match his suits in ways you’ve gushed about, enjoying the obvious ways your eyes get stuck lingering in team meetings.

He’s even developed a charming habit of pointedly mentioning how wonderfully rested he feels each morning, making clear eye contact when Rossi wonders aloud why he looks so content.

He drives into you again, deeper, sending your nails clawing over the marble, arching yourself forward chasing every ounce of friction you can get.

But Aaron’s hand snakes around your waist, palm splayed across your stomach, guiding you upright until you’re pressed flush against him, the new angle forcing pleasure to surge hot and fast through every nerve ending.

His voice rumbles in your ear, “Keep working on your makeup, sweetheart. Or I’ll have to stop, and neither of us wants that.”

“Aaron,” you whine, drawing out his name in the most petulant, bratty tone you can muster, “I can’t.”

Instantly, he stills, cock fully seated inside you. You try to buck backward, trying to force your hips back against him, but his fingers clamp down around your waist, gripping with the kind of force that leaves marks you’ll admire later (like really cute, private trophies).

His free hand slips lower, fingertips pinching your clit.

You cry out, writhing against him. “Okay, okay, I’ll behave, just, please.”

Your hand fumbles along the vanity, nails knocking loudly into bottles and compacts until, finally, you find your lipliner. 

Aaron rewards your compliance by ramming back into you, obliterating any remaining hand-eye coordination. Your fingers wobble uncontrollably, resulting in an uneven, messy trail of color from your cupid’s bow to who-knows-where.

“That’s more like it. Look at you,” Aaron taunts, “Mouth open, looking so damn pretty.” His thumb lethargically grazes your overly-sensitive nub, causing your lips to part further, deepening your pout. He chuckles softly, clearly amused and more than a little cocky as he studies your reflection, eyes darkening. “Yeah, exactly like that, sweet girl.”

Aaron accelerates his motions, hips snapping roughly, hard enough to send you bouncing onto your tiptoes. Honestly, if his dick was any bigger, you’d need heels just to reach the floor.

Your robe begins to fall away from your shoulder, silky fabric separating to expose the swell of your breast, instantly capturing Aaron’s full gaze, pupils blown wide.

His hand deserts your waist, reaching up to cup your tit, thumb rolling over your nip, coaxing it into a tight little peak. You moan helplessly, eyes mascara-blurred as you attempt to keep your lip color within the lines of increasingly messy lips.

“Having trouble concentrating?” Aaron asks mildly, sounding completely unaffected for someone who’s currently buried eight inches deep inside you.

“I’m — I’m trying.”

He responds by squeezing your nipple a little harder. “So I noticed.”

You squirm wildly beneath him, his chest pressed down against your back, each thrust hitting a spot that makes your brain fizz into pink bubbles. 

Your thoughts spin in a dizzy disaster — Oh my god, Aaron, I can’t, wait, no, I definitely can, please keep going, love you, love you, love you, until half-formed thoughts turn into breathless declarations from your lips about how perfect he is, how you’d marry him tomorrow (white dress, cake and vows) if he’d just keep doing exactly this.

His control frays simultaneously, composed grunts fading into needy, unfiltered whispers against your flushed skin.

His words tumble out just as desperate as your own ramblings — how beautiful you are, how he’d buy you anything, give you anything — a ring, maybe even a baby, anything that would bind you to him forever.

The words send you careening into ecstasy, orgasm igniting within you in bright, syrupy bursts more saccharin than you thought possible. Those perfect promises twist around your core like velvet ropes, pulling tighter with every dreamy picture they paint (domestic bliss, pretty nurseries, endless forevers) until you’re seeing stars and giggling between gasping moans.

Your spine bows as you pulse around him, waves of pleasure radiating outward, turning you both into a trembling mess of sweaty, feverish harmony. 

You feel Aaron spill inside you, and for one fleeting, impulsive second, you catch yourself wishing your birth control would magically fail, just this once.

He slowly eases out of you, legs immediately trembling in complaint, his cum trickling down your inner thighs. You slump against the counter, breath uneven, as Aaron grabs a washcloth to dampen it.

The mirror does not go easy on you. Mascara in streaks across your eyelids and cheeks, lipstick color smeared, well, everywhere. You shoot him a half-hearted glare. He has the audacity to return a proud smirk.

“What?” he shrugs, biting back a laugh. “I think it’s a good look on you.”

You wiggle impatiently, trying to escape Aaron’s hold, your overstimulated body shivering and twitching at every careful wipe of the cloth. 

You glance at the clock. “Spencer is so going to hate us forever.”

 “The reservations got pushed back.” He tightens his grip, one strong arm cinching around your waist. “Spencer texted, they’re running late, something about forgetting stuff at home.”

You spin quickly in his arms. “That is literally the first thing you should’ve told me!”

“And miss watching you get flustered? Not a chance.”

You stick your tongue out defiantly, because that’s obviously the mature, adult way to handle your boyfriend teasing you.

The reward, though, is immediate — a soft, genuine laugh bubbles from Aaron, warming every little corner of your heart and fluttering down to your toes. 

He reaches past you, plucking a packet of makeup wipes from the counter, and his touch, as he gently presses it to your cheekbone, is stupidly gentle, dabbing at your face in a lazy, affectionate path.

You melt right into his palm, almost feline in your contentment, purring with how sweet it feels to be touched like this.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” Peering up at him through your lashes, you flash a smile, “Our first kiss.”

“Funny, so was I.” Aaron’s whole face shifts, eyes crinkling at the corners, the tenderest smile spreading openly across his mouth. “You know, after you fell asleep that night, I sat awake for way too long, worrying you might wake up in the morning regretting it,” he admits softly. “I had a whole speech planned, this overly formal, completely unnecessary lecture about workplace ethics and chain of command. You would’ve rolled your eyes so hard.”

You giggle, sliding your arms snugly around his middle, tipping your head back to look up at him.

“You and your speeches,” you tease. “Lucky for you, I was already planning how to seduce you the second I woke up.”

His mouth finds the corner of yours.

“Well, you’ve always had much better instincts than me.”

You tap his chest lightly. “So, um, did you happen to mention something about giving me a baby earlier or was that just my post-orgasmic delirium talking?”

Aaron laughs. “I might have gotten carried away.”

“No baby, then? Just empty promises?”

“Who said anything about empty?” He smirks, fingertips dancing along your spine. “I just thought it’d be polite to give you my last name before we start creating miniature versions of ourselves.”

“Careful, talk like that will earn you all kinds of privileges.” You reach up, pinching his cheek.

“Good.” He grabs your wrist, kissing the inside of it. “And just so we’re clear, I plan to extensively take advantage for the next, oh, forty or fifty years.”

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[freyito]

ʙᴀʟᴅᴇʀꜝ ⨟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ

✭ pairing(s): aventurine, dr ratio, boothill, gallagher, sunday, argenti, mr. reca, sampo, jing yuan, blade, luocha, jiaoqiu, moze, dan heng, gepard, caelus, welt (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: you notice the little things they do for you/around you.

✧ a/n: a little something ive been thinkin about U_U and something to tide my followers over while i work on strawberry season! (and unfortunately fall victim to The Inspiration and The Motivation.)

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, short n sweet, old man welt. actual old man welt, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.4k

⎯ Aventurine

One of AVENTURINE’s habits at the table is holding onto your hand, or even just linking your pinkies. It’s his way of waning himself off of clutching his chips behind his back. You’re his good luck charm, of course. It’s not just at the table or machines, though. He does this at the arcade, as well. He’ll make you stand close by, even wrap your arms around his arm as he messes with the claw machine. He swears up and down that you really are his lucky charm. If you step away, he does his very best to fail miserably. Unfortunately, he’s still somehow able to get some plushies. But he won’t let that ruin the magic.

⎯ Dr. Ratio

RATIO, while he doesn’t seem the sentimental type, really likes to take some of your jewelry with him to work. He prefers necklaces most of all, something easy to tuck in if students dare to ask about it. He loves to keep some part of you close, especially when he’s away. He won’t outright say why he likes it, but it’s something along the lines of keeping you very close to his heart. He asks politely, although a little sheepishly. He’ll lie for his pride, saying it’s simply something nice to hold on to. It’s odd, really, he’s not so shy with his declarations of love, but something so little has him pretending that he’s too shy to say it.

⎯ Boothill

There’s a lot BOOTHILL does. Too many to count. One thing he really seems to enjoy is triggering his censor on purpose. Before he had gotten serious about making you his partner, he’d get annoyed when you’d snicker and chuckle at his censor. He’d pitch a fit, huff and puff and curse you out even more. But it’s that same snicker that made him fall in love; at least, that’s what he believes. He was head over heels the minute he met you. But that's besides the point. After all he’s seen, the blood on his hands, and much more, he’s realized he’d do anything for that laugh. So he “swears” as much as he can around you, his Synthesia Beacon somehow slipping in new words. Where the hell did ‘banana’ come from…?

⎯ Gallagher

One of GALLAGHER’s favorite things to do when he gets home is cuddle. He’s busy as is, and some time to decompress with his lover always sounds like heaven. Oftentimes, he’ll drag you to the bed or the couch, even when you’re in the middle of something. He loves to bury his face into your shoulder. And moreso, he loves the way you giggle when his stubble tickles your neck. When you squirm and try to break free, he only tightens his hold, pulling you up against his chest as you laugh and swat at him, telling him to stop. He doesn’t. He’ll poke at your sides and squeeze at your hips as well, anything to keep you laughing.

⎯ Sunday

SUNDAY is so sickeningly sweet when it comes to you. His affections aren’t subtle, bringing you a bouquet of flowers when you’re at work, taking you out on fancy dates, and so much more. He is a textbook romantic. No act of love is little from him, he makes sure not to skip out. He wants you to know just how much he loves you, grand gesture or not. However, one thing you have noticed is the way his wings flutter just a little when he sees you, or hears you. A light blush always dusts his cheeks, followed by a smile and a tilt of his head. When you visit him while he’s working, his wings flutter just a little bit longer. You aren’t sure if he is aware of this, but you don’t want him to stop, so you decide to keep it a secret.

⎯ Argenti

Oh, ARGENTI, sweet Argenti. He’s so… princely, when it comes to you. Such a gentleman, really. He follows the sidewalk rule almost religiously, places his hand on the small of your back when the two of you are walking, grabs your hand so tenderly and kneels in front of you to kiss it, everything and anything that can come out of a fairy tale. One of his favorite things to do, however, is letting you do his hair. While he quite likes letting his long hair down, he loves nothing more than your hands running through it. He allows everything short of cutting it. In fact, he loves it so much, he practically runs to you before he trains, so you can put his hair up in a ponytail. If you want to braid it, however, he won’t mind. As long as you don’t yank his hair.

⎯ Mr. Reca

MR. RECA is all for the theatrics, on and off the set. Sometimes, it feels like he can’t turn off his whole director persona, even with you. Not that you mind. While he’s packed full of movie and media references, some that barely make him sound coherent, there are moments where he’s a completely Normal Guy with you. Sometimes it makes you think he’s lost his mind. However, one of your favorite things that prove he wasn’t abducted is when he acts like your life is a movie. He’ll bring his hands up and frame your face with his fingers, ramble on about how the main actor is just ‘too perfect for this role’, and how you're ‘born for the screen, born for my heart!’. He’ll add some sort of dramatic flare, clutching his chest or pretending he’ll pass out. While Memokeeper’s are quite odd, you don’t think you’d give up this one for the world.

⎯Sampo Koski

Whatever you need, SAMPO has. He even established this before the start of the relationship. He’s like… a penguin. While him showering you in luxurious gifts is not uncommon, it’s truly the smaller ones that count. Random trinkets he found somewhere, most were a little dusty and dirty, but ones that had provoked the thought of you, making them so meaningful. He presents all sorts of things to you, really. Rings he just ‘happened’ to find, necklaces and bracelets too, gears that were in such very oddly pristine condition, and his favorite: shells and rocks. He really does live up to the actions of a penguin, finding the prettiest rocks he can to give to his lover. Perhaps he is proposing…? It’s hard to say.

⎯ Jing Yuan

As the Divine Foresight, JING YUAN doesn’t get as much time as he’d like to enjoy the little things with you. A stroll once in a while is nice, or perhaps sitting down for at least ten minutes and chatting will do. He’s a simple man, and seeing your face for a fraction of a second is enough to tide him over for the next month. At least, that’s what he says. When he does get to spend time with you, he has a habit of bumping into you ‘accidentally’. He leans in close whenever you’re inspecting the fruit at the market, tends to bump into the two of you when you’re just walking, and actually prefers sitting on the same side of the table most of the time. All to enjoy those brief moments of contact. You’ve told him countless times that he could just ask to hold your hand, and he does, but somehow he always finds a way to come impossibly closer…

⎯ Blade

There’s not much BLADE does that isn’t small. He’s not necessarily vocal about his love for you (however he does love you, very much), nor is he good at expressing it. You’ve learned to translate the little things into big things, even something as simple as an ‘i thought of you’ when he comes back from a mission is a big deal. There’s one thing you’ve noticed that you’ve gotten to hold over the other Stellaron Hunters, though. He hates shopping, unless it’s with you. With Kafka and Firefly, he groans and acts uninterested most of the time, but with you, he’s quiet. Perfectly content to hold your bags, no matter how much things you have bought. No complaining, not even a grimace. Don’t point it out though. He’ll start pitching a fit if you so much as suggest that he loves you. (He does. But it’s hard to say or express for a man like him.)

⎯ Luocha

LUOCHA’s good with physical contact. With his profession and secrecy, sometimes it’s hard for you to remember that. He’s often gone for so long, doing Aeons knows what, that you tend to miss him, and especially his physical affections. Somehow, he’s also terrifyingly good at coming back just when you start to miss him too much. By then, you are craving a warm hug from him by the very least. But he always does more. He treats you, a nice date, either a day out or a day inside, before he’s off again. Somehow, his hands always find your hair, playing with it absentmindedly. You could be on the verge of sleep, and here he is, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers idly. Running his fingers through it, scratching your scalp, the list goes on. You start to wonder if it’s you he missed, or your hair.

⎯ Jiaoqiu

Now, JIAOQIU doesn’t like feeling helpless. Just because he’s blind doesn’t mean anything, he’s still a great healer, and an even better cook. Before he lost his sight, he’d cook terrifyingly grand meals for you, practically a whole feast for twelve. And if you can’t handle spice? You’re the only one he would turn down the heat for. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t let you off the hook. No, he chose to build your spice tolerance, instead. Adding more and more to each meal, even if you struggled with it. Now, without his sight, he’s only a little more hesitant to cook. He’s gotten all sorts of aids that help, of course. But knives are still knives, and he can be as careful as he wants, but they’ve somehow made him just a little antsy. So, he likes to guide you through chopping vegetables and the like. It doesn’t matter if you can do it by yourself, he likes to stand behind you as he ‘guides’ your wrists, smiling and snickering all the while.

⎯ Moze

It comes to no surprise that what MOZE enjoys best is cleaning. With you, he’s amped it up a little. When he can, he likes to do all the chores he possibly can before you get home. It’s something you’re used to, but even if you tell him you’d like to have a few to do, he acts like he takes it to mind. Really, he’s just telling himself he’ll have to do more. Days off aren’t exactly existent for him, but if he’s not keeping his hands busy, he gets anxious. So he’s resorted to making your life easier, sweeping the house, cleaning the dishes, doing laundry, and much more. You can’t argue, because who wants to do chores, anyways?

⎯ Dan Heng

While DAN HENG can be quite romantic, that doesn’t stop him from being what he is, an introvert. Some of his best days are spent holed up in his room on the Express, kicking back and ignoring what he can, unless it’s urgent. A nice quiet day and some tea are his true peace. And you, of course. He likes spending those quiet moments with you, especially when the two of you are just… doing your own thing. He could be reading, and you could be playing a game on your phone or watching something right next to him. He has no qualms if you aren’t doing something together, as long as you’re right next to him. ‘Parallel play’, he’s heard March call it. It fits, truly.

⎯ Gepard

GEPARD is truly a gentleman. He almost fits the Golden Retriever standard to a T. Kind and gentle, protective yet oh so sweet, almost knightly. While his work hours hold him hostage most of the time, he cherishes the time he gets to spend with you. Even when he’s tired and worn out, he simply can’t say no to a date. He’s the definition of royalty treatment. Holding your jacket, helping you zip up your clothes when need be, following the sidewalk rule, switching out your shoes if they’re uncomfortable, opening doors, and making sure your chair is pulled out before he sits down. No gesture of love is too small for him, or at least, he makes sure the small ones culminate into something bigger.

⎯ Caelus

To be honest, you still really can’t get CAELUS, even as his partner. He’s a bit quirky, maybe a tad too adventurous (stay out of those trash cans, you beg of him. But he does not listen), and perhaps way too into it for the bit. But that doesn’t mean you don’t love him. He’s silly and goofy and quite profound when he’s in the mood, although with his own sort of charm. Massive bouquets, massive credit bouquets, oddly cliche dates, and the like. But his most defining moments are the smaller, almost mundane ones. Sitting in the parlor car, laying on his belly and kicking his feet while you go through his nail polish collection, picking out what colors you want him to wear. He’s oddly… sparkly, grinning ear to ear as he holds his fingers out, waiting oh so patiently for you to color them. Paint his nails like one of your french girls… or something.

⎯ Welt

Unfortunately, while WELT is sweet, his habits can be a little bit annoying. For the first month or so when you started sleeping in his bed, his snoring almost drove you crazy. Perhaps you should’ve expected this for a man his age, but at the same time you can’t help but scold him in your mind. Fortunately, it is something that you get used to, and even see as white noise. You could complain all you want, and he’d apologize profusely, figure out any sort of way to at the very least quiet himself during the night, and then apologize some more. Not only does he snore, but he moves a lot in his sleep. He likes to fall asleep holding you… however throughout the night, he gets too hot, which means he pulls away, then it’s too cold, so he’s rolling back over to you, then he can’t quite find a comfortable way to sleep… it’s never ending. And charming, kind of.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server (16+) | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[luveline]

If you’re still up for requests — could you maybe do one where peter or remus comes home after a visibly bad day and the reader misinterprets his behavior and assumes he’s upset with her instead ?? like she’s walking on eggshells, silently fussing around trying to figure out what she did, meanwhile all he wants to do is hold her and decompress 🥺☹️

absolutely no pressure! <33

“Oh my god.” Peter lets out a pained groan at the door, followed by the plastic crinkle of shopping bags hitting the floor. “My back. Jesus.” 

You look up in surprise from your book at the table. “I thought we were going together?” 

“I couldn’t face coming home and going out again.” He drags the bags to the fridge and pauses. “I figured you’d be okay with not having to go?” 

“Sure,” you agree immediately. He has a black cranky fog around him, you can practically feel it as you get up to help him unpack the bags. He doesn’t seem best pleased with you.

He rubs his eyes, rubs his mouth, and turns to the sink. He runs the faucet, pulling one of the glasses back off of the draining board to fill, and wincing at the harsh sound when he turns it too fast. Peter forgets his own strength every now and then —usually when he’s not feeling well. 

Peter gives you a funny look as you step into his space. You quickly step out of it and start to load groceries into the fridge and cabinets, pleased to find he’s bought the things you would’ve gotten yourself and even some things you’d have wanted but not allowed yourself. Maybe he’s not that mad after all—

“God damn,” he says, rolling an empty bag into a ball in his hand, “I forgot the fucking laundry detergent again.” 

“That’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, you’ve asked me to get it three times this week.” 

“I was just reminding you,” you say, fingers tingling with the potential of an impending argument. “It’s fine. We haven’t run out yet, we can squeeze another wash out of it. I’ll get some tomorrow.” 

He sits down in the chair you’d been sitting in and moves your book and plate of snacks aside, neither gentle nor rough about it. “Damn,” he says again, dropping his face into his hands.

“Pete…” 

His eyes must be sore by now he’s rubbing them so much, hands held to his eyes and fingers scratching into his hair. He tips his face toward the table and lets himself sit with whatever it is that’s getting him down. Me, you think worriedly. I shouldn’t have asked him to get groceries today. You knew he had a longer shift than usual, and that he’d want to do some Spidering afterward. 

You’ve sorry on the tip of your tongue when he lays his face heavily in one hand, elbow on the table barely keeping him up, and holds the other out toward you. Rejecting him doesn’t even cross your mind. 

“Fuck, I missed you today,” he says, taking your hand as soon as you offer it and dragging you toward him. You peer down at him with wide eyes as he wraps his arm around you, his nose quick to hide in the linen of your shirt. His voice tickles, “I just wanted to be with you. I knew this would make me feel better.” 

There’s a little dry barb at the back of your throat you can’t speak past. Peter doesn’t notice, rubbing his cheek in your side as he repositions you for optimal hugging. He lets out a self-pitying whine, second arm joining the first in a lock behind your back. “You smell amazing.” 

“I do?” you ask finally. 

“I think you’re just made for me, angel,” he says, voice dragging with fatigue. “You always smell good.” 

You squint with lips pursed, blinking in confusion as you bring your hand up to his hair. “Thanks for going to the store.”

“You’re welcome. I can’t function without groceries either, anyways.” He sighs with the particular Parker brand of lovelorn contentedness, a familiar sound. He makes the same noise when you’re tucked up in bed together on the weekends with nowhere to go, or holding hands on the subway travelling home, knee to knee or intertwined. “Can’t believe how quickly you make me feel better,” he murmurs. 

“I kinda thought you were mad at me,” you confess, matching his tone.

“You have some strange wires crossed in your brain,” he says. His sympathy and affection for you is palpable; his hand tracks a soft line down the curve of your back. 

“Yeah, I know. Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask, pressing your face to the mop of his thick hair. 

He hugs you tightly. “You’re my dream girl.” 

[jinkoh]

pressure points

yunho x fem!reader

summary: your physical therapy is getting very physical

tags: physiotherapist!yunho, smut (mdni), reader is painfully horny (especially for yunho's hands), tension, kissing, teasing, fingering; feat. woosan as your bffs

wc: 3.2k

a/n: started writing this back when i went to physiotherapy--but i swear it's only partially inspired by real occurrences, my therapist was very professional

masterlist

Usually, your weekly meet ups with your best friends—or girls’ night as Wooyoung liked to call it, even when you were the only one who technically qualified—were your sanctuary, your safe space, your chance to decompress after a stressful week at work. But usually your non-existent sex life wasn’t the topic of the night, nor were you interrogated over your relationship to your new physiotherapist. You were quickly starting to regret ever mentioning him or his big hands or cheeky smile or— 

“I know I'm barely one to talk,” Wooyoung said, clearly amused over the whole situation and not at all willing to change topic, “but you’re like pathetically horny.”

“No, listen,” you started, pointing at him with the pretzel stick you’d been nibbling on. “Yunho just has—”

“Yunho?” Wooyoung snorted, “You’re on first name basis with your physiotherapist?”

“Don’t make it weird, that’s just their policy and it makes it more comfortable too.”

“Mhm, right. Except you’re maybe getting a little too comfortable.”

Before you could retort, San let himself plop onto the empty chair at your table. “What did I miss?” He asked casually while scanning the drinks menu (as if he didn’t already know his order).

“Nothing much,” Wooyoung replied, “I'm getting a promotion and y/n wants to fuck her physiotherapist.”

“Woo!”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “What, it’s true.”

“It’s not! He just—it’s not my fault that he touched my hips like that!”

“Y/n, honey, he was showing you an exercise.”

“Well, yeah, but his hands are just kinda sexy and—” you trailed off when you saw San pulling a face. “What?”

San shook his head with a sigh, “Girl, you want to fuck him so bad.”

Maybe your friends had a point, because despite your tiring work day and the way your joints were aching with exhaustion, you found yourself feeling giddy for your next appointment with Yunho. The only thing putting a damper on your mood was that after today you only had one more session left, when really you wished you could keep going forever. 

The clinic was rather quiet and the lights in the back were already off—you always had the last time slot of the day and you rarely met other patrons when you came in. Today was no different, the only people you could spot were Yunho and one of his colleagues.

“Hey,” Yunho greeted you with a soft smile, briefly looking up before focusing back on where he seemed to be typing something into the computer behind the counter, “On time as always.”

“Of course,” you replied with a smile, feeling your cheeks heat up for literally no reason at all. 

“Very commendable,” he grinned and then his eyes darted up to you once more, almost as if he was accessing you, “You can already get into room 2, I’m with you in a second,” he nodded towards a door before turning to his colleague, “Mingi, can you look this over for me?”

“Sure, no problem,” the other man replied, hovering over the screen of the computer too. Your gaze lingered on the scene a second longer, taking in how Yunho adjusted the glasses sitting on his nose, but when he looked up, meeting your gaze in a question, you quickly hurried into the room he’d pointed at. It was a smaller one than usual; the mirror, yoga mats and other equipment you were used to replaced by a massage table that you awkwardly sat down on while you waited. It only took another one or two minutes for Yunho to appear in the doorframe.

“You were looking kind of tired, so I thought it’s a good idea to do something more relaxing today,” he said as he walked in, closing the door behind him. He had your files in his hand, scribbling something down before leaving the clipboard on the little shelf in the corner, “But remember you still have to do the exercises at home though. And no slouching.”

“Aye, Sir,” you replied with a playful salute that got frozen mid-air when he met your gaze with a smile and a cheeky “Good girl.” Good. Girl. How the fuck were you supposed to survive this?

“Alright,” he continued, all professional, as if he hadn’t just hit you out of left field with his comment, “we’ll loosen up your muscles a bit, in the neck and upper back area, since that’s where you’re having the most trouble. Please lay down on your stomach with your head on this side,” he briefly tapped the head rest, “and it’d be good if you removed your top so I have access to your back—I can go out for a second if you prefer.”

You knew there were no hidden motives there, after all he was a professional and this was his job. But the thought of undressing in front of the guy you’d been having somewhat inappropriate thoughts of was still making your heart race.

“Uhm, no, it’s okay,” you stuttered, turning your upper body away from him as you slipped out of your shirt, holding the fabric close to your chest. “B—my bra too?”

“No, it’s okay, we can just—” he reached out and you felt his fingers gently brush your skin as he pushed the straps of your bra down your shoulders, “move them out of the way like this.” His touch left goosebumps in its wake and maybe it was your wishful thinking, but you thought his fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. Then he pulled away though, clearing his throat and stepping aside so you had enough space to lie down. He took a seat on a little rolling chair at the top of the table and you could see his legs through the hole of the headrest.

His hands felt warm and soft as he smoothed them over your upper back a few times before he started rubbing out the sore spots in your neck. You felt the way the tension was seeping out of you, making you feel relaxed and at ease. At least until he spoke up again with his sweet honey voice.

“It’s okay if it hurts a little, but if you’re in so much pain that you want to scream, do tell me. We don’t want that.” He let his hands move to your left shoulder blade, finding one of your pressure points, “For it to hurt that badly, I mean. I don’t mind if you scream.” He chuckled and you huffed out a laugh as well while your cheeks were heating up for nth time that day. It was a good thing he couldn’t see your face right now. “Uh, yeah, I’ll let you know," you replied but all you could think about was him making you scream. Your silly brain couldn't help but wonder if he liked a vocal partner. 

Yunho seemed blissfully unaware of your inner tumult, rubbing out the knots in your back completely unbothered. “This still okay?” He asked as he moved to another point and you felt yourself gasp a little at the initial pain. It wasn’t exactly a bad pain though. Something about the light sting was almost pleasurable.

“Still okay,” you assured and he hummed in affirmation as his fingers kept moving. He was skilled and precise in his ministrations, and you knew he had to be, with this being his literal job, but the thought that perhaps his fingers were skillful in other places too wouldn’t leave your mind for the rest of the massage. 

It was over too quickly for your liking, ended by him gently moving the straps of your bra back up your shoulders. “Alright,” he said, scooting away from the table to give you some space, “That’s it for today.”

“Thanks, I really needed that,” you mumbled as you sat up, just to immediately regret your words. You sounded like a pathetic, touch starved horndog. 

“Mhm,” he hummed and you couldn’t read his expression as he took a note in your files, “I could see that.”

“So, what if I do want to fuck him?”

Wooyoung let out a giggle, “Finally admitting to it, huh?”

“Just go for it,” San advised, “It’s gonna be your last appointment anyway.” 

That was a reminder you really didn’t want to hear, so you quickly shoved the thought aside in favor of more pressing questions.. “But what’s that supposed to mean? How would I even go for it?”

“Well, do it the way you normally would,” Wooyoung said matter of factly, “You know how to flirt, right?”

“I—I don’t. Not like that. I never really tried to get into anyone’s pants before,” you admitted.

San raised an eyebrow, “So you just had people coming at you without even trying? What a flexer.”

“Don’t tease me, Sannie, you know it’s not like that. It’s just that there’s usually dating involved. I’ve never slept with anyone I wasn’t at least casually dating.”

“Date him then,” San simply replied but Wooyoung shook his head. “Way too time consuming. She wants a quick fix, not a slow-burn romance. Take this as a learning opportunity, y/nnie.”

“Well, then teach me! What do I do?”

“Oh? Teach me?” San said with a smirk, “That’s kinda hot.”

“I gotta agree, but we’re getting off topic here.” Wooyoung fished a pretzel stick out of the glass on the table and took a bite of it before he continued, “So, the important thing is to show him you’re interested. But don’t make it romantic, you don't want a coffee invite."

"Actually I wouldn't mind a coffee—"

"Yeah, and you can have your coffee—after taking care of how fucking pent-up you are." He let the rest of his pretzel stick disappear into his mouth, still chewing as he continued, "He’s your physiotherapist, there’s gotta be plenty of chances for him to get his hands on you. Just subtly let him know you really like it.”

“Yeah,” San agreed, before coming back to his initial advice: “Just go for it.”

For your last appointment he sent you to room number 4, the one with the mirror and the yoga mats and other equipment that you knew all too well. After last week's session you found yourself filled with disappointment. For a moment you stood in the doorway, until Yunho came over, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Not going in?”

San’s words were ringing in your head: Just go for it. Wooyoung’s advice on subtlety must have gotten lost on you though, but who was Wooyoung to give that advice anyway?

“Uhm, I was thinking—you know I’m feeling kind of tired today…” You trailed off, your eyes darting over to room number 2, where the ajar door revealed the massage table.

He met your words with a chuckle. “Are you saying you want a massage for our last appointment? Did you like it that much?”

“It just seemed to really help with my sore spots…”

“Hmm,” he hummed, his arms crossed in front of his body thoughtfully, “I do think we should go through the exercises I taught you at least once—to make sure you remember them correctly and can do them at home. Don’t want you coming back here in another three weeks.”

“You don’t want me to come back?”

Yunho’s eyes widened for a moment there before he let out a chuckle, “Not if it means you’re in pain again.”

“Didn’t you say it’s okay if it hurts a little?”

He shook his head in disbelief, “I feel like I’m not getting anywhere here, so let’s make a compromise—first a quick run down of the exercises and then for the remaining time you can get on the table for me, hm?”

Get on the table for me. You tried not to think anything of the words he’d chosen, tried not to let your brain warp them until they held a different meaning altogether, but it was hopeless. The worst part was, that you couldn’t help feeling like he was doing this on purpose, reveling in the way your gaze turned feverish and your cheeks flushed red with heat.

The quick run down was almost agonizing. He did keep his promise to make it short, but every time he stepped into your personal space to fix your posture, you felt your skin tingling with anticipation and need. When you finally, finally went over to room 2, you were more than ready to skip the massage and go for other activities instead. You pulled yourself together though, and did not jump him the moment he closed the door. Instead, you took off your shirt and laid down on the table like last time. Yunho sat at the head end once more, working his magic on your neck and shoulders. When he moved his hands a little further down your back, they briefly got caught on your bra.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice calm and smooth.

You bit your lower lip. This seemed like a pretty good chance, didn’t it?

“You can take it off, if you want to. I don’t mind.”

He halted for a moment, and maybe if you could see his face you’d be able to read his expression, but with your eyes facing the floor you were stuck wondering what he was thinking.

“Are you sure?” Yunho asked after a moment and there was something in his voice that made it feel like his question wasn’t just about the massage.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It only took a second for him to unhook your bra, the fabric falling to the side of your body. His fingers seemed to trace the place where it’d sat, maybe following the light imprints it’d left behind. 

“You have pretty skin,” he said eventually, his voice just a whisper.

“Yeah?” Your heart was racing in your chest with nerves and anticipation of what could possibly happen.

“Yeah,” his index finger gently wandered over your spine, “It feels nice to touch.”

“It feels nice when you touch me, too.”

He hesitated for a moment and the brief silence was killing you. “I could do it more,” he finally said.

“I’d like that.”

“Turn around for me?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you immediately turned to lay on your back, losing your bra along the way. The moment you were facing up, he leaned down, crashing his lips into yours. The angle was kind of awkward with the way you were technically upside down from his point of view, but neither of you seemed to really care as you devoured each other in a kiss you’d been anticipating for weeks.

When he eventually pulled away, both of you breathless, there was a cheeky glint in his eyes. “Isn’t this kind of like spiderman?” he asked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I didn’t know my hot physiotherapist was a nerd.”

“So, I’m hot?”

You rolled your eyes before your hand reached out to pull him close again, “Aren’t we kinda past that?”

“Right,” he grinned into your lips, “I guess so.”

He kissed you again before he pulled away to get up from his chair, the angle too awkward to really touch, and he was dying to get his hands all over you. You sat up on the table, letting your legs dangle off one side, and he swiftly moved to stand between them, caging you in with his hands  on either side of your hips. 

“We’re the only ones here, right?” you asked, just to make sure.

“Yeah,” he pecked the corner of your mouth before kissing his way to your jaw and then down to your collar bone, “Mingi left a while ago and the cleaning staff only comes in the morning.”

“Good,” you leaned back and tilted your neck to give him more access, reveling in the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin. 

His hands moved to your body, one of them keeping you steady as the other tugged at the hem of your jeans. “Can we take this off?”

You nodded a little too quickly, your hands immediately flying to the button to help him undo it. 

“So eager,” he commented with that smug smile of his before he helped you drag the pants off your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties. He let his thumb lightly rub over the thin and embarrassingly wet fabric, smile growing wider as you let out a little whimper. “Why do I feel like you haven’t been focusing on treatment at all and were instead thinking of—” he flicked his thumb over your clothed clit, “something else?”

“I couldn’t help it,” you whimpered, “not my fault your hands are—like that.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” you whimpered once more when his long fingers started to run over your folds, pushing aside your panties to touch you directly, “sexy.”

“They are sexy? Like, when I fix your posture? Or give you a massage?,” he asked, leaving more bites and kisses on your neck, “Or when I do this?” He slipped one of his fingers into you without warning, making you gasp in surprise.

“Yeah,” you pressed out, your mind starting to lose focus as he was moving inside of you, “it’s sexy.”

“That’s good to hear,” he whispered into your skin before adding a second digit and curling them inside of you. You arched off the table at the sensation of it, your body instinctively trying to get away from the intense feeling, but his other hand on your hip kept you in place. He gradually increased his pace, his fingers mercilessly abusing the sensitive spots inside of you and you were already feeling like you were losing your mind. When he moved his thumb back to your clit, applying just the right kind of pressure, you snapped almost immediately, your high washing over you in a sudden and intense wave. Yunho wasn’t letting up quite yet though, still working his skillful hands and prolonging your orgasm until the over sensitivity made you whine. When he finally pulled away, he looked at his fingers for a moment, admiring your glistening juices on them before he licked them clean one by one.

“That was nice,” he said with a smile, as if you had just done him a service and not the other way round. Still, you agreed with a hazy nod. 

He pulled your panties back into place before leaning in for a kiss. “How about I take you out for a coffee sometime?”

“So, uh, what if I don’t want to just fuck him?”

“Weren’t we over this?” Wooyoung took a sip of his beer, before your words really registered, “Wait, are you saying you have feelings for him?!”

“I—I don’t know, he’s just—” you dropped your face onto the table with a sigh, “he’s just so charming.”

"See?" San said with a triumphant grin, "So much for a quick fix."

“Well, then I hope you at least got his number.”

Now a smile spread on your lips, too, “I even got that coffee invite.”

masterlist | pls consider reblogging if you enjoyed this~

[jjenthusee]

Handshakes And Trash Cans

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

a/n: simply, i wrote a lot and i didn’t wanna release it in parts, so i squeezed the entire fic here. I’ve been having fun writing small excerpts and then they turn into full fics. Jason deserves all the love, so i focused on a neighbors to lovers? No mention of vigilante stuff, but tons of domesticity. With some mentions of big brother Dick (i’m a firm believer that he’s the number one supporter of Jason and just wants the best for him), a bit of steaminess if u squint, and a very devoted Jason. leave me any comments if your comfortable sharing because i wanna know what u guys think XD and if you were crying screaming sliding down the wall like i was (also despite me still being in my repenting era, i wanted to release this as an early apology cause i wanna write another angsty drabble so maybe…maybe not look forward to that) ENJOY (link to the work before this one here)

word count: 7.1k

tags: pining, tons of fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, heartfelt confessions, big brother dick shenanigans

When you got your first two-bedroom apartment, you always thought the dream would only be possible with a roommate. You didn’t have much money during college and transitioning into a full-time job didn’t allow you to freely spend outside of necessities and rent.

But you did it. You got two bedrooms and you didn’t initially know what to do with the extra room. A hobby space, a library, a guest room, or an office? There were too many possibilities.

This was your space, so you combined it all. A basket to keep all of your current craft obsessions next to a bean bag, two full shelves of books from your childhood to your university years, and a desk in the corner to write. It was everything you hoped for. A spot to leave work out of, to decompress and remember the things that made you happy.

You were proud you did it on your own. You could enjoy solitude, your hard work and give time to prioritize yourself.

But an unexpected accomplishment came with an unexpected visitor. A handsome visitor no less. Maybe being an adult wasn’t so bad all the time.

…

But meeting new people was bad. Or you were bad at it.

When you were up at two in the morning, doing normal two a.m. activities like trying to turn your entire life around, you believed that dragging yourself to one of the community events at the apartment complex would help you get to know your neighbors. Then you could scope the scene to see if you wanted to hide forever or maybe have a friendly acquaintance you acknowledged in the hallway.

Now you wanted neither as you sat, alone, at a bar stool in the well decorated community balcony. Although you were distancing yourself from the main party, you couldn’t help admiring the string lights they hung up, the pristine décor, and new furniture. They clearly went through a grand renovation before you moved in.

Despite your need to socially decompress from all the small talk, you did feel mellow in the warm lighting, listening to the slow music you quietly hummed to.

The view was great from your table, you got to see from the edge of the balcony into the city view. Gotham City did have its moments and lots of outsiders tend to see all the bad that overruns it, but when the city is calm, it has its own virtue.

As you watched the sky line, a man also decided to join in, admiring the city lights. He stood farther from where you sat, leaning against the glass and steel railing. He was probably distancing himself from the party like you were. You could only see half of his face from your current angle and distance, but he was…charming. Broody and charming.

Gotham did have the best views, but staring was bad. A little bit of hope crept into your mind at the thought of a handsome neighbor living in the same apartment building.

Another pretty man joined him. Wow, you never realized that Gotham had a lot of great views. Maybe you needed to get out more, enjoy the scenery a bit.

The two beautiful men seemed to know each other. One more talkative than the other, but they seemed close. It was amusing watching the way they contrasted one another, a man clearly dragged to be here tonight and the other fueling himself with the night vibe.

As much as you wanted to continue to be nosy, maybe it was time to call it a night, it was late and you got enough of your pretty boy fill for the evening. Which would have been the plan if you didn’t make eye contact with the second model that blessed your eyes.

You nervously observed the charismatic man walking toward you with a bright friendly smile.

“Hello, I just wanted to ask if my brother—the tall very alone one standing over there—could be tall and very alone over here, in this seat.” He dragged the stool out from underneath the glass table you were resting your arms on.

You looked at the empty seat across from you, then glanced at his presumed brother you were staring at earlier. He clearly didn’t agree to this sudden turn of events as he watched the two of you talk and he looked more mortified than you were. It was…cute. It brought a smile to your face.

“Well, your tall and very alone brother looks scared of me.” You glanced back to the man still holding the chair out.

Your comment must have been hysterical at the way the man was almost leaning forward from laughing. His dimples fully visible and his hair falling forward. Everything he did looked stunning.

“I promise he’s friendlier than he looks.” He breathlessly held his stomach still amused at your first impression of his broody brother. “He’s tall, alone, and friendly if it helps.”

You thought for a moment, debating on your options: leave or sit with a handsome man in possibly awkward silence.

“I don’t mind being alone together.” You smiled more, giving into the curiosity of the man leaning against the railing.

You were a simple human and apparently the man in front of you was too when he ushered his brother over. A man much too large for the bar stool, but you got a good look at his full face.

The curls, defined dark eyebrows, a white streak. His face had definition, a particular beauty that differed from his brother. Not less beautiful, but you were more drawn to the rougher look.

You definitely made the right choice.

Before you had any time to say anything, the conspirator left to go mingle with another bunch of attendees. You watched him hop from one conversation to another, you didn’t know whether he knew them or he just met them like you had five seconds ago.

“I think social anxiety is scared of him.” You laughed in disbelief to your new companion.

“Trust me, you have no idea. I’ve seen him wear some of the most horrendous outfits in public, willingly. What’s worse is—I hate to admit it—but he can pull it off, in a horrifying way.” The stranger shook his head, no mortification in his voice, and you almost unconsciously lulled to the sound. “But he means well, uh, sorry he dragged you into whatever he’s planning. I could leave you alone, he tends to unintentionally be pushy.”

Oh? Broody, charming and thoughtful. Was the bar low or were you easily impressed? Maybe the husky voice is blurring the distinction.

“No, it’s okay, he seemed worried about both us being ‘very alone’ as he put it.” You spoke, glancing into the eyes of the man in front of you. Greenish blue. A wave of amusement washed over you and with the most serious expression you could muster, you decided to test the waters. “From one alone person to another, let’s be alone together.” You reached out your hand to introduce yourself.

He coyly smiled at your formal gesture, leaning in to mimic your movement. You were both leaning onto the glass table, close enough to see the slight scaring on his face. Faint enough to see them only if you were close enough, wanting to drag your thumb across them.

His warm hand engulfed yours. Calloused. A firm handshake.

“Jason, alone man, and been alone for twenty-one years.” Jason gave you the most breathtaking smile, never letting go of your hand. “I’m looking forward to this opportunity…alone, of course.”

You laughed, almost giggled from how charming this man was.

“It’s been twenty-three alone years and still counting.” You mischievously smirked, glad he joined in on your antics. “I’m glad to let you join the team. I expect great things from you.”

“And I hope to learn a lot from my superiors, I’ll be in your care.” Jason’s voice was so low at the end of his statement. It caught you off guard that you almost missed the way he held onto your hand just a tiny bit longer than you anticipated. So short that you felt like you imagined it.

The warmth still lingered on your hands after you let go.

You were so engrossed in Jason’s company and Jason only had the eyes to look at you, that neither of you could see the man, who schemed your interaction, was beaming from watching the connection spark.

…

That single handshake and nonchalant agreement that you shared with an unknown neighbor actually kept it’s promise. That evening, you found out that Jason lived on the same floor as you did, that his brother visited him a lot, and he took out the trash on Wednesdays.

He didn’t tell you the last one, but you found out the last bit of information by accident when you bumped into him on your way back from the trash room. You thought the evening you met Jason would be the first and last time you would see him, but your laziness prevented you from taking out the garbage on your designated day and you were graced with seeing his lopsided smile as you passed him in the hallway.

You were so giddy from the surprise and seeing Jason’s captivating smile, you tested your luck and took the trash out on the same day and time the following week.

You listened out in the hallway, trying to hear a door open, it was honestly crazy behavior, but you continued your slow pace, but with no tall alone man in sight and a defeated sigh, you walked to the trash room with no Jason by your side and swung the door open.

Like a beam of light cascading over you, the man in question was standing in front of you, opening the trash shoot. You never thought a man in a trash room would be sexy, but with his shirt tightly straining on his body, a flushed face, and his muscles eye level with you, anything was possible.

May whoever told this gorgeous man to live at this apartment complex eat delicious meals, have working phone chargers, and a lifetime of happiness.

Somewhere off in the far distance, Dick sneezed.

You almost forgot the reason you were in the trash room after you set your eyes on Jason’s post-workout state. He kept the shoot open for you and with unsteady steps you threw your trash bag to disappear to the unknown. You were trying to not trip up with Jason’s defined arm holding the handle open and the close proximity of his chest to your face.

Maybe you need to go on a run. Why were you acting like this right now?

“Hey, neighbor.” Jason casually spoke to you. His voice felt airy, probably winding down from the exercise. “You come around here often?”

You cleared your mind from any thoughts, the trash room was not the place to start flirting, but what were you supposed to do when Jason started it? Or what you assumed to be flirtatious conversation.

“Nah, I’m new to town.” You glanced over to him, leaning your neck back to grasp his full height. Jason hadn’t missed the movement, combing your collarbone with his gaze. “But, I might stay a while.” You melodically spoke.

Before your stare and voice settled in the air, you stepped to the side to add a little distance between the two of you. Pulling away from the tension.

“Just so I can continue my alone things.” You explained trying to smoothen the mood with a playful tone.

Jason stayed quiet like he was contemplating something in his mind. Then he let the trash shoot close and with small steps the both of you walked out into the hallway.

“What alone things do you have planned tomorrow?” Jason nonchalantly asked, so casually you almost thought you heard wrong.

“Uh, work in the morning, but nothing planned for the evening, I wanted to try out a new cookie recipe.”

“Do you wanna come over to my place—I wanted to cook something for dinner, but it just hasn’t worked out yet. Maybe you can bring those cookies?” Jason didn’t look at you, suddenly interested in the pure white walls of the hallway. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

You were stunned. How was such a beautiful man asking you to come over to his place with the promise of him cooking you dinner and all you had to do was bring your shitty cookies?

“I want to warn you that my cookies aren’t award worthy. I just follow the recipe, they’re nothing special.” You wanted to ensure that Jason was really inviting you over.

“Then I can’t wait to try your ‘nothing special’ cookies.” He reassured.

…

You spent the entire afternoon making sure your measurements were precise, not a lump of flour above the rim of the measuring utensils you haven’t brought out in a while. Usually you winged the ingredients, not really worried about the quality too much since it was just you.

But now you wanted to cry.

How did you properly fold ingredients, were you whisking right, maybe you should’ve got the too expensive butter from the store?

It took three full hours to prep, bake, and try your hand at cutely packaging the cookies. It took four attempts to arrange the cookies in a way that didn’t make you want to cancel the dinner.

But after a few pep talks in the mirror and reassuring yourself that this was a hang out and not a date, then you were able to walk over to his unit number.

You hesitantly knocked on the door, five minutes after seven because you would torture yourself thinking about arriving right on the dot before you fell asleep tonight and every night after.

Your worries left your mind when you saw Jason open the door in an apron.

“You’re just in time, I’m ready to plate everything.” He beamed.

Your heart might not be able to survive tonight. But it was just dinner.

You awkwardly handed Jason your tin of homemade cookies. You tried to limit your snooping around his apartment when he told you to wait for him to get the drinks, but curiosity was coursing through you once you realized that you were being invited into a part of Jason’s life and home.

You were no longer going to be strangers. You didn’t know if this qualified to make you friends, but you knew you were two people about to eat dinner together. A dinner he made and cookies you made as thanks.

Once you were ready to eat, you stared at your plate filled with spices, fresh veggies, a meticulously cooked entrée and a…homemade lemonade? You stared up at Jason, watching you look at his food.

“I feel like bringing you cookies isn’t enough.” Although you felt guilty, you took a bite because you didn’t want to look at one more second of Jason’s shining eyes.

You could only sigh, which made Jason worry.

“I think I’m going to name my children after you.”

Jason chuckled at your exaggeration.

“I’d be honored.”

The rest of the meal was relaxing. You didn’t have to force yourself around Jason. Your conversation flowed easily and you were interested in learning about the man you met on the balcony.

…

After many trips to the other side of the apartment building and a couple of deep cleanings of your apartment, you got accustomed to having Jason walk around your kitchen, rummaging the cabinets and organizing your spices the way he likes it.

One shared meal after another. Sometimes several times a week or spaced out further when work got busy. It was nice to look forward to a meal with Jason.

Now you had text messages from him on your phone, a designated mug for him, and a couple of his snacks that he wanted you to try.

You traded recipes. Jason gave you his favorites and you mainly just gave him ones you were curious about, not very fond of your kitchen.

After several failed attempts at convincing him that it was your kitchen that was the problem and not your ability to cook, he came over more to prove you wrong.

Now you sat at your kitchen island to watch him concentrate on mixing an assortment of spices and herbs while you memorized as much of his face and hands as possible. The TV was on, but you had no interest in whatever movie played.

“I have a confession to make.” You sadly looked at Jason.

He glanced over from the pan on the stove to your face. Confusion in his eyes from your sudden change in tone.

“I actually don’t really like cookies.” You threw your hands up in a guilty pose. “Now it’s eating me inside that I had to give those to you when I first came over to your place.”

Jason hummed and tilted his head with one of his eyebrows raised in a teasing manner.

“So, the guilt finally got to you, huh?” He grinned moving his attention back to the food cooking in front of him. His nonchalant voice resonating around you.

“I can’t sleep at night anymore.” You exaggerated, walking a little closer to his side. “Well, once you became my personal chef I realized I had to make it up to you.” You could smell the food better now that you were standing next to Jason.

“I can see the guilt in your eyes.” He flatly said watching you eyeing the food.

“We always eat when we hang out and I can make simple foods, but if I can follow a recipe I was going to suggest if I should cook something, but you are also here to prove me wrong that my kitchen isn’t cursed. Which it is by the way—”

“Your kitchen is not cursed.” He warmly scolded you. “I’ll come over everyday to prove it if I have to.”

You always had to reset your brain when he used that tone with you. It just felt too…sincere. Too intimate.

You wanted him to come over everyday. You took a breath.

“I make more money than when I was still in college, but I don’t think I can afford that many grocery bills.” You teased him. “Why do you think I go over to your place?”

You wanted to evade any serious topics and humor was the best at evading. You were good at avoidance.

“So, I’m a free pantry to you?” His eyebrows rose, questioning you. “I knew you were using me!” He faked a flabbergasted voice like he just heard his life-long partner declare they were cheating on him for months.

He turned off the stove, covering the pan with the lid and turning to face you.

“I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened.” You gave him your best dejected look. “I promise I’ll pick up more shifts to help restock your fridge, but let me just taste your homemade ravioli one last time.” You begged as he moved closer to you, closing you in with the kitchen island behind your back.

His height and broad shoulders easily caved you in. You gulped watching his face lean down and inch closer.

“If I can’t trust you with my fridge, you don’t deserve my ravioli.” He lowered his voice, gazing down at you with a look that made you breathless. You couldn’t move with the counter behind you and Jason hovering dangerously close to you. “But, you can make it up to me.” He brought his thumb to your chin, barely a wisp of touch.

“How?” You stammered, wondering if the bit was still going.

“Let’s go to the farmer’s market tomorrow.” His hand moved from your face to the edge of the counter, close enough to touch your side and his voice returning to normal, but he didn’t pull away.

“Okay, uh, I’m off tomorrow.” You stared, darting your eyes between Jason’s eyes. Trying to adjust to the tension that was radiating off of him.

“Good, foods ready.” Jason pulled away, moving to the cabinet to grab your glass plates. He was too familiar with the layout of your kitchen.

That night you quickly learned how easy Jason was able to turn the tables. Your racing heart and shallow breathing were the only evidence of it ever happening.

…

The heat beat down on you. Of all days for Gotham to finally clear it’s clouds, it chose today.

Although you weren’t fond of the warm air, you liked watching all the colorful tents, the food on display, and seeing the various local products. Everything looked intricately cared for and it brought a proud feeling to contribute to the locals.

“Bags?” Jason asked, going through his mental checklist.

“Check.” You raised the reusable grocery bags in your hands.

“Hats?”

“Check.” You nudged the baseball cap on your head.

“Money?” Jason smirked.

You grabbed onto Jason’s bicep. Giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Check.” You grinned up at Jason looking at the placement of your hand. “Now let’s go!” You gleefully led him to the first tent with your hand still on him.

You had no idea how you ended up carrying all the bags, but you were trying to ease your mind that this could be considered a date. Jason didn’t call it that and you never asked to clarify, but you couldn’t help it itching at your brain.

You didn’t want to label anything, out of respect for Jason and what he wanted, but you noticed he had started to touch you more and the contact makes you giddy that you had to put all of your focus on making sure you don’t drop his produce.

You stood by Jason, looking at various jars of loose leaf tea. He was smelling all the aromas, helping to move the jars to your nose, so you could smell them too. He insisted on helping you since you refused to give him a bag, but you also didn’t have a free hand to grab the jar.

After a couple more sniff tests, he settled on a jar of prickly pear tea, a lemon-ginger flavor, and he was contemplating on some earl grey cookies. You were watching him, entranced by his concentration. His brows lowered, a small line appearing between his brows. You could see more of his face with a cap on, no messy curls on his forehead and his side profile was really something.

You broke out of your trance when he offered you a piece of the earl-grey cookie, holding it in front of your mouth.

“They’re free samples, try it.” He looked at you, waiting patiently. “I know you don’t like cookies, but these are made with the tea sold here. I saw all the tea you keep in your pantry, so I think you would like it.”

In your lost state at this man in front of you, that could’ve sounded like a proposal to you at that point.

You inched forward, opening your mouth for the cookie. You hesitated at the intimacy, but how could you tell that face ‘no.’ Staring at the small piece of cookie, baked a quarter of the original size they sold, you also saw all the scars that littered Jason’s hands. Many healed over, but you could see the faded lines.

You dangerously wanted to kiss each one.

You grabbed the piece in your mouth, but you didn’t realize that you accidentally touched Jason’s finger with your lip.

You quickly glanced at Jason, but his eyes were glossed over. His attention focused on your mouth.

What a sight.

You chewed and hummed. They were good. Jason cleared his throat at your approval.

“I’ll get a bag and the tea. I’ll be back. You can put the bags down for a bit because there’s a small line.” He quickly turned around, a small tinge of redness left on his ears with his head turned away from you.

You watched his back walk away, then settled the bags down to give your arms a break.

“Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you that you two are adorable.” A honeyed voice spoke trying to grab your attention.

Your head whipped back to the table of teas. An older lady restocking the various collection had a mischievous look in her eye. You hadn’t noticed her there at all.

“The way your boyfriend looks at you, I haven’t seen a look like that since my husband passed many years ago.” The lady gushed.

“Wha, no, I—“ You stammered, trying to clear up the confusion, but your flustered face must’ve amused the woman.

“That made my day, so I wanted to give you this lemon bar we just started selling. Go on, take it and share it with him.” She pressured you to take the free treat. You were too speechless to try to refuse it and insist that you pay before she placed it in your hand herself and she walked off to help another customer wanting a sample.

Your face felt hot and you hoped it cleared before Jason came back, but before you could fan the redness away he appeared next to you with his purchase.

“Hey, you okay? Where’d you get that lemon—”

“Let’s get some lunch!” You grabbed the bags and nudged him to the food trucks lining the edge of the market, trying to hide your face with your hat and leaving the comments from the woman behind.

…

“Wow, this might be the best empanada I’ve ever had.” You chomped at your lunch.

Jason found a waffle place and settled on a berry topping. It was wrapped perfectly to fit in his hands.

You sat across from Jason at an outdoor table with an umbrella to shield you from the sun, sitting away from the rush of people lining up to also eat. The midday lunch rush got to you and you wanted to have a bit of privacy before you went back home.

“How long have you known about this place?” You asked Jason, a slight breeze grazing your face. Watching a kid nudging his dad for a piece of banana bread he found on one of the vendor’s tables.

“Last year? It was recent, but I’ve heard it’s been around for a while. Maybe over five years?” Jason took a bite of his waffle.

“I wish I had found this during my university years. This is a bit out of the way of my walk route, but it would’ve been awesome to browse with my friend.” You saw the boy you were watching earlier smiling wide as he held his dad’s hand and the banana loaf as big as his head. You smiled at the interaction.

“But I probably would’ve sent my friend into shock.” You continued, the boy and his dad disappearing into the crowd. “I wasn’t very social during my university years.” You glanced at Jason, his waffle gone and he was neatly folding the wrapper.

“My friend would joke that I would only meet someone if they magically met me at home. Like that was the only way I could score a date.” You pitifully joked at the old memory. “Sounds absurd doesn’t it, but she wasn’t wrong—“

You saw a shift in Jason’s eyes. He had an oddly serious look, it stopped you from talking and you sat up straighter, wondering what he was thinking about.

You waited, watching him internally fight with whatever he wanted to say.

“That’s not true.” He hesitated. “You’re funny, you’re able to connect with others, you’re a great listener, and you’re honest. You don’t have the heart to be mean to others and your facial expressions are adorable.” His voice rose the longer he defended you. His serious expression further amplified with his furrowed eyebrows. A part of his face obscured by his cap, but you felt the raw emotion emanating from him.

“Anyone would be enamored with you, even if they met you in the hallway or walking down the street.” He puffed, crushing the waffle paper on the table.

You were surprised, glancing over at Jason, watching him get this frustrated. You realized you’ve never seen him this…emotional and he refused to look at you.

The sudden development and his clear thoughts about you stunned you. You joked with Jason how alone you both were, it even brought you together thanks to his brother, but you didn’t really know how alone he truly was. You don’t think he really understood how lonely you were too.

You enjoyed your shared meals, you craved his time and attention.

You got so used to his presence that the days you didn’t see him, you felt like you were dreaming. Waiting to wake up when you heard that familiar knock on your door.

Your heart raced and you hoped he cherished your time together like you did.

You didn’t want to assume his witty personality as being flirtatious, you didn’t want to misunderstand any of his intentions because he was funny, charming, and awkward in ways that you just wanted to grab his face and protect him.

You didn’t particularly need Jason as your person, that felt too selfish, but you also wanted to be somebody to him. Either next to him or from a distance.

A friend, a companion, a lover. The label didn’t really matter to you because you were open to any role. A lover wasn’t more significant than a friend would be. They both had the same foundation, to care for someone unconditionally.

You convinced yourself that you were happy alone, but not until recently you realized you weren’t living. You were asleep in the routine of life.

And when Jason entered your life, you felt like you woke up for the first time.

Like he was the only one who could wake you up.

All you knew was that you wanted to be there. Through his pain, his suffering, his happiest moments, his accomplishments, his anger. To be his person.

To also help him wake up.

Your silent contemplation made Jason panic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get worked up—“

“I think apartment community events count.” You softly whispered, indecisive of whether you wanted him to hear you or not.

“What—“

“And secret meetings in the trash room too.” Your voice meek.

You were shaking, too tense to look at his reaction to your words.

“Despite what she told me, I still managed to meet you. And I was able to have some of the best meals. I’ve never laughed as hard as I have when we joked. I’m able to try new things.” You raised your head, overwhelmed by your feelings, but you hoped to convey yourself properly to Jason. “I’ve never felt so comfortable and safe with anyone else.”

Jason looked at you wide eyed and speechless, his mouth slightly agape. You took the disbelief as a sign to continue.

“I’m able to be all those things that you said because I’m with you.” Your voice filled with more resolve the more concrete your feelings felt, the more sure you became. You squeezed your eyebrows together, complete sincerity in your gaze, your heart filled with so much emotion.

But your eyebrows relaxed once you saw Jason’s face turn red. His ears a crimson shade. Before you could engrave it in your memory, he tilted his head down, covering his face with the front of his baseball cap.

“Wait, wait, wait—I didn’t expect this.” Jason rubbed a hand down his face, but the redness contrasted the skin of his hand. “You were so shy every time I tried to push the boundaries between us, but now your directly confessing everything at once.”

He stopped rubbing his face and rested his hand on the table. Meeting your gaze, a tint of red still on his skin but not as deep as before.

“I’ve been trying to get closer to you. I’ve been hoping to run into you since we first talked on the balcony. When we met in the trash room, I purposely tried to meet you again. I’ve looked forward to every meal I’ve cooked for you and although I haven’t been clear about my feelings, I didn’t want to pressure or rush you.” Jason took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

When they opened again, his eyes were completely focused on you.

“I want us to be more than friends…I want to be able to come over when I miss you, fold laundry together, buy you things when they remind me of you, I want you to call me when you need car maintenance.” He kept his eyes trained on you, but his voice faltered. “I want to hold your hand and to kiss you. I want us to go on dates.”

You raised your hand to the table, placing your hand over Jason’s, but he quickly flipped your hands so he was holding yours a little more firmly.

“I want to know if you snore while you sleep, to have your things at my place, so I see you in every inch of my life. I want you to know how much I’ve fallen for you.”

“I want that too.” Your voice trembled. “I’ve been wanting to hold your hand while we walked today and I want you to come over more often.” You choked as Jason leaned in to caress your face with his hand. A sickening sweet touch that you never knew you would get to feel. You cupped your hand over his.

“I’m so happy. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.” Jason whispered to you, his voice so honey sweet.

You looked up to him. A gentle gaze reflecting back.

“I probably look like a mess right now.” You shakily laughed.

“Of course not, you’re breathtaking, sweetheart.” Jason rubbed a thumb on your cheek, completely enamored by you.

“As much as I would love to hear you continue, I’m worried about the stuff you bought and this heat.” You tried to focus, but the smooth touch of Jason was difficult to ignore.

“Yeah, we probably need to make our way back.”

Despite his words, he didn’t move. He lingered on your face a while longer before he looked at all the bags he accumulated this morning.

“Will you let me help you carry some of the bags?” He asked. “I also want to hold your hand on the way back.”

You beamed at him. Reaching for his hand as you stood up.

…

Your walk back was refreshing.

You were exhausted from the intense flux of emotions you released, but Jason’s grip on your hand stabilized you.

You couldn’t stop smiling, the heat no longer bothering you. You swung your interlaced hands to the motion of your steps and Jason let you do what you wanted as long as you still held on.

When you got to the entrance of your apartment building, you were graced with the AC hitting you. Your hair would definitely be messed up from the sweat and your cap.

You waited in front of the elevator doors as it descended from the last person that used it. The lobby was empty, except from the usual leasing office workers inhabiting the space, but it was just you and Jason off to the side.

As you glanced around, making sure the employees were occupied, you used your grip on Jason’s hand to pull him down enough for you to kiss his cheek. A little awkward with your cap in the way, but you were able to surprise Jason.

He stayed hunched forward, shifting his face to look at you closely and digest what you did.

Ding. The elevator doors opened and you pulled Jason in the elevator.

You felt accomplished as you pushed the button to your floor. When you moved back to Jason’s side, you looked up to him, but he grabbed your face.

His hand pushed your cap up, so he could lean in and kiss you. His hat also moving up at the angle he was in.

You closed your eyes, disoriented at the feeling and because Jason completely blocked your view of the elevator, so you only heard the doors close.

Lost in the feeling and the movement of his lips, you dropped the bags in your hand to grab at Jason’s sleeve, wanting to grasp at something.

You’ve never felt so desperate to get Jason even closer and he must have understood or he craved it more because he pushed you back against the elevator wall. You felt the cold metal against your back and you gasped.

Jason devoured the sound, motivating him to hold your waist, but it wasn’t enough for him. He crouched a little lower to grasp you behind your legs to lift you fully off the ground, inching your body up, higher and more level with his face.

The angle changed and you easily wrapped your arms around his neck while simultaneously wrapping your legs around his waist. The moment intensifying as you pulled at his hair below his hat and you swallowed the low groan that left his mouth. You were drawn to the deep sound and the feeling of the hum you felt on your mouth.

You were practically flush against his body and you were down to your last few breaths, but you didn’t want to pull your face away from Jason.

You nipped at his lower lip and he lifted his hands to cup the sides of your face, digging his fingers into your sweaty hair and rubbing the back of your ears. You opened your mouth wanting to feel more of him when you heard someone loudly clear their throat.

You pulled away, shoving Jason by his shoulders as he whipped his head to see where the voice came from. You fell to your feet trying to lean against the wall with the sudden motion, hair a mess with your cap lopsided as you looked past Jason to see Dick standing there with a hand on his waist and the other holding the elevator door open. He didn’t look at the two of you directly, more like a lost look to the side.

You breathlessly adjusted your cap as you frantically smoothed out your shirt.

Jason pulled his cap down as he sighed then redirected his attention to you, gently reaching out to you to smooth out some of your hair and help you stand up straighter. Then he grabbed the bags you both dropped on the floor as he turned around to face his brother.

“I didn’t know you were coming over. You should’ve texted.” Jason walked past his brother, annoyance laced in his voice.

“I did.” Dick replied. He looked at you then followed after Jason. “But it seems you were a little occupied.” Amusement coating his voice and visible in the way he walked.

“I see you’re getting to know your neighbors very well.” Dick teased, a giant grin on his face. “I’m glad.”

What a way to meet Jason’s brother again after all this time. You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you away from the lack of awareness you had to make out with Jason in public.

You couldn’t decide if it was worse that a stranger could’ve saw you or that Dick was the one who did.

“Yeah, yeah, come inside.” Jason unlocked the door to his apartment. You nervously followed after the two.

“No seriously, I’m glad you two continued to see each other.” A genuine comment from Dick. “I’ve never seen you so comfortable with someone, Jaybird.”

A small hum from Jason as he set the bags down onto the counter.

With no indication that he wanted to speak further, you decided to talk.

“I’m sorry we’re meeting again like this. I promise I’m usually a better influence.” Hopefully your lighthearted tone would give off a better impression than the one on the elevator.

“Ha! I know you are because,” Dick moved in closer, lowering his voice. “This is the most behaved I’ve seen Jason in months.”

“Alright, enough, dickwa—Dick,” Jason cleared his throat. “But we just got back and I want to shower. It was too damn hot today.”

“Oh, I bet it was—“

“Thank you! Never come by again. See you. Good Night.” Jason raised his voice, shoving his brother out the door.

“No, please, I swear I’m done!” Dick pleaded as he was trying to hang onto the door frame, but Jason closed the door before he could start to beg.

“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” You questioned Jason.

He didn’t bother to answer your question as he closed the space between you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder and letting his hands intertwine around your waist, falling onto your lower back.

Jason signed into your shirt. The feeling slightly tickling you.

“I wasn’t done earlier.” He whispered against you. “Then that dickhead had to interrupt.”

You laughed, loving the pouty sound of his voice.

You embraced him back, leaning your head against his.

“I think the elevator interrupted you.” You rubbed his back in soothing circles.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting a silence fall in Jason’s apartment before your curiosity got to you.

“Jaybird?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“It’s cute.”

“Enough about him, we need to put away all the stuff we bought.” Jason lifted his head to sullenly look at the numerous bags.

“That reminds me.” You let go of him to dig around the bags, trying to find your earlier gift. “I was told to share this with you by an older woman who thought my boyfriend was adorable.”

Jason shifted behind you. Closing his hands on the edges of the counter, both of his arms on your sides. Once you found the lemon bar, you turned your body, careful to lean against the counter with Jason’s body still in front of you, around you practically.

“It’s a new product. She said I could have it for making her day, but I have to thank you because we wouldn’t have gotten it without you.”

You opened the wrapper, breaking a piece off to feed to Jason.

“How does it taste?”

Jason lingered. You anticipated what he thought, but he leaned forward to kiss you. You held onto the lemon bar, but lowered it the more heated your kiss became. The tangy taste invading your mouth.

“Amazing.”

[garbinge]

HARMONY AFTER THE STORM

Tyler Owens x F!Reader // Word Count: 2.7k Summary: After a long day, you wind down back at the motel and share a sweet moment at the parking lot bonfire with Tyler Owens. Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Fluff. Established relationship. Light angst (based on details of the heaviness of storm chasing). No use of y/n. A/N: Trying out somethin a liiiil new layout wise for my fics! Tyler Owens brain rot is in full effect and this fluffy little number makes my heart warm.

Your phone speaker hummed as music vibrated against the bathroom sink while you washed the day off in the shower. The motel’s water pressure wasn’t the best, but you weren’t complaining, you were happy there was hot water and soap left. You were always the last of the crew to shower, while that ran the risk of running out of hot water, it also awarded you the most peaceful shower. Everyone was gone, outside gathered around bonfires, maybe fixing up equipment. Point was, it left you alone to decompress with your music and sometimes you’d sneak a shower beer in as well, you were a southern girl after all. 

After a day of chasing storms, getting dirt practically embedded into your skin, the chaos of all the voices, the engines, the winds, this was your peace, your grounding. The soft music buzzing as you swayed back and forth as the water fell down your body. Washing down the drain along with the dirty water was all your anxiety from the day. While you loved chasing tornadoes, you also fully were aware of the effect it had on your psyche. You weren’t as easy as the others in the crew. Boone loved the thrill, he was crazy in the best way possible. Lilly was a free-spirit, she would go wherever the winds blew her and thrive effortlessly. Dani and Dexter, they were too smart for their own good, every equation, every problem, they’d smile through finding the solution. And Tyler, well, he was a good combination of it all while also just plainly and simply loving it. The clouds, the storms, he found beauty in them. For him it was passion.  For you, you did enjoy it, the thrill of it all, the problem solving, the fact that it kept you on your toes moving.  And you couldn’t lie, the storms were fucking beautiful when you really looked at them. But for you the reasoning was more difficult. You wanted to help. But that came with a heavy burden, but for you helping outweighed all those bad moments. That’s how it was for everyone in the crew, you just felt like the mental images of wreckage stayed with you a little longer than everyone else. Which is why these showers were your favorite, it helped you process it all. 

“Hey baby, it’s just me!” Tyler called out as he entered the motel room. “Just lookin’ for Lilly’s drone repair case!” His eyes were looking around the room, there were tons of bags and things scattered across the floor, the beds, and anything resembling a table. His announcement out to you was just so he didn’t startle you with his presence, but he knew very well how important that end of the day shower was to you which is why he wasn’t paying much attention to the open door of the bathroom. 

Between the music on your phone and the shower you didn’t hear him come in. Just continued your swaying, letting the water bounce off your face. As the song changed, you began to mumble along, your voice echoing against the bathroom acoustics despite you only lowly singing with the speaker. 

As Tyler bent down to grab the case, his eyebrows furrowed, the left side of his lips twitched up in a smile, his mouth open as he let out a whispered chuckle. There was a lot crossing his mind at the moment. It was obvious you hadn’t heard him come in, not because you were singing but because you were singing and hadn’t acknowledged him. As he heard you mumbling the country music from damn near a decade ago he couldn’t help but grin. It was music you’d both listen to when you first started dating. The song was one he hadn’t heard in ages but when it filled his ears now, and your voice joined along with it, he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. His head turned towards the bathroom door that was wide open as he stood up straight, the drone case now in his hand resting at his side. The frosted shower curtain tried its best to censor out what was behind it, but your blurred silhouette could still be seen as you moved your hips back and forth to the beat. That grin on Tyler's grin didn’t fade, if anything it grew bigger. Dropping the case on the bed before walking over to the bathroom, he leaned his shoulder on the open door frame as his arms crossed, and his right foot crossed over the left. Seeing you like this made his heart happy, he was no stranger to the weight your storm chasing days had on you. His mind couldn’t help but jump back to those first few years of your relationship, ones that were littered with memories of late night drives, line dancing and stepping on eachother’s feet, camping out in the bed of his truck in the middle of the Arkansas farmland plains. It was crazy that all this time had passed and you hadn’t done any of the things that made you fall in love with each other for what now he realized felt like a really long time. Your lives were consumed with this and while he knew you didn’t mind, it didn’t stop his own from wandering. His head fell down with one more smile, opting to not say anything to you and ruin your post-chase ritual. Pushing off the door frame, he grabbed the case and left the motel room to rejoin the group outside. 

Your hair was still damp from the shower, but you had fresh clothes on and felt like a new person. Quickly you tossed your shoes on, grabbed your phone from the bathroom sink and made your way down the stairs to join the crew. At this point, they had all gathered around the bonfire, leaving the rest of the repairs and work for tomorrow. Guitars of some of the chasers from other groups were playing as the groups gathered with their beers and mingled. It was one of your favorite things about being on the road like this, just random people joining together all in the common interest of storms. But these moments weren't always about twisters, they were about comradery, they were about friendship, laughs. It was memories in the making.

As you reached into the cooler, you pulled out two cans of beer. The condensation and melted ice falling off them in drops as you made your way closer to the bonfire circle. While there weren't many empty seats left around the fire, you knew you always had one reserved for you. You spotted Tyler before you even trekked down the stairs of the motel, his laugh was loud and could be heard from miles away. Your eyes had found him in the crowd almost immediately so once you were on the ground level, all you needed to do was make your way over to him. 

“Hey.” It came out as a whisper in his ear while leaning over the back of the chair he was reclined slightly back on. Your hands fell down against his chest, the cold beers you got for both of you were resting against him now. He stopped talking and looked up at you, his hand instinctively reaching up your arms and guiding you to sit down in his lap which you did without hesitation.

“Hey country girl.” His left hand caught your back as you moved down onto his legs, his other hand resting over your legs that dangled off the side of him as well as the chair. 

As your face scrunched up in a humorous and unclear look, you adjusted yourself in his lap, Tyler providing you support as you did so. 

“Country girl?” You questioned him, still confused as to what he meant. You were a lot of things, nickname wise, to him. He’d come up with something for everything over the years but this was one you hadn’t heard. 

He didn’t answer you, just smiled and placed a quick kiss on your arm before taking one of the beers from your hands to crack open before continuing his conversation from before you arrived.

And if that wasn’t enough, Lilly’s voice was taking you away from even thinking about what Tyler had said. “We fixed the drone!”

Tyler's head was resting on the side of your arm, chatting with the person to his left, although to you it was behind. Your time was being occupied by leaning forward a bit to talk with Lilly who was in the seat to Tyler’s right. She was catching up on the details with Cairo, the drone that had been just as much a part of your crew as each human member. You were so invested in the conversation that you almost missed the familiar strumming in the faint distance. It took you a few seconds but your head turned and took in the guitar players nodding and tapping their feet to the song you were just singing to while you showered. 

Your lips began to curve up, you felt Tyler’s hand move up your back, rubbing it over your shirt. As you looked down at him, your smile still only slightly curved and your eyes knowingly doing all the talking for you, his own grin widened and he looked down away from your gaze with a laugh. 

“Tyler Owens, were you spying on me?” You whispered it, only wanting this to be a moment between the two of you. 

“It’s possible.” He cheesed even harder as he looked back up into your gaze again. 

With a shake of your head, you looked away so you could roll your eyes before nestling in closer to him. Your side was falling against his chest, but your head found its comfortable position rested on his shoulder as you sunk down a bit more. “You told them to play this?” 

“I did.” He said it so matter of fact while looking over at the guitar players, his hands coming around you tighter as he held you as close to him as possible. “I came in to grab somethin’ for Lilly. Called out to you and everythin’.” His shoulders moved your face up and down as he shrugged. “Just as I was about to leave I heard this song start, and some pretty little voice joinin’ along with it.” You felt yourself get a little warm as he said it, a mix of fluster and a little embarrassment. “Got me thinkin’ about when we first started hangin’ out.” 

“S’why I listen to it. It reminds me of you.” You knew Tyler felt a little warm in the cheeks too. 

Both of you closed your eyes and just let the music consume you. His head relaxing slightly on yours as you both slightly moved to the beat. You felt his lips against your temple a couple times as the song went on. Each one saying how much you meant to him. 

As the song began to wind down, Tyler hummed. “We should do some of the old stuff we used to do again.” 

You let out a slight snort, one that made Tyler laugh as well as he waited for some explanation. “Tornado wranglers by day and country line dancers by night?” 

“Was talkin’ more about the truck bed camping and late night drives.” While both of you had done the line dancing thing, it by far wasn’t your favorite event. Thinking about it, you both might have gotten more injured there than you did chasing tornadoes. 

“We could do that.” Agreeing, you still kept your eyes closed shut, enjoying the last bits of the song, reimagining the old memories you shared while now thinking of how you could make them new. “Would be a nice change of pace.” 

“I could join you next time in the shower, too. If you’re just looking for a change of pace.” His eyebrows raised as he opened his one eye to peek over at you for your reaction. 

“Could work.” A smirk played at your lips in response. It was then that you realized the song was starting over and you opened your eyes to look at Tyler as your brows grew closer together. “How many times did you ask them to play it?” You were sitting up now, trying to figure out what Tyler was up to.

His arms were still wrapped around your body despite you moving up. “Told ‘em to play until you danced with me.” 

With a similar eye roll as before, you stood up now, your hands filling the space where his just were on your hips in a slight show of attitude. Those damn blue green eyes were looking up at you with the most tender and sweet look attached to them. One that you couldn’t bear to let down so you extended your hand out for him to take it. “Let’s go, Owens.” 

His hand gripped around yours in seconds and when he stood up, he raised his arm with yours to twirl you around until you spun against his chest. Your free hand raising up to brace for impact on his pecks. “We gotta work on your balance if we’re gonna be going line dancing.” He teased you before starting to walk with you practically connected to his chest to a more open area of the lot. After a couple steps, he was turning his body away from you to lead you through the crowd, his hand still connected with yours as you trailed behind him. Once the more open area was in your midst, he turned towards you and you wrapped your arm over his own so your hand was resting on his shoulder but you were leaning more into him than a more traditional slow dance hand placement. Your other hand still hadn’t let go of his own even as the swaying began, but you did feel his other arm caress your lower back to the beat, not only in a romantic way but one that kept you both moving on rhythm. This wasn’t where you expected your night going, but you were damn enjoying it, that was for sure. 

“I know this is hard on you.” His words weren’t the ones you were expecting, so as your fingers moved from his shoulders to get tangled in his blonde hair, you frowned despite knowing exactly what he was saying and looked down to make a joke out of it.

“Pretty sure I haven’t stepped on your foot once yet.” 

“No,” he laughed before getting serious again, “I just meant, I know the chase, it can wear you down.” 

You nodded in agreement but shrugged up at him, your fingers moving from his hair to lightly trace his cheek. “Stuff like this makes it easier.” 

He dipped his head in acknowledgment of your words before letting the music take over for a bit, but you weren’t going to leave it there. You wanted him to really understand that you meant what you said. 

“You know you still keep me on my toes, Owens.” You spoke to him, still shocked by how the night had progressed. 

“Good, because I don’t need you stepping on mine.” He looked down when you accidentally misstepped causing both of you to come closer together in laughs. He drew you closer, the embrace was one that spoke so much with such a small gesture. It was reassurance, the feeling of never wanting to let you go or let go of the memories you two shared over the years either. 

And that’s when you rested your head on him, now with your bodies completely against each other, your arms wrapped around his neck, realizing this moment would be added to that list. To seal its impression you lifted your head to look up at Tyler, your eyes moving from his to his lips and then brought your interlocked fingers to the nape of his neck to bring his face closer to yours. The soft, intimate kiss was your souvenir from this moment, your way of embedding this memory right along with your other cherished ones.

Dividers by @realitycanbewhateveridesire ♥️ 🌪️ Twisters Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @cinderellasmissingshoes (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

[namgis-baby]

Only Yours

Hongjoong x f! Reader • drabble, 729 wc • 18+ MDNI!!! 

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn’t appreciate you taking videos of San’s insane body during Django. Completely inspired by this video. 

Tags: dom!hongjoong, possessive!hongjoong, choking, hair pulling, jealousy 

AN: trying to write more, even if its small and quick things :')

You didn’t even notice the disappointment in his eyes as you waved back to your boyfriend when he stared you down at the end of “Django.” You sent a quick wave over before you looked back down to your phone, rewatching the amazing fancam of Sannie that you just took. The way his tanned and oiled up arms glistened under the stage lights and the way he was able to control his body while also dancing so aggressively had you completely mesmerized. Even though he was one of your boyfriend’s best friends, you couldn’t help but be blown away. 

One of the managers tapped on your shoulder halfway through the encore, “Miss, it’s time to head back now that the concert’s almost over.” 

You nodded and grabbed your bag and lightstick, following him behind the stage and into the fluorescent lit hallway. You were about to turn and make your way to their green room, when he stopped you. “Hongjoong-ssi asked me to have you wait in the stylist’s room.” 

You gave him a quizzical look but nodded and made your way there anyway. Since it was the end of the night, the stylists had packed up all their items into suitcases and made their way back to the hotel. The room was reverted back to a normal green room, with a couch in the corner and various tables pushed against the wall. You weren’t too sure why your boyfriend wanted to meet you here instead of in the green room, but sometimes he just wanted some time to decompress after the show away from the boys. You sighed and pulled out your phone, knowing you had some time to kill before they finished the concert and said goodbye to the crowd. 

After scrolling through twitter and responding to some DM’s on Instagram, you sighed as you had really nothing else you could think of doing while waiting for your boyfriend. Scrolling through your phone, trying to find something to do, you stop when you open your Photos app and come across that fancam of San again. You truly had outdone your self - he looked so great. You couldn’t help but zoom in so you could admire those oiled up arms closer. So engrossed in memorizing every aspect of those arms that you didn’t notice you boyfriend walk in the room and shut the door. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” You jumped and threw your phone to the side as you heard him curse, “Not bad enough that you took the video - now you’re rewatching it in detail?” 

“You were so great toda-” you jumped up to squeal and hug him but was quickly stopped as his hand enveloped your throat. He stared you down and pushed you back towards the couch, pushing you to sit while he was towering over you. 

He cocked his head and looked at you with a dead serious look on his face, “I was great? Me? Did you even look at me once today?” 

“Joongie I-” You tried to speak, to make a case for yourself, but quickly shut up when his grip on your throat tightened. You knew better than to edge him on when he was in one of his moods. 

“Dumb little slut. Do we need to go over this again?” He smirked at you condescendingly, “Who is your boyfriend?”

He loosened his grip on your throat slightly, as if to signal to you that it was time to speak, “You, Joongie.” 

“Not Joongie,” his grip tightened again, “Who is your bias?” 

You gulped and squeaked out, “You, sir.” 

He nodded and smirked, bringing his other hand to run gently through your hair, a sharp contrast to his tight grip on your throat. “And who do you belong to?” 

“I belong to you, sir. I’m yours, sir.” You squealed out. 

Happy with your response, he let go of your throat and gave you a light slap on your face, “That’s right, and you better not forget it.” 

You nodded and looked up at him, feeling yourself start to absolutely gush at the way he was treating you. A moan left your lips as he grabbed your hair tightly and pushed you forward so that you were now kneeling in front the couch, face pressed against his crotch. “TIme to prove to me that you belong to me, slut.” 

[advancedchiropracticequipmentllc]

Can Ring Dinger Therapy Help Improve Posture and Alignment?

In the field of chiropractic care, innovative techniques are being developed to address various health concerns. As a result of its potential to improve posture and alignment, the “Ring Dinger®” has gained significant attention. This full-body spinal decompression adjustment was popularized by Dr. Gregory Johnson of Advanced Chiropractic Relief LLC in Houston, Texas.

[lolxdswag123]

Aftermath of a Mission

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary: y/n and Peter are used to decompressing after a mission together. This time, it isn’t so easy. What happens when they both have to figure it outout on their own?

warnings: crying, some angst, accidental pulling out of hair, slight ptsd

——————————————————————————

Exhausted. Aching. Bored. I couldn’t focus on a word that Dr. Banner was saying during our debrief. All I could do was sit back and stare at the wall until it was over.

I wasn’t even sure why I had to attend these meetings as I wasn’t technically even an Avenger. My dad insisted that I sit in because it’ll be useful to me in the future.

I tapped my foot, checking my watch, anxious to leave the conference room. I glanced across the table to my best friend, who looked just as exhausted as I felt. I definitely zoned out looking at him, because the next thing I noticed was him looking back at me with furrowed eyebrows, as if asking what’s wrong.

I let out a yawn in response, shooting a glance at the door and hoping he could read my thoughts. I just wanted to get out of there.

Missions can be fun sometimes, but the recovery is most certainly not. I’d typically spend about a day in bed before I could finally start functioning as a normal human being again. Usually that day in bed is spent with my best friend.

It started after a particularly rough mission about a year ago. Peter wasn’t even going out with us yet at that point, but he had just been sick— and we both desperately needed rest. I had gotten a minor injury to my ribs, and Peter being the sweetest best friend in the world decided to come check on me and bring me ice. He ended up falling asleep next to me for about 15 hours. My dad threw a tantrum.

Ever since then— as long as we’re sneaky enough— it has become a habit for us after we come back from missions. And maybe a few other occasions as well.

It was just easier to sleep next to someone else. Especially after the mental and emotional strain that missions bring. Being with someone who brings you comfort makes all the difference.

I swear I was already half asleep by the time the meeting finally ended, moving extra slowly as I got up and exited the room. I latched onto Peter's arm, leaning most of my body weight on him as we headed to the elevators.

Steve and Nat stayed behind, somehow still having more to discuss. They were nuts.

We entered the elevator with my dad and Thor. They each pressed their respective buttons, going to the floors of the compound that their rooms were on. I reached out as well, pressing the level 3 button for my room.

My dad stood up straight, moving in front of the elevator panel before glancing over at us and speaking, "Where you headed, Pete?"

Peter didn't have a real room at the compound yet, so he really should've been headed to the showers on level 1. Although, for the past year he has just been showering in my bathroom- not to my dad's knowledge of course.

"Uh-mm," he choked out smoothly.

I shook my head, speaking for him, "He's just going to shower in my bathroom, dad."

I could feel Peter tense against me, clearly afraid of my dad's reaction.

My father dramatically turned his head, using his palm to bang on his ear a couple times, before removing his ear piece all together and saying, "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. It sounded like you just said that Spider-boy is showering in your bathroom."

I rolled my eyes, sighing, about to speak back when Thor spoke up, "Ah, Stark, let them have their fun. On Asgard I had many women bathing in my chambers by that age." He said, patting my father on the back.

I rolled my eyes, knowing Thor's comment is no help at all.

My father shook his head, facing me and sticking a scolding finger out at me, "You are not showering with your little boyfriend under my roof. Understood?"

I blushed, hating his phrasing. The elevator stopped, and Thor stepped forward, nodding awkwardly to us before exiting.

When the doors closed again, I rolled my eyes, turning to my father again, "First of all, we're not showering together," I said, using air quotes, "And second, he isn't my boyfriend. It's just easier to have someone there after these missions, you know that better than anyone, dad."

I crossed my arms, awaiting his response.

He shook his head, "Nope. Not today, kid. Pete, I'll escort you to the first floor showers."

The elevator door dinged, and it was my turn to leave. I glanced up at Peter, hoping that he would find a way to come back to my room later. He gave me a nervous look, so I wasn't too sure he would.

I squeezed his hand, exiting the elevator without looking back, but I could hear my dad mumbling something about "no spider-babies" as I walked away.

After a much-needed, very refreshing shower, I sat on my bed in my towel, feeling the weight of the past few days lingering over me like a storm cloud, ready to let loose at any moment.

Usually after missions Peter and I would immediately come to my room, and everyone was too exhausted to even pay attention. Today however, the debrief had taken so long that there was no easy way for us to come back together.

It felt lonely. I had a heavy feeling of emptiness in my heart. I hadn’t realized how much I’d gotten used to his presence at times like these. Even with the winding down after we got back— he had always been there. We’d sit in eachother’s comfortable silence, he’d comb my hair for me, we’d patch up eachother’s wounds, and then we’d fall asleep together.

I was embarrassed by how much this was affecting me. I was a Stark, I should’ve been okay being alone. And yet, I could feel tears stinging my eyes as I sat there, trying to comb out my own hair. My hands were shaking from a mixture of fatigue and frustration, making it even more difficult to get through the knots. Peter had always been so gentle.

My comb got stuck on a particularly tough knot. I tugged, causing clump of hair to come out, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I instantly started sobbing.

I could feel my body trembling, desperately needing sleep and desperately needing company. I threw on the first clothes that I could find, knowing I looked crazy, and headed out into the hall in search of my best friend.

I cried, wiping my tears with the sleeves of my shirt, and shifted uncomfortably with the feeling of wet hair on my back. I felt overstimulated if the feeling of overstimulation was on steroids and a red bull.

I heard footsteps from the other end of the hall, and I sniffled, my voice cracking as I called out, “Peter?”

I felt pain in the side of my head, and I reached up to be reminded of the broken strands of hair that were now hanging sadly to the side. I sobbed again.

I didn’t hear a response, so I called out again, “Peter?”

Peter didn’t round the corner. Bucky did. I wiped my tears, knowing that I looked like a mess, and attempted to force a smile at him.

He frowned, running his hand through his own wet hair. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He asked gently, reaching out to me.

I immediately felt the lump in my throat grow as tears began streaming down my face again. I didn’t trust my words, so I just shook my head, looking at the ground.

“Do you want me to find Peter?” He asked gently, resting his hand on my shoulder.

I nodded, swallowing hard and trying to find my words. “Please,” I whispered.

He nodded, stepping forward to wrap me in a hug. I cried into his shoulder. It did give me a sense of comfort to be with anyone at this point. I knew I was just so over exhausted that my feelings were all messed up, but I knew I really needed Peter.

Bucky rubbed my back, trying his best to comfort me before slowly pulling away. “You gonna be okay if I go look for Peter?”

I nodded, wiping my tears again and said, “Thanks, Bucky. You’re the best.”

He smiled sadly, nodding and turned back to the elevator— hopefully in search of Peter. I didn’t care if the whole compound knew how much of a mess I was at this point if it meant he would come find me.

I walked back to my room, and the tears stopped. I felt numb, and exhausted. I left the comb on my nightstand. I couldn’t deal with that now. I turned off my lights and crawled into bed, shivering with pain— physical and emotional.

I’m not sure how long I layed there. It might’ve been five minutes, it might’ve been fifteen, but eventually I heard my door open and close quietly, and soft footsteps entered the room.

I felt the covers lift up, and the bed dipped next to me. I immediately sighed with relief, feeling his arms wrap around me. I could hear his breath shaking, and I pushed him back slightly, trying to see his face in the dark.

“What’s wrong baby?” I whispered, reaching behind me to turn on my lamp. My heart broke when I saw tears on his face, and I could see his expression drop even more when he looked into my swollen eyes.

He grabbed my hands, pulling me close and whispered, “I didn’t realize how much I’d gotten used to being with you after a mission,” he took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing, “then Bucky found me when I was talking to your dad and he told me you needed me and I kind of lost it. You know that thing that happens when my senses freak out? It was like that but ten times worse.” I nodded feeling tears start to fall again when his voice cracked, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

I shook my head, taking his face in my hands. “It’s okay, Pete, it’s okay. Are you doing okay now?”

He nodded, tucking his face into my hand. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

I nodded, laughing and lifting one of my hands off of his face to find my broken section of hair. “I accidentally took some of my hair out.”

Instead of laughing, his face dropped in concern, and he then reached his own hands out to hold my face, “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

I shook my head, finding comfort in the warmth of his hands on my face, “You’re here now, it’s okay.”

He nodded, moving close and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. I smiled, and closed my eyes at the soft gesture of affection.

When he pulled away, I opened my eyes and furrowed my eyebrows, realizing I must’ve missed something. “How’d you get my dad to let you up here?” I asked.

He sighed, “After Bucky told us how he found you, then I went into sensory overload, he kinda just sent me off.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, but didn’t respond.

“I think it hurt him,” Peter said, “hearing how upset you were.”

I nodded, yawning and moving closer to rest my head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around me. I finally felt safe again, and I felt a warm sensation in my chest.

Peter kissed the top of my head, whispering, “Get some sleep, angel.”

I nodded, hesitating for just a second. I knew what I wanted to say, we’d just never said it out loud before. I never knew if it was crossing the line past being just friends, but after today I didn’t care. I needed him to know.

“I love you, Peter.” I whispered, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too.” He answered without hesitation, hugging me back.

I smiled, sitting up to look at him, taking his face in my hands again.

“I love you,” I whispered again, seeing him smile as well.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered back, leaning into my touch.

Without thinking any more, I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. When I pulled away, he was smiling at me with such a look of adoration that I almost teared up again.

I was about to lay back on his chest and go to sleep, but he gently took my face in his hands, returning another soft kiss to my lips. When we pulled away, we both blinked hard, looking at each other with so much love.

Finally, I laid my head back on his chest and we both fell into a deep sleep. It was almost fifteen hours later that I was awaken to my dad bursting into the room, saying, “Just because I was fine with it doesn’t mean you need to sleep together for fifteen hours. Get out Spider-boy.”

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Head empty, no thoughts, just John Price and his inappropriately young pretty little plaything that he met by chance. This may become a fun little series.

(pt.2)

🔞MDNI🔞

Reader is a black girl. Price is a munch. Reader is bold and flirty. Daddy kink.

It's one of the few times that John puts his foot down and tells his team they are going to a cigar lounge instead of a pub to decompress for the weekend. He's stubborn about this because he has an underlying motive. When Soap asks him about it, he smirks and recounts the beautiful young woman he met and how Soap will be on his best behavior.

A cute American girl traveling abroad with her friends that he met in a coffee shop on the way to base one morning. She was absolutely golden, brown skin seemed to shine in the morning light, and the rather inappropriate turquiose sundress hugged every part of her deliciously. He stood behind her and her friends as they chatted about fun touristy things to get into before they figured out what salaciously fun things the nighttime brought. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her either and fuck was he staring because she definitely caught him staring.

"Are you going to stare handsome, or speak to me?" She smiled, and suddenly her friends had stopped talking, and they all looked at him. The three other girls giggling and putting space between this turquiose goddess and them.

"I couldn't help but notice how gorgeous you are." John smiled at her. "Price, John Price." He offered his hand, and when her dainty French manicured hand was in his, he brought it up to his lips and kissed it.

She introduced herself, keeping her eyes directly on his. He notices how her gaze trails over him, a slight lick of her pretty full lips, has him imagining her on her knees, his cock pressed fully to the back of her throat.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, John. I supposed you wouldn't mind showing me and my friends around. We wouldn't want to get wrapped up in any bad parts of town." Her smile is coy and radiant. She's a fucking tease.

"Ask if he has friends!" One of her friends flat out says.

She ignores them with a laugh and shake of her head. The barista calls her name, and without thinking, she takes the coffee and her receipt. Grabbing a pen, she scribbles her name and number on the back. "Here honey." She slips the paper in his hand. "Text me, and we can have fun." She drags her finger down his chest and leaves him right there. Ball planted firmly in his court.

Xoxo

You and your friends finally make it out of the Uber at the cigar lounge that John had told you about on Tuesday. You met the man on Monday, and by the time Wednesday rolled around, he had taken you to dinner. After your dinner date with him, he had you splayed out at his home, eating you pussy like his life depended on it. He then proceeded to turn you every which way but loose that night, and by the time he was done, the only name you could say was his.

Your friends teased you about your liking for older men, a group joke about daddy issues. You had always favored older and more accomplished men. Men that understood where the clit was, who enjoyed foreplay, and who could definitely sweat out your hair and properly fold you in half. So when John insisted that you and your friends come out with him and his colleagues for the evening, you had to practically demand and call in favors for the night to happen. Even going as far as saying that the next night out could be as ratchet as possible with no complaints from you.

Leading the pack into the dimly lit and surprisingly intimate lounge, your eyes scan the various booths for your vacation boyfriend. Because that's what he was all things considered. A hot, burly, sexy lay to look back fondly on when you go back to reality after vacation. You spot him and beeline it right to his table, with him are three other men, but you only have eyes for him. In what has to be the boldest move of your life, you slip right into his lap, ignoring the confused looks of the other three men. Moving the cigar between his lips out of the way, you kiss him right on the lips.

The absolute shock at the table is palpable. You faintly hear someone go, "Tha's how it is Cap?" In the world's strongest Scottish accent. One of your friends lets out a low whistle.

You pay it no mind though, as you cup his face, thumbs tracing the shape of his facial hair. He kisses you back, seemingly unaware of the audience. When you pull away, he smiles, and there are little crinkles in the corner of his eyes.

"Hello to you too, Sweetheart." His voice is low and barely sounds above a rumble. He rubs the upper part of your thigh that your mini dress barely covers. He then introduces his colleagues, who you gather are more like family with the way they rib on each other and you introduce yourself and friends. Before you know it, there's drinks on the table and and everyone is somewhat tipsy with liquid courage.

"So how old are you?" The one everyone, for some reason, refers to as Soap asks you. He's looking at you with a lopsided grin and raised eyebrow, and his gaze keeps flickering towards John. There's a secret joke between the two and it looks like Soap wants to cackle the second you say your age.

"I'm old enough to drink, let's leave it at that." You laugh.

"She's twenty-three." One of your friends barks with laughter. You simply roll your eyes and lean back against John (who insisted you stay right in his lap).

True to your suspicion, Soap cackles "A bit young fer ye Cap?" He's clearly on the other side of tipsy.

John has a blank face, "Johnny." He starts.

But you beat him to it, "So? All that matters is that he puts me to sleep, and he does a damn good job doing it. Younger boys could never." You then give John another kiss on the lips. The taste of whiskey and cigar smoke makes you groan. This time, when you pull away, you stare into his oh so blue eyes. "John, I'm tired, and I wanna leave." You whisper to him.

"Are you sure Sweetheart?"

"Yes, my friends and your friends can find their own way home."

🔞NSFW🔞

"Fuck" You moan as John throws your legs over his shoulders. He keeps his face pressed to your pussy as he once again pulls you apart. His tongue is fucning into you nice and slow. He's teasing you, or he's either really enjoying you. At this point, you can't tell. The air is humid, but the ac is keeping you cool. You wriggle and gasp each time his nose bumps up against your clit.

His grip only tightens, "Stay still baby girl, and let Daddy eat." He practically growls before shoving his tongue into you as deep as he can. He drags his tongue from out of your opening and then latches onto your clit and sucks. He keeps the suction on you as the tip of his tongue flicks across it.

Pleasure zips up your spine, and you grasp at his hair. Trying desperately to grind into his face or pull him away. He won't let you. He isn't even entertaining the idea of breathing, to focus on wringing every bit of pleasure from you. There's a knot in the pit of your stomach, and suddenly, you're screaming and seeing stars. You feel it, at first it's a trickle then it's a gush.

You actually squirted in his face. The sound of him drinking up and slurping down your juices makes you unbelievably hot. Your breathing is labored, and it's only the start of him fucking you. Slowly, he looks up and finally sits up. His face is slick and shiny in the moonlit glow of the room. Eyes blown wide with a primal lust. It frightens you with how this large and burly man went from a gentleman to a damn sex god as soon as you were in his house and naked. He prowls up your body, keeping intense eye contact with you. His hand cups the side of your face, thumb ghosting over your lips before he kisses you.

The taste of yourself on his tongue is heavy, and you like it. You lick into his mouth and suck on his tongue. The tip of his dick is pressed against you, and you're hoping and praying your IUD does its big one. He doesn't break the kiss as he feeds you inch after inch of himself into you. Breaking the kiss you lean your head back and sigh at the stretch.

"There you baby girl. Fuck this pussy is tight and warm." He grunts when he manages to slide in the way in one go. "She's taking me so well." He hikes your legs higher onto his hips and grinds into slowly.

"Pleasee, do- ah- don't tease me," you whine as his happy trail rubs gently against your clit.

John leans up after he sucks a hickey into the side of your neck and pulls out slightly. Your legs are repositioned over the crook of his arms, and he slams back into you. It knocks the breath from you and makes your eyes go wide. Each snap of his hips has you letting out a breathy and high-pitched squeal. John seems to like those noises because he doubles his efforts.

The room is filled with your moans and his grunts and the pap pap pap of his thighs slapping against your ass. Your hands fist the bedsheets in an effort to ground yourself from floating away.

John leans forward, pressing your legs close to your chest. His pounding thrust turned into a hard, rough grind. There's a swivel to his motion, his brows knitted together, clearly looking for something. Each grind of his hips has you gasping and scratching lightly at his arms and dragging your fingers across his chest. You bite your lip and whimper at the pressure he puts on you.

"Come on, baby girl," He whispers, "I know you can let me find it. She can't stay hidden the whole time."

You don't know what it is he's talking about until you feel him rub at just the right angle and your eyes roll back. "Oh Daddy, yes!"

"There she is." He then seeks out that same spot that not even your own fingers can reach. This man is trying to kill you. He's certainly raising the bar for every man that comes after you. It's a shame you can't keep him. He folds you into a mating press, still pistoning his hips into, aiming for what you know is g-spot.

The room is spinning, and you can barely keep your eyes open. The only word you repeat is "Daddy, daddy, daddy-"

He coos at you, "I'm Daddy now?" It's patronizing in a way, and you don't mind it. In fact it makes your pussy clench down on him. "Fu- fuck baby, of course I'll be daddy, and daddy's s'always gonna take care of his baby. Fuck fuck fuck." He

"Daddy, please-"

"Aw, is my baby girl close?" He somehow manages to breathe out through gritted teeth.

You can only nod your head as reasonable thought leaves you. He moves a hand down and swipes his thumb across your clit. Your body seizes and thrashes and shakes as you're thrown into bliss. He fucks your through it, prolonging the feeling. There's the sound of something wet, and distantly, you know that he managed to get you to squirt again. He's leering at where you're squirting on him and how his dick is slick and shiny. The hair at the base of his dick is wet with your juices, and the sound of your squeals reverberates in his head. He can't stop. He's so close.

"Daddy" you're on the edge of another orgasm, it feels like it's gonna teeter on the edge of over stimulation.

He groans and presses you back into a full mating press. His rhythm became a little sloppy. "I know baby girl- ah ah fuck- Daddy's almost done, just fuck- you can take it baby girl and I'm gonna take such good care of you just like how you took care of Daddy." His words are whispers and grunts in the space between you both. There are no words coming from you, just whimpers and gasps and what may sound like the phrase "in me"

He hears you through his own babbling, "in you baby girl. Tha what you want. You want Daddy to fill you up?"

You squealed "Daddy oh God!" Just as you fell into your last orgasm. It straddles the line between painful and blissful and your eyes roll back. Mouth agape as your body begs to arch, but the mating press he has you locked in won't allow you to even move.

"Fuck!" He bellows and grinds his hips into you. Warmth spreads into you as you feel him empty himself. He keeps his hips flushed with yours. He stays like that for a long moment, trying to catch his breath.

"Good God." You sigh, "that was amazing."

"You know... I can't let anyone else have you now, right?" He whispers.

"John," you giggle tiredly, "talk to me after the sun comes up."

"Fine, but I mean it."

[ohraicodoll]

Fatherhood

Joel Miller x Reader (Feral Reader) Words 1.6k/3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: Dina and Ellie have some news.

AN: Half funny, half a tad angsty, mostly some domestic chaos. No I hardly ever edit cause fuck it, we ball. Also I almost titled this Daddy 🤣

___________________________

Things had started to fall into a nice rhythm. Domestic. Slow.

Days of fixing up Jackson, movie nights at the house with Dina and Ellie joining them now, the tension having leaked out like decompressing steam from an old pipe. Slowly, turn by turn, watching it dissipate into the air.

They hadn’t thought anything of the girls wanting to have dinner. It felt like an olive branch after everything, a bridge across a healing chasm between Ellie and them. Another step after New Years, after exploding on each other about the hospital, after the attack, after healing and months of repair. 

She felt like Joel would have done anything Ellie asked.

He had cooked and she’d watched him busy himself to get rid of the nervous energy. It wasn’t the first family dinner they had since making amends but this one felt like it had weight to it.

Because Dina was coming as Ellie’s girlfriend and not her best friend. Word spread quickly in Jackson and the two weren’t subtle enough to hide how in love they were.

She knew Joel loved Dina like a second kid (even if she had gotten after him for using that as a crutch during the not-so-pleasant days and his excuse that “she doesn’t have any parents or family” made her wonder if he was gonna adopt all the damn orphans in town). But now she was seeing him in full dad mode preparing to meet their kid’s partner, and couldn’t help smiling behind his back. 

They were all a little feral but you could never deny that they all loved each other.

Both girls sat across the table, dinner in front of them while they kept smiling at each other and clasping hands. She could tell Joel wanted to tease them, poke fun about how giddy they were now that they were finally together, but he kept silent. Partially because this was all so new. Ellie being back and slowly forgiving him, her and Dina, family dinners with the kids. 

Family. Something none of them thought they would have.

And then the nice, easy calm was broken when Ellie finally spit out the news before Dina had a chance to open her mouth. 

“I’m gonna be a dad.”

Her fork paused in the air and Joel choked, deep rasping coughs as whatever he had been chewing lodged in his throat. The gears came to a crashing halt in her head. 

“You what now?” Joel gasped out, brow furrowed as he struggled to breathe.

The main thought that didn’t leave her head (thank god) was panic that they had never taught her sex education and how babies got made and Jesus Christ had they failed Ellie that hard? 

Dina winced, looking at Ellie like she hung the moon but also lived in the goddamn clouds, and grimaced, “What she meant is….that I’m pregnant.”

“That clears absolutely nothing up,” Joel put his elbow on the table roughly and rubbed his brow, “If anything, that’s worse. What the hell do you mean you’re pregnant and you’re gonna be a dad? Jesus, kiddo, you realize that’s not possible-”

“Joel,” she sighed under her breath and shoved her head in her hands, if only to try and get away from the conversation at the table. 

“Okay, start over from the beginning,” she put her hands down flat and looked at the two teenage girls in front of her, “Dina, you think you’re pregnant-”

Ellie scrunched her nose and from under the table, hesitantly raised not one but four pregnancy tests. 

“Lord almighty,” Joel groaned from behind his hand. 

She tried to ignore the man next to her, the part of her brain that wanted to laugh at how fucking ridiculous this was, and cleared her throat, “Okay, nevermind. You are in fact pregnant. Who?”

Dina didn’t have to guess the meaning of the question, only winced again and looked a bit embarrassed, “Jesse.”

“Does Jesse fucking know?” Joel interrogated, a bit harshly, but no one could blame him. The only sign that it was out of being overwhelmed and not angry was his palm finding her thigh under the table. Grounding, like he needed the support but couldn’t show it. Their world had been tilted on its axis and he was trying not to slip.

Dina pressed her lips together and nodded, “Yeah, he already knows.”

“We figured it might be a bit much if all three of us came for dinner to tell you we’re having a baby,” Ellie chimed in with a grimace. Everyone shot her a look that clearly said not now Ellie.

The calmer of the two leaned forward, looking at the older adults beseechingly with hands clasped, “Look, I know this is a bit of a shocker and absolutely not planned. But it is what it is and Jesse is gonna step up and Ellie is stepping up as well.” Dina smiled and looked at the girl next to her, love clearly showing in her eyes, "Ellie and I are gonna move in together, Jesse is gonna talk to Tommy and Maria, and we're all going to figure it out together."

“You’re both nineteen,” she replied, resting her own hand on top of Joel’s, “You literally both just got together and you want to throw a baby into that?”

“Well…it’s a good thing the kid is gonna have two grandparents to help us out,” Ellie grinned timidly. 

Joel groaned and sank further into his chair. 

They were right at least in the fact that there wasn’t anything to do about it. It wasn’t like the world before where it could be taken care of and she would never want either girl to be pushed into having any procedure they didn’t want to. And they were right. They were gonna have two pseudo-grandparents plus a whole goddamn village to help them raise a baby.

But the fact that they were nineteen rattled in her head. Kids. They were kids. Hell, a few years before Ellie was basically a little girl falling asleep on her lap and rattling off puns non-stop.

She couldn’t rain on their parade though. This was a different world and who was she to say they should wait when at any moment everything could fall apart again. Plus, this was what they had saved her for. So she could have a future. A family. Love. And she knew a part of that was also running through Joel’s head. There wasn’t anger in his stance, just overwhelming anxiety. Shoulders slouched, head in his hands, eyes blank.

Dina comfortingly patted his shoulder and Ellie kept pecking at him by calling him grandpa. Normal in unnormal times.

When they left for the night, he squeezed them tightly like he was afraid they’d disappear. Dina first, wrapping her up in his big arms and kissing the top of her head before telling her they needed to be kept up to date on everything she needed and Monday night dinners were mandatory. Then Ellie who looked like she wanted to climb inside of them, the way they both hugged each other so tight as if they were apologizing again. 

Normal, so normal, something they both craved and were getting. The family growing from him and Ellie to her to Tommy and Maria and Benji and now Dina…and Jesse. And a baby. 

She ran her fingers through Ellie’s hair and kissed her temple, seeing them out the door and into the Spring night air. Hand in hand, rounding the corner to Ellie's little back house. She made a note that they were going to have to properly fix it up now.

She wouldn't be surprised if Joel made them a crib.

Joel was still standing frozen in the living room, eyes glazed over and staring in the general direction of the floor. Some of that distance faded away as she went over and slid her arms around him, hands finding skin along his back under his shirt. He melted and pressed his forehead to hers, both rocking side to side if only to get the nervous energy out.

“Not quite what we expected tonight,” she whispered softly with a slight chuckle.

“Hmm, thought I damn near had a heart attack at first,” he mumbled, fingers playing with the waistband at the back of her jeans. 

“Sometimes Ellie is so incredibly smart. And sometimes…”

“Yeah,” Joel groaned and she couldn’t help but laugh, “A fucking baby. Y’know, when we found out she liked girls I had really thought ‘thank god we won’t have to deal with teenage pregnancies’. Turns out she wasn’t the one we had to worry about... Knew that girl was trouble-”

“You did not, Tex,” she scoffed, “Dina could punch Tommy in the face and you would act like he deserved it-”

“Maybe he did-”

“Shut up, Miller,” laughing, she leaned back and looked up at him, “They’re good kids. A little dumb, very reckless, but good. They’ll figure things out, how to be parents.”

“Ellie as a fucking parent,” he blew air out as if the words were sinking in all over again, “Jesus. Wasn’t ready to be thinking about that already.”

She smiled and kissed the side of his jaw, trailing hands up his chest and cupping his cheeks, “Things will be fine. They’ve got a good dad to look up to just like Tommy had a good brother that showed him the ropes.”

He smiled and mirrored her, brushing the hair out of her eyes and trailing his thumb along her bottom lip, “And you? You ain’t so bad.”

There was that flutter of fear, when it came to the mention of babies and kids and her. But she pushed it down, smirking to hide the discomfort, “I’ll be there as back up. Someone has to cover you both and be there to make sure you or Ellie don’t panic.”

There was that flicker in his eyes that acknowledged that part of her, that fear, that he could see it no matter how deep she tried to cover it up. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t push her to talk about how sometimes she was scared to even be around Benji or other children because they were so fragile and she believed she had a tendency to break things. 

He just kissed her and poured everything he didn’t have to say into it. 

And when she pulled him upstairs, jokingly calling him grandpa again, he may have even let himself smile. 

___________________

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[luveline]

anything with roan and eddie pls 🙏🙏 whatever you want to write about them!! i miss them 🥺🥺

thanks for requesting!! fem

Baking tray, beef cuts laid out flat. Eddie works in silence, dressing the beef with garlic honey, sesame seeds, and a big pinch of salt. He’d like to add some ginger, some paprika, but Roan doesn’t like when things taste smoky. 

He saran wraps the tray and puts it in the fridge. He makes everyone’s veggies —you like different stuff to Eddie, who likes different stuff to Roan, so he makes a garden’s worth of greens and douses them in olive oil, flaky salt, and a little dash of lemon and pepper. He puts that atop the beef in the fridge and tries to think of a side. He was planning on making pasta tonight, before he realised the beef was gonna go bad soon. Maybe he’ll make a pan of crispy mac and cheese to go with it. 

Yeah. He smiles to himself. That looks good on his head, two roasted ribs, a fist of mac and cheese, and a half a plate of roasted veggies. 

He cuts a little cilantro ‘cos Roan loves it, adds some lemon juice to that too, and sets it aside in the fridge. He makes a quick mac and cheese on the stove and tips it into a baking tray, covers a third of it in bacon bits for the youngster, and puts that in the oven. 

Then he sits at the table and sighs. Scratches two hands through his hair, lets the tight achy small of his back decompress as he leans forward. 

When Eddie started working at the shop with Wayne, he figured it would get easier over time. Part time table-bussing wasn’t going to pay for a trailer or his brand new baby, and for months it’s not like he could work anyhow. He lived solely off of his Uncle Wayne as he learned to change diapers, and calm colic, and be a new dad. It was depressing and frustrating all of the time. He felt like shit because he’d just fucking landed Wayne with another mouth to feed and diapers were so, so expensive, and so was formula, and baby clothes, and the guilt worsened when he realised he loved her. Loved Roan. He loved her pretty much the moment he laid eyes on her, but he had no idea if he could be a father, just knew he couldn’t let his kid fall into the system. 

But loving her had been second to panic for weeks. Then one day he was washing her tummy in the bath and he swore blind that she smiled at him, whether babies her age could smile or not. He tumbled out of the bathroom with her in a towel poncho to brag, and that night at dinner, Wayne gave a frowny Eddie the option: start working alternate shifts at the shop. Wayne would have her in the evenings while Eddie worked, they’d sorted everything out, he could start next week. It wasn’t half as scary as being a new dad, so Eddie said yes. 

Anyways, he expected it to get easier. He knows more about parenting and cars than he ever imagined at twenty, but it’s still hard. He’s exhausted. 

Good thing he knows exactly why he does it. 

The door to the living room opens with a creak. Small feet pad around the stair bannister and down the hallway that leads to the kitchen. Roan stops walking when she notices him behind the table. She smiles. She looks like him, less as she gets older, but enough to have given an appreciation for his own features. What’s more beautiful than seeing your smile on someone else’s lips?

“Hey, daddy.” 

“Hi, munchkin.” 

Truthfully, Roan has been his best friend for years. There’s something intangibly close about a single parent and their only child, especially when they’d lived alone. Day after day together, seeing all the gross bits and all the love. It’s given her a vast depth of emotional intelligence. She’s smarter now as a kid than Eddie was at 18. 

“You okay?” she asks, holding her hands up. He picks her up, plonking her on the table in front of him. “You look tired, daddy. And you smell like pepper.” 

“I just finished making ribs, babe.” 

“Yum!” Her nose moves when she talks, “For dinner?” 

“Mm-hm.” He finds her hand. Holds it gently. “Mac and cheese and roasted broccoli, too.” 

Roan smiles again. “Dad, you’re a good chef.” 

“I know I am! But it took so much practice. When you were born, you know what I was eating for dinner every night? I was eating chicken pot pie you put in the microwave.” She wrinkles her nose. “I know. I didn’t care about being good to my body. I definitely didn’t listen to my tummy.”

He likes this part about being a dad. He’s never found it awkward. He just drops his voice into softness and talks to her on her level. 

“But you learned.” 

“I did learn. I wanted to make sure you were eating everything you need. That’s why we eat all that broccoli.” 

She pokes him in the torso with her socked foot. “Maybe less broccoli for my tummy.” 

“I got potatoes and stuff too, don’t worry.” Eddie reaches for her hair in its after school mess, raking it away from her face. “You know I love you, right?” 

“Well, duh.” 

“I know, but really. I love you more than anything.” 

“More than Y/N?” 

“No,” he says quickly, then laughs. “Yeah, but just a little bit. It’s a different kind of love, okay? I love you both like crazy, but you’re my baby. Even though you’re not a baby anymore.” 

“I could be a baby,” she whispers, grinning, “I can be small again, and you can carry me everywhere, and give me a bottle.” 

He laughs roughly. “Yeah? You want a bottle? You barely like milk.” 

“Well, you can still carry me.” 

“I do carry you. I’m surprised these feet work,” he says, squeezing her toes in both hands. 

“Dad, don’t!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he presses his thumb between her foot and her toes and then drops them altogether. “I remember when your foot was the size of my thumb.” 

“I don’t.” 

He laughs more loudly than he means to and scoops her up for a rough and tumble hug. “God, I love you. I really do, bubby.” He presses his nose to her head and blames how tired he is for what he says next. “You are everything to me, you know that? You’re my everything.” 

“You’re my everything.” 

He tips her back to see her. Beams at her, touches his nose to hers. “You and Y/N, you make my life perfect.” 

“I’m glad,” she says, which has him laughing all over again, a childish giggle. 

When you get home a half hour later, you find them in weird places. Eddie’s sitting on the kitchen floor watching the ribs cook in the oven, and Roan’s under the table building a marble run with his approval. “Here?” she asks. 

“And the orange piece. We need more pieces, it’s not long enough.” Eddie smiles at you as you enter, but leans back, opening the cupboard under the sink to grab a saucepan, the sieve, and plastic jug. “We can use these.” 

“What’s up, my Munsons?” you ask. 

Roan smacks her forehead against the edge of the table in her excitement. “Ouch!” she says, crawling from under it to crowd your legs. 

“Ouch!” you echo, face morphed with concern as your handbag slides down your arm. You drop it to the floor and take her cheeks into your hands. “Did that hurt? I’m sorry, I feel like that was all my fault.” 

She shakes her head, curls bouncing this way and that. “It was an accident.” 

“I know, I know, but I didn’t mean to startle you.” You brush her hair back gently and hover. “Can I kiss it better?” 

“Don’t kiss it, it stings!” Roan says, veering away from you with a frown. 

“Sorry!” 

Roan twists away from you to fall into Eddie’s lap. 

“Sorry,” Eddie mouths. 

You pout. It’s with extreme beautifulness —is that a word? Eddie’s pretty sure it’s a word— you slip out of your little heels and sit down on your knees, stockings dark and perfect on legs he adores. You don’t question why they’re on the floor. That’s how you all fit, his smart working girl and your shared grumpy daughter, because nobody asked Eddie why he sat down by the oven. 

“Sorry, baby,” you say softly.

Roan’s frown worsens, but she says, “No, I’m sorry. My head hurts. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, big girl.” 

“Big girl?” she asks. 

“You sounded very grown up, is all.” 

Eddie has to agree. “You’re just that smart.” 

You hold his ankle. “So, how was work? How was school? Fill me in.” 

“How was your day?” Eddie asks. 

“Super usual and boring. We had some people from the Brussels branch come to visit and Jess kept telling me to stop being so awkward, and I asked her what she meant and she said I was smiling like somebody was holding me hostage.” 

Eddie loves when you smile like that. When you’d first met, you used to smile that way all the time. He loves all your smiles, obviously, but your excited–scared combo isn’t one he sees much anymore. 

You shrug. “But work paid for lunch, and I had this amazing mango passionfruit cake roll, I snook you some.” 

“You did?” Roan asks eagerly.

“I did! It’s in my purse, but it has a price.” 

“What’s the price?” Roan asks. 

You put your head in your hand. “I wanna know what you guys have been up to today.” 

When Eddie plates dinner that evening, it’s with a distinct sense of pride and content mashed together. It’s a damn good-looking meal, dense with nutrition and flavour alike, and you and Roan both seem similarly awed. Eddie wanted ribs and he got them, but almost as pleasurable as eating them is the way you both tuck in. You compliment his roasted veggies, telling him you could eat them for every meal, and Roan’s face is plastered in sticky honey garlic in minutes, a macaroni elbow in her hair. 

“Know what dad told me earlier?” she asks you. 

You snort and rescue her hair. “What did he tell you, baby?” 

“That we make his life perfect.” 

Eddie chokes on his coke. “That was a secret,” he says, throat burning, “between you and me?” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Roan says.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Eds.” Your eyes turn to hearts, staring at him over the steaming tray of macaroni and cheese. “You guys make my life perfect, too. My babe and my personal chef.” 

He dodges your cheek pinch, grabbing your hand to hold instead. 

“Just wish somebody would make me dinner every once in a while,” he says.

“Whatever,” you say. 

“Dad, I can make you dinner.” 

“I don’t trust you ‘round the kitchen.” 

Roan guides a forkful of cheesy macaroni to her lips. “Okay, good. I can’t make pasta like you,” she says. Eddie won’t mind making dinner again tomorrow. 

[aroace-madness]

DC x DP prompt

Danny was scared, he was straped down on a table with his torso cut open vertically. For some reason they putted him in a medical gown, maybe to stop looking at his suit that was just oh so similiar to theirs? Danny didn't know

He was crying, tears silently spilled from his eyes as his father was elbow deep in his body, lifting his organs one by one, showing them off to his wife and carelessly putting them back in. They didn't care about his screams and cries, why would they, he wasn't sentient according to them, in their eyes he was less than an animal, a germ that needed to be studied and them eliminated

Maybe this was his fate? Perhaps his life was supposed to end this way? As a lab experiment for his own parents?

Danny didn't like his fate, he hated it in fact, he wanted to get away from it and scream

Perhaps this was the answer, a way out

Danny waited untill his parents took their attention off of him

He took a breath as deep as he could

And wailed

Danny didn't want to do this anymore, he wished to just decompress, he didn't want to be hunted for just existing anymore

He wanted his parents to love him again

He wished he was a child again

The ghost wailed and the time listened

Jason was coming back home from a long patrol, luckily he didn't get either stabbed or shot, which was nice, but instead one of his goons messed up pretty badly which instantly ruined his mood

He was about to sit back on his motorbike and ride back to his safehouse when he heard something moving near the trash cans in the alley

He probably should leave, leave whatever made the noise alone

But, after all, Jason was just a man. Can you blame him for being curious?

He slowly walked over to the cans, trying his best not to make too much noise. When he was finally close enough he crouched down to finally see

What he saw shook him to the core

A small boy, two years old at most, dressed in a hospital gown, curled in ball. He was crying and trembling, his arms were wrapped around his torso like he was holding it from falling apart

What concerned Jason the most tho, was a puddle of blood the boy was laying in

[qua1ntrell3]

You could do it on your own while you're looking at me.

Pairing: Tate McRae x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (MDNI), fingering (R receiving), degradation, use of Y/N.

Synopsis: Tate catches R masturbating.

Word count: 1.707

Tate’s been gone for over two hours.

She said she’d be out just a little while — grabbing coffee with her best friend Findlay, decompressing now that she finally has some downtime.

It’s currently March 6th, which means it’s her second day off in what feels like months, and even though she promised she’d spend it all with you, you told her to go. Encouraged it, even.

She’d been working incessantly on her recently released album “So Close To What” and she undoubtedly needed the absolute most mental rest she could get. To free her mind as much as possible before embarking on her upcoming world tour.

You had your own tour coming up, so you were supposed to be working anyway — reviewing wardrobe proposals, finalizing a promo shoot schedule, syncing with your creative director about stage mapping.

You even had your laptop open on the kitchen table when Tate left.

But that lasted maybe an hour at most.

Now you're lying in bed, half under the pristine white sheets, wearing some loose sweatpants and Tate’s oversized shirt — the black one with the Red Hot Chili Peppers logo at the front.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

You really shouldn’t.

But here you are — staring at your phone which showed the contents of a private folder in your camera roll, locked with Face ID. Precisely, a set of six photos you took of your girlfriend over a week ago.

You’d gone to New York together for her SNL performance taking place on the 1st of March before flying back to L.A. the next day — then were instantly thrown into press, prep, fittings for Vanity Fair’s Oscars afterparty, interviews. A whirlwind again.

Thankfully, you were now back to relative placidity and inside the comforting walls of your shared apartment.

But that particular night in the hotel bedroom in Times Square on February 27th remained fresh in your memory and had barely left your mind since.

The pictures your eyes were currently skimming through only allowed you to recollect the moment and experience more easily.

In the aftermath of the passionate love-making you two had done, Tate rolled over to lay on her stomach — hair a wild golden mess over her shoulders, lips slightly swollen, face half-buried in the pillow. She looked like destruction and divinity all at once — and you, drunk on love and cum and too much boldness, picked up your phone and clicked the shutter.

She didn’t stop you. She just smirked at you over her shoulder, eyes still lazy and satisfied.

She’s entirely naked in each one — golden skin glowing in low warm light of the bedside lamp, the curve of her ass sharp, the line of her spine elegant and obscene. In one of them, her eyes are on the camera. Staring right at you. Lips parted. Pupils blown.

Your hand now instinctively slithered its way to your lower-region, pushing and shimmying both your sweatpants and undies down to let them ruck at your knees as you spread your thighs wide. Then, you guided your fingers to your clit and started to circle it slowly but deliberately in time with the pulsing in your ears, imagining Tate’s breath in your mouth, her voice murmuring that damn lyric from her song in your ear — You could do it on your own while you’re looking at me…

And you are. Exactly that.

You swear she wrote that line for you.

For this.

You’re building too fast. Already shaking, completely soaked in arousal, vision running slightly blurry, quiet moans slipping out of your parted lips—

Timely, the door clicks.

You don’t even register it until you hear the soft clink of keys in the ceramic bowl, followed by footsteps that gradually grew in volume.

“Y/N?” Tate’s voice calls out casually, a hint of an amusement in her tone. “Babe, I’m back. You won’t believe what Fin—”

She stops abruptly as you jolt up like you’ve been electrocuted, yanking the sheets over to cover yourself from the waist down. However, your other hand fails to cooperate as it fumbles with the phone. Unfortunately for you, it falls on the mattress facing upward, exposing what you’ve been staring at so intently for the past minutes.

You don’t even bother to scramble back for it. It was too late. Tate had already seen everything as she’s standing in the bedroom's doorway. Your widely parted thighs under the blankets were also a dead giveaway of your doings. Your eyes track her own and you can only watch as her face gradually contorts into a shit eating grin.

Oh, you’re fucked.

“Well, hello,” she says as she slips her sneakers off and walks in slowly, like a cat who’s cornered something she plans to devour.

“What do we have here, hm?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your face is practically on fire. Once she’s standing at the foot of the bed, she bends and reaches over to take your phone still open beside you, not breaking eye contact even for a second until the screen is within her near eyesight. Charged silence fills the room for a moment before you hear your girlfriend snicker under her breath in reaction to the photo she’s seeing, the sound sending a small shiver down your spine.

“Oh, you’re such a little slut,” she then murmurs, lifting her gaze to you, shutting the device and carefully placing it on the nearest surface before crawling onto the bed. Her expression darkens, a smirk barely there now as she moves to hover over you. “Jerking off to nudes of your girlfriend like a horny teenager?” Her voice is velvet and venom. You swallow as that can only mean one thing.

Tatiana’s here.

You then manage to breathe out a shaky, “I missed you.”

“Aww, baby,” she coos mockingly, stroking your cheek with her hand. You misinterpret the gentle action and lean onto her touch. 

Wrong.

She consequently pinches the soft skin there between her fingers — the sudden sting eliciting a small gasp from you — before promptly grabbing your chin and aligning your face with her own. There’s only a few inches separating you now, and you helplessly get lost in her intense gaze and bask in the sweet scent of her perfume. A few strands of her luscious golden brown hair fall over her face and you have to resist the urge to push them back.

“So because you missed me you decided to be a filthy little perv instead of calling me or waiting for me to come back?”

You nod again as your voice continues to betray you, eyes wide, pulse thudding in your throat. Her dominance does something chemical to you. It always did. 

Tate only hums in response and you catch her hooded eyes drift towards your parted lips hungrily for a split second before snapping back up to meet yours again.

“Well, now I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson. Can’t just cum without permission, can you?”

Before you can react, she grabs both of your wrists and pins them over your head against the pillow with a single hand before yanking the blanket down, exposing your soaked inner thighs. The sudden movement along with the cold air hitting your wet skin make you whimper embarrassingly.

“God, look at this,” she tsks, eyeing your glistening cunt with wicked delight. Her free hand finds purchase on your thigh, squeezing it with purpose and spreading it a little wider.

“Such a mess. Naughty, naughty girl.”

What follows is not gentle.

She’s kneeling beside you on the mattress as she leans down to push her mouth against your neck. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation and you instinctively tilt your head to allow Tate better access as she kissed and nipped your skin with fervor. Meanwhile, her hand snaked blindly between your thighs and expertly slid two fingers into you without warning.

You cry out — breathless, overwhelmed.

“Be quiet,” she hisses as she unlatches her lips from your neck to glare at you, hazel eyes flashing. You have to stop yourself from whimpering at her mouth’s absence. “You wanted to get off to me? Do it with your mouth shut now.”

Her long slender fingers are merciless — deep, fast, curling with perfect cruelty. Your wrists are still pinned by Tate’s other hand, your back arching as pleasure crashes through you like lightning. You’re dripping down her palm in seconds.

“Look at me,” she growls. “Cum while looking at me, Y/N.”

And you do — because how the fuck could you not?

You have to force your eyes open just so you can unravel under her gaze, moaning her name like a prayer you forgot you believed in. Her fingers don’t slow until your thighs are shaking and your voice is momentarily gone.

Tate lets go of your wrists, finally — leaving behind a faint imprint on your skin. She then lowers herself to lay right beside you as she pulls her fingers out of your pussy, wiping your arousal off her hand on the sheets.

Your girlfriend smiles cockily as she watches you collapse in front of her — limp and dazed — and she has the decency to help you slide your underwear and pants back on after seeing your slightly trembling hands reaching for them.

You choose to dismiss the friction of your clothes rubbing against your sensitive cunt, and roll over to curl into Tate’s frame — burying your face in her neck and placing a sloppy kiss there in gratitude.

Her smile softens at your display of affection and she wraps her arms around you in return, holding you against her front and kissing the top of your head before murmuring with gentleness laced with a hint of condescension.

“Did my pretty girl learn her lesson now?” She asked already knowing the answer.

You nod against her neck and mumble a breathy “yes” that becomes muffled by Tate’s skin.

“Next time you want me that bad, you call me. Or record it and send it. Understood?”

You assent once more. But you both knew this wasn’t going to be the last time you’d get caught doing this.