#Fem!reader

[koling2345]

Simon with a young and soft girlfriend. NSFW

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Boyfriend! Simon who: Was completely whipped for you, would do anything you asked without question, he'd kiss even the ground you walked on, just say the word and he'll do it.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Bought a new cell phone just to talk to you, his old cubicle could barely hold a video call with you, and now he could finally listen to you chatting away with him every time he had free time. And.. You also sent him some really nice pictures, and he kept them all on his new cell phone for his own personal use.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Sometimes it took him a while to catch up with you in all your youth, not physically, but in your interests, hobbies, the games you liked, series you watched. He wasn't that old, but keeping up with everything you did wasn't that easy, but he tried to get into your vibe. Give him a few days, he'll soon have everything in a notebook, the game you're so excited about, he'll soon be talking with you about it. He makes a point of knowing something or other, just to get into your world, to make you happy.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Melted in place when you showed off your new hoodie, which had his name, 'Riley, written right across the chest. You looked so beautiful wearing an outfit with his name written on it, as if it were a ownership, and he was grateful that you wore the hoodie without any shame, proudly showing who you belonged to.

Boyfriend! Simon who: After listening to you nagging him all week to get a hoodie just like yours, with your name on it, he finally gave in and made one. Just like yours, it had your name on the chest, showing everyone what a couple you two were. As much as he thought it was corny to wear matching clothes, he didn't mind if it was with you. He even put a Kuromi print on his hoodie, since you almost cried for him to put something from Hello Kitty on it. Sometimes he hated this cat and her derivatives, but he did it for you. All for his princess.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Always bought things for you, every time he came to see you, he never came empty-handed. Were you on your period? He would bring you chocolates and flowers, along with your favorite snacks. Did you pass through a store and want to buy something? Well, it'll be at your house as soon as possible. If he couldn't bring it himself, you could be sure that the package would arrive at your house the next day. He wasn't petty, he had plenty of money to spend and he liked spending it on you.

Boyfriend! Simon who: When he went out with you, he wouldn't let you spend a penny, no matter if you wanted a simple ice-cream, he would pay for you. And if he saw your eyes glazing over at something you saw in the shop window, he'd go and pick it up with you. Every time you went out together, you always came back with several bags of shopping, along with the plushies you loved so much. Simon didn't even know how you were going to fit more stuffed animals into your room, with all the stuff you already had.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Is a complete gentleman to you, carries your bag, always takes his helmet off you, as well as before you get on his bike, he attaches the helmet in place himself. He's the type to take you on his arms, just to stop you stepping in a puddle of water and getting your feet wet. And if you're tired, he'll carry you like a princess all the way home without complaint.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Is quite jealous of you, you're young, beautiful, and you're with an old geezer like him. Although he recognized his own value, he couldn't help but feel a sense of possession over you every time someone looked at you with ulterior motives. As a result, he would always mark you on the neck, or put a hand around your waist, always putting a part of himself in you so that everyone would know who you belonged to.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Was a completely kind prince to you on the streets, but he would wreck you inside the bedroom. He loved that you were all submissive to him, always taking him so well, accommodating him as if you were made for it. Even if he opened you all up with his fat cock, your tight cunt would stretch to accommodate him, it was like heaven on earth.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Made you bend over all night, fucking you on all fours, your ass up while he admired the new panties you made such a point of showing off to him. 'Simon's' was the writing on the lace, just seeing you wearing it made his cock throb, he took several photos of you wearing the panties, as well as giving you a good spanking session while you were over his knees, just because you loved being his good little girl.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Recorded a video as soon as he had worn you out on the bed, pulling his cock out of you, to see the mess coming out of your pussy that was full, opening your folds just to see his cum running down your thighs. Your cunt full of him, leaking because he came so hard in you. It's not his fault, seeing you on your stomach, your panties written 'Simon's', you were begging to be fucked. And he'd love to watch the video he recorded himself, his time alone at the base would be lovely.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Had a photo of you on his cell phone, bent over his knee while wearing a short skirt and thigh-high stockings, ass up, pink lace panties. On top of that, a bright red mark on your ass, the mark of the slap he had given you minutes before taking the photo, he is very proud to use this picture, and he's not shy if someone caught it. In addition, the lock screen photo was of you smiling while wearing his famous balaclava, one of the few times he let you touch the mask. Not that he regrets it.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Knew he was going on a dangerous mission, he didn't know when he was coming back, or if he was coming back. So a week before going on said mission, he took a whole week to spend with you. No work, no nothing, just him and you.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Fucked you all week, on your stomach, bending over, missionary, cowgirl, on the wall, living room, bedroom, bathroom, table, floor. Any surface he could slide his thick cock into your folds was fine with him. He couldn't stand the sight of you bending down to pick something up, or when you wore his clothes inside the house. The sight automatically made his cock throb, hard as a rock to fuck you again, always making sure to fill you with his seed, to the point where it was leaking out of you. Only then is he sure that he's filled you to the brim, like a good boyfriend does.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Wasn't very good with goodbyes, so he fucked you all night, all night he had you in a missionary, that's when he wasn't burying himself between your legs. He filled you up so well that night, the bed was full of wet spots, your pussy as full as ever, he'd leave you leaking with his cum, mixing your mess with his, just to bury himself in you and start all over again. He was relentless. His job was done, since you slept like an angel that night.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Went out on his mission early in the morning, grateful that you were out like a light, covered in sucks and marks from last night, making him tempted to go back to bed and hold on to you. But he couldn't, so he settled for a kiss on your lips and forehead. His farewell was a handwritten letter, explaining the details and saying that he loved you very much and would come back to you. Even so, it wasn't enough to prevent the tears that fell down your cheeks when you found out everything.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Even though he was on the battlefield, he couldn't stop thinking about you, always trying to maintain some kind of contact, sending messages every time he had a second of time, and if it was possible, when he was resting, he would call you. Every time the mission dragged on, he felt a sense of dread in his chest. Simon couldn't have realized how important you were, and that scared him, because for the first time in a long time, he was afraid that he wouldn't be alive to finish the mission. He promised himself that if he made it out alive, he would ask for your hand in marriage.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Stayed in a very remote area, his cell phone didn't work there, and he had no way of communicating with you, and that killed him inside, not being able to know how you were. And you were worried to death, thinking the worst.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Came home after four and a half months, of those four months he spent three without being able to talk to you. So as soon as he got off the plane that brought him back, he went to your apartment, stopping first at a jewelry store to buy you a ring, and he spared no expense. You were going to be his wife.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Was all giddy about arriving at your house, preparing to give you a surprise. As well as coming back alive, he was going to ask you to marry him, get on his knees for you. Then he rang the doorbell, still dressed in his work uniform, the box with the ring in one hand, and your favorite flowers in the other.

Boyfriend! Simon who: Stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you after all this time. It wasn't just emotion, his eyes caught your form, wearing one of his shirts, which barely did the job of covering your swollen belly. Well, it seems, he wasn't the only one with a surprise.

[asoulsreverie]

Double reblogging because what the hell I cried

﹟— ❛❛cause when you know you know. part 1.

☆﹟— paring: fem!reader x dick grayson.

☆﹟— summary: you've always had dick grayson's heart in your hands, since you were just sixteen.

☆﹟— warnings/tags: dick grayson x fem!reader. reader is an awkward dork. fluffy. dick is yearning. spiderwoman!reader. best friends to lovers (?). these two mfs are the same person in different fonts. reader is a mix of tom holland’s spiderman and the comics. rip uncle ben. the amazing divider was made by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you!. some spiderman: homecoming lore. ☆﹟— MASTERLIST. NEXT.

WAYNE GALAS WERE ALWAYS THE SAME — stiff, over decorated affairs where assholes shook hands and smiled fake smiles over champagne. At sixteen, Dick Grayson knew the routine like the back of his hand. He also knew how to blend into the background when he wasn’t in the mood to charm the crowds. It was from that vantage point, leaning casually against a marble pillar, that he first noticed you.

You stood a few steps behind Tony Stark, looking wildly out of place among Gotham’s elite. Wrapped in a simple blue dress that couldn’t quite decide if it wanted to be fancy or modest, you shifted your weight awkwardly from foot to foot, clutching a small purse like it might save you from drowning in a sea of tuxedos and designer gowns.

Dick’s lips quirked into a small smile. Adorable.

Tony Stark, of course, was in full showman mode, gesturing animatedly as he spoke with Bruce Wayne. The two billionaires were discussing the latest partnership between Stark Industries and Wayne Enterprises — a massive clean energy project meant to transform both Gotham and New York. The media was already drooling over it.

"…game-changer for the East Coast, Bruce," Tony was saying, his voice easily cutting over the soft hum of the orchestra. "Your tech, my tech — it’s like peanut butter and genius. Together, unstoppable."

Bruce nodded, ever the composed businessman. "It sounds promising. If we can get the logistics right."

"And we will," Tony said with his usual effortless confidence. Then, spotting Dick nearby — or maybe just looking for an excuse to brag — he turned slightly and gestured toward you.

"And speaking of genius," he said, "I’d like you to meet my brilliant intern. Absolute prodigy. I’m basically babysitting her before someone smarter steals her."

You blinked, startled by the sudden attention, and gave Bruce a stiff little wave, your fingers curling awkwardly halfway through. Dick had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Bruce, gentleman as ever, extended his hand. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."

You hurried forward, shaking his hand a little too quickly. "Um — thank you, Mr. Wayne. It’s, uh, an honor to be here."

Tony clapped a hand on your shoulder, nearly knocking you off balance. "Kid’s working on tech that’ll make arc reactors look like antique junk. Don’t let the nerves fool you — she’s the real deal."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that so? I’d love to hear more about your work sometime."

You flushed bright red, mumbling something about polymer synthesis and energy conductivity — something brilliant that Dick couldn’t entirely follow, but he caught enough to be impressed. And amused. You were so obviously genuine — completely different from the polished, self-important guests around you.

Bruce must’ve picked up on your nerves too. With a small, reassuring smile, he glanced to the side.

"Allow me to introduce my son," he said, motioning to Dick. "Dick Grayson."

At the mention of his name, Dick pushed off the pillar and approached with an easy, charming smile — the kind that made Gotham’s elite swoon. But the second your eyes met, you visibly froze like you weren’t sure whether to shake his hand, run away, or throw up.

"H-hi," you said, voice quick, bright — and unmistakably thick with a Queens accent. "It’s, uh, real nice to meetcha."

Dick grinned wider, immediately charmed. "Pleasure’s mine," he said, reaching out.

You hesitated for a beat, then took his hand. Your grip was surprisingly firm, even if your face was screaming pure panic.

Tony almost chuckled. "She’s from Queens," he explained. "You know — where people actually say what they mean and don’t take an hour to do it."

You gave an embarrassed little shrug. You looked like you want to throw up.

That earned a real laugh from Dick, warm and easy. You smiled too — a real smile this time, the kind that crinkled your eyes and hit him somewhere he hadn’t expected. Bruce’s phone buzzed discreetly in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, then gave a small, apologetic nod. "If you’ll excuse me," he said. "Duty calls."

He slipped away, leaving you, Tony, and Dick standing awkwardly together by the marble column.

Tony, never missing a beat, gave Dick a mock-serious look. "Why don’t you two go mingle? God knows she needs more friends."

You groaned under your breath. "Oh my god, Mr. Stark, please don’t."

Dick just laughed again. He fell easily into step beside you as Tony wandered off to schmooze with some politicians. You walked stiffly at first, hyperaware of every move you made in the ridiculously fancy heels Stark had bullied you into wearing.

"So," Dick said, shooting you a grin as he offered you a glass of sparkling water from a passing tray, "Queens, huh? That explains the accent."

You accepted the drink with a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Born and raised. It’s pretty different from all this… you know, money and marble columns."

Dick laughed. "Trust me, you’re not missing much. All it means is you get invited to boring parties like this one."

You laughed too — a real, snorting laugh that made a couple of nearby socialites glance over disapprovingly. You barely noticed.

"So, what’s it like working for Iron man?" Dick asked, tilting his head in that way that made his hair fall a little into his eyes. He probably practiced looking that effortlessly cool in the mirror.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. "Kinda like babysitting a genius toddler with unlimited money and no fear of death."

Dick barked a short laugh. "Sounds about right."

You hesitated, then added, "But seriously? He’s been good to me. Not a lotta people would take a chance on some random kid from Queens."

Dick raised an eyebrow, interested. "Random? C’mon, Stark made it sound like you were about to solve the energy crisis or something."

You snorted again, feeling a little more at ease. "I mean, maybe. Eventually. If I don’t blow up a lab first."

He grinned at that, the easy kind of grin that made you feel like you could tell him anything. So, without really thinking, you shrugged and said, "Plus, I kinda get it. I grew up pretty rough, y’know? Not a lotta money. Lost my folks when I was little."

You said it so casually — like you were talking about the weather — that it took a second for Dick to process.

His smile softened, the cocky edge fading just a little. "Yeah?" he said, voice a little lower now, a little more real. "Me too."

You blinked, surprised. "Wait, really?"

He nodded, tapping two fingers against his chest lightly. "Orphan club. Lifetime membership."

You gave him a crooked smile. "Guess that makes us, like, trauma buddies or something."

Dick chuckled, but there was a warmth in his eyes now that hadn’t been there before. "Guess so. But hey," he added, nudging your shoulder lightly, "at least you’re smart enough to build your way outta Queens."

You shrugged again, feeling your face heat. "Yeah, well. You’re the one who looks like he belongs in a magazine."

Dick gave you a mock-offended gasp. "Are you saying I’m just a pretty face?"

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. "I’m just sayin’, you definitely got the rich kid smile down."

He laughed, full and bright, and for a second it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the whole stupid, glittering ballroom.

SIX MONTHS PASSED WITHOUT you or him even noticing. Long-distance friendships were supposed to fade, or at least get awkward. Yours didn’t. Despite being hundreds of miles apart — you in New York, Dick in Gotham — you and him texted, called, and memed at each other like your lives depended on it. Some nights you stayed up until 3 AM talking about everything and nothing at the same time. School drama. Terrible cafeteria food. The best ways to take down a guy twice your size when you were stuck in a tight suit.

It didn’t take long before the truth slipped out.

You were Spiderwoman. He was Robin.

The discovery was a complete accident — a FaceTime call cut short when you had to swing off mid-conversation to stop a robbery, your phone falling out of your pocket mid-swing, the screen still open as Dick watched wide-eyed.

You expected him to freak out.

Instead, he just texted:

"dude... that's so sick. also ur form was trash lol. we’re training next time ur in gotham."

When Homecoming season rolled around, you weren’t even planning on going. Crowded dances weren’t really your thing. But then Tony Stark, with his usual flair for the dramatic, said something like, “Kid, you gotta have at least one normal high school experience before you get arrested by the feds or something,” and signed you up himself.

The only problem?

You didn’t have a date.

Which is why, two weeks later, you stood frozen on the sidewalk outside Midtown Tech, wearing a dress that you had panic-ordered online, while Dick freaking Grayson leaned casually against a rented black car looking like he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

Sleek suit. Easy smile. Blue eyes that sparkled when they landed on you.

You gawked. He whistled low under his breath.

"You clean up nice, Queens," he said, offering you his arm.

You shoved his shoulder lightly, face burning. "You’re literally Bruce Wayne’s kid. You clean up by existing."

Still, you took his arm.

Inside the gym — decorated with cheap streamers and a truly tragic DJ — heads turned immediately. Whispers broke out like wildfire.

"Wait… is that Bruce Wayne’s son?"

"He’s so hot in person. I just saw an article about The Flying Graysons-"

"Eww, isn’t that weird ass chick from the Decathlon Team?"

Enhanced earring. Sometimes you hate that. You spotted Ned across the room near the snack table, eyes wide as saucers. He threw you the most aggressive thumbs-up you had ever seen.

You nearly burst out laughing.

Dick, of course, noticed everything — the stares, the whispers — and just tightened his hold on your arm, leaning down to murmur in your ear: "They’re just jealous they didn’t think of asking you first."

You rolled your eyes, grinning. "Shut up, Gotham."

"You love me," he teased, winking.

You tried to play it cool.

Tried to act like your heart wasn’t punching itself in the face.

Instead, you just said, "Whatever, rich boy. Let’s dance before I regret this."

And somehow, with Dick’s hand wrapped around yours and the gym lights flickering overhead, you realized you were having the best night of your life — cheap decorations, judgmental classmates, bad punch and all. No crimes, no tight suits, just the arms of your best friend around you.

SOME YEARS LATER...

NEW YORK CITY SMELLED LIKE hot dog stands, wet pavement, and cheap coffee. It was comforting, in a weird way — grounding, like an old song you never forgot the words to. It smelled like home.

You had just finished your doctorate at Empire State University — biophysics, the degree that had nearly broken you with sleepless nights and endless labs. Four years of undergrad, another six buried under papers and research grants, all while swinging through the city rooftops under a different name.

You were proud, sure. But pride didn’t pay rent, which meant you were still picking up gigs at the Daily Bugle, still hustling freelance science writing jobs, still showing up at FEAST with boxes of canned goods, just trying to help where you could.

You huffed, adjusting the box in your arms as you kicked open the back door. Aunt May had been working at FEAST full-time now ever since she retired, and somehow, you always found yourself drawn back here too. Helping people — it was kind of your thing. Always had been.

What you didn’t expect was to walk into the kitchen and see him—

Leaning casually against the counter like he owned the place, grinning like he hadn’t just crossed two state lines without so much as a warning.

"Hey, trouble."

You blinked, nearly dropping the box.

"Dick?!"

He flashed that damn movie-star smile at you — the one that should’ve come with a warning label. "Miss me?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" you cried, laughing as you dropped the box on the table and practically launched yourself at him.

Dick caught you without hesitation, his arms wrapping around you in a warm, easy hug. You hadn’t realized how much you needed it until right now. Twelve years. Twelve years of growing up side-by-side, saving cities, teasing each other over coms, late-night phone calls just to vent about patrol. And yet somehow, seeing him in person after a few months apart hit you harder than you expected.

You pulled back. "You idiot! You’re supposed to call before you show up in my city."

"What, and ruin the surprise?" he teased, ruffling your hair — which earned him a murderous glare from you. "Besides, I figured Aunt May could use some extra hands around here."

May appeared in the doorway at that exact moment, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face lit up when she saw Dick. "Richard, honey! It’s so good to see you!"

"Richard," you snickered under your breath, watching Dick grimace in horror as May pulled him into a hug.

"She’s the only one allowed to call me that," he grumbled as he shot you a look over May’s shoulder.

You grinned. God, you’d missed him.

There was a way Dick fit into your life that no one else could replicate — like he was the missing piece to a puzzle you hadn’t even realized was incomplete. Maybe it was the history. Maybe it was the fact that you understood each other in ways that no one else ever could — the grief, the pressure, the guilt that came from trying to save people and knowing it would never be enough.

Maybe it was just him.

Because somewhere along the line, Dick Grayson had gone from Gotham’s golden boy to Nightwing — the heart of Blüdhaven, the hero everyone loved. He wasn’t just a sidekick anymore. He was the blueprint.

Kids in Blüdhaven wore Nightwing shirts and told stories about how he’d saved their dad or helped their aunt or dropped off Christmas gifts at the shelters. He was the hero people wanted to be — not just because he was good with his fists, but because he never stopped believing the world could be better.

You were proud of him in a way you couldn’t even put into words.

And looking at him now — a little older, a little more worn around the edges, but still him — you realized how much he still made you feel like you weren’t alone in any of it. He was your best friend and your family.

You saw May kissing his left cheek before going back to the main room, it was time to serve lunch.

"So," he began, leaning against the counter with that casual drawl he used when he was trying way too hard to sound chill, "how’s your thing with MJ going?"

His tone was careful — soft — like he knew exactly how much of a train wreck your love life had been lately. How you always ended up back at square one: alone.

You shrugged, shooting him a half-hearted smile.

"Eh. How’s your thing with Babs going?"

You tossed the question back at him without missing a beat, raising your brows pointedly.

Dick mirrored your shrug, lips twitching.

"Eh."

There was a brief pause — the kind only two people who knew each other too well could slip into without it feeling awkward — and then you smirked.

"Well, there’s your problem. You’re into gingers."

He snorted. "You’re into gingers."

You pointed at him like you just cracked the code of the universe.

"Exactly. That’s why we both have commitment issues. Everyone knows gingers are secretly evil."

Dick barked a laugh, shaking his head.

"Evil and dangerously attractive. It’s a lose-lose."

"Honestly," you sighed dramatically, "it’s not our fault we keep getting attached to soulless, beautiful monsters."

He grinned wide, that stupidly charming Nightwing grin.

"Soulless monsters — sounds like half the people we fight too."

"At least fighting bad guys doesn’t leave me crying into a tub of ice cream at two a.m."

Dick’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I guess you forgot your little friend Felicia Hardy in this sentence."

You gasped, smacking his arm — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point.

"That was one time and she tricked me!"

"Uh-huh," Dick said, smirking as he rubbed his arm dramatically. "And then she ghosted you and stole your watch. And your wallet".

You groaned.

"I told you that in confidence, you traitor."

He grinned even wider, clearly enjoying himself.

"You’re lucky I’m your best friend and not, you know, selling these stories to the tabloids."

You gave him a half-hearted glare before letting out a snort.

"Yeah, because Nightwing Reveals Spiderwoman Got Played by Cat Thief would really earn you some credibility."

Dick shrugged, unbothered. "Might finally knock me off GQ’s ‘Sexiest Heroes Alive’ list. Honestly, it’s getting exhausting."

You laughed, the sound bursting out of you before you could stop it. God, you missed this. The easy rhythm of you and Dick — how he could drag you out of any dark place with just a few dumb jokes and a mischievous glint in his eye.

"But come on now, sexiest hero alive," you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "Why are you truly in New York?"

Your face ached from how much you’d been smiling. It was almost enough to make you forget the three broken ribs healing under your shirt and the nasty wound stitched up on your left thigh. Almost.

Dick just shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a half-smile.

"Nothing at all," he said lightly. "Just missed you."

You squinted at him, unconvinced.

"Missed me enough to leave your city to crumble without Nightwing?"

"Don’t be dramatic," he said, rolling his eyes fondly. "Tim’s covering me this weekend. Blüdhaven’s in good hands."

You studied him again — really studied him — noticing how his bright blue eyes suddenly dipped away from yours, shyness creeping into his expression. Dick sighed, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, like he was bracing himself.

"It’s May fourth," he said quietly.

You froze for a beat. Of course.

You didn’t need him to say anything else. You knew exactly what that date meant.

Uncle Ben’s death anniversary.

You were so burried into your Spiderwoman's stuff last night that you forgot all about Ben, you didn't even noticed how sad May was this morning. A lump formed in your throat. The pain was still there, buried deep. It always was. Even with all the miles between you and that night, the guilt, the regret — it never quite left. You thought you had it under control, thought you had it buried in the same corner where you stashed all your unresolved issues. But not today. Not with Dick here, looking at you like that.

You were about to say something, anything, to push the conversation somewhere else. But Dick stepped closer, the usual teasing smirk gone. His gaze softened, his voice quiet, steady.

"You still blame yourself, don’t you?"

The question hit harder than you’d expected, like he’d plucked the thought right from your mind. You met his eyes for the first time since he’d dropped that bomb. The guilt, all of it, was there — clear and raw. You didn’t need to say a word.

He sighed, stepping closer, until his body was just a breath away from yours. His hand brushed against your arm, the touch warm, gentle.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "You can’t save everyone. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that."

You almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded coming from him. Dick Grayson — Nightwing, a hero, a Titan — was the one who saved people, who did the impossible. He was the one who made sure no one fell through the cracks. He was everybody's safety net.

"I’m not like you," you whispered. The words sounded bitter in your mouth. "I’m not like him. I could’ve done more, should’ve done more. I—"

"Stop," Dick interrupted, his voice firm but caring. "You did everything you could. But you can’t do it all, especially not alone."

You looked up at him, his blue eyes meeting yours, soft with understanding. There was no judgment in his gaze — only the kind of acceptance that made your chest tighten. He’d seen your worst moments. And somehow, even in those, he still cared.

He was always there, wasn’t he? Even when it felt like the whole world was crashing down around you, he was the constant you could rely on. He didn’t need to say a word — he just was.

"I’m sorry," you muttered, shaking your head. "I should’ve been better, Dick. He deserved better. He would be alive—"

Dick’s hand moved to your shoulder, his grip solid, like he was holding you together in a way no one else could.

"You don’t have to carry that on your own," he said quietly. "And you don’t have to keep punishing yourself, either. Ben wouldn’t want that."

You clenched your jaw, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. But the dam was breaking. Slowly, painfully, the tears you didn’t realize were there started to well up. And Dick — always, always there — pulled you into his arms without hesitation.

"Hey," he whispered into your hair, his voice soothing, "You’re not alone. I’m here, alright? And so is May. We’re all here."

You clung to him for a second longer than you probably should’ve, your hands gripping the back of his shirt like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed this. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead into his shoulder, trying to swallow the emotion threatening to spill over.

Eventually, you pulled back, just a little, blinking away the tears. Your chest felt lighter, like the weight of the years had shifted just a little.

"Thanks," you said, voice thick. "I really needed that."

Dick’s thumb brushed carefully along your jaw, grounding you. You stared up at him, the breath catching in your chest, and for a long moment, he just looked at you — like he was memorizing you, seeing every crack, every bruise, and not turning away.

Then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a soft, steady kiss to your forehead. Just like many others he gave you in these past twelve years. He lingered there, letting the touch say all the things neither of you could voice out loud.

When he finally pulled back, he dropped another kiss, featherlight, to the tip of your nose — the smallest, softest thing — and it broke something inside you in the best way. It wasn’t romantic, not in the big, sweeping way movies liked to show. It was better. It was pure, steady, real. The kind of love that had nothing to prove and nowhere to go. It just was.

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing him in — the faint smell of his cologne, the leather of his jacket, the clean sweat of someone who lived moving, fighting, surviving. When you opened your eyes again, he was still there, hands steady, smile small and genuine.

"You’re such an ugly crier, Webs," Dick said, voice full of teasing warmth as he wiped your cheeks with his thumbs. "Is that snot? Seriously?"

You let out a wet, broken laugh. "Fuck off — my uncle died, you asshole."

"I know, I know," he said, his grin tugging at the corner of his mouth even as his eyes stayed soft, careful. He cupped your face between his hands like you were something fragile and precious, his thumbs brushing away the tears and — yeah, maybe a little snot too. "You’re allowed to cry. Even if you do it… extremely unattractively."

You hiccupped a miserable sound and buried your face in his shoulder. Dick just laughed under his breath and tucked you closer, like he could shield you from the whole damn world if you let him.

"You’re the worst," you muttered thickly into his neck.

For a minute, you just breathed together. No words. No expectations. Then you heard the familiar shuffle of footsteps and Aunt May’s voice coming from the kitchen doorway.

"Well, isn’t this the cutest thing I’ve seen all week."

You jerked upright, immediately wiping your face. Dick just threw an arm lazily around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Hey, May," he said brightly, like you weren’t two seconds away from crumbling.

Aunt May just smiled knowingly, walking over to kiss your temple and then ruffle Dick’s hair, making him squawk in protest. "Always good to see you, honey. But next time, you know, call first".

"Yes, ma’am," he grumbled, fixing his hair like some offended cat.

"Come on, you two," she said, already turning back toward the kitchen. "There’s leftovers from dinner. You can eat and then help me serving lunch. We have new people here needing help and Miles is really anxious about meeting your friend".

Ah, Miles. He's a great kid and hero. Dick's probably gonna like him. Dick squeezed your shoulder gently. "Race you to the table, ugly crier."

You elbowed him hard in the ribs, but you were laughing. Really laughing. Later that day, standing in front of Uncle Ben’s grave, the city felt quieter and worst than usual. Maybe it was just the way your heart was beating — slow, heavy, a little cracked around the edges. You stared at the headstone until the words blurred, the lump in your throat too thick to swallow.

Without a word, Dick stepped closer and pulled you against his side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. His fingers found yours easily, lacing them together like they belonged there, like they always had. He squeezed your hand and then, without any hesitation, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

It was so soft it made your eyes sting all over again.

You leaned into him, letting his strength anchor you, feeling his heartbeat steady against your side. The sun dipped lower, the air turning cooler, but neither of you moved. You could always hear his heartbeat, even when he wasn't in the same room as you. Nice part of having powers. You have the sound memorized in your head.

Dick didn’t rush you. He didn’t tell you it was time to go, or that you had to be strong, or that Ben was in a better place. He just stayed — solid and silent and sure — holding you. He spent the whole evening there with you, never once letting go of your hand. May was in front of you, mourning in her own way. In silence.

When the city lights finally started to blink on in the distance, you turned your face into his shoulder and whispered, voice cracking, "Thank you."

Dick just squeezed your hand tighter, pressing another kiss to your hairline.

"Always, Webs," he murmured against your hair. "Always." like they belonged there, like they always had.

©cybergoth1, 2025

[cumironi]

ARE YOU A GOOD GIRL? jjk men.

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. d!ck inside, gasp and moan filling the room. your boyfriend pays you a visit and one praise they have you cum just in a second, and what do they do? oh, i’m gonna ruin you with that’ they said.

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk men, established 23 you & 31 them, praise kink, petname(s), name-calling(s), overstimulated, dirty talk,

GOJO SATORU

your dorm room was dim, just the amber glow of your bedside lamp flickering against the walls and casting shadows that danced with the rhythm of your bodies. his shirt was tossed somewhere by your desk chair, your panties slung haphazardly over your open textbook—because of course gojo had bent you over your desk first, saying something like “might as well break in your study spot properly, baby.”

but now you were on the bed, flat on your back, his silver hair a messy halo as he hovered over you, hips grinding into yours at a slow, relentless pace. skin hot and sticky, your legs trembling around his waist, your breath coming out in ragged little gasps.

“look at you,” he rasped, sweat dripping down his temple as he dragged his cock out to the tip, just to slam it back in. “fuck, baby—you’re taking me so good.”

your nails clawed at his back. “s-satoru—!”

he groaned at the way your voice cracked, the way you clenched down on him so tight the second he said something nice. “mm? what was that? you like that? like being told how good you are for me?”

your walls fluttered around him. violently.

his eyes widened.

“oh my god,” he said, stilling completely inside you. “no fuckin’ way.”

you were already whining, shifting your hips to chase friction, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, staring at you like he just struck gold.

“you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” he whispered, breathless. “you’re gonna cum just from that.”

your face was burning. “shut up—”

but he didn’t. of course he didn’t. this was gojo.

“ohhh, no no, now i have to test it,” he grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching with mischief. “you like being praised, baby? does it make that pretty pussy all messy?”

you whimpered as his free hand slid down, thumb circling your clit in slow, teasing strokes.

“you’re doing so good for me. such a good girl—letting me fuck you like this, letting me ruin that smart little college brain. i know you’ve been working hard all week, haven’t you?”

your hips bucked hard.

“ah—there it is,” he laughed, almost mean. “my filthy little overachiever. studying all day just to get ruined by my cock at night.”

his strokes picked up. so did his words.

“so proud of you, baby. so proud of this body—these thighs, this tight little cunt that’s soaking for me. you’re just perfect. my perfect, obedient, desperate girl—”

your orgasm hit like a truck.

you cried out, back arching violently, legs locked around him as your whole body seized beneath him. your walls clamped around his cock so hard it knocked the air out of him, and for once, satoru gojo was left speechless.

“f-fuck—holy shit—”

he collapsed on top of you, still twitching inside, and laughed breathlessly against your neck. “you just came from that,” he murmured, grinning like he just won the lottery. “from me telling you how good you are.”

you were still trembling.

“i’m never shutting the fuck up again,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “you’re so screwed, baby.”

and he meant that in every way possible.

GETO SUGURU

it was late—past midnight kind of late—and you’d just finished a soul-sucking group project that left you drained, grumpy, and snapping at anyone who looked at you sideways. which is why, when suguru showed up unannounced, you didn’t even question it. you just fell into his chest with a soft sigh, letting him carry you to the bed like he always did when you were too tired to move.

he kissed you like he missed you. slow and deep, tongue gliding past your lips like he had nowhere else to be. you didn’t even realize when he’d slipped your shirt off, or how your panties were already pushed to the side, or how the heat of his cock was nudging at your folds, thick and pulsing.

“tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips.

you didn’t.

so he sank in slow, the stretch burning just right, your thighs wrapped tight around his waist, your fingers knotted in the strands of his hair still tied back lazily. he hissed through his teeth as he bottomed out.

“fuck, baby—you’re always so tight for me,” he groaned, his pace steady and firm, hips slapping into yours with a controlled rhythm. “even after all this time.”

you bit your lip, already feeling your body light up like a fuse had been lit in your spine. but you didn’t say anything. not yet.

he noticed it right away—how you squeezed around him the moment his voice dropped, all deep and sweet.

his brows lifted, that soft, wicked smile tugging at his lips.

“wait,” he said, rocking into you deeper. “you like that?”

you tried to look away.

“no, no—don’t hide,” he chuckled, catching your jaw and turning your face back to his. “you’re telling me you get off on a little praise?”

you shook your head. a clear lie.

“liar,” he murmured, leaning down to whisper against your lips. “you’re such a good girl for me. always so wet. always so eager to be filled up.”

you gasped—your body jolted—and your cunt squeezed around him so tight it dragged a curse from his throat.

“oh my god,” he laughed, unhinged now. “you’re fucking serious.”

he started fucking into you harder, deeper. his hand slid down your body, resting on your stomach, pressing there so he could feel how deep he was.

“i’m gonna ruin you with this,” he said, gaze dark with something close to awe. “just words, baby? just a few sweet nothings and you’re this close to cumming? fuck—look at you.”

you couldn’t hold back the noises anymore. every time he praised you—every filthy compliment, every soft ‘good girl’—your moans got louder, your legs shook harder, and your nails dug into his arms like you were holding on for dear life.

“such a perfect little thing,” he whispered, face buried in your neck. “taking me so well. doing so good, baby. you’re so beautiful like this—messy, fucked out, desperate.”

your body locked up.

he felt it, smirked, and gripped your hips tighter. “that’s it. cum for me. show me how much you love hearing how proud i am of you.”

and with a shattered whimper, you came. violently. full-body trembling, eyes rolling, breath stuttering as you soaked his cock.

he groaned into your mouth, slowing down just enough to ride you through it, kissing your lips softly like he hadn’t just broken you in half with his voice.

“mmm, my girl’s got the cutest kink,” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face as you struggled to catch your breath. “you just gave me a fuckin’ god complex.”

you blinked up at him, dazed.

he grinned, leaned down, and whispered, “don’t worry. i’m gonna make you cum every single time i call you my good girl.”

and the worst part? you knew he would.

NANAMI KENTO

you didn’t expect him to show up at your dorm this late. he rarely came over without warning—he was punctual, predictable, always so polite about it. but tonight, something in his voice over the phone had made your stomach twist with anticipation. his “i’m coming over” had been low, firm, and left no room for argument.

so now you were here. back pressed against your desk, your shirt halfway open, your skirt bunched up around your waist, and nanami on his knees in front of you like a man starved. his tie was off, sleeves rolled up, glasses long forgotten on your nightstand, and you were struggling to breathe through the way his tongue moved over you—slow, devastating, focused.

“you’ve had a long week,” he murmured between licks, his voice thick with restraint. “thought i’d help you relax.”

your legs were already shaking, and you barely managed to stutter his name before he stood, towering over you, fingers ghosting over your trembling thighs. you could see it in his face—the slight pink in his cheeks, the tension in his jaw—that he was holding back.

and when he slid inside you?

oh god.

the stretch was perfect, deep, almost too much. you moaned openly, arms wrapping around his neck, eyes fluttering as he started thrusting into you slow and controlled, like he wanted to memorize the way your body reacted to each push.

and then—you clenched around him. tight.

the second he muttered, “you’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

he paused, eyes flicking up to your face. “...was that because of what i said?”

your mouth parted. you hesitated.

he stared for a beat, and then—something in him changed.

“interesting,” he breathed, voice suddenly darker. “so that’s what gets you dripping like this.”

he pulled out halfway, slammed back in, hard enough to knock a choked moan out of you.

“you want to be praised, is that it?” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your jaw as he fucked you into the desk. “want me to tell you what a good girl you are?”

you whimpered.

he caught your face in his hand, made you look him in the eye. “you’re such a good girl for me. letting me have you like this. always so polite, so obedient—until i get you alone.”

you broke. you fucking broke.

your body went stiff, orgasm ripping through you before you could even warn him, clenching and throbbing so tight around his cock that his next groan sounded almost pained.

“fuck,” he muttered, hips stuttering. “you just came.”

you hid your face in his neck.

he didn’t stop.

he fucked you through it, whispering into your skin, “you did so well, darling. came so beautifully for me. i didn’t even have to touch you.”

and then, very softly: “what a filthy, perfect girl you are.”

you nearly sobbed.

he wrapped his arms around you, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and laid you on the bed—still inside you, still throbbing hard.

“don’t think we’re finished,” he said, sliding out slow, teasing, only to push back in and make you gasp. “not when i’ve just discovered how to ruin you.”

he kissed your forehead, lips soft and reverent.

“i’m going to praise you until you can’t walk tomorrow.”

and knowing him? he meant it.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

you knew what kind of night it was going to be the moment toji showed up at your door, leaning against the frame like he owned the place, shirt already unbuttoned halfway down and a smug glint in his eyes that said trouble. the man had no business looking that good at midnight.

"heard you’ve been stressin’ over your exams," he said, stepping inside without waiting. "figured i’d help you take the edge off."

“oh?” you quipped, cocky—until his hand gripped your throat lightly, tilting your head back just enough for his mouth to meet yours. and like always, he didn’t ease into it. his kiss was tongue and teeth and a little bite to your bottom lip that made your knees weak.

you didn’t even know when your panties came off. or when he bent you over your desk, your cheek pressed against open textbooks and crumpled lecture notes. all you felt was the heavy drag of his cock, thick and slow, sliding inside until you were full—so full you whimpered.

“fuck, always so tight,” he groaned, pressing his chest to your back. “like you’ve been waiting for me.”

he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you like he was mad, like he missed you, like he needed this. every slap of skin echoed through the room, and your voice broke with every thrust. but then—

“such a good girl,” he muttered, not even thinking. just slipped out like it was instinct.

and your body snapped. you clenched around him hard, nearly choking on your moan.

he paused.

“…no fuckin’ way,” he breathed, pulling your hair to lift your head. “say that again.”

you stayed quiet. trembling.

he slammed back into you so hard your legs buckled.

“nah, princess. don’t hold out on me. you like that, huh? like bein’ called my good girl?”

you whined, breath hitching, face burning.

toji let out the filthiest, cockiest laugh. “holy shit,” he whispered, licking a stripe up the side of your neck. “you’re tellin’ me you cream the second i open my fuckin’ mouth? shit, baby—you’re so easy.”

his hand reached around, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “go ahead then,” he rasped. “cum on my cock. be my good fuckin’ girl.”

and just like that, you shattered.

you came so hard your thighs trembled, knees giving out under you. and toji? he just held you up, praised you through it, voice low and ragged in your ear.

“atta girl… so fuckin’ pretty when you cum. makin’ a mess on me already?”

he flipped you over like you weighed nothing, lifted your leg, and slid right back in.

“oh, we’re not done,” he grinned, breathless now, pupils blown wide. “you think i’m lettin’ this kink go to waste?”

you barely had the strength to answer, still shaking.

he leaned in, kissed you like he was mocking how ruined you looked. “you’re gonna cum for me again,” he promised. “and again. and again. until you’re cryin’ from bein’ called a good girl.”

and you knew—knew—he meant every word.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

it was late—quiet. the kind of silence that presses in on you thick and slow, where even the smallest sound feels amplified. sukuna’s apartment was dimly lit, just the soft, golden glow from the single lamp in the corner casting long shadows over the room.

you were straddling his lap, completely bare, thighs draped over his, your arms loose around his neck. his back rested against the couch, body warm beneath you, and his eyes—those deep, dark red eyes—never left your face. not even when your hips moved. not even when your breath hitched.

he had you seated right where he wanted you, hands gripping your waist, guiding your rhythm—slow, deep, unrelenting.

and you were a mess already.

“look at you,” he muttered, voice a low, amused rumble. “bouncin’ on my cock like you’re made for it.”

your breath stuttered, thighs twitching.

his fingers tightened on your waist just slightly. “you like that, huh? being told you’re good?”

you didn’t answer fast enough, but your body did—your eyes fluttering shut, hips stuttering, your moan nearly breaking apart in your throat.

and that was all he needed.

sukuna leaned in, mouth brushing your ear with a grin that you felt more than saw.

“ohhh. so that’s what this is.”

his tone dipped—taunting, smug. “my little girl gets off when i talk to her nice.”

you squirmed, half-mortified, half turned on beyond saving.

he tilted his head, watching your tits bounce with every needy rock of your hips. then he slipped a hand up, dragging his thumb lazily across your nipple, his other hand gripping your ass tight enough to bruise.

“you want me to keep tellin’ you how perfect you feel?” he whispered, suddenly more serious. his voice still laced with heat, but there was something darker behind it now. possessiveness. awe. “how tight this pussy is, how it sucks me in like it can’t breathe without me?”

your head dropped to his shoulder with a broken whimper.

“fuck—look at you.”

he let out a shaky breath, hips jerking up. “you’re gonna cum already, aren’t you? just from me talkin’?”

you nodded, desperate, babbling nonsense against his skin.

and then he said it—soft, low, raw:

“that’s my good girl.”

you shattered.

back arching, fingers clawing into his shoulders, your entire body went stiff before it trembled against his. you came so hard around him, so violently, it knocked the breath out of you—and sukuna just held you, smirking against your throat, murmuring filth between kisses.

“knew you were filthy for me.”

kiss.

“but this? fuck, baby. that’s dangerous.”

kiss.

“gonna use that mouth of mine to ruin you every night now.”

you didn’t doubt it for a second.

and from that night on, every time his voice dropped just a little, every time he muttered good girl into your ear—you remembered exactly how it felt to lose yourself right there on his lap, under the glow of that lonely little lamp, with praise melting off his tongue like sin.

SHIU KONG

it was supposed to be just a drive. just a night cruise with the windows down and your hand resting lazily on his thigh, music low and city lights flashing by. but shiu had always been the type to snap once something got under his skin—and you? dressed like that, soft thighs bare and eyes teasing him from the passenger seat?

you knew what you were doing.

that’s why you weren’t surprised when he suddenly pulled into some dark, quiet parking lot and killed the engine without a word.

his voice was low, rough when he spoke, hand gripping your chin as he leaned over.

“get in the back. now.”

you didn’t argue.

the car door slammed, and the moment you slid into the backseat, he followed—tall frame looming, heavy with intent. he didn’t give you time to process, to breathe—just pushed you down until your back hit the leather, and his mouth was already on your neck, hands everywhere.

“you always this bratty?” he growled against your skin. “or are you just desperate to get fucked like a little slut?”

your answer was a gasp, knees spreading on instinct. he chuckled low—one hand pushing up your skirt, the other unbuckling his belt in a way that felt both urgent and terrifyingly controlled. he wanted this, but he wanted to savor it.

his fingers slid between your legs, felt the mess there already.

“fuck—this wet already?” his brows twitched, head tilting. “just from me tellin’ you what to do?”

and then, a little slower:

“…do you like that?”

your breath caught in your throat.

“do you get off on being told you’re a good girl?” he murmured, right by your ear now, voice like hot velvet dragging across your spine. “is that what this is?”

you whimpered, body twitching, thighs tightening.

his grin was all sharp teeth and danger.

“well shit. that’s easy, sweetheart.”

he lined himself up, still fully clothed, only his zipper down, and pushed in with one long, slow stroke. you cried out—sensitive, overstimulated, and shiu loved it. he leaned over you, one hand gripping the seat above your head as he began thrusting, rough and deep, the car rocking with every snap of his hips.

“fuck, you feel good like this,” he panted, watching your eyes roll back. “so goddamn tight. takin’ me so well.”

then—he tried it.

soft, breathless, dangerous:

“good girl.”

your whole body clenched.

he stilled.

“…no way.”

he looked down at you, your chest heaving, face flushed, mouth open in a silent moan, your walls fluttering around him just from those two little words.

“you’re fuckin’ kidding,” he breathed, voice shaking. “you’re actually about to cum just from that?”

you nodded, whining—too far gone to be shy.

he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “oh, i’m gonna ruin you with that.”

and he did.

over and over, thrusting deep, whispering it like it was sacred.

“good girl.”

“such a perfect fuckin’ thing.”

“look at you, clenching around me so sweet just ‘cause i’m praising you.”

he made you cum so hard, you cried—shaking in the back of his car while the windows fogged and your voice echoed against the leather.

and after? when you were still trembling, body boneless under him?

he kissed your cheek, still inside you, and smirked against your skin.

“next time, i’m doing this with the windows down,” he whispered. “wanna see how many people can hear you fall apart when i tell you you’re mine.”

HIROMI HIGURUMA

the city outside was still alive—lights flickering against the windows, muffled car horns somewhere in the distance—but in his office, it was nothing but dim lamps, the soft creak of the floor beneath the blanket he laid out, and the sound of your breathless gasps echoing off his walls.

he was above you. hands planted firm on either side of your head, body stretched long and tense, every muscle in his arms flexing with control as he moved inside you—slow, deep strokes that made your whole body tremble beneath him.

his tie was still on, his shirt half-unbuttoned and sleeves rolled to his elbows. he looked down at you like he was trying to memorize every single twitch of your face, every broken sound you gave him.

“you’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice rough, reverent. “fuck—you feel incredible.”

and you whimpered.

he paused—just slightly—but his hips didn’t stop.

his brow furrowed, mouth parting as his eyes locked onto your expression.

“…was that it?” he asked softly, his pace slowing, hips dragging almost teasingly deep. “did that do it for you?”

your face was flushed, mouth open, eyes wide—betraying everything.

he let out a low breath of laughter, something between awe and amusement, and leaned down closer, his mouth brushing against your ear.

“oh, you like being told that. don’t you?”

your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging in.

“god, of course you do,” he whispered, hips thrusting again, more deliberate now. “you’re such a good girl for me. lying here, letting me fuck you slow—just like this. perfect.”

your whole body jerked, breath catching. and he felt it—your walls tightening, the tremble of your thighs pulling him in closer.

his voice dropped lower, rougher.

“gonna cum, sweetheart?”

you nodded helplessly.

he smirked—something lazy, dangerous—and dragged his hand down between your bodies, fingers brushing right where you needed them.

“do it. cum for me.”

then, slower—deeper—hot breath against your lips:

“be a good girl and cum for me.”

you broke.

your back arched off the floor, thighs shaking around his waist as your orgasm tore through you—so hard it hit like a wave, full-body and overwhelming. you cried out, clinging to him as your body clenched tight, trembling under his weight.

and higuruma—he didn’t stop. he kissed your temple, dragged his fingers along your cheek, whispered praises while you came undone beneath him.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, almost too tender for how deep he was still inside you. “so sweet. you always fall apart for me when i say it, don’t you?”

you nodded again, breathless, dizzy.

his lips curved into something between a smirk and a soft smile, brushing his mouth against your cheek as he pushed his hips in deep again.

“i’m never shutting up again, then,” he said, almost like a vow.

“you’re gonna cum from my voice alone by the time i’m done with you.”

and with the way your body responded—shaking, sensitive, already aching for more—you knew he meant it.

[frudoo]

Ghost x Fem!Reader x Gaz

The Original Thought

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Consensual non-consent (CNC). A tiny bit of angst? Barely proofread. Fem!Reader. GhostGaz implied at the end teehee

“Wha’s go’ yer knickers in a twist, LT?” Johnny cocks an eyebrow, kicking his superior’s leg teasingly.

     “Watch ya mouth, sergeant,” the lieutenant rolls his eyes, slumping further into his chair.

     The 141 has had somewhat of a lazy work day. They all did a half-assed job at PT this morning, took off an entire hour off of gym time, and convinced Price that it’s an off day, and if they were all to go to the range, someone would get shot. The captain, of course, would never turn down a chance to skip duty in favor of smoking a nice cigar with his lads while they each have a tea (or coffee for a certain Scottish snob) in the rec room. 

     “C’mon, Simon. Keep squeezin’ tha’ mug so ‘ard, it’ll break,” Price smirks through a puff of pungent smoke. “Summat goin’ on w’the missus?”

     His silence is telling.

     “Spill it, Ghost. Go’ a few more minutes ‘fore we’re off,” Kyle makes a grand gesture of resting his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. 

     “Oi, qui’ swingin’ ya legs, Gaz, can see the hearts in ya eyes,” the masked man grunts. “We’re jus’ goin’ through a bi’ of a… dry spell.”

     The other three men all nod with a collective ohhh, like he’s just given them the answer to the last part of a crossword puzzle. Ghost rolls his eyes yet again, crossing his arms over his broad chest in a frustrated motion.

     “Lass is ‘oldin’ back the goods, aye?” Johnny pouts mockingly. “If ye need tae ge’ yer cock wet-”

     “Ya better think ‘fore ya finish tha’ sentence, MacTavish,” Price warns, pointing a stern finger at the Scot, whose pout instantly turns genuine.

     “S’no’ her,” Ghost mutters. “S’my faul’. She’s been wantin’ t’try summat new, an’ I jus’ can’t do it f’er.”

     “Why no’?” Questions Gaz, brow furrowed in curiosity. 

     “She wan’s t’be surprised w’it, rough and ‘ard, like a- like she’s bein’-”

     “We go’ it, LT, ye dinnae ‘ave tae explain,” Johnny interjects, patting his mate on the shoulder. 

     Ghost nods, sucking in a deep breath.

     “Was real proud tha’ she felt comfortable enough t’tell me, an’ I think it’s great tha’ she ‘as fantasies, bu’ I can’t stomach it. She’s no’ exactly mad, she knows why it makes me uncomfortable, and she won’t admit it bu’ I can tell she’s disappointed. Makes me feel like a shit ‘usband,” he admits sheepishly.

     “Y’know tha’s not true,” Price tells him firmly. “Jus’ make sure she understands tha’ ya still love ‘er, and I’m sure it’ll go back to normal soon enough, lad.”

     Five o’clock hits, and everyone stands immediately, eager to go home. Ghost barely makes it back to his truck before Gaz catches up to him, eyes narrowed with determination. 

     “Ghost!” He stops the huge man before he can get in his truck and drive away.

     “Wha’?”

     Gaz bites his bottom lip nervously, turning his ball cap backwards so he can see his superior better. 

     “A-abou’ ya wife. If she wan’s, I-I can-”

     “No,” Ghost interrupts gruffly. “Absolutely no’. Ge’ outta my sight.”

     “Sir, I didn’ even say anythin’ yet!”

     “You’re no’ fuckin’ my wife, Kyle. M’no’ bloody incompetent,” the masked man climbs into his truck and starts the engine, turning to say something else only to find his sergeant gone.

     Ghost whips his head around at the sound of the passenger-side door opening, sighing deeply as the younger man enters. Gaz buckles up and stares at him intently.

     “Piss off outta my truck, Garrick.”

     “C’mon, Simon! Ya bird needs it rough, an’ I’ve go’ some pen’ up frustration to release,” he pouts. “Maybe, once she gets it outta ‘er system, she’ll come runnin’ back t’ya an’ everythin’ goes back t’normal.”

     The lieutenant looks at him long and hard before letting out a growl of frustration. Kyle straightens up, clutching onto the bottom of his seat for dear life as the older man backs out of his parking spot without so much as glancing at the backup camera. 

     “Been waitin’ f’this, ‘aven’t ya?”

     “N-no sir!”

     “Bullshit. Ya’ve wanted ‘er since I introduced ‘er t’the team,” Simon grumbles. “Ya gonna eat dinner w’us, charm ‘er real nice, and after ya leave I’ll bring the idea up t’er. If she looks even slightly uncomfortable during the meal, ya out. No exceptions.”

     “Yes, sir,” Kyle tries not to show his excitement, but he can already feel all the blood in his brain trying to rush directly to his dick.

     “Knobhead.”

     //

     “Thanks again for the meal, Mrs. Riley,” Kyle smiles with all of those pretty teeth, and it flusters you.

     “O-oh, it’s no problem, Sergeant Garrick. I’m happy you enjoyed it,” you return his grin, smoothing out the wrinkles in your apron to give your hands something to do.

     “Please, call me Kyle.”

     “Go’ an early mornin’ tomorrow, Gaz,” Simon hints, stomping over to the front door and opening it quickly. “Good t’see ya, mate.”

     “Simon, you drove him here.”

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he sighs defeatedly, grabbing his keys. 

     With a giggle, you give your husband a kiss on the lips and Kyle a hug. You busy yourself with cleaning up the kitchen while your husband drives his teammate back to base so he can take his own car home.

     Simon doesn’t get back for another half an hour, and by then you’re already cozied up in bed with a book. He’s quiet, but not in his normal enigmatic way—his silence is contemplative. You frown and watch as he changes out of his clothes into a pair of pajamas. Usually he sleeps with nothing on, but ever since you brought up your little fantasy, he’s been… withdrawn. Protective over himself the same way he was when you met him. It sucks.

     You don’t say anything when he climbs into bed, but you are pleasantly surprised when he scoots up close to you and wraps a burly arm around your shoulders. You lay your head back against him, shutting your eyes contentedly, afraid that the moment will be cut short if you make any wrong moves. Simon leans in to press his lips against your hair.

     “Y’like Kyle?” He asks.

     “Yeah, he’s sweet, baby. Didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him when we met at the banquet a few months ago,” you grin, saving your place in your novel and setting it aside. 

     Your husband hums, then sniffs once.

     “Y’wanna fuck ‘im?”

     “What?!” You ask incredulously, jolting out of his grasp in shock.

     “D’ya wanna fuck Kyle?” He clarifies blankly.

     “S-Simon, no, that didn’t even- when- what are you-”

     “He wants t’fuck you,” Simon meets your eyes, but instead of seeing trepidation like you expected, there’s curiosity written along his features. 

     Now confusion pokes at you. He’s not angry, or asking this in a fit of jealous, accusational rage. 

     “Do… do you want me to fuck him?” You ask slowly, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

     “S’not up t’me, love. Told the team ‘bout our li’l… issue-”

     “You told them-?!” You interrupt shrilly.

     “-and Kyle’s fancied ya since the first time I brough’ ya ‘round,” Simon continues. “Says he’s willin’ t’do a, uh… a scene w’ya.”

     Realization dawns on you, and it makes your heart sink. He wants a divorce, doesn’t he? Oh, fucking hell, you should have just kept your kinks to yourself. Now your own husband can’t even stand to be with you. He’s offering you up to his mates like some kind of prize horse.

     “Si, I-I don’t… do- do you not want me anymore?” You gasp softly, chest heaving with looming panic. “God, please don’t leave me, Simon, I c-can’t live without you-”

     “Fuck’s sake, lovie,” Simon cuts you off with a short huff, dragging you into his lap. “Fuckin’ course I still wan’ ya. I jus’ thought tha’ maybe if… if ya get ya fix from somewhere else, it won’t be as disappointing when I get like this.”

     Oh. Is that what this is about? Is that why he hasn’t touched you for so fucking long?

     “I’m not disappointed in you, Si. I know it’s difficult for you. The idea was out of my head the second you told me you weren’t interested,” you cup his face gently. “I don’t need nor want anybody else. I only want you.”

     Simon makes love to you for the first time in weeks.

     //

     You thought that after everything went back to normal with Simon, the suggestion of getting with Kyle had left his head now that he knows you were never upset with him. 

     You were mistaken.

     “He won’t shu’ up ‘bout it, y’know,” he grunts one night while the two of you snuggle up on the couch.

     “Huh?”

     “Kyle. Whinin’ my bloody ear off ‘bout no’ gettin’ t’fuck ya,” he snorts. “Wanker’s jus’ as bad as Johnny.”

     You giggle, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He hums in satisfaction, squeezing your waist gently. You bask in the comfortable silence for a good while. 

     “I think y’should do it.”

     “Simon, don’t start,” you groan, but he shakes his head.

     “No, listen t’me, sweet’eart. I know ya like ‘im. Could see it when he came o’er for dinner- ah, shh, I know you.” He presses a finger to your lips when you start to deny his accusations with a whine. “M’no’ mad ‘bout it. I know tha’ ya mine.”

     “Yours,” you confirm, straddling him and pressing your forehead against his.

     “Tha’s righ’. Jus’ sayin’, if ya still wanna try one o’those li’l fantasies o’yours… I support it. I trust ‘im. I trust you.” 

     “It’s… but what about you?” You frown, humming softly as his thumb traces over the column of your throat. 

     “I won’t be ‘ere, ‘least no’ physically, bu’ I’ll be watchin’ it all ‘appen.”

     You’re obviously a bit confused by his statement and still hesitant, so Simon lightly squeezes your neck and pulls you in closer. His hot breath ghosts across your face, lips not quite close enough to touch but enough to make you crave his kiss. His free arm wraps around your waist and his hand grabs onto your hip, beckoning you forward and backward, effectively grinding your body against his.

     “Still worried ‘bout me, sweet girl?” He whispers, chuckling at the miniscule nod you give him in response. 

     “Don’t want you to be left out,” you breathe.

     “Mm, I won’t be. I’ll be back on the base, watchin’ tha’ pretty face through the cameras and rubbin’ my cock bloody raw.” 

     You gasp as he bucks his hips, his hard cock nudging against your clit perfectly through the dampening fabric between the two of you. 

     Simon Riley fucks you so good that night that you forget all about the conversation that took place right before.

     //

     The dryness of your throat wakes you up at two o’clock in the fucking morning. You never sleep well when your husband is away, and right now, Simon is somewhere you can only assume is far from your quaint little town, probably sleeping on the concrete floor of some cold, lifeless building in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t give you any details—all you’re certain of is that he’s been gone for two weeks now and you miss him like crazy.

     With a raspy curse, you stand from the bed and shove the covers off of yourself, stepping into your slippers and shuffling down the stairs and into the kitchen. You don’t even bother to turn on a lamp or the overhead light, depending solely on the glow of the refrigerator door when you open it to grab the water pitcher. You grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it to the brim, chugging it down until you’re nearly panting, your lungs begging you to take a breath. 

     Something heavy hits the kitchen tile behind you, startling you. You whip your head around in the direction of the clutter but it’s too dark for your eyes to focus on anything. Still, they dart around cautiously despite the eerie silence that settles in your house. 

     You sigh—it’s early. Your brain is probably playing some cruel joke on you because you’re exhausted and your body knows that Simon isn’t here to protect you. You chug the rest of your water and replace the pitcher back into the fridge, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart now that there’s absolutely no light illuminating your surroundings. With a shaky exhale, you slowly pad your way to the stairs.

     It’s not as easy to play off the sound of glass shattering as nothing but paranoia. Goosebumps rise along the expanse of your body as you book it up the stairs. Heavy footsteps trail behind you, right on your tail. You barely reach the bedroom before tears start running down your face. You lunge for your phone where it rests on the nightstand but before you can make contact, a gloved palm slides over your mouth and yanks you back into a hard, warm body. You let out a strangled sob.

     “P-please, I’ll do anything, just please d-don’t hurt me,” you weep, words muffled against the stranger’s hand.

     A deep, mocking chuckle rumbles through the chest pressed against your back. The person’s free hand travels up to your throat but instead of a warm touch, the cold sting of metal bites against your skin. 

     “Scream an’ I’ll slit this pretty throat.”

     A scared whimper escapes you as you nod vigorously. The hand that was previously covering your mouth runs down your body, shamelessly groping at your soft tits through your flimsy nightgown. The intruder presses his lips to your ear, and you feel rough fabric scratch your skin. He’s wearing a mask, but this is not Simon. You’ve never despised your husband’s job so much more than you do at this very moment. 

     “Such a nice rack,” the man coos, pinching one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger and tugging. “Always wondered wha’ these tits would feel like in my ‘ands.” 

     “W-who are you?” You blubber.

     “Shh, shh, shh… don’t worry ‘bout tha’, dove,” he tuts, lowering one strap of your nightie so that your shoulder is exposed. 

     Dove. You know that nickname. You know this man. It’s okay to let go, allow your body to fear because your brain knows it’s perfectly safe. Now, you can play the part and enjoy it.

     “N-no, please don’t, my h-husband will be home soon,” you shudder when you feel the material of the mask rub against the delicate skin of your neck.

     “Well, he’s no’ ‘ere now, is he?” 

     The intruder drags the sharp end of the knife down your chest, teasing your collarbones before hooking it in the hem of your nightgown. You gasp as the silk rips and ruins itself beneath the blade, falling to the floor uselessly. You stand before him naked as the day you were born, shivering from the cold and the knowledge that you’re now completely at his mercy.

     “Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” he growls, removing his belt and binding your wrists together behind your back.

     The man shoves you down so that your ass hits the edge of the bed. Beside you, he stabs the knife through your mattress, nearly nicking the skin of your thigh. You yelp, blinking up at him as he grabs your chin roughly. The fucker is wearing one of your husband’s infamous balaclavas, albeit without the attached skull.

     “Gonna fuck these big tits o’yas,” he sniffs, rubbing his thumb across your pouty bottom lip. “An’ ya no’ gonna say a word ‘bout it, are ya?”

     You shake your head.

     “Tha’s a good girl,” he praises darkly, unbuckling his pants and allowing his hard cock to spring free. “Ge’ my dick nice an’ wet. I feel any teeth, ya gonna lose ya tongue.”

     You lean forward to take him in your mouth, and he lets you suck the tip for a moment before pulling out and smacking your cheek with it. Your yelp only spurs him on. One gloved hand tangles into your hair as he shoves himself back into your mouth without mercy. He’s long, reaching the back of your throat with a single thrust.

      “Mmph… if ya mouth is this fuckin’ warm, can’t imagine wha’ tha’ pussy’s gonna feel like,” he ponders, snickering at the gag you can’t hold back as his tip bruises your poor throat. “Righ’, tha’s enough o’tha’, babe.”

     You gasp for air when he pulls his dick from your mouth, both chests rapidly rising and falling with effort. He pushes your tits together and narrows his eyes at you, giving each nipple a sharp pinch when you don’t read his fucking mind.

     “Spit on ‘em,” he demands. “Now. I ‘aven’t go’ all night.”

     You tilt your head down and spit a glob of saliva onto your breasts, watching as the fluid lubricates your supple skin. The man nods in approval, guiding his dripping cock into the valley of your chest. He shudders when his tip pushes through the top, fat and red and disturbingly gorgeous. You can’t help but stare, watching the way the flesh of your tits spills through his fingers’ vice grip. 

     “Wha’ is it, dove? Never seen a dick this fuckin’ big?” 

     “M-my husband-” you start, huffing with frustration when the bastard interrupts you with a guffaw.

     “Righ’. The one who left ya pretty arse all alone, w’no one ta keep ya safe? Tha’ husband?” He taunts.

     “He can’t help it,” you defend, clenching your fists behind your back.

     “Course no’, dovie. Bloody ‘ell, these tits’re so soft,” he grunts, picking up the pace.

     The head of his cock hits your lips every time he thrusts upwards. When you try to tilt your head back so you don’t have to feel it, he stops his actions and grabs your hair roughly. 

     “Stick ya tongue out,” he hisses, smacking your cheek hard enough to sting. “C’mon, be a good li’l slut f’me. Unless ya wan’ me ta take my knife t’ya guts?”

     “N-no, please,” you wince, tears starting to form in your eyes. 

     “Tongue. Out.”

     You comply with no more hesitance, whimpering softly as the man pushes your breasts together again and builds his pace back up. Instead of your lips, his tip runs over your tongue with every pump of his hips. Salty precum mixes with your saliva and drips down your chin as the lewd sound of his cock slipping through your tits fills the air of your bedroom. 

     “Fuck, fuck, m’gonna come,” he warns, his fingers digging into your slick skin with a bruising grip. “Ya gonna swallow every fuckin’ drop.”

     He moans exaggeratedly as hot ribbons of his spend fall along the expanse of your tongue, coating the muscle with the sticky substance. Along with the expected tang, there’s a hint of sweetness in his cum, and it makes you smack your lips with a twisted form of delight. Apparently, he’s been planning this for a while. 

     “Spread ya legs,” he orders. 

     “No! My h-husband will be home soon, and he’ll- he’ll kill you!” You protest, crossing your legs for emphasis. 

     “Give it a res’, fo’ fuck’s sake,” the man rolls his eyes, forcefully grabbing your knees and wrenching them open. “Ya big, bad leftenant husband isn’t ‘ere t’save ya, an’ he won’t be. Least, no’ before m’done abusing this pretty fuckin’ pussy. Now qui’ ya bloody whinin’ and pull off my glove w’ya teeth.”

     With a disdainful glare, you bare your teeth to the hand he thrusts towards you. He gives you a warning glower like he can see the plotting you’re doing in your head, but you ignore it and bite the tips of his fingers instead of doing what he told you to. The bite earns you a growl and a sharp smack to your cheek.

     “Li’l fuckin’ bitch,” he grabs you by the hair until you’re on your feet, getting right up in your face. “Now ya don’t ge’ my fingers. Tha’ cunt’s gonna ‘ave t’stretch ‘round this fat fuckin’ cock instead.”

     “N-no, I’m sorry, please-” you gasp.

     “Yeah, ya will be. Pull another li’l stunt like tha’ and I’ll yank ya teeth ou’ one by one,” he turns you around and shoves you face-down onto the bed. “Keep tha’ arse up an’ tha’ mouth shut.”

     As best as you can with no help from your arms, you get on your knees, face buried in the sheets. The man chuckles, still-gloved hands rubbing at your asscheeks. He gives them a squeeze and spreads them harshly, letting out a low whistle.

     “Look at tha’, dove,” he drawls. “Don’t reckon you would’ve even needed my fingers, ya pussy is so fuckin’ wet.” 

     You shudder when he runs the tip of his semi-erect cock through your dewy folds, yelping as he smacks it against your clit. Once he’s fully hard again and decides his cock is slick enough, he pushes in with one sharp thrust. You scream in pain, tears streaming down your clammy cheeks, as the man slowly rocks his hips to let you adjust.

     “Wha’s the matter? Can’t ya take it?” He mocks. “Didn’t think ya’d be this tigh’ after takin’ ya husband so many times.”

     “P-please, please stop!” You beg, inching forward to try and get away from the persistent grinding of his hips.

     “Ah-ah, don’t ya do tha’, girlie,” he grabs his belt where your wrists are bound and pulls back until you’re unable to do anything but take what he gives. “Wanted this pussy f’so. Fuckin’. Long. M’takin’ wha’ I’m owed.”

     The man thrusts harshly, now, the almost gentle treatment he gave you just seconds ago long forgotten. Your poor cunt is still raw from being stretched so suddenly, but in addition to the ache there’s a spark of pleasure blooming. It makes you feel sick, disgusted by your own body. It makes your pussy clench.

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he groans, and you can feel the way he tosses his head back. “Y’like this, don’t ya? Gettin’ fucked by someone who’s no’ afraid t’break ya?”

     “N-no!” You protest, tears streaming down your face. 

     “Mm, ya say tha’, but ya pussy jus’ keeps gettin’ wetter,” he tuts. “Bet if I were t’reach down and play w’ya clit, it’d take no time at all f’ya to cream all over my cock.”

     “No, p-please,” you whimper in an attempt to hold back your moans. “I won’t-”

     “Let’s test tha’ theory,” he lets go of your wrists, chuckling as he watches your front helplessly hit the bed. 

     He wraps one arm around your plush stomach and trails his hand down to where he connects with you, two gloved fingers circling at your sensitive little bud. Your squeal is muffled but he hears it clear as day, like you let it free right into his ear. His free hand wraps around your throat, squeezing tightly as he pulls your back into his solid chest. His hips never cease their fluid motions, and at this angle, you can feel the way his tip kisses the plug of your womb. 

     “Poor, neglected girl,” he huffs. “Cunt’s so damn tigh’, feels like ya gonna rip my bloody prick off.”

      The roughness of his gloves against the slippery heat of your clit is a blissful sensation, and that combined with his dick consistently hitting that delicate spot inside you and the slight restriction of air as he squeezes your throat gets you teetering on the edge of ecstasy. 

     “Ya gonna cum, babe? Yeah? Gonna give me wha’s mine?”

     “It’s not- not y-yours!” You rasp pathetically through clenched teeth.

     The man quickens his assault on your clit, moving his hand from your throat to your face. He squishes your cheeks until your lips pucker out, then shakes your head forcibly. 

     “Ya orgasms belong t’me, tonigh’, dove, like it or no’. Matter o’fact, I think I’d like t’show ya dear husband ‘ow pretty ya look cummin’ on another man’s dick,” he taunts.

     Your body is turned to the side as he holds your face still, forcing you to look at the little red light shining in the corner of your bedroom. You knew Simon had put those up a long time ago for safety, but you never could have guessed they would be used to capture this. 

     He hooks his fingers into your mouth and stretches your lips until your gums ache and your teeth are exposed. 

     “Smile f’the camera,” he mutters into your ear and although you can’t see the smirk on his face, you can damn well hear it in his tone. 

     “Go to- fuck! Go to hell!” You weep, your body trembling violently with the force of your orgasm. 

      “Yeah, fuck yeah! Ya see tha’, Ghost? See ‘ow good ya li’l slut is f’me?” He growls, giving your ass a sharp smack. “Think I can make ‘er squirt?”

     “No!” You shake your head, but it does nothing to deter the man. 

     Despite not having recovered from your climax, he continues to toy with your sore, overworked clit. Every nerve in your body is alight with electricity, furious lightning that has no intention of showing you any reprieve as long as the man inside of you continues his ministrations. Not once has he stopped moving his resilient hips or let up on bludgeoning your sweet spot. 

     “Open ya fuckin’ eyes, I wan’ ya t’see wha’ a mess I’m gonna make o’ya.”

     He pants breathlessly and tangles his fingers into your hair, forcing your head back and pressing his masked lips to your forehead. 

     “Gonna pu’ on a show f’ya husband like a good girl?” He questions in a whisper, using his hand as leverage to nod your head for you. “Mm, so obedient.”

     It takes just a few more circular motions from his fingers on your nub for you to see stars, this orgasm far more intense than the previous. The man laughs gleefully as your squirt soaks the sheets, fucking into you harder to watch the stream intensify.

     “Holy hell,” he beams, slapping at the wet mess of your slit over and over again until you’re drained. “Ruined the damn bed, didn’t ya? Sexy fuckin’ bitch.”

     Your limbs feel like jelly. You’re essentially useless, and he loves it. He pummels into you with a vigour you were unaware he could top, then pulls out all of a sudden, squeezing the base of his cock to edge himself.

     “Sit up,” he demands, yanking your hair back so that your clammy, tear-stained face is level with the hand now furiously fisting at his dick. 

     Without warning, ribbons of his warm spend spews across your face, causing you to flinch. The man just grips your hair tighter and smacks his tip across your cheeks to smear his cum all over your skin. 

     “Wha’ a gorgeous fuckin’ disaster ya are,” he coos, running his gloved thumb over your bottom lip. “C’mon, dove, show ‘im tha’ ruined face.”

     Your eyelids droop with exhaustion as he angles your head toward the camera once more to show off his handiwork.

     “Now, thank Simon f’allowin’ us t’play.”

     “Th-thank you, Simon,” you murmur, earning yourself a fond ruffle of your hair.

     He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and snaps a quick picture of you before he drops the act completely, tugging off the balaclava. You’re met with Kyle’s handsome face adorning a look of concern. He gently wipes away the sticky remnants of himself off of your face and tosses aside his gloves to cup your cheeks with his bare hands.

     “Ya okay?” He asks softly. “Was I too rough w’ya?”

     You shake your head as a dopey smile stretches across your mouth. Kyle lays you back against the pillows and leaves the room for a moment, coming back with a wet rag to clean the both of you up with. You open your arms towards him and he huffs with amusement, shrugging off his clothes and climbing into bed with you. He presses a kiss against your forehead as you sigh dreamily.

     You’re halfway asleep when your phone rings. It’s Simon, so you put it on speaker.

     “Garrick, quit kissin’ my wife,” his gruff voice rings out playfully from the other end of the line. “Did ya ‘ave fun, sweet girl? Did tha’ wanker hur’ ya?”

     “Only in good ways,” you slur.

     “Glad ta ‘ear it, baby. M’on my way back ‘ome, now,” he explains.

     “Ah, I guess I should see myself out, then,” Kyle hums, sitting up slowly.

“No. Ya best still be in my bed when I ge’ there, Kyle. Gotta reward ya f’makin’ my girl’s fantasy come true, yeah?”

[almostwisegalaxy]

Where she sees me

Yeon si-eun x fem reader

The reader has a shy character in this story

..................................................................................

Bus 23, late afternoon. The sky hung heavy and gray, as if the city was holding its breath. Raindrops pounded the metal roof, a crescendo of dull beats. Yeon Si-eun, backpack on, shirt immaculate despite the humidity, stood still—rigid, frozen like a sculpture rain could never erode.

And she was there. For several weeks now. Same stop. Same silence. Y/N. Always sitting in the same spot on the bench, shoulders drawn in, fingers intertwined, staring at an imaginary point ahead to avoid all human presence.

He’d noticed her on the second day. Not because she stood out—she never sought to be seen—but because she had a quiet, constant presence. He’d watched her from the corner of his eye, never too long, never enough to betray interest. But he saw her. Every day. And soon, he began to search for her with his eyes the moment he left school. He hadn’t told anyone.

Except Su-ho. Because Su-ho saw everything.

"You’re scary, man. You look at her like you’re trying to solve an unsolvable equation."

Yeon Si-eun hadn’t answered. Because he didn’t have the words. Because Y/N escaped him. Like a recurring dream whose meaning always slipped away. He just knew she worked. Every evening, without exception. She always looked exhausted, like fatigue was stitched into her skin. She never carried a backpack. Never any sign of school. She lived a different reality.

That day, the rain fell harder. Passersby ran, umbrellas open like shields. But not Si-eun. He stood there, unmoving. He hadn’t brought an umbrella. He hadn’t expected the downpour. He could have run to the bus. But he stayed. Near her. As always.

Then she stood up. Slowly. Walked over. He didn’t move. And she raised her umbrella over his head. No words. Just that gesture. Then she handed him the umbrella. He wanted to speak, to refuse, but she had already slipped it into his hand. Then she walked off, soaked, leaving behind a deafening silence.

Su-ho had seen everything, of course.

"Tell me that’s not love. The guy’s on the verge of a stroke over an umbrella."

He had laughed. Loud. And Si-eun had looked away, slightly blushing, unable to respond. Because something had shifted inside him that day. Not a lightning strike. Not a tidal wave. More like a slow crack in his wall of control. He had never felt this. That soft burn. That need to understand her. To get close.

But he still hadn’t spoken to Y/N.

Days passed. He kept the umbrella in his locker, like a talisman. And he kept watching her, endlessly. Same bench, same weariness on her face. He imagined her days. Work. Exhaustion. She hadn’t chosen an easy path. And him? He fought in alleys and rooftops, armed with pens. He felt dirty. Unworthy of her.

"You know, you don’t need to recite her a poem. Just sit next to her."

That was Su-ho’s plan.

In the bus, as crowded as every evening, Su-ho suddenly stood up with suspicious speed, giving his seat to Si-eun—right next to Y/N. No warning.

Si-eun froze. Literally. Back stiff. Ears red. Y/N glanced up, surprised, but said nothing. Silence settled over them like a lead weight. Su-ho, two seats over, was watching with a wide, mischievous grin.

"Don’t sit there like a robot! Relax your shoulders, man!"

Y/N turned her head slightly. Si-eun tried to sit up straighter. Failed. He caught her gaze for a fraction of a second before jerking his head so fast he banged it against the window. Su-ho burst out laughing.

"Did you see that?! He’s gonna give himself a concussion just to avoid eye contact!"

Y/N had smiled faintly. And Si-eun felt swallowed whole by that smile. He wanted to say something. But the words were still trapped.

In the following days, he sat more naturally. Always next to her. One day, he pulled out a small handkerchief and handed it to her when she sneezed. She took it, almost surprised. Then she said:

"Thank you."

A soft voice, tired. But it was the first time he heard her.

And the silences grew denser, more charged. As if they held all the words they couldn’t say.

Then came the fight. Violent. Si-eun’s face was bloody, clothes torn, knuckles burning. He hadn’t seen her coming onto the bus. He climbed on without thinking, eyes blank. Passengers avoided him like an open wound.

But not her.

She got on too.

He wanted to get up, to flee, to hide. But she sat beside him. And without a word, she pulled out a tissue and gently wiped the blood from his cheek. He closed his eyes, unable to breathe. He wanted to cry. Scream. He felt ashamed, miserable. But she didn’t run. She was there.

And that’s when he understood. This wasn’t an obsession. It wasn’t fascination. It was love. Raw. Intense. Silent, but vast. Something beyond him, draining all strategy, all planning.

That day, he said:

"You shouldn’t see me like this."

She simply replied:

"But... I see you."

And that was enough.

Later, he told Su-ho about the scene, omitting the most tender details. But Su-ho understood.

"You’re done for, man."

And he was right. Because from that moment on, Y/N was in every heartbeat. In every fight plan. In every silence of his day. She wasn’t just the girl at the bus stop anymore. She had become his peace. His fixed point in the chaos.

And even if he kept fighting. Even if he bled. He knew that, somewhere, Y/N saw him. And as long as she stayed, he’d hold on.

He’d hold on for her.

And for the first time, Yeon Si-eun wanted a future. Even a blurry, uncertain one. As long as it had Y/N in it.

..................................................................................

[mockerycrow]

Hello! Could you possibly write something about a sub Ghost with an Asexual reader who's okay with making him feel good because it's him (though only with her hands and/or toys)? Literally just likes to make him feel nice and relaxed. Tysm!

this is short.. but i think it was okay! feel free to request more.

[warnings; sub!ghost, asexual!reader participating in sexual acts, gooey and fluffy.]

When Simon first got into a relationship with you, he didn’t expect any sexual intimacy between you two and honestly with his history, he was perfectly content with that. Sure, he still has a libido and he definitely wants.. But it’s not like no sex was a dealbreaker for him in any means. 

What he truly did not expect was how willing you were to toy with his body. Simon’s given up the reins to somebody else before—it wasn’t quite his forte at that second, but with you.. Jesus Christ. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought you were getting off on how cruel you’d be to him. 

Well.. Cruel isn’t the right word. You just like to push him to his limit a bit—it gets him all mushy and relaxed afterwards. It’s almost like a game to you, too. Simon’s muscles tremble and clench, then melt into the mattress when you press his back fully against it. 

His arm is thrown over his eyes, his other hand gripping your leg—he would grip your wrist, but he doesn’t want you to stop. Simon can’t help the low breathy noises that leave him as your hand moves up and down his thick cock, gently squeezing him at the base, just how he likes. You’ve taken the time to get to know his body, to know what makes him tick. Simon’s leg twitches as your other hand grabs his inner thigh, gently pulling it away from his other thigh. “Good?” You murmur softly, your eyes racking over his partially obscured face, darting to his hand on your leg.

Simon nods, confirming with a pathetic quiet noise. His face lights on fire from it—he licks his lips as he lets his head press against the pillow. “Yeah, m’good.” Simon confirms with a croak, low and unsteady. Electricity spikes behind his eyes when your hand dips between his thighs, pressing against his scrotum, scooping up his balls into your palm. A groan leaves Simon when you roll them, causing his leg to kick out a bit far. “You’re so tense, baby.”

Baby. A word far too soft for a shell of a man like him, but it rolls off of your tongue so easily. You’ve grown to realize one of the only ways to turn his mind off is to take him apart and put him back together. The crease between Simon’s brows softens when you’re able to calm the buzz in his skull and you’d do anything to see him finally sleep through a night without any problems. You watch the way he leaks over your knuckles, milky yet clear. It’s warm. Your eyes flick to his face.

Simon’s face is towards the opposite wall, so you just see his messy blonde hair, his stubble, jaw lined with scars. His jaw is clenched—and you deem it your mission to relax him. Simon doesn’t notice that you’ve leaned over and grabbed a toy until something wet and warm is sliding over the sensitive tip of his cock.. He gasps, his hips twitching both towards the warmth and away from it.

Simon opens his eyes and looks down; it’s a fleshlight, dripping with warmed lube. He shudders and he can’t hold in the loud groan as you slowly push the toy down, the wet silicone opening up around his length, hugging his fat dick. “Oh fuck—“ Simon swears feeling the slick silicone hug the sensitive vein that runs down the underside of his cock.

It feels so fucking good to Simon, his eyes closing as well as his jaw dropping as you ease the toy upwards back towards his tip. You feel warm inside watching him, not out of arousal but out of happiness. You can already see the tension melting out of his bones. you scoot closer to Simon, readjusting your legs so one of them rests beneath the natural curve of his knees, his legs over yours.

Simon swallows hard and lets out a low noise, his hand moving from your wrist to your forearm, seeking skin to skin. His eyes flutter as you pull the toy back down flush with his groin, his dick leaking all over the inside, getting it even more messy. Simon grunts out your name as you lift the toy back up, leaving it just around his tip, watching the mixture of clear lube and warm, milky pre-cum dribble down the sides of his length, dripping between his balls.

“Two or three?” You murmur gently, your eyes flicking to his dick to watch the mess with him as you lower the toy back down with a squelch. “Haah, w.. what?” Simon utters smartly, his other hand grabbing whatever of the blanket beneath him that he can. “Do you want to cum two or three times?”

That makes Simon’s mind go blank for a moment. Two orgasms is usually enough to satiate his mind, his body—but three will take him out for a while. His eyes look back at your face for a moment, searching for any hint of, well.. anything. You decide he’s answering too slowly, so you begin to properly jerk off his fat cock with the fleshlight. Simon is clearly thinking too much.

“Three it is.”

[hitomisuzuya]

yandere!stoner!scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. cunnilingus. scara with a tongue piercing. mention of marijuana. comfort smut

i had a right awful day yesterday, so this is comfort smut. i am just gonna type without thinking much here.

scaramouche knew you were having a very bad day, and it was weighing on you heavily. he is able calculate exactly how long your stride is when you walk, even being able to see the weight of your bad day in the way you walk.

in your disjointed state of mind, your thoughts a whirlwind of anxiety and overthinking, you didn't notice him always lingering behind you, perfectly blended in with walking students in the hallways between classes.

he didn't like this at all.

being as vulnerable as you are, it didn't take him long to coax you into his dorm. you sounded so sweet when he was shotgunning hits of weed into your mouth, moaning softly into his mouth as he kissed you.

and now you look twice as sweet, your face contorted in pleasure as he teased his tongue on your weeping cunt. he is determined to make you feel better, and right now, your bad day is thousands of miles away in a haze of high, fucked out bliss.

you can barely breathe between your moans as he rolls the ball of his tongue piercing on your throbbing clit. your hips reflexively twitch to grind on his tongue, helplessly chasing the delicious friction. "it's so..much.." you can barely manage behind a whimper tinged moan.

scaramouche groans as you press his mouth onto your pussy, your fingernails tingling lightly along his scalp as you feebly scratch at it. his cock aches knowing that he is making you feel this good.

"don't think about anything else, other than how good i am tongue fucking you," he groans, scooping your clit into his mouth to suck on. his cock pulses hearing your moans rise in octave. pot has made you particularly sensitive, he is able to feel to you twitching and trembling in his grasp as he holds your thighs apart.

"i can hardly breathe it feel so good!" you cry out shamelessly, your cheeks flushing hearing how loud you sounded. scaramouche chuckles into your cunt, swirling the ball of his piercing around and around on your clit.

"you sure are cute when you are falling apart," his eyes nearly roll back into his head tasting you clench on his tongue from his praise.

the knot of your orgasm is building so tight you can barely stand it. your thighs quake as you rock your hips into his mouth. a sob of pleasure nearly chokes from your throat.

"that's it, my pretty. let it all out," he knew it wasn't going to take that much more to push you over the edge, effectively breaking you.

he wasn't going to let the world swallow his precious treasure.

[huntingcupid]

⌗ WOMAN LIKE ME — M.M..

I can tell you're shy and I think you're so sweet spending every night under covers and still I wonder, could you fall for a woman like me?

⌗ MANON — fem!reader, fluff, suggestive, drinking, mentions of dr☆gs, swearing, rich!manon, scholar!reader, etc...

⌗ CUPID — hello! first work ever! I'm very excited for the feedback ill get, anyways i hope you all enjoy this :))

studying in a prestigious school came with its pros and cons — cons? you're a transferee and a scholar meaning you aren't really that rich, pro's no one bothers to bully you, maybe dirty looks but nothing too serious

your biggest problem was not fitting in, while other students wore gucci, prada or dior , you wore a hand me down shirt which probably had a rip in it

either way, you focused on finishing your studies to hopefully work for a better future — you've dreamt about the rich life style, not bothering to look at the prices or could spend thousands on a single bag only to wear it once

who lived this lifestyle you might ask, meret manon bannerman, the ghanaian princess, friends with the most well known people on campus and well respected person to say the least

every year she hosts a party in her multi million mansion, everyone gets an invitation — but there are these so called

vip's, only manon's closest friends, to name a few, lara , sophia and daniela

so when the invitations finally circled the campus, imagine your surprise seeing your name in the “manon's vip” — utter shock

you were just on your way to your last class when you had read it — “what the-” your jaw practically mopping the floor — manon and you barely interacted, and it didn't help that you had a little crush on the woman

you sat your normal spot, second row just behind manon and her clique — your friend and co-loser/nerd yunjin asks you about the party expecting you to get the normal one

“what!?” yunjin screeches, gaining the attention of the class, she quickly apologizes and tones down her voice, “vip? like the vip, did you like suddenly get close with manon without my knowledge or something” she mutters in disbelief

“i also don't know” you laugh a bit, nervous and worried about what may have landed you in this predicament — “well you have to dress well” yunjin replies, you gasp in faux astonishment

“are you saying I dress badly?” you said to the korean, “well…” yunjin trails off, you hit her arm playfully, “okay bully” you replied as yunjin giggles

“seriously, come over tonight i'll dress you up” yunjin then says — you nod understanding the woman, yunjin always looked out for you, especially now one wrong move from you and you will become the laughing stock

see other than being a complete nerd, yunjin was also rich, not manon level rich but rich enough that she casually has her walk-in closet

the school bell rings, signaling the end of your last class — you pack up your items careful with your very old laptop, till you felt someone tap your shoulders twice

“hmh?” you hum asking, you turn around only to see manon towering over you, your heart skips a beat, you unintentionally stare at her glossy lips — which didn't go unnoticed to the woman

“have you read the invitation yet?” she asks her voice naturally sultry which made you subconsciously grip the desk, “yeah i-i have” you stammer, nervous to be in her presence

“good, see you later then sweetie” manon says fixing a stray hair on your face before walking away, you felt like dying just at that moment, she drove you crazy

“okay what was that about” yunjin says in shock at what she had just witnessed, “i swear to god, are you guys fuc-” you hit yunjin cutting her off abruptly, “maybe she's being nice” you say, “or maybe she wants to kiss you” yunjin replies giggling as she runs off

you gasp running after the girl, “get back here huh yunjin!” you shout after her, finally catching up yunjin opens the passenger seat to her car

“so… what's the party theme?” yunjin asks as she drives, “I'm not sure, it didn't say anything on the invite just said dress your best” you replied shrugging, yunjin hums acknowledging it

you stare at the invite, thinking of how you got it — anyone could've gotten it but you did, you sigh overthinking

the next minute yunjin is pulling up to their driveway, you knew her house like the back of your hand — you assumed that her parents were out like usual since yunjin doesn't really bring you over when they are there

you two went straight to her room, as she rummaged through her piles of designer clothes you did your homework – “okay! got it — come here” yunjin shouts calling you to the closet

you walk in immediately sighing seeing 4 hangers with different dresses and accessories to match, “try all of these and ill see if its good” yunjin mutters pushing you to the bathroom with the first hanger

you tried it on mentally noting how much you hated wearing high heels, “not bad, not showing enough though” yunjin comments as she tilts her head assessing the dark blue dress that hugged you perfectly and gave the most coverage

“yunjin” you whine already wearing the final dress, its black and was so tight you felt like your heart was about to pop out, also felt like in any minute you'll flash someone with how pushed up your chest was — “now this is what we want to see y/n” yunjin mutters her eyes liting up excited

“okay take a quick shower and ill get working on your make up and everything” she smiles, “how about your clothes?” you ask, “I've had my outfit planned way before we got the invite” yunjin replies quickly ushering you into the bathroom, you chuckle at yunjins antics

a few hours later you two were ready to leave, you looked so different — like an upgraded version of your usual self

“oh my god, thank you yunjin” you pout hugging yunjin tightly, “anything for you” yunjin smiles and hugs back, you two drive to manons mansion, every year it kept looking better, it looked like millions of cars were parked outside as the bass of the music shook the ground

you gave yourself a pep talk, knowing from this point on your probably gonna not see yunjin, “girl calm your nerves down, manon invited you for a reason be confident okay?” yunjin says squeezing your hand before you two separated

you walk the unfamiliar halls of the mansion, stumbling upon the vip room, you knock hesitantly and waited for someone to open it — lara opens the door and immediately lights up, the room was beautiful — and was pretty loud due to the girls doing karaoke and taking shots

“manon, your girls here” lara calls out almost in a teasing voice — manon tells you to come in and you did, taking a seat next to her — “thank you for inviting me here” you mutter to the girl

“thank you for coming, you look incredible by the way” manon whispers back her hands snaking to you waist as she takes a shot — you take a shot enjoying the burn thag run down your throat

you look around the room but you couldn't ignore how manon was practically staring at you, her hands moving up and down your side — “hey ease up darling, want to taste?” manon ask handing you a dessert from the table, you nod letting her feed you

“woah manon, aren't you too quick there?” sophia gasps in faux surprise, manon flips her off laughing to herself, “don't mind them” manon whispers to you

the room started getting whirly for you, you blame the amount of shots and drinks you have drunk, but you wondered if they spiked some of the drinks since they hit harder than the ones you usually buy

“princess you alright?” manon asks as she notices how you've gone silent, she squeezes your arm, “my head just hurts a bit” you mutter back mustering up a small smile, manon knew you were drunk it was obvious she helped you up and carried you to her bedroom just down the hall

everything in that minute was a blur — your head spinned and you didnt even notice when you were laying on her bed, you open your eyes only to see manon over you

without thinking much you pull in the girl to kiss you, you melted into her lips, she was so intoxicating, manon's hands ran down your waist as she moans into you, her thigh creeps up between yours which made you groan

“fuck, you're so beautiful like this y/n” manon whispers into your lips, no one breaks off even though you two were nearing passing out from the lack of oxygen

manon felt like heaven, and you couldn't ignore how her thighs were in between yours, nothing mattered now, only manon

“shit” you breathe out breaking off to take a breathe — you look up at manon who just smirked smugly, her lip gloss now smudged and some stuck onto your lips

like a silent agreement, you sat on her lap, and held her nape kissing her yet again, manon but your lip making you groan she gained access to your mouth too, her tongue probed around tasting you — her hands were planted on your waist firmly which made you dizzy

you two eventually fell back leaving you on top of the girl, you moaned into her feeling turned on by the second — her hands now trailed down to your thighs, she then detached from your lips kissing your jaw down to your neck, sucking a particular spot which made you whimper

her hands skim your thighs scratching lightly — “f-fuck manon please” you beg in that soft whiny voice that manon just couldn't resist, “tell me what you want sweetie?” manon teases

“hey uhm guys..someone broke the tv in the lounge area” megan awkwardly breaks the session, you groan and manon scoffs annoyed but she had to check it

“ill be back princess, wait for me okay” you nod breathless, you fall back onto the bed, reflecting what just happened in the past 20 minutes — “what the fuck” you mutter to yourself immediately chatting yunjin about it

wc: 1.6k

[juicykvnture]

my brain rot strikes again..

(YOU DRIVE ME) CRAZY (nsfw)

mechanic!Jason x girly!Reader

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

I just had an idea and would like someone to write it.

What if WB!Reader goes drinking and kissing with random strangers to evade her family problems and is seen by someone? What reactions would there be?

Sorry if it's weird and short. 😿

You wouldn't call yourself a party girl or party anything; I mean, your Friday nights are usually spent in your room on your laptop watching crappy reality TV or playing a yandere dating sim. Ironic, isn't it? But Trish has been trying to drag you out of that godforsaken manor; she'll drag you by your ankle just to get you outside. You make up excuses, saying you don't have anything good to wear, and she'll giggle with Cleo and Kiara as they show Trish's monster of a closet that would make Minnie Mouse jealous. The diamonds are dressing you up like a little black Barbie doll, putting you through a whole fashion montage just to find the perfect fit. And they found it: a cute top with some flare jeans with rhinestones on the back and a pretty design when you turn around, along with some wedge heels that make you way taller than you were before. Cleo is all over you, saying how cute you look, while Kiara is looking for earrings to match. When they finally finish, you look like a pretty little Bratz doll, in their words, and you're being dragged out to some random house party that is way too crazy for your liking. The girls are at your hips until you sneak off to get a drink, which is when you meet a boy you recognize from your class, but he doesn't notice you at all.

"[Name]?" Your body inwardly closes in on itself. You try to act like you didn't hear his voice, but it doesn't work; being invisible didn't work when you looked this pretty. "Haha! Yeah, that's me," you said softly with a fake smile. Why couldn’t you just leave you alone, you thought, but no sane guy would leave a pretty girl at a party alone. He's all over you, basically asking you about yourself, and he is actually interested in what you have to say, which is crazy. Did you just fall in from another planet? "I'm sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I? You don't want to hear me talk about myself all night." You laugh sheepishly. "Who said you could stop talking?" Excuse me? "I told you to tell me about yourself, so..." he got closer. Lord Almighty, help you. "Talk about yourself." You squeezed the red cup in your hand filled with beer. "Oh, uhm, uh," you were struggling to speak, which is a first. "Do you like Sonic? I could talk about Sonic for hours." You laugh, looking up at him, and he is staring right at you, making you feel small. "Yeah, I think you're an Amy Rose." Taking a stray strand of dreads and tangling them in between his fingers, you felt weak, and you hadn't even drunk anything. Now you find yourself in a corner with him holding your waist as you ramble about anything, but then he looks at you, making you slow down, and the whole world slows down as he pressed his lips against yours. Let's be honest: you were a little buzzed, but who wasn't? You found yourself making out with a boy at some stupid house party, which is crazy because people have their phones filming and taking pictures. When the diamonds finally find you, they drag you away from that boy, leaving him with pink-glossed lips. You wake up to Gotham Twitter and Instagram having a field day with this: "[Name] caught at a house party making out with high school basketball star ****," and people are making theories like they did with Taylor Swift and her little football boyfriend about whether you guys were seeing each other or not. People are foaming at the mouth because, "OMG, look at how he's holding her!" "That hand placement!" "The height difference goes crazy!" It doesn't take long for the bats to find this either, but they can't even believe it. Their introvert younger sister being at a party and not feeling socially awkward and drained is absolutely insane. You look miserable at galas, but at cheap house parties, you're acting like this? Tim and Barbara are doing you a favor by destroying all footage of you and this boy, and by blackmailing people who got the footage into deleting it, so no one can get their hands on it. Damian is tracking down the boy you just kissed. Duke and Jason are interrogating you like this is the FBI, and Bruce is just going through it with Dick. You're their little bird; how could you do this to them? And who the hell is that boy? Why would you sneak out to a party when you could just spend time with them? He'll work out his whole schedule so nothing like this happens again, but it will, and you'll definitely be seeing him again. The bats can't keep him away for long.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Father's Faults

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: Tim is distracted by his memories of his father, so you find an unprecedented way to keep him focused. After he lashes out at you for overstepping, he realizes that you understand and have your own memories to battle. Rather than bonding over that, you accept what's been between you since you first met.

Warnings: discussion of child abuse, domestic violence, Tim and r have a lot of childhood and job-related trauma, angst to fluff, confessions and kisses

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

A/N: @nevereclipse inspired this with magnificent ideas about Tim and a traumatized reader. I hope you like it!!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

There’s a scuff in the dashboard of Tim’s shop. It’s been there for as long as you can remember, but there’s something different about it today. Tracing the ragged scrape marks with your eyes, you try to come up with a story about how it got there or an explanation for its appearance. Anything other than acknowledging the tense silence in the car or your partner's tight grip on the steering wheel.

“7-Adam-100,” dispatch radios, “there’s an active home invasion in your area.”

“7-Adam-100 responding,” Tim replies, dropping the radio after he finishes.

You don’t speak, opting to look out the window as Tim drives to the address with the blue lights spinning. Part of you feels like you should know what’s bothering Tim, but he’s not exactly easy to read, nor is he willing to admit that something is going on. So, until - or if - you can deduce what’s making him so distant and easily angered this week, you’ll give him the room and the quiet he clearly desires.

“Side gate is open,” Tim says as he parks beside the neighbor’s house. “We’ll use it for entry, split up and clear the house. I’ll go right.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, opening your door.

As you follow Tim through the gate and duck under windows lining the side of the house, you focus on the job. Tim’s back muscles are tense beneath his uniform, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll think about him and let your guard down. Entering the broken back door, you tap Tim’s shoulder before you turn left into a small dining area. With your gun raised, you move quickly but carefully through the room. A crash sounds down the hall, so you press your back to the wall and move toward the noise, keeping your steps light and breathing quiet.

Tim exits a door behind you, and you drop your gun as soon as you realize it’s him. Moving together, you prepare to enter the room where the intruder is shouting demands.

“On three,” Tim whispers, covering the door so you can enter. “One. Two. Three.”

He pushes the door open, stepping into the doorway as you move inside. 

“LAPD!” you announce. “Put your hands up!”

The large man - whose boot likely matches the shoe print on the back door - bares his teeth at you before he turns to the woman guarding her son. They’re both sporting bruises and a wound at the woman’s hairline drips blood down her cheek.

“Let me see your hands!” you demand, stepping toward the man.

Tim doesn’t move, his eyes bouncing between the suspect and the young boy cowering behind his mother.

“It’s my house,” the man says.

“Not anymore,” the woman interjects. “We have a restraining order.”

With his jaw clenched, Tim lowers his gun and steps forward. “Last chance. You walk out with us or you can keep being a coward and we’ll drag you out.”

The man sneers, turning toward Tim as he prepares to lunge. You holster your weapon quickly, pulling your taser out instead. Pointing it at the larger man’s chest, you shake your head.

“Is that your son?” you ask. “Do you really want him to remember you like this?”

He hesitates, then swings. Tim ducks out of his reach at the last second, and you depress the trigger on the taser, sending 1,500-volt pulses through his body as he folds in on himself and collapses.

Tim steps over the man’s leg to cuff him, and you set your taser down to approach the man’s son and his ex-wife. The boy clings to his mother but looks up at your shield with a small smile.

“We’re Code 4, need an RA at this location,” Tim alerts. “One in custody.”

“This card has my number on it,” you say, offering a large cardstock square to the woman before you. “There’s also a list of numbers on the back that can help support you during this time. The domestic violence hotline can give you information about keeping your address private and hopefully preventing something like this in the future.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “He just showed up out of nowhere.”

You pull a tissue off a nearby table and offer it to her, watching her son as she presses it to her bleeding forehead. The ambulance is only a few minutes away, but you kneel to check on the boy.

“Let’s go,” Tim murmurs, hauling the abusive father to his feet.

“I need an ambulance!” he moans. “She tased me.”

“You will be seen, but you’re trespassing.”

“I can’t walk,” he argues.

“Then I’ll drag you,” Tim snaps.

The man stands then, his head hanging toward his chest as he pulls his feet rather than taking normal steps. You notice that Tim has his hand on the handcuffs rather than the suspect’s arm. Tim's past, you remember. Tim has been in this situation before, he knows precisely what this mother and child are thinking, and that’s why he reacted like he did. There has to be more to it, though.

Tim is thinking about something and he endangers himself every time the thought surfaces.

“Bradford is all yours,” Angela says, shaking her head as she exits Wade’s office. “I know he’s going through some stuff, but how do you deal with him when he’s like this?”

“What’s he going through?” you ask, looking through the glass door.

“It’s almost the anniversary of his dad’s death,” she explains. “I understand being a little touchy, but-”

“We took a domestic call this morning,” you complain, pressing your thumb and forefingers against your eyes. “I didn’t realize the date. I should have told him to let someone else handle it.”

“He’s a cop, he can handle the job,” Angela assures you. She looks at Tim and sighs. “I just… none of us can get through to him. It’s like he’s holding himself hostage in his own memories.”

“I- I’ll see what I can do,” you offer.

“Don’t beat yourself up if he won’t talk. And don’t take anything he says this week personally.”

“You ready?” Tim asks, exiting Wade’s office.

“Yeah,” you answer, nodding to Angela as you follow Tim back to the shop. If he’s thinking about his dad too much, maybe you can give him something else to consider.

The corner store is silent as you walk down the center aisle. At midnight, the building is empty, the radio is off, and the cashier sits silently at the register, earbuds in as she stares at her phone. You should find the silence enjoyable after being yelled at by Tim four times in one night. Instead, it makes you uncomfortable, desperate for something to happen.

“Aha,” you murmur when you find the small selection of cleaning products.

It’s probably a bad idea, you think while you fill the small, handheld shopping basket with various items. You tried to get Tim’s mind off his dad, and their strained past, but none of your attempts were successful. He thought about you long enough to yell, accuse you of overstepping, and make vague threats to discourage you from attempting to make small talk with him. But even then, he retreated into his mind as soon as you agreed and fell quiet again.

“Uh,” the cashier mumbles when you place the basket on the counter. “Is this… you good?”

You look at the odd collection of items ranging from candy and a Dodgers sweatshirt to twine and a spray bottle, smiling. “Yeah.”

“Whatever you say.”

Tim glances at your bag as you place it on the floorboard of the shop but doesn’t say anything. You’ll let him reach his own conclusions about its contents for now. After double-checking with Angela this morning, you learned that there are two days until the actual anniversary of Tom Bradford���s death, and you plan to help Tim through the next forty-eight hours, no matter what it takes.

Now that you've been reminded of the date, it’s clear that Tim is thinking about his father. His tight jaw, distant stare, defiant act of threatening an abusive father, and how he stands at least a foot away from everyone, even if it’s someone he knows and trusts, it's all indicative of his trauma response. Thinking back to yesterday, you remember that he stiffened when you touched his back during calls, and it all begins to make sense.

Tim has a tell, you discover. When he’s thinking about his past, his nostrils flare. You will never admit to watching him that closely, especially not to someone like Angela or Nell, who are convinced you’re in love with him. Yet, you observed him enough yesterday afternoon and during roll call to confirm your suspicion. Even as you watch him now, his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and his nostrils flare quickly.

“What’s your opinion on stop and frisk?” you inquire.

His hand relaxes as he furrows his brows and asks, “As a policing technique or in general?”

“Policing.”

“So, Terry stops. I think that if there’s reasonable suspicion and no bias it is a useful and protective tactic.”

“Interesting. How can you tell if there’s bias, though? And what makes suspicion reasonable?”

“What are you doing?” Tim asks.

“I’m making conversation, getting opinions, learning,” you list dramatically. “Is that so bad?”

“When we’re in this shop, we’re partners. I’m not your personal podcast.”

“That would actually be really nice,” you reply. “Anyone ever told you your voice is soothing?”

“Stop.”

“It’s just a question!”

“Stop.”

You lift your hands in surrender and turn into your seat properly again. Tim drives through a green light, sees a father walking his son into a playground, and the look returns. You sigh and pull your bag open.

“What was that?!” Tim exclaims, swerving slightly as his right hand raises to his face.

“It’s water,” you answer, shaking the spray bottle. “I need you focused. I can’t worry about you or we’ll both get killed.”

“Focused? I am your superior!” Tim argues as he wipes his hand on his pants.

“Then work with me,” you plead.

“What makes you think I’m unfocused?” he inquires.

“You’re thinking about other things. Just… keep your mind in this shop today, and I won’t spray you again.”

“If you like this job you won’t spray me again,” Tim amends.

“If that’s what you need to hear.”

“She bought Wesley a tie with lobsters on it,” Angela tells Nyla.

“My dad has a tie with fish,” Lucy says. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You called?” you interrupt as you follow Tim to the detectives' desks.

“Yeah, we need you to run down a lead,” Nyla answers. “Unless you’d rather hear about Lucy’s dad’s ugly ties.”

“Hey, I chose some of those ties! Father’s Day is coming up if you want to know where I got them,” she offers.

“Oh, I already bought James a gift,” Nyla answers with faux disappointment.

“What lead?” Tim asks.

Standing behind Tim with one hand behind your back, you spray him without anyone noticing. He turns his head toward you, his eyes warning you to stop. You smile, nodding along with Nyla’s explanation.

“I am not a cat,” Tim whispers as you exit the station.

“Then take the hint,” you reply softly.

Nyla’s lead was indeed helpful, and you deliver a new suspect to the station before you return to patrol. In the shop, you hold the spray bottle in your lap as Tim drives. When you move your fingers toward the top, Tim slams on the brakes and snatches it out of your hand.

“You don’t get to decide what I think about!” he exclaims. “If you’re so worried that I can’t do this job right now, then get out and go back to the station.”

“Tim, that’s not what-”

“It is not your business,” he continues. Loudly. You flinch, but he's too mad to notice. “It is not your place to be my therapist and tell me to only think about good things or to stay in the moment. Whatever it is you think is on my mind is not worth this!”

You take several breaths, watching Tim’s chest heave.

“I know it’s almost the anniversary,” you say, forcing your voice to stay level as you press your palms against your thighs. “Your dad… he clearly got to you, your childhood affects you. And that’s okay. I’m not saying to forget everything or let those experiences become meaningless.”

“Then let it go.”

You look down at your hands as Tim drops the spray bottle beside your feet and begins driving again.

“I’m sorry,” you offer after several minutes. “It was affecting you, and I thought giving you something else to think about would help.”

“Not your call,” Tim grumbles.

Nodding, you locate the scuff on the dashboard, staring at it until your vision blurs. 

“How’d that mark get there?” you whisper.

“What?” Tim asks, glancing toward you. “I don’t know.”

“There were marks on my mom’s dash, too,” you say. “Nobody knew how they got there. Nothing we would admit while my dad was around, anyway.”

Tim’s eyes find you again, his gaze different. But you’re still looking at the scratched plastic.

“It was like a switch was flipped,” you confess. “One day, he was at a recital, cheering on his baby. And the next… there were marks on the dashboards and new scars that- that I didn’t ask for. So, I have an idea of how painful the memories can be, how far and how fast they can drag you under until it feels like you’re drowning. I went about it wrong, and I can see that now, so I’m sorry. But my intentions are still the same. I don’t want to sit by while a memory of being hurt keeps hurting you.”

Tim doesn’t reply as he shifts his eyes back to the road. You don’t watch him during the remainder of your shift to know if his nostrils flare or if his breathing returns to normal after his outburst. What you do know is that if Tim is willing to let himself be controlled by memories, you can’t stay close enough to watch it happen.

Scrolling through your notifications as you exit the station, you let your body run on autopilot as you make your way home. You’re nearly across the parking lot when someone says your name. You stop and look up, surprised to see Tim’s full attention on you.

“Lopez thinks you were flirting with me,” Tim says, leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

“When?” you ask. There are several feet between you, and you’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Well, she says it pretty often, but the spray bottle. She noticed that my back was wet, saw it in the shop, put it together.”

You nod, holding your phone with both hands so you don’t fidget and expose how uncomfortable you are.

“Could we talk?” Tim asks.

“Not if it’s about me flirting with you,” you reply lightly.

Tim’s lips quirk up. “No. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you flirt, and that wasn’t it.”

“Then, what do you want to talk about?”

“What I’m not supposed to think about.” Tim slides his hands into his front pockets and shrugs. “I should talk to someone, not just retreat into who I used to be, dissect what could have been different. I just thought… If I’m going to talk, I need to tell someone I trust. Someone who understands.”

“And that’s me? Last I heard, I was overstepping and needed to let it go.”

Tim nods, stepping back toward his driver’s door.

“But,” you call after him, “if you’ve changed your mind, we can talk.”

Tim’s house is warm, comfortable, manly, and everything you expected. Yet, it’s awkward as you lower onto his couch and watch him move in his kitchen. It’s oddly domestic, but the connection between you and Tim is hanging on by a thread. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says suddenly. With his hands spread on the counter, he watches you. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I… my mind feels like my archenemy some days, and I fight that battle alone. You tried to help, and I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“No one knows the mess we’re in,” you agree. “The voices in my head say I’m being paranoid, but I know it will pull me under someday if I let it. You don’t have to apologize, Tim. I get it.”

“I don’t know what hurts worse, letting go or remembering,” Tim adds, walking to the couch with two glasses. He sets one in front of you, then sits beside you. There’s not as much distance between you now, but the vulnerability makes it feel like you’re exposed face-to-face.

“You were right,” Tim admits. “I’ve been thinking about what happened when I was a kid, wondering where everything went wrong, trying to identify something I could have done differently. Now that he’s gone, I guess I’ll never know.”

“Tim,” you breathe out, your heart breaking for him. “That was not your fault. None of it was because of you.”

“You’ve never wondered?”

“I didn’t say that.” You lift your glass, holding it between your hands to look down at it. “I used to lay awake at night trying to figure out what part of me was so broken that someone would do that to me. Especially someone I loved and who was supposed to love me.”

“But it’s not our fault,” Tim repeats. “It’s theirs.”

“And we can’t save everyone.”

“We shouldn’t have had to save anyone. Not even ourselves. I think back now, and I don’t remember my dad ever hitting my mom. He was verbally abusive, threatened to go farther, exhausted her emotionally and mentally. I tried to stay between him and Genny.”

“From what I’ve heard, you protected Genny from more than the bruises,” you offer. “You’re an incredible person, Tim.”

Tim smiles, turning his head toward you as his elbows rest on his thighs. “Was that flirting?”

“You’ll know when I’m flirting, Bradford,” you answer with a smile.

“When I was deployed, there were a couple guys whose wives divorced them,” Tim begins. “I found myself wondering why my mom didn’t do that. My dad would disappear for a week or so here and there. She could have left, but she didn’t.”

“I think moms try to fix everything in the only way they know how. If my mom even knew, she never showed it. But, I wondered the same thing. 20/20 hindsight, I guess.”

Tim empties his glass, then says, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you inquire, setting your cup beside his.

“The stuff in my locker? No one else would have put it there.”

You duck your chin to hide your smile. “It’s what I wanted when I was stuck in this cycle as a kid. I had panic attacks for a while. Music, something comfortable to wear, something rough to hold and ground myself with, and snacks I wouldn’t get otherwise felt like an escape to a world where I was safe, different.”

“I saw a therapist who told me to find ‘a portal to a better world’ when my PTSD was at its worst,” Tim says, leaning back against the couch, his hand falling toward you. “I was reliving memories that were killing me, and couldn’t figure out how to stop the bloodshed long enough to discover Narnia.”

“Narnia?” you repeat. “I didn’t realize you were a man of taste.”

“Next time, you won’t try to distract me with sports.”

“No. Although, I’d prefer a world where there isn’t a next time.”

“That’s a world we’d have to make.”

You lock eyes with Tim, shifting closer to him as the soft hum of his air conditioner fills the room.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, brushing your fingers against Tim’s.

“Would it sound like I was flirting if I said I am now?” he questions, leaning toward you as he smiles.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But would that be such a bad thing?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Me neither. After all, you trust me and I understand.”

Tim rolls his eyes at your teasing, and when you inhale, preparing to continue, he raises his right hand to your face, holding your jaw. You silence, watching Tim’s eyes.

“I don’t…” he begins. “I don’t want to be crutches.”

“Tim,” you breathe. “We’re not showing each other our scars to learn how to support each other. I’m telling you who I am because you make me better. You help me see who I am now, not who I force myself to see in the mirror. You aren’t my salvation, but I think you could be something.”

“I’ve lived in fear for most of my adult life that I couldn’t love someone, that I could tell them the truth about everything, about me. With you… telling the truth is as easy as breathing.”

“Breathing before, after, or during a panic attack?” you clarify.

“Why are we even having this conversation?” Tim jokes, shrugging. “You’ve been flirting with me for years, you clearly want me.”

“Then I guess it’s up to you,” you reply. “We’re at the edge, Tim. It’s your call. Are we going over the edge or running back to safety?”

“Tell me something about yourself,” Tim requests, pushing your hair over your shoulder.

You hum, dragging your fingers along his forearm. “I thought I was undesirable until I was, like, mid-20s.”

“What changed?” 

You shrug. “Put on the uniform, met a few badge bunnies, I don’t know. I still feel it sometimes.”

“With me?”

“No,” you whisper. “But I think you see more than my face. Your turn.”

Tim licks his lips as he thinks. “You know all my secrets now.”

“Then tell me something that isn’t a secret.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to fall in love after Isabel. Not until a few years ago.”

“You had a girlfriend?”

Tim laughs. “What else changed a few years ago?”

You trace your own life back one year, then two, then… “Oh. Me?”

“Oh. You,” Tim repeats. “I was also called Reaper in the Army.”

“That’s so much cooler than falling in love with me. How’d you get that name?”

Tim’s lips are mere inches from you as he asks, “Is that really what you want to focus on right now?”

“Promise you know we’re not crutches?” you request.

Tim takes your hand and says, “I know. You’re clearly more of a walker.”

You huff, but Tim closes the distance - finally - and kisses you slowly. With his hand on your face, your hands joined, and your knees against his thigh, you forget everything except Tim Bradford and the future you want with him.

He pulls back first, searching your eyes before you drop your chin and kiss a scar on his neck. Tim takes a shaky breath as you sit back on your socked feet. You’d felt so out of place when you first arrived, and now you’re not sure you want to leave the comfort and seclusion of Tim’s home and his arms.

“You know we’re not going to be allowed to ride together anymore, right?” Tim asks.

“Yeah. Now we can do so much more,” you reply.

“Such a flirt,” Tim murmurs.

“I’m here for you,” you remind him. “No matter when, no matter what.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer. “Prove it.”

[cybergoth1]

﹟— ❛❛cause when you know you know. part II.

☆﹟— paring: fem!reader x dick grayson.

☆﹟— summary: you've always had dick grayson's heart in your hands, since you were just sixteen.

☆﹟— warnings/tags: dick grayson x fem!reader. reader is an awkward dork. fluffy. spiderwoman!reader. slow burn at this point. best friends to lovers. the titans are your friends. you and dick acting like an old married couple. the amazing divider was made by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you!. some spiderman: homecoming and insomniac spiderman lore. reader is a mess. over 2k words. ☆﹟— MASTERLIST. NEXT.

EVERYTHING STARTED FALLING apart over the next couple of weeks. You lost your first real job, teaching physics at Brooklyn Visions Academy, after abandoning your classroom during what was supposed to be a routine emergency drill. You hadn’t planned on leaving your students unsupervised, but the moment the alert hit your phone, you knew something was wrong. That, and the sand.

It was already in the air, creeping through the vents, filling the classroom and the rest of the city.

Perfect day to snap, huh, Marko? You really hit the jackpot. Sandman was tearing through downtown Manhattan, and Miles Morales, your student and new patrol partner, was already on the scene. Outnumbered, overwhelmed, and calling for backup. 

You didn’t even think. One minute you were walking your class through Newton’s laws of motion, and the next, you were halfway into your suit, sprinting out of the building while sirens wailed in the distance. It took everything you had to help bring Sandman down, and by the time it was over, the streets looked like a war zone.

When you returned to school, the silence said it all.

Then came the meeting with the principal. The security footage showed your classroom empty for nearly an hour. Parents were furious. The administration wanted answers. And you didn’t have a single one that didn’t sound like a lie.

You were let go by the end of the week.

Without a job, you couldn’t keep up with rent, no matter how cheap your shitty little apartment in Queens was. So you did the only thing left to do: packed up what was left of your pride and moved back in with May. Tail between your legs. That old, choking feeling of failure rising in your throat again.

You’re used to it by now. You felt it when Mary Jane broke up with you after you missed your anniversary dinner — stood her up without so much as a call. You felt it when you turned down a full ride to MIT because you couldn’t leave New York behind. Not with Spiderwoman still swinging through the city, not with people still needing her so much.

You lost the college of your dreams. The girl of your dreams. The job of your dreams.

Now you’re back to delivering pizza and getting screamed at by J. Jonah Jameson like it’s the good old days. Only this time, it doesn’t feel nostalgic. It just feels like losing. Over and over again.

And of course you didn’t tell Dick about any of it. You’re totally fine, right? Just cried like a little girl while stitching up your left arm and repairing your suit after getting wrecked in a fight with Kingpin. No big deal. You only stood up your old high school best friend, Ned Leeds, and his girlfriend Betty Brant on their anniversary. And sure, maybe you shoved every photo of you and MJ into a box and stuffed it under your creaky, miserable single bed. But yeah. You’re fine. Totally fine.

"You know, honey, you could always call Pepper and accept that job offer," May said during dinner a few days later, her soft, warm eyes lingering on your exhausted face. Things were tight at home, like always. May never had much money, and most of what came in from her retirement plan went straight to FEAST.

"Nah, I’m good. I’ll find another job," you mumbled, pushing your food around your plate. You didn’t want to take anything that reminded you of Mr. Stark — not after his death. You already had enough to grieve. You didn’t need to mourn another father figure.

That’s why you never took the full-time position at Stark Industries. That’s why you turned down Bruce Wayne’s offers too. You weren’t leaving New York. Not now. Not ever. Being the city’s main hero meant putting your personal life, and your own happiness, on the back burner. That’s what you’d learned from Ben, the last time you ever spoke to him.

"If you can do good things for other people," he’d said, voice steady, "you have a moral obligation to do those things. It’s not a choice. It’s a responsibility."

The night he died in your arms was the night you stopped being just a high school kid. The night you became what everyone else needed you to be: a full-time hero.

"I’m really tired. I’m going to bed," you said quietly, pressing a kiss to May’s cheek. She didn’t say anything — just looked at you with that same worried softness she always did. You washed the dishes with the distant hum of sirens and car horns drifting through the window, then dragged yourself to your room. Your whole body ached like hell. Even breathing made your ribs and stomach throb. Every step felt like your bones were grinding together.

When you finally collapsed onto the mattress, your phone rang, loud and shrill, like it was vibrating inside your skull.

Fuck. Not tonight. Please.

"What?" you mumbled, voice half-smothered by the pillow, face buried in the sheets.

"You don’t sound happy, pretty girl," then came Dick’s voice, breathless and teasing, even as the chaos of Blüdhaven crackled in the background. You could hear the clang of metal, his escrima sticks in motion, and the distant shouts of a fight still unfolding around him.

You just listened to him, eyes closed.

"You don’t get tired, big guy?" you could hear him smirking against the phone while talking. You rolled your eyes. He was probably fighting Blockbuster.   

"It’s late, you cunt. Don’t tell me you called just so I could listen to you flirt with your enemies."

Dick laughed. Low, breathless, cocky. "What can I say? I multitask. But no, Webs, I actually called to invite you to something."

"Nah, I’ll pass. I’m broke as hell right now."

"I don’t care," he said. "Just shut up and listen. I already booked us two tickets to Jump City. It’s Wally’s birthday. He asked for you specifically, he wants you at Titans Tower."

Shit.

"Look, Dick…"

"I talked to Miles. He said he’d keep an eye on the city while you’re gone."

"Richard…"

"And you promised Kory you’d bring your LEGO Death Star so she could build it with you. She’s been holding onto that promise since last year."

You groaned into the sheets, fingers curling tightly around your phone. They were your friends, good people who somehow still wanted you around, even though you were never great at the whole teamwork thing or even the social thing. But if you were being completely honest with yourself… you kinda wanted to see Dick.

You missed him like always. 

Missed sharing a room with him, missed the way he’d cuddle up behind you and the way his lips would brush your cheek, your jaw, your neck — slow and reverent, like he had all the time in the world to cherish your skin. Missed how his hand would slip under your shirt to hold your waist with calloused fingers. Missed the low chuckle in your ear when he massaged your sore thighs and you let out a whimper you didn’t mean to make—

You really, really, hoped he and Barbara were off again.

Wait—what the fuck?

You shot your eyes open, coughing loudly like that could clear the thought from your head.

"Okay, fuck—are we leaving tomorrow?"

On the way to the Tower, already in Jump City, you glanced over at him as he drove a rented car. It was kind of sexy, you guessed, his biceps flexing against the steering wheel, that annoyingly strong jawline catching the sunlight just right. He looked good. Too good.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have his personal spider-sense for when you were ogling him like a horny fucker. He always did. He called it the "you-tingle." Absolutely ridiculous.

"What?" he asked, catching you mid-stare.

"You’re ugly as fuck," you shot back, deadpan.

"I love you too, baby girl," he grinned, not missing a beat.

"Ew."

A beat passed. Then:

"Are we sharing a room again at the Tower?" you asked, trying to sound casual.

"There are plenty of rooms. I can sleep somewhere else if you want."

"Nah," you said, eyes still on the road ahead. "Sleep with me."

"Ew". 

At the Tower garage, Dick grabbed all your bags before you could protest, even though you’re the one with super strength. But to be fair, it’s not like you brought much. Meanwhile, your best friend was juggling his four bags like it was nothing. Classic Dick. He had this ridiculous habit of buying things he absolutely didn’t need.

And somehow, watching him casually haul your things and his like they weighed nothing? Yeah. It was so hot, it almost made you forget Mary Jane’s face. You feel like closing your thighs, the jeans feeling too warm. Uhum, maybe you should call Felicia again and take it off your system— or maybe Johnny Storm?

"Oh wow—Spidey, is that you?" Wally grinned as he grabbed your hands and spun you around like you were walking a runway. You chuckled while Dick rolled his pretty blue eyes.

"Happy birthday, Walls," you said, kissing his cheek as he beamed and led you further inside.

Kory lit up the second she saw you, immediately asking about the Lego Death Star you’d promised to build with her. Donna gave you a warm pat on the shoulder, and Gar pulled you into a tight, cheerful hug. Even Raven, ever composed, offered you a small but genuine smile.

Dick took your hand softly, already steering you toward your shared room with a smug look on his face.

"Told you they missed you."

"I missed them too."

You stepped closer to him while he unpacked, sliding your hands around his waist and resting your nose between his shoulder blades. He didn’t even flinch — he was used to your touchy ways by now. The two of you had been like this since your teenage years.

"That’s the cologne I gave you for your last birthday," you murmured, your face pressed against his back, fingers idly tracing the ridges of his abs. You loved that scent. Warm, clean, just a little spicy.

"You’re wearing the shoes I gave you too."

"Yeah," you replied, shrugging. "They’re kinda cute."

Dick hummed, a soft sound of satisfaction, as he continued folding shirts onto the bed, letting you stay pressed against him.

"So, lovebirds," Wally’s voice rang from the doorway, teasing as always, "We’re heading to dinner. We’re waiting for you two."

You sighed against his back, reluctantly sliding your hands off his warm body. Wally had already wandered off toward the main hall to fetch Donna.

"I’m not going," you muttered. "Don’t have enough for that. Like I said, I’m broke as fuck."

Dick turned slightly, raising a brow at you over his shoulder. "You know I’m paying, dumbass. What’s even rattling around in that head of yours? I still don’t understand how you managed a doctorate."

You smacked his shoulder, letting that super strength of yours go out just a little. "Jesus—what the fuck? Fuck you. I’m ordering the most expensive plate on the damn menu now, you absolute cunt."

He laughed, full and unapologetic. "Dick," he said, imitating your voice with mock dramatics.

You threw a sock at his head. "Cunt".

But, hey, your night was something else. They take you to one of the nicest restaurants you’d ever been to in your entire life, and you couldn’t stop smiling. The food was incredible and the Titans were in rare form. Wally’s jokes were landing harder than usual, Donna was kinda tipsy, and Kory kept trying to toast with every single drink. 

But you only really had eyes for one person.

Dick sat across from you, his black hair falling perfectly into his stupidly pretty face, blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. Every time he leaned in, his fingers brushed against yours on the table, casual and familiar and just enough to make your heart ache.

And then, when it was time to pay, of course he pulled a classic move to piss you off. Without a word, he stood, dropped his wallet into your hands, and winked as he headed toward the restroom.

"Seriously, Dick?" you called after him. “Come on!”

He waved over his shoulder without even turning around. You sighed, glancing at the waiter awkwardly, then opened his wallet to fish out his credit card.

You found his credit cards easily enough. But tucked between a few folded bills, something else caught your eye and your breath hitched.

Two photos.

The first was worn at the edges, a little faded, but still so vivid it made your heart clench. It was from your Homecoming dance at Midtown Tech, twelve years ago. You were sixteen, cheeks flushed and smiling at him. His hand was brushing your hair behind your ear, blue eyes soft and locked on yours. Ned had taken it, you remembered. 

The second one nearly made you snort. It was definitely from Aunt May. You, pre-bite: all limbs and nerves, drowning in an oversized sweater, thick glasses sliding down your nose as you held up a science fair trophy that was almost as big as your head. You looked like a terrified baby owl.

"Oh my god," you whispered. "This dumbass…"

"You look kinda red, Spidey," Wally said from beside you, chewing with all the grace of a starving dog. You didn’t even glance at him. Just smiled again, warm and a little shy, still staring down at the pictures hidden inside your best friend’s wallet like a huge secret.

"I’m good," you said softly.

cybergoth, 2025

[st3f13ily]

EXTRA CREDIT

• Reverse Romance Trope

• Academic rivals but two teachers are competing for the best class.

• English Teacher Itoshi Rin x Math Chaotic Teacher Reader

• Sorry for my disappearance, and I'm also sorry for not posting some Blue Lock High Au for a while, I have some drafts but it needs more editing.

Rin Itoshi hated mornings, but he hated them even more when they began with glitter.

There it was again—sparkling, infuriating, and somehow shaped like a smiley face—stuck to his freshly printed poetry analysis worksheets. It winked up at him like it knew exactly what it was doing. He stood in front of the copier, shoulders squared and jaw tight, staring blankly at the page, wondering at what point in his otherwise meticulously controlled life things had gotten so... stupid.

He lifted the next sheet. Another smiley face. And the next. And the next. All glimmering, obnoxiously cheerful, and completely unprofessional. It was like the ghost of a kindergarten art project had cursed his part of the English department.

He didn't need to check to know who was responsible.

Ms. (L/N) (Y/N), the math department's human equivalent of a sugar rush, had probably used the copier before him and left behind an explosion of joy and chaos. Again.

Rin exhaled slowly through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching—not in amusement, but in the barely restrained fury of a man who had already dealt with glitter once this week. And it was only Tuesday.

He glanced over at the copier like it had personally betrayed him. A few sparkles clung to the tray, proof of the crime committed. There was even a rogue sequin stuck in the crack of the feed tray. Of course, there was. She'd probably printed her ridiculous fraction bingo cards or whatever it was she passed off as curriculum, leaving behind a trail of sparkle like some kind of budget fairy godmother.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to crumple the glitter-stamped worksheets and toss them into the recycling bin. But no. He was above that. He was mature. Professional.

This was war.

You on the other hand twirled a dry-erase marker between your fingers, practically bouncing on your toes as your students worked through an activity. It was your favourite lesson: probability through a board game you created yourself, complete with dice, candy rewards, glittery laminated cards, and ridiculous trivia questions. Your classroom was filled with laughter, fake arguments, and occasional screams of victory. One group was in a heated debate about whether Skittles or M&Ms had better odds in the candy round, while another was trying to bribe you for bonus rolls.

Exactly how you liked it.

Your bulletin boards sparkled, the math puns on the walls made even the grumpiest student groan-laugh, and the scent of watermelon-scented markers perfumed the air. The soundtrack of your teaching life was upbeat music, crinkling candy wrappers, and your students yelling things like "PROBABILITY GODDESS! I ROLLED A SIX!"

And then—

The door creaked open.

Rin Itoshi's tall, brooding figure filled the doorway like a looming thundercloud over a birthday party.

He didn't step in. He didn't need to. Just one glare swept through the chaos of your candy-colored classroom like a freeze ray. A few students paused mid-roll. One kid dropped their D20 and whispered, "Oh no. It's him."

"(L/N)." Rin said, voice cool and flat as ever.

You blinked innocently, twirling the marker like a baton. "Yes, Mr. Itoshi?"

He held up a sheet of paper between two fingers like it was contaminated. On it, clear as day, was your glitter-smiley signature watermark—stamped right onto his poetry analysis worksheet.

"You're contaminating shared surfaces." he said, in the same tone one might use to report a toxic spill.

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart and staggering back a step like he'd just confessed his undying love. "Rin, you've finally admitted we’re sharing things. I’m honoured. Truly."

His jaw clenched. "I mean the copier."

"Semantics," you chirped, unbothered. "Still sharing."

He didn’t even blink. "There's glitter on my handouts. My students were blinded by a smiley face. One of them asked if it was a metaphor."

You pretended to swoon. "Your class is finally developing critical thinking skills. You’re welcome."

There was a pause. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

"You need to be more careful." he said.

You gave him a dazzling smile. "I was careful. I only used the pink glitter. You should see what happens when I use the holographic one."

"Don't."

"Too late." you sing-songed.

His eyes narrowed into slits of academic rage. He turned without another word.

And you?

You grinned like the cat who'd just knocked over the teacher’s coffee mug.

"Have a mathemagical day, Mr. Itoshi Rin!" you called sweetly.

He kept walking.

As he left you now turned to your wide eyes and mouth students. "Alright, so where were we?"

One of them raised their hand. "Yes?" You respond to the girl whose face is full of curiosity.

"Are you two dating?"

"I'm sorry what?"

Their rivalry was infamous among the faculty. Rin, the ever-serious English teacher, ran a class so silent you could hear a pencil drop. The kind of silence that screamed discipline and demanded respect. His students, wide-eyed and reverent, took notes as if their academic futures depended on it—and honestly, they might have. He was a force of sharp glances and precision.

You, on the other hand, were the hurricane that blew down the hallway every morning with a travel mug in one hand and a pile of colourful worksheets in the other. Your math classroom was chaos in the most educational sense—music playing softly in the background, students laughing over group activities, candy being passed around like currency, and posters with memes explaining calculus plastered across every surface. It was loud. Unapologetically so. And you loved it.

It started innocently enough. Simple, professional competition. Who had the better class test scores? Whose students performed better in school-wide competitions? Who got mentioned more in the yearbook superlatives? (You were voted "Most Likely to Start a Flash Mob"; Rin was crowned "Scariest When Angry.")

But slowly, steadily, it escalated. The rivalry evolved into something far pettier. And far more personal.

The tension had been brewing all week, ever since the principal announced Teacher Swap Day—an annual event where two teachers temporarily switched classes for one period to "foster interdisciplinary learning." For most of the staff, it was a fun tradition. For you and Rin, it was a declaration of war.

He was assigned to teach your bubbly, sugar-fueled math class. You were handed his solemn, poetry-loving English students.

Neither of you took it well.

"They're going to eat him alive," you whispered gleefully to your students the morning of the swap.

"Try not to let your emotions show on your face," Rin deadpanned to his class. "Even if the math teacher starts tap dancing."

The bell rang. You adjusted your bright cardigan, grabbed your dry erase markers, and strutted into Room 3B—Rin's domain.

Silence.

Twenty sets of eyes stared back at you, stone-faced. No fidgeting. No chatting. The scent of serious academia hung in the air like a storm cloud.

You grinned. "Alright, you lovely literary scholars. Today, we're doing probability... with dice, candy, and competitive chaos."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed a few faces.

Meanwhile, Rin stepped into your classroom.

A student immediately yelled, "Are you here to take over the world, Mr. Itoshi?"

Another passed him a friendship bracelet. Someone else offered him a Capri Sun.

He stared, dead-eyed. "Today, we're analyzing sonnets. Sit down."

Back in his class, you were trying to break the ice. "Let's say we roll a six-sided die. What's the probability of landing on an even number?"

A student raised a hand. "Miss, will this be graded based on effort or accuracy?"

You blinked. "Uh... Both?"

He nodded seriously and began calculating with textbook precision.

You muttered, "Rin's raised an army of overly competent robots."

Over in your room, Rin stood before a whiteboard covered in doodles, glitter residue, and a quote that said, 'Math is just number poetry.'

He erased it. "No, it isn't."

Your students gave him side-eyes. One brave soul whispered, "Miss (L/N) lets us write poems in the shape of cats."

Rin twitched.

He turned, arms crossed. "You're writing traditional sonnets. Fourteen lines. Iambic pentameter."

Groans echoed.

Meanwhile, you were standing in front of a graph projected on the board, your usual jokes falling flat. The students followed everything with unnerving efficiency.

You paced, muttering under your breath. "Okay, maybe they're not robots. They're just... terrifyingly competent."

In your class, Rin held up a poetry book. "This is 'Ozymandias.' It's about pride, ambition, and the inevitable fall of great empires."

A girl raised her hand. "So like Miss (L/N)'s candy kingdom?"

Rin paused. ".....Exactly like that."

Later, you both slammed the door open at the same time, leaving the class and now meeting at the hallway.

You: "Your students are brilliant, emotionally repressed machines!"

Rin: "Yours are sugar-fueled goblins with a cult-like devotion to you."

You pointed a finger. "Are you jealous they gave me a macaroni art trophy that says 'Best Math Wizard'?"

He pulled out a folded haiku. "Your student wrote this about me. It’s titled 'Grumpy Cat in a Cardigan.'"

He paused.

You looked up, expecting a snarky comment.

Instead, he said, "Your students did well. They were... confident. Happy."

You blinked. "That sounded dangerously like a compliment."

Rin leaned against the table. "It's not a weakness to be liked."

"Are you okay? Did the poetry corner run out of existential dread?”

He almost smiled. Almost.

Then he surprised you again.

"Why do you always try so hard to make it fun?" he asked.

You shrugged. "Because math was scary to me once. I don't want it to be that way for them."

He looked at you, and this time, there was no smirk, no sharp edge. Just quiet understanding.

You blinked. "...Why do you teach, Rin?"

He was silent for a long moment.

"Because I didn't think I had anything to say. But books taught me otherwise. So now I make sure my students always have something to say. Even if they whisper it."

You were quiet then. The rivalry, the teasing, the chaos—it all suddenly felt like a front. Like a weird, overly-decorated mask you both wore because it was easier than admitting the truth.

You respected each other.

Maybe even liked each other.

"You wanna get coffee?" you asked.

Rin blinked. "Now?"

"Sure. We can talk about how I'm going to crush you at the next department challenge."

He rolled his eyes, but he grabbed his coat.

"Fine. But if there's glitter on my coffee, I'm quitting."

You grinned. "No promises."

"I swear I'm gonna crush you, your little mathematics brain is gonna turn traumatic."

"Whatever 🙄"

But you two had one thing in mind: I need to make my class better.

Somewhere down the hall, your student whispered to her friend, who is Rin's student.

"Told you they were in love."

"We should tell our classmates about what happened right now."

"I mean both our sections did team up just to make them love each other, even though our teachers won't admit it."

@pinkymangacaps @levihanmyotp

[almostwisegalaxy]

Mama's boy Her boy.

Yeon Sieun x fem!reader

The reader has a shy character in this story

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The following Monday, it was raining.

Not a heavy rain, but that constant drizzle, almost annoying, that makes the air heavy and humid, as if the sky itself was caught in a silence filled with unshed tears. Yeon Si-eun was waiting, his back against the worn wall of the school's annex. He wasn't supposed to be there, but he had volunteered for the tutoring program. Not out of altruism. He had simply thought it would fill the void in a useful way.

Then she entered the room. Y/n. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves covering her hands, and her bag seemed to almost slide off her shoulder. She didn't say anything, just nodded, her eyes avoiding his. But Si-eun had already noticed the slight tension in her fingers, the careful handling of her notebook, the way she stood between presence and erasure.

That was his way of observing.

The first sessions were silent, almost cold. He explained, she nodded. Sometimes she asked a question, her voice soft but firm, never looking at him for too long. He pretended it didn't bother him, but his mind, usually as orderly as a strategy game, began to fall apart.

He didn't understand. Why, when his eyes met y/n's, did he feel as if he was truly seen for the first time? Not as a smart or distant boy, nor as a tool for knowledge or controlled violence, but simply as a boy. Just a boy.

And that was the beginning of the obsession.

He began to look forward to these sessions like a starving animal. He noted everything: the way y/n paused to think, the way she switched pens while nibbling on the old one, the little smile she allowed herself when she understood something. He even started to hang around the community center where she sometimes came with her younger siblings.

He watched her take care of them with a tenderness almost fierce. They pulled at her arms, climbed on her back, knocked over her bag. And she, instead of getting annoyed, laughed softly. A laugh so discreet, yet so alive, that it took his breath away.

Si-eun, on the other hand, had never been held in loving arms.

Not even by his mother. Especially not by her.

The rare times she was around, she would stand in the kitchen, looking at her phone. She would nod when he spoke, but her eyes were always elsewhere. He remembered, as a child, tugging at his mother's sleeve to get a glance, a word, a gesture. But she was always too busy. Too absent. And eventually, he had stopped asking. What was the point?

So, when y/n occasionally brushed against him without thinking – a light touch of an arm, a hand brushing – it felt like a soft burn, an unbearable warmth he longed to replicate.

And he did.

One day, he pretended to have a headache. He staggered as he sat down. Y/n, concerned, placed her hand on his arm, then gently on his forehead.

He closed his eyes.

He wanted time to stop.

When he opened them, she was looking at him. And there was no fear. No pity. Just sincere concern.

Then, little by little, he allowed himself. One day, he leaned in, testing the waters. Another, he asked if she liked kids, feigning indifference. Then he dared more: he stayed after class longer. He walked her to the bus stop. He got into the habit of waiting for her.

Then, one night, he cracked.

It was raining again. Still that fine rain.

She had offered him an umbrella, and without really knowing why, he stepped closer. Too close. She smelled like soap and wind. And he held her. Against him. Against his chest. Barely, just enough.

He didn't say anything. He couldn't.

But his hands were shaking. He buried his face against her, like a lost child. And she didn't push him away. She even held him tighter.

That night, he cried.

Not loudly. Not sobbing. But those silent tears, almost shameful, that come from too far. From too deep. The ones that never find their way except in a moment when everything breaks just a little.

Y/n didn't say anything. She just kept her arms around him. Like a port. Like a refuge. And Yeon Si-eun thought: is this love?

Or was it simply the desperate need to finally feel loved?

Sometimes, when she laughed, he felt a hole in his chest. As if something wanted to get out, but he didn't know how. He wanted to tell her everything: the loneliness, the silences at home, the lack of attention. But he couldn't. So he just looked at her. With his sad eyes, those that silently said: love me. See me. Welcome me.

And she did.

He became dependent. On her arms. On her presence. He loved lying against her when he could. Once, she had run her fingers through his hair, thinking he was asleep. He wasn't asleep. He carved that moment into him like a promise.

But a persistent fear remained.

What if she left? What if she looked at him one day the way his mother looked at him? Without really seeing him?

So he became a little colder, a little more distant. To protect himself. But she, she didn't give up. She held on. She came back. Again and again. Each time.

And little by little, he thawed. Not like in the movies. Not all at once. But over time. With her.

He loved her. No, he was crazy about her.

It wasn't a loud love. It was a feline, gnawing, vital love. She was everything he had never received. Everything he had never dared ask for.

And every day, he silently prayed: let her stay.

Let her keep looking at him.

Let her keep loving him.

Because in her arms, for the first time, Yeon Si-eun was a loved son, a protected boy, a young man in love.

Finally alive.

---

Si-eun found himself in a place that, once upon a time, would have seemed nonsensical to him. A place that had no place in his cold, controlled world. At y/n's house. He never thought this could happen. Not him, the forgotten child of a constantly absent father, the cold silhouette of a rejected son. But reality was there. In her arms. In her breath against his. In the familiar sounds of the evening, the soft light of the entrance to her home.

He had never wanted to go, but she had invited him, insisting with a tone that allowed no objection. "You deserve to relax. You don’t come enough." And so, he had come, the first time. He stayed. He left. But his mind never left that place.

y/n lived in a house full of children's laughter, hurried footsteps, and voices that never stopped. She had two younger brothers and a sister. Every time he came, they greeted him with raw enthusiasm. He remembered their first glance. They had studied him, this strange boy who seemed so different from their older sister. But they had become attached to him, like children do with a protective figure. He, who had never had that.

y/n’s parents were rarely around. Often gone for work or other obligations, like invisible shadows in y/n's life. This left a void that she filled with her kindness, her patience. Si-eun had once seen her take care of her siblings after a long school day, her hands constantly moving, her gaze always gentle and reassuring. But when she saw him, she became something else, calmer. She didn't need words to express how she felt about him. And him... he no longer needed to pretend.

The first time he had nestled against her, he hadn’t thought. He had simply given into the warmth, this warmth he had never known. She was lying on the couch, her legs curled up, and he had sat next to her, then slowly, like a child seeking protection, he had leaned in until their bodies were almost touching. y/n hadn’t said anything, but her arms had surrounded him. And, suddenly, the world stopped spinning for him. All that mattered was the beat of her heart against his own. This connection, silent but meaningful.

It became a silent ritual. After school, he spent more and more time at her place. Sometimes, he just came to be in the same room as her. Sometimes, he lay beside her, closing his eyes. Their conversations were simple, but so full of unspoken words. Talks about trivial things that, somehow, seemed to resonate with a depth he had never known.

One evening, after playing a game with her siblings, he sat next to y/n on the couch. She was reading a book, but her fingers barely touched the pages. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face. A slight smile played on her lips. "You have tired eyes." She looked at him, a little surprised, but didn’t say anything. Then she turned toward him. "It's because I worry about you."

Her words struck his mind like a cold wind, piercing the barrier he had built. Why would she worry about him? Her, the light in his life? Her, who knew how to give without asking? Why would she have empathy for him, a boy no one wanted to see?

She felt his silence. "You know, Si-eun, I’m not that naive. I see what you’re hiding. I see that you’re tired, that you carry all of this alone." She placed a light hand on his thigh. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

It was strange. Her words, simple, hit him with such force that it hurt. She wasn’t rejecting him. She wasn’t fleeing from that dark side of him. She accepted him. She accepted him as he was. For him, it was nothing short of a revolution. No one had ever accepted him. Not even his mother. He looked up at her, his lips trembling slightly. "I... I don’t know how to be... the person you want."

She shook her head gently, her hair swaying slightly. "I don’t want anything from you, Si-eun. I just want you. All of you."

He swallowed. She didn’t understand. Or maybe she understood more than he thought. He pulled back slightly, embarrassed. But she didn’t let him go. She gently pulled him back toward her. And, without a word, she held him in her arms. This time, he didn’t pull away. He nestled against her, tighter, longer. He let her hold him. Her arms around him were a silent promise of protection. He allowed it. He had never had this feeling of being at home, of being truly at home, in someone else’s arms.

She rocked him gently, almost as if she had known him forever. She blew softly in his hair, her hands sliding slowly over his back, soothing. "I’m not going anywhere, Si-eun. You are my home. I’ll always be here."

He felt the warmth of her breath. His heart raced in his chest. He closed his eyes, a weight on his shoulders slowly dissipating. He didn’t need words. This contact, this simple embrace, was more than anything he could have asked for. The fear of abandonment, of rejection, melted into the air. He was no longer afraid. Because y/n was there.

A kiss. Soft, light. But everything changed. Her lips met his, at first timidly, like a question with no immediate answer. Then the kiss became more urgent, more essential, as if they had both been waiting for this moment without ever daring to say it. He gave himself to her, to this warmth that had always been missing in his life.

They stayed there, in that gentle silence, in that refuge. Si-eun had never wanted to be loved. But he had needed it so much. And there, in y/n's arms, he was no longer that cold and distant boy. He was just a man, a man in love, who had found his home.

She stroked the back of his neck, slowly, without haste. He didn’t move, enjoying every second. No need for more. Just to be here, with her. She kissed him again, her lips brushing his. A kiss to tell him he wasn’t alone. A kiss to tell him he was loved.

That night, he slept in her arms. Not out of desire, but to hear her breath, to feel her warmth. He had never wanted to sleep anywhere but here, in this place where he was welcomed, loved. He didn’t have to be anyone else. He could just be himself. And he knew, deep down, that he would always be with her.

At her place. At home. Together.

Forever.

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Requests are open. Enjoy!

[the-californicationist]

Ursa Major - Chapter 21 - californicationist - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]