#if he's back he's back marvel should commit to it.

[caramelkoo]

no questions asked— jjk

Jeon jungkook wants nothing more than to get settled with his girlfriend, but what if her fear of commitment makes him take a step back? Will he do it, or will he be able to changer her mind for good?

pairing : Jungkook X reader

genre : established relationship, smut, fluff

word count : 6.6k (im begging for forgiveness)

Based on this ask <33

warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature, oc is an anxious girly (same), mentions of emotionally unavailable parents, jungkook is a man of dreams, simp boyfriend jungkook, car sex, unprotected sex (be safe), begging, reference of titanic if you squint, yeah that's pretty much it.

a/n : this took million business days lmao but finally it's here. the sweetest anon requested a drabble but i couldn't do it and as much as i tried to make it shorter, it got stretched to 6k words 😭 so im deeply sorry anon. the rest of you who enjoy longer fics, dig in. I love you guys so much, you might not know this but yall are my besties for resties. kisses. 💌

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Your boyfriend is going to propose to you.

Oh god

Oh. my. God.

Anxiety is not a foreign feeling for you. Although this time, it’s an indescribable sort. Something which is lingering in the deepest pit of your stomach for a lack of better word. Besides, there’s a mayhem inside your head, the voices are loud and intimidating, causing you to bite your lip to a point where they bleed while also staring at nothing. 

Jungkook has been nothing but secretive— the poor boy has no idea that you have already seen the navy blue box sitting inside his side of the drawer. You can swear it was totally unintentional.

In your defense, you had been searching for your glasses and that was the only place left to fish around. Nobody could have prepared you for the utter shock when your eyes fell on that box and so for a minute or two you just stood there, horrifyingly still and stunned. However, you recovered quickly, because to be quite honest it was about time one of you mustered up enough courage to ask the question.

It’s supposed to make you thrilled right? So why does something feel… off? 

“Penny for your thoughts?”, as soon as Cherry’s voice reaches your ears, you snap out of it and flash her a forced smile. 

“Yeah-” you begin, “Yeah uh- I’m just thinking about nothing in particular.” 

“_____ you’re an amazing girl but you gotta work on those lying skills.”

A chuckle leaves your mouth. You shouldn’t even have bothered in the first place, the girl can read you like a book. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours huh?” 

She picks up the book before scanning it with the barcode scanner all the while you marvel if you should tell her or just let it go, but then you also know how she would become a pain in the ass if you don’t spill the beans to her. Anyway, she can;t make you overthink it any more than you already have. 

You bite your lower lip before saying, “I feel like Jungkook is going to propose.” 

If looks alone could kill, you would have been buried deep by now with the way the man wearing an olive green cardigan, probably in his 50s, gives you side eye when Cherry drops the book with a loud thud on the counter. 

You wince.

“I’m sorry what?” 

When you subtly signal her to pick what she’s dropped, she takes a hold of the book, apologizes to the man who— you’re hundred percent sure hates your guts now, and resumes her work. 

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Ha! Girl you better start telling me more or none of us are going home today.”

She’s talking to you but her hands keep shuffling between scanning the books and expeditiously typing on the keyboard.

A spark of hesitation finds a way inside your heart. The thing is, you’re not sure. Do you want to marry the love of your life? Absolutely. Do you think you can keep the marriage going and stable? No. 

There you said it.

And that kills you because jeopardising your bond and connection with Jungkook is the last thing you want to do.

Maybe, it’s because nobody in your family has been able to keep their inner spark alive after they had gotten married or you might as well blame it on the relationship your own parents have had before your eyes. 

For everyone who couldn’t see past the walls of your house, your parents were an ideal couple. A pair who were equally efficient and successful in their respective areas of life. With your father being a renowned businessman and your mother holding the title of a world famous fashion designer, they couldn’t have been a better partner for each other, right?

Wrong. Too bad you had the honor of being an onlooker of their facade slipping away before getting replaced by their real impudent selves. 

But that’s all you could do though. You were merely just an audience. Someone who could see everything shatter before her eyes and not do a single thing to put an end to it. 

Constant fights, fuming with jealousy over one of them achieving more than the other, sabotaging each other.

All hell broke loose when they began making you take sides. 

You think mommy is better don’t you, honey?

You should be proud of your dad, ____. You’re living such a luxurious life thanks to me. 

For the love of god you were five. What does a five year old know about luxury or human ego? What could you have possibly known about who is better? In your eyes, they were your mom and dad and not some squish mellows placed side by side from which you had to take your pick. Let’s not even start with the emotional unavailability they provided you with.

A knot lodges in your throat and you struggle to get the words out. “I happen to see the box inside his drawer”

“You’re sure it had a ring inside- Wait, don't answer that”, she shakes her head as if she just asked the most ridiculous question ever.

No shit.

“But that’s a good thing right? I mean you guys have been seeing each other for a while now and marriage is the final stop.” she continues and you can’t help but feel terrible, because she is making sense. 

A sigh leaves you, “Yeah no- I mean yeah it is but I didn’t expect him to take the initiative so suddenly. No hints were dropped at all. Marriage is, gosh, I can’t believe I’m saying this but it seems intimidating to me.” 

The queue has finally dissipated at this point so she faces you fully showcasing her engrossment in your dilemma. The girl feeds off drama but refuses to get involved in one.

Her expression morphs into something between horrified and sympathetic. “_____, is that because of your parents?” 

Your heart skips a beat. This whole time you and only you had authority over this thought that your fear of marriage is deeply rooted in your own parents’ fucked up relationship. A belief that lay sly and unseen.

Only after those words left Cherry’s mouth did you realise how venomous they sound. It makes you aware that the fear was not as concealed as you intended to keep it. What are you supposed to do when you find out that somebody else knows about your deepest terrors? Run? Hide? Or simply not say anything? 

Your mouth feels suddenly dry. “What?” 

Cherry takes a hold of your palm and rubs it gently, “If it is, I want you to know that it’s not the case for everyone. Marriage is a beautiful concept, a lovely commitment. Are there some pitfalls to it? Yes. But that’s the beauty of it. The way two people come together and resolve them-”

Your phone buzzes inside your pocket causing you to flinch. Releasing your hands from her hold, you take it out and see your grandmother’s number stare up at you. 

“I’ll just be back.” you excuse yourself just as a woman places a stack of books on the counter.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

“Hey, beautiful” you greet her, a smile lighting up your entire face.

“My baby, did I catch you at the wrong time?” her voice is like a balm to your heart. So warm and comforting. It reminds you of your movie nights with her where you didn’t have to be anything or pretend. You just had to exist and she made it worth it. Always. 

“Now you know even the devil himself can’t stop me from talking to you.” 

A loud chortle reaches your ears and you imagine her throwing her head back, laughing. 

“I was calling to ask if you and your eye candy of a boyfriend are visiting home this year for thanksgiving, dear?” 

Dear lord, you can’t believe you forgot about that.

Your eyes widen, and just when you think you could bubble up some other lie, she speaks up, “You forgot, didn’t you?” 

Yeah, bold of you to assume you can do that and get away. You actually need to work on your lying skills. For whatever reason. You want to pluck your eyelashes out one by one because of how gloomy she sounds.

“I’m genuinely sorry, grams.” pinching the bridge of your nose you continue, “I’ve just been busy with work and barely making ends meet. I promise this is the first and last time I let it slip my mind.” 

With the job you have, there’s only so much cash you can count and while you would love to make a career out of writing, the thought of publishing your own book sends shivers down your spine.

Every time you open the draft a new mistake pops up, taking a percentage of your self confidence down the drain. You’re only human. A microscopic slip catches your attention and you start questioning your life choices. 

“Honey, come home and give yourself some time off, what do you youngsters like to call it? Oh yes, grind. Yeah?” 

It’s your turn to laugh. “Wow someone has been too into love island lately.”

Cherry raises her eyebrows from across the room and you mouth her the word ‘grandma’. She nods with a smile on her face, going back to work. 

A long stretch of silence hangs in the air before you hear her ask, “_____, what else is wrong?” 

The smile which has been adorning your face this whole time instantly drops. You blink.

Once

Twice

Thrice 

“I don’t understand.” Liar.

“You know what I mean, baby. I want you to tell me more, because I know something has been bothering you. What is it?”

Humans are so funny sometimes. They can be as close to you as your own soul and not have a hint of your torment. Meanwhile, there is your grandmother, who despite being so far away from you just….. knew. But again, it has always been like this hasn’t it? 

Whenever you got tired of your parents throwing stuff around the house, making each other lick the floors, trying to make their own and your life a living hell, she knew. 

She was the one who allowed you to cry, and assured you that she would not call you dramatic if she happened to hear your sobs.

You were allowed to cry,

You were allowed to ask for help,

You were allowed to not hold back.

Sucking in a deep breath, you release it, “Everything else is perfect, grams.”

Mr William is always the first person to greet you everyday when you reach the apartment. He’s been working as a guard for years now and you’ve grown quite familiar with him. While being the sweetest man you’ve ever come across, he also brings his wife’s yummiest tarts for you whenever she makes them. Arguably, they deserve more hype than they get.

“She knows how much you love her tarts” he says, making you feel immense gratitude towards his kindness. 

This particular night, he seems…. restless. He’s shifting from one foot to another as you shut the cab’s door behind you. Striding over to him, you mentally try your best to figure out his uneasiness. 

Clearing your throat, your throat as you ask, “Is everything alright, Mr William?” 

Only after he hears your voice, he gains his composure. Or so he tries. 

He hands you a piece of paper which feels a bit wet and you wonder what could have been so intense that the man began having clammy palms.

It’s nearly concerning, not to mention it doesn’t help with your own anxiety at all. If not, shoot it up. 

“Your boyfriend dropped by around lunch time, miss. He handed me this and asked me to give it to you as soon as you come back from work.”

He couldn’t have given it to you yesterday when he was with you in the first place? Weird.

“I see, but why are you so tense? Has something happened?” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “My wife has been sick and I was supposed to leave early but I figured it would be better if I gave it to you safely before going home to her.” 

Fuck

“You could have given this to me later. Your wife comes first, sir.” you gulp, “Please, I appreciate your gesture but she needs you more. Thank you so much and please let me know if I can be of help.”

He releases an empty chuckle. “Thank you, Miss” 

With one last nod you walk inside the building while also hoping he doesn’t call you for help. Not because you won’t do anything it takes to help him, but because you hope it wouldn’t come to it. The moment you shut the apartment door behind and turn on the light, the piece of paper steals your attention. Without waiting any further, you unfold it, coming across Jungkook’s writing. 

The note alone feels like he whispered it into your ear before placing the softest kiss on your skin. Your lips stretch into a serene smile as you stride over to the bedroom, turning the doorknob as your gaze catches a purple bodycon resting on top of your bed. It is accompanied with a bouquet of pink tulips as well as a bar of Dubai chocolate. 

Your head that has been nothing short of a commotion is now finally at peace. Not entirely but at peace nonetheless.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Jungkook was 12 when he went on his first roller coaster ride. He was, like every other child, afraid. Afraid that he might fall and hurt himself so bad, he wouldn’t ever be able to get up. The roller coaster had a massive drop followed by a corkscrew which took him upside down. Until the moment Jungkook saw a woman in yellow dress buying a bunch of tulips from the flower shop he very often visited, he had never felt his stomach bottom out as strongly as it did during that drop back then.

There she was, chatting with the florist as if they’re best friends. He could see her behind the glass picking out the pink tulips before sniffing them. Meanwhile, Jungkook stood across the road, soaked and enchanted as he wondered if he should ask for her number or chicken out. Eventually, the latter won. 

But here’s the thing, Jungkook is not one for losing. He hates losing, even the term makes him want to peel his own skin off. 

He saw her hair first, becoming curly locks reaching down to her waist and just above her hips. Granted that his line of sight only allowed him to see her side profile, he assumed she was gorgeous. It was not unlikely for him to see beautiful women on a daily basis, but something about her just sucked him in. His eyes could not leave her face and he believed even if they tried, he would pluck them out just to punish them. Was it weird that his hands itched to hold a woman he doesn’t even know? 

What’s her name?

Where does she live?

What’s her favorite color?

How does she like her coffee?

There’s a japanese phrase called koi no yokan which means that you eventually will fall in love with a person you meet. You’re going to grow so fond of that person that you would want to see no one by your side but them. She was that person for him. 

He rubs his hands for the nth time in a futile attempt to warm them up, waiting outside ____’s building. How is this evening going so slow? He has been here for perhaps half an hour now, so why does it feel like it’s been a decade? 

And funnily enough, the only person who can put him out of his misery is _____. At this point, the guy fears he wouldn’t be able to so much as look her in the eye, but not doing that will be the end of him too.

He looks down and lets his hands run over his black button down shirt, wondering if she would like it. She loved seeing him in black on the first date. A loud click clack of heels grab his attention, perking his ears up. He looked up and there she was in all her glory. 

Jungkook releases a breath and rubs his chest as if his heart hurts. As if it’s telling him how unworthy he is of this woman who is walking up to him, who may be as nervous as him but still chose him as her man. 

The woman who could have anyone she wanted wrapped around her pinky finger gave her days, nights and evenings to him. She smiled at him, for him and if he was lucky, because of him.

_____ stops before him while he’s still adjusting to the sight of her. “How do I look?” 

Unreal, exquisite and way out of his league.

He shakes his head from side to side, thinking of a single word that would suffice the answer to that. He fails and so instead he runs his fingers down her forearm until he reaches her soft hands and takes it into his own cold ones. 

Placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles, he begins. “My imagination of you in this dress has got nothing on this vision.” 

Her face morphs into the softest expression of love, “And exactly how many times have you imagined me in this dress, Jeon Jungkook?” 

He takes a step forward, his chest almost touching hers. “I can’t answer that. You want to know why?” 

“Why?” Her voice is emotionless. His thumb grazes her lower lip as he tries not to smudge her nude lipstick. “Because if I do, we’ll have to go back into your apartment and try not to wake your neighbours up.” She swats his chest and softly pushes him back, dissolving into a giggle. 

“You’re looking quite handsome yourself.” she says as her eyes shamelessly check him out. His sleeves are halfway folded stopping just below his elbow, beautifying his tattooed forearms.

He’s also wearing his favorite blue baggy jeans with his usual black chunky boots. The same ones he goes for when he knows _____ might not be able to bear the pain caused by her heels, so he ends up swapping them with the boots.

He would argue carrying her all the way to her apartment instead, but settles elseways. 

Jungkook opens the car door for her and only after she’s well seated, he runs to his side and takes off. 

The ride to the restaurant is quiet despite the obvious tension that doesn't go unnoticed by either him or her. As much as he would like to spend the rest of the night snuggled into bed with her, he knows there is something more significant than that. So instead he indulges in caressing her thigh. 

“After you, angel.” He places a hand on the small of her back. 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

The ambience looks straight out of the movies. Like a paradise. Violinists are playing a chorus of Fuck her gently by Tenacious D far across the room. 

Jungkook catches an unknown look on her face. “Something’s wrong?” 

She shakes her head, flashing him a smile. “I love this song.”

He places a tiny kiss on her temple. “I know, baby. C’mon.” 

You know how women have this killer instinct of knowing if and when somebody’s watching them? It’s like they have a separate pair of googly eyes on the back of their head to protect them from creeps. 

From the moment you have entered the place, the man in the wine shirt has been making a hole in your face with the way he’s been staring at you. 

Is your dress too revealing? Are you showing too much skin?

“Oh I forgot to tell you. Your grandmother called earlier today.” Jungkook disrupts your thoughts. 

You gulp down the last piece of steak before answering. “Let me guess she asked you to join her for thanksgiving?” He nods, a bright smile on his face. “I told her I would love to.” 

A cheeky smile unfurls slowly on your face. Jungkook loves your grandmother. Maybe a little bit more than you do. Just a tiny bit though. Last year when you and he visited her, he was the first person apart from you to get a hug out of her.

Your grandma is not much of a hugger by the way. Her hugs are totally exclusive. 

“I’m sure she loves having my ‘eye candy of a boyfriend’ there.” 

Jungkook snorts, placing his fork down. “She called me an eye candy?” 

He dissolves into a fit of laughter when you answer his question with a nod. 

“See now that’s the biggest achievement I have had in a while. I mean what are the odds your wife’s grandma calls your an eye candy-”

Something sours in your stomach. The steak here tastes awful or maybe it’s just you feeling pathetic that as soon as he says ‘wife’ your expression morphs into something so dreadful that it causes him to stop. What are the odds that you just gave him a reality check and dragged him out of a fool’s paradise?

“Angel, what’s-” 

You stand abruptly, cutting him off yet again. His eyes bob all over you, and then a sad frown puckers between his brows. 

“I’ll just be back. I need to use the washroom.” You say as you grab your handbag as quickly as you can before leaving him there. Confused and wondering what the fuck just happened?

Few minutes later, just as you’re walking outside the washroom and making a way towards your table someone’s voice causes you to stop midway. 

“Excuse me.” 

Turning to face the person, you come face to face with the same man from earlier. The one wearing a wine colored shirt along with a nasty expression. You believe he’s trying to look cocky but is failing miserably.

“Can I help you?” 

A slow smile spreads over his mouth. “I couldn’t help but notice that the man you’re here with seems to upset you in some way.”

An awkward chuckle leaves you. “The man is my boyfriend and I don’t think it concerns you if he’s upsetting me or not.” 

He walks a little closer. Oh no, this is bad. 

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, “But clearly he’s not being a good boyfriend, is he?” 

The audacity of this man.

You huff out a frustrated breath, “Listen, you need to shut up and stay within your limits. It’s not healthy going around poking your nose into everyone’s business.” 

His sly smile grows even more as he steps closer than before. 

The hair on your body stands up, and not in a good way, but in a very uncomfortable way. You suddenly regret the idea of leaving Jungkook’s side. Bad, bad decision. 

Currently, you have two options. You can either just walk off and act like nothing happened, which by the way, is a safe option or you can kick the man in the balls and then act like nothing happened.

Since you're much more accustomed to the former option, you decide to do just that but when his hands grip your wrist with an iron grip, you settle on the latter. 

You knee him between the legs with an intention to hurt him as he grunts in pain, his hands gripping where you just kicked him. 

“You fucking bitch.” 

Before he can say anything further, you storm off. Your phone buzzes inside your handbag and you automatically assume it to be Jungkook’s call. As soon as you spot him across the room, you feel the clouds parting, there’s a feeling threatening to arise. It’s something between protected and anguished. 

Anguished because you let your mind speak so deafeningly that it silenced the oh so loud love Jungkook has for you. And protected because you know for a fact that if he had any idea about what that man just did to you, he would not think twice before dragging him by the hair before bringing him to his knees in front of you to apologize. 

He stands once he sees you and you waste no time running towards him. Your arms go around him as you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. His arms immediately embracing you in return, securing you against his chest.

It feels warm.

Concern laces his voice as he says, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Breathe” 

You don’t even realise you’re panting unless he says that. You’re aware that at this point the way you flung yourself at him must have got everyone’s attention. But you genuinely don’t care. It might as well be an auditorium full of people watching you hug your boyfriend like an anchor, you just don’t care. 

You realise that’s exactly what Jungkook is. Your anchor. Someone who didn’t even ask as to what happened before he straight away began consoling you. 

His hand envelops the back of your head in a protective way while the other soothes your back. 

“Do you want to leave? We can leave right now if you want to.”

“Yes, please.”

His body shakes as though he just nodded. “All right, let me pay real quick and we’ll leave yeah?”

Your voice is muffled against his chest. “Yeah.”

You suck in a sharp breath as he lets you go. The small folder on the table grabs your attention. He opens it only to find a note inside of it saying— “It’s on me, gorgeous”. 

You can see the wheels in his mind turning, but before he starts asking you any questions which may or may not cause a breakdown of yours, you say, “I’ll explain it to you outside. Can we please go?” 

“Let me see wh-”

“Please?” He lets out a defeated sigh and nods. “Yeah- Yeah let’s go.” 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

At first when Jungkook saw that note, the first emotion that he felt was rage and a very serious one at that. But it was soon replaced by realization. It doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that something nasty went down after _____ left to use the washroom. Something he can’t wait to get to the bottom of. Nevertheless, he didn’t want her to be pressured to answer the more obvious question. 

Jungkook’s girl is attractive. She’s kind and empathetic and fucking stunning which makes her worthy of all the attention she gets. Of course men are going to want to be with her. 

Initially, it bothered him. A lot. 

Now, though? He’s grown rather used to it. However, it has never come to having someone pay for her in a restaurant. Even the thought of someone so much as speaking to her in an inhumanely manner makes him want to punch a hole through a wall. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

The silence is too loud inside the car. He can hear ____’s heart beating loudly or is it his own?

She’s leaning back with her head against the headrest. When she doesn’t respond, Jungkook speaks again, “_____ baby, will you please at least look at me?” 

Her eyes connect with his and he flashes her the softest of smiles.

Taking her hand, he kisses the inside of her wrist where he can feel her pulse. 

Thump thump thump. 

“I want you to give me something, angel. Anything.” 

He can see her gulp before admitting, “There was um… there was a guy outside the washroom and he kind of tried to force himself on me,” she closes her eyes for a brief moment, “Maybe I’m just being dramatic, but I handled him.” 

Jungkook’s stomach drops. He was right. His hands fly out to open the car door before _____ holds him back. “Don’t. I said I handled it.”

He turns back, his voice leaking with anger along with something more barbaric. “And I’m proud that you did, but if I don’t go in and beat that asshole into a new one I won’t be able to call myself a man worthy of you anymore. I need him to know that he can’t fuck with my girl and go about his goddamn day.” “Jungkook, please. I can’t take it anymore. Please stop.” 

And he does. For now. 

He leans back, running his hands over his face with frustration. For a few minutes he and ____ just stare outside the front glass of the car. The parking lot slowly gets empty as people leave for their homes one by one. 

Just when he thinks  _____ has dozed off, her voice reaches him. “Can I get one more hug?” 

“Come here.” 

He takes her into a warm embrace before kissing the top of her head, settling his lips there. His anger has yet not fully dissipated, but having her so close calms his heart. It calms his whole being. Her touch, her breath against his skin, her presence heals something in him.

Therefore, he made up his mind about spending his whole life with her. The little slip of words, which by the way was totally unintentional, soured _____'s expression and that didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

She’s scared but he fully intends to let her know that she doesn’t have to.

______ unwraps herself from his arms and pushes back. Just enough for their noses to touch.

She shakes her head, “Don’t give me those eyes.” 

Jungkook holds back a smile. “What eyes, angel?” 

“The same ones you give me when you want something dirty to happen. Those big brown eyes of yours.”

He lets a chuckle slip out. “I’m down if you are.” 

When she offers him her own laugh, gosh it’s as though he comes alive. If he could bottle up the sound, he would. Something passes in _____’s eyes. Lust? Desire? He can’t pinpoint. 

He wants to kiss the hell out of her though and he wants to do it desperately. Her eyes drop to his mouth and he takes it as a sign to lean forward and press his mouth against hers. 

Her lips part ever so slightly followed by her gripping Jungkook’s collar to bring him even closer. So close as if she wants their souls to intertwine. 

The feeling is very much mutual. 

She gets up from the passenger’s seat without breaking the kiss and straddles his lap. Her legs on either side of his thigh as their core’s touch. Jungkook is not sure how long he can endure this sweet pain of waiting. 

In all sincerity, he’s been holding himself back from the very moment he saw her walking up to him in that dress. Do with that information what you will. 

Now, he just wants to say fuck it and get inside her— only that he can’t, because he wants her to take her time and ask for it. Then and then only he will fuck her. If it’s inside this car then so be it. 

The kiss is electric and filled with passion, tingling his skin in all the right places as she matches his enthusiasm with her own.

______ pulls back with a deep breath, leaving Jungkook panting heavily. 

“Please.” she begs. 

A strand of hair falls on her face. He tucks it behind her ear. “Please what baby?” 

“Please fuck me, Jungkook. I want you so bad and I want you right now.” she whines.

He grins. “At your service, ma’am.” 

He hears _____’s light chuckle as he gets out of the car, carrying her with him while also making sure she doesn’t hit her head on the hood. She detaches herself from him once they’re out and settles in the back seat. Only after ensuring she’s comfortable enough, Jungkook follows her. 

His body lays on top of her and he wastes no time as their mouths collide. Her finger grip the hair on his nape and he groans with pleasure, his cock going thick. He rubs it on her lower stomach to show her how much he wants her, gaining a moan out of her. 

Jungkook’s head goes fuzzy with every passing second. He almost comes when she lifts her hips up and rubs a slow circle against his cock. 

“Fuck.” He groans, pulling back from the kiss. _____’s cheeks are heated and lips are swollen. He did that. Her man did that. 

Suddenly, he’s grateful for the tinted glass and his big car. 

_____ lifts her head up and kisses his sweaty cheek, swiping his forehead with her palm. “You’re sweating, honey.” 

“Yeah, I tend to do that in your presence. Do you know how hard it was for me to stay sane after seeing you look so unbelievably gorgeous?” 

She passes him a lazy smile, “You’ve always been so good at controlling yourself, haven’t you?” 

“Not anymore.” He sits up, knees on either side of her body and starts unbuckling his belt all the while panting with excitement. His pants slide halfway down letting his cock spring free. Thick, angry and leaking with precum. His shirt goes next.

______’s eyes flash with lust as she bites her lower lip. The straps of her dress have slipped down, leaving her tits bare and open for Jungkook.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby.” he leans forward as she runs a hand up his bare spine, hooking her legs over his hip.

“Please.” she whispers. 

A loud thunder outside the car grabs Jungkook’s attention. Nice, he’s so horny he didn’t even realise that it’s raining. Another rumble of thunder drowns their panting breath but he still only focuses on the woman beneath him. The goddess of a woman who trusts him with her body. How lucky he is to call her his own. 

She brushes his hair out of his face, her thumb dusting over the mole on the bridge of his nose before her hand follows the path of his tattooed arm, his rib, his ass, until she wraps a fist around his dick. 

He pushes into her hand. “I need to grab the condoms from the console, angel.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, the car filling with the pants and whimpers before she says, “I want you bare. I’m on the pill.” 

Jungkook has never gone without condom nor has he considered going without one, but this woman right here just asked him to get inside her bare and fuck if it doesn’t tempt him.

And so he gives in, but not before asking, “Are you sure?” 

“As sure as one can be.” 

He nods, bringing his lips back to hers. His hand finds her thong under the dress as he slides it down her legs. Then he strokes a single line up and down her slit, wetting his finger with her cum. When he brings the same finger to his mouth and sucks on it, _____ all but whimpers. 

His cock follows next and he does the same with it, rubbing himself up and down her slit as he coats himself in her before he presses his thumb down on the head of his cock, curls his hips forward, and pushes into her. 

Tortuously slowly, inch by fucking inch. 

She’s so warm and tight for him. He’s not sure how long he can take before he shoots his load inside of her. 

“More.” she pleads, her face morphing into the most beautiful expression of pleasure. 

Jungkook pulls back and pushes again, watching more of a length disappear inside of her. He’s not even halfway in and she’s already crying out his name. 

Leaning in, he bites her neck in an attempt to give her his all. All his love, all his nights and all his life. The question is at the tip of his tongue but considering what happened inside, he quickly holds himself back. 

“You’re doing so good for me, my angel. Taking me so well,” He thrusts again. “You’re made for me, aren’t you?” 

She cries out. 

“What was that?” She throws her head back. “Yes. Oh my god” 

Thrust. “Yes, what baby? I’m gonna need you to say it.” 

Jungkook takes her nipple in his mouth, sucking on it until she cries out again, “I’m made for you. Fuck.”

He releases the nipple with a loud pop. “That’s right you are.” His pelvic bone is flush with hers, ____’s legs as wide as possible to accommodate him. She dusts her fingertips up and down his spine while he slowly kisses along her jaw.

When she pushes her heels into his ass, urging him to move, he pulls out part way before pushing back in again. 

She lets out a moan quickly followed by his own. _____’s hands run over Jungkook’s abs, nipples, and wrap around his shoulders. 

He’s fucking her slowly, taking his time, feeling her body and letting her feel his too. Every brush, every graze, every breath is precious to him.

Soft and intimate. 

So when the next words leave Jungkook’s mouth, he blames it on the moment. “Marry me.”

_____’s eyes which were closed earlier, savoring the very moment, pop open and his movement halts. 

“What?” 

“Fuck. Okay, I know this is not a position or place a woman wants to be proposed in, but I have to say this before I go insane. _____, I know you’re scared and I also know the reason behind it. Of course, I won’t ask you why you kept that part a secret from me, because I respect you and want you to take your time. But baby,” he brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, “I need you to know that I will die before I let anything like that go down between us. I love you so much you don’t even realise. Sometimes I even shock myself with how much I cherish you. You’re a gift to me, a gift which brings out the best not just in me but in everyone she meets.”

He places a small kiss on her forehead before continuing, “I can go anywhere, see everything but it still wouldn’t match the level of affection I hold for you in my heart. Still wouldn’t match the beauty of your smile, you amazing woman. You’re all I have ever wanted. So please, make me the happiest motherfucker in the world by saying ye-”

“Yes” 

‘What?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you. Now will you please shut up fuck me like you promised, husband?” 

He bites her jaw, “Oh, I’ll fuck you so nice you’ll be begging for more, wife.”

Soon enough, _____’s lower lip trembles as her orgasm takes over, and he has the privilege to watch it all. The fluttering of her lashes, the marks of her nail down his arm and the way she calls him her husband again when she’s able to find her words. 

He’s so gone.

About half an hour later when he asks her again as to what changed her mind about marriage, she says something so deep yet in such a casual way, he wants to cry. 

“When I hugged you inside, you didn’t ask questions. You just let me be and that may seem like a miniscule thing for someone else, but for me it was enough. Enough to stay with you until I turn all wrinkly and grey haired.” 

[tw1sters]

Put a Ring on It

Jake is an impatient man, even more so when it comes to you. When he sees you for the first time in months, his self-restraint is tested. Spoiler: he doesn't pass.

▸ PAIRING: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, pwp, semi-public, inappropriate use of naval academy class ring (fully inspired by inappropriate use of malfoy signet ring lol), fingering, dirty talk, lots of cursing ▸ WORD COUNT: 3.4K ▸ A/N: currently in my established relationship pwp era so here's another one. been thinking about that ring for a while now. please mind the warnings!

—

Fucking Hangman and his fucking fragile ego. And his fucking hand.

It’s true that the situation isn’t exactly ideal – you fly in to visit for the weekend, taking only a couple of days off from work to spend time with your boyfriend, who’s currently off on a special assignment at the San Diego base. You haven’t seen Jake in two months; with him constantly on the road and you buried in meetings with your current project, it’s virtually impossible to find the days to actually fly to see each other. 

To say he is deprived is a massive understatement.

When you arrive on base, he pulls you into a crushing kiss. Literally crushing. His arms, which have probably gotten even bigger since you last saw him, are wrapped around you as his lips capture yours. His moan reverberates throughout your entire body. You barely notice his squadmates jeering and booing around you. When he slips his tongue past your lips, as much as you enjoy it, you know it’s time to stop.

After all, you are on government property and they probably have the authority to hold you prisoner should you commit indecent exposure.

“Jake,” you breathe, pushing at his chest for him to release you. He continues peppering your face with kisses, and a laugh bubbles up your throat. “Okay, okay. I get it, you missed me.”

He hums, his hair coiffed back, ruffled in the wind. Your heart somersaults in your chest. Sometimes you forget to truly appreciate how attractive he is. Neatly trimmed dirty blonde hair, strong jawline, that stupidly gorgeous grin. Don’t get you started on his hands. You marveled over them enough the first time you met and he’s definitely shown you how talented he can be with them. 

“Been too long, sweetheart,” he whispers, nuzzling his face into your neck. You can feel his mouth begin to work on you again and, before you fall apart in front of his teammates, you gently nudge him away, pulling an annoyed grunt from his lips. “Killin’ me,” he mutters.

“Not in front of your team, Seresin.”

When Rooster calls your name, you perk up and shoot him a smile. “Are you coming to the barbecue tonight?” He asks. 

Jake groans. “Absolutely the fuck not. I need some quality time.”

“What barbecue?” You cock an eyebrow at the two of them.

“Hangman didn’t tell you? We have a beach barbecue at The Hard Deck later. Whole squad’s going to be there and obviously Penny and Mav are setting everything up. Took us a couple of weeks to get everyone together. Even Coyote’s girlfriend is coming.”

Well, now you have no choice. You look at Jake who’s already groaning, preemptively reacting to your response. You shoot him a look telling him to behave before turning back to Rooster with a tight smile. “Of course we’ll be there.” 

Rooster grins, “Awesome, I’ll catch you there. I need to drop off some of my stuff first.”

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” Jake says, a hand on his wounded heart. Ever the drama queen.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, “We can’t not go, Jake. The crew’s going to be there, along with your bosses, might I add.”

“They’re just going to eat and get drunk.”

“Exactly what I want to do after the week I’ve had.”

Jake stands in front of you, hands grasping your waist as he pulls you close and ducks his head to kiss you again. “I know how to get you to relax, release all that pent-up tension.” 

Heat crawls up your neck as you feel the pulsing between your legs. Jake isn’t the only one who’s been particularly needy. You’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve had your hand down there. While you can still satisfy yourself, it isn’t the same as having Jake there with his veined hands, lickable abs, and filthy words. 

Phone sex is a common occurrence, but you’re only left wanting more. 

Before Jake can get you even more hot and bothered, you lick your lips and hold him at arm’s length. You make sure his grabby hands stay in yours, foiling his every attempt to grope you in public. There are officers around for god’s sake. “We’ll stay for an hour, say our hi’s, get some food and drinks, then we’ll head back to your place,” you try to reassure him. 

“You and your desire to please people will cock block me to hell, sweetheart,” Jake grunts. “You say an hour and I already know we’ll be staying there well past.” 

“No, it’ll just be an hour. I promise.”

Jake learns early on in your relationship that there are certain promises you do not keep. Although you are great at holding yourself accountable for things revolving around him, the chances of those promises coming true slim down to near zero when other people are involved. Too many times have you promised him you’ll only stay an hour – particularly at boring events that you drag him to (or he drags you to) – because you feel terrible if you don’t offer the host the time and appreciation they deserve for organizing. 

And you love Penny. That woman is impossible to adore. No one else can keep Mav on his toes like her. Thus, Jake certainly expects you to give her your utmost effort to be present.

Proving his point right, you and he are currently on hour number two. You try to ignore how restless Jake is getting. He’s rocking on the balls of his feet, grumbling under his breath, his hands beginning to wander again. The annoyed jitters radiating off him seem to amuse the others, especially as you’re striving to give whoever you’re speaking to your full undivided attention. 

So far, it has been Penny, Mav, Nat, Bob, and Javy. The current one on your list is Bradley, who’s going on and on about the training they did today. With at least three drinks in his system, nobody can get Bradley to shut up. 

You’re nodding along to the story, throwing in a few questions here and there to toss Bradley off the scent. The scent being Jake’s hand continuously sliding up your leg and under your skirt. You swat his hand away, yanking it off you every few minutes or so, but he is relentless. Thankfully, the two of you stand with your backs towards the ocean, and everyone else is in front of you. None of them the wiser to the shit Jake is pulling behind your back, literally.  

Jake’s large hand cups your asscheek and massages it slowly, pulling them apart until you can feel even your pussy lips parting. The light breeze that sneaks into your underwear has you freezing. Your subtle efforts to remove his hand are to no avail. Instead, knowing he overpowers your grip, he only gets bolder. 

His hand alternates between squeezing your ass and tracing the line of your panties. You bite back a shiver every time he does. You can feel wetness pooling between your legs, and how damp your underwear has probably gotten. At this point, you aren’t hearing a single word coming out of Bradley’s mouth anymore. Fortunately, you don’t think Bradley fully comprehends whatever he’s saying either. He’s stumbling slightly on the sand, close to toppling over each time. 

Jake doesn’t even try to help and you can’t bring yourself to either, not when Jake is tempting you so deliciously. 

When Jake carefully runs a finger over your slit over your damp panties, you feel your brain fogging up. Bradley’s words are beginning to blur together, and so is his face. Jake smirks proudly, sensing how distracted you are even as his squadmate drones on. 

Fucking asshole. 

His index finger slips underneath the fabric, tugging it slightly to the side as he runs it over your bare pussy. You can feel him collect your juice slowly and use it to drag his fingers along your lips. Struggling to swallow a moan, you let your eyes slip shut only momentarily, hoping that Bradley doesn’t catch on. However, when Jake dips not one, but two fingers into you, a squeak escapes your lips before you can catch it. 

Your cheeks immediately flame with the sound. While Bradley is drunk, he isn’t completely inebriated. 

He stops halfway through his sentence as he frowns. You can’t bring yourself to say a single thing, your face tight and body tense. Meanwhile, you don’t even need to look over at Jake to see how pleased he looks with himself. Bradley’s eyes dart between the two of you, the realization slowly sinks in as he begins to trip backwards. The panic sets quickly on his face.

“Oh no. No, no. I’m not going to be around for this. There are things I wish I did not know and this is one of them. You guys are nasty,” he manages to get out before he is rushing away towards Nat. He wraps an arm around her and you can hear him ask her to protect him from potentially scarring his eyeballs. 

This team is built on drama queens. 

Jake’s hand disappears from your body only to wrap around your hand as he drags you inside. He ignores your protests as he whisks you past Penny and Mav, one of which is looking at you knowingly and the latter who raises a confused brow. 

Your boyfriend leads you, fighting to keep up with his long legs, towards the back area, into a hallway hidden from the crowd outside. He wastes no time before he’s pressing you up against the wall and dropping his head to capture your lips. A moan involuntarily rises from your throat now that no one is around. 

Your hands slide up his toned arms and wrap around his neck as you pull him in deeper, relishing in the feel of his fit form against your soft body. Jake is all sharp lines and hard edges, a figure he maintains very proudly. You can taste the beer on his tongue as you breathe in a scent that’s so undeniably him.  

Even kissing him is doing wonders in getting you one step closer to satisfying your wanton need. Your mind doesn’t think twice as you let your hands explore the body that you’ve missed for so long. Your nails drag along his neck, down his chest, unbuttoning his beige uniform along the way. 

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” Jake grunts as he hikes your skirt up around your hips. He hisses when he sees the wet spot on your panties. “Fuck, look at you. You’re so wet, darlin’. You miss me? Miss my hands on you?”

You bite back a whimper when Jake presses a thumb against the spot, rubbing the lace deeper into your pussy to collect more moisture. “Jake, please, you’ve been teasing all night,” you groan. 

“Yeah? Where do you want me?” 

“Want your fingers inside, please,” you whine, fingers digging into his forearm as he uses his knee to separate your legs. With his thigh against your core, you’re likely beginning to soak his pants, especially when he nudges against you. 

“Ask nicely,” Jake whispers in your ear, chuckling when you growl at him. 

“Seresin, you better move it along or I might find someone else who’ll do the work,” you bite back. When you attempt to pull away, Jake moves faster. One hand swoops and fastens up both your arms above your head, his hips pin you against the hard surface, and the other cups your cheek. A strangely intimate gesture despite the mess he’s put you in. “Fuck you,” you snap at him.

“Oh, you’d like that,” he teases, eyes twinkling devilishly. “You look so pretty when you can’t go anywhere. Trapped with me.”

You hate, but secretly enjoy, that that does the trick for you. Your cunt tightens involuntarily. This is your form of foreplay. The mocking, the banter. You love that he can overpower you, love how easily he cages you in. 

“God, I missed you,” Jake leans in and kisses you again, just enough to leave you wanting more. When he backs away slightly, you find yourself chasing after him. The taste of him and the warmth of him. “Missed this pretty pussy even more.”

“Then put your hands on me,” you say through gritted teeth. 

“Your wish is my command.” He looks down at you, blue-green eyes almost iridescent as they observe you with rapt attention. The back of his hand skims your jaw, fingers brushing against your lips. His eyes darken into shadows when, as he grazes his ring down your throat, your breath hitches. The metal is cool against your heated skin, a brief reprieve in the slow torture he puts you through. His hand journeys further down along your cleavage, visible above the neckline of your dress. From his height, he has a front row seat to the curves of your tits. “Fucking stunning,” he mutters to himself. 

Your skirt is still pooled around your hips, the hem swiping the back of your legs. His hand continues its path south until he’s touching you again, fingertips delicate above the fabric. 

“And these panties,” Jake huffs, “my favorite.”

You knew what you were doing when you got freshened up earlier. The underwear was an easy pick - a little red number with delicate floral lace trimming. The back barely covers your ass cheeks, giving him easy access to his actions throughout the night. 

The friction of the lace against your sensitive pussy has you squirming, his fingers urging the flimsy fabric against your skin. Your head falls back with a thud against the wood. His touch is insistent as he encourages the pulsing squeezing your insides. 

Jake flits his fingers around the fabric, shoving it to the side like he did earlier. Instead of putting them inside you, he continues to tease your lips. Every time he touches you just a little firmer, a little deeper, you press your thighs together. His US Naval Academy class ring imprints against your thigh. 

There’s something about the feeling of it. A consistent reminder that it’s there. A reminder of his role in the Navy. There’s something about that power that has your stomach flipping. He’s not only competent in taking care of you, but they put this man in an aircraft to keep this country safe. 

A large part of you loves that. You adore how protected it makes you. But also how small it makes you feel. 

As your thoughts spiral around the implications of his little piece of jewelry, he is slipping a finger past your folds. Your juices are coating the digits, making it easier and easier to push into you. He alternates between sinking deep inside of you, scraping your walls with determination, and stroking the outsides lightly, a gentle tease that has you fidgeting for more. You’re tempted to descend on his fingers, using him to fuck yourself, but Jake doesn’t allow that to happen. 

He brings his hand slightly higher. When the ring’s engravings touch your clit, you inadvertently jolt. Damn you and your traitorous body. Ever the perceptive one, Jake’s eyes light up in understanding. As if he needs more ammo to use against you. 

“Oh, do you like that, sweetheart?” He beams, bright eyes sparkling in delight. “You like my ring on you?”

Another fuck you sits on the tip of your tongue, but it never comes out when he purposely presses the ruby against your clit. You jerk again in his touch, but he doesn’t slacken his touch. Every time you try to twist away from him, his grip tightens, bruising around your wrists as he rubs the cool stone against you. 

“You’re so filthy,” he says in your ear, teeth nipping your lobe. Your teeth clamp your tongue to prevent a moan from coming out. You refuse to give him the satisfaction. “Look at you squirming with my ring on you. So fucking naughty.”

Your breath leaves your lungs as you wrestle to control the electricity coursing through your veins. Every single fibre of your being comes alive, flares skyrocketing into the night as he thumbs your sensitive nub while his fingers continue exploring your insides. His fingers coil inside you in that delicious way that has your toes curling. “Jake, please,” you plead, “that feels so good, don’t stop.”

He pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly, going deeper each time. He goes knuckle-deep and you feel his ring buried inside you. The ridges are exquisite against your skin and the ring’s stone only adds to the width of his fingers. It fills you up fully. 

Tears prick your eyes at how wonderful everything feels. All of his movements – his large hand wrapped around your wrists, his fingers caressing your insides, the press of his ring impressing upon your skin – culminate in this tantalizing symphony of desire. Every single stroke is another melody in this performance, the tunes coming together in a beautiful composition. 

Your body is at the mercy of his hands as he continues his ministrations. He fingers you faster until you’re barely able to hold yourself up. Releasing your hands, he instead uses his free hand to grasp your jaw again, tilting your head so he can kiss you. He pushes his tongue through your lips and bends around yours. He tastes you until your knees nearly cave. 

“Jake, I can’t–” you gasp, “I can’t take it anymore. Please let me come.”

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you so needy in my hands. I’m the only one who can make you feel this way.”

“Yes, fuck, only you,” you echo desperately, your hands now clinging to his shoulders to hold yourself up. You’re so close to your orgasm, the feeling climbing and chasing you through this maze of hunger. 

Jake’s chest rumbles with laughter. “Not what you were saying earlier, when you were threatening to go to someone else. Do you really think anyone else can make you feel the way I do? Do you think anyone else knows your body like I do?”

“N-no,” you stutter weakly. “Only you, Jake.” Another expletive leaves your mouth as he presses against that particularly effective spot. “Christ, if you don’t finish me right now–”

He clicks his tongue. “So impatient,” he murmurs, nipping your lip. But he does what you ask. His fingers move more intentionally as his other hand moves from the back of your neck to your front, forcing off the tiny straps of your dress until your upper half is exposed. 

As he torments your cunt, his other hand grabs your breast over your bra. The matching piece of lingerie is thin so you can feel his every squeeze, every pinch of your nipple. You’re writhing in his hands and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Your fingers bury in his shoulders as you whine, pussy clenching around his fingers. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. Come for me,” he coaxes, his voice so gentle against the filthy squelching of your cunt. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With a few more pumps and a brush of his thumb against your nipple, you fall apart in his hands. The climax wracks through your entire body like an earthquake, your entire being trembling with the pleasure that surges through you. Your pussy tightens around his fingers that are prolonging your orgasm. 

His fingers are a wet, sloppy mess and you look absolutely ruined. Your dress is barely clinging to you and your mind is still a haze of pure, unbridled lust. Jake, on the other hand, is smiling wide at you. Cocky prick. 

“Good?”

You huff, leaning against the wall as a last resort. “Good.”

When your eyes fall between his legs, you see the erection tenting his pants. Your mouth practically salivates at the sight, enticed. Your body signals that you’re ready for round two and Jake is in no state to be showing his face in front of his friends again. 

“Can’t wait to have your mouth on me tonight,” Jake grins.

You roll your eyes. The last thing you need is to feed his ego. You’ll never give him that sense of gratification. “In your fucking dreams, Seresin. After the stunt you pulled, you’re lucky if I don’t completely blue ball you tonight.” Slipping back into your dress, you push him off you, flicking your hair over your shoulder. 

His face falls as you walk away. “Wait, you’re kidding, right? Sweetheart, you wouldn’t do that to me!”

[midniqhtt]

robert ‘bob’ reynolds

masterlist • lewis pullman • marvel • 06/19/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs two II one

⭑.ᐟ delicate I @flowersforbucky

⭑.ᐟ fooled around and fell in love I @/flowersforbucky

you've never been one for commitment, and your teammates know it. when you and bob start seeing each other, it takes them by surprise and makes them worry about how he'll react to the heartbreak that they expect to follow. what they don't understand - you've never felt like this about anyone.

⭑.ᐟ more than a friend should I @fireinmoonshot

Bob didn't quite count on himself being starstruck by seeing you in a dress for the first time. You didn't count on yourself forgetting how to breathe when you saw Bob in a suit. But when you both have to get through a black tie event, the only way to do it is by getting through it together.

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @/fireinmoonshot

When your mental health gets bad, Bob is always there for you.

⭑.ᐟ pool day I @moon-fics

The team decided to request a pool, not thinking it would be made. Now, they have a pool.

⭑.ᐟ sea otters and hand holding I @pagesfromthevoid

4 times the team tries to get Bob to go out + 1 time he goes out himself

⭑.ᐟ jealous I @/pagesfromthevoid

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @gay-dorito-dust

⭑.ᐟ request I @/gay-dorito-dust

⭑.ᐟ request I @/gay-dorito-dust

⭑.ᐟ shadows beneath the light I @violetrainbow412-blog

Valentina contacts you to conduct a complete team assessment regarding the mystical arts. But when Bob's turn comes, it turns out he needs more of your help.

⭑.ᐟ let them see I @/violetrainbow412-blog

you and Bob are forced to attend an event hosted by Valentina, where more is revealed than you would have liked.

⭑.ᐟ wrapped around you I @/violetrainbow412-blog

Bob has a secret lover in the city, and that night he feels the need to sleep in her arms.

⭑.ᐟ touch starved!bob I @eyelessfaces

⭑.ᐟ before dusk I @/eyelessfaces

As big of a place the Watchtower was, living as a fresh couple surrounded by a whole team of trained soldiers still made it feel a little tight and was inevitably bound to strip you off any kind of intimacy – Ava’s fake gagging whenever you and Bob were up close when she entered a common area never failed to ruin the moment, and Alexei’s well-meant but clumsy reminders for you and Bob to use protection in front of the whole team during dinner made it everyone’s turn to fake gag. So when Bob brought up the subject of going away for a few and the idea of it started to bloom inside your mind, you knew there was no turning back – the prospect of having Bob all to yourself for a couple of days was too exhilarating to consider chasing it away. 

⭑.ᐟ save the date I @/eyelessfaces

bob is gutted to find out you’re looking for love on a dating app, not knowing the only reason you are is because you're convinced he will never make a step in your direction – you’re now both trying to move on from each other while neither of you know how much you actually want each other.

⭑.ᐟ i just feel you I @scarletmika

Bob Reynolds was broken, and he knew that, but he was trying. He was trying to be better, to control himself. But like Stitch had said: broken, but still good. You were beginning to make Bob believe that he was, in fact, still good.

⭑.ᐟ let me in I @/scarletmika

Sometimes, when two broken people find each other, they become each other's comfort through the hurt. You became Bob's, and as much as you tried not to let him in, he became yours too.

⭑.ᐟ only good thing I @/scarletmika

There was so much Bob regretted, so much shame riddled through his past, he didn't know what he'd see in his own shame rooms. He hadn't been prepared to see you around every corner, to be reminded of the way he'd left you behind in an effort to be what you deserved.

⭑.ᐟ kiss me again pt2 I @/scarletmika

A crush isn't a problem, and when that crush becomes love, it's usually a good thing. For Bob, it terrifies him, because he'd managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess. Why would a Goddess choose a broken man like him?

⭑.ᐟ the white witch pt2 pt3 I @/scarletmika

Bob knew who the Avengers were, who you were; he grew up watching them save the world time and time again. Now, he was one, but none of that could prepare him for what it would be like to meet you, or the instant connection that seemed to flow between you both.

⭑.ᐟ velour and velcro I @em1i2a3

You have a hobby of drawing and designing things in your spare time, one day Bob stumbles across your sketchbook and discovers something surprising.

⭑.ᐟ detonate I @/em1i2a3

Move in day is happening at the Thunderbolts/New Avengers Compound, and Bob is having a hard time dealing with the changes.

⭑.ᐟ affection I @/em1i2a3

You’re in extreme pain from your period cramps, and Bob is the first person to jump in to help you.

⭑.ᐟ sports car pt2 I @/em1i2a3

You and Bob have been having sex together for a while now, and have basically christened the entire compound, but when you get injured during a mission and are rendered incapable of having sex for the next month, the cravings need to be relieved somehow.

⭑.ᐟ lovers I @/em1i2a3

The Thunderbolts go to a club downtown for the night, and while there Bob and Sentry are having a tough time watching you flirt with a guy.

⭑.ᐟ never let me go I @/em1i2a3

On a day off, the team arranges to go to a farmers market to do a bit of R and R. But what happens when Bob has an unexpected encounter with a ghost of his past?

⭑.ᐟ body paint I @/em1i2a3

You are trying to find the best smudge proof lipstick for the upcoming gala that the team needs to attend tomorrow, and you have found the perfect test subject for the swatches.

⭑.ᐟ be my baby I @castielthinkr

⭑.ᐟ cowboy like me I @goldenlikedayl1ght

you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits.

⭑.ᐟ the lighthouse I @hanginginthevoid

you’ve always been drawn to bob. at first you think it means something, but then you remember that yelena’s also always been drawn to bob. and its obvious that he prefers her over you.

⭑.ᐟ seasons I @abbysbenchpr

three times you and bob are almost walked in on and the one time you are

⭑.ᐟ that’s what i like I @blank-potato

You love everything Bob does, and he doesn't seem to notice.

���.ᐟ no dick sucking in the communal areas I @callsign-swan

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @/callsign-swan

⭑.ᐟ request I @nghtwngs

⭑.ᐟ soft currents next to you I @/nghtwngs

there is falling in love. there is also falling into another universe. there is also falling in love again.

⭑.ᐟ cause it feels like cpr I @/nghtwngs

⭑.ᐟ scott and zelda I @/nghtwngs

sweet bob reynolds has been avoiding you and your daily lobby chats for days now. were your book recommendations that terrible? and then you realize the mistake you’ve made that has had poor bob unable to face you these last few days…

⭑.ᐟ perv!bob I @/nghtwngs

⭑.ᐟ understanding I @ang3ltine

⭑.ᐟ summer love I @/ang3ltine

A get away from the city turns into something more special when the boy you had been crushing on, finally confesses.

⭑.ᐟ your love is sunlight I @winterswift

bob and you were both members of the thunderbolts, but he didn't seem to like you. that changes when you return sick from your last mission.

⭑.ᐟ didn’t mean it I @upl0aded

maybe it was time to address the ‘possessiveness’ in your relationship.

⭑.ᐟ miss possessive I @sergeantbuckybarnes

Valentina’s new assistant becomes too fixated on Bob for your linking, and it seems that she needs a reminder that she has to keep her hands off your man.

⭑.ᐟ what it is and what should never be I @/sergeantbuckybarnes

A mission goes sideways, and you end up in a coma. The team works against the clock to save you, but… do you really want to be saved?

⭑.ᐟ eternal sunshine I @ilovemilestellersmoustache

Bob has come to the terms he likes you, he’s perfectly fine with the dynamic you two have going on, just friends. But when the guy on the team who gets on his nerves constantly decides he wants a flirty dynamic with you, his calm facade falters leading to a crabby, sassy and mean Bob.

⭑.ᐟ home is where the heart is I @/ilovemilestellersmustache

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

⭑.ᐟ second times a charm I @/ilovemilestellersmustache

After a small dog escape, Bob meets you and doesn’t end up exchanging details with you. Thinking it was just meant to be a one time thing till Maisie your dog brings you back together and eventually starts a relationship. But the Thunderbolts are suspicious when Bob lately has been in a too good of a mood so they all decide to track and investigate it.

⭑.ᐟ just a tuesday I @/ilovemilestellersmustache

Bob’s decides he can’t take the silence in between missions all alone so he ventures around New York and stumbles across a flower shop with the most gorgeous owner he just knows is his soulmate. Problem? He accidentally says he has a girlfriend, and is now finding ways to still see her at the shop.

⭑.ᐟ cnc w/ bob I @undyingdecay

⭑.ᐟ period sex I @/undyingdecay

⭑.ᐟ let me help you I @brninghouse

A year after the events in New York City, the memories of that dreadful day come back to haunt you. Luckily, this time you have Bob with you and he will not let your pain drag you down, the same way you won’t let him blame himself for it.

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @spaceyaemonds

⭑.ᐟ the s*x talk pt2 I @webslinger-holland

Since Alexei has reunited with both of his daughters, he feels obligated to fulfill his fatherly role to them which includes a safe sex talk.

⭑.ᐟ being the hero I @/webslinger-holland

Being stuck in the bunker forces everyone to work together in order to get out. And one of them ends up kinda being the hero.

⭑.ᐟ pretty in lace I @thevillainswhore

When Bob arrives home after his first successful mission, he stumbles upon a surprise waiting for him on his bed.

⭑.ᐟ the good guys I @megalony

Out of everyone on the team, Bob finds himself drawn to (Y/n) the most. And he would always defend her; even if some people say that her abilities are dangerous.

⭑.ᐟ project: get over bob pt2 I @hyoer

Bob likes someone that’s not you and now it's up to you to begin Project Get Over Bob.

⭑.ᐟ soulmate I @geminiwritten

you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @rhettmotel

⭑.ᐟ honey pt2 I @strkly

after being off the grid for a while you return to society and meet up with your old friend bucky barnes. unexpectedly you run into someone you never thought you would see again. your high school boyfriend robert reynolds.

⭑.ᐟ we can’t be friends pt2 I @husbandjoel

bob always wondered why you didn’t favour him over the rest of your team. until he learned that you had unsettled the bones of the tva.

⭑.ᐟ it’s you I @lewmagoo

⭑.ᐟ look up in the sky! is it a bird? is it a plane? no it's... I @fluffyfluffytime

Bob's choice of outfit makes Yelena and Ava suspicious. What better way to find out than to follow him

⭑.ᐟ perv!bob I @deimosphilic

⭑.ᐟ thief I @em1989ts

bob had been helping you out by occasionally doing your laundry, but when you come back early from a mission, you find out he might've had some selfish motives

⭑.ᐟ night shift I @seraphemin

Bob is pushing her away and she takes solace with his other part, during late nights when the quiet becomes too much for her to handle.

⭑.ᐟ tell me i’m not second best I @dontshootmespence

After losing your husband, Henry, your first love, due to unforeseen circumstances, you start dating Bob. It’s only been eight months, but you’ve fallen fast and so has he. One night, while packing for a trip, you say your late husband’s name, which triggers Bob.

⭑.ᐟ calling bob by his full name I @everydaydreamer

[urdreamydoodles]

Hello! First off, I need to let you know you had made me the happiest person when I found out there was a marvel comic x reader writer and your writing is beautiful! I was wondering if you would write a hc of marvel comic Matt Murdock, Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner, and Julian Keller (idk if you write for him since he’s formerly x-men) reacting to reader kissing them out of nowhere/when they least expect it. Thank you!

X-MEN CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

You kiss them when they least expect it

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson & Julian Keller

Reply to anon: I'm a Marvel & DC Comic book fan first and foremost, so I wanted to write for this version of the characters and to be honest, I didn't expect so much love for it...SO I'M EXTREMELY HAPPY to receive your type of message! The headcanons for Matt come right after in the "Marvel Comics Characters" headcanons I will post <3 (Btw, I love Julian)

Logan Howlett

- Logan smells you before he sees you, that familiar, intoxicating scent that always seems to linger in the air long after you’ve left. He barely has time to turn before your lips are on his, searing and unexpected, a wildfire in the dead of winter. His entire body tenses—like something wild, something caged—but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he goes utterly still, as if afraid that any movement will wake him from this impossible dream. He has lived lifetimes soaked in blood and regret, but this? This is something he never let himself believe he could have.

- The taste of you is an ache, something he knows will settle into his bones and never leave. His hands twitch at his sides, the animal in him howling to hold, to take, to claim—but you are not something to be taken. And so, he lets you lead. Your lips move against his with the kind of softness he has never known, and his mind screams that this is dangerous. He is dangerous. But then you sigh into him, fingers curling in the worn leather of his jacket, and he thinks—maybe—he could allow himself this one selfish thing.

- When you finally pull away, his breath is unsteady, rough, the remnants of your touch burning through his veins like whiskey. His eyes—dark, stormy, something unspoken lurking beneath them—search your face as if trying to commit every detail to memory. He should say something. Tell you this is a mistake, that he is too old, too broken, too much. But when he sees the way you look at him—like he is not a weapon, not a thing made for war but a man—his throat closes around the words.

- “You got no idea what you’re doin’, darlin’,” he mutters, voice rough as gravel. And yet, when you smile, soft and knowing, when your fingers trail the faintest touch against his jaw before you step back, he knows you do. You know exactly what you’re doing. And for the first time in a very long time, Logan thinks—maybe—he could let someone love him. Maybe he could love them back.

Remy LeBeau

- Remy never expects to be caught off guard. He is a man who thrives in the game of unpredictability, who lives in the art of mischief and charm, who always has the upper hand. And yet, the moment your lips press against his, he forgets how to breathe. His hands, so used to sleight of hand and stolen treasures, falter at his sides. He could swear his heart stops beating, just for a second, just long enough for the world to tilt beneath his feet. He has been kissed before, a thousand times over, but never like this. Never by you.

- When the initial shock fades, he reacts like a man starved. His fingers find your waist, his body pressing flush against yours as if he could sink into you, disappear into this moment and never return. He tastes of spice and something sweeter, something sinful, and you realize—Remy LeBeau does not simply kiss. He devours. He worships. His lips move with the expertise of a thief, stealing the breath from your lungs, the steadiness from your limbs, and he does it all with a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth.

- He doesn’t let you pull away easily. Even when you try, his grip lingers, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours like a confession neither of you are ready to speak. His eyes, those crimson-burning embers, flicker over your face with a hunger that has nothing to do with the usual games he plays. “Ma belle,” he murmurs, voice like velvet, like the slow drag of a match before it sparks. “Y’gon’ be the death of me.” And yet, the way he smiles—half-dazed, half-drunk on you—tells you he would not mind dying that way.

- There is something dangerous in the way Remy looks at you now. Not the usual teasing, not the flirtation thrown so easily to the wind, but something deeper. Something reverent. As if he is looking at a gamble worth losing everything for. And as his fingers brush your jaw, tracing the ghost of your touch, you realize—you have just become the only game Remy LeBeau is willing to play for the rest of his life.

Kurt Wagner

- Kurt is not used to being touched so freely. Not like this. Not without hesitation. When your lips meet his, it is as if the world stutters around him, as if time itself takes pause to marvel at the impossible. His breath catches in his throat, a sharp, startled sound, and for the briefest moment, he forgets how to exist. His tail curls behind him in a sharp flick of surprise, and he nearly disappears in a reflex of instinct, but something about the warmth of your hands, the softness of your mouth, keeps him grounded. Keeps him here.

- When he finally gathers the courage to move, it is hesitant, unsure—his fingers hovering at your waist as if afraid to break something sacred. His lips, gentle, trembling with quiet reverence, move against yours like a whispered prayer. You are warmth, light, something divine in his arms, and he drinks you in like salvation. He has dreamt of this—secret, foolish dreams whispered into the lonely nights—but never dared believe it could be real. That you could want this as much as he does.

- When you part, his breath is unsteady, his golden eyes wide with wonder. He stares at you as if you have done the impossible, as if you have rewritten the very fabric of his existence with a single touch. His tail coils loosely around your wrist, a subconscious tether, as if to reassure himself that you are real. That this is real. “Mein Herz,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “What have you done to me?” And yet, the way he smiles—soft, awestruck—tells you he never wants to be undone by anyone else but you.

- He does not know how to ask for more. Does not know if he is allowed to. But when you lace your fingers with his, when you press the faintest of kisses to his cheek before stepping back, he knows—he would wait a lifetime for you to do it again. And again. And again.

Scott Summers

- Scott lives by control. He has spent his life suppressing, restraining, calculating every breath, every movement, every word, because one wrong step can mean disaster. But when you kiss him—without warning, without hesitation—every ounce of that control shatters. His entire body stiffens, breath stolen, mind racing with the sheer impossibility of what is happening. He has dreamed of this, a thousand different ways, but none of them prepared him for the reality of your lips against his.

- His hands—gloved, always careful, always distant—hover at your sides, caught between instinct and hesitation. He wants to touch you, wants to pull you closer, but the fear of losing control, of breaking something irreparable, holds him back. And yet, you do not waver. You kiss him like he is not a weapon, like he is not something dangerous, like he is just a man. And for the first time, Scott Summers allows himself to believe it.

- When you finally part, he exhales sharply, as if he has been holding his breath for years. His glasses slip slightly down his nose, and he pushes them up with a shaky hand, his fingers brushing against his lips as if trying to chase the ghost of your touch. “I—” His voice falters, rare uncertainty cracking through his carefully built walls. He swallows hard, eyes hidden but gaze heavy. “I wasn’t expecting that.” But there is something else in his tone, something just shy of desperate. He wasn’t expecting it—but now he wants more.

- You smile, tilting your head, studying him with a knowing softness that makes his stomach twist. “Would you like me to do it again?” The question is playful, teasing, but the heat that flares in his chest is anything but. He swallows down a million responses, a million emotions threatening to spill over, and simply nods. Because yes. Yes, he would. More than anything, he would.

Jean Grey

- Jean has always been attuned to the emotions of others. She feels them like echoes in her own mind, the soft hum of sorrow, the sharp sting of desire, the quiet weight of longing. But when your lips press against hers, she feels nothing but silence—beautiful, breathtaking silence. The world, usually so loud, so overwhelming, fades into something small, something insignificant. There is only the warmth of your mouth, the way your fingers tangle in the red silk of her hair, the way your heartbeat thrums against her own like a perfect melody.

- She gasps against you, not out of shock but something deeper—something fragile. She has lived lifetimes within the span of a single moment, has seen the past, present, and future weave together like a tapestry, but she never saw this. Never saw the way you would tilt the world on its axis with a single touch. Her hands, delicate yet unshakable, find your face, her thumbs tracing the shape of you as if committing you to memory. She knows, in the depths of her soul, that she will never forget this.

- When you finally pull away, she exhales a laugh—soft, breathless, incredulous. Her emerald eyes search yours, bright with something that flutters on the edge of joy and disbelief. “You—” She stops herself, biting her lip as if savoring the taste of you, as if reluctant to let it go. And then she shakes her head, a slow, knowing smile curling her lips. “You really are full of surprises.” There is a lightness in her tone, but beneath it, something deeper lingers. Something that tells you she does not want this to be a singular moment.

- And then, before you can respond, she leans in—this time, she is the one to steal the air from your lungs. The kiss is softer now, slower, but no less consuming. When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with your own. “I could get used to that,” she murmurs, voice warm as sunlight. And in the way she lingers, in the way she stays close, you know—she already has.

Ororo Munroe

- Ororo is a goddess, a tempest, a force of nature so powerful the very skies bend to her will. And yet, when you kiss her, she is caught in a storm she cannot control. Her breath catches, her usually poised frame stiffening for the briefest of moments as your lips mold against hers. She has always been the eye of the hurricane, calm amidst chaos, but now, she is swept away in a current she never anticipated.

- Her hands hover at your sides, unsure, not out of reluctance but reverence. To be loved by Ororo Munroe is to be touched by the divine, but for the first time, she does not feel like a goddess—she feels human. She feels the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers brush against her cheek, the way your lips move with something so tender it unravels her. The storm within her does not rage—it settles, it quiets, it softens into something resembling peace.

- When you finally part, her white lashes flutter against her cheeks, her breath uneven, her hands finally finding your waist as if to ground herself. She looks at you as if you have done the impossible, as if you have harnessed the wind and commanded the rain. And perhaps you have. Because for the first time in a long time, Ororo Munroe does not feel alone. “You surprise me,” she admits, her voice a whisper of thunder, low and full of something unreadable. “And I do not surprise easily.”

- A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, rare and breathtaking, the kind of smile that shifts the seasons. And then, with a gentleness that contradicts her power, she presses her forehead to yours, fingers threading through your hair. “Do it again,” she breathes, and there is something almost dangerous in the way she says it. Because now that she has tasted you, now that she has felt this, Ororo Munroe is not sure she could ever let it go.

Rogue

- Rogue has spent her entire life fearing touch. She has spent years mastering the art of distance, of longing from afar, of never letting herself hope for too much. And yet, when your lips meet hers—soft, unguarded, reckless—she forgets to be afraid. The world disappears in the space between heartbeats, and all that remains is the impossible, the breathtaking reality of you kissing her.

- Her mind screams at her to pull away, to stop this before it’s too late, before she ruins something beautiful. But she can’t. She won’t. Her gloved hands grasp at your arms, her body leaning into yours as if she has spent lifetimes waiting for this moment. And perhaps she has. Because for the first time, she isn’t thinking about control, about consequences. She is thinking about the way your lips feel against hers, the way your breath mingles with her own, the way your fingers press into the small of her back as if you could hold her together.

- When you part, her chest rises and falls in quick, uneven breaths, her wide green eyes searching yours with something almost desperate. “Sugar, you—” Her voice falters, thick with emotion, with something dangerously close to hope. Her fingers, still gloved, trace the ghost of your touch against her lips, and she swallows hard. “You don’t know what you just did.” But the way she looks at you—the way she stares as if you have rewritten the very fabric of her existence—tells you that maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t mind.

- She should be afraid. She should be pushing you away, telling you that this is dangerous, that she is dangerous. But when you smile at her, when you reach for her hand despite the barriers she wears, she feels something shift. Something new. Something she is not sure she deserves, but something she wants all the same. And for the first time, Rogue wonders—what if she let herself have this? What if, just this once, she didn’t run?

Erik Lehnsherr

- Erik has built his life around steel and rage, around vengeance and pain, around the belief that love is a weakness he cannot afford. And yet, when you kiss him, every wall he has so carefully constructed crumbles beneath the weight of your touch. He stiffens, a sharp inhale slicing through the space between you, his entire body wound tight like coiled metal, but he does not pull away. He does not stop you. Because for the first time in a long, long time—he doesn’t want to.

- Your lips move against his with a softness he does not deserve, a tenderness he has spent lifetimes denying himself. His hands twitch at his sides, hesitant, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. But when your fingers tangle in his hair, when your breath mingles with his, when you kiss him like he is not Magneto, not a man shaped by war and loss, but simply a man—he is undone.

- When you finally part, his breath is heavy, uneven, his storm-gray eyes dark with something unreadable. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, as if restraining himself from reaching for you, from keeping you tethered to this moment forever. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmurs, voice like rusted iron, rough and laced with something dangerously close to yearning. But there is no real warning in his tone, no true resistance. Only the weight of a man who does not know how to accept kindness, how to accept love.

- And yet, when you step forward, when you press your palm to his chest, when you look at him as if he is not a monster but something worthy—his resolve fractures. His fingers, finally, finally, find your waist, his grip firm yet reverent, as if afraid you might disappear. “Do it again,” he breathes, and in that moment, Erik Lehnsherr does not care if love is a weakness. Because if this is what it means to be weak—then for you, he will gladly fall.

Charles Xavier

- Charles Xavier has spent his life knowing things before they happen. His gift is both a blessing and a burden, allowing him to read thoughts, anticipate words before they are spoken, sense feelings before they fully form. But when you kiss him, it is the first time in his life that he is truly, utterly surprised. For once, his mind is not a step ahead—it is caught in the moment, helplessly, beautifully ensnared in the warmth of your lips and the gentle insistence of your touch.

- His breath stutters as you tilt into him, the world narrowing to the space between your bodies. He has always prided himself on his composure, on the unshakable calm of his demeanor, but now he feels undone. Your lips are soft but certain, as if you have known this moment was meant to happen all along. His hands twitch against the arms of his wheelchair, caught between instinct and disbelief, between wanting to pull you closer and simply letting himself exist in this quiet, impossible wonder.

- When you finally pull away, his blue eyes flutter open, dazed, unfocused, as though waking from a dream too precious to be real. A slow smile tugs at the corner of his lips, something warm and unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “That was unexpected,” he murmurs, voice like velvet, smooth but slightly unsteady. And yet, there is something else beneath his words, something deeper—an unspoken truth that has lingered between you for too long, now given breath at last.

- He reaches for your hand then, his fingers ghosting over yours in a way that is both hesitant and reverent. “Would you mind terribly,” he breathes, his smile deepening, “if I returned the favor?” And when he leans in, when his lips find yours again, there is nothing hesitant about it. There is only the weight of time, of longing, of something that was always meant to be.

Wanda Maximoff

- Wanda has spent her life walking the fragile line between control and chaos, between the known and the unknown, between the world as it is and the world as it could be. And yet, when you kiss her, all of it—the noise, the worry, the restless ache of her existence—disappears. There is only you. Only the impossible softness of your lips, only the warmth of your touch, only the way time seems to slow, to bend, to hold its breath for her.

- She does not pull away, does not tense, does not question. Instead, she melts into you, her fingers curling into the fabric of your clothing as if afraid you might slip through her grasp like so many things before. You taste like something she has spent lifetimes reaching for, something she has never quite believed she could have. And yet, here you are. Here she is. And for once, the world does not seem so cruel.

- When the kiss finally breaks, she does not move far. Her forehead lingers against yours, her breath mingling with your own as if unwilling to let go of the moment just yet. Her deep, sorrowful eyes search yours, dark with something unreadable—something aching, something vast. “You shouldn’t do things like that,” she whispers, and yet her fingers tighten their grip on you, betraying her own words. “It makes me want to believe in things I shouldn’t.”

- And yet, despite her protest, despite the ghosts that haunt her, Wanda does not step away. Instead, she tilts her head, studying you as if memorizing every detail, every curve, every fleeting second. And then, as if deciding something only she can understand, she kisses you again—slower this time, softer, as if weaving a spell that neither of you will ever escape.

Pietro Maximoff

- Pietro Maximoff moves faster than thought, faster than light, faster than anyone can keep up with. He is a blur, a flicker, a storm that never settles, never stills. But when you kiss him—when you reach for him without hesitation, without warning—time stops. For once, he is not ahead of the world. He is not running. He is simply here. And it terrifies him.

- His entire body locks up, caught between instinct and shock, between the urge to retreat and the unbearable need to lean in. No one ever catches him off guard—no one. But you? You have done it so effortlessly, so completely, that he feels as though you have stolen the breath from his lungs. He forgets to move, forgets to think, forgets everything except the way your lips press against his, the way your fingers grasp at him like you have no intention of letting go.

- When you finally pull back, his silver lashes flutter, his bright blue eyes wide, wild with something unreadable. “Did you just—” He stops himself, swiping his tongue over his lips as if to make sure the sensation is real. And then, suddenly, he laughs—a breathless, incredulous sound, full of something sharp and breathless. “You’re either very brave or very reckless,” he murmurs, voice tinged with something teasing, something warmer than he meant it to be. “Maybe both.”

- And yet, even as he tries to turn it into a joke, his fingers twitch at his sides, restless, uncertain. He has never been good at staying still, never been good at patience—but for you, for this, he thinks he could learn. “Do it again,” he says, grinning now, eyes glinting with something wicked, something real. “I dare you.” And the way he looks at you—the way he leans in, as if already chasing the next kiss—tells you that this is a dare neither of you ever plan to back down from.

Hank McCoy

- Hank McCoy is a man of intellect, of reason, of science. He has spent his life in pursuit of knowledge, in understanding the mysteries of the world through logic and deduction. But when you kiss him—when your lips press against his without preamble, without hesitation—there is nothing logical about it. His mind, so accustomed to analysis, simply stops. And for the first time in a long, long time, he is left with nothing but feeling.

- His breath hitches, a sharp inhale caught in the depths of his chest, his large hands flexing at his sides as if unsure what to do with them. He is a scholar, a thinker, a man who prides himself on his control—but here, now, he feels unmoored. Your touch is warmth against the cold edges of his mind, a spark that ignites something deep, something unexpected, something he cannot name.

- When you finally pull away, he does not move for a long moment. His blue eyes flicker with something complex, something vulnerable, something profoundly, devastatingly human. “That was… unexpected,” he finally says, voice rough with something you cannot quite place. And yet, despite his words, despite the shock that lingers in his expression, his gaze is soft when it meets yours, unbearably gentle.

- He exhales a slow breath, as if steadying himself, and then—almost tentatively—he reaches for your hand. His fingers are careful, cautious, as if afraid you might vanish like a fleeting hypothesis unproven. “Would you, perhaps, consider repeating the experiment?” he asks, a small, wry smile curling at the edges of his lips. And when you lean in again, when his hands finally settle against you with quiet certainty, you know this is an experiment he never intends to abandon.

Emma Frost

- Emma Frost has spent a lifetime ensuring that no one can touch her—not truly. Her mind is a fortress of diamond walls and razor-edged wit, a citadel where no one is allowed entry without permission. She does not startle easily; she does not allow herself to be vulnerable. And yet, when you kiss her—when your lips press against hers without warning, without hesitation—she falters. Just for a moment. Just long enough for you to feel it.

- Her breath catches, but she does not pull away. No, Emma Frost does not retreat. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, allowing you just enough room to linger, to taste the cool, intoxicating sharpness of her. And yet, there is warmth beneath the ice, a slow-burning ember hidden beneath layers of frost. She is calculating even in this, assessing, analyzing—but there is something else in the way her fingers twitch against your arm, something unspoken in the way her lips part ever so slightly beneath yours.

- When you finally pull back, her expression is unreadable, a perfect mask of composure—except for her eyes. There is something dangerous in them, something bright and wicked and amused. A slow, knowing smile curls her lips as she tilts her chin, regarding you with the kind of gaze that makes people weak in the knees. “My darling,” she purrs, voice like silk and steel entwined, “if you wanted me, you only had to ask.”

- And yet, when her fingers brush against your wrist—light, fleeting, almost imperceptible—it is not just a challenge. There is something softer beneath the bravado, something she will never admit aloud. You have surprised her. And Emma Frost does not allow herself to be surprised. So when she leans in again, this time on her own terms, you understand the weight of it—the rarity, the quiet surrender hidden beneath the smirk.

Laura Kinney

- Laura Kinney is not accustomed to softness. Her world has been forged in blood and survival, in the quiet brutality of necessity. She has been trained to anticipate every attack, every shift in movement, every threat before it even takes form. But when you kiss her, there is no time to predict, no time to react—only the moment, sudden and unrelenting. And for once in her life, she is caught off guard.

- Her body stiffens on instinct, muscles coiled tight, but she does not pull away. No, she stays still, frozen in place as if trying to process something unfamiliar, something she has no protocol for. Your lips are soft against hers, warm and sure, and for a brief second, she forgets to breathe. It is foreign, this feeling, this intimacy that is not laced with violence or pain. And yet, it does not feel wrong. It feels… safe. And she does not know what to do with that.

- When you finally pull back, she blinks up at you, her gold-green eyes wide, pupils blown. Her breath is uneven, though she would never admit it. Her fingers flex at her sides, a silent battle between instinct and something deeper, something softer. “Why did you do that?” she asks, voice low, guarded. But there is no anger in it, no sharp edges of rejection. Only quiet curiosity. Only the echo of something she is too afraid to name.

- And then, as if deciding something in that precise moment, she steps closer. Not much, just enough for her breath to brush against your cheek. Her gaze flickers down to your lips, and when she speaks again, it is almost hesitant—almost shy. “Do it again.” It is not a request. It is a challenge. And when you accept, when your lips find hers once more, she does not freeze this time. Instead, she leans in.

Wade Wilson

- Wade Wilson never shuts up. He fills the air with words, with jokes, with carefully crafted chaos designed to keep people at arm’s length. He is quick and loud and relentless, because silence is where the darkness creeps in, where the thoughts become too heavy, too real. But when you kiss him—when you press your lips against his without preamble, without warning—he falls completely, utterly silent.

- His mind goes blank. It is a rare thing, for Wade to be lost for words, for thoughts, for anything but the sheer, staggering reality of this moment. Your lips are soft against his, warm, steady, real. And for once, he is not a punchline, not a joke, not a monster wrapped in red and black. He is just Wade, just a man who is suddenly, unexpectedly being kissed by someone he never thought would want to.

- When you pull back, there is a beat of absolute stillness. Then, suddenly, he sucks in a sharp breath and blurts out, “Was that a pity kiss? Wait, no, don’t answer that. Actually, do answer that. But lie to me if it was. Unless it wasn’t. In which case—” He stops himself, blinking rapidly, his gloved fingers twitching at his sides. “Holy shit. You actually kissed me. I didn’t hallucinate that, right? Because, like, my brain is super messed up, and sometimes I—”

- But then, you kiss him again—shorter this time, softer, just enough to shut him up. And when you pull away, he just stares at you, his mouth slightly open, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. And then, slowly, his hands come up to his face, covering his mouth as if trying to hold something in. “Oh my God,” he whispers, voice slightly muffled. “I’m gonna have to marry you now.” He peeks between his fingers. “You cool with that? No take-backs.”

Julian Keller

- Julian Keller is not used to being caught off guard. He is sharp, quick-witted, arrogant to a fault, and always, always in control. People orbit around him, drawn in by the effortless gravity of his confidence, his charm, the raw, unapologetic force of his presence. But when you kiss him—when you take him by surprise for the first time in his life—his mind goes completely, devastatingly blank.

- For a split second, he doesn’t react. And then, his body catches up with him, his hands instinctively reaching for you, gripping your waist like an anchor. His breath stutters against your lips, and suddenly, he is no longer the Julian Keller who always knows what to say, who always has the upper hand. He is just a boy, completely and utterly at your mercy. And it thrills him.

- When you finally pull back, his lips are parted, his green eyes slightly dazed, like he’s trying to piece together reality again. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face—wide, cocky, but with something undeniably genuine beneath it. “Damn,” he breathes, running a hand through his dark hair, voice rougher than usual. “That was… unexpected.” His grin sharpens, his gaze flicking to your lips. “You gonna warn me next time, or is this just how you say hi now?”

- And yet, despite the teasing, despite the bravado, there is something else in his gaze—something that lingers, something that betrays just how much that single kiss affected him. He leans in again, close enough that his breath fans against your skin. “You know,” he murmurs, tilting his head, “if you wanted my attention, there were easier ways.” But the way he looks at you—the way his fingers curl slightly, as if resisting the urge to pull you back in—tells you that, despite his words, he wouldn’t change a thing.

[chantersboard]

Lovely To Sleep With You

Word Count 5.8K. Joel Miller x f!reader. Immediately follows Lovely To Be Rained On With You but can be read alone. After getting caught in the rain and seeking shelter in a cabin, you fall asleep in Joel's arms only to be forced awake to a horrifying sight. We learn how Reader and Joel met and Ellie's there too.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, post-outbreak, canon-typical violence, smut, fingering female receiving, oral female receiving, finger sucking, unprotected piv, creampie

a/n: once again I am publishing this despite feeling it is not polished enough but I'm tired of it sitting in the drafts lol. Thank you in advance for reading, liking, and reblogging, it really means a lot. #chantersboardwritessometimes for other written stuff

Can be found on AO3 if you'd prefer to read it there

Lovely To Sleep With You

The dangerous torrential storm has finally weakened to typical bad weather. Rain batters the cabin, its weathered roof leaking and forming puddles on the dull and damaged flooring. The room is heavy with moisture, filling the space with musty air. The insistent wind shakes the windows and whistles through small opened spaces. 

Night had descended. Yesterday’s crescent moon was gone and replaced with utter darkness. The heat of the day was gone too, causing a chill in the air.

You lay against Joel on the old, sagging mattress with your cheek against his chest. You are both dressed only in your undergarments, your wet clothes scattered around the cabin with the hope they would dry by morning. Despite your bare body pressed close against his warmth, a shiver runs through you. Joel rubs a rough hand over your thigh and drapes your leg over his waist, pressing you even closer to him.

“I can start a fire,” he says tiredly, thinking of breaking down the old furniture for firewood. You lift your head and press a kiss to his neck. Your hair, still damp from the trek through the rain, brushes against his shoulder. A pang of guilt washes over him. He should do more to make you comfortable.

“We shouldn’t risk it,” you say, yawning as you return your head to his chest to listen to his beating heart.

Joel tightens his arms around you in response. He hadn’t seen signs of raiders or infected around, but you were right. There was no need to call unnecessary attention to yourselves.

You sit in silence with Joel’s chest rising and falling beneath you as his palms mindlessly rub patterns on your skin. He marvels at how soft you feel against him. His hand runs down your spine, over the curve of your behind, then over your thigh. Your body fits so perfectly against his. Why had he waited so long for this? 

Why had you?

“When did you know?” he asks, his hands finding their way back on your waist.

You lift yourself up to look Joel in the eyes. “When did I know what?”

He places a warm hand on the back of your neck and rubs small circles with his thumb. Joel always had a hard time expressing himself. He had an even harder time getting others to express themselves. 

“When did you start…” he pauses, mulling over his words while he commits your face to memory. Your confusion is still evident in the way your eyebrows scrunch together. Your lips are slightly parted and he swallows at the recollection of those lips pressed against his. You are so beautiful, he thinks. Really? Why had he waited so long? He decides to just blurt it out. “When did you start likin’ me?”

Your beautiful lips curl into a smile before emitting a soft giggle. The sound fills his chest with a lightness he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. You return to your spot on his chest, your sleepy eyes falling shut. “The first night we met.”

Joel is caught mid-yawn by your confession. “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm,” you mumble, already drifting off to sleep. “‘member that night?”

Joel closes his eyes, the exhaustingly long day catching up to him. “Yeah, I do.”

 ----

Ellie drags her feet, her worn sneakers picking up the dry dirt and leaving a plume of dust behind her. The sound of the coarse ground crunching underneath her is deafening in the quiet of the cool night.

“Ellie!” Joel scolds. It’s been fifteen minutes of nothing but the maddening noise.

“Joel!” The teen says back with a wag of her finger, her tone seeping with mockery.

Joel inhales deeply and takes a moment to compose himself. “Lift. Your. Feet.”

Ellie pouts. “But I don’t wanna trip again,” she whines. “It’s so fucking dark. Can we stop for the night? Please?”

Joel looks down at her. He could see in her posture that she’s tired. Truth be told they have been walking for some time, but the landscape had been mostly barren and too exposed. Joel felt it was unsafe to settle here.

“Just a bit longer,” Joel reassures. He points to a lone, single story house in the distance, the only appropriate shelter he could see. “We’re almost there.”

Ellie straightens her back, lifts her feet, and quickens her pace. “Good. I’m exhausted.”

---

Joel is already armed with his pistol when they walk across the porch to the front door of the house. Ellie stands behind him, her hand fisted around a blade, ready for whatever may be behind the door. 

Joel wishes this wasn’t second nature to him. He hates that it’s second nature to Ellie. The hypervigilance, the violence, the terror. None of this should be normal.

Joel turns the door handle with ease and pushes the door open. He raises his pistol as he crosses the threshold. He quickly scans the room for danger but only finds a dusty living room. It’s obvious the place was picked through and deserted long ago. Drawers are left hanging out of a desk against the wall, a pile of books rests near an overturned bookcase, shards of a broken mirror shine against the moldy, old carpet.

He walks through the house with Ellie a safe distance behind him, while room after room is searched and found just as empty as the one before. He glances at her when there’s only one room remaining, its door nearly closed against the frame. Ellie tightens her grip on her knife and gives Joel a nod before he nudges the door open with his foot.

“Don’t come any closer!”

Joel instinctively pushes Ellie back as he looks across the room and sees you. 

———

You’re sitting on the floor by a small pile of pillows,  a threadbare blanket is puddled by your feet. Your bloody hands shake as they hold a gun pointed at Joel’s chest. Despite the fear that tightens your throat, you square your shoulders. You stare at the man, stare at the gun pointing back at you.

He takes you in, his eyes looking past the barrel of the gun and towards your blood soaked arms. He can see where tears have left streaks down your dirty and bruised face. He looks into your wide eyes and sees the panic there. He’s all too familiar with that panic.

“We mean no harm,” he says, making no attempt to lower the muzzle trained on you. “We were only lookin’ for a place for the night.”

You say nothing. Too afraid to talk, too afraid to do anything at all.

“We’ll leave,” he takes a cautious step back. “We’ll find somewhere else.”

You watch him take the girl’s hand as he takes another step back. The gesture is protective and filled with care. It makes you envious. How lucky is this little girl to have someone protect her? He pulls her behind him, keeping the line of your gun only on him. You look into his eyes and in that moment you think he might be just as terrified as you are. 

“Wait,” you whisper, lowering your weapon. You can let them go. You should let them go. In this world one wrong decision is the difference between living and dying. But something about them feels right. Something about them feels safe.

You point your weapon to the side and pull the trigger. The gun clicks, the firing pin striking against nothing. There’s no ammo. You haven’t had ammunition in weeks. With the charade of force exposed, you chuck the useless weapon aside.

“It’s not loaded,” you say, hoping your intuition was right, hoping this man shows you mercy. The pair stand still, neither advancing or retreating. You can tell the man is calculating the situation, weighing all his options as his eyes flit between the discarded gun and your open bloodstained palms. You try to push the scale in your favor. 

“There were awful men around here before.” You wipe your hands on your thighs attempting to rub away the gore. “Were,” you emphasize. “You should still stay here. It could be dangerous out there.”

His eyes narrow. “It could be dangerous in here,” he says, but you notice the subtle change in the way his shoulders have relaxed.

You shake your head. “I don’t think you believe that.”

“Maybe I could be dangerous,” he says, his hostile words softened by the lilt of his accent. 

You pause, looking him over. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, exposing muscled forearms and clean hands. The hair that curls around his ears leads to a strong jaw cushioned by a closely cut beard. Despite the scowl etched into his face his brown eyes are warm and soft. 

“I don’t think I believe that.”

You watch each other, seconds ticking by with nothing said. In the far distance the distinct screech of a clicker rings out. You raise your eyebrows in a silent statement: See? It is dangerous.

“I’m Ellie.” The girl still guarded behind the man says. She ignores the man’s grunt of protest and peeks her head around him. You give an encouraging smile and she steps beside him. She places a hand on his wrist and lowers his gun. “And this is Joel.”

You nod your head and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you,” you say, and you truly mean it.

A moment passes while Ellie looks at your arms. “Shit. That’s a lot of blood,” she says. “Are you hurt? We have bandages--”

“That’s enough,” Joel pulls the girl behind him again and motions down the hall. “Go out there.”

“But Joel--”

“Go. Now.”

In a huff Ellie turns on her heels and heads down the hall. Joel returns his attention towards you. With his fingers still wrapped around his gun he gestures down at you. 

“People did that to you?” he asks. “You hurt?”

You shake your head understanding what he is truly asking. Are there bite marks underneath all of that? Are you infected?

“No, I’m not hurt.” You close your eyes and visions of your struggle with two raiders earlier in the day flash behind your lids. The memory turns your stomach. “I ran into some men that thought I’d easily give up my supplies.”

Joel nods but you can still sense his hesitance. “You’ll have to forgive me for not bein’ so trusting.”

“No, I understand.” You eye the gun in his hand and try once more to gain his trust. “You can check me for marks if you want.” 

When his expression doesn’t change you take a deep breath and unsheath the knife from your belt clip. You handle the flat sides of the blade, still stained with blood, and offer the handle to Joel. “If it makes you feel any better you can have this too. It’s all I have.”

Joel looks at the knife and considers it. He wonders if any of this is worth the trouble. Surely he and Ellie could find somewhere else to rest. They didn’t need to stay here. They didn’t need to share space with a stranger. But then he looks into your eyes and finds sincerity there. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw genuine sincerity. With a sigh he shoves his gun into the holster on his hip and closes the distance between you. He gently pushes the knife back towards you and with a grunt he lowers to his knees. 

“The girl out there? She’s very important.” Joel pauses as he looks down the empty hallway. “To me,” he adds. 

You slide your knife back into its spot on your waist. “She looks like a good kid,” you tell him. 

“She is,” he says and when his attention is returned to you there is a ferocity in his eyes. “I will do anything to protect her. You understand? Anything. ”

You swallow dryly and weakly nod, accepting the threat hidden in his words. 

“Hey, Joel. You wouldn’t believe what I found!” Ellie comes down the hall, grinning from ear to ear, with a large bowl in her hand. “There’s a real life well in the back! You know, the kind you gotta pump and water comes out?”

“Yeah, I know the kind,” Joel says with a laugh as she places the bowl down between the two of you.

“I got some water in case you wanted to clean up.” She produces a clean piece of cloth and offers it to you. You hesitate to take it, somewhat in awe at her generosity. She really is a good kid. 

Joel takes the fabric from her and motions out the door. “Go settle in. We’re leaving soon as the sun is up.”

Ellie waves her hand in a salute. “Yessir,” she says and marches back down the hall. 

Joel dips the cloth into the bowl then squeezes some of the water out. “I’m gonna take you up on that offer to check you… just to be safe.” He waits for your hum of approval before he continues. “But I’m gonna clean your face first, while the water’s clean.”

You sit a little straighter and prepare for this stranger to touch you. “Yeah. Okay.”

Joel slowly raises the rag to your face and gently presses it against your cheek. The water cools your skin as droplets trickle down your neck. Joel takes his other hand and cups your chin, holding your head in place as his hand glides across your face. 

His hands are large, so much so you nearly feel engulfed in them, but it surprises you how delicate he is. He moves smoothly, only applying enough pressure to loosen the dirt on your skin. He softly swipes the cloth underneath your eye with his thumb, not pressing too hard into the bruise that is blooming there. 

He continues on, dunking the rag into the bowl and cleaning spots of your body with gentle, small circular movements then checking for abrasions. You watch him as he works, noticing the specks of gray in his beard and the broken face on his wristwatch. Your eyes follow the slope of his nose up to where his brows are furrowed in concentration. You notice his own face is covered in dirt and you recognize he smells of campfire smoke and sweat and greenery.  

You wince when he brushes against your injured knuckles. “Sorry,” he whispers as he soothingly rubs your hand before continuing to scan your skin. 

“I thought you were with them,” you suddenly say. 

Joel pauses a moment to look you in the eye. “Hmm?”

“The men from earlier? The men I had to…” You leave the rest unsaid as you shake the thoughts out of your head. “I thought maybe there were more of them and they were coming back to kill me.”

You can feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes. You have lived in this terrible world for years but nothing prepares you for the grief and anxiety that comes after you’re forced to take a life. Nothing prepares you for the fear that crushes your soul. 

Joel drops the cloth into the bowl and the displaced water splashes onto the floor. His features have softened, the look of concentration replaced with sorrow. He almost whispers when he asks, “was that your first time?”

You blink and the tears roll down your cheeks. “I’ve killed many of those things but actual humans? I’ve never needed to do that before.”

Joel considers you lucky. It isn’t safe outside the QZs. Hell, it isn’t safe inside the QZs, but out here it’s different. Wilder. Thugs, thieves, the demented. They roam this land freely and do as they please. It’s a wonder you’re just now experiencing this. But Joel remembers the first time he killed a man. He remembers the first time someone died in his hands. He sympathizes with you. 

“It might not be tonight,” Joel says, swiping away one of your tears. “Or maybe next week, or next month. But one day this feeling won’t be so crippling. You do what you gotta to protect yourself and the ones you love. Ain’t no shame in that. That’s just how the world is now.”

You nod as you take in his words. You do what you gotta to protect yourself and the ones you love. Joel takes your hands in his and gives a comforting squeeze. It’s the first time in a long time someone consoled you. The warmth from his hands travels up your arms and settles in your chest. 

“I think I’m done here. I don’t see anything.” He lets go of your hands, taking the warmth and comfort with him, and takes his time to stand up. “I’m gonna check on Ellie, make sure she’s alright.”

He heads out into the hallway but stops under the frame of the door. “I, uh… I don’t know what you’ve got going on but we’re headin’ west. You’re welcome to join us. If you want. Maybe use that gun to scare off some other poor fool?” He asks with a chuckle. 

You laugh, your cheeks heating from his jab at you. “Yeah. I would like that.”

----

Joel’s yelling wakes you with a jolt. Again, he calls for you from somewhere within the cabin, his voice tense and worried as your name leaves his lips. 

You rub your tired eyes, having barely slept. The cabin is still dark, the sky is still the color of coal, the rain is still pattering outside. You sit up in the bed, your pupils slowly adjusting to the darkness. Then, finally, your eyes widen at what you see. 

Across the room stands a man, the barrel of his handgun pointed at Joel. Joel’s hands are raised in surrender as he stands between the two of you. The man’s clothes are soaked through, his wet stringy hair clings to his face. He looks sickly with a pallid face and an unsteady stance revealing a weak and tired body. But it’s the handgun steadily pointed at Joel that is most worrisome. 

“Joel!” You breathe, your hands instinctively reaching to your side for the rifle that usually dangles there, only to grab at nothing. You look past the intruder to where your weapon rests against the wall near the open door where you left it earlier. 

“It’s okay,” Joel reassures, turning slightly to look at you. His bare chest rises and falls quickly, his obvious worry betraying his calming words. “It’s okay,” he repeats. 

The man erratically waves the gun. “Make her get up!” he shrieks. An alarmingly inhuman sound rattles in his chest as his body shivers. “Make her open the bag! I want the bag!”

The man points to Joel’s backpack slumped against the bed. Inside are the medical supplies that are much needed back at camp where Ellie waits for you. Some very good people could use those supplies. It’s unfortunate, but this man already seems too far gone to have any use of them.

You slowly shuffle towards the side of the bed, hesitating to get to the pack. “We can help you,” you manage to say despite your tight throat. “Just put the gun away.” 

“Shut up! Shut up!” He takes a step to the side to get a better look at you, his gun following you across the bed. He eyes your barely clothed body and a look akin to lust twists in his wretched face. Joel places himself in front of the man again. 

“Ay!” Joel yells to grab his attention. “Keep that thing on me.” He takes a small step towards him. “What do you need?”

The man wails, his skin looking even more sallow than it did only moments ago. “Sweater... sweater! It’s so cold, so cold…” His mind seems to fog as he curls his arms close to his chest. Joel inches closer before the man’s concentration returns, drawing his weapon forward again. “No! Water! I need water!”

You sit on the edge of the bed, your fingers digging into the mattress as fear beats in your chest and cements your feet to the floor. Joel stands tall, strong, and commanding but you worry nonetheless. What would you do if something happened to him? How could you explain to Ellie that something happened to him? The man slowly tilts his head, his eyes beginning to go glassy.

You have never seen it personally but you have heard stories of when people turn. They get volatile as they teeter between living and not quite dying. There is a short moment, before the infection takes over, before the animalistic urges and increased strength and stamina come forth, when the person is vulnerable. But at each stage the person can still transmit their infection, each moment must be handled with caution. 

“Water,” the man softly repeats. He lets out a slow, sorrowful moan, his body quickly losing its battle with the infection. 

“I have some right here…” Joel says sweetly. He takes another step, coming within feet of the other man. “Right… here…”

In a flash Joel bounds forward, startling the man to attention. He grabs for the weapon but not before a shot is fired. You wince, closing your eyes and covering your ears as the loud sound amplifies off the walls in the small space. After a moment, when the shock has subsided, you jump to your feet and turn towards the scuffle.

All you can see is a tangle of bodies as Joel wrangles for the gun. You look at him, trying to see if he’s been hit, searching for any injury, but they move too swiftly, you can’t see a thing. Joel pummels the man with his fists, shoving him closer to the door as he does so. 

The man howls, the noise completely devoid of humanity.

They are near the threshold of the cabin when another shot rings out. The sound startles you, your panic increasing, as your ears ring. You move forward. You need to help Joel. You need to make sure he’s okay. You only need to get to your gun. 

“Stay there!” he yells before you can advance any further. Joel has the man by the collar, and is pushing him through the doorway, darkness swallowing them as they tumble outside.

You stand there frozen, your ear facing the door as you strain to hear something, anything, other than the rain. It’s only then that you notice the stream of blood trailing out the door. 

Your eyes follow the path, starting at the scattered droplets that increase into an unbroken line of crimson. You take cautious steps forward, your eyes beginning to fill with tears at the thought of this blood being Joel’s. 

He is not hurt, you force yourself to think. He cannot be hurt. Since the day you met him he has been your source of stability and security. He has been your savior and your sanctuary. You can no longer envision a life without him. And now that your relationship has progressed, now that he has touched every inch of your body and you have felt every inch of him, you don’t want to think of a life without him. 

You amble over to the bay window, your mind racing with horrible thoughts as your chest tightens. You lean into the windowed space, your knees knocking against the wood, straining your eyes to see through the darkness and through the rain. He is out there and you need to find him. 

Just when you set your mind on grabbing your rifle and braving the blackened woods in search for him, Joel steps through the door. You pause, your breath caught in your throat as you take him in. His hands are still curled into fists, his dampened body glistens from the rain, but otherwise, he appears unharmed. 

“Joel?” You whisper, your tears finally breaking through and falling down your cheeks. 

His face softens when he looks at you, his hands relax at his side, the tension in his shoulders loosens. “Sweetheart,” he says, his accent a sweet song to your ears. 

In a few paces he is quickly in front of you. He cups your face with both of his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe away your tears. You wrap your hands around his wrists. You need to touch him, you need to feel that he’s here. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask, scanning his body for injuries. 

“I’m fine. He didn’t get me.” He catches a falling tear with his finger. “I’m more worried about you.”

You sigh, pressing your face against one of his hands, the roughness of his palm grounding you. “I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, weighing your words against the traces of dread that still lingers on your face. You do what you gotta to protect yourself and the ones you love. He pulls you in closer and presses his lips to yours. 

You kiss him back, relief pouring over you knowing that he is alright. Your hands move to his chest, your fingers gliding across his wet skin as the kiss deepens. Joel’s hands leave your face to grab your waist where he pulls you close to him. His body heat envelops you as you moan into his mouth. 

You love him, you think. You love this man and wish to be here in his arms for the rest of your life.

Joel breaks the kiss. “I’m glad you're okay,” he whispers against your lips. 

You press your fingers into his chest, enjoying the feeling of the hair under your touch. You listen to the rain beat against the roof.  “I love you,” you admit. 

Joel smiles, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he quickly responds, “I love you, too.”

And then his mouth is on yours again, hungrier this time, as his tongue pushes past your lips. He grabs handfuls of your behind and pulls you into his hardening crotch. You moan again as you rub yourself against him, feverish with the need to feel him. 

Joel’s own fiery need to feel you has him unclasping your bra and freeing your breasts. He takes one in each of his large hands and gently pinches your nipples. Your back arches into his grasp, the sensation sending ripples of pleasure throughout your body. You lean back, lowering yourself onto the seat of the bay window, and push your chest forward. 

Joel lowers his face and brings a pebbled peak into his mouth. His tongue dances across your nipple before he softly nips at it. You inhale sharply at the gentle pain and run your hands through his dark hair. Your breathing turns ragged when his mouth moves to your other breast, his tongue so warm and wet against you. 

You rub your thighs together attempting to calm the ache that has been building there. Sensing your desire, Joel’s hand finds its way between your legs. You open yourself for him, moaning his name as his fingers drag across your panties, his fingertips finding you’ve already soaked through them. He moans against your breast as he pulls the fabric to the side and teases a finger between your lips. 

“Already so wet for me,” he rasps as he looks up at you. His eyes are dark with desire. He watches you as he pushes a thick finger into you. Your walls tighten around him but your wetness allows his finger to smoothly continue on. “Look how fuckin’ wet you are.”

He begins to pump his finger in and out of you, your pleasure increasing each time he slips back inside.

Joel licks his lips. “I think there’s room for one more. But first…” Joel pulls his finger out of you and you whine at your emptiness. He wraps his fingers around the band of your underwear and pulls them down your legs. Once you're freed of the undergarment you spread your legs wide for him, pleading for him to return there. 

Joel lowers himself between your legs. “What a beautiful pussy,” he whispers, running a finger across your slit. He places a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh. Then turns his face and kisses the other. He leaves a trail of kisses on your thighs, each time reaching closer and closer to where they meet. 

You whine again, your desire for him breaking you apart. “Please, Joel,” you beg. “Please.”

“Beautiful, needy, pussy,” he says before his broad tongue licks up your slit and settles on your clit. You moan loudly as he sucks on your bud and slips two fingers back inside you. He hooks his fingers upwards as he pulls his hand out and slams it back in again. 

Your eyes close as the pleasure builds. The tip of his tongue circles around your clit and you gush around his fingers as they piston in and out of you. “Oh, Joel,” you cry and he continues, mercilessly, sucking on you and pressing against that soft spot inside you until your pleasure peaks and you fall apart under him. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair as your orgasm plows through you. You grind your hips into his face, riding every wave until they settle into gentle ripples. Once the tension in your body has relaxed, Joel presses a quick kiss on your clit and slowly pulls his fingers out of you. 

Joel rises and brings his fingers, wet with your arousal to your mouth. “See how fuckin’ good you taste,” he says and you part your lips. He slips his huge fingers into your mouth, coating your tongue with your own release. You suck around him, massaging his fingers with your tongue until they’re clean. 

“Good girl,” he purrs as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth. He leans in, his hard cock in his boxers rubbing against your mound, and brushes his lips against yours. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, locking him in your embrace. You move your hips against his, demanding to be filled again, demanding the length of him. 

Joel tuts. “Still needy?” He pulls down his boxers and lets them drop to his ankles. He takes himself into his hand and slowly pumps himself. Precum pools at the tip then slides down his thick shaft. He brushes himself against you, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock and smearing your wetness onto him. 

“Goddamn,” he whispers, lining himself at your opening. “So fuckin’ messy.”

Joel slowly pushes himself inside you, savoring the feeling of your tight walls making space around him. You gasp, tightening your grip around his neck as your body accommodates his girth. He pauses when he’s fully sheathed in you, his breathing already ragged. 

“Goddamn,” he repeats, then slowly, inch by inch, he pulls out only to push back in just as slowly. Again and again he slips in and out of you, taking his time as he does so. 

His pace is maddening. The slow strokes leave you wanting more. Deeper. Harder. Faster. 

You wrap your legs around him. “Joel…” you don’t even care that you’re whining. “Fuck me. Faster. Please.”

Joel reaches a hand between you and softly caresses your clit with a thick finger. Stroke by stroke he increases his pace, snapping his hips deeper and harder into you.    

“This what you want, sweetheart?” He asks as the room fills with the sound of his body colliding with yours. 

“I…” Your thought melts into a moan as Joel increases his speed. He’s so big inside you, stretching you wide open while his finger remains between your legs. With each swirl of his digit you clench harder around him, your second orgasm approaching even quicker than the first. 

“You what, baby?” Joel asks as he plants kisses along your face. He snaps his hips into you, the thickness of him splitting you in two. “You want to cum again for me, hmm? Let me feel this beautiful pussy tight on my cock?”

You attempt to answer, willing your mouth to form coherent words but all that spills out is a strangled moan. A satisfied smile spreads across Joel’s face.

Your fingers dig into his skin. “Yes!” you gasp between moans. “Yes Joel, make me cum again!”

And that’s all the motivation Joel needs. He grabs your legs, moving them until your ankles are pressed against his shoulders, positioning you so that his strokes are deeper. He slides in and out of you faster and faster, each stroke filling you completely. 

You love him. You love him and you love how he knows your body. He knows how to angle his hips so that the length of him pushes against that soft spot inside you that leaves you moaning and breathless. 

“F-fuck,” you gasped between deep breaths. Your pussy squeezes around his cock, sucking him in, pulling him in closer to his own climax. 

“Yes, baby,” Joel groans as the head of his dick pushes deep into you. His rhythm is faltering, he’s close to coming. “You take my cock so well. Your fucking pussy is squeezing me. Gonna make me come deep inside you.”

You fingers deep into his skin as your body tightens. He continues. 

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Let it go. Come with me. I want to feel this pussy squeeze the cum out of me. Can you do that for me? Can you cream on my cock?”

You nod weakly, your mouth agape in pleasure as the tension in your core finally snaps. You come again, your core holding tight to Joel’s cock as he continues to drill into you. In a few pumps he’s right behind you, his moans echoing through the cabin as he stills inside you and comes. Rope after rope of his cum spills inside you. His load coats your walls, mixing with your own arousal until your spent hole is leaking. 

Joel remains like that for a while. His dick softens inside you while you both catch your breath. The rain patters against the window behind you. 

You reach up and press a hand against his face, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your fingers. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you say, the fear from earlier renewing within you. 

Joel pulls out of you and your empty pussy weeps with your combined release. He lowers your legs and bends down to press a gentle kiss against your lips. 

“I can’t promise that,” he says, always pragmatic. “But I can promise to fight with everything I have to keep you safe so that I can come back to you.” He kisses you slowly, deep, and lovingly.  “I love you and I will always come back to you.”

You look up into his brown eyes and pray he is telling you the truth. You can’t imagine a life without him. You extend a pinky finger into the air. “Promise?” You ask and wait for his response. 

Joel smiles, the happiness glistens in his eyes as he hooks his pinky against yours. “Promise.”

[wonderjanga]

The IRS

Billy doesn’t pay taxes. Anything related to taxes, he doesn’t know about.

M’gann: “What’s an IRS?”

Kid Flash “They’re these guys who collect taxes.”

M’gann: “Really? I’ve never paid taxes before. Are they gonna come after me?” *sounds slightly concerned*

Kid Flash: “Maybe-”

Marvel: *comes out of the kitchen with cookies* “No, they’re not. M’gann, the IRS isn’t real.”

M’gann: “It isn’t?”

Marvel: “Yeah, it isn’t. Wally’s just pulling your leg.”

Kid Flash: “Uh… no, no I’m not… Marvel you do know IRS is real, right? It’s important to me that you know that.”

Marvel: “Well, they’ve never come for me and I haven’t paid a single tax in my life.”

Kid Flash: *sounds completely concerned* “That means you’re committing tax fraud.”

Later…

YJ and Marvel: *all huddled around Tim who’s hunched over a computer*

Marvel: “Why’s is everyone here?”

Robin!Tim: “What do you mean, Cap? This is a celebratory moment. We didn’t even know you could commit a crime, yet here we are.” *typing on computer*

Marvel: “Why’d you pull up C.C. Batson?”

Robin!Tim: “Cap, you’re not exactly hiding your face. Anyone could find out who you were if they just dug a little deeper than the surface.”

Artemis: “Your name is C.C.?” *tries to see the computer*

Robin!Tim: “Charles actually.”

Zatanna: “You look like a Charles.”

Marvel: “I do? Huh. Well, anyways, I’ve been legally pronounced dead so I shouldn’t have to pay them right?”

Robin!Tim: “Well, you’re alive now. That means that you technically faked your death and that also technically means that you’re committing tax fraud so…” *types on computer* “You should owe 5 billion to the IRS.”

Marvel: *sounds completely devastated* “WHAT?”

Aqualad: “How could he possibly have racked up that much?”

Robin!Tim: “Well, Cap’s been “dead” *does quotes with his hands* since 1958 so he put off 66 years of taxes. Plus, the price of a dollar went up as the years passed so yeah.”

Marvel: “Oh my gods…” *sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown*

Kid Flash: “Wow. You’re actually an egregious tax evader. 5 billion is insane.”

Even More Later…

Batman: *came to check on the kids*

Marvel: *in a corner, rocking back and forth, practically crying*

Batman: “What’s wrong with him?”

Robin!Tim: “He owes 5 billion to the IRS.”

Batman: “…What?”

Robin!Tim: “Yeah, I know, right?”

Batman and Robin!Tim: *watch as Conner comes by and puts a bunch of blankets on Marvel. They then see M’gann come in with some hot coco and hand it to Cap*

Batman: *sighs* “I’ll get the money.” *walks away*

Robin!Tim: “Hey, Cap! You can stop worrying now! Batman is gonna hook you up.

And that’s how, after much refusal from Billy and a lot of peer pressure from both the YJ and Mr. Batman, itty bitty Billy Batson ended up with 5 billion dollars. And since he didn’t want to be arrested for tax evasion, he was too scared to hand it over to the IRS. (It’s not like he knew how to pay them anyways) But hey, Billy now gets to treat himself, Mary, and Freddy. They now have a decent apartment, better clothes, and lots and lots of food money, and potentially toy money? Billy’s been eyeing these Bulletman and Bulletgirl action figures for his and Mary’s birthday coming up. He hopes Mary will like them, or at least the Bulletgirl figure, he knows she’s a big fan.

Also, I have no idea if the 5 billion dollar thing is right, I pulled that from somewhere and I honestly forgot where.

[satorurize]

A situationship with Rockstar!Suguru was a poision and it's counteragent at the same time.

Every time your friends tell you that you should get out of your situationship which leaves you in shambles emotionally, everytime, you crawl back to him each time with equal reverence. The guy had an unbelievable chokehold on you despite the bread-crumming, the love-bombing and then eventual ghosting for a short periods of time which was long enough to make you believe that you were slowly bordering towards insanity.

Your friends don't really get the appeal, sure.. he's only 6'2, with a lethal face card, sexy eyes, with a manly built and a slutty waist, suave voice that gets millions screaming, not to mention those raven hair that cascade so beautifully over his shoulders and he was packing down there but— here was the catch. He was manipulative, cunning, they'd even go on the length to call him shrewd.

And it wasn't like you disagreed but...it was as if his dick had left an imprint not only in your cunt but also your brain so that, any rational thought of leaving him behind and moving on would simply go down the drain.

Rockstar!Suguru knew better and he never lets the thought of leaving him get to your head, even it does, he'd immediately distract you. Like now, having you sit on his face, your hands grip onto the headboard for its dear life, miserably trying to convince him that he's no good for you.

But he only hums louder, grazing his teeth against your clit before he pulled away with a loud smack of his lips from your cunt, the nectar dribbling down his chin.

"You were sayin' somethin', darling?"

"I..I don't think we should do this..anymore, I'm gonna start seriously dating people.." You explain, a tad bit breathlessly and he scoffs condescendingly before handling you casually, your body now braced onto his waist in a straddle.

"And you think anyone else will eat your pussy this good?" He speaks in his same signature soft, polite tone that has his fans swooning on him, little did they know what a crook he was, especially behind the doors.

Inspite of being your toxic situationship, Suguru insists you're special, I mean, Who wouldn't think you're special when he is serenading you in his concerts, buying you flowers, taking you on long drives in the wee hours of the night?

But then when you ask him what you two really were, he'd just shrug insouciantly reply that you both didn't need to put a label on it although you should keep in your pretty little head that you were special. Suguru was simply too emotionally constipated to actually commit.

After stating clearly how casual you two were, here you are in front of his vanity mirror, watching him split you apart from behind. His bangs hung onto his face, his dark eyeliner a little messy from the sheer sweat that formed on his face from the activity while he adores how the flesh of your ass recoils against his pelvis.

You could only marvel at how ethereal he looks with your teary eyes, and listen to the way those deep grunts left his throat after a particularly rough thrust, only making you clench around him in such a debauched manner— giving him the green signal to continue fucking you in his jealousy.

The kisses he'd plant onto the back of your neck were so gentle, in stark contrast to how he fucked you like he hated you because finding out that you went on a date wasn't pleasant in the first place, but finding out it was his bestfriend, the band's charismatic drummer only made him lose his shit.

"What are the tears for..? Didn't you want to be a slut? Take it. I'm treating you like one afterall.." He purrs with a wicked grin on his face. He's mean, watching your wither in his grasp, while he sensually moves his hips in a few hard pounds before filling you up with ropes and ropes of his cum.

You're out of breath with the entirety of your upper body laid on the table—so blissfully fucked out with a smile on your lips at how he had feelings deep enough to fuck you in envy. Your plan was a success.

You swivel your head around slightly, seeing the flash of his camera directed to your stuffed cunt with a foxy smile playing his lips. "What are you-"

"Just a good luck charm before the concert and..a little gift for Satoru."

[thewritetofreespeech]

kinktober: frottage

tags: frottage, making out, secret relationship, targaryen incest [aemond/rhaenyra's daughter], immense pinning by aemond

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

“Where is Aemond?”

“I do not know your grace,” Larys replied. Remaining calm in the Queens frustration. She had been hunting for her middle son for hours, and he was no where to be found. “I have checked with the guards and sentries, and no one has seen him leave by Vahgar or horse.”

“So, he must still be in the city.” Alicent deduced. Hoping he was still in the castle as well. “The conclave starts soon, and we need…a united front for the court.” The plan to weave her family’s place to the crown was to start today. First, but claiming Driftmark back from Rhaenyra's brood. Then, with them illegitimized, start making the case that Aegon should be king. “He knows how important today is. How could he do this to me?!”

“The prince is nothing but a servant to duty.” Larys assured her. He may not see eye-to-eye with the prince, at least with the one he had left, but the Lord did respect that he seemed committed to his family and their goal. “I’m sure he will come out of hiding eventually.”

In a further, deeper part of the castle, indeed hidden away from all those who had not truly explored it, Aemond laid sequestered with his maiden. Marveling at her beauty in the low light between kisses. Beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck from the warmth of the candles in the small space and their hot, panting breath. Bucking against each other with soft gasps & grunts in the nest he had built for them

“We have to go.” His lady insisted. For the umpteenth time, yet neither one of them had made a legitimate effort to move.

“No, no. Not yet.”

Aemond didn’t want to go back to the ‘real world’. A world where his family and hers were fighting. Where the rift between them seemed to grow every day. Separating them. Lines in the sand now a chasm that seemed impossible to overcome.

He also knew what was to happen today to Rhaenyra's bastards, and that she might not forgive him for his part in the plot of disinheriting her brothers. Aemond wanted to stay here a little longer, where she wouldn’t be mad at him.

“People will be looking for us.” She told him as he moved to her neck, which was freely given.

“They’ll never find us.” It had taken him years to find this place and even then it had been difficult to remember where the opening was until he had committed it to memory.

“Oh yes. Because you’re so clever. Ow!” His lady yipped but then moaned when he bit at her neck. A true Targaryen. Wanting a little pain with her pleasure.

“We should just leave and never come back.”

He’d made the offer before. To take their dragons and ride until they reach new land. Conquer it like their ancestors. Build a new kingdom, instead of being stuck in this conflicting one.

Yet, every time, she just laughed it off as a joke like she did now. Not realizing the seriousness of how much he wanted to leave, and never come back, and just be the two of them in the world. “You would miss the tarts too much if we left. Come on. Let’s get going.”

Aemond finally let her go, though disappointed about it, and let her right herself.

In the right light, her mused hair and clothes looked like she had been riding. No one would think where Rhaenyra's Targaryen jewel had truly been. In the arms of her scorned, much less beloved uncle. His cock throbbed in his breeches. Desperate to make her truly his, but he would not take such liberties. Aemond would not tarnish their jewel nor besmirch her honor. He loved her too much for that. That’s why he wanted her to run away with him, so they could be together. Growing up in a world beloved & adored, she does not see that her parents will never allow them to marry. Never allow them to be happy. Their jewel will be given to someone politically inclined to help secure her mother’s place on the throne, and Aemond would be unhappy & unfulfilled.

He would join the Watch before he call anyone but her wife.

Righted and upright, Aemond tucked a lock of silver behind her ear. Marveling at the affection reflected in her eyes. “Will you see me later? After the conclave?”

“Of course.” She told him. Her earnest something he wanted to hold on to. “Here, or somewhere else before dinner?”

“Here.” Where he could pretend. And if he spoke his words sweet enough maybe she would take him up on his offer to finally run away.

They exit their nook and depart. Her back to her family and Aemond to his. His mother found him readily enough, given how frantically at this point she had been looking for him, and asked where he had been.

“Day dreaming.” Was all he told her. It was a peculiarly enough answer that it halted all further questions from his mother and left him to get ready for the meeting.

After today, his daydreams where all he might have left. Let him keep them for a little while longer at least.

[jingyichickenwings]

This is less of a Deep Cut and more of a case of schadenfreude, but I love when various members of a creative team are messy in public about their high budget group project. Reality TV for nerds. It speaks to a profound lack of media training or fucks given. You guys realize that future employers can Google you, right? Unintentionally hilarious.

Linke and Yee were told in no uncertain terms that their season 1 storyboard was shit, so they hired Overton, who hired half a dozen actual writers, and they did basically a full overhaul. The script was objectively much better. But this was Linke's baby, and several years later you still see signs that he is Big Mad that he didn't get his way, and that he doesn't know or care about what actually became season 1 canon. I'm sorry that your Jewish stereotype villain didn't get to be a pedophile, I guess? Idk. Yes, yes, I am sure your version of Svengali is really innovative. Maybe someday, buddy.

Meanwhile they start writing season 2 in early 2020, while the season 1 air date isn't until November of 2021. So, they don't have public feedback on the script yet, just, yanno, actual writing professionals. Anyway, according to Overton, they needed to fire the non-management part of the writing team because of the pandemic?! Lmao babygirl you do your best and I respect commitment to the official PR excuse but nobody sensible believes this. Netflix writers average 110k/year, and you needed six or so from season 1. That is not a big part of the overall budget. Also, y'all could have saved money with Zoom meetings.

So the very thing that saved the season 1 script got line-itemed "because of the pandemic". That sounds like an extremely convenient excuse for Linke to be like, no, fuck you all, we are going back to Plan A, the rough draft of season 2 based on his shitty version of season 1. Honey. That ship has sailed. You already lost this argument.

So presumably some combination of Linke/Yee/Riot/Netflix was like, it's important that we have at least one actual grown adult writer on staff. So Overton gets to keep her job.

Now, I want to preface this by saying that season 2 would have been even worse without Overton. That being said, there is a reason they needed a deeper bench of writing staff. Overton and Linke over-connect with the characters Caitlyn and Jayce respectively, to a degree that they frequently forgot to evaluate how other characters would likely behave in certain situations. It led to contrivances, plot holes, etc. There is a lot I could add here but tbh go read any of the meta already out there.

In addition to the Mary Sue type behavior, Overton thought it would be Neat to make the writing more like Avengers, like multiverse time travel fuckery is a shiny beach pebble and not narrative napalm. What in the ADHD was she thinking? Even if they had the run time to world build enough for this, there was nothing in season 1 to even suggest this as an option. And let's be fucking honest, multiverse a lot of why Marvel is on a downward spiral. If Viktor can go to Build-A-Bear Workshop and 3-D print a million Jayces, why should I give a shit about his kill count? He can just be kind, rewind, and try again. Actions are decoupled from consequences.

Anyway, moving back to the topic at hand of the Arcane team. Apparently, Overton, Linke and Yee only half-wrote season 2?! Linke said something about how they "extensively collaborated with Fortiche on the story"? Which, it's not inherently a bad idea to get creative feedback from your art team, but ummm, maybe the writers and Fortiche should have worked to a point of agreement on basic story beats. Based on a lot of what Fortiche has said, the art for season 2 passive aggressively advances what they wanted the writing to be against Linke's wishes. They literally have just been straight up disagreeing with Linke and getting paid for it. Which, to be fair, I respect the sheer pettiness! Linke can't write his own damn show but wants to slow down the very expensive art team? When the actual writers that got fired "because of the pandemic" would have caught a lot of the season 2 issues?

So post airing of season 2, Overton is all about that girlboss copaganda, Linke is having multiple public meltdowns and getting fired by Riot(?), and multiple voice actors and artists at Fortiche are being like "yeah, we actually wanted something else so there are now multiple competing narratives for season 2". Which is hilarious. The way in which the show is messy is the same way in which the creators are messy. These bitches are a cautionary tale about hubris and the need to engage in team-building.

(EDIT MARCH 11: the fired rumors seem to be old/inaccurate, see comments for details)

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #7

Tony Stark had seen a lot of wild things in his life—aliens, Norse gods, sentient killer bots made by his own two hands—but nothing, nothing, could’ve prepared him for the day a literal ghost boy phased through the ceiling of Stark Tower and declared, “You’re my godfather now.”

Tony blinked. “…Did I drink last night?”

“No,” Pepper called from another room. “You’ve been sober for two years.”

“Right. Just checking. Then who the hell is this glowing child and why does he think I’m his godfather?”

Danny Fenton, age seventeen, half-ghost disaster and walking teenage trauma case, stood in the middle of the floor with glowing green eyes and the confidence of a raccoon that’s already tipped over the trash can. “Because I’m emotionally damaged and in need of a stable father figure who isn’t a power-obsessed megalomaniac with Oedipal issues.”

Tony stared.

Danny stared back.

Tony raised a brow. “Are you talking about your actual dad or—”

“Vlad Masters,” Danny spat like the name was poison. “He’s rich, insane, and wants to kill my dad and marry my mom. And I’m pretty sure he’s legally stalking me. So… yeah. You’re the anti-Vlad. Congratulations. You’re my godfather now.”

Tony looked like he was buffering. Then a slow, terrible grin crawled across his face. “…Hell yeah I am.”

And that was that. Danny Fenton moved into Stark Tower and the next day Tony updated the JARVIS files with: “New priority directive: Protect Ghost Goblin 1 (Danny Fenton).”

Then Peter Parker, long-suffering, perpetually confused, and not emotionally prepared for whatever was happening lately, stared as Danny literally walked through his bedroom wall and flopped onto his bed like they’d known each other for years.

“You ever heard of doors?” Peter asked, voice cracking slightly because holy hell the new godchild Tony was parading around was cute. Even if he looked like he hadn’t slept since the Cold War.

Danny ignored him. “Tony said I should ‘hang out with the spider boy’ because we’d be ‘trauma-compatible.’” He rolled over and stared at Peter upside-down. “Are you trauma-compatible, Peter?”

Peter looked to the heavens like they would help him. “I’m not emotionally ready for this conversation.”

“Cool. Me neither.” Danny pulled a full-size Fenton Thermos out of somewhere and sipped from it like it was a soda. “Wanna make out or emotionally repress things together?”

Peter sputtered. “Wh—WHAT?!”

Danny grinned with all his teeth. “That’s what Tony said you’d do. Panic adorably. You’re kinda proving his point.”

Meanwhile, Tony Stark was committing several war crimes from his living room.

“I’ve traced the GIW’s funding to three offshore accounts, two shell corporations, and one extremely sus Girl Scout cookie fundraiser. I’m calling in a missile strike in 3… 2…”

“Tony, no,” Pepper said without looking up from her tablet.

“Tony, YES.”

Tony had decided, rather quickly, that the GIW (Guys In White, a government ghost hunting agency that was somehow even more evil and incompetent than HYDRA on bath salts) needed to be permanently deleted from existence. Preferably with fire.

And when he found out that Danny’s biological parents had been working with them?

Tony sent Jazz a college fund with so many zeroes it crashed her banking app.

Jazz, who was nineteen, brilliant, and terrifying in the most Pepper Potts-coded way, politely declined Tony’s offer to adopt her.

Though she did let Pepper start mentoring her.

Within a month, she was managing several Stark subsidiary companies, speaking at conferences, and had already physically thrown three men out of boardrooms.

Tony watched her threaten a corrupt investor once and whispered, “That’s my girl—wait no, Pepper’s girl. Same difference.”

And then there was Dani.

Technically, Danielle. Biologically fifteen. Chronologically five. Personality-wise? A feral gremlin hopped up on ghost energy and sibling issues.

She and America Chavez met at a Stark Industries youth outreach event and instantly bonded over being “multiverse anomalies with authority issues.”

Now they were best friends, terrorizing New York and the surrounding dimensions like it was a competitive sport.

“DANI GET OFF THAT DINOSAUR.”

“YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, YOU’RE NOT MY MOM.”

“AMERICA PUT THE SORCERER SUPREME DOWN.”

“HE STARTED IT.”

Stephen Strange started keeping antacids in his cape.

Meanwhile, Dani kept calling Tony “Iron Dad” and trying to hotwire the Quinjet for “ghost girl reasons.” Nobody could stop her. Nobody even tried anymore.

And then—as if the chaos weren’t enough—Dan showed up.

Danny’s alternate universe self, aged up to 21 because time travel is rude, and fused with Vlad in a Frankenstein disaster combo of trauma, rage, and nuclear hotness.

Dan was chaos incarnate.

He crashed through a multiversal rift during breakfast and immediately tried to flirt with Loki.

Loki, sipping tea in the kitchen, barely looked up. “You smell like war crimes and daddy issues.”

Dan purred, “You smell like abandonment trauma and repressed bisexuality.”

“Stop flirting with the Asgardian war criminal!” Jazz yelled from across the room.

“IT’S CALLED DIPLOMACY,” Dan yelled back.

Vlad, for his part, tried to retaliate by showing up at Stark Tower in a suit and monologuing about betrayal, destiny, and how Danny was meant to be his son/heir/lovechild/successor/whatever.

Tony tased him.

No hesitation. No words. Just taser.

Vlad hit the ground like a sack of sad midlife crisis potatoes.

“JARVIS,” Tony said cheerfully, “Put him in a cage. Have it labeled: Delusional Walmart Dracula.”

“Yes, sir.”

Later, Tony sold DALV.CO for one dollar to Pepper, who then dismantled the company in less than 72 hours and donated the parts to ghost safety research in underfunded schools.

Danny cried. “You guys are like… functional, emotionally regulated versions of the Addams family.”

Pepper patted his head. “We try.”

One day, Nick Fury called.

“I want an explanation,” Fury growled, “for why there’s a ghost child joyriding a helicarrier, a teenager that can rip holes in space-time, a clone spray painting ‘eat my ecto-butt’ on Avengers Tower, and why the hell Loki is apparently married to a fusion of two ghosts!”

Tony just sipped his drink and said, “It’s called found family, Baldy.”

Fury blinked. “What?”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

Peter, off-camera, shouted, “DANNY STOP TRYING TO PHASE THROUGH MY WALL I SAW THAT.”

“You can’t stop me, Peter!”

“YES I CAN, THIS IS A RENT-CONTROLLED BUILDING.”

“I love you too!”

And somewhere, across the infinite multiverse, Clockwork watched all of this with a sigh and a sip of tea.

He was going to need so much aspirin.

[restinslices]

Believe Me

Gwayne Hightower X Female!Reader

Word Count: 2792

Summary: Gwayne bumps into an old flame and smut ensues (from his pov)

Content Warning: Smut (so minors dni), fingering, handjob, cheating, light hair pulling, light degrading and praising, vaginal sex, public sex (I hate this but we move on😭)

Gwayne Hightower was only human, and as a show of this, he had made plenty of mistakes in his lifetime. “It is not worth the stress to beat yourself over what could have been” he'd always remind himself. “What could've been if you chose the right card, woke up earlier, listened more, aimed a little to the left, ate breakfast…”. 

The list went on and on because humans make mistakes all the time. He had vowed to himself that he would never stress over these mistakes. What good would it do? The mistake was already made. 

That's the thought process he tried to keep as he made his way inside the Sept. He was not afraid of the gods deciding to punish him for the sins he was sure he had committed, or of the building crumbling down and burying him underneath. The current war going on wasn't even on his mind. 

What was on his mind was a singular person. And as he got closer and closer to the room he knew they'd be in, the thick fog covering their face in his memories started to move to the side. 

Further. 

Further. 

His steps began to falter when he finally saw them. When he finally saw you. 

You were sitting on the bench, back to him, candles aplenty in front of you. Just as he thought about turning around and leaving, you took off your cloak and set it next to you, revealing the open back to your dress. 

You were inviting him. Discarding your defenses and showing that you were open to being around him again. Or mayhaps he was delusional. Either way, he found himself sitting on the other side of you soon enough. 

“Is that really a dress appropriate for the Sept?” he tried to joke with you as he lit a candle. If it was a different time, you would've lightly shoved him and said something like “oh fuck off” while laughing. Unfortunately, that time had been long forgotten. 

You looked over at him at once, and he wondered if for a moment you thought all this was a dream. You looked him up and down, and must've realized this was all real. “Gwayne…” how could you say his name in such a delightful way? 

The surprise from your eyes soon fell, and instead it filled with resentment. “Gwayne” you said more lifeless. “Anyone is welcome here. A common whore could come, wearing hardly any clothes and she'd be welcomed”. 

“I'm sure common whores do lots of cumming”. 

You simply rolled your eyes at him and looked in front of you. “A jest, dear friend-”

“We are not friends”. 

He had known it, but fuck did it hurt to hear. It was said so coldly and cruel, like you wanted it to sting. It definitely had, though he wouldn't show it. 

“We have not talked in some time” he said with his eyes still trained on you. How could you sit there and be so beautiful? Even with a scowl and pinched eyebrows, you looked marvelous. “When I heard my sister had summoned you here as well, I admit I was a bit surprised”. 

“Why? Alicent is in need of a friend. And I am her friend”. 

Well you really knew how to rub something in, didn't you? “I tried writing to you-”

“Years too late” 

You snapped, eyes glancing over at him. Okay, mayhaps you were right. Mayhaps he should've wrote to you sooner, but he eventually did! That had to be worth something! “Why are you here?”. 

“I thought anyone was allowed here”

“It is the gods you should be speaking to. Not I”

“It is not the gods I crave” he spoke honestly. You simply scoffed in return and looked away again, causing him to sigh. “I should have wrote to you sooner, but I did eventually. And I am here now-”

“To do your knightly duties” you said dismissively. “Not to speak with me”. 

“I can do both!” his hand found your arm and he pulled you close to him, making your legs press against each other. He could hear how your breath hitched. He could see the way your chest rose and fell as a reaction to his touch. 

His fingers inched closer to your chest. “What are you-” you began to say, but the words got caught in your throat when he wrapped his fingers around the long necklace that fell in the long V neck of your dress, right in between your breasts. 

“You've kept this?”. 

Years ago, Gwayne gifted you a necklace with a large green pendant, and while the chain was completely different, the pendant was still the same. “Did the chain break?”. 

You shook your head. “No. My husband gave me a new chain. Said gold fit better”. 

He frowned. 

Your husband. Some boring guy with brown hair, brown eyes, patches in his beard and a voice that was far too high for a man. He had no real talents or skill, besides money and luck. That's how he landed you after all. 

“It is best for both of us that you do your praying and then leave. I imagine I will not be ready to leave anytime soon”. 

The moment his hand fell from your arm, he felt cold. He forced himself to look away from you and focus on the candle in front of him. So what was he to do now? Just let you go? Go off to war and accept that he'd likely never see you again? Accept you'd hate him forever?

“No” he answered himself out loud. “No. I am to just accept that your husband messed with a gift I gave you?”. 

“I beg your pardon?” You asked in disbelief. “That is what you are focusing on? That your gift was ruined?” You scoffed again and rubbed your temples. “Selfish as always. Nevermind to ask how I feel or how I have been. No. It is just stupid jokes and being offended. Did my gift put a dent in your pocket? Here then!”. You unclipped the necklace, grabbed his hand and shoved the necklace on his palm. “Take it!”. 

His chuckle afterwards was filled with bitterness. Here he was, trying to patch things up, and you kept making it difficult. “This resentment you hold towards me is ridiculous. I took too long to write to you after your marriage, but I'm here now. And this-” he set the necklace on the table. “This is a gift I gave to you”. 

“My husband gives me plenty of gifts. I do not need anything from you”. 

As if his gifts were anything special. Probably cheap and terrible material. You deserved more than that. You deserved more than some husband that probably couldn't even make you laugh the way Gwayne had. 

“Husband this. Husband that. Does shoving him in my face excite you?”. Maybe he had no right to be angry, but he was anyway. 

“I wouldn't be able to if you vied for my hand when you had the chance!” You snapped. For once, Gwayne had no response. No witty comeback or complaint. He just watched you as you realized what you said. You huffed, grabbed your cloak and got to your feet. “Good day Gwayne”. 

You managed to make it a few feet away before he finally spoke. “I should have”. Regret had gnawed at him for years now. He let you slip away. Why? Because he wasn't sure he could be committed. Did he love you? Yes. Was he a young man that wasn't fond of becoming a husband and a father? Also yes. 

“You have to understand,” he began as he rose to his feet. “Marriage was not something I wanted at the time”. 

“And you think I did?” You asked in disbelief. “Marriage was not something I wanted either. It was forced upon me. Marriage terrified me, but I knew that if I was married to you, marriage wouldn't be that bad. You were my best friend and lover. And what did you do, Gwayne?”. He couldn't make the answer leave his lips. The words felt like they were stuck in his throat and refused to go anywhere. “You left me” you answered for him. “And once I was married, you avoided me. Then years later you decided you wanted to speak again. What were you too busy doing? Drinking and fucking whores?”. 

That made him laugh. Drinking? Maybe a little. Fucking whores? It's not like he truly wanted to. It made time pass and got an orgasm out the way, but he didn't want painted whores. He wanted you to be under him. He wanted to feel your soft skin on his fingers. He wanted to hear his name pass your sweet lips over and over again until that was all he heard. 

“I made mistakes-”

“Mistakes?!”

“I made terrible choices” he corrected. “Awful ones. But you and I both know that I have always wanted and will always want you”. Those words seem to catch you off guard, which he assumed because you didn't push him away when his hands found their way to your hips. 

His face inched closer and closer to yours until your lips just barely brushed against each other. Unbeknownst to the both of you, your hearts beat as one in that moment. Both hearts erratic but somehow managing to be erratic together. 

“I want you desperately. And I know you want me…”. 

The remaining bit of space was broken and your lips finally met. Your lips responded to each other immediately and your arms wrapped around his neck. Finally… after so long you both were able to taste each other again. 

Reality came crashing down faster than he wanted it to. 

You shoved him away, making him stumble. You breathed heavily and wiped at your lips. “Won't change what happened” he said to your displeasure. 

“You are selfish” you spoke through gritted teeth. “You are an asshole” you shoved him again. “And a liar” another shove. 

Each insult you gave was followed by shove, and instead of feeling insulted, he felt something else. 

Desire. 

That desire is what led to him grabbing you, switching your positions and pushing you onto the table where no candles were. 

Your expression was full of shock, but not disgust or fear. Good. He never wanted to frighten you. What frightened him a little bit though, was his growing erection. Something that made no sense since all you had done recently was insult him. Gods, he was way more desperate than he realized. 

“Get all your insults out” he said as his thumb traced your lower lip, “tell me how much you hate me”. 

A request you had no problem fulfilling. 

“You are a vile man. Seducing a married woman in a Sept. Is there a line you're not willing to cross?”. 

There it was. Just like that. 

He began leaving open mouth kisses down your neck, eagerly awaiting what you'd say next. 

“You are a defiler full of sin”

“I am, aren't I?”. He held you in place as he bit and sucked at a particular spot on your neck, and a small smirk formed on his face when he heard you moan in response. “It seems you enjoy my sins” he taunted. 

“I hate you. No. I despise you. Even that word can't describe how I feel for you”. 

Gwayne untied your dress strap and unbuttoned the buttons in the front, allowing him to free your breasts. 

“I loathe you”. 

“I'm sure” his words dripped in sarcasm. Loathe him yet you allow him to undress you. Loathe him, yet you allowed him to fondle your breasts, then lick and suck at one of your nipples. That's how your little game continued. You'd throw insults at him in between your gasps, and he'd lick and suck harder at each breast, showing them both proper attention. His erection pressed against his trousers, it becoming almost painful. 

You lifted your leg up in response to him twisting your nipple, and your knee brushed right against his erection. He moaned around your breast before he even realized what had happened. His own eagerness being exposed only dawned on him when he felt your palm fully press against him. 

Your other hand pulled his head back by his hair, causing a sharp but welcomed pain to burn at his roots. “I always knew you were pathetic Gwayne, but this?”, a soft breath slipped past his lips when you pressed harder against him. “You like when I insult you?”. He nodded. No point in lying. Still though, he didn't just wanna hand you all the power in your game. 

He hiked the bottom of your dress up and kept eye contact with you as his fingers pushed your undergarments to the side and made contact with your soaked cunt for the first time tonight. He watched you try to keep a stone face, but you couldn't hide the sharp inhale you did. “Seems like you've enjoyed our little game too. What does that say about you?”. 

“What does it say about you that you like being called pathetic?”. 

Gwayne chuckled. He looked you over, watching as you tried not to react to his fingers sliding in between your folds. “You're marvelous…” he said almost as if in a dream. 

You yanked on his hair again and pushed his trousers down, freeing his erection. “Is this when I say you're disgusting?” You taunted. Your hand wrapped around him and shamefully he almost came from that minor touch alone. 

“If it pleases you”. 

His middle and ring finger slowly but surely made their way inside you, all while he whispered praises in your ear. 

“You're so pretty like this”

“You're taking my fingers so well”

“Open up for me. Just like that. Good girl”. 

Your head fell on his shoulder and his fell on yours. The Sept filled with both of your noises as you both continued to pleasure each other with your hands. It was clear that that wouldn't be enough. The question was just who would bend first. 

“I've got you” he whispered before placing a gentle kiss under your ear. You lifted your head off his shoulder to meet his eyes, and while there was still lust behind them, there was clearly something more. 

Longing. 

“Do you really?” You asked. 

He answered at once, “yes. I swear to you on all the gods in every religion that I'm never leaving you again”. 

You swiped at his hands and pulled him closer to you until his tip was lined up with your entrance. “And what about my husband?”. 

Damn your husband. He'd cause an “accident” to happen if he had to. He wouldn't let a man like him keep him away from the one person who truly wanted in this whole world. “I will deal with your husband and I swear you will never be able to get rid of me. Do you believe me?”. 

He asked his question as he began to push inside you. Your answer got stuck in your throat, so instead you nodded in response. Your nod wasn't enough for him, but he'd address that later. For now, he kept whispering encouraging words to you to soothe the stretching he knew you'd feel. He kept telling you that he had you, that you were okay, that you were safe with him and always would be. 

When you finally seemed adjusted, he spoke again. “Do you believe me?”. You nodded. “Out loud”. 

“I believe you”. 

That was all he needed hear. Once he got confirmation, his lips found yours and he moved inside you. Was this an all around terrible idea? Absolutely. Was there a chance of getting caught? Yes. But neither of you could care less about that. How could that possibly be at the forefront of your minds when you were finally feeling each other in the way you both craved?

You both enjoyed each other, ultimately hitting your peaks while you were still connected, mouths swallowing each sound the other made, and foreheads pressed against each other so you could catch your breath. 

His hands cupped your face and he pressed a softer kiss to your lips. Of course there was still that sexual desire there, but he wanted more than to just fuck and be rid of you. He wanted to hold you forever. He wanted to tell you about his tales of knighthood over dinner, and hold your hand as you went on walks in the garden. 

“I swear-”

“I believe you”. 

You believed him. That was all he needed. 

For you to believe him and for you to give him another chance.

Bitch I hate this shit but I haven’t posted in awhile soooooo here we are😭😭. Also the way I forgot about that necklace-

[godjo]

✮ — ptolemaea.

you poor thing sweet, mourning lamb there’s nothing you can do it’s already been done

tags — wriothesley x afab!reader. 4k wc. yandere. noncon. non-explicit smut with allusions to oral sex (both receiving), rough sex, creampie, doggy style. minors, blank, and ageless blogs dni. 

from hunter — this is a repost. i listened religiously to ethel cain’s ptolemaea while writing this piece.  ✮

“step onto the platform, please.”

your stomach churns; what little you consumed that day threatens to spill from your mouth. there’s a continuous eddy in your mind, the headache affecting the strength of your bones. 

would you ever be prepared to face this kind of dilemma?

you have been given no chance to contemplate before the security in charge pushes the small of your back. you stagger towards the middle of the platform that will bring you down several feet underwater. as it starts to descend, you inhale whatever amount of fresh air you can, dreading that it’d probably take time before you could see the outside again. 

it’s just for a few months. all you have to do is endure your sentence, and you’ll be free. 

the air slowly turns scant the deeper you descend, as though you’re being submerged even in the absence of water. it doesn’t help that all you’ve seen so far is an endless stretch of metal, closing in on you, augmenting your anxiety. after what seems like forever, the elevator halts, hinting at your arrival, and there you struggle not to marvel at the magnificent view of the water outside. 

however, the security standing by your side tugs at your arm. another wave of nausea fills your throat with acid as the receptionist registers your information and recites the crime you’ve committed. sealing your fate as a prisoner is a quick mugshot before you’re brought to the administrative area. 

your wild eyes scan the area, noticing other newcomers lining up horizontally before a huge metallic door. they are stricken with the same anxiety as you, evident in how their throats are bobbing, their eyes burning holes in the ground.

“stand up straight. the duke is here,” the security announces as the gigantic door creaks open. 

“he’s here; we’re going to die,” the man beside you whispers in hysterics. 

his apprehension is a contagious disease, crawling to stick onto your skin, corrupting what little courage remains in your spine. 

your breath becomes strained and like everybody else, you’ve done your best to make your presence smaller. what is it about the duke that triggers this kind of paranoia?

“ah, here are the flock of lambs,” a strong voice dripping in confidence pronounces, causing the rest of the prisoners to shrink in size, as though all they’ve wanted is to disappear. “should i say ‘welcome’? or you’d rather we skip the pleasantries and go straight to business?”

looking at him now, you understand why the mere mention of his name evokes such palpable horror. he’s a man of tall stature and rough demeanor. his hair, unkempt yet strangely glossy, adds to the unnatural charm he possesses. it’s dark like a raven’s feathers, interspersed with strands of gray that somehow enhance his roguish appearance. 

he starts his scrutiny at the other end of the line, saving you for last. as he scans the prisoners, his mouth remains in a tight line, with an occasional cock of the brow or twitch of the lips. 

“and for the last one…” his tone tilts between authority and mischief, leaving no room for defiance. 

your heart hammers against your ribs, but fear holds your gaze down. mentally cursing yourself for potentially igniting the duke’s ire, you flinch when his warm fingers swiftly lift your chin. 

you suck in a sharp breath, expecting to be greeted by annoyance. what’s painted on his face is an expression you cannot quite name. his pale gray eyes are blown wide, penetrating you straight to the soul. lips slightly agape, he displays an image of someone utterly surprised. it hasn’t taken long for colors to flood his face again, delivered by his conscious recognition of the prisoners’ gawking stares. 

the duke clears his throat, summoning back his menacing aura. he motions for the nearest securities, instructing that they discuss the rules and send the prisoners to their respective bunkers. 

however, he finds your eyes again just as you’re preparing to follow the throng. 

“you. follow me,” declares the duke. 

it couldn’t have been anyone else, even though you turn around to see if he’s speaking to someone other than you. realizing the weight of the command, your heart lurches in your throat. how much anxiety can you handle for a day? and what could possibly compel him to seek a private audience with you?

behind the gargantuan doors, you find yourself yet again inside an unsettling chamber. the aged yet robust metal dominates the space, boasting the formidable reputation of the fortress of meropide. once or twice you have envisioned yourself barred in this place, courtesy of your way of living, but nothing can size up the fear of being here in flesh and bone. 

“i’m over here,” the duke echoes from above.

cut away from your reverie, you ascend the stairs upwards to the third level. the metal sculptures of three-headed wolves catch your eye, their craftsmanship a marvel, set amidst numerous bookshelves filled with various genres. in the center of the room sits a spacious table piled with papers, while another stands to your right, equally laden with documents.

“you’re probably wondering why you’re here,” he begins, reclining the back of his lower body against the table, strong arms crossed over his chest. “don’t worry, i’m not gonna hurt you. i’d merely like to ask you a few questions.”

through your parched throat, you respond, “ask away, your… your grace.”

to your surprise, the duke’s shoulders shake as his mouth echoes a merry laughter. 

“c’mon! loosen up. don’t you remember who i am?” he asks in between full-throated chuckles. “have i changed that drastically?” 

don’t you remember who i am? 

now that he’s mentioned it, there’s a wriggling part of your brain that finds him familiar. however, try as you might to fish for a particular memory involving him, you can only grasp at nothing. he remains just a figure you likely crossed paths with on a street somewhere.

“i… i can’t remember—”

he spreads his arms in glee, closing the distance between you without respect for personal space. large hands capture your shoulders, then, shaking you with undeniable enthusiasm. 

“it’s me! wriothesley! the boy from the orphanage. remember?”

memories flood your mind: blurred recollections of a boy with raven-like hair and pale gray eyes, scenes of a brawl in the yard where his fists repeatedly struck another orphan’s jaw. more images rush in: him behind bars, and you offering a piece of bread to his bloodied hands.

“wrio? is that really you?” you ask breathlessly. your hands have found their way on his shoulders, too. 

“yes, it’s me! it’s been a while, hasn’t it? how are you?” he looks like he’d seen a ghost, but there’s no trickle of terror in the planes of his face. only wonderment and utter euphoria. before you can respond, he raises a finger and dialed the nearest telephone, commanding whoever is at the end of the line to bring refreshments inside his office. 

he leads the both of you to the lone sofa before repeating his question. 

“well i… i tried to get by after the adoption,” you tell him, pursing your lips at the memory. “it wasn’t so dreadful, being in that house, but i wouldn’t claim that it had been easy. how about you?” your eyes wander at the expanse of the room. “you govern the fortress now? what even happened to you?” 

wriothesley’s lips stretch to a smile. “yeah. who would’ve thought that a rascal like me can do it, right?”

you playfully punch his shoulder. “you’ve always had that command in you, wrio. even when we were in the orphanage. you stood tall and lived by your principles. no wonder papa and mama liked you so much back then. speaking of which, do you know where they are now?” 

after your adoption, you haven’t had the ability to contact the orphanage and ask about everyone’s well-being. since you have been living by scraps, you’ve focused instead on surviving without any spare time to visit the orphanage. 

“papa and mama, huh?” an overcast went over his eyes. his words have a bite to them that you cannot decipher. when he looks back at you, there’s a cloud on his face as he mutters, “i killed them.”

the confession immediately turns your veins cold. he looks dead serious.

“what?” a nervous chuckle reverberates from you. “that’s a bad joke.”

his eyes are the most unsettling gray you have ever witnessed. 

“i know you haven’t had the best experience with your adoptive parents. none of the adopted children had. papa and mama took care of us, just so they could sell us. do you know that some of the children even died after being adopted? i did the right thing killing those fuckers,” he confesses without a trace of remorse for the gravity of what he’s done.

this is too much to take in one sitting. your head throbs again with a new intensity. perhaps it’s the years that you’ve been gone that exacerbates his revelation. you vividly recall the day you parted ways with the orphanage owner, tears in their eyes as they reluctantly let you go to your new foster parents. it was a poignant farewell, etched as your last memory of them. now you wonder, was it all a facade?

before you can bombard him with a set of questions, the arrival of refreshments completely dismisses the whole tête-à-tête. the security who’s placed the glasses on the table bestows you a questioning look; one that you would’ve missed had you the heart meet wriothesley’s gaze. through his dubious disposition, you realize how bizarre the scene might have looked like for an outsider. 

wriothesley overlooks the whole fortress, and you are a prisoner meant to serve your time. why are you drinking with the duke?

shame has found its way to settle in the pit of your stomach. you feel self-conscious about your appearance; a full day without bathing since your capture is not how you wished to present yourself to your old acquaintance. he’s climbed his way up as one of the authorities in fontaine, while you remain at the bottom of the food chain. things are not the same. 

“i should probably go to my bunker,” you voice after the security’s departure. “it doesn’t look good that you have a prisoner here.”

“nonsense,” wriothesley counters. “you’re not a stranger. and i don’t care whatever crime you’ve committed on the surface: you are my visitor here.”

you shake your head. despite the multiple stealing you’ve done until now, you still harbor a sense of dignity. it’s just as they say: you do the crime, you do the time. 

“no, wrio. i’m here as a prisoner. i’ll do whatever is required of me. it’s my punishment.” 

wriothesley sighs in defeat; an action you haven’t expected to come easily from him. 

“alright, then. you win.” he reaches for your hand and grasps. “you won’t deny me the occasional meals, though? you’re still my friend and it’s the least i could do for you.”

that marks the highlight of your first day inside the fortress. 

never in your wildest dreams could you have anticipated such a twist of fate, yet you can’t deny the comfort of seeing a familiar face in this bleak environment.

as the days of your imprisonment tick by, you’ve adapted to the routine within the prison walls. you’ve learned the importance of coupons and how to obtain them to survive. unlike most inmates who are tasked with heavy labor, you find yourself often idle. this is not due to any sloth on your part, as you’re eager to earn your keep, but it would seem as though the rest of the administrators have no job to assign you. which is peculiar in a sense that everybody has something on their hands. 

“how are you coping?” wriothesley asks during lunch. it’s one of those days when he’d summon you to eat with him. 

you fork the food on your plate, too conscious to wolf them down. the cafeteria’s open layout exposes the generous hospitality being extended to you, making you acutely aware of the conspicuous display. somehow, it gets to your skin, as though you have no more face to save. 

“everybody’s nice,” you reveal. they really are; there’s no lie in the statement. truth be told, the fortress is like a community where you work and earn a living. however, by definition, it remains a huge cage for wrongdoers like you. “but i can’t wait to go out.”

the cafeteria holds its breath when wrio’s utensils clatter against his plate. eyes turn towards your table, speculation rife that an argument is brewing. you glance around nervously, aware of the attention drawn by his prolonged silence.

“a… are you alright?” you stammer. 

“yeah,” he answers before lifting his head and displaying a smile that does not reach the eyes. “there was a weird taste in my mouth. what were you saying again?”

“oh… forget it,” you answer, wanting to dismiss the whole conversation as quickly as possible. “it’s nothing important.”

“i thought so,” he whispers without erasing his uncanny smile. 

at first, you conjectured that the source of wriothesley’s hospitality stemmed from his time at the orphanage, when he was punished for misconduct. unaware of the rules as a newcomer, and traumatized by the sudden upheaval in his life, he was quick to lash at the other kids. there had been a time that he would’ve beaten another orphan to death had no one interfered. it was only by the grace of the owners that he wasn’t kicked out.

in contrast, you had strived to keep a low profile during your orphanage days, knowing that well-behaved children stood a better chance of adoption. only once did you veer to the path of disobedience, and that had been the time when you stole bread for wriothesley. 

that first and last encounter had been brief and quickly forgotten over time, only resurfacing now upon your unexpected reunion.

you wouldn’t have expected that such a simple act of charity would help you tremendously during your life’s biggest disaster.

from the bottom of your heart, you acknowledge that life in meropide would have been harder without him. the depth of your gratitude for his companionship transcends words. and you swear by all the archons, you appreciate all that he’s done for you. 

that’s why it doesn’t make you feel good— not at all — to betray such munificence with doubt and a feeling of disquiet. 

have you gone paranoid? can you trust your guts? or are you simply unaccustomed to kindness?

but it’s not any of those things, is it? 

you wrestle with the idea that your paranoia might be justified. there’s validity in a way that your heart hasn’t been tranquil ever since the repudiation of your release. such holdup hinges on your distant aunt’s failure to communicate with the administrators of the prison. they refuse to issue your release without her signature. 

at first, you dismissed the dreadful news with masked disappointment. she lives miles away from the fortress. a little patience is all you need. yet, the absurdity gnaws at you—why should an orphaned adult still require the consent of a relative who never cared? 

for months you mingled with the rest of the prisoners without trouble. what harm could a few more days bring? and it would’ve been easy except for one thing. 

together with the anticipation of freedom there springs wriothesley’s unnatural behavior. certainly, you have been accustomed to his magnanimous nature, but not to his seemingly obsessed disposition. 

for one, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. on the night before your release, you’ve woken up just to see him inside your bunker, sitting with arms hugging his knees at the edge of your bed, head tilted downward. the pounding of your heart drowned out all other sounds, making sleep elusive and confrontation daunting. convinced he would offer an explanation in due time, you pretended that nothing happened the next day. 

how many times has he sat there, barging in your bunker unannounced while guarding your sleep? you shudder at the thought. but it’s time you put an end to your suspicions. it’s time that you go up there, in his office, and find the answers you seek. 

“i’m sorry, but as per the duke’s order, no one is allowed inside until his return,” the security standing guard outside wriothesley’s office announces. 

“i told you; i was ordered to clean his office,” you insist for what seems like the thousandth time. of course, it’s a lie. however, you are not going to pass up the opportunity of sleuthing, especially with wriothesley’s absence. 

“the answer is no. it’s a strict rule from the duke himself,” he repeats. 

you swallow the bitter reality of what you’re about to do. you have never thought of weaponizing wriothesley’s treatment of you, but he leaves you with no choice.

“so, if he comes back and finds his office in disarray, i only need to mention that a certain guard wouldn’t let me in, right?” at your words, the security blinks frantically. “do you know how much wrio favors me? or do you need proof? but i’m telling you, right now: the proof wouldn’t be as pleasant for you.”

as you stand inside the room, your eyes sweep across its vast expanse, searching without a clear idea of what evidence you seek. yet, an instinctive feeling drives you—the conviction that the reason behind the prolonged delay of your release lies hidden somewhere within these walls. relying on your years of stealth and skill as a thief, your confidence grows in your ability to navigate this risky venture unscathed.

this is a bold move, facing potential consequences, and you know better than to underestimate wriothesley.

to summon a leveled head, you breathe, in and out, while fishing for the lock pick tucked inside your back pocket. 

you waste no time climbing the stairs to his desk. all proceedings certainly go through him before anyone else. perhaps you can find your release paper, already signed, among this endless heap of legal documents.

no, if he intends to keep it, he wouldn’t have it openly displayed. though the reasons for wriothesley’s denial of your freedom elude you, instinct alone guides your courage. abandoning your sleuth, you move on to open the drawers instead. beads of sweat dots your forehead, heart refusing to calm down as the lock pick you fashioned from a scrap metal jammed into the keyhole.

there’s nothing inside but another stack of paper containing the fortress’ mundane transactions. the weight of uncertainty bears down upon you like a relentless specter, your eyes flickering towards the staircase with a mix of fear and urgency. moored by the bookshelves, you grasp a volume, its hard cover yielding warmth against your palm. pages are turned in rapid succession, driven by your inexorable desperation to find something.

it has to be here. it has to be. 

“where is it? where is it? where is it?”

quick! where else would he keep it? think, think, think! 

“found what you’re looking for?”

hearing his voice feels as though you’ve pummeled down from the steepest cliff; that your innards have been hammered to smithereens; that your heart has been taken right from your ribcage. your veins turn to ice, knees threatening to buckle beneath you. 

“w… wrio…” you frenziedly grapple for reasons; anything that’d validate your suspicious presence in his office. “i was… i was just tidying up the space.”

“for what?” his eyes roam around the room that looks rather polished before settling on the book you clutch in your hands. “i didn’t know you’re interested in gardening.”

taking a gander at the book in your hands, you force a sheepish smile upon seeing its title. a comprehensive guide in gardening across different topographies in fontaine.

“if it’s not too much to ask, i’d like to borrow this book.” you steel your facade, refusing to give him an inch. it’s futile, knowing you’re crumbling inside, wishing to vanish into thin air to evade his palpable vexation.

“you see…” wriothesley begins, licking the inside of his cheek. “as far as i can remember, i told the guards not to let anyone in.”

you open your mouth to speak, but the grievous solemnity of his demeanor stops your words.  

“what are you doing here?”

“i told you, i was just—”

“what are you doing here?”

he already knows the answer; you just have to say it. like a feeble insect trapped in a spider’s web, you see no chances of escaping. the only thing you could do is to shackle your suspicions and hope that wriothesley somehow disproves them. 

“i was wondering about my release. it has been days and i…”

“grow suspicious of me?” he finishes. “thinking that i have something to do with it?” 

each step he takes brings your back closer to the bookshelves. until he has you trapped with his overwhelming presence. he’s so close you can smell a whiff of his perfume; even that exudes his unquestionable authority. 

“i just want to know the truth,” is your helpless whisper. you feel like a little lamb caught between the sharp claws of the wolf. 

with one hand, he takes the book from your hands, eyes never leaving your face, as he places it back to where it belongs. 

“oh, you’d never like it,” he divulges. 

mustering up the courage to flee from his entrapment, the thorns in your throat intensified after putting all your might to push him away only to suffer in vain. 

“please, wrio, let me go,” you huff, fighting back tears. 

your plea goes through deaf ears. not even a sliver of interest or acknowledgment can be seen in the depths of his eyes. 

“your aunt and her whole family left fontaine before she had to sign your papers. i had my men standing guard on her house just in case she comes back, but it’d seem she’s sold the whole lot to never come back,” he discloses. 

“what?” all the remaining hope stings you like betrayal. but of course, you should’ve expected less from a relative you’ve never even met before. 

wriothesley relaxes, but his body remains as overpowering before you. 

“i know what it feels like to not have someone, that’s why i didn’t know how to tell you,” he says, each word threaded carefully as if he refuses to shatter the delicate thing in front of him any further. 

to think that you’ve doubted him despite his keen interest in your well-being is more than enough to cause you unutterable shame. 

“i’m sorry, wrio. i… i didn’t know,” you admit shamefully. 

hand on his hip, he sighs, “i just can’t understand. after everything i’ve done for you, this is what i get in return?”

panic grips you in its cruel embrace. you shake your head, reaching for him. 

“it’s not my intention to hurt nor dismiss your kindness, i swear. i just… i’ll make it up to you.”

wriothesley perks up at the statement. it’s eerily noticeable how his grim bearing changes to that of a curious one. “you’ll do anything, then?” 

what accursed territory have you placed yourself in?

“anything.”

“then, kneel,” he commands after a heartbeat. 

there are two directions where your obedience can possibly turn to, and yet both choices cause your stomach to double over. in spite of your fear, you’ve acknowledged with terror that the point of return has already been barred. your knees buckle. 

fat tears dot the corner of your eyes, like crystal jewels of insurmountable value, as he unravels himself, and you take him in your mouth. he moves at first with delicacy, as though he fears of shattering such bliss. the warm flesh of your mouth, velvet-soft around him. you’re raw from shame; he’s rawed out from pleasure. 

diabolical desire urges that he push himself deeper, further, make you gag with guilt and watch your mouth reach him to the hilt. like dust of stars, tears now cling to your lashes, as your lips harvest the seed of his gluttony. 

in rapid succession he buries himself down your throat, reaching places no one else has trespassed in. your nails carve crescent moons on his pale skin, roguish marks to prove the existence of a fight, no matter how pathetic. 

he hungers, and hungers, and hungers. until his bones ached from his greed, and pleasure carves the pinnacle of release. beneath the ache in his incessant breath, he wells inside your mouth. when all sensibility has left, he taints your tongue with rife and thick globules, begging to be swallowed. 

tenderly he holds you, like his touches can heal your rotten sinews. at the end of his fingertips, your skin burns and he sinks you deeper into his pit. this place drowns in sweltering heat, from the shame, from the pain, from the guilt. the planes of your back settle on the oak table, etching the tale of his devouring. he peels you open with every lick; a fruit he wouldn’t mind the consequences of eating.

what is this, you think, the betrayal of the body? you despair how you shiver from his tongue; how you reek of humiliation when his fingers push into your dripping flesh. fog over your head, the clouds somber, the cruel zenith warm on your stomach, exploding in shades of red. since when did pleasure and poison start tasting the same?

“on your stomach,” he whispers, eyes dilated with barbarism.

the hunger continues. another triumph, another defeat. fingernails raking the wood, another tale of wrath unheard, of innocence gone. he lodges between your legs, pushing himself through the fluttering folds, tarnishing the flesh. your throat burns but you will not scream. 

he fucks you with absolute abandon. he fucks you with an appetite of a man deprived. 

lips between your teeth, crimson trails down your chin. he wants to turn your insides into pulp; to rattle both your bones and knit them together. with increasing greed, his movement turns rabid. your eyes glossy, your tears silent, as you swallow the vile reality of fulfilling his need. 

“i’m so close,” he grunts, the sound of his voice coming from deep within. 

your silence is a rebellion against your traitorous body. shrouded with mortification, you flare around his length, and he revels at the feeling. he concedes to the tight sensation, spilling every fiber of his being inside the warmth of your flesh. there’s too much of him inside you, that he leaks like liquid ivory from the wet and abused hole, trailing languorously between your shaking legs. 

you run to the abyss, to the sweet caress of sleep, hoping that once you wake up, you’re whole again. 

wriothesley observed your countenance as you slept upon the couch, noting with curiosity the weariness etched upon your features even in repose. he gently draws the silk sheet to cover you fully, then rises from his seat. proceeding to the telephone, he summons a meal, foreseeing your imminent awakening and the hunger it will bring.

now, he proceeds to one of the bookshelves, retrieving a particular book. a comprehensive guide in gardening across different topographies in fontaine. to think that you’ve been this close to knowing the truth. 

he opens the book, flipping through its final pages until he locates the concealed folded paper. despite the creases marring its surface, the parchment appears new. unfolding it has given him a sense of relief, like an anchor to his sanity. 

it reveals the deed to your aunt’s estate, which he acquired shortly before your release. now, the elderly woman resides a great distance away, forever barred from returning.

they would be foolish to return, especially with their lives at stake.

wriothesley’s lips curl in a bitter twist. believe him when he says he never intended for you to endure the same fate as he did. yet, endure it you must, just as he once did, for he is not so benevolent as to set you free.

[awearywritersworld]

the boy spurned as evil and the girl of his youth

sukuna x reader w/c: .6k tags/warnings: angst, i'm afraid. young!sukuna. depictions of blood. ur dad's an asshole. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: please check out the lovely artwork by @demonzaemon that inspired this piece!!! i'm definitely down to write a second part about a reunion, so let me know if that would interest anyone! masterlist read part two here

thinking about sukuna at 10 years of age— he's been abandoned by his family and scorned by his village because of the strange way he looks. he has to steal stale bread during the night to survive. he has to take shelter in the ruins of an abandoned home. he has to bear the harsh elements. he has to do it all alone.

that is, until he meets a curious little girl by the riverside during the spring. he'd found an old, frayed fishing net the day prior, and while he hopes to catch something he can eat for dinner, he catches your attention instead.

and you marvel at him as if he's the most remarkable thing you've ever laid eyes on. you're poking at the harsh lines that mar his skin. you're pulling at his pink hair because you're convinced it's fake. you're counting his arms as if the extra two will eventually disappear.

he doesn't mind though. he's too caught up in the fact that someone's touching him. that he can feel the warmth of your skin against his. he can hardly believe it when you scamper off, calling over your shoulder gleefully, "i'll meet you here again tomorrow!"

after that, everything changes and he finds himself in your company more often than not. you sneak your meals out of the house each day, even though your portions are meager. you bring him a few of your blankets, even though it means you're cold at night. what he appreciates most though? the fact you look at him like he's human.

then, what is simultaneously the best and worst night of his life happens. you fall asleep beside him in the overgrown grass near the river. its early autumn by now and the stars are twinkling in the sky, so your body clings innocently to his, seeking his warmth.

he takes the opportunity to study you in the moonlight. to commit every detail of your face to memory. he considers the fact that you feel safe enough to fall asleep beside him, even when every other person in the world has deemed him evil and sinister.

eventually he's lulled to sleep by your slow and gentle breaths, but not before coming to the decision that he is yours and you are his. and while you're the only thing in the world that the young boy has to his name, he's okay with that.

then, all too soon, he's awoken by yelling and it's not a moment later that you're ripped from his arms by your father. he's screaming about how you've defiled yourself by associating with such a despicable fiend.

"no, he's my friend! he's good!" you wail, your arms stretched toward sukuna in a plea for help. "don't let him take me! please!"

and he tries. he really, really tries. he runs after your father, beating at his back in an attempt to free you, but he's just too small. his body is weak from years of malnourishment. the older man pushes him to the ground with little effort and sukuna's palms slice open upon the sharp stones protruding from the earth.

crimson spills from the wounds, but he can hardly feel it. the ache in his chest is too consuming. too agonizing. it's unfair that such a little body should house so much pain, but that seems to be the story of his relatively short life.

so as he calls out to you, his voice broken and desperate, he knows it's the last time he'll ever see you and he's forced to come to terms with the universe's cruel edict— that he deserves to spend his life alone.

[ivvyela]

imagine with me, if you will, a nwh potential fix-it involving none other than the multiverse saving duo deadpool and wolverine.

i know, i know - but please, let me cook.

wade and logan now jump across timelines to "fix" things aka travel the multiverse for funsies and deal with the consequences later and somehow end up in a universe where peter parker doesn't exist, but spider-man does. and wade, blessed with the power of "i know this for the plot", immediately knows that is bull. shit. and sure enough, they find one very depressed, very lonely, and very jaded peter parker.

after much annoyance, light stalking, and following spider-man while he's on patrol, they get peter to spill how he ended up in this situation. and after hearing everything, logan breaks the silence with a simple, yet effective: "shit, kid. that... shit."

"yeah, well... now you know, so you can, like, leave me alone."

"nope, not gonna happen." wade shakes his head and tactfully ignores logan's imploring look of what-the-fuck-are-you-getting-us-into-now "i take my job as marvel jesus very, very seriously, so frankly, this is my job to fix your sorry little life, buddy. and if flat-out telling them you exist didn't work, then - "

"oh, i actually... i never told them."

"...come again?"

"i tried to tell them, but i couldn't. so..."

"i'm sorry... your best friend and girlfriend were crying, telling you to come find them and remind them of you, and you chose not to?"

"they're happy and safe without me! i wasn't going to ruin - "

"oh my god. you sweet, self sacrificial, idiot spider-baby. okay! we can fix this! we're no tony stark, but consider us your pseudo daddies for the time being, kid. let's get you your life back."

which is how one very emotional and determined deadpool, followed by a stoic, nonchalant wolverine (who, in all honesty, probably should be completely against this, but once wade commits to something, he can't be talked out of it, and the sooner he gets his fix from this the sooner he can go home, so fuck it we ball), end up in a certain cafe, all up in a poor barista and her friend's face with a cut-out yearbook photo of some kid, yelling "LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT THIS BOY! HE'S SO LONELY! LIKE A SMALL, FORLORN, VICTORIAN CHILD! REMEMBER HIM, GODDAMMIT!"

(their efforts result in two confused and scared teens, and getting kicked out of said cafe.)

peter practically begs them to just leave him alone, that this was his choice, and he's fine with it, but both wade and logan know a lie when they hear one. they both know what being alone can do to a person, and peter is just a kid who got dealt the shittiest cards in life and at this point, it just feels wrong to leave him here without trying to do something. and maybe they both have a small soft spot for the teen, so what?

and peter knows both men can see through his broody, teenage angst front he's been putting up since the spell, and he's tried so hard to hate the two of them, get them to hate him so they would leave, but they're not budging, so really, there's no point in trying to push them away, right?

and so, he lets them in. he learns that while logan is stoic and intense and kinda terrifying, he's also someone who just wants to do the right thing for the people he cares about. he's also lost people, and he blames himself, but he's come out on the other side. he would tell peter about his daughter, laura, who wouldn't let him wallow in self pity because she is good, better than he has ever been. he never saw himself as a father, but she's still around, so he must be doing alright.

and at first hearing it would result in a pang in his chest, memories of thai food after walking into a smoke-filled kitchen, assurances that things will work out when everything feels hopeless, a tombstone that can never convey everything she was, but now... it's nice to hear that logan still had someone after losing everyone.

so, peter listens to logan's stories. in return, peter tells logan all about his mom.

and wade was brash and loud and conceded and really, really annoying, but he's... no, that's it. he's all of those things, but in a weird way, it's like all those bad qualities merge together to make him a good guy. and yeah, he can walk away at any point, he has absolutely no obligation to help peter, but he does it anyway.

("nonono, don't you dare make me some selfless hero type, kid. i know for a fact that every deadpool has a peter. i'm doing this for the me in your world."

"you're... huh?"

"bottom line, i'm a selfish bastard. i'm doing this for me, 'kay?")

peter didn't fight it. he's had experience with seemingly self-absorbed, deflecting type heroes.

wade doesn't replace him, not even close, but... still.

maybe peter will never get back what he lost. but, for the first time, peter sees a light at the end of the tunnel. that, maybe, he can stop being just spider-man, and he can start being peter parker again, too.

(and if there's a barista talking to her friend about how it's weird that two guys would show up holding a photo of an odd customer from weeks ago, demanding they remember him, and despite not knowing him she felt something, and her friend couldn't help but agree, well... that's neither here nor there.)

[kelltonic]

★Frank Castle Heacanons☆

First post on this account!! (*≧∀≦*)

A/N: Hi!! This is my first post to this account. I’ll make a rq intro to me and what my account will entail in a while, but just know it will contain a lot of Frank - probably no smut though, I can’t write it (´∀｀*). There aren’t really any warnings or notes for this post, it’s pretty self explanatory. I’ll probably write a lot of headcanon posts, so request who you’d like to see or what topic they should be on!! I’m fine with writing for most marvel characters, and overtime you’ll see what other fandoms I drift towards.

CW: A tad bit hurt but just barely. Very brief mentions of canon typical violence. Some fluff and just general headcanons - completely gender neutral for relationship hc’s (*'▽'*)

WC: 1195 Words (but you can pick and choose what you want to read)

→ Relationship Tendencies ♡

Established relationship:

- Frank is unintentionally distant at times, sometimes physically, sometimes mentally. Obviously due to the mass amount of trauma (physical and emotional) and his overall personality, he drifts. Sometimes mid conversation he’ll lose focus, borderline dissociating until he’s snapped back to reality by whoever he’s talking to. Then of course there are the times he is genuinely dissociating, going days at a time in an automatic state of survival, just repeating his daily routine while being in the back of his mind.

But then there’s you. The one thing anchoring him back down to the present. You’re one of - if not the only - constant in his life. Every time he feels himself falling back into the spiralling mess of his thoughts, he holds onto to you. Sometimes literally, every so often you’ll just feel a hand on your shoulder as you’re doing work or warm arms wrapping around your waist as you’re cooking.

However, sometimes he struggles with even the simple gesture as sitting next to you on the couch. The fact that you’re there, with him, despite all the atrocities he’s committed? It’s wrong. He stubbornly refuses to believe you really chose to be there.

Is he subconsciously threatening you into staying? Are you scared of him and just really good at masking it?

But then you hold his hand. You simply hug him. You reassure him, because by now you can tell what he’s thinking. By now you know that no matter how much distance he puts between you, you need to keep hold of him.

First meeting scenario: (Okay this may have drifted from a headcanon to a short story… but whatever)

- You were his neighbour, politely introducing yourself when you’re unlocking your door and he happens to be adding extra locks onto his door. At first glance it may seem like an odd first thing to do when you move somewhere, but it’s New York. if anything you respect the man for prioritising his safety. Despite the real reason of him not wanting any unwanted guests breaking in and discovering his extensive arsenal. But you were unaware of course, so as far as you knew he was just a cautious man - a decent first impression.

Then every so often you’d pass him in the stairwell or in the hallway, progressively building more conversation each interaction. It got to a point where you were comfortable enough to knock on his door when you realise you lost your keys and were incapable of getting into your own apartment. Even if it was still a little humiliating that you had to ask him to help you break into your own apartment. He let out a small huff that you could only slightly perceive to be a chuckle, which eased your embarrassment a small amount. This turned into the longest interaction you had with him, apologising profusely for bothering him and offering a drink in gratitude. He had to accept, he couldn’t help wanting to stay by your side for as long as you allowed him.

Over time these little hangouts where you’d get a couple drinks, complain about the tenants upstairs constantly stomping around, sometimes even have dinner together, evolved into a near daily occurrence. And from there things only progressed further.

Until he realised what was happening. And he couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow you to have a target painted on your back for affiliation.

So daily drinks progressed to weekly… to monthly… until he nearly entirely cut you off. You had no clue as to why. Why he suddenly moved away over night. why he suddenly abandoned you.

After the first month of no pick ups from the phone or text responses, you just started leaving him messages. Voicemails of what happened during your day; the good, the shitty, even the occasional odd. He became a journal for you, as you lost all expectations of him actually hearing you. He very well could’ve deleted your number, or even gotten a new phone. Maybe he was dead. You couldn’t tell, but no morgue or hospital claimed a ‘Pete Castiglioni’ or a John Doe.

Until, you heard sloppy knocking at the door. Not expecting anyone, you got up from the couch and approached the door, hearing heavy breathing and wheezing. You hesitated to open the door, frightened of the possibility of a criminal or unstable person on the other side. It was only when you heard an uncomfortably familiar voice struggle to say your name. You froze. For what felt like a lifetime, you were paralysed in shock, and maybe even slight anger. It was only when he repeated, with more volume, that you could really hear the pain in his voice.

You reached for the handle, and there he was. Covered in blood and open wounds, leaning against the doorframe while clenching his side. You were liable to slap him, but instead you stuttered out the obvious questions of “are you okay?” “What happened?”

“Why didn’t you just call back?”

A/N: You can finish that however you want, it started getting far too long for a headcanons post lol

Fluff/Little behaviours:

- When he finally gets comfortable enough with you, he gets very physically affectionate. Usually in more subtle ways, but sometimes he won’t care to give you personal space (unless you actually told him to give you some - in which he would absolutely back off). In public, he’ll range from the occasional forehead kiss to the hovering behind and holding you to his chest. He can’t help but keep you close, it’s the easiest way for him to ground himself. But also the easiest way to keep you safe.

- He’s surprisingly good at cooking (which is canon), but he makes sure you know it. He wants you to see the skills he has that aren’t violent. Aren’t bloody. Until you’re talking about his steaks.

→ Independent Habits ♪

- He’s a really slow reader. Not because he doesn’t read at all, it’s consistently portrayed that he much rather reads a book than scroll the internet or something. It’s more because when he was in the military, he wanted to enjoy the little time he had when he wasn’t doing anything. He wanted a distraction, something time consuming that would seperate him from the world and the atrocities he would commit. So, he trained himself to read slowly, helping him absorb every little detail in a book as well as minimising the amount of books he would need to have access too.

Or alternatively,

- He’s a really fast reader. When his children (mostly his daughter) would recommend books, whether they were school books or personal interests, he would have to get through them in as little free time as he had. He needed something to connect with his kids to as he spent such little time with them over long periods of time due to deployment. So he learnt to read as quickly as possible while also absorbing as much information as possible. This continued when Leo (Lieberman) would recommend books to him, such as Life of Pi. Books were just the easiest way to make conversation and discover shared interests with (his) kids.

- Sometimes after spending days consecutively not speaking, he’ll choke up when trying to say something. Even just a simple “thanks” to the shopkeeper or something comes out as a croak. It’s one of the few times he feels slightly embarrassed lately.

Post Writing:

A/N: I was planning on adding more Independent Habits but I ran out of ideas/motivation (*´-`) - I felt funny putting the fluff relationship headcanons after that little story (´-ω-`)

please fill my requests with ideas/scenarios you’d like to see!! I need prompts to thrive lmao.

Started: 6th of May, 2025

Completed: 7th of May, 2025

[artists-ally]

what about Harvey when he’s jealous? His wife is attending an event at the firm with him, she’s wearing a nice dress and one of his rivals from another firm is oggling her and she dogdes his advances gracefully, but when they get home he’s bending her on the closest surface and chanting “mine” skxmcmdks

{Put it on Me} Reader x Harvey Specter

oh BOY have I been thinking about this tehe. Also, you are my soul source of Harvey inspiration pls pls pls keep the requests coming. I have such a hard time coming up with ideas on my on so getting to create something specific really helps. Enjoy loves!!! title from this song

Word Count: 3,375

Warnings: jealousy, minor dom/sub concepts, unprotected sex, flirty banter, Harvey being a possessive mf.

~~~~~~~

As I stepped around the corner of the hallway, Harvey was leaning against the kitchen island, hands braced on the counter, gaze very much pinned on my silhouette.

“So, what do you think?” I asked, gesturing to the gown I had picked out over the weekend. “I thought the green would match well with yours.”

Harvey’s eyes melted over my frame, scanning every inch as he just stood. Watching. “You… Yn, you look breathtaking. What do you say we skip the firm announcement and just stay in?”

I laughed, the sound of my heels echoing off the walls. “As much as that sounds like a great idea, we can’t exactly snub off the announcement of a merger.”

“You just have to be the buzzkill don’t you?” Harvey smiled, planting his hands on my hips. “I should have you locked up for how good you look.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to convince a jury I’ve committed a crime, not if I bat my lashes and give them that flirty smile that sent you crawling to the floor.”

His eyes narrowed, backing me against the island in a firm spin. “Let’s not forget who can make those same lashes flutter shut, either.”

Bastard.

Harvey was dressed well– he always was. Terribly and insufferably great at finding the perfect suit. It was a three piece; the vest and jacket were black, but he wore this green tie that went with my dress. He said that since this would be the first event we attended together as a married couple, he wanted everyone to know.

Endearing, and mildly possessive.

I loved it when he was possessive.

“Okay, Maverick, let’s get to the flightdeck before we run out of fuel,” I patted his chest, grabbing my clutch and slipping in my earrings.

“Have I ever told you how much I love it when you make Top Gun references?”

“Almost as many times as you’ve told me how much you love when I’m on my knees,” I whispered in his ear before heading to the door.

Harvey landed a firm smack on my ass, sending laughter tumbling out of me before we kissed and headed down to the limo waiting for us.

I looked up and out of the window, taking in the views of the towering skyscrapers. The venu was gorgeous; all sleek marble and intricate architecture. Who knew such a place existed in New York.

When we arrived, Harvey stepped out first, taking my hand and guiding me out. I clutched his bicep as we ascended the stairs, greeting the security guard in front of the glass doors.

“Ahh, Mr. and Mrs. Specter,” the guard greeted. “Welcome. Ms. Pearson and Mr. Litt are waiting for you inside, as well as the other guests.”

Harvey gave me a nod, and I gave him one back. “Thank you, sir.”

He opened the door for us, and the inside was just as meticulously crafted as the outside. It was stunning, truly stunning. They don’t make buildings like this anymore, and that makes me a little sad.

“Yn!” Donna called out, several heads turning in our direction. “Oh my god you look amazing!”

“I couldn’t say anything less about you, Donna. You look so good, that royal blue makes your hair look so awesome,” I smiled pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And you too, Jessica. You look marvelous.”

“Thank you, Yn,” she smiled, accepting my hug. “Don’t you clean up nice, Harvey.”

He rolled his eyes, snagging a flute of champagne from a waiter on their way by. “I’ve been known to clean up every now and then.”

Conversation flowed easily between the small cluster I’ve been encompassed with. It is so nice to have such a tight knit group of people to not only call my friends, but my family. When Harvey first brought me around them, it had just been after a huge win against a firm enemy. Daniel Hardman, who I’ve come to know the full story about, had his ass handed to him. Afterwards, Harvey was far too proud to keep his mouth shut about us and insisted I needed to be a part of the celebration.

Donna was the first to meet me, and we shared one look and knew we were gonna be best friends. We made an incredible team. Especially when we teamed up against Harvey together.

Jessica was polite, but not nearly as friendly as Donna or Louis. Mike was nice, and so was Rachel, but they were too love struck, always off in their own little bubble.

Cuties.

Dinner was served just before eight and we dined, exchanging stories left and right. I got to hear about his days at the firm from their perspective, to which I get to tell them from mine. Wildly different, might I add.

The food was rich and decadent; a choice between a filet mignon or a salmon steak. I went with the filet mignon, it looked too good to pass up. Apparently everyone else agreed because our plates all looked identical when they came out.

More champagne and a belly full of great food later, Harvey and I found ourselves at the bar, ordering drinks for ourselves. Sure Harvey enjoyed the company of his co-workers, but even he needed a break from the people he saw every day. And so did I.

“If she comes back, order me an old fashioned for me my love?” Harvey said, kissing the back of my hand. “I just saw one of our investors walk in. I want to make sure he keeps investing.”

“I’ll make sure she puts in an extra cherry for you,” I winked, letting his lips fall onto mine.

“God I love you.”

With a lingering touch, he was off across the room, that classic Harvey Specter saunter to his gait. He looked so confident, so proud of all the work he had accomplished in his career. And he should be. Harvey has built an empire here in New York and has done more than earn his reputation.

It baffled me that underneath that ‘tough as nails’ attitude, was just someone who wanted to be loved and cherished as much as I had. I love Harvey, with every bit of my soul. He was so deserving of someone who truly loved him and not the amount of zeros in his bank account.

When we first met, I hadn’t known who he was, and he liked that very much. He told me he was a lawyer, a good one, but never specified which didn’t bother me really at all. It was complicated for a long while, but eventually I wore him down and he opened up. There weren’t any details of his life he didn’t share once that wall was broken down. When I met Donna for the first time, she thanked me for it. She said that I pulled that child-like behavior out of him and made him fall in love with being a lawyer all over again.

That made my heart swell with pride.

A gentle tap on my shoulder pulled me out of my memory of Harvey, and I met a pair of tempest blue eyes.

“Oh, hello,” I gave a polite smile, turning to face the man.

“Hello to you, too,” he smiled, eyes darting around my face. “I’m Travis.”

“Yn,” I said, taking his hand in mine.

“You know,” he rubbed his fingers over his chin, “Most people tend to just wear an outfit, but clearly you are going the extra mile by capturing everyone’s attention by simply sitting here.”

I hit my smile, “Well, that is kind of you to say.”

“And the earrings, they really bring the whole thing together. Did you do your hair yourself?”

“Yes,” I exclaimed, rather enthusiastically. “It looks a lot more complicated than it was. It genuinely only took me five or six minutes to do but it looks incredible, right?”

I swiveled in the bar stool, turning the back of my head to him. He blew out a low whistle and gave a light applause, “It looks amazing.”

“Are you here from the merger?” I asked, not recognizing this Tanner fellow.

“Oh, no I am merely here as a… a guest.” His eye had this glint to it when he took a sip of his clear drink. I could smell the vodka from here.

“Me too,” I said, turning my attention to the space around us. “Isn’t this place so cool? I love all the columns and pillars and- oh! Excuse me, can I get an old fashioned? With an extra cherry in it?”

“Of course,” the bartender nodded, walking away to start mixing the drink.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for whiskey kinda girl,” Travis said, resting his elbows on the counter beside me.

“Oh, I’m not it’s for-”

“Tanner.” Harvey’s voice slithered down my spine. He sounded so… so repulsed.

“Harvey,” Travis pushed to his full height. “Nice to see you here-”

“What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your name is Tanner?” I asked. Why would he lie to me?

“No, no my name is Travis. Tanner is my last name.”

“She doesn’t give a shit about what your last name is. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Woah, calm down Harvey. I’m just talking with this beautiful lady, no need to twist your panties. I was here first, you don’t get to swoop in here and steal my conversation,” Travis frowned, setting the glass down rather harshly on the counter.

“Hey Yn, isn’t that an 8 carat diamond?” Harvey stood directly behind me, sliding his fingers down my left arm, grabbing my wrist and facing it towards Travis.

“Uhh, yeah what’s going-”

“That's right, it is. Funny how I knew that, isn’t it Tanner? Well, that’s because I bought it for her. So how about you get the hell out of here and if I ever catch you trying to flirt with my wife again I will put you six feet in the fucking dirt, do you understand me?”

My eyes damn near fell out of my fucking skull. I knew Travis was being polite, or flirting I guess, but I wasn’t going to let anything come of it, of course.

Travis looked like he was going to be sick. He scurried off, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.

Harvey dropped my hand and reached around me to grab his freshly crafted drink.

“Okay, hotshot, what was that all about?”

“Do you remember that shit-show of a case that we fought a few months ago, the one that got reopened after four years?” I nodded. “Yeah, that was him. And that's the asshole who tried to have me disbarred.”

Holy shit. “Oh, fuck Harvey. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he smiled faintly. “There’s no other reason he’s here tonight other than to piss me off.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” I said, standing up and taking his face in my hands. “Would you like to passionately make out in front of all these people just to make Travis Tanner mad?”

“Yes, yes I would like that very much,” Harvey grinned, linking his arm around my wait and pressing me close before sending a shiver down my spine with the force of his lips on mine.

“That guy is an asshole,” I said, needing a moment to catch my breath. Surely that did the trick, Travis was nowhere in sight. “You shouldn’t trust anyone with two first names, it’s weird.”

Harvey bellowed out a laugh, nodding his head over his shoulder. I could tell he wanted to leave, but I wouldn’t let him slink off without saying proper goodbyes to everyone that was worth an explanation as to where we fled to.

Donna didn’t need to see us leave, because I had a text on my phone with a bunch of eggplant and peace emoji’s with an accompanying message that said ‘GONNA BE SOME GOOD D TONIGHT GIRL’. She must’ve seen the whole interaction between Travis, Harvey and I.

All I sent back was a winky face.

By the time we got off the elevator, Harvey couldn’t keep his hands off of me. Not that I wanted him to, but we hadn’t even made it outside before his tongue was sweeping inside my mouth.

We pressed to the front door while jammed in the key, effortlessly unlocking it like he had done it a thousand times before. We crashed through, and Harvey wasted no time pinning me to the door.

“Mmm Harvey,” I whined into his mouth.

“Yes, pretty girl?” God damn did I love when he calls me that. “What do you need?”

“You, just you,” I looked at him through my lashes, watching that evil smirk wash over his features. Nothing could have stopped his hand clamping around my throat, pulling me off the door and into the kitchen. He hoisted me up onto the island and began to strip.

Harvey tossed his jacket onto the counter behind him, the tie was next. He made it painfully slow, doing nothing to hide his intentions of making it agonizing for me. I rolled my eyes, hands finding the buttons on his vest, flinging it over my shoulder.

“Needy,” he gripped my chin, crushing his mouth with mine. For a few minutes, or hours, we drank each other in. Restless hands and desperate pleas of need. Silk wrapped around my wrists, tight and commanding. I looked down and saw his tie around them, knotted in a figure eight and yanked until it burned.

“Harvey-”

“You’re mine. All. Mine. No one else has the right to do so much as think otherwise.” My core rippled with heat, eyes lulling shut at his words. “Aww, you like hearing that, don’t you? That I get to see you like this? All tied up? Such a pretty girl, Yn. I bet you’re such a mess for me already.”

He grabbed the fabric around my wrists and pulled me off the counter, flipping me over and forcing me to bend over. Harvey fisted up the hem of my skirt, quite literally tearing my thong off my hips.

I went to yell at him, but his finger dragged between my legs, and my spine shivered. “Fuck, Harvey…”

“You are a mess for me,” I could hear the possession in his voice. “Mmm, and you taste so sweet, Yn.”

I heard his fly unzip, the clang of his belt following after. My toes barely touched the ground as my forearms pressed against my ribs. I tried to scramble up a little so my hips fit with the edge of the counter, but Harvey just gripped the back of my hair and pulled me up.

He clicked his tongue, “Oh Yn, such a pretty thing you are. And I am going to have my way with you, and you’re gonna scream my name for the whole city to hear.”

I clenched my thighs together, pressing my forehead against the cool surface, though it quickly warmed with my breathing and panting. I felt the tip of his cock press against me, and his hips slowly met mine.

He pushed me further onto the counter, thankfully letting go of my hair before he pulled out.

Harvey’s hands on my hips were brutal; bruising my skin, commanding, feverish as they roamed my ass and thighs. Clawing marks.

“God Yn…” he sighed out, thrusting all the way back in, pulling my hips all the way flush with his. “Fuck you are so warm. So perfect for my cock.”

“Please,” I begged, wiggling my ass to entice him further.

“Please what, pretty girl? Come one, use your words.”

I shuddered around him, and he laughed at me. A cruel, wicked laugh as he stuffed himself further.

“Harder, I want- need it harder.”

“That’s my girl,” Harvey landed his palm on my ass, undoubtedly turning it bright red as he did it again. With one snap of his hips, and I knew I was gonna be ripped apart.

I didn’t know that much about Travis Tanner, but judging by the way this was going, Harvey really fucking hated the guy. If Harvey had any other enemies, maybe I should let them all flirt with me if it has the chance of turning into this.

My chest rammed across the counter, my thighs and pelvic bone rocking into the side of the island. It hurt, fuck did it hurt, but it made it so much better. Harvey’s brutal pace had him panting and groaning, cursing under his breath while he fisted his hand back in my hair.

I craned up, back aching with the force of his unyielding grip. It was hard to breathe, in the most soul fluttering way possible. It was such a euphoric feeling to be under his complete control.

“Yeah, you love this, don’t you? Being completely at my mercy? Submitting to my every decision?”

“Yes Harvey,” I whimpered. Full on whimpered. “Fuck-”

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl, let it all out for me to hear.”

He threw my head down, hair swinging around my shoulders and falling in my face. I let my head go limp, moans pouring out of my mouth. His hips slammed into mine, brutal and ruthless. Every inch of my body was on fire, veins pumping blood widely through my limbs, making them tingle. My toes curled, knees knocking into the wood paneling over and over and over.

I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t say anything, to get him to slow his pace. I writhed and cried out his name. I could hear it echo off the walls, and I knew our neighbors would be taping a complaint to our door by the morning.

“Fuck, baby, gonna cum,” he threw his head back, hips stuttering as he held on to my waist. “Fuck, Yn you are so fucking messy for me. Gonna fill you up.”

I squirmed when his finger brushed against my clit, chills spreading all down my arms and back. I felt tears prick my eyes. I hadn’t even realized how close I actually was to my release, and it slammed into me without any hint of a warning.

“Yeah, that's it, pretty girl. Cum on my cock,” Harvey’s voice was like a sin. Pure, raw, unfiltered sin.

His fingers circled and circled around, lighting my body and dragging out the waves of pleasure that rolled through me.

Harvey let out a string of curses, and his hips stilled. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me down onto him, hips ramming in once-twice-three-four times before he stilled. He bent over me, heaving for a breath against the middle of my back.

I called his name several times, unable to keep still. My hands were going numb from the bindings, and my knees and hips ached.

With a big inhale, Harvey lifted off my body. His hands trailed all the way down my back to my exposed ass, pulling it apart. “Well, would you look at that. So messy, full of me…”

My pussy clenched around him, and I felt his release slide down the inside of my thigh. His finger dragged his back up and speared it into my skin.

“That’s right, pretty girl, you’re all mine, aren’t you? Say it.”

“I’m yours Harvey, all yours,” I plead, wallowing in the feeling of pure bliss. His hands were much more gentle this time around when he lowered me back to the ground.

That mouth of his most certainly wasn’t. Harvey forced his tongue in, practically shoving it down my throat. I choked, and he grinned like the devil.

“Yeah, that’s right, Yn. You’re all mine. All fucking mine.”

I stared up at him in a starry daze. My head was foggy, and my legs were weak. “God do I love it when you get like this.”

Harvey’s hand caressed my cheek, thumb sweeping under my eye to where I’m sure my makeup was smudged.

“And god do I love it when you let me worship you, fucking you exactly like you deserve to be. No one else could ever fuck you as good as I can. Right, pretty girl?”

I grinned, equally as devilish as him, “Right, Harvey.”

~~~~~

Reader's dress

Harvey's suit