#jett's writing

[morallyinept]

Veneration - A Frankie Morales x Deaf F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Living in a world with no sound, you meet an incredible man who is able to communicate with you on a deeper level, transcending spoken words.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Deaf F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair. Reader is deaf and only has one functional ear.)

Word Count: 6.6k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Triggers & Warnings: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral M & F receiving/fingering/Reader is deaf and only has one functional ear/mentions of scars/alcohol consumption/burly men fighting in a ring for sport.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The sultry night air of the Floridian dusk hangs swampy over the bustling streets, thick with the scent of saltwater and sunscreen as you and your rag-tag bunch of friends amble your way towards the local arena. 

The palm-fringed boulevards are slowly dyed in pastel pinks and golden hues from the setting sun as you navigate through the gritty streets and wayward bodies, their conversations echoing off the walls around you like shards of shattered glass.

Each fragment carries a piece of the shrapnel cacophony that threatens to pierce through the fragile barrier of your senses. The discordant strains of country music from a nearby honky-tonk drifts through the crackled air as you pass, their twangy melodies a familiar backdrop to the rhythm of everyday life in Fort Walton Beach.

You catch jarred snippets of conversation as you struggle to keep pace, the incessant buzzing in your ear like a droning hornet where your aid is kicking up a stink; the constant hum of static and feedback grates on your nerves like sandpaper rubbed furiously against your ear canal.

It’s been doing this for a while and you really should get a new one, chastising yourself for your put off till tomorrow mantra. The aid emits a disconcerting array of noises as it’s been slowly malfunctioning, enduring weeks of pitchy screeches and low humming din.

It started with a subtle crackling, like the static of a radio searching for a signal between undecided stations. Then accompanied by intermittent bursts of high-pitched metallic screams, akin to feedback from a microphone placed too close to a speaker.

Occasionally, you’ll hear distorted fuzzes of conversation or ambient sounds either unbearably loud, or warped and muffled as if heard underwater. These fragmented noises only add to your frustration, teasing you with glimpses of the auditory world that lies just beyond your reach without your trusty hearing aid.

As the malfunction worsens, the noises grow more erratic and pronounced, escalating into a chaotic riot of glitches and distortions. It’s as if your hearing aid is rebelling like a stroppy teenager and plunging you into a whirlwind of loud and jarring sounds that make you physically jump.

You wince as the noise grows louder, accompanied by unpredictable bursts of high-pitched squeals that bore into your skull down to the frayed nerves of your teeth.

"Is everything okay?" One of your friends asks, concern evident in their hazy voice as they throw you a glance over their shoulder. 

Or at least you assume that’s what they say, on the account of the incessant squealing going on inside your only ear canal. 

You force a smile, trying to push aside the discomfort. "Just a little pitchy," you reply, using your hands to convey the words as you sound them out, barely able to hear your voice and hoping to downplay the severity of the situation. 

But if anything you’re expecting it to get worse, especially in the arena. The prospect of navigating the crowds in there with your errant device fills you with frenetic dread. 

You would’ve preferred to have been sequestered away this evening, curled around a book and a nice glass of wine, slobbing it out in comfy sweats. Instead your friends have rail-roaded you into an impromptu night out, snatching up tickets to an MMA fight. Something you have no interest in whatsoever.

However the constant peer pressure in the group chat had forced you - seemingly at gunpoint - to embark on this manic adventure into uncharted territory of brawny muscle and sweat.  

It's going to be so much fun! They’d exclaimed, their eyes shining with anticipation, and you feigned an enthused nod back when they’d picked you up.

They’re not bad people, you love that they want to include you so much, even if it can be mildly suffocating at times. But occasionally, your friends can make assumptions about your abilities that leave you feeling frustrated and misunderstood. 

Born with only one functional ear, you’ve never known the stereo sound that most people take for granted. Instead, you navigate the world with one - the other not formed in the womb and blessing you with a little fleshy nubbin in place of a full ear, that your mom still to this day calls cute, even though you’re a fully grown ass woman - and relying on your other senses to fill the void left by your deafness.

Why don't you just turn up your hearing aid? They’ll ask, not realising that your device can't "fix" your deafness entirely, or that it often struggles to filter out loud background noise. There’s no happy medium - you either hear far too much or not enough with it. 

You strain to follow their conversations amidst the cacophony of voices and background sounds bleeding in at the best of times. But despite your efforts, you’re often struggling to keep up, and it creates a sense of frustration building inside you.

Your friends can often forget to speak clearly, or to face you directly when speaking, making it difficult for you to follow along if you can't lip read. And though you know that your scatterbrain chums love you dearly, there are moments when their lack of awareness about accessibility leaves you feeling isolated and unseen. 

Despite these challenges, you cherish your friendships deeply. You know that their intentions are always rooted in love and kindness, even if they sometimes fall short of understanding the unique experiences and needs associated with your deafness.

And venues with loud noises are probably the worst places they drag you to. 

You know all too well the challenges that await you in environments like nightclubs - throbbing music, flashing lights, and crowded dance floors - all of which threaten to overload your already strained senses. More often than not, you go along anyway despite your reservations, not wanting to dampen their spirits or, more importantly, feel left out.

But moments like those are a stark reminder of the invisible barriers you face as someone living with hearing loss. Trying to steer the world around you, there are times when the overwhelming sensory input threatens to engulf you entirely, leaving you feeling alone in a crowd of well-meaning friends.

Your journey with hearing loss hasn't just impacted your friendships - it’s also left its mark on your romantic encounters. Over the years, you’ve experienced your fair share of heartaches as you've traversed the complexities of love and intimacy. Encountered many partners who struggled to understand the daily realities of living with hearing loss. Some were well-meaning but clueless, their attempts at communication often falling flat as they failed to grasp the nuances of your unique experiences.

Others were less understanding, their impatience and frustration bubbling to the surface whenever you struggled to hear or communicate effectively. And you’d endured countless arguments and misunderstandings, your self-esteem taking a hit with each passing day as you wondered if you’d ever find someone who truly accepted you for who you are.

But despite the setbacks and disappointments, you refuse to give up hope. The right person will come along. At some point. 

As you reach the entrance to the moderately local and small arena, your patience reaches its breaking point as a loud, shrill screech rips through your ear making you audibly grumble.  

Crowds of enthusiastic spectators, dressed in an array of attire, ranging from casual jeans to flashy sequined dresses, stream towards the entrance, their excitement palpable in the air. Inside, the atmosphere crackles with anticipation and mingles with the faint scent of sweat and spilled beer.

The walls are adorned with posters advertising past events, their colours faded with age, but their messages still bold and enticing. The floor is scuffed and worn from years of use and mildly sticky under the soles of your sneakers.   

At the centre of it all stands the ring, bathed in a chalky spotlight that illuminates the weathered canvas like a stage awaiting its performers. Despite its moderate size, the arena is filled to the brim with eager fight fans, their voices rising in anticipation as they await the evening's main grapple event. 

Your friends scatter, some heading for the bar, others pulling you with them further into the crowd as it grows. As the arena lights dim, casting shadows across the sea of faces around you, two fighters emerge from opposite corners of the ring, their presence commanding attention.

And it’s at this moment your aid decides to completely flip out as you clutch your head in searing pain. 

With little choice and a swift motion, you reach in and pluck the offending device from your ear, relief flooding through you as the noise abruptly ceases. In the absence of the chaotic glitches and distortions, your ear strains to detect even the faintest whisper of sound.

The world around you seems to lose its shape and form, dissolving into a hazy blur of muted colours and indistinct shapes. The perpetual silence that now greets you is jarring and disorienting, encountering a profound emptiness, a void where once there had been a relentless assault on your senses, now reduced to a fuzzed quiet.

Despite the presence of people milling about around you, you suddenly feel utterly alone, trapped in a silent prison of your own making.

With each passing moment, your perception of the world shifts, shrinking away from you almost, your other senses recalibrating to the newfound peace that envelops you.

Your friend nudges you and points to the ring, mouthing words at you that you can’t read from their lips in the dark shadows, or hear. So you shrug and point to your broken aid in your fingers, and they pout sympathetically at you, turning their gaze back to the ring, leaving you somewhat bereft. 

With little else to do, you watch the fight full of disdain. The first fighter, a towering figure with muscles rippling beneath his skin, exudes confidence with every step.

His jaw is set in determination, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on his opponent and honey hair slicked back. Your friend nudges you again, silently giggling and you assume it’s because she thinks he’s attractive and you roll your eyes with a lazy smirk. 

With lightning-fast reflexes, the fighter launches himself forward, unleashing a flurry of punches aimed at his opponent's defences. His fists move like pistons, each strike packed with raw power and precision and it makes you wince. 

The atmosphere reaches a fever pitch, the crowd erupting into silent cheers and applause around you with each punch exchanged between the combatants.

You find yourself swept up in the spectacle, eyes fixed on the action unfolding before you and imagining how bad those punches must sound. You can feel the energy of the crowd pulsating through you, a primal rhythm that resonates on a visceral level as you glance about at focused faces pulled back into enthusiastic snarls and fists pumping the air.

You reach for your purse slung across your shoulder, intending to stow the broken hearing aid away until you can have it replaced.

But just as you’re about to tuck it safely inside, a sudden jolt sends you stumbling forward, your fingers losing their grip on the fragile device.

Time seems to slow as you watch in horror as the hearing aid slips from your grasp, tumbling down into a dark sea of denim clad legs.

No!

Desperately, you reach out to grab the falling device, but it’s too late. Your hearing aid lands on the hard floor, disappearing amidst the crowd of stamping spectators.

Heart pounding, you push your way through, frantically searching for any sign of it. But amidst the chaos and darkness of the arena, it’s impossible to spot.

You turn to get your friends' attention but they're not there, realising you’ve been swept further into the crowd and closer to the ring as it surges. You can’t spot their faces so obviously and it starts to panic you.

Fighting your way through towards a gap, you feel a soft tap on your shoulder and turn abruptly to see a man standing before you.

He’s holding out the broken aid in what seems to be a gigantic palm, with a sympathetic expression.

The silence suddenly becomes deafening, save for the gentle thudding felt in your chest. 

With rugged tan features softened by a warm smile, his face is lined with bronzed skin and a dusting of stubble across his jawline that’s greying in patches.

A well-groomed moustache adorns his upper lip. Beneath a worn, navy baseball cap, tufts of brown curls peek out, framing his face in a halo of unruly waves.

His eyes, a piercing dark brown, sparkle with a hint of mischief behind the steely gaze. 

With a mixture of relief and trepidation, you accept the aid, your fingers trembling as you inspect the damage. The casing is cracked, the delicate components exposed to the harsh arena lights as they strobe.

Before you can try to communicate your thanks, the man’s hands move with a fluid grace as he offers his assistance. 

“Are you okay?” He signs to you, his eyes full of concern.

You raise your eyebrows back with a stunned look. With a shaky smile and nodding, you sign back, “thank you.”

The man's eyes remain fixed on you as you finally tuck the aid into your purse for safekeeping and then sigh in defeat, noting his expression is one of genuine concern. 

He signs again, his hands moving with confidence through the air. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

You keep his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "I don't think so." You sign back, your hands moving hesitantly as you try to convey your frustration. "It's broken."

"I'm sorry it got damaged." He signs.

Despite your immense disappointment, you can't help but feel a sense of warmth towards the stranger who’s come to your assistance. 

"Thank you for finding it, I really appreciate it," you sign, your hands moving with more confidence.

A smile tugs at the corners of the man's lips as he signs back. "Of course. I'm glad I could." His eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief as he adds, "can I buy you a drink to make up for the disappointment at least?"

Your heart skips a beat at the unexpected offer. You hesitate for a moment, throwing a glance over your shoulder for one last look for your friends, before nodding, a shy smile playing at your lips. 

"Sure. I'd like that," your hands betray your nervousness as they dance through the air.

He leads you through the crowd, throwing a smile back over his shoulder as you follow him to the bar.  

“Do you drink beer?” He asks with his fingers shaping into words. 

“A beer would be great.” You nod. 

You watch as he leans in over the bar to the tender and fishes his wallet out from his back pocket. Your eyes take to wandering over his broad frame swathed in a mustard corded jacket and long legs in scuffed denim. He offers you a red plastic cup and you thank him.

“Are you deaf, too?” You tentatively ask him.

He shakes his head and his expression softens as he responds, “I learned ASL in the military.”

“Oh, the army?”

“Yeah. Or I was. Retired now.” 

You smile. “Were you based at Eglin?”

“Yeah, sometimes. More away than at home though.” He nods over to the ring as the two guys are still going at it and signs some more. "Are you enjoying the fight?"

“My friends dragged me out. It’s not really my thing.” You sign with a crooked chuckle. 

He nods, smiling. “Yeah, me either. My friend is in the fight. The one in blue. His brother coaches him, we were all in the army together. Show of camaraderie, I guess. I dunno, I’ve seen enough violence.” He shrugs and then sips his beer.

His eyes dart towards the ring and then back at you where he smiles again. You can feel yourself warming all over, captivated by the man before you, drawn to the quiet strength and undeniable charisma that seems to emanate from every fibre of his being. 

He exudes an effortless coolness that belies his military background, while his easy demeanour suggests a man comfortable in his own skin.

But it’s his smile that truly sets him apart, a crooked grin that lights up his face as you both peep and gaze curiously at one another. There's a sincerity to his expression that draws you in, a sense of kindness around a prominent hooked nose, and compassion that transcends the rugged exterior.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, my name’s Francisco.” He signs.

“Nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself back and he smiles at your name. 

“My friends call me Frankie. Or Catfish.” He spells out with thick fingers. 

“Catfish? Do I even want to know?” You query.

“Callsign, mostly.” He smirks with glittery eyes. “Do you have anyone that can fix your aid?”

You shrug. “I’ve been meaning to get a new one. Might finally force me to now.” 

He nods as he sups at his beer, wet pink lips shining at you as he licks foam from them. 

Your breath catches in your throat, coming in shallow gasps as you struggle to compose yourself in the presence of this captivating man who won’t stop looking at you.

“Will your friends be missing you?” You enquire, swallowing through a dry throat no matter how much cool beer you gulp down. 

He shakes his head, reaching an arm up to scratch idly at the back of it as he repositions his cap.

“No. Too busy with Benny.” He nods over to the ring. “Will yours be missing you?”

“Probably not.” you sign dismally, aware that you can see them now in the crowd and they're all enthralled in the fight, completely unaware you’re missing. 

“Good. Then we can have another drink together.” Frankie signs smiling, and you nod eagerly, feeling dizzy with tingly anticipation.

As the fights unfold in the ring, you and Frankie find yourselves drawn together for most of the night at the bar, engaged in silent conversation and signing with an ease that colours your recent acquaintance vividly.

With each swift and confident exchange, you delve deeper into your experience of navigating a world you can’t hear most of the time.

You learn that Frankie is completely fluent in American Sign Language, due to his time in a division in the army he calls Delta Force, explaining it was crucial for missions where he had to be completely silent, while Frankie discovers that you’ve been deaf since birth.

You talk about music and favourite bands, leaning into the commonality of being Fleetwood Mac aficionados. You both love dogs and loathe cats, and he doesn’t have children, but has a nephew he adores like his own, and shows you a goofy picture of the two of them pulling faces as his phone lock screen. 

Despite the intensity of the fight unfolding before you, you’re both immersed in your own shared bubble, the fluid movements of your hands and smiles a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd around you both.

And you find that neither of you can stop smiling at one another. When Frankie smiles at you, it's like a burst of warmth illuminating the dimly lit arena like a solar flare. His eyes, alight with genuine kindness, crinkle at the corners into layered crow’s feet as his lips curve into a gentle, yet enticing arc.

And you feel a connection blooming between you as you discover common ground, unlike any you’ve experienced before. He makes you laugh, you feel it from the depths of your belly as it vibrates at the back of your throat.

He winks as he smirks at you, his dark chocolaty eyes linger on yours over the rim of his red plastic cup, that seems so tiny in his giant hands. He’s felt gently on your lower back, palm guiding you in closer to him to avoid getting knocked into by over-zealous patrons, and he smells so amazing up close.

The enticing scent of cloves and leather, like stepping into a well worn, yet loved jacket. Something spicy lingers under it, tickling your nose with its warm sweetness. 

Your friends eventually find you at the bar as the lights come up a little later, and one realises you haven't got your aid in when you sign to greet them. 

“Are you ready to leave?” They sign back to you and you turn towards Frankie hesitantly to say your farewell. 

“Actually, if you want, we could go get a bite to eat? I could drop you home later?” He suggests to you with adept hands, much to your friends’ surprise as they observe the both of you communicating in ASL quickly and confidently. 

Smiling, and wanting nothing more than to spend more time with him too, you nod at him before turning to your friends.

“I’m gonna stay with Frankie for a bit. You guys go on ahead. Talk to you later.” You sign to them. 

“Get it, girl.” One of them mouths and you smirk, hoping he doesn’t lip read too. 

Together, you both decide to head to a nearby burger joint, drawn in by the promise of hearty comfort food and casual ambiance.

And Frankie reaches for your hand, entwining your fingers in his through the crowds as the arena empties, and doesn’t actually let go until you’re sliding into the booth opposite him in the diner.

Your pulse quickens beneath your skin, thrumming in time with the rapid beat of your heart as you find yourself drawn inexorably closer to the explicitly gorgeous man before you.

Finding a cosy setting near the window, you both settle in, your silent conversation flowing effortlessly as you peruse the menu; the scent of sizzling beef and toasted buns wafting through the air.

Your mouth waters at the thought of sinking your teeth into a juicy burger piled high with all the fixings, while Frankie's eyes light up at the prospect of indulging in some chilli cheese fries on the side to share.

As Frankie places the order with the waitress, you find yourself feeling more relaxed and at ease than you have in a long time. There's something comforting about the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with a new friend, the warmth of your connection filling the air alongside the aroma of freshly cooked cow.

His easy laughter and genuine warmth, coupled with the ability to engage with you confidently in ASL, makes him seem like the perfect companion, someone who understands you in a way that few others do. 

He’s insanely attractive too, older and wiser, the grey in his beard indicating he might be in his mid-forties, a small swell of his tummy overhangs his jeans straining against the grey t-shirt underneath, as he sits back in the booth regarding you with a smile as you sign and share jokes. And he's so broad that it makes your insides clench each time your eyes skim over his shoulders.

But then you can't help but feel a flicker of self-consciousness creep in when he gently asks about your ear. A little nubbin of stumped skin revealed as you brush your hair past it, realising that you’ve forgotten all about it - so caught up in the connection you share that it no longer seems to matter.

But it's a part of yourself that you’ve spent years trying to hide, tucking it away beneath the layers of your hair like a secret you’re ashamed to reveal.

You brace yourself for his reaction, half-expecting a look of pity or discomfort to cross his face. But instead, you’re met with a warm smile and a gentle touch as he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair away.

Frankie signs with a tender reassurance. "You don't have to hide it from me. I think you’re beautiful."

You smile, feeling incredibly heated as you reach for your drink. 

"You know," he signs, "I used to be a little self-conscious about something too."

Curiosity flickers in your eyes as you watch him sign. "Really?" You respond.

"Yeah. I was serving in the army," he begins, his gaze somewhat distant as he recalls the memories. "There was an explosion. I was lucky to survive, but I was pretty messed up. Ended up with horrific scarring from the burns. Had to have a skin graft.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the gravity of his words. You can't imagine the horrors he must have endured, the pain and suffering etched into every line of his tired, yet striking, face.

And yet, there's a strength and resilience in Frankie that you find utterly captivating - a bravery that shines through in the way he holds himself, despite the scars he carries, even if they’re not outwardly obvious.

"You're a hero," you sign, your hands trembling slightly with emotion. "Thank you for your service, soldier."

“Actually, it’s captain.” He simply salutes at you, fingers brushing the rim of his cap with a buoyant smirk and then a little wink as the waitress puts down your plates in front of you both.

“Captain Catfish.” You salute back, chuckling. 

You watch Frankie take a big bite of his burger, and your laughter suddenly bubbles up from deep within your chest. It's not his charming smile or his witty banter that elicits this sudden burst of amusement - it's the way he eats his pickle.

With a playful twinkle in his eye, Frankie takes a dramatic bite of the pickle, exaggerating the crunch with an over-the-top flourish. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he chews, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

You can't help but laugh at the sight, your heart swelling with affection for this man who seems to delight in the simple pleasures of life. In that moment, watching him enjoy his pickle with such gusto, you feel yourself falling hard for him already. 

“What?” He mouths with a curious grin. 

“I can’t stand pickles.” You wrinkle your nose after sticking your tongue out in mock disgust, as he wipes his furry lips with a napkin.

“Oh, shit…” he signs. You watch his smile dip and you query as to what’s wrong with that statement. 

“Well,” Frankie signs with deeply intense eyes, “if I taste of pickles, it means you won’t enjoy it when I kiss you.” 

You baulk. “You… want to kiss me?” 

He nods with a gleam. “I mean, I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you.”

You put your half-eaten burger down on your plate, completely stunned and feeling even more hot. Suddenly stifling inside the diner. 

His casual declaration sends a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins, mingled with a hint of nervousness that quickens your breath and sets your pulse racing again.

There's a magnetic pull between you, a chemistry that you can't ignore. You can't shun the way your skin prickles, all the way down your spine, how you’re squeezing your thighs together under the table so much that it throbs and feels delicious at the thought of him in between them.

You can’t deny that you haven't thought about kissing him yourself all night as your eyes drop to his lips as he licks them free of salt and ketchup.

You want to know what he’ll taste like, how that moustache will feel against your lips, how his scruff will feel between your thighs.

How gentle he’ll kiss you, how hard he’ll fuck you… 

You sense he’s thinking the same thing because Frankie plops his burger down on his plate too and suggests getting out of here, to which you’re only too eager to agree. 

And outside, Frankie makes good on his word about kissing you as he pulls you back gently by the elbow, cups your face in his giant hands and presses his lips to yours. 

The taste of each other is a sweet and heady blend of anticipation and desire. You taste the faint remnants of the burgers, mixed with the tang of Frankie's salty breath from the pickle, and the subtle hint of his cologne.

It's a delicious concoction that fills your senses, leaving you craving more and melding yourself to him with every passing moment.

Frankie's gentle touch traces patterns along your spine, the warmth of his skin pressing against you as he envelops you closer to him; his wet and explorative tongue circling around your own and your toes buzzing as you stand on tiptoes to reach him. 

Pulling away, and smirking, he signs if you want to go back to his place or to yours. You suggest yours, more for your own comfort and he agrees, taking your hand and leading you back to his Pickup. 

Once inside your home, it’s a frantic tug of removing clothes in between hot, wet kisses and tangles of trembling limbs. Your hands trail over his smooth, bronzed skin, card through his curls after knocking his cap off, and his own hands squeeze your hips and ass greedily. 

“You okay? Is this too fast?” Frankie signs, eyes dilated and lips plushly swollen from bruising kisses. 

You shake your head and signal that you want to continue. That you want him here. That you just want him inside of you.

You barely make it up the stairs, stopping as you both fumble and tug at clothes and grope hot flesh. Crashing on the bed, you watch breathlessly as he pulls your jeans and panties off, kissing up the insides of your thighs.

Propped up in the pillows, you watch him keenly between your legs as he slowly makes out with your skin.

Kissing and mouthing over your thighs as he pushes them up and apart, opening you up for him. Running his nose around and inhaling over your mound as his eyes flick up to you, dark and chasm-like as he smirks insidiously.

Frankie looks up at you as his tongue glides slowly through your folds, big brown eyes glazed darkly as your fingers twist inside his messy curls. Adept wet tongue rolling softly, but purposefully, over the throbbing nub of your clit, and you gasp as your legs shake on his broad shoulders, a jolt of electricity speeding through them. 

“You taste so good,” he signs with his fingers quickly before nuzzling his nose against your pussy again. 

His grip around your thighs tighten as he delves deeper, tongue dipping into your hole and sliding all the way up to your clit. 

You sigh out, head lolling back as your body shudders. He sucks intensely, lips vacuumed around it as you can feel his tongue gliding back and forth over it in his mouth. 

You pull tighter on his hair, panting and feeling the coil tighten and pull inside your core.

He looks up at you again as his middle finger slides into you with ease, you’re soaked. He nods at you with a raised brow and mouths “good?” around shiny lips.

You nod with a breathy smile and gasp as he slides in another, using his fingers to pry you open so he can stroke and fuck whilst he licks and sucks.

You moan out as he pumps and licks at your pussy, bringing you to a giddy and twinkly orgasm as you shake and buck, pulling tighter on his curls. Your thighs thrum around his head, and he watches you whilst latched to your cunt, spilling warm slick into his mouth.

You tug his chin towards you, soft scruff soaked, devouring his mouth with yours as you whine and taste yourself around his lips.

You reach for his belt before he pulls away, leaving you chasing the ghost of his kiss as he stands.

Shucking his jeans off your eyes fall onto the large cluster of scars that adorn the left side of his hip, thigh and lower leg. Puckered white slashes that mar his tanned flesh, and he smiles softly at you as you reach out to stroke over them.

Faded, craggy lines in his skin as he strokes through your hair and his thumb brushes back and forth against your little nubbin for an ear.

"Beautiful," he mouths at you with soft eyes as the feel of it makes your skin tingle.

Glancing up at him, he’s biting his lip; eyes dark like oil as he guides your hand across his hip to the thick cock tenting in his boxers. 

He’s so hard as you stroke and squeeze gently, a dark patch soiling his boxers where he’s leaking arousal into them. 

Frankie submits as you pull him down onto the bed and crawl over him, kissing over his chest into the soft swell of his stomach. Mouthing and stroking explorative digits over his golden skin. 

Flat and spread with his neck craning up to watch you reveal him - a swollen, tanned cock with a pink, dripping head. Lips curling back over incisors as he watches you lick over the swollen tip of him and you groan in delight at his taste.

You can see him gasping, lips parted in a small ‘o’ as he breathes, watching you suck him down. 

You wish so much that you could have your aid in right now to hear the noises he’s making. You can see him, head back on the pillow, mouth open and eyes closed in bliss as his cock fills your mouth whilst you suck and lick all around it. 

You feel his fingers snake in your hair until he pulls you upright and kisses you, tongues knotted together again. 

“Fuck me, Frankie.” You sign quickly with abject need. 

Rolling with you, he lines up, guiding himself into you with a gentle shunt forward of his hips and you gasp. 

“Too much?” He mouths at you and you instantly shake your head and grip his ass, pulling him into you. 

“So good,” you mouth back to him and he smiles. 

Your hands frame his hips, feeling the change in skin texture from his scars. Feeling them work as he drives in deep, curls tickling your nose as his forehead rests on yours, breath pelting your face. 

You look down between you to see his cock continually disappearing inside you and he feels so good as he bottoms out inside you, not quite believing this is actually happening. 

Until it happens.

A wave crashing into you, warm and tingling as your body arches into him, your grip becoming tighter and your back sweating as you shake and tense before uncoiling. Letting go as your orgasm takes you and flings you up into the ether.

You feel him press a kiss to your temple, his scruff silken against your cheek. You wrap your legs around his waist and grip harder on his ass as you pant and see stars behind your eyes.

He flattens his palms on the bed and works faster, hitting that spot inside you that makes you cry out louder. 

Frankie slows down to kiss you, grinding his hips so your clit brushes against that soft thatch of hairs at the base of him. He can’t stop kissing you as he gently thrusts, lips gliding over your mouth, your cheeks, your throat. His patchy beard brushing against your ear, your eyelashes… he’s everywhere.

You cling onto him, hands splayed and fingers digging into broad, toned flesh as you build. He smiles as you squirm, blissed brown peepers and a crooked grin flashing at you as your breathing and gasping intensifies.

Cock bringing you to the edge once more and he watches the moment you leap off and fly. He mouths the word “beautiful” again at you before you clutch his face, shaking and kissing him desperately. 

You nod at him as you watch him strain, and the tension in his neck and shoulders tightens. You mouth the word “come” and his mouth opens, baring teeth as his lips curl back. 

Frankie looks incredible when he comes, biting down on those flush lips, veins in his neck bulging. His grip on you becomes tighter, his hips fucking you more frantic as his mouth slacks and his eyes roll back.

You see him utter the word “fuck” and it sends shockwaves to your core. "Inside?"

You nod frantically wanting him to fill you up.

He pulls out slightly and grabs a hold of his cock as it pumps inside you, pulling out so just the tip stays inside, flooding you. Watching in awe as it drips around your hole and uses his fingers to scoop it up and push it back inside as he leans over you for a kiss. 

Flopping down beside you, you ask him if he wants to stay, and he nods with flushed cheeks and pulls you into his broad arms as he crushes you to him. 

“You better not hog the duvet,” you sign to him, and you feel his chest rumble under you as he laughs. 

Splayed, untamed curls stick out in all directions and he’s never looked so good, and you wonder how these events have transpired over the course of the last few hours where you’re tucked up in his arms, still twitching from an intense slew of orgasms. 

"I really like you," he signs with a sleepy smile.

"I really like you too." You sign back.

You lay there, noses nuzzling as Frankie’s fingers stroke across your navel until you finally succumb to sleep. 

As the soft morning light filters through the curtains, you slowly begin to stir from a satiated slumber; your other senses gradually awakening to the world around you.

As you stretch and yawn, you feel a sense of contentment wash over you - a snug warmth that lingers from the heady events of the night before, and emanates from the broad body beside you.

You stir to see Frankie propped up on an elbow and gazing down at you, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips. His fingers are in your hair, stoking gently over the nub of your ear delicately.

You allow yourself to bask in it for a few moments, not shying away or worried about covering it up. Just revelling in the feel of his gentle, unabashed touch.

“Morning,” you sign to him with sleepy eyes.

“I have something for you,” he signs back, reaching behind him and presenting you with an open palm.

Resting on it now is your hearing aid. The casing is still cracked, but all the components and wires are tucked safely back inside. 

"I hope you don't mind," Frankie signs, "I fixed it for you this morning while you were sleeping. I have a few tools kicking about in my truck. It’s not a permanent fix, was fiddly as hell, but it should help you out until you get your new one at least..."

A surge of gratitude floods your heart as you take the hearing aid from him with awe, your fingers tracing the familiar contours of the device with a sense of wonder. 

“You fixed it?” You sign, completely floored. 

“Well, I hope I did.” He signs back, sheepishly. You watch as he scratches under his jaw lazily and smiles at you. “Put it in, let’s see.”

With trembling fingers, you place the hearing aid in your ear, your breath catching in your throat as you wait for the moment of truth.

And then, as if by magic, the world around you slowly fuzzes alive with familiar sounds - the soft rustle of the sheets, the distant chirping of birds through the open window, the gentle rhythm of Frankie’s breathing beside you.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Frankie smiles eagerly at you.

As you hear his voice for the first time, you’re struck by its exquisite tone and timbre, like the gentle strumming of a finely tuned guitar. There's a deep richness to it, a depth that resonates within you, rain on gravel, velvet against skin. 

“Hey,” you reply with a widening smile. “So good to finally hear you.” 

“You too. But I’m just grateful you didn’t hear me snore.” Frankie chuckles, and you giggle with him as he nuzzles into you.

“Thank you,” you say before he kisses you, igniting sparks inside your chest again as he rolls on top of you, body warm and blanketing you.

"It was nothing, really."

“No, it's everything." You smile as he brushes his nose against yours. "Can I make you some breakfast, as a way of thanks?” You ask him as you feel his lips run over your neck, teeth gently nipping at the flesh there and hearing him hum out is exquisite. 

“I’d love that.” His breath is all hot and muffled against your throat. 

You can feel the thickness of him slipping between your soaked folds, grunting deeply as he slides back in, filling you up once more - a delicious, deep sound that reverberates and floods every nerve of your being. 

Your world is alight with colour once more with the way he whines as you scratch inside his roots. The way he snuffles against your skin as he sucks in mouthfuls of it.

The sounds of him cursing through his pleasure, "fuck, baby," and "you feel so fuckin' good around my cock." His filth is exquisite.

You cry out as he fills you full, fingers grappling against his skin and mewling his name in hypnotic chants as he drives deep and hard. You can't get enough and never want to let him go.

“Mmm, I think this is a good way you can thank me right now, hermosa...” 

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Frankie, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

[little-blurry-stars5]

i love pathetic fictional men. like. that one. right there. i want that one. look at him. look at his big wet sad eyes. he looks like a kicked puppy that got left in the rain, how could i NOT love him?

[garadinervi]

Jette Clover, Reading Between the Lines, [White Series], (mixed media), n.d. [2010s] [© Jette Clover]

[many-shades-of-violence]

Gambling Debts

✢ pairing: Yoru x Reader. ✢ characters: Yoru, Jett, Phoenix, Raze, Killjoy, Brim, Gekko ✢ word count: 5.000 ✢ contents: nsfw, pegging, brat taming, gun violence

It was a late spring afternoon when you entered the headquarters of the Valorant Protocol through the main hatch. The serene melodies of chirping birds faded as the warm sunlight caressed your skin, only to be replaced by the heavy thud of the metal hatch closing behind you. With a determined stride, you pressed forward, your black sweat-drenched uniform clinging to your body, traces of soot from your recent mission adorning your cheeks. A faint sigh escaped your lips as you shifted your cherished weapon from your right shoulder to your left, the barrel still radiating residual heat from the intense gunfight with Omega agents just minutes ago. A few steps later, you found yourself in the common room of the headquarters, where a handful of agents briefly glanced in your direction.

In one corner of the room, Gekko and Brimstone were engrossed in a heated race on the younger agent's console, seemingly oblivious to your presence. With a casual wave, you raised your free hand in greeting. "Hey."

"y/n! You're back!" Killjoy beamed at you, immediately relieving you of your weapon and inspecting it with keen interest. "How did the modifications go? Did the baby perform well?" She looked up at you, brimming with excitement, before returning her attention to the barrel of your Vandal. You couldn't help but marvel at how she failed to notice the most conspicuous aspect of your appearance, instead hyper-focusing on the weapon she had tinkered with before the mission. "No complaints from me. Engaged in a good fight with a couple of Omega agents, though I must admit there were more of them than anticipated."

"Really? Are you injured? That blood isn't yours, is it?" Sage's voice broke through, causing you to look up from Killjoy. Your gaze locked onto the healer, and you nodded while raising a reassuring thumb. "No, I'm all good. Just a bit sweaty, but a shower will take care of that."

"Then I'm relieved." Sage breathed a sigh of relief before her attention abruptly shifted to a corner of the room. You followed her gaze, only to regret it when you laid eyes on none other than Ryo, also known as Yoru within the protocol. The young man had his hand open, as Jett, the white-haired agent besides him, dropped a couple of black tokens into his palm, wearing a frown on her face. With a victorious grin, Yoru clutched the tokens before turning away from Jett, his gaze now fixed on you and Sage. For a brief moment, your eyes met, the cocky grin on his lips vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a serious expression that, if somebody like you knew him better, could be interpreted as concern.

You offered him a reassuring nod before he redirected his attention back to Jett, seemingly intent on settling the bet that had just been fulfilled. Feeling a twinge of disappointment, you shifted your gaze to the floor but quickly refocused on Sage, careful not to reveal your true emotions.

The truth was, things with Yoru were complicated.

And "complicated" was perhaps an understatement. The young agent's difficult temperament was well-known, and only a select few in the protocol, including Jett, Phoenix, Chamber, and yourself, managed to get along with him. It had taken a great deal of effort or willful ignorance to navigate the cocky nature of the Japanese man. You had grown accustomed to Yoru's ways, and it came as no surprise when he had shared stories of his numerous gang fights in Shibuya, Tokyo during his senior high school days, littering him in many scars of physical and emotional level . The authenticity of his past experiences had been apparent, as his challenging demeanor was not the only aspect known about him. It was not uncommon knowledge, even among the agents, that you and the young Riftwalker often slept together. However, you had refrained from assigning a specific label to your relationship, uncertain whether it was appropriate given the circumstances of being agents who risked their lives daily for the sake of Alpha Earth's safety. Or at least, that was the justification you used. The truth was that you found it difficult to trust Ryo to maintain a healthy and lasting relationship of any kind. Arguments could easily arise among the agents in the protocol, but the young Japanese man, with his arrogant manner, often resorted to unconventional methods to prove his points. This included whatever was happening between the two of you.

The connection between you and Yoru had initially begun as a heated rivalry in a dire situation. However, over time, it had evolved into a significant relationship within the context of being teammates and was on the brink of becoming something more serious. Yoru's somewhat clumsy attempts to address the situation and have a conversation with you individually hinted at that possibility. Nevertheless, it had never come to fruition as you always managed to evade those discussions, either acting too preoccupied or exhausted from missions. You knew that you couldn't sustain this facade forever, and it wouldn't be fair to Ryo. However, the truth was that you were still healing from past failed attempts at relationships before joining the Protocol, and you were doing everything in your power to avoid adding another one to your list until the young Riftwalker could demonstrate that he was actively working on his attitude. But whether that would ever be possible remained uncertain.

"y/n?" Sage's calm yet determined voice snapped you back from your thoughts. "Sorry, what's up?" You quickly responded, hoping not to appear too absent-minded. With a caring smile, she replied, "I mentioned that I would like to discuss something confidential with you. But feel free to freshen up and recover from your mission first." Feeling a bit embarrassed for being so lost in your thoughts in front of Sage, you nodded nervously while scratching your neck. "Sure. Is it okay if I knock on your door later?" The healer gave you an assuring nod before bidding you farewell, and you headed towards your room.

After a thorough shower that washed away the dirt and blood of your adversaries, and dressed in clean, sweat-free clothes, you made your way to Sage's room. As you turned the corner, you accidentally bumped into someone.

"くそ (Shit)."

Your throat tightened as you recognized the unmistakable voice of Yoru. Nervously swallowing the lump in your throat, your gaze cautiously met a pair of strained brown eyes. The tense expression on the young man's face softened as soon as he recognized you.

"y/n. Sorry, I didn't see you there. Are you alright?" He glanced over you warily, placing a hand on your shoulder to reassure himself that he hadn't caused any harm by colliding with you. Not that there was much to worry about, given your athletic build, similar to that of the other agents.

"I'm fine," you mumbled under your breath, still catching your breath, and thanked him for his concern. "And as for the mission... the blood wasn't mine. Sage already checked on me." Cutting him off quickly, you couldn't help but sound a bit urgent.

Yoru frowned at your response, slowly retracting his hand from your shoulder with a sigh. "Fine by me. But you must be tired. Why not take some rest?" He raised an eyebrow mischievously, a grin forming on his lips as he casually placed a hand on his hip. "Or do you need some help with that, あほ (idiot)?"

You crossed your arms in front of your chest and puffed out your cheeks. Yoru had once explained that calling you "idiot" in his mother tongue was a sign of appreciation and a privilege reserved for only a few people, but you couldn't quite believe that he was just teasing you relentlessly with it. "If that were the case, I would let you know. Actually, I'm on my way to see Sage."

"Sage?!" he looked at you with surprise. You chuckled in response. "Yeah, you know, the kind-looking lady-monk with healing abilities."

"Don't tease me," Yoru smirked, playfully punching you on the shoulder. You faked a dramatic stumble a few steps backward, intending to playfully reciprocate, but you were taken aback when Yoru quickly caught up to you, his arm snaking around your slim waist to pull you close to his chest. "Careful." You looked up at him with wide eyes, surprised by his sudden gesture. "I was just joking, you know, Ryo." His dark brown eyes met yours, and his calloused fingers gently grazed over your cheeks.

"Sure, I do…“ he replied, your hands resting carefully against his lean torso, unsure of what to expect. "So?"

For a brief moment, Yoru simply stared at you, his deep brown eyes flashing a sense of hurt you had never seen before. "Y‘know, I miss you, y/n... I miss... us." You gulped at the sudden change in his emotions, noticing how his grip tightened on your waist as he emphasized the word "us." Yoru rarely expressed himself like this, and you didn't want to mess up your response. You were glad he was opening up, but the timing couldn't have been worse. Looking up at him, you shifted your gaze back down to the ground. "Ryo, we've talked about this..."

"Have we? I feel like you're avoiding me precisely because we haven't. I'm not playing around, you know? I'm serious about this," he said, his dark eyebrows furrowing and a small crease appearing on his forehead. You straightened up, placing a hand gently yet determinedly on his torso. "I know we need to sort things out, but that's exactly why..."

Before you could finish your sentence, the clearing of someone's throat caught you off guard. Looking up, you locked eyes with Sage, who stood in the hallway with her arms crossed. You were aware of her strict rule against public displays of affection between agents in the hallway, and your current position with Yoru wasn't ideal. You gave Sage an apologetic look, wanting to step back from Yoru, only to realize that he had already withdrawn his hand and distanced himself from you. He scratched his neck uncomfortably, avoiding Sage's stern gaze. As you glanced up at him in surprise, you noticed a faint pink hue on his cheeks.

A faint smile spread across your face. It was quite challenging to bring Yoru out of his shell, despite his rough exterior. However he was surprisingly easily flustered when it came to physical matters in public, which amused you to no end. You weren't sure if it was a cultural thing, but you tried to suppress a knowing gaze in his direction, not wanting to embarrass him further with the attention of both you and Sage.

"Sorry, Sage. I was actually on my way to you when I ran into Yoru by chance," you waved her off, quickly moving a few steps to her side. "Yeah, I can see that," she raised an eyebrow challengingly, arms still crossed. She gave Yoru a final quick glance before turning around with you. "I'm just going to borrow her for a quick talk. You can continue with whatever this is afterward, in your rooms," she huffed, emphasizing the last word, and then pulled you along the corridor. You thought you heard Yoru responding with a sharp comment, but honestly, you didn't want to know what that was about. Sage dragged you to her room, sighing tiredly. "Really, he can be such a hothead." You couldn't help but let out an awkward chuckle. "Well, you could say that's part of the fun."

Upon arriving in Sage's room, she gestured for you to sit down at a round table in the middle of the room with two facing cushions. The young healer placed a freshly brewed cup of tea in front of you before taking a seat opposite you. "So, what did you want to talk about, Sage?" You looked at the black-haired woman and took a small sip of your tea. She folded her hands in her lap and sighed briefly before fixing her gaze on you. "I wanted to talk to you about Yoru." You looked up at her, a little surprised by her choice of topic. You had thought she might want to discuss the false information you received from headquarters or some other pressing matter. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me right. I don't usually pry into other people's business, but Yoru can be quite difficult to talk to about personal matters. That's why I wanted to talk to someone close to him first," she paused, her gaze penetrating through long lashes. You gulped, feeling a bead of sweat forming on your forehead. "Why choose me then? Phoenix and Jett are close to him too, you know?" Sage interrupted you with a knowing smirk. "I'm pretty sure you're as close to him as anyone could possibly get." Her comment left you momentarily speechless, and then you cleared your throat in embarrassment, avoiding her gaze. "Yeah, maybe. But I'm not sure if that extends to an emotional level as well." Sage pursed her lips, thinking for a brief moment, before speaking again. "If that's the case, then it's even more important that I discuss this with you." You looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"To cut to the chase: I don't know how they found out, but HQ isn't too happy about Yoru's little gambling ventures." Your eyes widened in surprise. "Gambling?" Sage nodded in confirmation. "Did you notice it this afternoon?" You stared at her in disbelief, trying to recall what she was referring to. Then the scene from earlier flashed in your mind—black chip cards falling from Jett into Yoru's hands, the victorious smile on his lips when things were going his way. In that moment, you saw red.

"You're not suggesting that he gambled on my life, are you?!" you exclaimed, a mix of shock and anger in your voice. Sage let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment. "I'm sorry if you've just realized it now. I thought you were already aware of it."

Your teeth clenched as anger surged through your body. Memories of past encounters with Yoru and the black chip cards he often played with when bored flooded your mind. How could you not have noticed? And worst of all, he had wagered on your own life.

Balling your hands into fists, you looked up from the ground and stared directly into Sage's eyes. "Let me guess, you want me to confront him about this." She nodded once again. "Originally, yes, but considering your expression now, I'm not so sure if that's the best idea anymore." A vicious smirk formed on your face as you slowly stood up on your own two feet. "Don't worry, Sage. I'm going to teach him a lesson about the dangers of gambling that he won't forget easily." Thanking her for the tea, you swiftly rose and left the room with determined strides. Left behind, Sage was momentarily speechless, before she took a sip of her tea and shrugged her shoulders with a nonchalant expression. "Let's hope this kills two birds with one stone."

___________________________

Angry and determined, you stormed through the corridors of HQ, on the hunt for a certain Japanese agent. Along the way, you encountered Neon and Phoenix, engrossed in their discussion about a famous comic series. They looked up curiously as you approached. "Hey, y/n! How was the mission?" Neon greeted you with a wave, while Phoenix gave you a playful smirk. You looked at them sharply. "Sorry guys, later, okay? Have you seen Yoru by any chance?" You clenched your teeth, leaving them a bit speechless before bursting into laughter.

"What did he do this time?" Neon gave you a sympathetic look. "Bro betted on your ass, again?“ Phoenix grinned mischievously. „Again?" Your eyes widened in disbelief, almost fuming. "How long has this been going on without me knowing?" Phoenix clenched his teeth and scratched his neck uncomfortably. "Oh shit... You know what, y/n, if I had to guess, he's probably busy with his knives."

Furious, you gave Phoenix a thumbs-up, quickly turning on your heels to storm away, muttering, "Thanks. I owe you man.“ Just seconds later, Neon looked up at Phoenix, raising an eyebrow. "She's going to beat his ass, right?" Phoenix shrugged, chuckling. "Well, bro's been asking for it. I told him it would be over if y/n found out.“ Neon rolled her eyes before returning her attention to the comic in her hand. "Yeah but you didn’t have to throw him under the bus line that. Anyway, where did we leave off?"

Without a care in the world, you flung open the door to the weapons room, startling Yoru, who was meticulously cleaning a knife with a soft towel. "Oh? Done with business with Sage already?" Yoru began, but you cut him off mid-sentence, fists clenched. "How long has this been going on?" Confused, he looked at you. "What's your business?"

You growled at his response, closing the distance between you. "Don't play games with me, Yoru. You bet on my life-or-death missions?! Is this all just a sick joke to you, or are you that tone deaf?!" Furious, you pointed a finger at his chest, staring him down. For a brief moment, he seemed caught off guard, then his brows furrowed. He placed the knife and towel on the table before pushing your finger away with a frown. "So what? I'm not hurting anyone with it, am I?"

Disappointment spread through your gaze as you studied the man in front of you. You couldn't comprehend how he failed to see the obvious problem with gambling on the outcome of missions that involved life and death. His dark eyes met yours, and the disappointment nearly weakened his resolve, even if he didn't want to admit it. He reached out for your hand, but you quickly pulled away. "Listen, I wouldn’t bet on you, if I wasn’t sure you’ve got it, y/n."

„Do I look like a fucking race-horse, Yoru?!“ you clentched your teeth, not sure how to follow up. Just then a great idea came to your mind. „You know what? Have it your way Ryo. I‘m betting that I‘ll drag your sorry ass in a Shootoff.“

For a brief second Yoru seemed to be caught off guard, then he sighed pulling his butterfly comb out of a dimensional rift and combing through his hair. As he spoke he rolled his eyes. „Quit the yapping if I win?“

With a determined nod, you taunted, "If you win. Otherwise, feel free to prepare your sorry ass." Without giving him another glance, you strode off, quickly grabbing a gun as you went. Calling out one last time to him, you declared, "Training hall, in 5." Yoru smirked in response, his pearly white teeth on full display. "おもしゃれ (Interesting)."

As you left the room, a mix of anger and anticipation fueled your every step. You couldn't wait to face Yoru in the training hall and teach him a lesson or two. You weren‘t sure if he comprehended on just what exactly he had bet with you, but either way you couldn‘t wait for you to win and give him a good railing in the aftermath.

"So, what's the plan?" Yoru smirked at you, one hand casually gripping his Vandal while the other rested confidently on his left hip. You both stood in the training hall, surrounded by the dummies that Killjoy had quickly assembled upon your request. The presence of other Agents just outside the glass windows separating the hall from the watch room didn't concern you at the moment. If you had to guess, Neon, Phoenix, and Jett were probably among them, eager to witness your showdown with Yoru and see if you could knock him off his high horse.

You cleared your throat and unlocked the security lock of your Vandal. "You see the dummies? Whoever shoots the most in 3 minutes wins." Yoru grinned, adjusting his rifle and positioning himself back-to-back with you. "Well, either way, I hope you're ready for your defeat, doll."

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, you gave a thumbs-up to Killjoy behind one of the glass doors outside the hall, signaling her to start the countdown.

3...

You grinned, holding your Vandal firmly against your chest, your back pressed closely to Yoru's.

2...

Your finger hooked around the trigger of your weapon.

1...

You planted your feet firmly on the ground, ready to burst into action.

Then, the stage was set.

A loud siren resounded, marking the start of your shootout. With all your might, you pushed off from Yoru's back and sprinted towards the dummies within your line of sight, determined to keep Yoru from using his dimensional rifts to his advantage. In a synchronized display of bullets and precision, you swiftly moved through the dummies, firing shots that found their mark between their heads and chests. The air around you filled with the deafening sound of gunfire, intensifying with each advance Yoru made on the other side of the hall.

For a fleeting moment, Yoru entered your field of vision, his concentration razor-sharp and his accuracy deadly, momentarily throwing you off balance. However, a quick glance at the timer and your points reminded you that every hesitant move could determine the victor. You swiftly refocused on the dummies before you, distributing bullets with speed and accuracy.

With agility and precision, you navigated through a particularly challenging wall of targets, successfully shooting them down just as Yoru teleported in front of you, attempting to snatch them away. You playfully stuck out your tongue at him before dashing off once more, firing shots at the remaining row of dummies. Yoru, being slightly quicker, managed to catch some of them. Your gaze shifted, scanning for more dummies, only to realize that one lone dummy remained at the back of the hall, likely missed during your initial rush.

A quick glance at the monitor revealed that this final point would decide the match. You bit your lip, hastening towards the end of the hall. However, the sound of Yoru opening a rift sent alarm bells ringing in your mind.

"This is bad. If he's quicker than my bullet, I'll probably shoot him," you muttered under your breath, cursing the riftwalker's calculated tactics. But what Yoru didn't expect was that you had a dirty trick up your sleeve. With swift movement, you pulled out a decoy and threw it behind you, aiming for the rift Yoru was opening, hoping it would enter with him. A victorious grin spread across your face as you heard a familiar exclamation of "くそ (Shit!)!" just in time for the rift to close, temporarily blinding Yoru. You hoped he could forgive you for the unexpected move. With a surge of determination, you fired your last bullet into the lone dummy at the end of the hall

The loud sirene resounded again, signaling you that your Shootout had ended. Looking onto the monitor hall, you could see that your name was highlighted as the winner of the match.

The aftermath of the intense shootout left the air thick with tension and adrenaline. You stood at the end of the hall, panting heavily, the grip of your weapon still tight in your hand. Sweat trickled down your forehead as you tried to catch your breath, a mixture of exhaustion and victory coursing through your veins.

Yoru appeared only mere seconds later from his dimensional rift, ripping the blue samurai mask from his face, his body language a mix of frustration and begrudging admiration. His mask, now removed, revealed a face lined with determination and a touch of annoyance. "What a dirty trick," he muttered, his voice tinged with defeat. "Next time, a little warning would be nice. My eyesight's gonna be fucked for a while."

You couldn't help but chuckle, a sense of satisfaction washing over you. " Says the one, trying to rift his way to victory." You extended a hand towards him, offering a truce in the spirit of competition. "Great match though, you really pushed me to my limits."

Yoru's gaze softened, and after a moment's hesitation, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, you got me this time," he admitted, his voice filled with a mix of respect and acceptance, before crossing the last meters to you and planting a chaste kiss on your lips. Surprised by his forwardness in public you only halfway heard what he said afterwards. "But mark my words, next time I won't be so easy to blindside.”

You nodded slowly, fingers lingering on your lips. "Wouldn’t have it any other way."

As you slowly leave the training hall, you offer him your arm, to hook into, his eyesight still making him a bit wobbly on the feet. Surprising you again, the young agent takes your hand instead, his calloused hands gripping your own ones firmly. „That‘s for blinding me, あほ.“

You chuckle, already imagining what Sage would say if she saw this.  “So about our bet...” You look up to him, a victorious smile on your lips. “Yeah, Yeah.” he sighs. “Look, I´m sorry. No bet´s on other agents missions anymore. You happy now?” He fakes an annoyed huff, looking to the side.

“Close.” You chuckle, guiding him slowly towards the exit. “Remember what we exactly betted on?”

“Excuse me?!“  he looked at you alarmed, slit eyebrow raised to the hilt.

You started to laugh, enjoying the irritation in the young mans face.

“Oh, you´re just too cute, Ryo. When I said to preper your sorry-ass, I meant that literally.”

It was at exactly this moment Ryo Kiritani realized, he fucked up.

„No way…“You cut him off with a grin. “Always remember Ryo, Thou shalt honor thy gambling debts.”

“Tell again, why you`re so obsessed with fucking me?”

If it weren't for the compromising position Yoru was in right now, it would have come off as one of his usual cocky remarks. However, in his current state, it sounded more like a bratty, if not pathetic, comment. Mounted naked on your lap, the young agents tan cheeks were adorned by a deep blush, sweat rolling slowly down his forehead. You gave his trained abs a firm squeeze before locking eyes with him, a smitten smirk on your lips. “Hm, maybe because you look very good like this and your actually quite into it concerning your arousal?”

Your eyes averted down between his legs, seeing his hard-on fully on attention just right under the dark happy trail, head an angry red and dripping precum on your skin. Carefully wrapping your slender fingers around it, you gave it a firm squeeze, making the young man above you groan. “How should I´ve known?! It´s not like you get teached that this shits is a possibility.”

You quirked an eyebrow at this.

“Oh, so your not so opposed now?” you asked, your hands moving away from his cock to grasp the dildo attached to the strap-on-harness between your legs.

“Tsk, just get on with it, あほ.” Yoru grumbeled, hands on your shoulders, a little more agitated now, from your teasing.

You giggled, then giving his hip a firm squeeze, your mouth pressing against his lips, the kiss slow and sensual as your hand moved between your bodies to grasp his length and your strap on, rubbing them together. He silently groaned into the kiss, his hands grabbing your shoulders as he shallowly grounded his hips into your hand and lubed toy.

“Trust me, I’m gonna fuck you so good, the whole Headquarters will know about it.” you whispered against his neck, biting the tan skin until it bruised. “Honestly, I´d prefer if they didn´t. Already gave them enough fuel with my defeat at Shootout” he gasped, his cheeks darkening by the second, your hands ghosting over his hot skin.

Giggeling in response, you pulled his hips flush between your legs, ordering him with a firm command.

“On all fours, クソガキ (brat)”

Yoru pulled away a devilish smirk on his lips, his cock twitching against you lewdly, a string of precum connecting his veiny shaft and your silicone as you commanded him in his mother tongue. “Fuck, that´s hot. Picked that up for me?”

You gave his thigh a reprimanding squeeze. “Maybe. Now get in position, bitch.”

'Have some mercy, will ya?’ he groaned slowly mounting off you, and climbing in the middle of the bed. A smile tugged at your lips, adoring how his trained buttcheeks looked, all ready for you to play with. You moved behind him, your hands rubbing and squeezing his ass, an embarrassed moan escaping Yorus mouth as soon as your hand connected with his cheek in a harsh slap. “You like that?” you giggle, giving his cheek another slap. His answer comes a bit dragged, the man trying his best not to moan. “Cut the teasing.”

“Alright, Mr. Pushing-Through.” You roll your eyes with a grin, hands spreading his buttcheeks. Seeing the tight hole between them, makes you lick your lips. Getting on your knees, you blew hot air on the sensitive rim, wetting two of your fingers in your mouth, before slowly protruding at his hole. Rubbing soft circles around the outside, then pushing the tip of the muscle in, Yoru gasped loudly, his strong legs getting a bit wobbly at the invitation.

Humming, you started to get to work, massaging his globes of tan flesh, making sure to hold one his hips with your free hand to stabilize his rocky movement in desperate search for more friction. Spreading him open one more time, you pulled out of him, leaving kisses on his neck, eyes taking in his lean muscular back, trained from his daily activities as an Agent of the Protocol. You kissed behind his ear, teeth grazing the cartilage as his hips wiggled against your strap on, something a kin to a needy moan escaping his throat.

“Gosh, you´re so needy for me, pretty boy. Really wanna get teached your lesson, huh?” you cooed, slowly stroking over his hip bones.

“J-Just make it feel good, kay?” he gasped, looking over his back to assure himself with you. You grin, one hand locking into his dark locks, carefully yet demanding pushing his head onto the mattress. Not wanting to tease him anymore, you guided the dildo inside him, slowly pushing inch by inch, until you were flush against Yoru. The young man was using all his mental strength to not moan like a bitch in heat, as you buried yourself to the hilt, his resolve slowly falling however as you halted inside him.

“y/n.” He called your name needily, wishing that you understood what he wished for, without ushering anymore words. Not missing the chance to tease him, you wrapped a hand around his cock, hovering closely over his back before whispering “Huh? What is it? You know, you need to tell me, if there´s something you want.”

A low grumble could be heard from the young agent under you, his cheeks dusted in red from embarrassment, teeth clenched in despair from the sudden stop of stimulation. “For fucks sake, just fuck me!”

You didn´t need more to hear than that. With a firm grip on him you hilted yourself out of Yoru, pistoling your hips back forward. The hand on his cock started to pump him in tandem with your thrusting, your thumb rubbing the slit on the tip where you knew he was most sensitive. A hymne of loud groans erupted from the rifter, the pleasure of being railed by you so great, that he pushed his hips back against your own.

Getting serious, your hand fisted his locks, tugging on them to move his head uup from the mattress, to arch his back into you, the sound of wet skin slapping against skin echoing in your bedroom, as you worked to rail Yoru into submission.

By how his cock twitched he seemed close only a few thrusts after, however you still weren´t quite finished. Angling yourself a bit lower you tried to find his soft spot; one thrust angled just right made him fist the bedsheets, fingernails digging deeply into them. Smirking in victory, knowing you reached your goal, you began to hit that place dead on, hearing him mumble your name like a mantra.

Then, only a few more thrusts he reached his climax, spurts of cum hitting the bed sheets, his dark almond shaped eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he shuddered violently, a lewd slur in Japanese escaping his lungs. Smirking you caressed him with your hands, careful to slide out of him, discarding the silicone on the floor besides you, before getting besides him.

Seeing Yoru all wasted like this on your mattress somehow made you feel an insane amount of accomplishment, the tension of this noon already nearly forgotten. Slowly lying besides, him, you start to rub his back gently, his eyes opening and looking at you with a tired but content gaze.

“Everything alright?” you asked, one of his arms, suddenly caught of guard, as he wrapped one arm around you, pulling you close to his torso. As he nuzzles his head into your hair, the only sound that can be heard for a close minute is your breathings.

Then Yorus voice resounds, making you chuckle loudly in the process.

“Good thing I lost that bet.”

[denimpera]

mushy may day 7+10 [compliments, staring in adoration]

a/n: beta'd by @/ghouljett, baby's first ghost fic

relationship: nothing outright stated, but many hinted at

summary: breakfast with the ghouls, rain thinks dew is pretty. [ft. albino dew and telepathy]

word count: 1.3k?

rating: G [T?]

snippet:

he's been staring all morning, as much as he's been trying to hide it. when he had walked into the kitchen in search of coffee, he instead found a half asleep dewdrop making eggs. he had frozen, not expecting anyone else to be up that early, and went about making his coffee as quietly as he could. dew didn't say anything to him, simply shifted his slouching form further down the counter- to get away from him, rain supposed.

rain shifts in his seat, letting his gaze fall back to his half eaten breakfast as dew lifts his head from his own breakfast, similarly uneaten.

he's been staring all morning, as much as he's been trying to hide it. when he had walked into the kitchen in search of coffee, he instead found a half asleep dewdrop making eggs. he had frozen, not expecting anyone else to be up that early, and went about making his coffee as quietly as he could. dew didn't say anything to him, simply shifted his slouching form further down the counter- to get away from him, rain supposed.

mountain, aether and cumulus had slowly filed into the kitchen while rain was adding the milk to his coffee, dew plating his eggs. rain had taken their respective mugs out of the cabinet and set them ready for the next pot of coffee, his hands hovering over dew's mug. he chanced a quick glance towards the fire ghoul, relieved that dew's eyes were focused on his fork shifting the eggs around his plate.

aether had taken the seat next to dew, mountain sitting directly across from him and cumulus to his right, talking mountain's ear off about a show rain's never heard of. he catches aether's eye and jerks his head subtly in dew's direction, motioning to the mug with his hand. aether only shrugs- standing a few seconds later and making his way to the counter, rationing out everyone's preferred strength of coffee. rain stares at him for a moment, having intended to do this himself, before reaching past rain and grabbing dew's mug, setting it down. "coffee, dew?"

the room goes quiet for a few seconds, further still even after dew simply hums in affirmation. aether rations dew's coffee- three coffee, two sugar- then he pats rain on the shoulder, moving around the kitchen to grab a few slices of bread, popping them in the toaster before sitting back in his seat, back next to dew.

rain takes the hint and picks up where aether left off, pouring water and milk into the four mugs while sipping on his own coffee. it's then that swiss pads into the kitchen, yawning and stretching his arms above his head as he makes his way to the counter, grabbing his own mug from the cupboard.

"fill me up, yeah?" rain does, able to just squeak by with enough hot water to fill his mug. he kisses rain on the cheek as he leans over to grab a plate from the cupboard next to the mugs, setting it on the counter just as the toaster pops. swiss lights up with delight, moving down the counter to try and grab his toast with minimal burns to his fingertips "oh, aether, you doll!"

rain smiles to himself, listening to swiss sit down next to aether and pepper his face with dry kisses and 'thank you's as he grabs the mugs two at a time and sets them down in front of aether, mountain, cumulus and dew. mountain, aether and cumulus thank him as he sits down next to 'lus, having finished his coffee. he doesn't expect dewdrop to thank him, but a small part of himself wants him to. wants dew to look up from his plate, look rain in the eye with his newly violet stare and say those two words, any words, to him. wants dewdrop to smile and call him doll.

cumulus offers to make him breakfast, and though he's fast to agree, he doesn't take his eyes off of dew as he sips from his mug.

which brings him here, stealing glances at dew while their breakfasts go cold and the others- now joined by cirrus and stratus- talk about anything and everything around him. he hears them, but he doesn't listen, preoccupied with looking at dew and then longing to look at him when he has to avert his gaze. dew looks ethereal, ivory hair pulled into a sleep mussed, delicate braid running off of his small shoulder, pale strands falling into his face to grace his cheekbones, violet irises and milky eyelashes catching in the sun slipping through the window. like light seeping through stained glass. he looks beautiful.

rain wants to tell him as much, longs to. he doesn't, however. he and dew haven't spoken a word to each other since he's been summoned, rain usually pretends to not know why, pretends to be shy, pretends to be polite, but he knows better. knows the screaming down the hall the night he was summoned was not the wails of a sibling of sin, knows the snow touched strands of dew's hair and lashes were not those that he was summoned with, knows the reason for dew's clear irises and skittish, blurry gaze is not that of birth, but of trauma. trauma that if he were not summoned, wouldn't have happened.

aether tells him often not to blame himself, that his summoning was botched, that imperator was all too quick to try a ritual he'd never heard of- one with a concerningly low survival rate, he'd discovered later, and that dew was the perfect candidate. rain wants to believe him, believe it's not his fault, but it's difficult when he witnesses dew limp and shuffle from room to room, sees him wince when he stands, sees him squeeze his eyes shut when they're giving him a headache with how much they move around against his will. watches him avoid mirrors.

he wants to believe aether when he tells rain not to feel guilty, but it's hard to believe when rain feels as though he's robbed dew of everything he was.

aether says something, some joke or quick witted reply to something stratus has said, and rain watches in awe as dewdrop laughs. it's an awkward, involuntary thing, and rain can't be mad at himself for missing the joke when he gets to see the way dew's shoulders relax a little as he smiles at aether. it's dew's real smile, not the practised, close mouthed smile that rain usually sees dew give to cumulus or swiss. no, it's a downturned, almost sad looking thing that makes rain feel sinful for simply having witnessed it even though he's distantly envious he wasn't the cause. he wants to capture this moment, lock it in a bottle and stare at it when he feels down, keep it close to his heart.

he thinks dew's smile is pretty, and he wants to tell him.

he is, unfortunately, a coward.

"aether." rain presses into aether's mind so suddenly aether nearly chokes on his food, coughing slightly. aether looks at him from over the table, raising an eyebrow at him. "this can't be said out loud?"

"no, i need you to tell dew something."

aether's eyes widen slightly, but he pressed on, "and what's that?"

rain swallows thickly, flicking his gaze from dew to aether a couple of times before settling on, "could you tell him he looks pretty when he smiles? his- his real smile."

aether grins at him as subtly as he can manage, waiting for a conversation to pick up with the rest of the ghouls at the table before leaning in close to dew to whisper something to him. rain really hopes that aether doesn't tell dew that rain is the one who wanted him to know that his smile is pretty, but it makes dew sway as he bumps shoulders with aether and smiles again, his real smile, and rain doesn't look away when dew looks up at him again, this time making eye contact with him before he feels a gentle push into his brain, like waves lapping at his ankles, he walks further into the water when he hears it,

"thank you."

[partiallypearl]

you wouldn't be the first renegade (to need somebody)

The lie eats at Ariana for days. She knows she’s wrong, that she should be honest with Jett and the rest of the team but she can’t bring herself to do it. Not with Grace breathing down her back, watching her every move. - Ariana struggles with ending her friendship with Grace, and her feelings for Jett.

taglist: @happinessismagicc @aliferousdreamer @zackmartin @catboykacchan @andi-mec

The lie eats at Ariana for days. She knows she’s wrong, that she should be honest with Jett and the rest of the team but she can’t bring herself to do it.

Not with Grace breathing down her back, watching her every move.

I just want to be part of the team, she thinks to herself before remembering that she’s the reason she isn’t.

It hurts, knowing this. She wants to be able to get frings with Jett, and to hang out with Adele and Olive and to watch movies with A-Troupe, but Grace won’t let her.

And the harder she tries to pull away, the tighter Grace’s grip gets.

“You can’t leave me,” Grace tells her, “or you’ll be like everyone else.”

Logically, Ariana knows it’s not true, that their friendship isn’t healthy, that it isn’t real anymore.

But she sees Grace’s pale blue eyes tear up and all the courage she’s built to stand up for herself disappears - like Presley.

It’s after her fifth and failed attempt at giving up her friendship with Grace that Ariana finds herself in Studio A, dancing through her feelings.

The pop song playing in her airpods keeps out any thoughts as she twirls and flips around the room, pulling random improv from her head. Her anxiety is alight, like a live-wire flowing through her.

She ends in a calypso leap, her chest heaving when she hears footsteps. She looks up, the blood rushing to her head as her eyes meet Jett’s. She takes out her headphones as Jett speaks.

“Hi.” Jett says, and Ariana gulps for air as she starts to calm down. Jett doesn’t look like herself with her hair down.

Her hair frames her face in loose curls rather than her usual tight french braids. She’s in a green satiny dress with halter straps, and wow Ariana knew she was muscular but holy shit.

Jett looks different almost, prettier. Not that she wasn’t already pretty.

“Hi.” Ariana says breathlessly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Your uh, your hair is down?” She asks and Jett reaches for a loose lock, as if she had forgotten it wasn’t up.

“Oh yeah. I have my cousin’s debut - her 18th birthday party tonight. My mom’s getting off from work early to pick me up so I can go to Chesa’s to get ready.”

Ariana nods shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “You look nice. All fancy.”

Jett laughs, “Better hope my titas agree.”

Ariana laughs as well. They don’t speak for a moment before Jett walks over to her. “You okay?”

For a moment Ariana forgets that she had been frustrated before, just soaking in Jett’s energy.

“Yeah. I mean no,” Ariana says, her cheeks heating up under Jett’s scrutinizing gaze, “it’s hard to leave friendships. When they aren’t healthy y’know?”

Jett hums, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Yeah. I do. But I think you’re making the right choice. You deserve people who care about you.”

The like me, is unsaid, but Ari hears it all the same. Jett steps closer, and Ariana freezes, her heart pounding. The shorter girl takes her hand, squeezing it three times.

“You’re a good person Ari, and you’re my best friend. I love you y’know that right?”

Ariana nods. “I love you too.” Their eyes meet for a second before Jett’s phone dings, and she looks down at it. “My mom’s outside. I’ll see you on Monday!”

She squeezes Ariana’s hand one last time before running off, and Ari watches as her hair flows behind her as she leaves studio A.

She knows she has to do it. She has to tell Jett the truth, and soon.

Or she’ll be royally screwed.

[chou-de-chambers]

My Valorant Agent Headcanons: IKEA (Part 1)

Oh no, you're lost in IKEA and got separated from your companion! In which section will you find them?

content tags: sfw, wholesome, humor, no proof-reading, one-sitting, up to reader interpretation (platonic/romantic)

A/N: Hi new and existing mutuals! Sorry for my lack of posts. University has been a challenge lately. I know I fell behind the "weekly Kinktober" pieces but I'm currently polishing the next one now! It should be out this weekend. For those who submitted requests, thank you and I assure you I'm slowly working on them! For now, please have this HC that popped in my mind before sleeping last night.

After searching everywhere, you see Brimstone facing one of the computer stands with his face almost sticking to the monitor and his finger simply hovering over it. You knew he wasn't versed with modern technology, so you quickly came over and asked him what he was trying to do. He told you that he recently got complaints about HQ being "too dull", so he requested assistance in checking the catalog for colorful decors to put up in the lounge and hallways.

Viper would be looking at the assortment of utility carts displayed, deciding which style would fit her laboratory best, and measuring by eye how much of her reagents will fit per shelf. She's been having trouble moving around the lab, so she thought it would be handy to have a small cart she could push and pull to each station. You pointed at one of the carts. "I usually won't pick that because it might stand out too much, but since you chose it, so be it. Thank you, little mouse," she casually said with a nod.

Omen wouldn't dare to get lost. He'd always stick close to you in fear of what people might think of him. You kept your arm clung to him while you continuously soothed the back of his hand with your thumb. He'd casually tug you a few times though to check some throw blankets and couch pillows in the Holiday section.

You'd see Cypher roaming around the Smart Home section, fascinated by how these small household products could do so much beyond surveillance, like his cameras. He even discovered one tiny device that could control several other devices and house functions, which he thought would be useful for him. You decided to surprise him by commanding the Smart Assistant to play his favorite tune. "Ah, you found me, habibi!" he said in a cheerful tone while slightly grooving to the music. This made you giggle.

You will notice Sova's tall figure standing out from the shelves of portable containers. Before you can even get to him, he'd immediately see you and walk towards you, "I found wide insulated flasks over there. Can those keep soup warm for a long time?" You nodded enthusiastically. He sighed in relief, "Spasiba. No more roaring stomachs during missions. Let's buy one for everyone."

Sage will not get lost simply because the chances of you getting lost are higher. She's a very patient person, so there's no means for her to hurry into another section when you're clearly not done with the current one. She also handles the money (if you're both shopping for VP) and has her ears open to any suggestion you have to make HQ feel more like home.

Good luck finding Phoenix in IKEA. He'd be all over the place, checking out each cool stuff he sees. Jett won't come to the furniture store with both of you but expect her to be on a video call with the fire Radiant, laughing at every shenanigan he's pulling out. That was until you phoned him and found him through his ringtone, echoing by the glassware section. "Phoenix, I'm not gonna pay for any damages you make," you huffed in distress. "Relax fam, I'm careful," he assured with a chuckle, "By the way, I found the infamous stuffed bear earlier. Want it?"

[fanficriter]

Can I request jett headcanons when she meets a new agent? Please and thank you. 🙏

Jett Meeting a New Agent

Warnings - None

Characters - Jett

Notes - Sorry if this is a bit oc i don’t know jetts character that well

Gender Neutral Reader

——————————————————————————

- When Jett found out a new agent was joining the protocol, she was excited! A new friend!

- Will probably make food for you as a small welcome gift.

- First thing she does is train with you to see how strong you are

- She also loves sparring with you!!

- If you lose against her, you will NEVER here the end of it

- “Try and catch up next time”

- “You really can’t keep up?”

- But of course she will hype you up on your first mission

- “Woo!! You got this!”

- “Your too good!”

- I like to think that she scares other agents by tailwinding (?) around corners 😭

- First time she did it to you, you almost had a heart attack

- Overall, if your in her good side, she’s your hype woman and WILL bring enough food for you when it’s snack time

——————————————————————————

I’m sorry if this was to oc, and a little short. BUT I TRIED OKAY 😭

[goldenblu]

unmasked

30k words | VALORANT | Cypher & Team

“What’s your name?" His mind blanked, and there was a long pause. “I don’t—I can’t remember,” he said, his panic rising as he realized he didn’t remember much of anything at all. Whenever he tried to think of who he was and how he’d gotten here, there was simply…nothing. Sage and Brimstone exchanged a glance. “Is there anything you remember?” she said. He shook his head, then stopped. A name floated into his mind, and he held onto it. “Amir,” he said uncertainly. “I think my name is Amir.”

Four times someone didn’t realize Amir was Cypher, and one time Amir didn’t realize he was Cypher.

(AO3)

[holdoncallfailed]

mark geller, "joan jett-blakk for president," 1992. offset lithograph poster. (via)

In 1992, drag queen and activist Terence Alan Smith ran for president of the United States as Joan Jett-Blakk, representing the Queer Nation Party. Her memorable slogan from the ultimately unsuccessful campaign was "Lick Bush in '92." With plans to have Dykes on Bikes patrolling America's borders and to paint the White House lavender, her campaign was effective in its cutting satire and helped bring queer issues into the American political debate. As Smith, she was able to sneak in to the Democratic National Convention in Madison Square Garden, where she changed back into a star-spangled minidress and announced her candidacy from the floor of the convention, a performance that caused Pat Buchanan to proclaim that her appearance was "the greatest single exhibition of cross-dressing in American political history." This poster borrows liberally from the famous Black Panther image [taken by photographer Blair Stapp] from the early 1970s of an armed Huey Newton sitting in a rattan chair.

[kalijhomentethi]

hi!! holds out my multimuse… @stormduelist

[morallyinept]

Touch - A Joel Miller One Shot

Summary: Inspired by that GIF. You know the one. Yeah. Nuff' said.

Pairing: Post Outbreak Joel Miller x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader, however they do have hair - length or colour not defined. Otherwise it’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 1.7K

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Oral M receiving/some belly worship/Joel all wet and in a towel.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: The brain rot happened when I saw those GIFs floating around again this evening... this is the result of said brain rot. 🫠

MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

As he steps out of the shower, padding barefoot across the floor, a threadbare white towel is wrapped snugly around his waist; its thin cotton fibres absorbing the lingering pelts of water that cling to his skin. 

The towel, worn from years of faithful service, is slightly frayed at the edges and clings to his behind tightly.

Droplets of water cascade from his damp hair, trickling down his skin in rivulets, leaving behind a trail of tiny, glassy tracks that catch the dim light of the dingy room. The air is filled with the ghostly aroma of his soap, a crisp blend of eucalyptus and mint that lingers on his freshly cleansed skin wafting out at you.

Standing before the small, chipped mirror hanging on the wall, Joel lifts a wide-toothed comb, its teeth glistening with tiny diamonds of water caught from his damp hair. With practised precision, he draws the comb through his strands, guiding them back from his forehead in sleek, smooth strokes. 

Each pass of the comb tames usually unruly locks, coaxing them into submission as they cling to the dampness of his scalp. Each stroke brings a sense of order to the chaos, as they yield to the direction of his swift hand.

The dampness of his hair lends it a sleek sheen, accentuating the natural texture and revealing shades of chestnut and mahogany hidden beneath the shimmering silver layers.

As he combs his hair back, the flex of his arm reveals the taut strength that lies beneath the surface, the muscles contracting and releasing with fluid ease. Reflected in the mirror, his image takes shape, the chiselled contours of his bronze, weathered face defined by the stark contrast of wet hair against skin.

There's a sense of cool composure about him, an aura of strength and resilience that radiates from his every pore. Drops of water pool and cling to his temples, tracing a path down the curve of his jawline before disappearing into the recesses of the towel wrapped securely around his waist.

His posture exudes confidence, his towering stance commanding as he gazes intently at his reflection - the determination in his eyes mirrored by the unwavering resolve of his physical presence.

Then, those deep, trenching eyes find yours in the mirror, enticing you to crawl off the end of the bed towards him. Revelling in the feel of your palms sliding up his broad back and over his shoulders as you press ornate kisses into the centre of his spinal column. 

He smells really good; a carbolic free scent of freshly clean skin and musk. You inhale as you run your nose against the expanse of his upper back, cheeks resting against cool, drying skin. 

Joel turns to face you, briefly catching your lips against his whilst your fingers untuck his towel, letting it fall to its death around his feet. And you can’t help but follow as you lower yourself down on your knees, admiring up at him.  

You kiss over the thick shape of his hips, the swell of his paunch, lick over his slotted belly button with a gentle hum. Trace each little freckle and scar and jagged stretch mark.

Kiss over his fingertips as they find your lips, nip gently at his thigh, slip your tongue into the high crease of it; a flurry of damp, fuzzy hairs tickling at your jaw. 

His own thick fingers curl around his hardening cock, holding and stroking himself as your hands run over the soft, downy swell of his belly again. Letting your fingertips circle around the grey, silken hairs and golden, sun-eroded skin that's warm. Splaying your digits to reach wide and far over him; the scent of his cock inches from your face as he gently pumps.

You reach your arm up, stroking over his stacked chest; fingers gliding over puffy nipples and soft hairs that are smattered and patchy with grey. You stroke down his bicep, his forearm as he works his turgid cock inside a hefty calloused palm. Feel how the solid sinew and muscle moves and flexes with every stroke under your touch.

You run your fingers in the dark hairs that cover his arm and watch enthralled at his strength. Joel strokes a thick, weeping cock in his palm as your eyes drop to it and you lick your lips. 

“Ya want it?” Joel entices, his voice a low grizzle of gravel. 

Smirking, you nod up at him as he takes your exploring hand in both of his and slides it down his groin until you’re curling your fingers around his thickness. 

“Have it, darlin’. S’all yours.”

His cock is magnificent, a work of art. Flushed a tanned pink, uncut head swollen and wet. A shaft pebbled with swollen veins and ridges, a small puff of hairs at the base. 

Tongue barely tracing the tip, your breath is a soft tease leaving him hissing in want already. You lick under his length, gentle laps of your tongue from base to tip; end flicking over the frenum and making his thighs buck at that sensitive spot.

You love the way he twitches on your tongue. The way his jaw tightens as he grinds down on his teeth, the strangled little grunts he makes as he breathes.  

You kiss his head like a long lost lover, making out delicately at a pace that is sufficiently cruel in its tease. Lips puckering over him as you suck the bulb in; you circle around the rim, hands free, lips rolling over the tip and tongue still continuing that heady tease. Your hands stroking over his heavy thighs, sculpted with muscle, you can feel them ripple beneath your touch. 

“You taste so good, Joel… So hard for me.” You whine.  

You suck off the crystalised bubble of pre-cum seeping out of him; a simple purse of your lips around his tip, sweet salt flooding on your tongue. 

Thick around your lips, he slowly goes all the way down as you open wider. 

You’re a vision; hollowed cheeks, swirling tongue. Joel gulps; a stray, grey curl falling across his forehead as he stares down at you panting. Wanting.

Wanting nothing more than to pick you up and fuck you senseless; drive you deep into the mattress hollering his name, but his feet stay planted in place, your hands on his thighs and lips sucking around his cock. 

“Look a’me,” he husks as your mouth opens around him further to take him in deeper.

Your eyes flit up to his - two darkening orbs staring down at you, pink velvet lips parted. 

“That damn mouth, darlin’...” he groans looking skyward. Eyes glazing over and neck cords beginning to rise and twist. “Fuck, that’s good. God damn.” 

Massaging his balls as you suck him in deeper, your nose presses into that warm, puffy skin and breathes in the scents of bergamot and flesh. 

He starts to rock his hips, fucking gently into your mouth. His giant palm coming up behind your head as he slides further down your willing throat.

You love the touch of him, fingers tightly wringing at your skull, roots of your hair getting snagged. You work him up and down with your lips clamped tighter around his cock. Tongue massaging against his shaft, fingers massaging around his firm balls.

“Ya so good at sucking my cock.” He grunts.

“My cock, Joel.” You correct, a string of saliva threading from his shiny head to your lips. 

“Always yours, darlin’. So fuckin’ pretty like this for me, ain’t ya? Fuck.” 

You bring him to that point; that moment when he feels like he can’t hang on much longer. Your mouth popping off the end of his head and simply going back to just licking him, enticing a small growl at the back of his throat.

“Darlin’-” he warns. 

“Joel.” You reply coyly with a smirk. 

He likes the agony, you can see it in his eyes, despite his lips curling back. That beautiful excruciation when he’ll not quite leap, but will teeter dangerously on the edge and sway. It’s fucking gorgeous, the precarity of it all. The weakness in his strength, the painful desire in his eyes.

How his hips involuntarily buck and his thighs shudder. How his balls pull tighter in their swell around your fingers. How his cock flinches and throbs as your tongue brushes over sensitive spots. How you bring him to his knees with just your mouth. Tongue swirling around and lips closing over the head as you suck him back in. 

“Bet ya so wet for me, ain’t ya?” He groans, watching himself slide into your hot, wet mouth with a fevered pace now.

You want it, want him. Hard and thick in your mouth like this. Heavy against your tongue. It makes you wet, makes you positively buzz and flare for his fat cock inside your mouth.

You squeeze your thighs together, your slick already dripping out of you.

“Mhm.”

“Fuck.” He feels the vibrations on his head as you hum and murmur.

He always knows. Knows how you’re so wrecked for him. He pops out your mouth as you fist your saliva around him.

“Joel. Come for me. Please. Let me taste you. Let me please you… come for me, Joel.” 

He grunts at your soft compulsion, the way your skilled tongue slides over his tip, teasing into the slit and tasting the glossy liquid that drips silky out of him. 

You pump him faster, palms on either side of his cock, pulling back and forth, as he whines above you; a broad, towering totem of grunts and pants. 

“M’gonna come.” Joel takes his cock and pumps fast. An explicit snarl lacing around his teeth. Flared nostrils and a strained neck.

Roped, veined hand manhandling his cock as your mouth opens and your tongue rests on the underside of his head, waiting for your thick, creamy reward. 

“Lemme see.” He groans.

You open your mouth wider as he spills out in plentiful squirts into that wet flesh. Sweet expletives crack from him, gasps and wheezes tumbling out of his mouth in the giddy frenzy.

Pearly froth on your tongue, you suck and lick him clean, making his legs fully buckle.

A hefty hand brushes through his hair; damp grey curls fluffing up again with the heat coursing over his skin.

You lick your lips, holding his stare as he strokes down the side of your face with a thick finger; deep chocolate eyes melting down his cheeks, he regards you for a few moments looking all the way up at him with a blooming smile. 

Breathing out, Joel juts his chin out at you with a single nod towards the bed.

“Your turn, darlin’.” 

Thank you so much for reading this Joel story. I hope you enjoyed it. Comments are always welcome, as are re-blogs if you liked what you just read. Many thanks! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

[little-blurry-stars5]

i hate "booktok" because its like, "forbidden love" and its a boss and an employee. No. give me real forbidden love. give me two lesbians whose husbands are on opposites sides of the war. give me a knight and a prince pine after eachother for years bc being gay is a crime and the prince has daddy issues. give me two cats from different clans who meet at fourtrees every quarter moon and have half-clan kits together. give me a medicine cat falling inlove with a warrior. give me forbidden love.

[garadinervi]

Jette Clover, Metropolis 5, [Grey Series], (cotton, linen, cheese cloth), n.d. [2010s] [© Jette Clover]

[breakswater]

I miss him....

[righthandmarksman]

Hi hi hello! Jett here! I've got something to talk to you all about! Would YOU like the chance to work with Mochi?! Would you like your desires drawn out?! Are you ok with letting go of control for a bit and doing funny dances and getting stuff for someone else? Then talk to me today to find out more details about this amazing deal!