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[sugiliteshusband]

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[damselneedssaving]

「 DON'T GET THE DOOR 」

OLDER!CLINGY!DAMIAN WAYNE X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: After days of being too busy to be intimate with you, Damian's finally got you propped up on the kitchen island, sweet and like putty in his hands, when a sudden knock sounds at the door... and he absolutely refuses to let you go and answer it.

★ TAGS: damian is 18+, suggestive content, nothing too much—just making out, and a bit more, damian is physically incapable of keeping his hands off you, srsly babe wtf did you do to him, dick and jason cameo at the end

★ A/N: just some dami hating everyone but you action 🤭 enjoy trying to get him off you lmao

line divider by @cafekitsune

Damian's gaze is heavy as it runs all over you, soaking you in with an intensity that makes you squirm on the counter, the marble cool against your bare thighs.

His hands are firm on your waist, sitting there like that's where they're meant to be—like they know no place else—as his chest moves to press up against your own, and his body stands situated right between your thighs, hot and present.

"I've missed you, Habibti," he whispers after a beat of just staring, and it comes out breathless, framed a little by disbelief, like he just can't fathom you're actually there.

You can only squirm in response, eyes ready to move to the side in all their bashful glory—when he ushers them back to him, fingers gentle against your chin.

"I've barely seen you these past few days—and now that I can, you choose to hide from me?"

You blink back at him, eyes wide and head shaking from side-to-side to convey what you can't with words, what you can't under the intensity of his gaze.

He hums, and he's so close now, so within kissing distance, that his breath fans over your face, minty and fresh, begging and pleading.

You don't even realise the way your lids grow heavy until it takes only half the time it usually does to shut them, until you're leaning forward and eager to meet him halfway as it registers to you just how much you've missed his touch.

Damian receives you with open arms, lips pressing against your own as he further pushes himself against you, hands now curling around your waist instead of situated at its sides.

All you can breathe is the scent of nature and cologne, drowning in all that is him until your head grows dizzy and your body begins to shake, until you're suffocating in heat and pounding need.

He kisses you like he's running out of time to, like at any minute, he'll be forced to pull away, hungry and desperate and left with an ache near impossible to fill.

He also kisses you like he has all the time in the world to, like he's taking in a piece of art, studying every inch until he has it etched into his mind forever.

It's too much—it's not enough—and you're left a panting mess when he pulls away, the air hot and heavy and seeping so much steam it practically fogs up your vision.

"Dami..."

He hums, lips now on your neck, having moved there as soon as he pulled away as though incapable of truly ever leaving you.

Your fingers move to card through his hair, and he groans right into your skin, just above a vein, sending a vibration straight through your body.

God, the moment is just so perfect, and you've just been so starved for attention, and everything in the world seems to just be going so right, that it feels wrong, like something will happen to ruin it all.

Something like a knock at your door.

At first, you think you're imagining it, because Damian continues to litter your skin with kisses like nothing's happened, his hands even beginning to roam beneath the hem of your shirt, touch light against your skin.

But then you hear it again, louder this time, and you're sure that it's real.

But Damian acts like it isn't.

His hands continue tracing patterns into your skin, lips painting your neck like it's one of his canvases as he worships you with all the devotion of a man begging for his life.

It's only when a third knock, even harder and louder than the former two, sounds from the door that he shows even a hint of acknowledgement, fingers digging into your sides, but not enough to hurt, your Damian would never hurt you.

"Damian!" a voice calls from the other side of the door, deep and insistent, "I know you're in there! Open up!"

"Would you be quiet?" another hisses right after, "People are looking."

You blink, pulling back a little, only for your boyfriend to chase after you.

Another knock at the door.

Damian growls into your skin just as you call softly, "Dami."

"Ignore those two idiots," he scoffs out with all the vitriol of a man wronged, one starved of something he's needed for far too long. "They'll leave eventually."

You nod, readily and easily because you don't particularly care for answering the door either. Not when he's holding you so sweet, and kissing you so right, and loving you like you're the only thing in his sight.

And you practically are with how he devours you, biting and sucking as he tastes you enough to shoot tingles down your spine and flood your veins with heat.

"Maybe he's not home," one of the two voices says, and you're just lucid enough to recognise it as Jason's.

"Oh he's home alright," the other responds, and you're quick to find that it's Dick.

But then all your lucidity washes out your veins because Damian's fingers start to crawl up your skin, and you're parting your lips to warn him with another call of his name.

"Dami—"

"Shh," he hushes you gently, and you know he doesn't mean it, soft and reverent as his hand reaches up to play with the band of your bra, lifting and snapping it back in place to send a jolt down your spine.

Your eyes dart to his, a heat pooling low in your stomach, and he simply meets your gaze with his own hooded one.

Then he moves to capture your lips again, and you're moaning low against his mouth, lips parting just a brief amount to let him in, when another huge bang slams against your door.

You pull back with a frantic, "Coming!"

Damian is already moving to try and capture your lips again, but you shut him down immediately, hands pressed firmly against his chest.

"Damian."

He growls, cursing beneath his breath in Arabic as he lingers a second longer, fingers curling against your skin. But he does ultimately let go, backing away enough to leave you room to hop off the counter, but not enough so that you can't feel the heat of him against you once you do.

And as you make your way towards the door, Damian follows right after, a shadow to his light, a knight to his princess.

A boyfriend to his girlfriend.

You swing open the door to two figures stood on the other side, both who you suspected them to be, wide-eyed and blinking as though they never thought you'd answer.

"Finally," Dick whines, lips jutted in a pout before they tug back up, flashing you one of his signature charming smiles. "Hey [Name]! Think Jason and I could crash—?"

"No."

A rush of wind flies over your face, the door to your apartment slamming shut before your very eyes to leave you dazed and a tad confused for a second.

Then a pair of arms wrap right around your waist, and that same voice that rejected the two brothers at your door is whispering right against your ear, hot and heavy, "Now... where were we?"

[iydiamartinx]

RIDDLE ME THIS, HOODS GOT A GIRL?

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources & thecutestgrotto word count: 1.7k synopsis: The Bats need information, Jason has an informant...who might also be more. a/n: I feel so utterly single writing these imagines, but I only want one of the bat boys 😭

The night sky over Gotham shone with its usual smog-streaked clouds faintly glowing orange from the city’s lights.

Inside the Batcave, it was a whirl of activity as the team tried to figure out the Riddler's location.

“We need someone who knows Riddler’s movements—someone who’s worked with his patterns recently,” Bruce said, gaze narrowed on the glowing map display.

Jason leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest, helmet tucked under one arm. “I’ve got someone.”

Tim paused mid-keystroke. “You’ve got someone?”

Dick raised a brow. “Someone you’re willing to share with the class?”

“She’s not exactly a people person,” Jason said with a lazy shrug, already turning to leave. “But she’s solid. I’ll get the info.”

“No way,” Damian said flatly. “If there’s an informant involved, we’re all going.”

Jason sighed. “She’s not exactly an informant.”

“But she has intel,” Dick added, voice teasing. “And you just happen to be the one she’s willing to talk to? Sounds suspicious.”

Jason shot him a look that could’ve cracked concrete. “Just stay out of the way.”

They met you beneath the derelict train yard off Kane Street—barely lit, long forgotten, and exactly the kind of place no one stumbled into by accident. The rusted metal groaned in the breeze, and the distant hum of Gotham felt muted here, swallowed by shadows and silence. You were already waiting, perched atop a decaying train car like a sentinel, one leg bent, the other dangling with casual ease.

The moment they stepped into view, you jumped down with fluid grace, boots landing soundlessly on the gravel below. The black and steel tactical gear you wore clung to every sharp line of your body, outlining lethal efficiency. Twin pistols were strapped tight against your thighs, and the half-raised hood left your expression mostly concealed—save for the sharp glint of your eyes.

“You’re late,” You said, voice low and smooth.

Jason smirked beneath the helmet. “Traffic.”

“Uh-huh.” You didn’t sound convinced.

That was when Nightwing stepped forward, all charm and sunshine grins, as if that smile of his could melt any armour. “And who might you be, gorgeous?”

Your eyes flicked to him, unimpressed. “Not interested.”

Tim coughed into his hand, clearly trying to hide a laugh. Damian smirked, crossing his arms with a tilt of smug satisfaction. Both of them had encountered you before—brief run-ins during missions that didn’t last long. You were direct. Cold. All business. No patience for pleasantries or ego-stroking.

It was one of the reasons Bruce was even considering pulling you into the fold. Claiming, he needed more serious people but everyone was sure he needed someone who brooded as much as him. But tonight you didn’t seem as broody.

Jason tilted his head. “Play nice.”

“I am,” You shot back, then turned back to him—and your tone shifted. 

You took a few deliberate steps forward, closing the distance between you and Jason until the toe of your boot nearly touched his. Your fingers reached out, grazing the edge of his chest armour.

“You look good, Hood,” you said, voice low and sly. “Still wearing red for me?”

Jason’s head tilted slightly, the faintest smirk pulling beneath his helmet. “Figured it hides the blood.”

Your lips curved into dark dangerous amusement. “You always did bleed pretty.”

A cough from behind broke the charged silence.

“I didn’t know you two had met,” Tim said, cautious, eyes flicking between the two of you.

“We’ve crossed paths,” you replied smoothly, gaze still locked on Red Hood like no one else existed. “Several times.”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest, his stance loose but alert. “She saved my ass once.”

“And he returned the favour,” You replied.

“You got something for me?” he asked, jumping into business.

You reached into her jacket, producing a drive between two gloved fingers, holding it just out of his reach. “Maybe. Depends.”

“On what?”

“You know what I want,” You crooned.

Jason’s reply was steady, unwavering. “You know I always deliver.”

That earned a smirk from you. You leaned in just a touch more, voice a soft purr. “You gonna say please, Hood?”

Jason reached out, his hand closing lightly around your wrist. The grip was firm, a warning more than a threat. “Don’t push.”

Your eyes sparked with interest—delight, even. “Oh, but it’s so fun.”

Still, this time, you relented. Slowly, purposefully, you stepped closer and tucked the drive into the utility pouch strapped at his hip. Your hand lingered there longer than necessary, fingers brushing over the gear, grazing the curve of his waist.

“Under Tricorner,” you said quietly, close enough now your breath warmed the space beneath his helmet. “He’s nesting under the old cathedral ruins. You’ll want to take the west tunnel—avoid the gas traps.”

“Appreciate it,” he replied, but his voice was a little rougher now.

You smiled, slow and wicked. “You always know how to say thank you.”

And then, with the same casual audacity you wielded like a blade, you leaned up and pressed your lips to the underside of his helmet leaving behind the faintest mark of your lipstick

Backing away, you turned on your heel, already fading into the fog that clung to the edges of the train yard. But your parting words were clear. “You know how to find me… to pay up, Hood.”

Then you were gone, swallowed by the dark as if you’d never been there at all.

The boys stared at Jason in stunned silence.

He turned slowly, expression unreadable beneath the helmet, and said dryly, “What?”

Dick blinked, visibly thrown. “You and her?”

“I told you she’s not a people person and…” Jason shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “We’ve got history.”

“I—how long has this been happening?” Tim asked, looking genuinely lost.

Jason was already walking past them, shoulders relaxed, “Long enough.” 

Damian narrowed his eyes, trailing behind. “What kind of payment is she demanding from you?”

Jason didn’t even look back.

“None of your business, Demon Spawn.”

LATER THAT NIGHT

Riddler had been taken care of and Jason was finally off the clock. But instead of heading to his apartment, he headed over to another.

He slipped through the open window, careful not to get tangled in the curtains as they fluttered in the warm breeze. The light in the kitchen dimmed low. The soft trace of gunmetal and something sweeter, like vanilla lingered in the air.

His armour peeled off piece by piece, left in a silent trail across the hardwood. Chest plate. Gloves. Utility belt. Boots. Until he was left in nothing but his boxers.

The bedroom door was cracked. Light from the street spilled across the bed in thin golden ribbons, illuminating the figure curled beneath the sheets.

She was there. Tucked into the centre of the mattress, tangled in a nest of linen and shadows. His shirt—an old, faded thing he’d once bled in and meant to throw out—was all she wore, slipping off one shoulder and riding high on her thighs.

She always looked like a contradiction like that. Sharp in every moment of the night—cold eyes, cutting voice, touch like a weapon—and soft here, in the early mornings. Laid bare and defenceless in the place no one else got to see.

Jason paused in the doorway, his breath catching for reasons he didn’t want to name. He didn’t get softness often. He didn’t let himself want it. But here… here it waited for him.

Her breathing was slow and even, lashes fanned against her cheeks, one hand curled beneath her chin.

He moved quietly, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled behind her. She stirred—just a little—but didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t need to. Her body curved instinctively back into his.

“Mm,” You murmured, barely a whisper. “Thought I felt you…”

Jason’s voice was rough, low against your ear. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Liar.” Your voice was sleep-drenched, teasing. “You always do.”

He let his arm curl around your waist, pulling you close until your back was flush against his chest, his nose brushing against the curve of your neck.

“Riddler’s out of the picture,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Gotham’s quiet… for now.”

You smiled against the pillow, but it was fleeting—because a heartbeat later, you moved.

With a slow arch of your spine and a shift of muscle, you rolled, tossing your leg over his hip in one fluid, practiced motion that had him flat on his back before he could blink. You were straddling him now, perched above with that smug, lazy grin he’d come to recognize—and maybe dread just a little.

“Which means,” you purred, voice low and velvet-rich, “it’s time for you to pay up.”

Jason huffed out a breath that was half laugh, half groan. “You made that up,” he muttered, eyes narrowing like he was trying not to smile. “You spun that whole ‘transactional intel’ stuff just so my brothers wouldn’t find out about us.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence as your fingertips ghosted over his chest—trailing from the dip of his collarbone to the ridges of muscle, your nails skimming along the old scar just over his heart, making him twitch. “Doesn’t matter,” you whispered, leaning down so your lips brushed the corner of his jaw. “You agreed to the terms.”

Your voice dropped to a sultry murmur, wicked with promise. “And what I want… is you. All to myself. For the next few days. No patrol. No Bat drama. Just you. That’s how this works, baby.”

His arms encircled you before you could fully retreat, keeping you flush against him. One hand tangled into your hair, possessive and grounding, while the other slid along your thigh, reverent and slow, stopping just beneath the hem of his shirt that barely covered you.

“You’re a menace,” he murmured, voice husky now, low and warm.

“Guilty,” you breathed, lips brushing against his.

And then he pulled you down.

The kiss wasn’t hurried. Deep and warm, burning slow and sure as his hand tightened in your hair and yours slid along his ribs. You melted into him like you always did.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to press his forehead against yours. His voice was barely more than a breath.

“You know you always have me to yourself.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “Good. Because I don’t share.”

Jason smirked, voice low and rough. “Wouldn’t let you if you tried.”

[sleepdeprivedfrfr]

obsessedbf!toji who loves when it’s cold outside because he knows you won’t try and push him away for being too clingy because he’s so so so sooo warm.

obsessedbf!toji who loves when you curl up to him or wrap yourself around him at night in the middle of your sleep, he thinks it’s so adorable.

obsessedbf!toji who doesn’t go to bed until you do, even if it means he’ll wake up grumpy the next morning for work.

obsessedbf!toji who complains to you one night about your sleeping schedule, “Why the fuck are you still up?”

“I’m watching asmr.”

“Turn that shit off and c’mere.”

“Shh this is a good part.”

He snatched your phone out of your hands and turned it off, “Toji what the fu-”

“Pay attention to me ma, not the fucking phone.” He whispered in a gruff sleepy voice as he pulled you to his chest and engulfing you completely. You huffed into his chest. "Stop acting like you don't love this," Toji grumbled lowly, you could hear the smirk in his words.

"Your tits are suffocating me Toji. No complaints though."

"Fucking freak."

He couldn't help but smile though after hearing your sweet little giggles.

obsessedbf!toji who picks up extra missions just so that he can spoil you, he literally refuses to let you work and truly believes that he should be the sole provider while you don't lift a finger. Also having you care for him when he comes home exhausted is a plus :3

obsessedbf!toji who lets you do skincare on him when he comes back home, he claims he hates it but he loves how relaxing it is and how much attention you put on him while doing it.

obsessedbf!toji who constantly teases you for watching asmr but slowly starts getting into it once you do it to him.

You were propped up against the pillows on the bed, while Toji walked out of the bathroom. He was moody from being at work all day, only to come home to you already showered, leaving him to have to shower alone. "C'mere baby," you patted your lap signaling for your big grumpy boyfriend to lay in it.

He let out a soft grunt and quickly placed himself into your embrace, his head on your lower stomach and hands resting on your hips while his body between your legs. You began tracing patterns up and down his back with your nails, and up and down his large biceps.

"Fuck that feels good ma." he whispered, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

"You still mad at me you big baby?" Your hands moved up to his scalp.

"Tch, whatever. Jus' keep doin’ what yer doin'." Was all he said while his thumbs lightly brushed back and fourth over your hips. His breathing began to slow and he let out soft snores.

obsessedbf!toji who surprising plans really romantic dates for you two, but as soon as you walk out of the bedroom all dressed up his hands are all over you, making you guys late to whatever reservation he booked.

"Babe we're gonna be late."

"Fuck you look so good mama, I can't help it." He says between kisses. Safe to say y'all were definitely going to be late again, that is if you even left the house.

another toji drabble/oneshot bc y'all loved the last one sm, might do an nsfw ver soon so yuh. Also thank you guys so much for 500 followers, I know im behind on a lot of stories rn so js bear with me pls 😭

also I’m so tired of seeing people canon toji as a bad husband/bf bc like y r we acting like he didn’t take his wife’s name?!? Like sure he may be broke in the show but that’s js bc his ass was gambling all his money away, anyways hope u enjoyed ;3

Likes, comments, and rebloggs appreciated!!

divider creds: @cafekitsune

[jacksabbotts]

spencer reid x fem!bsf!reader tw .' suggestive themes , nsfw ( mdi 18+ )

masterlist | series masterlist | dividers by @cafekitsune | join the taglist | part two

imagine having to share a bed with bsf!spence

it had been exactly four days, six hours and twenty-seven minutes since you had caused spencer yet another hard as a fucking rock boner in the most inopportune moment ( curse is damn eidetic memory ).

and you hadn’t said a word about it. hadn’t so much as even hinted that you had felt wrecked in the same way he’d felt ever since. you were as calm and collected and coolly unaware how much you riled him up with your mere presence ( spoiler alert—you knew exactly what you were doing ). it was all part of your plan to break dr. spencer reid’s resolve one earth shattering boner at a time.

you were still stewing comfortably in phase one of plan un—friend zone. you hadn’t expected to have so much fun teasing the absolute life out of spencer.

you had weaponized your innocence, verbally edged him until the point you thought he might combust into his pants, cumming in his pants like teenager.

‘did you think about me when you touched yourself on the jet?’ — that’s what you had asked, the question that almost did bring him to the point where he was about to ruin another pair of slacks.

then you had gone back to your paperwork as if you hadn’t spent the last hour torturing him with your body and your words. as if you hadn’t asked him if he’d thought about you while he pathetically stroked his cock in the fbi sanctioned private jet bathroom with every single one of his coworkers on the other side of the door.

and worst of all you you’d had spent the last four days ( granted the team had been called away on a case the next day after your little tease ) pretending for four nights, six hours and now thirty two minutes, that if your toes had gone any further up his thigh, you’d of felt the pre-cum he couldn’t stop from leaking out of his twitching cock.

like you hadn’t leaned over his desk just so he could get a glance at your bralette that was suspiciously in his favorite color. because of course you knew his favorite color, you were his best friend. his best friend that he routinely thought about choking with his—

‘alright, that’s it for tonight,’ hotch said, closing his file with a tired glance at the team. spencer visibly shook himself from his daydream only to be hit with it all over again when you smiled at him across from the table.

‘jj has the room assignments, get some sleep guys.’

everyone began gathering their things, the weight of the case thick in the air, the kind of tired that sits in your bones after hours of interviews and dead ends. jj, ever the coordinator, called out over the shuffle, ‘okay! I’ve got keys. reid, you’re with—‘

you already knew. you always roomed with spencer. but his heat nearly stopped as he listened to jj spill your name into the air. he should have known better though.

it was habit by now. you worked well together, slept on the same schedule, didn’t complain about each other’s snoring. it was practical, efficient. no one ever questioned it. until now.

spencer questioned everything now when it came to you. your feelings, your motives, whether or not you were purposefully edging and verbally overstimulating him.

jj tossed you your keycard with a smile. ‘room 214.’

you caught it easily and turned to spencer, who was already wide-eyed like she’d just said room 666. ‘come on,’ you said lightly, ‘don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy now.’

‘i’m not,” he lied immediately ( he was shy, overstimulated and already starting to feel a stirring in his pants — courtesy of his daydreams and the bright smile you had given him less than two minutes ago ).

the walk to the room was quiet. you were humming under your breath, more focused on how the carpet pattern didn’t match the wallpaper than the man next to you and spencer wondered how you stayed so calm—surely you felt flustered like him or was he just the odd one out as usual.

he, meanwhile, was spiraling.

two beds. two beds. two beds, he chanted internally like a prayer ( if only he could be so lucky ).

but when you swiped the key and pushed open the door, the room stared back with one glaring problem.

one. queen. bed.

spencer froze in the doorway. ‘that — there has to be a mistake.’

you laughed ( and if he hadn’t been absolutely fighting for his sanity and praying his cock to finally start to soften, he might have reveled in the sound ) you were already wheeling your suitcase in. ‘it’s fine. one night.”

it was definitely not fine. one hundred percent not fine.

he didn’t move. you raised your brows. ‘you gonna stand out there all night?’

spencer cleared his throat. ‘i could go talk to jj. maybe she can fix it.’ you plopped onto the bed, bouncing slightly. ‘it’s late. you think she’s gonna find a spare room at midnight?’

he knew he wasn’t being logical, but even the logical part of his brain was telling him to run for the hills. that it was a monumentally bad idea. that so many things could go wrong.

he hesitated. ‘well, i just—‘

you leaned back on your elbows, letting your shirt ride up ever so slightly. he wanted to scream fuck you because there was no way you had done that on accident and his cock was already paying the price. swelling against his zipper that was both unbelievable unbearable and exactly what he needed.

‘spencey. we’re adults. it’s not a big deal. i promise i won’t bite. unless you beg me to.’ his brain crashed. you smiled sweetly.

fuck you and fuck your overtly sexual mouth, he thought.

you stood up—and gone was his perfect view of your navel and belly button. you crossed the room, back to the front door and placed a hand on his chest. with the guise of fixing his chest because you were nothing but helpful. ‘do you want me to build you a pillow wall or something?’ you teased.

he opened his mouth—then closed it. ‘no,’ he said quickly. ‘no, i just—it’s fine. you’re right.’

He stepped in cautiously, like the bed was going to lunge at him but only to get your hands off of him before he exploded into a sweater vest pile on the ground topped with his spend he was about to let loose.

you watched him drag his suitcase to the corner of the room, movements stiff, controlled. so painfully polite.

when you returned from the bathroom, you wearing pajamas, he noted helplessly. thank god for pajamas—not that your were particularly very . . . covering. but he repeated :

not lingerie. not a bralette. pajamas. this is fine. we’re fine. we’re so very fu—

he swallowed as you bent down to tuck your day clothes into your go bag, your ass it what caught his eyes.

your ass that was suspiciously now close to his face.

your ass that was barely hidden by the tiny silk sleep shorts you called pajamas.

your ass that was now more skin than silk as you bent down.

your ass that was now making his khakis twitch.

‘don’t overthink it, spence.’ you stood to your full height again, spinning to face him. his gaze that had been glued to your ass, still unfocused as you turned. now instead of your ass in his eyes it was your tits.

your perfectly sculpted tits that sat bra-less under your silk tank pajama top. if his cock wasn’t hard before it definitely was now. ‘really, don’t overthink, your safe with me.’

yeah, safe with your shorts that only covered enough of your ass to qualify as shorts and your top that was rubbing deliciously against your bra-less tits, hardening nipples on full display for him to ogle.

yeah, he was about as safe with you as he was with an unsub.

you were a cold blooded liar.

soon you both got into bed.

or rather, you slid under the covers like you’d done it a hundred times before. calm, nonchalant, completely unfazed by the very warm, very tense man lying five inches away from you.

spencer lay on his back like he was in a coffin.

staring at the ceiling as if could give him salvation— stiff as a board.

you’d fallen asleep in less than five minutes. five—he knows because he’d counted.

he tried everything—closing his eyes, deep breathing, listing the top one hundred chemical elements in order of reactivity—nothing helped.

not when your thigh brushed his under the covers. not when you shifted and your tank top slipped just low enough for his peripheral vision to catch the curve of your chest. and definitely not when your arm flopped across his stomach with innocent, sleepy weight.

he nearly ascended on the spot.

it’s not intentional, he told himself, she’s just a touchy sleeper. This is fine. We’re still fine.

but he wasn’t fine.

he was still hard. painfully fucking hard. pre-cum leaking from his slit, almost enough to lean a little wet spot on the leg of his sleep pants. he let out a quiet sigh of absolute, internal despair and shifted ever so slightly toward the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb you.

which, apparently, was impossible.

you rolled. onto your stomach. right up next to him.

one knee bent slightly over his leg, your hip brushing his side. Your tank top had ridden up, the hem exposing your bare lower back.

god, he was so fucking fucked.

eventually—mercifully—spencer slipped into a shallow sleep. his brain gave up. his body gave out. and his last conscious thought was something along the lines of :

if i die in my sleep, let hotch give the eulogy. let penelope delete my browser history.

when he woke, it was still dark. the hotel room barely illuminated by the blinking red numbers of the bedside clock: 3:42 a.m.

and she was still on him.

like… on him on him

somewhere between 1:00 am and now, you had latched on like a sleepy little koala.

your head was buried in the crook of his shoulder, lips brushing his neck, and one arm curled possessively around his bicep.

but that wasn’t the problem.

the problem was your leg—hiked high over his pajama-clad thigh, your knee pressing precariously into his hard cock and your hips pressed firmly to him, and your body grinding.

rhythmic. slow. instinctive.

your breath was warm against his neck and your lips parted around a sound so soft he nearly missed it.

‘mmhm, oh spence . . . ’

he froze.

his whole body stiffened beneath you—except, unfortunately, the part of him that had no interest in restraint.

nope, nope, nope.

this is not real. this is a coma hallucination. i’m at the hospital. they found a tumor.

This cannot be happening.

but it was happening. it was still happening.

you sighed again, moaned again—this time into his neck, and he felt your lips brush his skin.

spencer’s brain short-circuited. there was nothing left. no thoughts. no theories. no defense mechanisms.

you shifted again, your hips rolling into his thigh—and that’s when he felt it.

heat. you were wet. soaking through your shorts. against his leg.

grinding still, gradually getting faster and faster —

he let out a breathless sound—something between a gasp and a prayer.

his hand hovered awkwardly above your waist—he wanted to push you away, he really did. but he also wanted to pull you closer. to see your face. to ask if you were dreaming of him or if you knew exactly what you were doing.

was this sleep? was this sin? was this the beginning of his actual mental breakdown? he didn’t know.

but he did know one thing :

if he didn’t move, if he didn’t stop this… he was going to have to change his pajamas. again.

THE END

[evening-desire]

yandere!nerd x slasher!bestfriend!reader

cw : yandere, murders, yandere is like... super unhinged and said some deranged things, this is super unserious btw.

part 2

thinking about a thriller horror nerd who's also secretly obsessed with his bestfriend (you).

you were used to the sound of your best friend rambling. it was like background music at this point, a soft, chaotic, obsessive background music. but lately, the subject matter had taken a way hard turn.

"i’m telling you, whoever the bleeding rose killer is, they're a genius," he says, eyes sparkling behind smudged glasses, hands waving animatedly. "like, they don't leave a single trace. no fingerprints. no dna. it’s like they floats. you don’t get it, y/n—they're artistry."

you hum noncommittally, nodding like you’re paying attention. while you aren’t. not really. it’s hard to stay focused when he’s gushing about you, or your other "persona" precisely. the one with bloodied gloves and a hidden shrine of trophies behind a locked basement door. the one he’s unknowingly obsessed with.

"like, if i met them... god, they would be the one who's calling for the cops—,” he chuckles, a little too breathlessly. "if i ever find them, it’s over. i’ll combust."

you clench your teeth behind a smile. it’s not that you’re worried he’ll find out. you’re careful. meticulous. methodical. what worries you is how deep this obsession runs.

because sometimes he will says things like "i bet they're hot. they have to be hot. you can’t be that clever and not be hot, right?"

or worse like "if i had to choose between you and them—like, romantically—i think i’d rather kill myself. you're both exactly my type. maybe i’d let you both kill me, like, together. god i'll combust."

you remember the night when he said that, all curled up on your bed with your hoodie for movie night, the words flowed out off his mouth like he just talking about the weather and not just talking about how he would nut while getting murdered.

you had to excuse yourself, hide in the bathroom, and scream silently into your fist.

but lately, it’s getting worse.

he started printing out articles. hanging up red strings and pins. obsessively decoding patterns and movements. you caught him following a crime scene once. you had to duck into a fucking alleyway to avoid him.

"y/n," he said breathlessly one day, "i think i’m getting closer. to them. the killer. i’m gonna find them."

and that was when the panic set in.

because the closer he got to the killer, the closer he got to you.

and if he finds out the truth… even if you're the killer, you wouldn't survive his obsession.

dividers by @.adornedwithlight & @.cafekitsune

[gojoest]

“there is never a moment in which i do not adore you” — g. satoru

established relationship, gn!reader, tooth rotting fluff bc i love him terribly and sickeningly, the title quote is from marie antoinette’s letter to axel von fersen, dividers by @/cafekitsune

it is way past midnight when the door clicks open. your ears catch on the barely audible sound of keys being carefully placed on the counter.

satoru is home, finally — after a long day of duties, teaching, meetings and missions, he made it back to you.

and he is being quiet, stepping lightly and silently sneaking in — he doesn’t want to wake you up.

but you are awake anyway, curled up in your shared bed. the shirt he slept in last night clutched against your chest; it smells like him still, and it brings a sense of safety and comfort knowing that he was here this morning, wearing the cloth hugged between your arms; that he took it off and placed it there, on the bed, to wear again tonight.

you know before he makes his way to the bathroom for a quick shower to wash the weight of the day off his body, he will come to give you a kiss. he always does. his lips trace the skin on your cheek ever so delicately, in fact so delicately one could barely feel them even when awake.

but you know, you can feel his breath on you. because you are never sleeping when he does this — just pretending. and part of him knows it — he can easily tell if you’re in slumber or not based on your breathing patter alone that he came to know in his marrow — and his lips curl into a silent smile, soft and loving, grateful to have you wait for him. thankful that there is one person looking forward for his return. that there is a home he can go back to. that there is you.

maybe he also knows that you can never sleep without him. and that the bed feels like an unfamiliar place, the emptiness on the mattress — unnatural. that it makes you restless. that you toss and turn, similar to when you are laid on a new bed you’re not accustomed to, perhaps in someone else’s house or at a hotel, and you can’t fall asleep because it’s not your bed. that you wait, for him to come and make the bed familiar and warm, make it yours again.

maybe this is why he’s been coming back home earlier, or at least trying to, but it’s not always up to him.

“you’re back”, you mutter, turning around to catch him just as he was about to plant a soft peck on the side of your face but paused to take your scent into his lungs. your nose nuzzles against his, arm snaking around his neck and pulling him closer to draw his lips near yours, and the kiss both of you have longed to taste all day finally comes to light.

if yearning was a sound, it would be that of the air you both breath in from the closed space between your faces just the moment before the kiss. the air that enters through your nostrils and lets the scent of the other in, and once it reaches your senses it births a moan in your throats. like that of a thirsty man in the blazing hot desert tasting water for the first time in days.

“you are awake”, he pulls away, but remains connected with you. forehead glued to yours, blindfold off and eyes gazing softly into yours in the dark. he can see you perfectly, and he is afraid to blink. because anytime he does, it robs him of the time he could spend looking at you.

“i just happened to be”, you tell him, fingers gently scratching at his undercut, earning a soft hum from him followed by a “you’re a bad liar, but keep practicing”

you chuckle. he always sees through you.

satoru is leaning over you, avoiding to even sit by your side in his work clothes. the idea of possibly bringing residuals of the curses he’s exorcised that day into the place that he considers closest to heaven is just unacceptable to him. not that he’s ever admitted this, but it’s a pattern you’ve noticed.

but to you it doesn’t matter. you love the mess in him.

you wrap your other hand around him, an attempt to drag him into the bed. “come closer”, you coo.

he is resisting. “i need a shower first — i am sweaty. i smell bad”

“my satoru never smells bad”, you correct him.

he giggles. “you say that because i am your satoru”

“first, there’s no way you can ever be someone else’s satoru. second, please do not ruin my romantic moment — it’s rude”, you pout with a heavy sigh, but playfully.

this time he laughs — he’s missed this banter with you all day.

you can tell by the way his body shivers that he is wavering. his conscience might be in a dilemma right now whether he should break his rule just this once or not, but his muscles aren’t — they always lead him to you by default, like muscle memory. the fight is pointless. this one, he will lose. and he knows it.

and he caves.

the mattress sinks down as his massive self lays himself next to you, taking you into his arms. your forehead buried in his chest, his lips glued to the top of your head — you stay unmoving, in silence. in the dark, but in the warm — just breathing together.

a sigh breaks from his throat when you shift away from him. only slightly though — just to look at him.

“so— where was i before you interrupted my lovely speech”

“you were saying that your satoru never smells bad”, caressing your cheek he reminds you.

“right”, you nod, and then continue — “of course, it is because my satoru is mine — what a silly thing to state the obvious. but also because—“, you pause, charging your lips towards his, not to kiss. but to feed him your love, to pour it from your mouth and into his — “…because, there is never a moment in which i do not adore you”

a smile grows on your lips, but it isn’t your smile — you can feel his lips softly stretch against yours, curl up from the corners — it belongs to him.

and then the smile grows into a kiss, swallowing the love you give him. all of it, hungrily.

“i’ll take the day off tomorrow”, he pulls away, barely.

you smile, “i’ll make breakfast”

satoru thinks he got too lucky with you. and maybe he did.

but so did you, with him.

[caracalla-dondus]

The Augusta

Pairing: Emperor Geta/wife!reader

Summary: Geta desires to give his wife the title of Augusta.

Dividers: cafekitsune

Author's Note: Probably not historically accurate. I read that the wives of emperors were not automatically given the title of Augusta and it inspired me to write this fic. I originally was going to write this fic for Caracalla because I feel like he would want to bestow his wife with every possible title he can give her but I decided it was time for Geta to have another fic written for him lol. Also for anyone who sent me requests, I am still working on them. I've just been a slow writer recently.

The night air was heavy with the scent of burning oil and incense. The festivities happening elsewhere in the palace were still alive with boisterous laughs and drunken voices heard distantly, the spirited sounds echoing throughout the halls. But the chambers of Emperor Geta were quiet. For once.

Geta lay in bed, his arm draped lazily over his wife’s bare waist, his fingers tracing random patterns on her skin. The warmth of the wine still lingered within him, though it was nothing compared to the intoxication of having her so near. He had always enjoyed the comforts of indulgence: wine, feasts, the pleasures of the flesh, but there were few things he truly valued. His brother. And her.

His Empress.

He turned his head slightly, watching her as she lay beside him, her lashes fluttering as she teetered on the edge of sleep. The soft glow of the oil lamps cast golden shadows on her skin. She was beautiful, always had been, but he liked her best like this: bare, undone, her careful words and courtly airs stripped away, leaving behind only the woman who had, against all odds, come to know him better than anyone.

Better than even Caracalla perhaps.

Geta exhaled slowly, shifting so that his lips brushed against her temple. He could feel her pulse beneath his mouth, steady and calm, as if she was still unaware of the weight of what he was about to say.

"I want to make you Augusta," he spoke softly, his voice low, rough with something between affection and ambition.

She stirred, blinking drowsily before tilting her head toward him, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "You’re drunk."

"Not drunk enough that I don’t know what I’m saying."

She pushed herself up slightly, resting on one elbow, her eyes scanning his face for any sign of jest. "Geta…" She hesitated, wary, as though the words were a dream she dared not believe in.

It was of course not unheard of for an emperor’s wife to be granted the title of Augusta. Sometimes the title would even be given to a sister, a mother, or a daughter. Not every wife of an emperor had received it, it was not a title lightly given. Simply being married to an emperor just made her be seen as an imperial consort with no true formal power with an unofficial influence over her husband. The title of Augusta would provide power, political and court influence, an elevation above all other women in Rome. She could even be put on coins. It was a statement that she was not merely the woman he shared his bed with, but the woman he ruled with.

Geta watched her closely, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing against her jaw. "I mean it," he said. "You are my wife. You have stood by my side through everything. It is only right that you are honored as such."

Her lips parted, but for once, no retort came. Instead she let out a soft breath, the weight of his words settling over her. "And Caracalla?"

At that, Geta let out a short, wry laugh, rolling onto his back. "Caracalla will not care," he said. "My brother will be pleased with the celebrations the announcement of your title will bring”

She gave him an unsure look. Caracalla’s moods were unpredictable, but Geta had learned how to navigate them. His brother’s mind was fractured, constantly shifting between violence and childlike joy, a state worsened by the illness that slowly ate away at him.

"You truly believe he won’t oppose it?" she asked, testing him.

Geta sighed. "Even if he does, what will he do? I will not ask his permission. I will give you the title myself."

There was a moment of silence before she finally spoke, her voice softer than usual. "You would do that for me?"

He turned back to her then, his brow furrowing slightly as if the answer should have been obvious. He reached out, pulling her closer so that she was half draped over his chest, her weight grounding him in a way that nothing else could.

"I would do anything for you," he murmured against her hair. "You and my brother are the only people in this world who mean anything to me."

She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, her hand splaying over his chest as though feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. The weight of his promise, of his love, settled between them, unspoken but understood.

Outside their chambers, the palace still roared with life. But within the emperor’s bed, there was only the quiet certainty of a man who had decided what he wanted.

And he would see it done.

I have wife!reader being concerned about Caracalla's reaction because while I think he would normally be happy for his family, I feel like if he was in one of his moods he may occasionally feel even more inferior and even more sidelined.

[httpsserene]

(flower) arrangements — 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔 charles leclerc x florist! fem!sri lankan!reader (fc: maitreyi ramakrishnan) you are a florist in the heart of monaco, solely focused on operating your flower shop without any distractions. your friends are adamant about you needing a break to breathe air that isn’t floral scented. kika, in particular, thinks you need to add some spice to your life—you are unaware that "spice" is scuderia ferrari formula one driver, charles leclerc. status: completed.

smau. requested! reader’s ethnicity isn’t detailed — she speaks sinhala & tamil (and french! lmk if i need to make any changes < 3). fluff. angst so light, it feels like a paper cut. strangers to lovers. getting together. takes place during the 2024 f1 season. calm and collected!reader. down bad! charles leclerc. good friend kika gomes. good friend pierre gasly. original female character (océane). kika, as your unwanted, unpaid, personal cupid. unhealthy work-life balance. no love triangle. flowers. small business growth.

the title is a double entendre about the reader's career and the matchmaking kika does for her—it has nothing to do with arranged marriages or actual desi matchmaking. in addition, i know i'm one of f1 tumblr's most unreliable writers, but i have finished writing the entire smau, all that's left for me to do is formatting. each part will be posted in a timely manner. with that disclamer, if you'd like to join the taglist for this specific smau, you are welcome to reply to this post or send me an ask.

༊࿐ ⊹ this is the third time one of my lovely readers has requested a smau and gave me permission to pick the plot—and, i believe the saying is, "three times makes a pattern." which means, there's an 100% chance of me turning a simple smau into a multi-part affair, if the plot wasn't specified in the request. there's your fun fact of the day lol. happy reading, xoxo 🤍

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

chapter one: red carnations | kika refuses to let you waste another night holed away inside your shop, arranging bouquets that will never be gifted to you, since you’ve become “too busy for a relationship.” she discovers that charles might be willing to assist you in improving your work-life balance.

chapter two: purple lilacs | a mutual friend, océane, upsets kika’s plans when she begs to be set up with charles. kika can only hope that océane doesn’t take it personally when she realizes that charles has his eyes focused on you, and he won’t let his gaze wander.

chapter three: blue hyacinths | the reason you avoid dating isn’t because you’re afraid of love, it’s because you don't have the time for love. charles wants to change your mind and prove that it’s possible for you to manage your business and fall in love with him at the same time.

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[moosesarecute]

Day 4: Paid Time Off

@azrielappreciationweek

Masterlist

“They’re incredible,” Feyre said in awe.

Her eyes glowed from the light of Starfall and also from the couple dancing in the middle of the ballroom.

Rhys felt his heart warm at the sight. Y/N and Azriel’s yearly dance. The first one in fifty years. It made him feel a comforting sensation that everything was as it should. Their dance truly ment a lot to everyone in their family.

“They truly are,” he answered her. “Surprised?”

“I never expected them to be such good dancers,” Feyre stated.

Rhys did agree with her. Their beautiful movements surprised him every year.

“Y/N would ask Azriel, Cassian and I to dance every year at Starfall. We always said no. We’re warriors. Warriors don’t dance ballroom dances. Then, suddenly a year, Azriel said yes. I think Y/N was just as surprised as the rest of us,” Rhys chuckled a little as the memory.

“What made him say yes?” Feyre seemed almost in trance looking at their careful and steady movements. The love that bloomed from their gazes could be seen through the entire room.

“It was their first Starfall as a couple. None of us knew, but we probably should have guessed it. Starfall has always been an important day for the two of them. And, of course, none of us know why.”

Y/N and Azriel ended the dance with a small kiss before they made their way back to Mor and Cassian. Azriel’s hand was carefully placed on Y/N’s back and his shadows still held her dress, making sure she didn’t trip on it.

“But that doesn’t explain why they’re so good at it. I never would have been such a good dancer if I only danced once a year.”

“Y/N loves dancing,” Rhys explained. “I still remember her coming crying to my room after she had started the “wife-training” as we called it. She hated the thought that she enjoyed a part of it. But she absolutely loved dancing. I have a theory that they dance all the time when nobody is around.”

“It should simmer for five minutes,” Azriel said before he moved over to you.

You sat at the table, trying to find the right place for the puzzle piece you held in your hand.

Azriel picked the piece from your hand and immediately put it in the right spot. He laughed as you let out an annoyed sigh.

“Come here, love,” he said as he pulled you up from your chair.

You couldn’t help but smile when you realized what it was he wanted.

Azriel’s strong hands held your waist as you moved through your kitchen. Your arms were wrapped around his neck. Your feet were moving together in carefully chosen patterns.

Your smiles and small laughs only grew as he lifted your hand from his shoulder and twirled you around.

The song you danced to was the song that played the first Starfall you were together. A memory you would pull forward and send into Azriel’s mind every time you danced.

His hazel eyes were looking deeply into yours and your violet ones looked back. Your smiles lightened up your entire face.

With a last twirl Azriel dipped you down and his lips met yours.

It was incredible how he still managed to give you butterflies even after centuries of being mates.

He pulled you up again and gave you another small kiss before he let go of you.

“The dinner should be done now,” he said and moved towards the stove.

And as you stood and admired your mate’s beauty you got reminded once more that it really was the little things that made life special.

Divider by @cafekitsune

[starshipsofstarlord]

like rabbits | young!daryl dixon

summary. merle is humanised by his strict and overwhelming tentativeness of protecting his younger brother daryl and his girlfriend in the outbreak. but they are less helpful around the camp as they have other priorities with what to spend their time on… and others accidentally notice that too (5.3k)

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, daryl and reader are 18/18+ in this fic, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, pull out method, fingering, handjob, a pattern of people walking in on them, oral (male receiving), mentions of death and abuse and drugs, alcohol consumption, arguing, swearing, young!daryl au

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Merle barked a laugh as he socialised around the singeing yet controlled campfire that Shane had set up, one of his last beers in his hand as he was met with gruntled expressions. “We migh’ as well shack up, ay blondie, it’s the end of the fuckin’ world.” Andrea was not impressed as she wrapped her arm around her younger sister Amy, wanting the drunkard to stop his crudity. The light of the hungry flames licked his face; it was the only positive attention that was being deposited to him. The likeness Shane and Dale had of the old dealer was thinning, the only reason they had allowed him into their survivalist ranks was not for him; it was for the kids that were currently holed up in their aligned tent.

“You’re a pig Merle.” Andrea bit back, only humouring the intoxicated redneck further. Everyone was tired of this same old bullshit that spewed from Merle’s lips, he was rude and foul mouthed, he even slurred curses that most of them had never heard spoken aloud. But as foolish as his addicted actions were, he could be useful in some ways, even as defiantly slim as that list was. He was useful as additional muscle to a team out for a run, he had no problems or qualms when it came to killing the walkers, he would pierce their mindless brains until they fell down and became motionlessly dead, being nothing more than carcasses of the already deceased.

They had the pariah to judge him, they all thought they were better than him due to the fact that none of them chose to voice the indignant truth; the world was prepared to crash and burn, and they would all die in the bitter aftermath. None of them were even slightly special, the playing field was now balanced and there was no social ladder in which they were above him. But he didn’t act tough and protective for himself, no, it was for his little brother Daryl and the girl that had his brother wrapped around her finger. Prior to the turmoil outbreak, they had each been in a terrible situation, and it was all down to the people that had brought them into the world that had already been difficult even in those days.

Mr Dixon and Mr Y/L/N had been old friends, their past throwing back to their high school days, before either of them dropped out of course. Neither one had any adoration for the offspring that they enforced to struggle through their livelihoods, they were selfish and addicted to inflicting harm to the younger generations of their tainted bloodlines. Merle had escaped the physical wrath, leaving Daryl abandoned with the villainous figure of their father, occasionally he would drop by the Y/L/N household to earn himself some quick influx of cash, knowing that the man residing within could never justify rejecting something that made him trigger happy.

But as soon as the unexpected broadcast flooded the television and radio channels of a dwelt illness that reanimated the dead and passed onto those living, Merle returned to the dreaded place where he had grown up. He had been dealt his fair share of misery long before Daryl was birthed into the world, he had scars too, the difference was however was that he was not ashamed of them. He did not care for the quality that his body was in, hence why he had induced himself with the precipitation of illegal drugs, skyrocketing through a high that helped him in forgetting the terrible things that he had bared witness to in his youth.

“Whatever prude," Merle's bite back, fighting off his own shallow insecurities that he swallowed down to hoard in the pit of his drug digesting stomach, knowledgeable that he would be going to rest alone without the sweet touch of a woman to daunt his mind with calmness. He hurled out a glob of saliva from his mouth, the pool of spit and alcohol landing with spite on the ground as he stalked away from the other survivors, relieved to finally be departing from them. They were a bunch of asses anyways, Merle thought, shaking his head at them on their high horses, looking down their noses at him. There were only two souls in the camp that he actually liked, and none of them were bestowed with that rare gift.

Giggles fell from your lips as you relished in the feeling of Daryl’s lips pressing with frantic need against your neck, making your head lull backwards with the rush of pleasure as his hand roamed around beneath the confines of your jeans and underwear. It was nighttime, the others that habited the makeshift camp would either be asleep in their own tents or huddled around the fire that they often set up close to the RV. It had given the two of you a chance to spend some time together alone, and with intimacy. The both of you often hunted together, leaving the rows of salvaged tents to journey into the thick of the woods, mostly catching small prey like squirrels and rabbits if you were lucky.

As much as you would have liked to, there was no chance of you fucking out in the open wild; Daryl would not allow it, knowing that there was a large risk of the undead stumbling upon you fornicating. The last thing he wanted was to allow your life to be at risk, and whilst he didn’t shelter you, he did all he could to protect you, even in spite of your ability to aim his crossbow and shoot a shotgun. It was logical of course, dwindling the chance of getting caught off guard by the leering undead, but the thought still turned you on.

“Ya like tha’?” Daryl preened you for reassurance as he slipped a finger into your slick and welcoming walls, your answer being a gasp that uncontrollably left your mouth. He was so fucking good with his fingers, and he didn’t even know it. After all the times he had made you cum, you would have expected him to be aware, but not only did he require confirmation, he wanted you to admit that he was pleasuring you. It did something to his brain, circuiting it into an arousal pledged satisfaction, simply from hearing his name or a defining ‘yes’ fall benevolently from your lips. And so your mouth murmured his name, stifling the volume that it wished to be spoken at, for the sake of not drawing in the curiosity of walkers or your fellow survivors.

He began to suckle deeper on your flesh, bringing the blood beneath to the surface, ensuring that there would be bruises left after his lips had dislodged. Your head rolled back, eyes closing from the addictive satisfaction that he gifted your body, hips lifting without shame towards the press of his fingers, forcing them bury deeper within your tight walls. If there was no threat to your lives by doing so, you would constantly remain in this tent, with your bodies colliding in a desperate passion that brought an amorously filled ecstasy to both of you. He shushed you, withdrawing his lips and moving them onto your mouth, teasingly biting your lip as he watched you unfold into bliss because of him.

“Fuck me. Ya two practicin’ fer a kid or somethin’? ‘Cause if you are, that ain’t how ya do it.” Daryl and you shot apart, faces warm from embarrassment as Merle stood in the opening of the tent that neither one of you had heard be unzipped, and your boyfriend retracted his hand from beneath your jeans and panties, subtly bringing it to lay down beside him and away from his brother’s gaze. Your breath was laboured, and you knew that it was obvious to anyone that could see you that you had endured the highs of an orgasm. After the shock wore from Daryl he scowled and rolled his blue eyes at Merle, visibly pissed off for the uncalled for interruption.

“Don’ ya know how ta knock?” Daryl barked with evident irritation in his tone, glaring at his only sibling. Whilst he was grateful for all Merle had done to ensure that he and you survived thus far into the outbreak, it was all forgotten in the present, for he had ultimately not been thinking with his mind and instead a far different part of his body. He’d just been getting started in his eyes, Daryl had anticipated to make you cum and cum again until you finally drifted off into a noiseless sleep that did not consist of the nightmares that the walkers had sprung into your mind. It was not only a distraction, but a show of his strong affection, and that opportunity had now been diminished thanks to the unwelcome intrusion.

“One problem there little brother is there ain’t any doors.” Smart ass Merle, you thought, although you could not meet his eyes as he chuckled at the antics of the pair of you. Merle would not admit it, but his decision to find you both had been out of concern, he wanted to check on you and make sure you were within the safest vicinity that you could be for now; the camp. He was relieved that you both were, but he could never miss an opportunity at teasing Daryl, it was far too enjoyable for him to rile up his brother. “Though ya been knockin’ the wind outta that girl, yer fuckin’ like yer gonna die tomorrow. Ya okay there Y/N/N?”

The attention that Merle had drawn towards you made you shuffle nervously atop of the sleeping bag, and from your embarrassment Daryl’s anger only increased. His nostrils flared in rage, his eyebrows lowering in a firm frown that was aimed at none other than Merle. He too felt embarrassed, having evaded his brother walking in for so long, and finally it had happened all on its own. The two of you had presumed that Merle would spend a longer amount of time by the fire where it was warm, whilst you and Daryl shared each other’s body heat, and that afterwards Merle would return to his own tent beside yours. How wrong you had been. “Get the fuck out Merle.”

Daryl was practically seething, causing his brother to laugh harder, clutching his stomach as though his amusement brought him pain. His face was red as he chortled, and he waved his hand towards you both, as though his the blame for his laughter was on you, and it was without intention. “Okay, okay.” Merle steadied himself, reaching for the zipper of the tent as he stepped back onto the grass. “You crazy kids have fun, don’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t.” He sent his brother a wink that made you shiver, and he finally closed the partition to the outdoors, leaving Daryl and you in one another’s presence once more.

“He definitely killed the mood, didn’ he?” You didn’t even need to answer him, it was transparent that the mood was beyond dead, and you shuffled around on the sleeping bag that was somehow large enough for the pair of you to share, slipping into it and reaching for the travel lamp as Daryl slipped in behind you, his hands holding your body as he sighed from the frustration that boiled within him. He closed his eyes, wishing to erase the event from the timeline, but it was impossible. If only his damning brother had not interrupted, then neither of you would be going to bed with a hunger that had been off out by the careless intrusion.

Glenn was not that much older than you and Daryl, a couple of years you supposed, and you liked the young man that had previously attained the job of a pizza boy and got along with him well. He was kind unlike many others seemed in the camp, and he was startled as Shane grabbed his arm, pulling him to the side, looking at him expectedly. He hadn’t long returned from a run, so he supposed the reason for being leered at had something to do with that, though his expectations were befallen when Shane spoke. “You seen Y/N? She’s not with the other women?”

Ah yes, the misogynistic duty that was reserved for the ladies of the camp, washing the dirtied clothes in the nearby lake. If things were not in order the older man did not like it, he had to ensure that things within the band of survivors ran swiftly since he had taken on the role of leader that had entailed no vote to sanction him in such a position. Glenn shook his head, pursing his lips, though he had witnessed you scatter silently across the camp without a word exchanged. You had simply nodded at him in a passing greeting, for some reason excitement affecting your speed. The last thing your friendly acquaintance wanted was to piss him off, and the glare he received for his denial was invoking.

It made him think that if something happened to you amidst escorting yourself into the woods, then the fault would be on him. He didn’t want anything to happen to you and keeping the truth to himself could potentially bring you the consequences of harm or death. You seemed as though you could take care of yourself, but no one truly knew what extent to. The knowledge that you had endured the hardship of living amongst the difficult town alongside Daryl and Merle was common, and you would go out hunting with the two of them, but Glenn had never seen you handle yourself against walkers. No one except the brothers had, and that was what concerned him most, especially considering both of the Dixons refused your company on runs, claiming that it was for your safety.

From Shane’s endless glowering, Glenn gulped, inadvertently gulping and readying his breath to speak. “She went out there.” Glenn’s hand pointed beyond the trees, the lush green leaves motionless for there was no breeze that whisked through the air, and Shane’s eyes followed direction of his index finger, an instantaneous frown contorting his features as he looked back at his fellow survivor with almost disbelief.

“By herself?!” The volume of Shane’s voice was loud, contorted into a mixture of absolute worry and prominent anger. Glenn should have told someone, him, he thought to himself. If you were to die his leadership would no doubt be questioned, and he quite enjoyed holding some kind of power over people, he always had. The world in its current state was dangerous, and he checked his hip to ensure that his weapon was still plastered at his side, and he began walking with a pace towards the bordering woods that you had disappeared into. “Come on Rhee, you’re coming with me to find her.” Fucking Dixons and their plus one, they were more trouble than they were worth. He thought you were lucky to be a young woman, otherwise he wouldn’t have put his life on the line to go out and rescue you.

With no resilience to the orders, Glenn followed after him, guilt ebbing at his chest, dreading the outcome in which a walker had stumbled upon you and pursued you as prey. He should have held more concern when you had meandered off, but he had been tired and distracted from the run into the city. You never went into the woodland in solitary, Daryl was usually with you, and if he had been, he hadn’t seen the youngest Dixon. If something had the unfortunate occurrence of happening to you, then the fault would be on no one else other than him. And he knew that to be the truth.

Finally, you were alone. With Daryl. You had chased after him some minutes later when he had stated that he was going to search for ‘some squirrels or somethin’’, the evening prior was when Merle had stumbled upon a scene that he would forever tease you about, and you knew that Daryl was dwelling in his own frustrations. He dared not speak of it, feeling ridiculed and like a child that his brother had witnessed something he would never live done, opting instead to shoot something than regard you with his overflowing lust. If anyone were to walk in you again, he was certain that he would grab his crossbow and aim in their direction, truly pissed off for yet another interruption to expelling both his attraction and love towards you.

Daryl had never wanted to fuck in the woods, it was too dangerous, but you had mentally plucked at a compromise that satisfied both of you. The twigs and dried leaves were hard and irritating beneath your knees as you pulled at both his pants and boxers, leaving his cock exposed to your desperate gaze. You could never get enough of Daryl, even as he tried to maintain his stature, his back flush against the ascending bark of a tree, crossbow loaded and in one hand in case a walker were to attempt to kill and then feast on you both. It was the compromise, and Daryl released a staggered breath as you wrapped your palm around his length, leading his cock into your awaiting mouth.

He stifled a strewn gasp, forcing his eyes to remain open so he could spy the undead heading towards you if they did, his other hand softly coiling in your hair, playing with the strands around your face and gently pushing them out of your peripheral. “Fuck darlin’, you know how ta drive me crazy.” And that you did, such was proven as you took him deeper into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, and his whole body shuddered, becoming frail from pleasure. The sounds of nature danced around you, the birds rustling in the branches above being the only noise other than Daryl’s cock wetly slipping in and out of your mouth as you bobbed your head.

It was utter ecstasy to be some place that Daryl ironically felt safe, and to have you with him, intimately suckling on his most sensitive nerves. Your hands grasped his hips, allowing you to buck your head forwards slightly faster, drool sputtering around your chin as you began to gag on his endowed length. With one last look up at the crumbling man above you, whose eyes scoured the landscape skittishly, you closed your own, lashes fluttering upon your cheeks as you poured all your focus into making him feel good. He deserved a break, and you were more than happy to comply and give that to him,

There was no rush, it was the two of you in a space that it felt like no other soul could interrupt. You gorged yourself on the taste of his flesh, wanting to feel his seed warmly spill down your throat, and make his brain feel elated throughout the turmoil of instinctual survival that it processed on repeat. He stroked over your hair again, playing with the strands as the muscles in his legs tensed from the sensations that were rocketing into his mind. His fist clenched firmer on the grip of his crossbow, knuckles turning white as he bit his lip and slowly moved his hips in accordance to the motion of your head.

A rustle upon the ground caught him off guard, and his defences raised as he pushed you with care away, quickly tucking himself back into his jeans although the fly and button were still open. You stood beside him, sheathing the machete from the ground with urgent administrations, not composing your fucked out appearance that had come from using your mouth on him, expecting a walker to appear in view. Though there were no walkers, only two men that made Daryl outwardly groan and roll his oceanic irises around in the whites of his eyes. Another interruption. Why could no one just leave the two of you alone? Shane and Glenn looked between the both of you, minds piecing together the implications that they had disturbed. “Seriously?! The fuck!”

Daryl exclaimed, wedging his boots into the earth below as he tried to numb the heat that was battling to the surface of his face, glaring indignantly towards the two. You hastily wiped your chin, thinning your lips as you silently tilted your head in question in Glenn’s direction, uncertain as to why their presence had broke through the moment that you and Daryl had been craving. Thinking that the woods would be a private place was a good idea initially, however it proved that you couldn’t get peace anywhere. “I’m thinking the same thing.” Shane’s authority brewed the air with tension, as he narrowed his eyes at you, scoffing lightly. Yes, he had been young once, but the world was not as safe as it used to be, and logically that should have rendered in your thoughts. “The two of you shouldn’t be out here - doing that.”

Glenn didn’t back him up verbally, unsure of what to say, and knowing that if he did open his mouth it could possibly make things worse. Daryl however was not going to take Shane’s shit, he always saw himself as above others, as though he still wore a badge and it meant something on the tarnished lands. “It don’t stop you and Lori from sneakin’ off ta fuck ou’ here.” Shane’s face became swamped with realisation that him and his late friend’s wife hadn’t been as cautious as they had initially perceived. “Ya don’ think I hear ya two scamperin’ off when I get back from huntin’. B’cause I do, and I ain’t the only one.” The pizza boy stepped backwards as to not get involved with the puncturing of Shane’s ego, watching as Shane huffed beneath his breath.

“Keep your mouth shut Dixon, you don’t know anything. And head back to camp - the both of you.” You wanted to punch him; no one spoke to Daryl like that, especially not in front of you, and as you went to step forward Daryl grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers so that you could walk past the prick together without the risk of causing a fight. Your boyfriend spat on the forest floor as he by Shane, glaring daggers at the man that had to ruin everything. Shane just didn’t want to hear the truth, his pride was far too large to be brought into reality by ‘a no good redneck’, but that was what had happened. You knew that Glenn would apologise later, and as you stalked through the woods, you heard no verbal interaction between the two men that walked some ways behind the pair of you.

Daryl was a mess. Merle was missing, having removed his own hand to escape the latches of the handcuffs that Lori’s apparently alive husband has clamped him in on that rooftop. He had wanted to start a fight, more so when they came up empty handed when going to retrieve his brother, but you had stopped him. It would only cause more trouble than what was already prevailing, and you did not want Daryl to get in the thick of it. He had already cursed him out, threatened to propel ammunition from his crossbow into Rick, and none of it had brought Merle’s return. In the comfort of your shared tent he had cried, his tears streaming down his face as you coddled him with comfort, trying with all your might to usher the tears away.

And finally they had come to an end, his tear ducts unable to produce any more moisture, though Daryl’s anger had not dispersed. You ran a hand along his shoulder blade, placing a peck on the sleeveless area as you laid atop of the sleeping bag together. There were no words that would decrease his sadness; you wanted Merle back too, he had always looked out for you when it came to your father, and now both of them were gone. One was dead and you dreaded where Merle was, he had to be somewhere, he’d never given in easily in the old life he had, so you knew that he wouldn’t now, no matter the hurdles he had to cross to survive. “I dunno whatta do.” Daryl mumbled as he pulled you closer, and you stroked his hair with affection, smiling tightly as he looked at your face.

“I dunno either.” You admitted, brushing your nose against his, wanting to be lost in the quiet of the night. The lantern was back on and it illuminated his face, and you could see that he was tired, drained of most of the little hope that he had initially held. “But he’ll come back for us. He always has.” You reminded him, knowing that the first place that Merle had gone when the radio began to divulge the distractions of the outbreak was to the two of you. If it hadn’t been for him, neither of you may have remained alive. It was unexpected in the moment but Daryl kissed you, cupping your face with his rough hands, starting off slow yet with no motives to keep the physical connection short. His mouth glided softly against your lips, and you opened them, allowing him easy entrance.

He breathed through his nose as he pressed his mouth harder against your own, slinking his tongue behind your teeth, rolling atop of you, placing each of his hands above your shoulders. “I love you Y/N Y/L/N.” He states earnestly, pulling away from your face to trail tentative kisses along your fragile throat. He needed this. You needed this. It was exactly what you required to feel something other than the tormenting anguish that chortled within every breath. His hands groped at your sides, slipping beneath your shirt and onto the flesh of your waist, seeking the warmth that pulsed in your veins.

“I love you Daryl Dixon.” It was something he often required to hear, and you never faulted him for the reassurance of your emotions; he had been through so much at such a youthful age, and you understood the stability that the heartfelt confessions of love that it brought within his mind. He engulfed your lips once more, the desperation tightening its grip between you as it became a frenzy of removing one another’s clothes that were kicked to the other side of the tent, leaving your bare bodies rubbing against each other. Daryl wasted minimal time to enter you, brandishing himself and you with the pleasure that you had sought, motioning slow thrusts into your walls as though he was trying to memorise just how you felt.

Hot air left his lips and fanned in a tantalising manner against your jugular, as you inhaled deeply, lulling in the erotic sensations that bespoke through your body. Your hands gripped his shoulders with tight vigour, descending and running gently down his back and upon the scarring that contorted his flesh with prominently visible lashes that you could feel beneath your caring fingertips. It broke you that a man could exert such hatred onto their own child, and whilst your father had been no saint himself, he had never struck you in such a way. But no matter the state in which Daryl’s body was in, you found him to be a beautiful diamond within a hoard of boring rocks, capturing your attention with anything that he proceeded to do.

It was more than love that you felt for him, it was a transcendent connection that you had never witnessed anyone else hold their partner with. His hips rotated, grinding against your own, clashing the bones in their derelict midst of chasing an orgasm of which you had both failed to achieve in recent times. There were always interruptions, and you loathed each and every one of them. To be together again, with the same goal rolled waves of endorsed gratefulness into your bloodstream, as you clung wantonly onto your boyfriend, needing him more than oxygen in the moment. “Daryl.” His name made his head raise, the whisper that had fallen from your lips making his pupils swivel around his irises, the black pebbles enlarging with his own portion of lust.

“Yeah?” He huffed through his staggered breaths, continuing to move, cradling the back of your head with his triceps so that they would cushion the behind of your skull. His tone was tentative whilst simultaneously being strained from the proving pleasure of having his cock stuffed into your cunt, and he looked into your eyes with such focus that it made your heart skip multiple beats. As you held onto him, you opened your mouth after licking your lips, prepared to douse him in verbal love, but before the words could spew from your form, the crunching of footsteps outside of the tent and the clearing of the throat interrupted.

“Daryl, you in there?” Fucking Rick Grimes. Daryl paused his movements, although he did not remove himself from your slick encasement of his length, and you could see his patience begin to boil over. Your lover grunted out as an uninterested stern reply, and you felt relieved that the man held some jurisdiction and did not simply enter the tent, forgetting that privacy still remained in existence. You knew that Rick intended to extend an olive branch, wanting to apologise to Daryl, believing that his outrage had not only be compelled by Merle’s figure being absent, but also because of his age that was far younger than the law enforcer’s. “I just wanted to-“

“Piss off Grimes.” Daryl huffed, not wanting to hear the excuses that the man could disperse with pity upon him. He’d heard enough whispers regarding the situation around the camp, and he was tired of it. “‘M tryna fuck mah girlfrien’ here, so if y’all so fuckin’ kindly excuse us…” His honest confession startled you that he would outright admit what the two of you were doing, but it seemed to do the trick, with Rick muttering an ‘okay’ and shuffling off, presumably back to his family and Shane. Daryl heaved a sigh of relief, pressing his forehead onto your chest, and the flush of his heat warmed your body. His cock twitched inside of you, reminding you more than his admission to the cop had on where you were and what you had been doing. “Sick of these fuckin’ cockblockers.” He muttered, causing you to laugh in wordless agreement.

As you began to chortle out words that supported his opinion, a gasp was pulled from your throat as he began to move again, his thrusts deeper than previously, hitting the benevolent spot inside of you that made you see stars and distorted all thoughts from your brain. He leaned into you, pushing his weight onto your own as he made you feel every inch of him, knowing not to adjust his position as he could feel you tightening around his shaft, the feeling making his eyes roll back in his head. He removed one of his arms from beneath your head, trailing it down your chest and stomach to your clit, toying with the bundle of nerves that brought you over the edge, cumming around him.

He fucked you faster, now focusing on his own high, and before he could get carried away he pulled out of your warmth as your hand reaches to coil around his length, sliding your hand up and down it, bringing him to his orgasm that spilt over your stomach in a pool of white. “Fuck.” He heartily laughed, breathlessly leaning down to trail kisses in various places of your skin before pecking your lips. Daryl knew that soon he would have to stalk out of the tent to listen to Rick and see what he wanted, but for now he drowned in your presence, kissing you over and over, relieved that his frustrations had gotten the better of him and sent those that dared interrupt elsewhere. You pulled him down into your side, watching as he reached for the shirt he had previously been wearing, wiping the mess that he had made from you with tentative strokes.

[sugiliteshusband]

【 MY MAIN F/O LIST 】

Aventurine, Obsidian, Sugilite (HSR) + Kirara (Genshin)

i am extremely normal about all of them. (<- liar)

more f/os…

Kaito (Project Sekai) — PLATONIC ! Zhezhi (Wuthering Waves) — PLATONIC ! Xiangli Yao (Wuthering Waves) Zero (Black Beacon) Horropedia/Joshua (Reverse: 1999) Kosma (Honkai Impact 3rd) Lin Ling (To Be Hero X) probably a few more i’m forgetting…

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR I

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 3.6k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: This story is inspired by the 2012 movie This Means War. I went back and forth on whether to write it with a named OC or in reader format—and ultimately decided to try something new and go with reader-insert. I usually write in third person with original characters, so this is a bit of a different style for me. As for who the reader ends up with… I haven’t made a final decision yet—maybe one of them, maybe both. Feel free to let me know who you’re rooting for! Hope you enjoy the chaos! warnings: None so far except for the fact that I don't know anything about neuroscience only what my research brings up, so I'm praying the shit I write makes sense

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY 

The lecture hall smelled like old paper and burnt coffee. You stood at the front, spine straight despite the fatigue threading through your muscles. Behind you, the whiteboard was half-covered in scrawls of chemical structures and dopamine pathways, neatly drawn and precisely labeled. It was the kind of lecture that left half the room wide-eyed with curiosity… and the other half silently praying for mercy.

With a quiet click, you capped your marker and continued. “Neurotransmitter binding is not a one-size-fits-all process,” you said, voice steady as your gaze swept across rows of glazed eyes and frantic scribbles. “It’s dynamic. It’s reactive. It’s shaped by genetics, trauma, medication—even what you ate for breakfast.”

A hand shot up in the second row.

“So… like, can serotonin make you hallucinate?”

You blinked. “No. And if it does, someone’s given you something else—and you should go to the ER. Immediately.”

A ripple of laughter. A few groans.

Another hand rose—this one from a sharp-eyed girl near the back. “In Joker toxin exposure cases, have you ever seen synthetic mimicry of dopamine flood patterns?”

Now that was a question worth respecting.

You’d specialized in Joker toxin during your postgraduate years, had seen firsthand the neurological carnage it left behind. The clown was a madman no doubt—but a dangerously brilliant madman.

Your mouth tugged into a faint smirk. “Yes. And no. But that’s a topic for next week.”

The clock ticked toward the hour. You fielded three more questions—one insightful, two exhausting—before dismissing the class. 

Backpacks zipped. Conversations stirred. As the last student filed out, you finally exhaled. Slowly. The silence was a relief.

Rolling your shoulders, you gathered your coat and bag, the weariness catching up to you in waves as you made your way toward the door—hungry, tired, and vaguely craving something that didn’t taste like caffeine or sugary energy drinks.

Gotham’s streets buzzed with their usual chaos—honking cabs, barking vendors, motorcycles weaving between traffic like they were flirting with death. You walked with familiar ease, the city noise fading beneath the throb behind your eyes and the pressure at the back of your skull.

Your hand drifted up to your bun. It had been tightly wound since six in the morning, and now it felt like a migraine on a countdown. Mercifully, you didn’t have to be in the lab today—no microscopes, no sterile gloves, no post-doc breathing down your neck. Just freedom. Glorious, unwashed, unbothered freedom.

So you didn’t hesitate. One by one, you tugged the pins from your hair, each metallic clink falling into your coat pocket like a tiny rebellion. The strands spilled down, wild and full of indents, but you didn’t care. You tipped your head back, rubbed at your aching scalp with slow, tender fingers, and sighed like you’d been holding your breath all day.

You looked like hell. You felt like hell. But you were done. No lectures. No lab reports. Your appearance be damned you just wanted to spend the rest of the day in comfort. 

Your boots clicked along the sidewalk as you headed toward Café Nero, already imagining the warmth of a latte in your hands—despite your earlier claim about cutting back on caffeine. A lie, obviously. Caffeine was practically your lifeblood— and something carby in your mouth.

But the universe had other plans.

You turned the corner—and nearly collided headfirst with a ghost.

Jake.

Three years of your life bundled into one name, one face. One half-curved smile that looked exactly like it used to and somehow worse now that it was being directed at someone else.

Three years of your life compressed into one name. One face. One irritatingly familiar smirk. His arm was around a tall blonde, her smile radiant and far too trusting. He wore the same smug charm he always had as he said something that had her giggling. 

He noticed you first.

“Hey!” he said, voice way too bright. “Y/N. Wow. You look…” his eyes flicked over your rumpled sweater, your wild hair, “…great. Still at the university? Tinkering away in your little lab?”

You straightened instinctively, spine snapping to attention like your body was trying to make up for the indignity of the moment. Of all the days to run into him.

“I am,” you replied, polite but clipped.

Three years together, and he still couldn’t grasp the importance of your work—or the lives it affected. Your research had been groundbreaking, and he’d always referred to it like you were tinkering with science fair projects.

The blonde leaned into his side with a warm smile. “You didn’t tell me your ex was brilliant and pretty.”

You wanted to hate her. Truly, you did. But unfortunately… she actually seemed sweet.

He laughed. “I forget sometimes.” Then turned back to you with that same infuriatingly casual smirk. “Oh—uh, Y/N, this is my fiancée, Hannah.”

The word hit like a slap.

Fiancée.

Only a year ago, you’d walked in on him and his yoga instructor, limbs tangled and guilt nowhere in sight. He’d thrown away three years with you like it was nothing—and now, not even twelve months later, he’d found someone new and locked her down with a ring so big it probably needed its own insurance policy.

You managed a smile. A real one, for her sake. Sort of. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your eyes dropped to the large, glittering ring on her hand.

“Wow,” you said with a tight smile. “That’s… that’s a big rock.” You let out an awkward laugh, trying muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm you definitely weren’t feeling on the inside. “You’re engaged. To be married.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. Things just… clicked. It was like fate.” Then he reached out and stroked her cheek with the kind of performative tenderness that made your stomach churn. 

God. How had you ever loved this man?

“Isn’t that right, baby?” he murmured.

Someone gag you with a spoon.

You stood there, frozen in place, as Jake pulled Hannah in for a kiss—deep as if he was trying to fit his entire tongue down her throat. Screw you, you thought. Screw you for rubbing her in my face.

You cleared your throat, the sound awkward and a little too loud. “Well, I should get going,” you began—except your mouth didn’t stop there.

Your brain screamed abort, but your tongue had other plans.

“I actually have to go meet my guy. Yeah, he’s a neuroscientist too. We, uh… met at work.” You nodded like that somehow made it more convincing. “Anyway…”

You cleared your throat again, silently begging yourself to shut up.

“It was… great seeing you. And congrats. On the ring. The upcoming wedding. Your whole… life. All of it.” You winced inwardly. “Well… Peace.”

And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you topped it off by flashing a peace sign like some glitching robot before turning and briskly walking away.

The second you were out of sight, your smile collapsed. You pressed your lips together, debating whether to scream into the sky or crawl into the nearest sewer.

“Someone kill me right now,” you muttered under your breath.

CAFÉ NERO

You finally made it to the café, and with it, your mortification began to loosen its grip. The familiar scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries wrapped around you like a warm blanket, softening the sting of everything that had come before.

Inside, it was calm—the gentle hiss of the espresso machine, the clink of ceramic, the low murmur of scattered conversations. A peaceful hum that felt like the complete opposite of Jake and his nauseating tongue display.

You slipped into your usual seat at the counter, letting your bag slump to the floor, and leaned against the worn wood like it might hold you up a little longer.

“Ah! Doctora!” Juan greeted you with a bright smile from behind the bar.

He was a sweet kid—maybe nineteen—who’d moved to Gotham from Mexico about six months ago. His English was improving steadily, though every now and then he’d still stumble over a few words. You’d quietly helped where you could. While he knew your name, he aways insisted on calling you Doctora like it was your superhero title. 

You snorted at the thought. You, a superhero? You couldn’t even save yourself from an awkward conversation with your ex.

“The usual?” he asked, already reaching for your cup.

“Si, please,” you nodded.

He glanced up with a curious smile. “Long day?”

You let out a soft groan, dropping your face into your hands. “You have no idea.”

The door chimed behind you, but you didn’t bother looking up. Not until you felt someone hovering a little too close to the seat beside you. 

You prayed your luck wasn’t that shitty.

But of course, it was.

Jake’s familiar chuckle slid into your ears like nails on glass. You closed your eyes for half a second, steeling yourself, before slowly peeling your face from your hands.

“This is too funny,” he said with a grin. “What a coincidence.”

“Right! Absolutely hilarious,” you replied, forcing a smile that you hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt as you saw Jake and Hannah standing there.

“I’m assuming this is your boyfriend’s seat?” Jake asked, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Oh, ye—”

Before you could finish, Juan slid your drink across the counter, cheerful as ever.

“No, Doctora,” he said, accent warm, words slightly clipped at the edges. “Order for one. Always order for one. Seat is free.”

You nearly choked on air.

Hannah giggled while Jake said nothing. Just raised his eyebrows slightly, in that smug little way he used to do when he thought he’d won something.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You smiled tightly. “It is. I’m meeting him back at work. Just stopped in quick. Juan, I thought I said I needed this to-go?”

Juan frowned, brows pinching together. “Mmm… no, I don’ think so. You say you finish work. You always sit here, like always.”

“Not this time,” you said—too sharp, too fast.

Juan’s face fell a little. Guilt bloomed in your chest like a bruise, he didn’t deserve that. It was your own damn fault for digging the hole in you were now.

You sighed, softer this time. “Lo siento, Juan. Can you make it to-go, please?”

He nodded, already reaching for the paper cup and bag.

You turned back to Jake with a forced laugh. “Seat’s all yours.”

The second Juan handed you the new cup and pastry bag, you thanked him quietly, paid, and practically sprinted for the door—mortified, humiliated, and more than ready to go home and bury yourself under ten layers of shame.

MILO & ANTHONY’S APARTMENT

“Ugh! I wanted to die right then and there,” you groaned, collapsing dramatically onto Milo and Anthony’s couch, a glass of wine already halfway gone. Their apartment was across from yours, and you’d made a beeline for it the second you got home, desperate to drink your embarrassment into submission. “I fucking peaced them.”

Anthony winced. “Yeah, that’s… pretty bad.”

“That’s because you need to go out more,” Milo said, waving his wine glass like a pointer. “Meet someone. Rub him all over Jake’s face like a human flex—same way he’s doing with that girl, Hayley.”

“Hannah,” you corrected automatically. “And she seemed sweet.”

“She could be as sweet as cotton candy dipped in honey and I still wouldn’t give a shit,” Milo snapped. “I give a shit about you. And you cannot keep letting that asshole rent space in your head.”

You opened your mouth, but Milo steamrolled right over you.

“Fine if you’re not ready for anything serious, but girl—you need to go out and get some good dick. That pussy is drier than the Sahara.”

You choked on your wine. “Hey! I get some!”

Milo deadpanned you. “Your vibrator doesn’t count. Honestly, it should start charging you. Thing looks like it’s about to file for workers’ comp.”

You blinked. “Have you been going through my drawers again?!”

He shrugged without shame. “I was looking for your face cream.”

“And you thought I keep that in my underwear drawer?” 

“Look, the point is,” he said, sitting forward, “you need to go out. Date. Even just a casual thing. I hate seeing you mope over that troll.”

“I’m not moping,” you muttered.

Anthony gave you a soft smile—too kind for this earth. “We’re just worried about you. And hey, for the record, we’re glad you moved here. You’re part of our chaos now.”

You exhaled, guilt and warmth stirring in your chest. “I know. It’s just… I can’t believe I was that blind. I nearly gave up everything for him. I even moved back to this shit-hole of a city—where clowns and penguins blow up buildings and guys in capes fight crime in full spandex.”

“Well, at least Gotham has a certain… charm,” Anthony offered.

“I mean, it’s great if your idea of charm is daily arson,” you deadpanned.

“We are happy you’re here,” Milo agreed, his voice softer for once. “But you’ve gotta stop beating yourself up. Even I thought he might’ve been your person—but he wasn’t. That’s on him. His loss, not yours. You’ve gotta move forward, babe.”

“I am dating,” you said weakly.

“No, you’re talking to people. You don’t even give them a real shot.” He raised his brows. “You can’t test chemistry without mixing the liquids.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s more complex than just ‘mixing liquids,’ Milo. There’s neural signaling, oxytocin regulation, attachment frameworks, behavioral conditioning… Timing alone can throw everything off. You can’t just drop two people into a room and expect chemistry. That’s not chemistry—it’s chaos.”

“Why not?” Milo shrugged. “People do it all the time. You’re overthinking it—as usual. But if it helps, just treat it like another one of your experiments.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argued. “My experiments have structure. Charts. Data. Equations. Control groups.”

“Exactly!” Milo clapped his hands. “Which is why you should try online dating. They have charts and shit.”

You let out a snort. “Please. In this city? Knowing my luck, I’d end up matched with a serial killer. Or worse—the Joker.”

Anthony tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does the Joker even online date?”

Milo groaned. “You’re both insane. There are plenty of semi-normal people on those apps. It’s how me and Anthony met.”

You gave him a flat look. “Exactly.”

You gave him a long, pointed look. “Point proven.”

“No.” Milo leaned in. “The point is you need to get back out there. Whether it’s for a wham-bam-thank-you-man kind of night, or you end up calling me crying because you just met the father of your future babies—I don’t care. You just can’t keep living in Jake’s memory. Not everyone is like him.”

You groaned, tipping back the rest of your wine in one go. “I know that.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you a look.

“I do!” you insisted. “Look, can we table this for now? I just want to drown my feelings and make future-me regret the hangover I’m definitely earning tonight.”

GOTHAM ROOFTOPS

Boots hit the edge of a rooftop with a soft scrape of gravel. Jason Todd scanned the streets below, hands resting at his sides, jacket collar tugged up against the bite of the early spring cold. He moved with restless energy—agitated, impatient, ready for something to go wrong.

“This is a bust,” he muttered into the comms. “Three blocks, no action. Not even a wannabe thug with a pocket knife and poor life choices. I’m starting to think Gotham forgot how to be Gotham.”

There was a beat of silence before Dick’s voice came through, dry and amused.

“Or maybe you’re just scaring the criminals too much, Hood. Ever consider early retirement?”

Jason rolled his eyes behind the mask. “Only if you go first, Nightwing. I thought Blüdhaven was where all the action was—what’re you doing slumming it with us Gotham bottom-feeders?”

“It is,” Dick replied. “But every now and then I like to slum it with my baby brother. Make sure you’re not burning down half the city in my absence.”

Jason snorted. “You’re only older by what, five years and a moral superiority complex?”

Before Dick could answer, Barbara’s voice cut in over the channel, sharp and clear.

“Seems like you’re about to get your wish, Jason. I’ve got eyes on suspicious movement down at the docks—east side, Warehouse Eleven.” Barbara drawled through the comms. 

Jason was already moving, boots hitting gravel as he took off across the rooftop. “Now we’re talking.”

Dick followed a step behind, vaulting over a low pipe with practiced ease. “Arms deal?”

“Most likely,” Barbara confirmed. “Thermal scans show at least four bodies. No confirmed ID yet, but one of them matches a known associate of Black Mask.  “Be smart. And try not to level the building, Jason.”

“No promises,” he said, grin audible.

WAREHOUSE ELEVEN, EAST DOCKS

The docks were dead quiet when they arrived—too quiet. The kind of stillness that always meant something was waiting to go wrong. The air smelled like oil and sea rot, and the only sounds were the soft lapping of water and the occasional creak of aging chains swaying in the wind.

Jason crouched at the edge of a container stack, pistols holstered at his thighs, his gaze locked on the warehouse below. His breath clouded in the cool air.

“East lot’s clear,” he murmured into the comms. “Nothing but rats and roaches.”

Dick landed beside him in a soundless roll. “So, your usual crowd.”

Jason didn’t glance over. “That’s twice tonight. Keep it up and I’ll tell everyone you cried during that Pixar movie.”

“I was twelve. And it was Up, you heartless bastard.”

“Still counts.”

They moved in silence, slipping through a broken window high on the warehouse wall. Their boots hit the rafters without a whisper. Below them, four men circled a battered folding table strewn with crates, unmarked cases, and haphazard stacks of cash. A single overhead bulb flickered overhead, casting shifting shadows across the concrete floor.

Jason zoomed in with his HUD. “I know that one—left side. Carlo Mancini. Low-tier runner for Sionis. Looks like he’s about to piss himself.”

“Might mean he knows something,” Dick murmured.

They listened.

“I’m tellin’ you,” Mancini hissed, voice tight and shaky. “It’s gonna be big. Joker-level big.”

One of the others scoffed. “The hell you talkin’ about? Joker’s been off the grid for months.”

“Yeah, and now he’s back. Lookin’ for someone—some guy who used to run with him, then bailed. Word is, he took something. Something important.”

Jason’s fingers curled slowly around the grip of his pistol.

“It’s not his usual stuff either,” Mancini went on, voice dropping to a whisper. “Heard it’s from Scarecrow too. Some freak chemical—don’t kill you right away. Makes you laugh yourself insane. Till your heart gives out.”

A beat of silence.

“No cure for it, either.”

Jason exhaled. “Shit.”

Beside him, Dick’s jaw flexed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jason gave a tight nod. “If the Joker and Scarecrow teamed up and made something new—and someone stole it…”

Dick’s voice was grim. “Then Gotham just became a countdown clock. And we’re already late.”

Without another word, they moved.

Jason dropped from the rafters like a shadow cutting through fog, landing hard enough to make one of the thugs flinch. Dick followed a breath behind, graceful and quiet. By the time the first man reached for his weapon, Jason had already disarmed him with a sharp twist of his wrist and sent him sprawling with a solid elbow to the jaw.

Dick swept the legs out from under another, zip-tying his wrists with practiced ease. The other two barely had time to shout before they were taken down—one with a stun baton to the ribs, the other with a boot to the sternum.

Mancini tried to run.

Jason caught him by the collar, slammed him against a crate with just enough force to knock the air from his lungs. “Going somewhere?”

The runner gasped, eyes wide with panic. “I didn’t—look, I don’t know anything!”

“You know enough to be scared,” Jason growled, pressing his forearm into the man’s throat. “So start talking.”

“Okay—okay!” Mancini wheezed, both hands raised in surrender. “I just heard whispers, man. Word on the street is Joker and the ‘crow are lookin’ for someone—most likely one of his old runners. Said he took something. Chemical notes, maybe the whole damn formula. Whatever it is, it’s important. Real important. Joker’s tearing through people trying to get it back.”

Jason’s gaze darkened. “You know who this guy is?”

“No name,” Mancini coughed. “Just that he used to run logistics—backdoor stuff. Quiet type. Smart guy. Kept to himself. Real ghost.”

“Not smart enough if he got himself tangled up with the Joker and Scarecrow,” Dick muttered.

Jason’s hand tightened. For a moment, Dick thought he might snap.

“Jason,” he said, quiet. A reminder.

Jason let go.

Mancini dropped to his knees, coughing and trembling. Jason stepped back into the shadows, tapping his comm.

“You catch all that, Oracle?”

Barbara’s voice filtered in, sharp and efficient. “Every word. Red Robin and B are already digging. If this guy’s in Gotham, we’ll find him. But until then, you two are off the clock. Get some rest.”

Jason exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Sure.”

Dick shot him a look. “Try to actually listen for once. Not everything has to be solved in one night.” 

With that, he clapped Jason on the shoulder and nudged him toward the exit—just as the distant wail of GCPD sirens broke the silence, growing louder with every passing second. Cleanup crew was on its way.

Jason didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his thoughts already miles ahead—backtracking whispers, dissecting clues, remembering the sound of laughter that still echoed in the corners of his nightmares.

It was rare for the Joker to get invested in anything. He thrived on chaos, not consistency. But if he was serious enough to go out of his way to hunt down some nobody, then whoever had the formula was sitting on a bomb.

Next Chapter →

[haosweater]

nasty dog

content: best friend! vernon x afab! reader, smut, pwp, college au. warnings: consumption of alcohol. smut: switch! vernon, switch! reader, name calling (puppy, mutt, miss etc), cunnilingus (oral on reader), praise kink, breeding kink.

summary: vernon is overprotective. everyone knows that. he says he just wants to make sure no man takes advantage of you, since y’know, men are dogs. well, then again, so is he.

word count: 2k

note: this was,,, supposed to be less than 1k words... oh well, i went crazy :d divider is by @cafekitsune on tumblr :)

you always found the situation funny. 

to people on campus, you and vernon were known to be best friends. he was your partner-in-crime, the one who knew and understood your humour the best. wherever you were, so was he. people rarely saw you apart. it was as if you both were attached to the hip.

your friends always teased vernon about how protective he was over you. it didn’t matter where men approached you. in school, at clubs, on campus— vernon was always lurking nearby, glaring at them from the shadows. if looks could kill, he’d have been a serial killer. 

“aw vernon, don’t need to be jealous,” jihyo laughed as the male snapped out of his daze, and turned to look at her. “you’ve been staring at y/n for the past ten minutes.”

it was true. he had been busy staring at you. but he was also staring at the man whose hands were wandering down your body. his lanky figure was bent over so he could whisper god-knows-what into your ear. he just couldn’t look away from the way you giggled, your fingers tracing over the patterns on the stranger’s shirt. 

“well, that freak’s with her,” he sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey. “can’t be too careful now, can i?” 

chaeyong giggled, leaning against her boyfriend’s shoulder. “aw, are you worried y/n’s gonna leave you?” she teases the male as their whole group laughs. vernon rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face shows that he doesn’t mind it. “don’t worry, babes. you know she always has a special place in her heart for you.” 

vernon opts to not respond as his gaze drifts back to you. the man’s hands had trailed down to your waist, and it was now your turn to whisper in his ear. your hand was on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. he shuddered at your words, only fueling vernon’s curiosity even more. he knew you were whispering the most sinful things to him. he could see it in the way you grinned, knowing you were in control.  

the music faded into the background gradually as the boy is left with his own thoughts. ‘special place in her heart?’ vernon thought to himself, bringing the glass up to his lips. he didn’t doubt that. 

that’s when your eyes meet his. he chokes on his drink, surprised and embarrassed. he knew you knew that he’d been staring. it wasn’t like he was trying to hide it that well anyways. 

vernon feels small and shy when you look at him. your gaze was similar to that of a predator’s– focused, sharp, intimidating. you looked like you were about to devour him whole. he wouldn’t have minded that. 

he cannot look away. your eyes draw him in, your entire demeanour was confident, seductive, and you knew you were in absolute control. raising a finger, you gesture for him to come over slowly, as if casting a spell on him (for you, he’d knowingly fall for it all). with a soft smile, he finishes his drink quickly and leaves. 

he knew what this meant. 

“so? what did you tell him?”

you hum, closing your eyes with a smile on your face. vernon’s voice always had a soothing effect on you. “i told him how i’d tie him up and fuck him slowly,” you begin, sipping on your drink. “then i told him to fuck off and keep dreaming.” 

vernon’s laugh sounds like a familiar melody from your childhood. he hums, tracing circles across your skin gently. “very on brand for you, hm?” he teases, shifting his body down as the sheets rustle under your bodies. 

chuckling, you brushed his brown locks aside, but are quick to gasp as he inserts his tongue into you, catching you by surprise. “fuck, noonie,” you curse, relishing in the pleasure. “god, that tongue of yours,” you moan softly, flushing your hips against his face. 

from between your legs, vernon has a wild grin on his face. you roll your eyes at his antics, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his tongue against your wet cunt. he mumbles something so softly, you only realise he spoke because of the vibrations it sent to your clit. 

“what’d you say—ngh, fuck,”you let out a gasp. “w-what’d you say, nonnie?” 

vernon lifted his head from between your legs, licking his lips. “all men are dogs,” he said, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit as you shuddered. “and you know how nasty they are.” 

“fuck, 'non,” you whine as his tongue continues to assault your clit, fingers pumping in and out of you. “doesn’t that– oh god, you’re so fucking good,” you breathe heavily, relishing in the pleasure vernon never failed to give you. “doesn’t that make you a dog too?” 

the chuckle he let out was enough to make you groan. god, all it took was his laugh to make you even wetter (if that was even possible). 

his large eyes peek out from between your legs, mouth place soft kisses to your inner thighs. you shudder as his fingers start to move even faster, your hands grasping the satin sheets below you. 

“yeah, it does,” he smiles against your skin. “but i’m your dog, y/n,” he says with a hint of mischievousness in his voice. 

his fingers trace along your skin before you feel him gently pry your fingers off the sheets. his fingers intertwine with yours for a moment, a short, but intimate moment that has your heart fluttering more than you’d like to admit.

he hands you something and you’re slightly confused. its texture is slightly rough and it felt foreign to you. you look down and realise he’s handed you the end of a leash that was around his neck. “i’m yours to use. i’m here only to please you, to make you feel good. my pleasure is irrelevant– i’m made to serve you,” he whispers, planting kisses along your thigh as he looked into your eyes. 

“so please. use me.”

an insatiable energy surges within you. with a harsh tug of the leash, you have vernon in your lap. your free hand grabs his hair, moaning into his mouth as he grinds against you. 

“you’re such a horny fucking mutt,” you groan, as he kisses you back with much vigour. you can tell he’s desperate, the way his hips are moving against you. “you wanna fuck me? fuck your cum into me?”

vernon groans at your statement, nodding fervently as you chuckle, slowly lowering yourself down. the boy follows you, chasing your lips as he whined at the list of contact. you tug his leash and he lets out a low whimper, almost too soft for you to hear. “good boy,” you coo, ridding him of his pants eagerly. 

his cock was hard and twitched at your praise. you licked your lips at the sight. “you’re going to fuck me now, puppy. you will fuck me until i’m satisfied, and no cumming until i say so, you understand?” 

“yes, miss,” he huffs, eager to please you. at your nod of approval, he enters you, whimpering as your walls wrap tightly around him. “oh my god, miss,” he lets out a whimper, shaking at how good he felt. “fuck, you’re so warm.” 

the grin on your face widens, fully taking in how gorgeous your best friend looks. he was flushed, eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure. his hair was tussled messily, framing his gorgeous face. 

“may i move, miss?” his desperate whine snaps you out of your daze. 

“yes baby, you– ah, fuck!” vernon doesn’t even let you finish before he begins pounding into you mercilessly. you grip the sheets, wrapping your legs around his waist. the way his cock hit all the right spots made you moan, hands moving to his shoulder as your nails dug into his skin. 

his cock rammed into you relentlessly, making you arch your back, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes at how good it felt. the sound of your skin slapping filled the room, along with his desperate whines and your breathy moans. pleasure was an understatement for how good you felt. 

you yank at the leash, making vernon moan. his eyes were wide and glossy, begging for your touch. “you want me to touch you, baby?” you pant, fingers ghosting over his chest as he nodded. “good boy,” you smile and began to toy with his nipples, making him whine even louder, thrusting into you faster. 

“miss, miss, please, i’m going to cum,” he cries, tears rolling down his cheeks. “can i cum, please? i’ve been a good boy for you, so please let me cum,” he begged, lips plump and red. 

“no,” you say firmly, pulling his leash tighter. “you’re gonna make me cum before you can,” you instruct as he whined, but quickly obeyed. 

his hand moved down, fingers circling your clit as he leaned down to take your nipple into his mouth. you moan in his ear, whispering sweet praises into his ears. his pace increased, his desperation evident as he chased his own orgasm while trying to please you. 

the familiar coil in your stomach made you moan. “fuck, noonie, i’m going to cum,” you sigh in pleasure. 

as you think vernon can’t possibly go even faster, his hips begin snapping into you at an inhumane pace that made you gasp. “yes, miss! please cum for me,” he moans. “please let me in cum in you! please, please, please, i’ve been so good– i’ve been your good boy,” he begs, staring at you with his beautiful eyes.  

the tears that roll down his eyes turn you on even more and you shudder. “okay baby, you can cum inside me. you wanna breed me, yeah? fill me full of your cum until it drips out of me?” you ask as he groans, shaking at the thought. 

“yes, yes, miss. wanna show all those men that i’m yours. wanna fuck you full of my seed, please,” he cries out, holding onto you tightly. 

the knot in your stomach continues to build and you know you’re getting close. your nails dig down his back, your grip on his leash tightening. “fuck, noonie, i’m cumming,” you pant out, trying to match his thrust to chase your high. “fuck, i’m cumming, i’m cumming!” 

as soon as your walls tighten around his big, warm cock, vernon loses it. he lets out a loud groan as his seed spills into you. the sound of your moans echoed, as you rid your orgasm out, basking in the afterglow. 

“god, 'non, that was…” you pant, trying your best to catch your breath. vernon continued to stare at your chest, enticed by the way your boobs moved. “pervert,” you smack his ass, earning a help from him. “we need to clean up.” 

vernon nods, slowly sliding out of you, eyes trained at the entrance of your pussy. he loved the way his cum spilled out of you, painting your pussy white.

“'non?” you call out as he snaps out of his daze. god, your body looked gorgeous in the moonlight. “if you don’t come, you won’t be able to fuck me against the bathroom walls,” you say with a sly grin.

you love how vernon’s cock twitches at your words. smiling, you wink at him before turning around, swaying your hips as you walked away.

vernon giggled to himself. god, he really was just a nasty fucking dog for you.

[gremlin-girly]

Double Crochet

Bob Reynolds x gn!reader

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Tags/warnings: just fluff, cuddling, mentions of a first kiss

Summary: After bumping into you at the store, you teach Bob how to crochet.

word count: 1.3k

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Bob Reynolds Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Pick Your Fic

Double knit. Chenille. Alpine.

Wool. Wool. Wool.

Too many choices, too many projects, too little time. You're stood staring at the wall of Wool trying to remember what you actually went to the store for. Was it wool? Probably not. You already had too much in your room at the tower that you were surprised you didn't have wool coming out of your ears. What started as an innocent hobby had become your hoard - a dragon's next of fluffy comfort you had yet to spin into something worthwhile.

How many granny squares did you need for a jumper? What about that pattern you started two months ago?

You grimace to yourself. No. You didn't need more.

...but then again.

Your fingers brush the baby-soft chenille thoughtfully. Something could be made from this. Easily. It's a beige - easily manipulated into an animal of some kind. Probably. Or there's an electric blue that could be a potential... thing.

"Hey, Y/N."

You almost launch the ball of wool you're holding at Bob out of fright. He had a nasty habit of appearing out of thin air, and you weren't sure if it was a by-product of the shadowy Void or his quiet mouse-like nature.

Mouse.

"Hey, Bob." You try to sound cheery but your brain is busy trying to remember if you have any patterns for mice plushies. "Wasn't expecting to bump into you here."

"I just wanted some snacks." He jingles his crisps in his hands and eyes the wool your cradling curiously. "You knit?"

"Oh, uh, no I crochet." You wiggle the wool between your hands. "I was meant to come in here for something else and got distracted."

"You crochet? That's so cool!" Bob's face lights up with the sweetest, infectious smile that has you melting to the floor like ice cream on a hot day. "What do you make? Could... Could you... show... me?"

His voice tapers with his usual shy, self-consciousness and you can't find it in your heart to tell him no.

"I don't have any pictures of my recent stuff." You half admit, not wanting to give away the fact you haven't picked up a hook in months. "But when we get back to the tower I can show you?"

"Sure!"

Having Bob look upon your creations felt strangely intimate. He handled each one like it was made of glass, cooing and gushing over your plushies and patterns on granny squares.

"They're so cute. How do you do it?" He looks impressed and intrigued behind his smile; it's genuine interest in your hobby and it makes you giddy.

"Um, well you can find patterns and tutorials online." You say, digging your toes into your rug and twisting your ankle shyly. You were a hair's breadth away from blushing and twirling your hair like a cartoon bunny.

"Could you teach me?" His blue eyes are irritatingly round sweet and you find yourself struggling to say no. You don't even want to think about the kicked-puppy look he would shoot you with if you turned him down.

Thus, you were resigned to nod your head and gulp out a: "Sure."

Bob is surprisingly quick to learn the basics. You sit close to him and run through basic stitches, demonstrating them and praising him when it finally clicks for him. It was worth every moment spent to see his tongue poke out in concentration when he follows your instructions and his face light up with joy when he successfully completed a stitch. Over the course of two days, you're practically joined at the hip, chatting and crocheting side by side but when a new mission demands a few days of your time you offer Bob free reign of your wool stash.

You help him pick out some patterns from your archive to help him practice and keep him busy while you're away and urge him to keep you updated on his progress and to ask any questions he might have. Not that any come - Bob almost ignores all of your texts and you can't help but feel a little affronted; like you'd done something wrong somehow.

Downtime during your mission is spent crocheting your plushie mouse. You'd decided when you started teaching Bob to crochet you would make it for him as a gift, doubly so now that you thought you'd upset him somehow.

The final touches were done minutes before the quinjet touched down on the roof and you were already speeding off and ignoring Bucky's summons for a debrief so you could find Bob, give him your gift and apologise for upsetting him somehow.

Entering through the doors and turning your first corner, you slam right into Bob, making your search rather short.

"Bob!"

"Y/N!"

You both go quiet, smiling sheepishly, and you see he's got his arms behind his back. You hold up your mouse plushie, feeling your cheeks grow warm and you can't quite meet his eyes.

"I made this for you. I'm sorry if I upset you recently, what ever I did I-"

"You didn't upset me!" He cuts you off, pulling a plushie of his own from behind his back. It's a little wonky, the eyes don't match up and there's a few holes from missed stitches but...

It's the cutest damn bunny you've ever seen.

"I was just focused on making you this... abomination." He chuckles slightly, holding the bunny in his hands like it's a cursed object and your heart has a pitter patter to rival an excited heavy metal drummer.

"I love him!" You squeal, making Bob look up.

"Really?"

"Yes!" You hold out your mouse to swap him for the bunny and Bob takes it with a grin, running his fingers over the soft wool.

"I'm going to call him Fred." You announce, holding the bunny comically high over your head like he was Simba.

"Fred?" Bob's nose scrunches in disbelief despite his smiling. "What should I call mine?"

"You can rename yours, if you want... I've been calling him Bob Junior for a while." You smile sheepishly as Bob blinks at you.

"Junior? After me?"

"Duh after you." You roll your eyes playfully but you chest feels tighter than before. "I was making him for you and it just kinda stuck."

Bob's cheeks are bright red now, and he brings the gift you made closer to his chest. "No that's... No, I like it too."

Later that night (after Bucky finally caught you and dragged you back for a debrief) whilst watching a movie in your room, you and Bob placed your double-crochet creations next to eachother on the bedside table.

"They look perfect together." You say cosying up under your comforter. Bob nods but says nothing so you continue unperturbed. "They look like they're holding hands too!"

You're pulled back suddenly into a firm chest and let out a small squeak. Bob immediately apologises when you look up and looks like he's about to combust on the spot.

"Sorry! I - erm..." He gives you a sheepish look. "They look like they're cuddling and I thought that we..."

He swallows thickly and his eyes flit around your room nervously. That pitter patter in your heart returns and you smile, sidling up closer to him instead. Bob stiffens then relaxes, letting his arm drape around you - even if he is still shaking like a chihuahua.

"If you wanted life to imitate art, you should have just said so." You tease softly, laying your head on the space inbetween his neck and shoulder.

That night marks the beginning of many more in his arms, sometimes crocheting, sometimes watching a movie, always chatting. What you and Bob have builds slowly, and whilst you ruin your first kiss by covering the eyes of your plushies, he doesn't seem to care. Your love took practice and even though it may be a little misshapen like Fred, it was still beautiful.

End

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[tojisglazer]

Welcome to my Masterlist!

🎀This is where all of my works will be going!! I plan on posting more in the future!🎀

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☁️ - Fluff 🤍 - Smut 🕊️ - Angst ☕️ - Comfort

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He would be the type to…. - ☁️

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