#she was shot by a god damn tank

[graylinesspam]

Come to find out, artillery rounds do considerable damage to your body when you're hit by them directly.

Ahsoka yelps as the swirling spinning surgical pod whirls around her again, the high pitched sound searing through her montrals. But even that pain is secondary to the way her back it opened up, the muscles being carefully tended to. charred flesh sliced away and raw muscles stitched backtogether.

There are no less than three medics hovering outside of the pod. each scurrying around completing an endless series of tasks to support her recovery.

When she walked back onto the Resolute after Steela's funeral she'd just been grateful that she'd started wearing backless dresses, which had prevented fabric from melting into her burns.

But for artillery rounds, it turned out that the healing process was worse than the wounds themselves.

Being sliced apart and stitched back together was a lengthy process. She'd been stuck in the medbay, face down, for well over two weeks. The skin of her back was kept alive by bacta treatments and steroids but ultimately kept detached from her flesh as the medics needed continued access to the muscle beneath.

She was also on a constant flow of painkillers to make her condition tolerable. It did nothing for the pain of the operations but it made her idle hours easier to bear.

she also wasn't allowed to dress in any reasonable clothing. only her leggings and disposable paper gowns that tied around the neck and waist. they were dry and itchy and they crinkled whenever see moved. she'd grown to hate that sound.

Maybe she was being bitter and unreasonable. but she'd also lost all the strength in her arms when they started taking apart her back muscles. turns out the shoulders are very necessary for arm strength. and Ahsoka was staring down a very long recovery period.

when the whirring came to an end and the cot retracted from the surgical pod Cadaver was already there looking over the open flesh of her back, noting what flesh was growing back. When he had taken his notes Kix stepped in to reapply her creams and bandage over the wound.

Thankfully they still allowed her to walk herself around even if she needed some support on the very bottom of her back in order to get to a standing position.

Rex was waiting with her lunch and she was allowed to have it on the bench just outside the medbay. The hanger loud around them. He frequently came to chat with her. other men from torrent came and went as well but Cadaver never let them into the bay. convinced they'd get her into some kind of trouble.

Maybe it wasn't just her back that was numbed out all the time. Because this was the first long stint in the medbay where Ahsoka wasn't itching to leave. She wasn't happy to be there either. It wasn't accurate to say that she was content either.

Steela's death had done something to her. Obi-wan assured her that some time would ease the strain of that expirience. Maybe it would. it seemed that for the moment at least time and pain where all she could feel.

---

Meanwhile, news of Ahsoka's injury had made it far outside of Torrent company. Taking an artillery round to the back was no easy feat even for a jedi. To not just survive it but to be up and walking immediately after. That was the kind of unbelievable war story that spread like fire.

The pilots of the 501st had already painted a mural of her across the side of a fighter. with her Sabers held in a defensive hold and the bright blast of an explosion behind her.

Ahsoka was already known for her preference of the sword and saber maneuver. She preferred to fight in tandem with her troops and as their guard rather than Skywalker's Style of sprinting right into the heat and taking the enemy's attention entirely.

But this level of durability? Her ability to take a hit and keep going was quickly becoming gossip amongst the GAR. The mythical glee that had surrounded their idea of the jedi as cadets rarely surfaces now that they work with them but this story was bringing it back.

Some Jedi were just jedi and some of them were built from stronger stock. Skywalker surely was, and by all acounts, Tano was as well.

And she was becoming a legend for it.

[this-doesnt-endd]

i have to take my meds in the morning i tried doing it at night and i can never fucking remember to do so like it just wont work

[partycatty]

older!johnny cage > overheard

you're caught in the act of swooning over your boss

notes: i'm not even fuckin playing i just woke up from my nap in a cold sweat with this idea haunting my mind so here i am. i truly honestly genuinely cannot stop thinking about dilf johnny and his thick fucking arms and how much i want him to [REDACTED]

[ masterlist ]

• during your break from training, you managed to squeeze in a meal break with one of your closest friends. it was just the two of you, laughing and for once breaking the stoicism implanted into your demeanors from training ruthlessly.

• "jesus, commander cage really kicked our asses today," your friend whined, rolling her shoulder. "i get we're fighting against demons and elementals, but did we really need to run twenty miles?"

• "it wasn't all bad," you shrug, poking at your food. "we've done worse, i feel."

• "oh hush, you had the time of your life," your friend groaned, lightly pushing into your shoulder with a smirk. "you and johnny cage got to run beside each other in formation." your friend was sure to say his name in an announcer voice, wiggling her fingers as she pretended to read a large sign.

• you huff, planting a fist on the table as you try to conceal your embarrassment with faux anger. "oh my god shut up..."

• your mind wanders to earlier in the day. johnny decided to wear only a tank top instead of a long sleeve with a vest, giving you a delicious view of his arms as they pumped during the run. while you two didn't talk, he shared panting encouragements by your side, telling you you were doing so good and how much further you had left. it made running feel almost impossible as each word and grunt knocked the wind from you.

• "jesus, look at you," your friend laughs at your dreamy expression as you replay the memory. "you're down bad, girl, anyone and their mother could tell."

• "is it that obvious?" you murmur, burying your face with your hands. "i'm doomed."

• "nah, you might have a shot," she insists, pulling your hands from your face. "he might be into younger women, most celebrities are."

• "but he's not just a celebrity, he's our superior," you whine, rolling your head back. "i just watch his movies and pretend i'm the love interest."

• "oh, it's bad bad," she laughs, looking past you for a moment. her smile falters.

• "can you blame me? ugh," you rake a hand through your hair. "he's all muscle, he could just pick me up and snap me like a twig! normally i'd settle for height alone but holy fuck he's built like a brick fucking wall!"

• your friend falls silent.

• "and don't even get me started on his age," you point an accusatory finger. "he is 50 something and so fucking fine i can't even bring myself to focus on literally anything ever. i watched some of his old movies, and he literally aged like the finest fucking wine any vineyard has ever even dreamed of making! thank god his daughter is the commander because if he stood around and told me what to do i'd behave so much like a dog it would embarrass me. he is the god damn devil in disguise and i sure a shit don't have a single chance of him even looking in my direction with any more than a smile because at the end of the day i'm just a sad little recruit crushing on a guy who probably has a massive di—"

• "i'm fifty-nine," you hear a low, horrifyingly familiar voice in your ear. you can't even bring yourself to turn around, smile dropping and eyes widening. the only thing you can bring yourself to do is stare across the table at your friend, who's as equally still. maybe if you were still enough, he wouldn't see you. like a dinosaur.

• "lieutenant," you breathe out after a long silence, drunk on the smell of his cologne. "we were just... t-talking about you."

• "oh yeah?" his voice is rumbly, a teasing inflection making you want to burst out in tears. you had a faint suspicion he was behind you the entire time, something he confirmed before you could muster the strength to speak. "sounded more like it was just you."

• "well," you wonder if you can outrun him, stammering as you try to talk yourself out of this. "you know..."

• you finally get the courage to spin in your chair, turning around to face him. he's towering over your sitting form, a shit-eating smirk on his lips.

• "i'm sorry, sir, i'll... i'll do extra push-ups, i'll go overtime on training, scrub the toilets, anything to—"

• he holds a hand up, waving it away as he shakes his head slowly.

• "don't stress it," he stands up straight, crossing his arms. oh my god his arms. "but, uh... just a word, in my office, when you have the chance." you almost miss the wink he sends at you, but you caught it just as he spun on his heel and walked out, a cocky sway to his hips.

• you spin back around, slack jawed at your friend, who's red from holding in her scream of excitement.

• "he's totally gonna bang you on his desk," she finally spits out, covering her mouth immediately after. you just lower your head, hitting it against the table in defeat.

• who knows what he's gonna do to you in his office?

[2chopsticks2eyes]

Don't Play Dumb

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

Pairing: Lee Minho/Lee Know x Han Jisung/Han x Fem Reader

Themes: Shameless smut

Word Count: ~3.3k | AO3

Warnings: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Alcohol, Cussing, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Vaginal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Vaginal Sex

Summary: Minho and Jisung were living their best lives to their gayest potential. Well, at least that's what they thought before you moved in next door...

Author’s Note: This story was inspired by a request from my girl @lyramundana. I had to physically restrain myself from making this, like, 20 pages more than it is just because I told myself this was only going to be a short one-shot to put out there while I write my main stories. 😅

__________________________________________

Jisung always knew he was gay, he was vibing too much babygirl energy to be otherwise. Minho always knew he wasn't attracted to really anyone, however, he always had a thing for a nice set of pecs and a nice, perky ass. That is until he met Jisung and realized his 100% attraction towards the man. And the biggest plus was Jisung had a really nice ass AND pecs. Like. DAMN.

But I digress. Neither believed in love at first sight until they first locked eyes on each other. 

That was YEARS ago, and they were still as in love (if not more) as they were before.

But then one hot summer day, you moved into the flat straight across from theirs.

The two were just coming home from a romantic brunch and were already a couple of horny dogs before noon even hit. However, when they saw you struggling to move in by yourself, all it took was one look at each other and they immediately rushed over to help you despite your ramblings that you could do it yourself and weren't some damsel in distress.

They respected that, but still insisted on helping if not to speed up the process so you wouldn't turn into ashes in the summer heat and, if you were being honest with yourself, it sounded particularly preferable. So after brief introductions, the three of you set to work.

So, after these two Greek gods of men finished helping you move everything up, all of you were drenched in sweat from head to toe.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but I think I only have tap water..." You explained meekly, trying not to focus too hard on each drop of sweat that ran down their tanned skin.

They were in a similar situation.

They had watched you lift those heavy boxes like they weighed nothing and they soon found out that you were more than capable to do this yourself. But with the sun blazing and heavy lifting up two flights of stairs, they couldn't help but notice your... attributes.

You had worn just a thin tank top and some breezy shorts due to the weather, and the more sweaty you got, the more they clung to you, and the more the boys couldn't help but have their eyes wander.

They giggled and reject your offer. "Do you want to come and have a drink at our place instead?" Jisung offered sweetly.

"No no no! It's totally fine! I have to start unpacking anyway and, besides, you two have helped me out plenty today..." They couldn't help but notice the blush blooming on your cheeks as you looked down with a small smile, biting your lip to contain your shyness.

Minho wanted to coo at you for being so damned cute, but he was afraid that it would make you uncomfortable, so he refrained. 

Once Minho and Jisung returned to their own flat, Jisung turned to Minho. "Okay hyung, I know this is going to sound super weird, but was she not absolutely drop-dead gorgeous or what?!" 

"Holy shit, I know right?! Am glad I'm not the only one who noticed!" 

"Like, shit, I'd fuck her stupid if I wasn't the gayest bottom bitch there is out there!" They laughed heartily and Minho playfully swat his arm with a loud cackle.

This was why they loved each other so much, they could be completely open and honest with each other and they knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they’d still live and die for each other.

"Speaking of bottom bitch, I believe we had some plans once we returned home if I'm not mistaken?" Minho gave Jisung a wry smile as he moved closer to place a sweet kiss on the edge of the younger man’s jaw, instantly reminding Jisung how stupidly horny he was.

Instead of answering, Jisung just decided to strip naked and get on all fours for the man right in the middle of their fucking living room carpet.

Weeks went by and, what started as simple greetings as you occasionally passed them coming and going, turned into the three of you spending time at each other's places every week for the designated 'movies and margaritas' nights.

"Okayokayokay, Ji! Truth or dare?" You questioned the round-faced man. After your third round of drinks, you all had foregone your attention to the movie on the screen in favor of playing the classic game for drunks.

"Truth..."

"Don't be such a pussy, Sungie!" Minho complained loudly.

Jisung shoved his face in front of the elder’s line of sight in retaliation. "Get over it! My answer remains the same!"

You giggled wildly even though the situation was not nearly as funny as you thought it was, but they had endeared expressions on their faces as they looked at you cackling like an idiot.

"Okay *ahem* Ji. Have you ever topped Minho?" You knew the question was pretty bold, but you had quickly become extremely familiar with these men. Besides, neither reacted poorly to the personal question.

"Sweetheart, hyung and I have been together for AGES. Do you seriously think we haven't already tried everything in the slutty book?"

"They have one of those?" You asked while giggling into your drink.

"Yeah, we wrote it," Minho smirked and winked at you while you cackled.

"Well, at least now I know that Ji knows how to fuck." You taunted said man with a wicked smile. 

"Oh, I can do a lot more than fucking, sweetheart," Jisung said in a sultry tone with a wink thrown at you. This was a common occurrence between you three, they would flirt with you while your heart was being suffocated knowing they were gay.

You visibly shivered with a blush and Minho narrowed his eyes, taking a mental note of it. "Okay, little miss dirty mind, your turn. Truth or dare." You could already see Minho brewing up a storm in his head, but you were never one to back down from a challenge.

"Dare. Hit me with your best shot, pussy cat." You said with a challenging grin on your face.

"Oh no. You shouldn't have said that. Minho's the devil incarnate. He'll seriously fuck you up." 

Minho answered his boyfriend with an amused hum. "Hmm, let's see..." He made a show about thinking about what he wanted to say as if he didn't already know. "I dare you..." Both you and Jisung waited with bated breath for the hell that was about to be unleashed. "...to french kiss both me and Sungie."

"WHAT?!" Both you and Jisung exclaimed in tandem.

"You heard me, bitches. You have to kiss these gay boy lips like you mean it, now pay up!"

Jisung breathed out a disbelieving laugh as his slack jaw hinted at a shocked smile. He turned to you to gauge your reaction, only to see that you had completely frozen in place. Their smiles instantly dropped. "Aw shit, I'm sorry, love. I was just teasing. If that makes you uncomfortable I can--" 

"No!!" You shouted, covering your mouth immediately afterward. "N-no! A dare's a dare! I'm no pussy..." At least that's what you told yourself.

Internally, your heart was racing at a thousand miles a minute as you scooched closer to Jisung. You took a deep breath and cupped his cheeks, watching his beautiful eyes go wide and his moist, plush lips part. Before you could doubt yourself any further, you dove in and planted your lips on his.

You had instantly melted as Jisung tentatively placed his hands on your waist and you furthered the instructed 'french kiss' by tangling tongues with him.

After a moment, without waiting to check their reactions, you pulled away and lunged at Minho to do the same, drinking in the taste of the alcohol on his lips. When you felt his strong hands smooth over your shirt and around to your back you slightly whimpered.

You flew back while covering your mouth and saw their wide eyes and dumbfounded looks on their faces. "Oh-oh, my god!" You scrambled to stand up. "Shit guys, I'm so sorry. I..." You couldn't stay with the humiliation any longer and, without another word, you fled from the apartment.

Jisung and Minho looked at each other with equally shocked expressions. "Are you as turned on right now as I am?" Jisung said breathily. And Minho just dumbly nodded. "Do you think she would... or would you be down for...?" There was an unspoken question there, but his soulmate already knew.

"Fuck yes." Minho threw himself on his boyfriend like a hungry wolf and proceeded to fuck him over the back of the couch until he came with a cry on his lips.

Okay... they were definitely, infinitesimally homosexual but... they never met someone like you…

Maybe they had some talking to do.

When they knocked on your door unannounced the following evening, you were shocked to say the least. "Minho? Jisung? What are you--?"

“Can we come in?” Jisung cut to the chase rather quickly and you could see the determination in his eyes. You nodded shyly, still not able to get over the fact that you made an ass of yourself the night prior.

As soon as they came in, they bracketed you and you looked up at them like a frightened animal. “G-guys… I-I’m sorry about yesterday… I didn’t mean to and we had a lot to drink and–”

“Do you like us?” Minho cut in this time and you sealed your lips. You felt a shiver run down your spine and, even though you were sure he meant it in a different way, you answered respectfully.

“O-of course I like you guys! We’re friends!” You sounded shocked that they even had to ask.

“No…” Jisung brazenly stepped closer and swept your hair over your shoulder to speak low into your ear. “Do you like like us?”

Minho moved closer on your other side as well, however, he bent down to eye level with you “Don’t play dumb baby girl. Do you have dirty little thoughts about me and Jisungie? Hm?” He tilted his head and you looked like a deer caught in the headlights as they both stared you down. “Do you imagine what it would be like having two men fuck you stupid? Is that why you asked Sungie that question?”

You didn’t know whether to tell the truth or lie out your ass but, eventually, you could only reply with a shy nod directed at your own bare feet, not trusting your mouth to be able to form words.

With your shameful face still directed towards the ground, you peeked up at their expressions. Your eyes widened when you saw identical Cheshire grins on each of their faces. “Well then, I think we should assist her with that. Don’t you think, hyung?”

“I agree wholeheartedly Sungie.”

You whipped your head up and stepped back a hair. “Woah woah woah! No need to stoop to that level, guys!  I’m sure I’ll get over it eventually!”

“Well, you see sweetheart, we've been thinking an awful lot about this. Hyung and I are in it for life, but with you…” Jisung said as he stepped an inch closer to you. “You’ve got us questioning what it would be like with a woman.” He gently trailed a finger down your arm, inducing goosebumps that they could blatantly see.

“We want to know what it’s like to make you fall apart. We want to see how to make you scream. Make you beg.” Minho trailed his gaze languidly over your body with each word and you felt like you were being crushed with all the tension in the air.

You involuntarily gasped when you felt Jisung’s soft lips press against your cheek. Soon enough, he was whispering in your ear. “That blush on your cheeks is really pretty, should I deepen it?” You felt the wet heat of his tongue press up against the tender skin under your ear and you quietly whimpered.

“It sounds like you are more than willing to experiment with us, honey. Tell us, baby. Do you want to play with us?” Minho wrapped an arm around your waist and began kissing your neck to drive his intentions forward. Also to inform you that “playing” didn’t mean you’re going to play fucking Jenga or some shit.

Instead of using words, you let your hands do the talking. You tentatively grasped their wrists and slowly led them further into the apartment. You made your answer clear enough when you brought them to your bedroom and turned around to silently face them at the foot of your bed.

Your eyes were glued to the floor and Minho cooed at you. When you looked up, the two gorgeous men were looming over you with hungry eyes. Unable to look directly into their intimidating eyes, you stared at your feet while saying, “I usually use the traffic light system…” You peeked up at them to make sure they understood. “I-is that alright for you guys?”

“Fuck yes…” Jisung said with an airy tone and stepped closer to grab the hem of your shirt. “Can I take this off, sweetheart?” Instead of answering, you removed said item and chucked it across the room, face getting hotter by the second.

“You guys can do whatever you want… I trust you…” You bit your lip but made sure to look them in the eyes as you said this. You wanted to make sure they knew you wanted this.

“You might be regretting saying that later, baby girl.” Minho groaned in a wicked tone.

Before you could prepare yourself, Minho had moved around behind you to hold your arms in place while Jisung stepped in front of you, slowly gliding his fingers over your exposed skin. “Shit, she’s gorgeous. Isn’t she hyung?”

Minho hummed low in his throat and then you suddenly felt his warm tongue glide up the side of your neck. “Tasty too.”

You didn’t know why, but the fact that they were talking about you like you weren’t even there turned you on even more. “Hmmm, where should I start?” Jisung rhetorically asked as he examined your body. Your breathing picked up when you felt his soft hands move up to slide one of your bra straps down. “Here?” You whimpered as his fingers glided over your nipple through the thin fabric.

You heard a chuckle come from beside your head where Minho had begun lazily kissing your neck and shoulder. “I think you have your answer, jagi. Go on, show us what a bottom bitch can do.”

Jisung bit his lip and gasped at his boyfriend’s provocative words, but when he looked back at you, he looked absolutely sinful. “Of course, hyung…” 

Jisung was an enigma. He was both equal parts submissive and domineering while Minho was a born and bred master. Created to have both you and Jisung on your knees for him with little to no effort.

They ravaged you properly. They kiss, licked, and sucked on almost every inch of your body except where you were aching the most for them. However, kissing them was almost just as good because those boys had an amazing set of lips on them.

When you all eventually stripped with an insane amount of teasing from them, Minho sat up against the headboard while you faced him on all fours, Jisung just behind you looking at your dripping cunt in awe.

Minho leaned forward to kiss you once more before leaning back and holding his oozing cock in place. “Suck.” He commanded, and you complied eagerly. As you took him in, you heard a low groan in his chest. “Sungie. Show me what you can do to her, yeah? Make her scream on my cock.” Minho said with labored breaths.

You weren’t able to see him, but you felt chills wrack your body when you felt the man behind you blow his hot air on your folds. You whimpered but continued on your mission to suck the life out of the man in front of you. You felt gentle fingers glide through your hair and felt Minho slowly begin to guide your head to bob on his dick.

You had to stifle a moan when you felt Jisung drag his tongue over the entire length of your pussy and then heard the smacking of his lips. “Wow, that’s a lot better than I imagined.” You squeaked when you felt a finger plunge inside you, pumping a few times before pulling it out and holding it up to Minho’s lips. “Hyung, taste her.”

You looked up at him from an awkward angle, not allowing your mouth to release him for a single moment. You whined when you watched his tongue slide over the digit before sucking it into his mouth. “Hmmm such a pretty and tasty girl, aren’t you?” 

You felt his hips slightly buck up but you refrained from gagging, instead, doubling your efforts. It was right as he let his head fall back against the headboard that you felt more fingers enter you, thrusting and moving in you at an unforgiving pace until you came violently and unexpectedly. 

When you pulled off of Minho’s cock to cry out your ecstasy, they watched you wide-eyed and hungry before you desperately fumbled for the bedside drawer to pull out a couple of condoms. “P-please fuck me… I need you inside me, Ji.”

Both of the men muttered expletives before you wrapped your mouth around Minho again and Jisung hastily opened the condom wrapper. You saw stars when you finally felt him enter you. “F-fuck, hyung…” Jisung whined as he bent over you to kiss him. “She’s so tight…”

“Fuck her real good, jagi. Open her wide for me.”

And without further ado, Jisung did just that. He grasped your hips and roughly slammed his cock inside you until he was whimpering with every breath. When he had fucked you long and proper, you came once again and Jisung was at his breaking point. “F-fuck… can I cum on you, sweet thing?” Jisung asked while smoothing his hand over your dewy back.

You released Minho’s dick, although he was also close, and you replied. “Fuck you guys can cum anywhere you like if you can fuck me this well.”

With an airy chuckle, Minho flipped you over onto your back and hovered over you. He and Jisung had traded spots so now Minho had on a condom, poised at your soaked entrance, while Jisung stood next to the bed with his now bare cock aimed at your face.

They didn’t pause for a single moment, Minho ramming you full force, devouring your neck as you quickly pumped Jisung’s cock in time with his boyfriend's thrusts next to you. It almost felt like fate when all three of you came in tandem and you held your mouth open to catch every drop of seed that Jisung had to offer you. 

Then, as if all the life was drained from the room, you all collapsed.

You all laid there in the mess for a moment to catch your breaths before they made a move. They were proper gentlemen, cleaning you and handling you with care as they tucked you in bed. “Guys?” They smiled at you with their full attention. 

“What is it, beautiful?” Jisung as he laced his fingers with yours.

“I know we need to talk and all, but can you guys just stay tonight and talk later?” You looked at them with pleading eyes and they smiled in adoration before plunging under the covers on each side of you. 

Yeah, Jisung and Minho knew they were gay, but after that day, they could confidently say they weren’t opposed to the opportunity when it was you they were considering…

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If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This is why it takes me so long to write my stories! I always want to make it into a fucking full-length book! Let me know how you liked it!

Please like, follow, and share! Thanks baby stays! 😘

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

[buryustogether]

-> THE SHADOWS OF STARS

johnny silverhand x reader (not v)

word count: 8.5k

summary: despite being the newest groupie for samurai, you work hard to pull more than your weight and ensure gigs run smoothly. after a run in with a crazed fan goes awry, johnny silverhand offers you a bit of comfort.

warnings/tags: pre-relic johnny, reader is not v, violence, blood, age gap romance, non-penetrative sex, first kiss, first time, virgin!reader, mention of arranged marriage and running away, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

author’s note: he may be a bit ooc but he’s my dreamboat so

If you’d have known how the night would have ended, you would have done things differently. You would have said more, said less, perhaps. Stepped further left, taken two more paces back. Anything and everything, you would have done differently.

Anything and everything would have been for nought - because the end of the night transported you to the stars invisible above your head, and beyond the crescent moon hanging from a weathered thread. You hadn’t known you could go that high - and you owed the jump to none other than Johnny fucking Silverhand.

It started with a woman - of course, that’s what all the old-world love stories say. But this woman wasn’t a princess waiting for a king to come down from his tower and save her and make her his; she was a plastered drunk with ugly-as-all-hell bangs on her forehead and a tank top so thin and skimpy her tits would have hung out even if she tried to keep them covered.

You had been watching her from the corner of your eye the entire show from your little perch beside the stage, headphones clasped over your ears and a tablet with the set list in hand. From the shadows, because that’s all you were, really in comparison to them, you had tracked her as she downed drink after drink and got closer and closer to the edge of the stage. Of course she was decked out in their merch - hell, everyone here was, but there were hearts inked onto the Samurai logo across her chest. Just what this gig needed - a crazy-ass fan hammered out of her mind.

It was when she’d disappeared to get herself another shot when you’d allowed yourself a glance up to the stage on your right. Christ above, they were so fucking cool. You didn’t care if that made you sound like an awestruck teenager; they were the only words you could conjure up at the moment. You’d never been one for poetics.

A band of rough and rowdy outcasts, torn at the edges in all the right places and ragged at the ends, they stuck out in a city like this. Especially the guitarist; god, you’d had a massive schoolgirl crush on Johnny Silverhand since you were sixteen and had first discovered their music. He was everything you found enticing; attractive, but without the superficial glamour Night City was held under; charismatic, charming, confident; maybe a bit full of himself, which you had discovered after being pulled into their crew as the newest groupie, but it didn’t phase you as much as you thought it would.

Your younger self would have fainted if she knew you were a groupie for Samurai these days. You were new - the youngest by far they’d ever taken on, but god above knew you pulled more weight than the older assistants who’d gotten used to the feeling of trailing in the shadows of stars. You stayed late into the night and early into the morning to clean up and pack after gigs, set up arrangements for desirable venues, arrived early to prepare so they only had to get up there and sing. Hell, you even cleaned their instruments when you had the time; you’d restrung Silverhand’s prized guitar enough times to have the same calluses on your fingers as his.

Of course, it had taken a snapped string, a sweat-inducing dash to the nearest music store, and an approaching meeting with a business partner for him to give it up to be repaired by someone else than him. Eurodyne had certainly had a hand in convincing him to part with the damned thing; he’d given you an appreciative nod and a charming wink when Silverhand had left his case at your little station.

Back in the present, you found your gaze pulled from your set list to watch as Silverhand kicked up a foot on a speaker to twist out a solo that left goosebumps trailing along your skin. Below him, fans hollered and screamed their approval; his lips quirked up in that Cheshire grin of his, the crinkle of his eyes hidden behind his aviators. You swallowed thick. Despite working for Samurai for nearly a month now, you’d never spoken to Silverhand once. He’d never even glanced in your direction, too caught up in his own business or too distracted by fans to pay you much mind.

You wondered what his voice would have sounded like feet from you, soft and gentle, instead of strained with his cries as he appeased his crowds.

Your spine straightening, your eyes at once flicked back to the woman you’d been watching as she reappeared at the front of the crowd. She was barely able to keep herself on her platform heels, eyelids drooped and movements sluggish. Your lips twisted themselves into a frown; some hangover she was going to have in the morning. You glanced back down at your tablet for a moment, then back to the chick. At once, your chest thundered.

She was leaning against the wall of the stage, hand outstretched in an attempt to touch Silverhand’s pant leg. He kept his cool - surprisingly - and continued the song as he took a step back so that he stood just out of her reach.

You cast a quick glance around the dim venue. Where the hell was security? The bodyguards you’d hired to keep a perimeter at the stage? You found them; they were both slumped at the bar. Perfect; this night was throwing in all kinds of elements that made for a perfect bomb. The question was - when was it all going to blow?

The rest of the gig, you kept your eye on the rowdy fan, never letting her stray too far from your vision. She paced back and forth about the stage, trying to touch even the boot or pants hem of one of the players. It raised the hair on your neck at end as a hot, lava-like sensation filled your stomach.

Were you… jealous?

God, no, you told yourself as the last song of the set came to a close. You didn’t get jealous of blackout drunks practically sobbing over a couple of rockstars who probably didn’t even know your name. And yet… every time she cried out Silverhand’s name, every time she blew him a kiss, that sensation worsened. It coiled like a serpent in your belly, forcing your jaw to clench and your blood to boil.

Shit. You needed to get a serious grip.

Slowly, as the bar began to clear out and final tabs were paid at the bar, you found yourself in conversation with the owner of the place. You sat at a table and watched as she did the math for the band’s share of the profits of the night, cradling an iced concoction you’d been dying for since you got here. Up on the stage, Silverhand and Eurodyne were speaking in hushed tones, motioning back and forth.

“You know,” said the owner as she tallied up her data, “you seem pretty young to be a manager for those fellas.”

You forced yourself to smile and chuckle softly. “Oh,” you said, “I’m not their manager. I’m actually a groupie. I just, you know, move their things back and forth and hook up their systems for them.”

“You seem to do a lot more than that.” With a flick of her hand, she deposited the eddies into your account; a moment later, they showed up on your vision screen. When you got the chance later tonight, you would divide up the earnings between the band, the hired muscle, and yourself. You didn’t think those meatheads had done anything to earn the scrap, but you were terrified to be the one to tell them so.

“I guess someone has to,” you murmured quietly.

“I mean it,” she said. She gave you a gentle, motherly smile, one that made your heart and ache and pang for home. “You’re playing practically every role in this little game of theirs. Movement, tech, cash flow. And I’d bet they don’t even know your name, do they?”

You felt yourself blanch a little. Casting a glance over toward the rockers, your stomach flipped slightly as Silverhand threw his head back and barked out an echoed laugh. “They do,” you lied.

“Sure, kid.” The woman patted your arm before hopping off her stool and taking your empty glass. “If you’re going to survive a life like that, at least make sure to claim the respect you deserve. You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.”

With that she left you to your own clouded thoughts, mind a hell scape of troubles and conflicting wants and needs and desires. You pursed your lips and stared down at your lap. Maybe she was right; maybe you should talk to them. Ask for better pay. Throw in a couple set ideas you’d been saving for the past weeks. Yet as much as you wanted to, the queasy feeling in your belly kept you from advancing too far.

You’d always been an anxious kid; too scared to voice your opinions. Your parents said you were well-behaved. You thought ball of nerves was a better way to phrase it.

You had just begun to kick off your stool and begin the tedious task of packing up the equipment when a flash of movement caught your eye. That woman - the one who had tried to touch the band on the stage - was jittering across the floor toward Silverhand and Eurodyne as they made their way to the backstage entrance. Her tits swayed as she bounced in their direction, feet dragging in her drunken state.

Fuck - some people just didn’t know when to quit, did they?

Feeling that simmering boil arise in your chest again, you quickly stride across the floor to intercept her aim toward the men. She was just behind them when you reached her, her arm outstretched and palm open to grab a handful of Silverhand’s ass. The serpent in your belly flared.

“Hey.” You grabbed the woman’s wrist in an iron-fisted grip, stopping her fingers just inches from their prize. Her head drunkenly lolled over to glare daggers at you. “No touching, you got it?”

“Get the fuck off me, you fucking kid.” She ripped her hand from your grip, and the numerous rings slid along her fingers scratched along your skin. You refused to flinch at the pain, instead pulling yourself to your full height and clenching your fists. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Your eyes flickered to the door backstage. The men had disappeared, and you felt a short little something burst inside of you. Disappointment? Surely you weren’t thinking they would come to your aid? That Silverhand would tell this bitch to scram and then say, ‘Damn, kid, thanks a lot. Want to come backstage and sign to become our mascot?’ God, you were a fucking idiot.

“Go home before someone knocks you on your ass,” you said, trying to mimic some of things you’d heard street kids say in back alleys. “I’d hate for your lipgloss to smear any further.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” Now she was angry. Getting up in your face. And you were alone - the venue owner had vanished, and the band was backstage. You suddenly wished you knew how to mind your own business. “You know where you are? This is fucking Heywood. Lose an eye for saying something like that.” She sniffed and looked you up and down. God, those bangs were ugly as all hell. “What are you, sixteen? You better run home to mommy before you get smacked.”

To your dismay, and fury, and horrified embarrassment, you felt tears beginning to pool in your eyes. You could count on your fingers the number of times someone had yelled at you like this, and each and every one still made your heart thunder like a drum. You weren’t cut out for this kind of shit; you should have taken her advice and run home, begged your parents’ forgiveness.

But suddenly the owner’s words were resurfacing in your mind.

You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.

Gathering what little courage hadn’t dwindled away, you squared your jaw and said, “Get out and don’t come back, or I’ll call the pol-“

You weren’t able to get anything else out before suddenly a fierce, solid fist connected with the side of your face. You went sprawling, sending a table a a stool clattering into their sides, your hands clutching at your nose. Hot, tangy copper flooded down from your nostril, dripping onto your shirt and staining your palms. Holy fuck - she’d just punched you. You’d never been struck before - is this what it actually felt like? Your nose throbbing, your eye aching in its socket, your lips open as you gasped for breath?

Vaguely, through the blood pumping in your ears, you felt the woman kick your foot and scoff before the door swung shut behind her. You were left in silence, still in place where you lay propped on your elbow on the floor, with nothing but the scarlet falling from your nose and a painful watering eye.

With a coarse gasp, you sat up. Your head pounded like someone had delivered a bullet to your temple and it had come out through your jaw. Now that they weren’t being held back, tears cascaded down your cheeks freely and fell from your chin. You touched your nose, the skin around your eye, and let out a small sob as the pain flared through your skull.

Your attention was pulled from your attack to the backstage door, where a peel of laughter reached your ears. The band - you could ask them for help. Explain what happened. They could clean you up, take you to a ripper doc to make sure everything was still intact.

“Fuck, no,” you whispered to yourself. You’d eat lead before you let them see you like this; before they realized that, shit, you may have had your nineteenth birthday a few months ago, but goddamit, you still were just a snotty-nosed kid who needed her hand held when things got rough on the playground. They couldn’t know that. No one could.

You felt yourself rising, using the bottom of your shirt to gingerly wipe off the excess blood on your face. You needed to pack up. Load the equipment into the truck. Call the venue for tomorrow’s gig and make sure the show was still on.

Then you would wander, see if any rippers were still open. And if there wasn’t, well… you’d just have to deal with it.

Your mother’s words rang in your ears, still as sharp as a razor as they were when you left home. “No one’s going to take care of you out there,” she had said. “No one will help you. No one will care about you. No one will love you. You’re going to be all by yourself.”

Fuck it - you didn’t need any help. You didn’t need anyone to take care of you, to love you. You’d do it all yourself.

The pain was too much to acknowledge that was a lie.

It wasn’t but a half hour later that you were winding up speaker cords and wrapping them in their protective cases, gritting your teeth against the panging ache blossoming from your face. You were nearly done with the front half of the stage, a small tower of equipment stacked behind you and waiting to be dragged to the truck out back. You were already sweating your ass off, not to mention that the scab in your nose kept breaking and bleeding. You were sure you weren’t looking like much of a model.

You exhaled a long, exhausted breath and took a seat on the edge of the stage. Your toes barely touched the ground. Head bowed, you fisted the material of your blood-stained shirt and bit your lip to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay. You failed; they escaped, trailing down your cheeks like twin rivers.

What the hell were you doing? You were miles from home, miles from anything you knew. You’d had a life, a future planned out for you. Money. Comfort. Everything you didn’t have now. And you’d run away from it all.

“Hey, kid,” said a voice from further down the stage. “You seen my pick around here? Dropped the fucker after the show.”

Oh, holy fuck. Johnny Silverhand was speaking to you - and you were sitting here crying about being smacked around once or twice.

You cleared your throat once, twice, that the same time turning away quickly and pawing away the tears clinging to your cheeks. “Uhm, yeah.” Keeping your face turned from him, because frankly, you couldn’t take one more thing going wrong tonight, you fished out the obsidian-colored guitar pick you’d found on the stage while packing up. You had planned on leaving it beside his case when he and the others went out for a drink like they always did; it had been burning a hole in your pocket since you’d stuck it there, knowing it was the very pick he often stuck between his teeth after songs.

You held it out in his direction, refusing to let him see your tear-streaked face. He took it from your outstretched palm with his cybernetic hand, the metal fingers clicking together as he accepted it. You began to pull your hand back before suddenly those metal fingers were wrapped around your wrist, keeping your palm turned upward.

“You cut yourself or something?” he asked. He was looking at the blood you’d wiped off with your hand; fuck. Couldn’t you do anything?

Sniffling again, you pulled your hand away a little more forcefully than you meant to and cradled it in your stomach. “Yeah,” you murmured quietly, but you knew he heard you. Your voice echoed here in the empty building. “I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you, Mister Silverhand.”

To your surprise, he released a mumble from the back of his throat as he came closer and settled himself on the edge of the stage beside you. You immediately stiffened, your wide eyes trained like a magnet to an empty spot in the corner. “Christ, kid, I’m not that old. Johnny’s fine, as long as my hair’s not grey and I can still piss on my own.”

You listened as he lit up a cigarette, the lip of his lighter clasping shut before he tucked it back into his pocket. Was this actually happening? Was Johnny fucking Silverhand actually sitting down with you? Maybe that chick had knocked you clean out after all.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?” Johnny asked as he took a drag of his smoke. He said your name, and your heart sprang like a bird screaming to be free of its cage. He did know your name. “What do you think of this shitshow? Not exactly what you expected, right?”

You reached up to wipe your nose - and quickly hid your hand when you brushed off a fresh swatch of blood. “I don’t think it’s a shitshow,” you admitted in a shy voice. You sniffed. “I think it’s great. I think you all are.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his wrist - he was offering you a drag of his smoke. You stared at it for a moment before gingerly taking it and holding it like a joint; you felt his gaze on you, you could see the edge of his faint smirk. Obviously you weren’t holding it right. Nevertheless, you hesitantly brought it to your lips. How bad could one drag be?

As soon as the smoke tumbled down your throat and into your lungs, you pitched forward and hacked out a number of dry coughs. It felt like ash was steamrolling down your spine, tasted like a bad dream you couldn’t wake from. You felt like you were going to be sick.

Beside you, his feet crossed at the ankles, Johnny gave that deep, drawling laugh you’d heard time and time again - and had practically fallen for - and took back his cigarette. “First smoke, kid?” You heard the smile in his voice as he placed it back between his lips. “When you throw up, just don’t do it here.”

You raised your hand to cover your mouth, your bleeding nose, but you were too late. You bent your head and coughed into your lap - with enough force to send a spattering few droplets across the tops of your thighs. Your hands scrabbled to wipe them away, but the man beside you was quicker.

“Jesus,” he said, all traces of amusement wiped like a slate from his voice. “Didn’t think it’d kill you.”

“Sorry,” you gasped.

There came a short, yet stifling moment of stillness, of silence. It felt as if the world had gone still, had come to a stop on its axel or the spinner or whatever the hell it rotated on. If it even did anymore.

But then it all came back full force, like a slap to the face, like a bullet to the chest. Johnny reached his hand out and grabbed your chin - gently, but commanding; forcefully, but gingerly - and forced you to turn your head and look at him. It was the first time you’d met his eyes since he’d walked into the stage - his aviators were pushed up on his head, his smoke dangling from his lips, his oak-colored eyes hard and steely and rough to disguise the shock lying beneath them.

“Fuck me.” He tilted your head slightly, his gaze traveling over your face. “Someone do this to you, kid?”

You felt as though you couldn’t speak. Even if you wanted to, you just couldn’t. His artificial fingers were cool against your flushed skin, his grip harsh but forgiving all at once. Fireworks were exploding across your face where he touched you, rendering you speechless. Did he… actually care? Give a shit you’d taken a clock to the skull?

When you didn’t answer, his fingers tightened slightly on your jaw. Your eyes found his again, lips parted and heart skipping beats. “Hey,” he said more firmly, then pulled his cigarette from his lips with his free hand. “Who did this shit to you, huh?”

Ignoring the thrumming and singing and screaming of your heart, you swallowed thick and averted your gaze. “No one,” you replied. When his grip didn’t let up, you finally caved. “Just… just a fan, a little bit ago. She was, uh…” You hesitated. “She was trying to catch a grope of you, so I stopped her. Guess I caught it instead.”

Your small, forceful chuckle wasn’t met with the kind of response you were hoping for; maybe a laugh, or at least a tug at the corner of the lips. But it did not happen. Instead, you were met with a stony glare. A hard gaze. A deeply-set frown that bordered on a scowl.

You became suddenly and deeply intimated of Johnny Silverhand, aware now of the tight grip he had on your jaw and how close he was to your face. You bowed your head to the side, and he at last let you go. “Sorry to ruin the after party,” you murmured, then swallowed thick and hopped off the stage. “I’m fine, really. I just need to finish packing up and I’ll get out of here.”

Attempting to hide the flush in your cheeks and the hammering of your heart in your chest, you bent over to gather up a speaker in your arms. When you stood straight again, you found Johnny standing just feet before you, his aviators clutched tight in his grip at his side.

“I’m not fuckin’ with you here, kid,” he said, bringing his face close again. You felt your knuckles paling around the speaker, clutching it tight to your chest. His hair framed his face in a darkened curtain, the stubble on his cheek pronounced in the dim lightning. “Nobody fucks with my band without feeling it later. You know what this bitch looks like?”

“There really isn’t a need for more violence.” Eyes down, head bowed, you shifted the speaker’s weight in your arms. You tried not to dwell on the sensation that arose in the pit of your belly over being included in his band. “I just want it to be over with.”

Johnny watched as you set down your load, reaching up to wipe at your bloody nostril. As he crossed his arms, his foot began to tap gently - a sign of agitation you’d come to recognize. “Fuck all, kid,” he rumbled, then pulled the bandanna from his back pocket and tossed it to you. Raising the cloth to you nose, you tried not to inhale deeply as his scent overpowered you. “If you’re not going down that road, you at least got liquor at your place to soften the blow that shiner’s going to give you tomorrow?”

You clenched your jaw, wrapped your free tightly over your chest. The blood from your nose was stained into the fabric of the bandana; your grip tightened around it. You murmured a soft reply.

Johnny cocked his head, hands planted on his hips. “Speak up, kid. Use that voice of yours like it’s meant to be used.”

“I live in my car,” you said again, louder, then immediately cleared your throat and began to drag a box toward the door. “Listen, uhm… Johnny, I appreciate it, but I really need to finish packing -“

“Fuck packing.” Johnny crossed the small distance you’d put between the pair of you, stopping so close you felt his breath fanning across your face. “Let those other dickwipes pull their weight for once.”

Your gaze tried to avert itself again, but something within the hallows of your chest forced your eyes to stay trained on his. Were those flecks of hazel in the brown of his irises? You blinked a few times; you’d never been this close to him before. Hell - you’d never been this close to a man before at all.

“I…” You hesitated, gripping the bandana so tightly you were sure you were about to tear it in two. “I didn’t think you cared so much.”

“I told you, kid,” he said, then reached up to grab your shoulder. Explosions; fireworks; detonations where he touched you. “I take care of my band.”

And that was how you found yourself holding an ice pack to your face in Johnny Silverhand’s apartment in Pacifica, with the night sky and the stars taking up the space between peering in on you from the windows across the room.

You brought a small glass of liquor to your lips as you took in the living space; it was quaint, but not a shitty little hole in the wall either. You knew he didn’t care for aesthetics or shows; he was a man of practicality. Whatever served him well - pretty or not - he kept around.

Maybe that was why you’d lasted this long so far tailing the band as their little runt groupie.

You shifted slightly in your seat on the couch, pulling the pack slowly from your face. A television was set against the far wall, where the news station spewed some commercial for the latest body mod people were just ‘dying for!’ Clothes lay discarded around the bed set in the alcove in the corner, and a trio of electric guitars stood by dutifully in the corner amongst a mountain of expensive speakers and stereoes. Mounted on the wall were half a dozen framed magazine covers that featured Samurai - and a few were only his face occupied the page. Photoshoots, interviews, covers… he had it all done and displayed.

The star himself stood at the miniature bar pouring himself a few fingers of vodka, hair tied up in a half knot at the crown of his head. He set the bottle down and crossed the room to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch, then kicked up his feet on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankle.

“So tell me,” said Johnny and sipped at his liquor. He extended an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers just a few inches from your head. “How’s a kid like you end up in this shit city? You certainly aren’t built to be a street kid, so you didn’t grow up here.”

Consciously, you reached up to touch the area around your eye. You’d used the bathroom when you first arrived here to clean the blood off your face, but the black eye steadily blossoming across your skin wasn’t going to wash away as easily. As if you didn’t already feel bad enough; you were sitting on fucking Johnny Silverhand’s couch in a bloodstained shirt and the confession off your lips that you lived in your damn car.

When he tilted his head to look at you expectantly, you felt your throat run dry. You knew how he - hell, how most of the street kids in Night City - felt about where you came from. Surely you didn’t have to tell him the entire truth. Besides - even if you lied, you were expecting him to come to his senses any time now and tell you, his month-new groupie, to get out of his house and scram.

“Well,” you said and gingerly placed the ice pack on the side table, “I guess you’re sort of right. My family was pretty… well-to-do. I grew up on the top floors of the snottiest buildings -“

“You used to be a corpo kid.”

Your blood ran cold in your veins. Fuck; this was it. Your run with Samurai was over. With any band, really. Surely word would spread you were a corpo brat trying to slum it as a street kid.

Johnny shrugged a shoulder and brought up his glass to take another sip. “You don’t hide it well, kid,” he told you bluntly. “The way you talk, walk, hold yourself. You reek of that high-brow lifestyle, no offense.” The corner of his lips quirked slightly. “But surely mom and dad didn’t drop their precious little darling on the street, now, did they?”

You couldn’t stop the zipping, electric sensation that pinged off the walls of your chest. “Not exactly.” You finished off your drink and set it aside, eyes focused on the corner of the television. You had no idea what the anchor was talking about; you didn’t really want to know. “My parents are oil investors. Old money types - they both came from countryside mansions and absent fathers - heh.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “They always told me I was a, as they called it, ‘soft soul.’ In their native tongue, that means weak. Not able to make those cutthroat decisions, you know? I don’t think they ever planned on including the stocks and the oil fields in their inheritance, so they went off and found the son of another tycoon who they could give it to.”

“Holy fuck,” said Johnny and lifted a stunned brow. “You’re telling me they arranged a marriage for you and this asshole?”

“They tried, I guess.” You hesitated, hand fidgeting with a stray loose end on your shirt. “I told them I’d rather splatter my brains on the wall - and they told me I could either do it their way, or leave and not come back at all.” You turned your head and gave him a wry, tight-lipped smile. “So I haven’t gone back.”

Johnny hissed out a breath through his teeth and tossed back the rest of his vodka. “You’ve got balls, kid, I’ll give you that,” he said and set aside his glass. “NC’s sure one hell of a place to hit the ground running.”

“Mm.” Maybe it was the liquor in your systems talking; or maybe it was the fact that slowly, as the evening went on, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him. “When I was younger, I heard your music for the first time and I just couldn’t get enough of it. My parents fucking hated it - tried to take away my vinyls, block the streaming websites, but I always found a way to keep listening. I guess… it was the only way I felt I could rebel.

“I got dragged to parties to be seen and not heard; I was given piano lessons at five, and when those didn’t stick, they put me in sports. They always wanted me to be some, I don’t know, incredible prodigy. Like I needed to be amazing to call myself their daughter. And I guess when they realized I wasn’t anything to be proud of, they just gave up.”

As soon as you shut your mouth, you regretted what you had said. When you’d left home, you had vowed to leave your past in the past. What the hell were you doing?

But then Johnny was barking out one of those laughs of his as he rolled his head back against the couch cushion. “Oh, come on,” he said and eyed you incredulously. “Nothing? You can handle your way around eddie negotiations - you sure they didn’t try to shape you into a corpo biz manager?”

“Believe me,” you said, finding yourself snickering along with him. “They tried everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough for them.” A loosened giggle escaped your lips as you gestured vaguely around the apartment. “Hell, I think they’d keel over and kick it if they knew I was at Johnny Silverhand’s place - the most infamous rockstar in Night City.”

He smirked coyly. “What?” he said and scratched at his throat. His eyes stayed trained on yours as you watched his tattoos move with his ministrations. “Your old man doesn’t like bad boys and tech fuckers?”

“Especially.”

There was another one of those still, silent moments between the pair of you, like the string attached to your fingers had pulled taunt. The television played quietly across the room. Car horns blared and wailed outside. Your gazes were locked together, unable to pull apart even if you wanted to.

Then he was moving. Pulling his feet off the table, standing to his full height. Stepping closer - resting a silver hand on the couch arm beside you and the other on the back near your head. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned over you, enveloping you against him and his ow shadow.

“Listen, kid,” he said, and you realized his voice had dropped a baritone. In the pit of your belly there came a fluttering, one that traveled further, lower, straight to your core. “I might be getting some off vibes here, but I’m not going to be a pussy and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if I was.” You felt your breath slam from your lungs as he leaned closer, closer, and dragged his tongue along the short expanse of your cheekbone; you swore your heart stopped. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I think there’s a thanks in order for saving my ass earlier.”

Ice - your blood had frozen and turned to ice beneath your skin. Did he know you were holding your breath? Did he know you’d never been this close to anyone like this? Did he know you’d never kissed before, never fucked or gotten fucked or known what real, true devotion felt like?

After what seemed an eternity - a forever of him staring at you from inches away, awaiting your green light to advance - you at last found your voice. “I didn’t do it in exchange for this.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but let me spoil you, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were melded to yours, and your mind, your senses, your body - they all burst red and green and purple and every color across the spectrum you didn’t even know existed. His knees came to rest on either side of your legs and he bent down, so that he hovered over you and you stretched up in order to keep your mouths connected. His kiss was rough and demanding, the reins held tight in his hands, and he took up every last gasp of breath you had left in your lungs.

He pulled back for a quick inhale, leaving you shell shocked, but only for a moment before he was pushing his lips back against yours. “Fuck, honey,” he slurred between deep, passionate kisses, “you taste even fucking better than I thought.”

When his mouth moved down to the column of your throat, his touch anchoring your hips down beneath him, you realized this wasn’t supposed to be a one-man show. Your movements felt foreign, unknown, as you brought one hand to thread through his hair and the other to cradle the back of his neck. His tresses slipped through your fingers like feathers or silk or some other poetic shit - you didn’t care enough to think of the right metaphor.

Johnny found a spot on your skin where your neck met your shoulder, his hand moving your shirt collar out of the way, and attached his mouth to that area. He sucked and pulled at your vulnerable throat, using his sharp teeth to gently bite at the skin. You gasped aloud, your grip in his hair tightening, as he licked at the place he’d bitten, almost like apologizing or making up for the pleasurable pain.

And fuck, was it pleasurable. With every moment that ticked by with his mouth lavishing your neck, with his touch roaming across the planes of your body, you felt yourself growing wetter. Your belly was flip-flopping with nerves and excitement, your core suddenly aching from the attention you were receiving. And, if you shifted your hips just right, you felt the growing erection in his pants pressing against your thigh. You gave a hesitant, experimental buck of your hips against his - and your heart leaped when he pulled off your throat to groan low and gravelly into your collarbone.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” Johnny growled as he sat up. He peered down at you with blown pupils and an almost animalistic gaze, his hands working the clasps and buckles of his bulletproof vest. “Keep playing games like that and you might get your prize sooner than you expect it.” At last, he lifted the vest over his head - and you didn’t stop yourself from staring. His stomach was a flat plane of muscle, riddled near the hip and the pec with a few puckered scars. His dog tags clinked against his chest, hanging like ornaments over the line of hair that began at his belly button and became thicker as it disappeared beneath his waistband.

“Impressed?” he crooned, drawing your eyes back up to his.

You felt yourself smiling, albeit a bit nervously, and slowly reaching out to touch his abdomen. “Maybe,” you murmured. Your fingers trailed over his chest, his nipples, his belly. His muscles flexed under your touch, and every few moments he let his head fall back and released a low-throated moans. They sent shivers up your spine and an ache down to your core, clenching around nothing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Johnny said, coming to his senses and hooking his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. “I can’t exactly do this the right way if I’m the only one playing skins.”

Your nerves jumped wildly as he began to pull up your shirt; you partially lifted yourself to aid him, but as the fabric began to clear your breasts, you felt your blood spiking. “Wait!” You grabbed his wrist, halting him in place. “Wait, Johnny, wait.”

Obediently, he paused where he was. He peered down at you questioningly, searching for a sign of whatever he’d done wrong. “Don’t get cold feet on me now, kid,” he drawled gently.

“No,” you said quickly, and you panicked because he looked like he was going to pull away, so you surged forward and kissed him hungrily. He gave a muffled grunt of surprise, but returned it nonetheless. When you finally leaned back again, you knew your face was flushed; how attractive you must have looked, with a violent blush and a black eye coming in. “I want to, Johnny, I really do. More than…” You shook your head slightly. “More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything?”

“More than you want to tell those fucking parents of yours where to shove it?”

A nervous, wobbly smile wound over your lips. “Yeah,” you replied. “More than that. But…” You swallowed thick and averted your gaze, letting your eyes fixate instead on his dog tags. “I, uhm… I haven’t exactly… done this before. At all.”

“Hmm.” It was all he said for a long, quiet moment. You could tell he was staring at you, but you didn’t want to know if his gaze was full of reproach or unease - or the wild, suddenly feral look some men got around virgins. He shifted his weight atop you slightly. He spoke again. “You’ve at least cum before, haven’t you? Used one of those toys you women like so much?”

For a fraction of a second, you realized the gravity of it all - you were lying beneath Johnny Silverhand, talking about your previous use of sex toys. But before you could begin to register the situation, you said, “I mean, I’ve used vibrators before. I didn’t ever… didn’t ever orgasm on those. It just wasn’t enough. And my mom always said I didn’t want to lose my virginity to a piece of silicone. So…” You gently tightened the grip you had on his wrist. “No. I haven’t. I didn’t… I hadn’t even kissed anyone before this.”

“Fuck me, kid.”

You waited for him to roll off you, to tell you that you were a nice kid, but he suddenly wasn’t feeling well. It seemed forever. Then, that feeling - that sensation that was growing familiar - of his metal fingers on your chin drew your attention back up to his face. He was gazing down at you with a look so understanding, yet so teasing and coy it seemed as though the painter who had sculpted his features changed his mind half way through.

“If I’d known that was your first,” he rumbled to you, “I’d have made sure to bite.”

With that he dipped down to recapture your lips, his artificial hand coming up to cradle your cheek affectionately. A tidal wave of relief flooded through your systems as you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair again, your body beginning to act on its own accord. Your leg twisted around his to pull his hips closer to yours, and you felt his erection bump against the apex of your thighs. You both groaned into one another’s mouths, sharing breaths and panting into throats.

“Hang on,” he ordered you, and once you had locked your legs around his waist, he braced you against him and hauled you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. He continued to bite at your lips and shove his tongue into your mouth as he carried you toward the bed.

When your back hit the mattress, he pulled you further up toward the pillows and crawled over your form. “I’ve got an idea,” he drawled, nipping at your throat. When you made a noise of acknowledgement, he slowly began to undo the button of your trousers. “We’ll save the fucking for the next time. Tonight we’ll stick with basics - swear it’ll feel just as fucking good.”

You felt your heart rate pick up like a methodical tick. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into his bare skin. “The next time?” you murmured, dammit, hopefully. You knew Johnny Silverhand was a womanizer, that a different girl fell into his arms every other night. A part of you felt stupid for hoping this would be different; now you weren’t feeling quite as foolish.

Johnny smirked down at you, his hair curtaining you both. “What?” he said. “Thinking this was going to be a one-time thing?”

“Well…”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his human hand trailing down to the space between your thighs. A small squeak escaped your lips, one that melted into a moan, when he pressed his thumb down on your trousers right above your clit. “I’d be fucking stupid to find a little thing like you and let you go.”

You hitched out a gasp. “Let me go?”

“Oh, yeah, baby.” He inched down until he was level with your exposed belly, then licked a stripe up to where your shirt was bunched just below your breasts. “You’re all mine now.”

Your world was flipped on its head, like you were watching the scene play out from above instead of from your own eyes. Johnny helped you pull off your shirt, and then your bra, and you finally let yourself moan unabashedly when he pulled the peaks of each breast into his mouth. Then he removed your pants, and your panties, and then he had practically picked you up and pulled you into a position that had your core aching like never before.

Johnny sat his back to the headboard with you seated between his legs so that your shoulder blades laid flat against his bare chest. He’d hooked his ankles around yours when your legs spread, keeping them apart and open for his touch that was slowly, torturously making its way down your body.

“Johnny,” you moaned as his metal hand cupped your breast, alternating between kneading and pinching the nipple. His warm, human hand was dragging his fingers over the tops of your naked thighs, occasionally dipping between them, but never where you needed him the most. “Johnny, please…”

“Ooh, my poor thing sounds so good when she cries for me,” he chuckled in your ear from behind. His voice was low and came from deep in his chest, sending goosebumps over your flesh. “I bet she’d sound even prettier singing.”

Without warning, his hand dipped toward your center and dragged a finger through your wet folds. In reply, as if obeying his command, you released a garbled cry and leaned your head back against his shoulder. Fuck, this was so goddamn good. You’d never known letting someone else touch you like this could feel so fucking amazing.

“That’s right,” growled Johnny, then found your clit and began to rub circles around it. “Cry for me, sweetheart.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in pleasure as he played with the bundle of nerves, your hands gripping onto his thighs for support. Your legs instinctively tried to snap closed, alleviate the heightened need for friction, but his ankles locked around yours kept you from doing so. Feeling your pull against his legs, he quickened the speed of his circles, increased the pressure ever so slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” you whimpered. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your slick smearing across your thighs. “Oh, shit, Johnny. Oh, my god, please don’t stop.” Quickly becoming overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and sensation, your body began to react on its own. You squirmed in his grasp, hips attempting to buck and feet kicking. There was a sort of coiling feeling building in your abdomen, like a pressure from within, and your body was chasing after it like it was the sun it had never seen.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” With every buck of your hips, his own chased yours, practically humping up into you from behind.

You couldn’t reply, only whimpered and whined and buried your face into the musky-smelling crook of his neck.

Johnny applied just the smallest bit of more pressure, his free arm wrapped securely around your middle to keep you anchored to him. “Come on, kid,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “Give it to me. Give me this first one.”

Whatever kind of effect his words had on your systems, it was immediate. That coil in your belly snapped, wound too tight, and your vision tore white as you threw your head back against him. “Oh, god, Johnny! Johnny, fuck!” Your words melted into hoarse cries and moans and gasps. You felt a warmth pooling from your entrance and his fingers gingerly gathering it up; if you had been able to open your eyes, you would have seen him suck your release off his own fingers and smirk to himself in satisfaction.

For a long, quiet few minutes, you simply sat there between his legs, feeling your chest rise and cave as you tried to regain your breath. Behind you, Johnny craned his neck to press open-mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, the jut of your spine. He unhooked his legs from yours, allowing you to draw them together and to your chest as you gripped his thigh with a grip that refused to let go.

“You with me still, kid?” Johnny shifted his weight a bit, then wrangled you until you were sat sideways in his lap and he cradled you against his front.

Your head rested against his bare pec, fingers unconsciously gripping onto the dog tags around his neck. “Mm,” you hummed, because you felt as though you couldn’t form words anymore even if you wanted to. A sudden and powerful tide of exhaustion had washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow and full all at the same time.

“Use that pretty voice of yours,” he insisted and flicked a piece of stray hair from your sweaty forehead. “Tell me you’re alight. That I didn’t go too hard.”

So - because you would do anything for him, after he just did everything for you - you scraped together what was left of your vocal cords and said, “I’m alright.” You skimmed your fingers along his chest, and again, his muscles flexed beneath your touch. “Johnny.”

“Yeah, kid.”

“You won’t…” The next words caught in your throat. You thought of your parents, who had tried to sell you off because they believed you were nothing. You thought of that woman who had clicked you like it was a second nature to her. You thought of your own doubts and fears that taunted you like bad dreams that wouldn’t go away even after you woke up. “You won’t leave me… will you?”

Johnny’s grip around you tightened, and he pet your hair soothingly. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, and there was something about his tone that made you believe this wasn’t just a promise to you, but to himself, as well. As if he’d loved and lost before; as if he refused to let this crash and burn, even if it killed him in the end. “I’m never letting you go.”

[zombiewhor3]

DEATH TRAP

daryl dixon x fem reader

WARNINGS: injured daryl, mentions of scars, gun usage, mentions of fighting, death threats, season 1-2 era tbh, mentions of Andrea/Shane

she had been waiting for Daryl to come back from looking for Sophia, she had offered to go with him but she could notice he was distressed at the fact they hadn't found his brother and well that he hadn't had a clue on where the hell she was.

she sat back in one of the cheap lawn chairs that came from Dale's RV as she had been carving a piece of wood with her blade, maybe just until it ran out or maybe she was making a stake.

whatever it was it was out of the boredom and anxiousness of waiting for her boyfriend to come back from his journey, his journey that she knew was dangerous because the woods were filled with walkers and steep hills that could surely kill him if he fell.

she looked up at Andrea who had a straw hat shaped like a cowboys, a dirt stained white tank top and a pair of jeans that obviously needed a fresh wash, she crossed her legs as she cocked her head at the sight of something slipping from the woods.

"Walker!" she called watching as Rick, Shane and Glenn had hopped over the fence, she angled her rifle, "bet i can nail him from here" she spoke with her obvious ego flashing through but Rick had told her hold back that, he had told her to let them handle it.

because after all the noise would trigger more walkers and their camp wasn't very much fit for a one hundred percent guranteed protection for them even if it was littered with barbed wire and wooden fences.

y/n had hopped the fence herself walking towards the walker, she turned to hear the click of a gun the sound of the safety being clicked off by the blonde who sat on top of the RV behind her.

"He told you to stand down! follow the order" she scoffed as she flipped back around pulling out her blade and rushing toward where the three men stood, except they weren't killing the walker they had just been simply standing around it watching it.

it only took her a few more steps to realize that it wasn't a walker but instead it was her boyfriend who was covered in dirt and drenched in water while he had an arrow through his body.

"is that Daryl?" Glenn asked as he had a knife ready in his hand, Rick had pointed his gun at him aiming for dead center of his forehead.

"that's the third time you pointed that thing at my head" he scoffed as he licked his lips clean hearing the others let out a breather of relief once they realized he wasn't a walker.

"Jesus Daryl you scared us thought you were a walker"

she sighed as she tucked away her knife back into her holster before one of the others could get a word in they heard the loud echo of a gun shot rocket through the air around them.

and suddenly he was knocked on the ground, his body out as he flopped back into the grass, y/n let out a scream as she dropped to her knees to see if the bullet had actually hit him.

she swallowed harshly as she rubbed the side of his head feeling some blood emit out onto her fingers, "i was just kidding" he remarked as they helped pick them up from the grass.

y/n could feel some tears being harshly forced back inside her as she looked down at the wounds on his body, a few scrapes and bruises from his arms to his face, an arrow through his torso, and now an almost lethal gun shot wound to the side of his head.

she had watched the others running towards the fence while Glenn had ripped off the walker ears he wore around his neck, Andrea had a look of defeat on her face as she could still see her target walking.

and well her target that wasn't a walker but yet one of them.

"what the hell happened!" Carol yelled as she watched y/n flick her eyes up to the blonde who was now hopping down from the roof of the RV to try and fix her mistake.

"he alright?" was all she asked, not an apology or even a full sense of worry lingering from her, except those two god damn dull words.

"don't worry about it Andrea" y/n scoffed as she and Rick had taken control of carrying his body up to the house, Hershel had followed behind them while he looked at Daryl's blood stained tank top.

Y/n was angry, she was scared and she was so god damn furious, so much that she could feel a wave of anger wanting to erupt like a tsunami on the women who almost killed him.

Daryl was placed down in the bed and stripped of his shirt, Hershel had gotten his table full of tools and Rick had forcefully pulled y/n out of the room so she wouldn't have to watch an arrow being removed from his body, she bit at her nails nervously.

Rick had noticed her distress and hadn't left her side even if it meant him sitting there for hours while Hershel fixed and cleaned up the wound to make sure it hadn't gotten infected.

and the subtle three hours had felt like eternity to her, because she couldn't stop pacing and wanting to get a glance through the door, even some of the others had come to comfort her all except the women half responsible for almost killing him.

and once the bedroom door was opened she could see Hershel pulling off a latex glove and patting y/n on the shoulder, without even such a hesitation she was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at him, looking at his bandages and scrapes and bruises.

"what happened?" she asked watching him lick over his lips before actually responding the full story of how he ended up like this.

"well that damn horse got scared and threw me off a cliff and i landed on an arrow, as for the walker ears i wanted a trophy" he spoke feeling as she got closer so she could rub the side of his cheek.

she frowned softly at the wound as she looked over at it, "don't be sad it was just a simple scratch and tumble" he spoke taking her hand in his and trying to soothe her.

"just a scratch? she almost killed you and well for the arrow you could've died if it hit one of your organs Daryl" she watched him smile a little almost like he was amused by it.

"i'm fine just a little sleepy that's all, promise you won't worry while i catch up on some sleep please?" he asked rubbing over the top of her hand while he could feel her gently pull away.

she nodded at him standing up from the bed and peppering a kiss on his forehead, she turned out the lamp and softly shut the door behind her, and with that she checked to see if her gun was loaded.

and it was, she had a full round left over, a full round that meant there was enough to maybe take over on walker duty because the obvious woman in control couldn't do her job right.

she thanked Hershel who sat in a reclining chair reading an old book, he smiled and replied with a simple nod at her gesture of thanks, he watched her slip out of the door her gun tucked away from his view.

she could see the others still around as the sun was just now barely setting, it was still quite visible in the sky making the day still alive as they now sat around to enjoy one another's presence and maybe just to wait on answers on how Daryl was doing.

"he's fine, he's just sleeping" she spoke to the group as she patted Glenn on the shoulder and moved along to where Andrea sat, now she was lower on the ground and not on top of the RV.

she ripped the rifle from her hands as she tossed it to where the others were sitting, Andrea had her hand on her knife to which y/n had pulled out her pistol placing it in between her eyes.

"c'mon try it" she hissed watching as her hands went away from her knife and into the air to show she wasn't going to try anything.

"woah! what the hell are you doing?!" Shane announced as he adjusted the police cap on his head watching as y/n's gaze focused on the curly blonde in front of her.

"what the hell am i doing? what the hell was she doing? Rick gave you an order and you ignored it, you could've killed Daryl, and you didn't even say anything close to an apology"

she could see Shane reach for her belt but she had placed the gun in his direction watching him back down before she focused back on Andrea who's pupils were dilated in fear.

"he looked like a walker not my fault" she remarked back at y/n watching her eyebrows raise as the tip of the gun was moved to now the dead center of her forehead making the others look around in a quite nervous terror at one another.

"you ever and i mean ever pull any of this bullshit on me or Daryl or even another one of us and so help me i'll place a bullet in you and i promise you i won't miss my target like you"

y/n remarked placing her gun back in the leather holster she could see the others staring at her like she was a monster like she was crazy but she hadn't felt anything for her, she hadn't felt anything but stupidity for trusting her.

Shane had grabbed her arm to pull her away, "are you crazy?" he hissed bitterly in a slight whisper, her eyes flicked up at him as she looked away with a roll of them.

"don't touch me or i'll put a bullet in you" she huffed as she snatched her arm away from his grasp and taking a few steps back so she could manage her way away from him.

"whatever freak show you have with him doesn't mean you can come and start waving a god damn gun in our face you hear me!" Shane shouted stepping even closer while she now was starting to step away even Rick had noticed him growing closer and closer.

"Shane back the hell away it's not your decision, let it be she did what she did even if it was wrong or right it was it is now back away"

she felt good that rick was standing up for her, but also she could sense she had been a fool to start waving a gun in someones face.

but she reminded herself that someone she loved could have been gone within a few split seconds because of her foolishness, because she didn't know how to properly follow an order she was given.

Shane had backed away poking his tongue in his bottom lip as he softly huffed at the idea of her placing a gun in her face, y/n gulped as she looked around at the others.

"i had my reasons, what if she killed him? you know how devastated we would be if he died! how devastated i would be? i'm not going to let her risk our lives! Rick you gave her an order and she still didn't stand down when you told her to!"

she watched as Glenn looked down at his shoes sinking into the dirt because he knew she was right, Dale seemed to look back and forth at both girls and Rick rubbed over the stubble of his beard while the others still remained keeping their eyes on her.

"hand over the gun" Rick spoke watching as y/n scoffed and raised her eyebrows at his demand, "no!" she uttered in disbelief at him.

"give me the gun, we don't kill the living y/n!" he yelled while he gestured his hand out for the pistol, "you get it back when you're out scavenging or hunting that's it you want safety i'm giving it to you right now so take the deal and move on"

he made a deal with her to which she un-holstered her gun and clicked on the safety while pressing it harshly into the bare cracked palm of his hand.

-

she watched Carol slip out of the bedroom as she set a plate of dinner in front of both of them and left with just a soft smile.

y/n had always liked Carol, she liked the way she cared for Daryl and the way she was like a mother to her, the way she was so kind and so sweet and well the way she was so homely even in the end of the world where flesh eating monsters roamed, even when her husband died and her own daughter had gone missing.

Daryl quickly stuffed his face with the food because truly he had barely been eating, unless you count raw squirrel intestines and to which they weren't very filling for him.

not with how long he had been walking through the woods, and fighting off walkers, which is why by the time y/n had actually taken her first bite he was done with half of the plate.

he could notice something was off, he could notice she was playing with her food while she stared down and kept avoiding eye contact each time he tried to pry her eyes to look at his.

"what happened while i was out?" he asked watching as she took a bite of a green bean on her plate swallowing it down harshly and poking her fork around the plate with a sad silence.

"y/n what happened while i was sleeping?" he asked this time rubbing her thigh while his thumb skimmed against the clad fabric of the dirty blue jeans she had been wearing for days.

"got my damn gun taken by Rick" she spoke flicking her eyes to look up at the man who had his brows furrowed while he was still stuffing his face with some of the food brought in by Carol.

"i threatened Andrea and Shane so he said i can only have it during scavenging and hunting, besides Andrea could've killed someone, and what if she did, we don't kill her for it?"

y/n spoke pushing the plate of food away as she looked at his plate now empty without even such as a speck left on the white porcelain.

"you're angry i get it, remember when i tried to kill that one dude back in the city but Rick told me no, because he took Glenn and i was so angry, i don't blame you y/n" he spoke with a soft smile.

"she deserves to pay for the mistake maybe not death but when i walked out there she still had that damn rifle in her hands, no one even thought to take it from her, she didn't even think to come and apologize for almost killing you Daryl."

she almost wanted to cry but he put the plates on the night stand and pulled her into his arms, he shushed her softly as one of his hands stroked over the top of her hair.

"in the end it'll happen, maybe not now but someday she'll learn from the mistake just like we do, just like i've learned not to ride horses" he joked hearing a soft sniffle and giggle come from her.

he peppered a kiss on the back of her neck.

"and i've learned to never give her a rifle"

[clownd1ck]

shut me up | f. castle

frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you get on frank’s nerves too much, and he’s finally found a way to shut you up.

warnings: reader has nipple piercings LOL that’s the only description, fem!reader, reader curses (she’s so me), reader annoys frank, age gap(?), touching, frank loves reader’s thighs bc i said so, making out, suggestive themes x

“oh my god, it’s raggedy-anne.” you say as you open the door. frank castle is stood behind it, beaten and bloody from whatever activity he got himself into earlier that night. frank ignores your comment and walks straight past you, and your eyes dart to him. “did raggedy-anne get shot in the ass or something?” you ask as you notice the way he limps to the couch.

“has anyone ever told you you talk too much?” frank groans, slowly sitting on the couch, unzipping his black hoodie to reveal his bare chest.

“all the time.” you quirk, pulling the first aid kit out of one of your cupboards. you never owned a first aid kit until you stumbled across frank castle. and i mean literally stumbled. you bumped into him late at night, too drunk to see the danger that lurks around him despite the bruises and cuts across his skin. you offered to help clean him up, only to realise you didn’t have a first aid kit and had to borrow one from your roommate at the time. even in a drunken state, you still did a damn good job at fixing him up.

it’s been like this ever since.

“and you don’t listen?”

“why would i listen to other people?” you smirk, taking your place next to frank on the couch as you start to unpack the necessities you’d need to clean him up. you can feel his watchful gaze on you the entire time, and when you look up at him, his eyebrows a furrowed and are looking directly at your tits: specifically, your nipples.

“what? i wasn’t expecting you to get in a fucking fight tonight. excuse me for wanting to dress comfy in my own fucking home.” your words are followed by a huff.

“when’d you get them done?” you found yourself looking down to where his gaze is cast. the white tank top you’re wearing reveals your nipples, but not only that, the stainless steel bar that passes through them.

you chuckle. “awhile ago, when i turned 18. best decision i ever made, my sex life has never been better.” you wink, causing frank to roll his eyes. “don’t be jealous, frankie, they’re always here for you.”

“you’re a pain in the ass.”

“no, that bullet wound you took up your ass is a pain. not me, never me.”

“i didn’t get shot in the ass.”

“whatever you say.” you grab the rubbing alcohol and place it on the wounds on his stomach using a few cotton pads. under your hand, you feel frank take a deep breath in and you watch him do so. “how’d this even happen, anyway?” you don’t receive an answer, causing you to huff. “fine, stay silent.”

and he does.

whilst you stitch him up, frank can sense the agitation gravitating off of you at the silence in the room. he’s always been a man of few words, but since he’s known you, you’ve always been the type of woman who had something to say no matter the situation. a snarky reply, an intelligent comment, it didn’t matter, because you truly didn’t know how and when to shut up.

“frank.” you say, and you’re met with no reply.

“frankie.” no reply.

“if you don’t reply i’ll sing careless whisper.” that causes frank to raise his eyebrows at you. he’s tempting you, his look saying do it, see what happens.

and so you gave in, because how would one not give into temptation when the devil himself is sat before you?

“tonight the music seems so loud, i wish that we could lose this crowd. maybe it’s better this way, we’d hurt each other with the things we want to sa-”

your singing is interrupted by something, but it takes you awhile to register what until you feel his tongue slip past your lips and a moan leaving your mouth for you to realise that frank castle is kissing you. you feel his hands reach up to cup your face, and you find yourself shuffling closer to be engulfed in the warmth and the feel that is him.

a hand reached out to grasp your left thigh, tugging it over his own until you’re completely situated on frank’s lap. the damage to his skin is long forgotten. his hand remains on your thigh, but it grabs and slides up and down in a way that has you completely at his mercy. his other hand soon joins on your other thigh, they’re in sync with the way they touch you: grabbing, squeezing, stroking them in a way that makes you feel appreciated.

your hands soon cup frank’s face, his jawline sharp and with your hands on his cheeks you find yourself digging deeper into the kiss, digging deeper into frank castle; his heart, his mind, his soul.

you’re not paying attention to the movement of his hands, too invested in the heavy make out session to even realise that his left hand had moved to cup your breast, pulling at your pierced nipple in a way that evokes a hot and breathy moan from you. you’re growing greedy, you want him to do it again and it’s like he’s a mind reader because he does, and you feel him smirk against your lips at another moan that escapes you.

you’ve pulled away from the kiss now, but your hands are still on frank’s cheeks and he’s still playing with your nipple. you’re both breathing heavily, lips just an inch apart as you stare into each other. he’s smirking at you, and you giggle.

“guess you found a way to shut me up.” you laugh breathlessly. “but i think i know a few other ways.” it’s the wink that you give him that frank knows he’s in for a long night. but who is he to complain?

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@theeblackmedusa

[booppooo]

heey can i ask for a oneshot abby×female reader (she/her pronouns), #1 from your prompt list with some fluff too 😊😊 (suggestion: the reader and abby are making out softly and it turns into something more and Abby decides to eat her out on the dinner table)

Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader One-Shot

AN: dear god I'm so sorry this took so long to write, also gonna try to keep this short cuz I have a tendency to drag shit out

Warnings: oral, general gay stuff, drinking, I think my writing style has changed? sorry?

-

It started off innocently.

You were lounging on the love seat, watching some weird Japanese cartoon Manny had raved about and drinking a beer. Make that three.

"It's hard keeping up with the captions." You complained, finishing your drink.

"You're telling me." Abby kicked her feet up on the coffee table and sunk further into the couch, not paying mind to the TV. When her arm fell across the back of the couch you took to her side and cuddled against her.

The dull edges of her nails ran along your spine in a comforting rhythm, serenading your deeper into her warm torso. Eventually your felt her fingertips on your skin, not just the pressure through your shirt. The mild buzz of the booze was making your lids especially heavy. However, Abby seemed to have something else in mind when her gruff palms started massaging your hip beneath your sweats. Albeit the sensation and release was soothing, but you knew what her next few steps would be.

"Babe..." she softly grumbled, planting a kiss on the crown of your head, "I'm bored." You hummed lazily in response, purposefully ignoring her digits slyly slipping under the band of your bottoms. But she made sure you couldn't ignore her anymore when she got a hand full of your ass.

"Abby-!" You grumbled against her, "Not tonight, I'm tired."

She started massaging your waist again, "We don't have to do anything crazy, let me do all the work." Somewhere along the lines her other hand had gotten mixed up under your shirt.

You let the thought simmer and juggle around in your mind. On one hand you truly were getting sleepy, but on the other hand...

Abby's tongue.

Speaking of - she had repositioned so she could kiss and lick along your neck, further convincing you to fall in line with her plan. It was proving increasingly difficult to call it a night when she started humming and nipping at your skin. You'd be a liar if you said there wasn't a growing, warm tingle below the belt. So you leaned into her affection, pressing your hips against her meaty thigh as your implicit way of giving her the green light.

She took you in her arms, adjusting your figure so she had easier access to the parts of you she wanted to grace. Her quickly dampening lips made a journey from behind your ear and down your neck, taking full advantage of your low-collared tank. Clearly her drinks had opened a few filters since she didn't bother groaning or even moaning against you as she groped your skin and worked you up - something she was usually hyper aware of.

Pulling away for just a second, she let slip a few words, "Love you babe, gonna make it worth it." In turn your cheeks started to burn an bashful pink. You further leaned into her, readying to give into whatever she had in store for you.

When you sprung up from the couch, and your feet didn't hit the ground, you yelped - especially at the small batch of butterflies lining your stomach. That was until you noticed Abby's arms flexing beneath you and effortlessly carrying you somewhere.

"Where are we going?" You giggled, suddenly going breathless when Abby started working a purple patch beneath your jaw.

Then your backside met a stiff surface, your fingertips quickly identifying it as your small dinner table, "Abby-"

"You look just about good enough to eat."

You knew she felt proud of that one. It was pretty damn clever.

"You're so dumb," you rolled your eyes, counterintuitively wrapping your legs around her waist.

She smiled against your collar bone as her hands slithered your shirt off, "You're dumb. Take this off and lay back."

Now Abby's lips were getting acquainted with your torso, plotting delicate, slippery kisses under your bra and around your belly button. Meanwhile, she had hooked her fingers around the waist of your sweats and started shimming them off your hips, underwear caught up in the mix. The anticipation for you was building, because Abby knew you, and she knew her tongue, so it was a recipe for pleasure. You weren't shameful about your shifty pelvis, sometimes lifting to graze against her as you sighed.

"Relax baby, I'll handle it. I always do." Abby cooed, thumb swiping over the mild hump of your hip bone.

She started at your inner thigh, not afraid to involve her tongue with her loving kisses along your skin. She knew what she was doing - building you up until you almost whined about not getting enough, then she'd swoop in and give you just what you wanted, needed. Her other palm found the underside of your thigh and gave it a home over her broad shoulder, the other soon following. Then her arms hooked around your limbs from below, almost locking your legs flush with her build as to assure no escape. Finally, her eyes locked with what her tongue had been buzzing about since her fingers grazed the fabric of your shirt. There was a familiar shimmer and a heat emanating onto her expression, the scent of sex following and mixing with her hormones in some way she couldn't explain. One thing was sure, she needed to dive in.

First with her tongue of course. Slowly, meticulously taking her time to part your slit until her taste buds found the source of what had made your cunt so glittery. And when she did, the sugary warmth excited her drive, forcing her tongue to travel to your clit. It's arrival was much anticipated because when the slick of her hot tongue made its first swipe against your near throbbing bud, a throaty sigh released from your tight chest. It managed to subside and elicit an ache only she could build and put to rest. Fortunate for you both, she knew just how to do that.

Anytime your hips would jolt or jut her unreal strength would keep you in place so her tongue could swirl just the way it needed to - uninterrupted by your overly excited nervous system. You could feel the accumulation of your slick being smeared grossly all over your cunt via her slippery tongue, only adding to the mess. But this didn't bother you, because Abby was tidy. She was clean and tedious, so this mess in the name of your orgasm was simply part of the process. It was something she enjoyed the most about having your lips against hers...your other lips.

"Goddamn..." a long sigh followed your curse. Your fingers had infiltrated her loose braid and nails were digging into her scalp.

Abby knew she was good. Good enough for you to take hold of her strands and wriggle your hips impossibly closer to her mouth; if she couldn't get closer, she'd get faster. Her sloppy tongue would just get sloppier, quicker, nearly careless. She needed to cover as much area as efficiently as possible because from the way your thighs were tightening and your nails scratched she knew you were close. Excitement sparked in Abby's chest, and she grabbed your hips as if she were cupping your cheeks to more deeply immerse herself.

"Fuck, yeah - just like that." You grumbled, but despite the delivery of your message, you couldn't be anymore enthusiastic.

Your waist grew jumpy, only it didn't make it very far from the table because Abby made sure to keep it in place. Her strength once again was a merit, because she had such a disgustingly hot battle between your soon to be overstimulated clit and her fucking ferocious tongue. Any move in the wrong direction on account of your eagerness could ruin this for both of you. Luckily, your orgasm was a certain reality when the spot in the middle of your pelvis grew fiery, so much so your body took refuge against the table. The sensation was wonderfully identifiable as it spread warmth rapidly across your muscles and nervous system, clearing your brain of all thoughts and forcing provocative moans from your throat.

Between all of this, Abby worked hard to make sure it was indeed worth it. She continued to maneuver her tongue just the way you said to, keeping you steady as the rest of your body tensed and relaxed at once. Eventually she let up on your hips and let your soaked center grind senselessly against her face until your figure grew limp and satisfied, at which time Abby dedicated to gently cleaning up the sticky mess she had worked so hard for.

She was careful to not return to your clit full throttle, only kitten licking when needed and mischievously enjoying the whining from you when she did. Besides that, her work was careful and purposeful until you were free to let her slip your underwear and comfy pants onto your very much tired self.

[talesfrommedinastation]

My redneck neighbor Doug watches 'The Bad Batch': 'The Harbinger'

Yup, as we all know, Doug unlocked a HUGE character with Asajj Ventress, who is apparently an embittered ex-Navy wife lurking somewhere in the depths of the Florida Panhandle and not a reborn Jedi goth chick.

CW: You will learn more about this poor ex wife of John then you will ever deem fit. Be warned.

All images taken from here: https://www.cap-that.com/starwars/the-bad-batch/309

-----------------------------

Episode 9, “John’s-Ex-Wife: The Revenge”

Daddy Warcrimes does what a daddy in need of a mommy will do, and is going to pick up women by the dockside. Wonder if they take cash or not. 

And here’s Julio to remind him to wrap it before he snaps it, ya know? Good bro, when has Julio done anything wrong, love him. Maybe Julio laid his pipe in Space Louisiana last week, who knows if the mantis had a sister who had bills to pay and Terrebonne Parish don’t have a lot of jobs but has a lot of lonely people and, where were we? 

Why is it all foggy here now? We in Maine now? 

Well, Mutant Jimmers is doing work, as the kids say now, tracking down the junkies hiding out in the caves. I can’t blame Mutant Jimmers or the junkies, they gotta do their smack and doing it in the park ain’t good. I wonder who makes the meth on the island? It ain’t Church Lady, she’s too busy working and having fun in the snow with her beau, Sassy-Park-Ranger*.

Awwww shit it’s not space junkies, it’s worse! It’s JOHN’S-EX-WIFE! Of course she’s hiding her Ford pickup in a cave, the other one got booted outside of Pensacola after she banged the neighborhood granddad and he called the cops after she stole his TV. 

(the last shot John saw before he left for the rig that one time)

God damn, she’s wearing the same outfit you wear to work, Meat Muffin! Do you think she writes papers and yells at people on the phone like you do too?

Well John’s-Ex-Wife hasn’t changed, first thing she starts doing is fighting and bitching at everyone for not paying their bills on time. I hated that damn woman but I’ll say this much, she was organized. But that’s how the Devil is. Not organized to not cheat on John with every sailor in Pensacola and the neighborhood granddad but nobody’s perfect I guess. 

Well, she’s going to test Little Orphan Blondie by making her do yoga on the beach while her brothers watch. Doing dumb shit in public to be different, yup, that’s John’s-Ex-Wife for you. Surprised Daddy Warcrimes hasn’t capped her and her bleached hair yet. 

Oh! Now she sent Little Orphan Blondie on an errand leaving the boys behind in a dark room with her. How much do you wanna bet there’s gonna be a train and Thomas the Tank Engine ain’t involved? God, it was a miracle John never ended up with the clap. His ex wife really was the bike of Escambia County. 

And there’s a fight. Woo! John’s-Ex-Wife’s history as a bartender is coming on through! Girlfriend can handle her own–and here’s the lightsaber! WOAH! I don’t want her to kick my boy’s butts but damn girl, git ‘er done! 

Also why don’t they all just pile on her, why are they waiting, this ain’t ballroom dancing boys! Toaster Strudel and Rex would NEVER.  

Where IS TOASTER STRUDEL AND REX?!?!?!

Well, Little Orphan Blondie’s back and seems to like John’s-Ex-Wife for some reason. God damn it, Little Orphan Blondie, you’re a rube and I ain’t happy about it. At least Church Lady got you sushi and hit on your idiot brother who didn’t deserve her. 

Little Orphan Blondie’s no Jedi, whatever. But nothing brings the family together like deep sea fishing, even more then going off into the snow and punching each other in front of the trailer! 

Off John’s-Ex-Wife and Little Orphan Blondie go while the dads do a lil bit of peepin. Except Daddy Warcrimes who knows a thing or two and keeps a gun tailed her. Yeah, Daddy Warcrimes! 

Oh! What’s this? Ain’t this the shit from Aquaman? Are they gonna get jumped by sea aliens until Aquaman throws flashlights at them?** 

Nope! It’s that thing from Pirates of the Caribbean! Where’s Johnny Depp and his dreadlocks?! They’re firing up the HMS Search Warrant to do a rescue and…woah. Woah. What’s Johns-Ex-Wife doing here? The force? She can do all that shit but she can’t keep her marriage, oh Johns-Ex-Wife.  

Look at Daddy Warcrimes being a gentleman and helping the ladies onto their stolen work truck. Most ladies get upset when a creepy old man with a gun hoists them into a windowless van but not Johns-Ex-Wife. Trust me. 

Johns-Ex-Wife warns them and then flings off, as she is wont to do. Why do I feel the next episode is going to be the DEA raiding Space Florida? I bet she’s a snitch for the government, calling it now!

*=Doug will never get off the Phee/Mayday train. I tried. I failed. I’m sorry, internet. 

**=I THINK Doug means the Trench from the movie. The Trench Scene | Aquaman [4k, IMAX] - YouTube

For my Doug fans! @eyecandyeoz @cdblake1565 @sued134 @megmca @skellymom @yeehawgeek @amalthiaph and anyone else!

[idontplaytrack]

Heels and shove

Janis ‘Imi’ike x fem! reader

Warnings: fluff, coarse language, violence, injury

Janis’ girlfriend of a year transfers to North Shore, catching the attention of many.

I tried my best anon, hahah. Enjoy:) I also couldn't think of a title lol.

“What are you looking at?” Damian asks.

“Today’s y/n’s first day at the school and I’m hoping she isn’t running late.”

“Why didn’t you guys come here together?”

“She woke up late and told me to come to school first.”

“Oh, no. Did she get enough sleep last night?”

“Why do you think she woke up late, Damian?” Janis asked him in return.

“Sorry.” Damian bit back a laugh.

Before Janis could respond to that, she spots you walking into the school. The sound of your boots hitting the floor with every step you took had the students look up and around to see where it was coming from. And when they realised it was an unfamiliar face, the buzzing began instantly, all of them wondering who on earth you were. Dressed a black lace long sleeve top underneath your tank top, you had on a matching mini skirt to along with your thigh high boots.

You head straight to Janis and Damian. “Hey, you made it.” Janis smirked an arm finding its way around your waist.

“Hey.” You gave her a small smile, then said hi to Damian.

“You’re attracting quite a bit of attention.” He says quietly.

“So?” You and Janis answered in sync before she presses a kiss to your lips.

“Oh, who do we have here?”

Regina. Of course. Of course she’d show up at this very second.

“None of your business, Regina.” You snarked, going along with her tone.

“Oh, my God!” Regina gasps, “Is this your girlfriend, Janis?”

“And that concerns you, how?” Janis shot her a look of annoyance. That feigned niceness. She was being hella sarcastic. Or maybe just bitchy, as usual. Whatever it was, you weren’t having it.

“Maybe you should get on your way.” You said, hoping she’d somehow get the hint.

Janis’ grip around you tightens. “Now we know who’s the top and who’s the bottom.” Regina smirked. Oh you wanted to punch that right off her face.

“Oh, you don’t know shit, you Plastic.” You scoff.

“Baby, just ignore her. She’s not worth any of your time.”

“Please, you were obsessed with me.”

“That’s not the compliment you think it is.” Janis laughs in disbelief, ready to lead you away, to your homeroom. The first bell rings.

“Saved by the bell. Let’s go.” Damian shoves the two of you past Regina and her little posse that’d just caught up.

Well, you ended up being in the same homeroom as Janis, Damian and Cady— Cady was nice, but you knew she infiltrated The Plastics for awhile and what that caused. So you were a little wary of her. Later that day in third period, you sat at your desk in trig when you saw that blonde walk in. Well, fuck.

She smirked at you. You were paying no attention to her, but she still managed to irritate you. She kept interrupting the class, talking to her friend. And seated right behind you too, so you could hear everything that they were saying very clearly. “I’m not afraid of you. If you continue to say anything about me or Janis, you’ll be so sorry.“

“I’ll be waiting, baby.”

“Do not call me that.” You replied harshly, focusing back on the lesson before the teacher could fault you for it.

And when that class was over, she still kept following you. “Regina, what are you even doing?” Gretchen— that’s who that was. “Why are you so interested in bothering them? Just to get a reaction? For what? G, that is so immature. We’ve just been through that whole Burn Book thing and you want to do that again?”

“Relax, guys. I was just joking,”

“Not funny. Piss off.” You stated, then quickly escaped, making your way to American Literature class.

————

“You’re in the same trig class as Regina and Gretchen? Damn.” Damian’s eyes widen in shock for a moment.

“She’s really just doing so much for nothing. I don’t know what the fuck kind of ‘reaction’ she’s expecting but I’m just so pissed off at this point.” You huffed, getting out your notebook.

Okay, of course, this was your favourite class so far since you were with Damian and Janis. But then after that, you and Janis were separated again so you could go to AP History. But lunch, lunch was after that which was great because you were getting a little bit hungry. “Okay, class, I will see you all on Thursday. Class dism—” The bell interrupted Mr. Daniels, “Class dismissed.”

Gleefully, you exited the classroom while talking to the friend you’d just made, Elise. “No, I got transferred here because people at my old school decided it wasn’t right for me to retaliate after I got bullied.”

“That’s so rude of them.” Elise said back.

“I left voluntarily.” You added on.

“Go you.” Elise laughs, “What’s your next class?”

“I have lunch. I’m just about to go meet up with my girlfriend and our best friend. You?”

“Oh, I have gym.” She tells you, “I’ll see you again on Thursday though. Bye, y/n.”

“See you.” You waved then she departs, going in the direction opposite of yours.

And then the distinct sound of heels clacking against the school’s floors made you curse— almost aloud, she was coming up behind you. What did you do? Pretend you didn’t hear it, hear her. But you picked up your pace though.

“You.” She somehow caught up anyway. Those Louboutin heels appeared before your eyes.

“What?” You looked at her clearly displeased, feeling the anger within you bubbling up quickly thanks to the hunger.

“No wonder.” She chuckles, the sickening smirk forms again, “No wonder Janis rejected me.”

You scoffed.

“She likes the freaks.” She leaned in to whisper in your ear. You inhaled sharply, your fists balling up. You feel your phone buzzing in your pocket— that was definitely Damian or Janis trying to contact you. “And you’re one.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You snarled, “God forbid little rich girl, Regina George can’t get what she wants one time.”

The blonde stared daggers into your soul. She had the power to intimidate, she had the power over most of the student population to destroy them for life. Janis got a terrible reputation because of the girl before you, that only very recently died off. Not you though, the only thing you felt when you saw her face was anger. Anger for what she did to so many, but mainly anger for what she did to Janis. “Get the fuck out of my way or else I’d just—”

“Just what? Push me? Tell on me?”

The urge to punch her in the face was so incredibly strong, but you took a deep breath and sidestepped her and went on your way quickly.

“God, there you are.” Janis heaves a sigh of relief as you plopped your lunch tray down. “What happened? Is your stomach—”

“I’m fine. It’s not that.” You answered her fast.

“Then-”

Damian tilted his head towards some laughter, from Regina and her little posse. Janis’ brows were raised for a beat and she scoffs, “Lucky for her she didn’t get her jaw broken.”

“I don’t get why Gretchen keeps hanging out with her.” You said, “She was stopping Regina.”

“Gretchen is nice, so is Karen. But you know, they’re still scared of her because well, she’s who she is.” Damian shrugged.

“I mean they could just— stop hanging out with Regina?”

“No, honey, they think they need her. It’s too late. They’re too dependent.” Janis states, holding the Oatly bottle in her hand as she swirled it before taking a sip.

“Hi, freaks.” The blonde intentionally walked by.

“I have had it with you! Why is the school so afraid of you? So what if you’re rich? That doesn’t give you the right to control people for your own enjoyment.” You yelled, “Call me a freak. Whatever. I do not care about what you think. But keep their names out of your mouth or I'll make you regret everything you have ever uttered."

"You don't know her like we do." Damian agrees, "You'll be so damn sorry."

Regina smiled sarcastically, sitting down at her usual table. Karen immediately told her to apologise to you, but did she listen? Of course not. You stood up for yourself and those you care about when it was needed, she tormented everyone because she likes it. That was the difference, and a big one at that. "Okay, what the hell did she actually say to you?" Janis leaned closer to ask quietly.

"She started off by telling me how you rejected her. Like I didn't know that- we were already dating then." Janis snorted a laugh, "What, and then she called you a freak?"

"She's jealous, my loves." Damian laughs, "She's not used to this...not being able to get what she wants. And I am loving every second of it."

"Of course you are." Janis rolled her eyes.

"Okay, anyway— what's the deal with Cady?"

"That, is Regina's girl."

Your eyes nearly flew out of your head and thank God you weren't eating because you would've choked. "What? That sweet, nice girl is that bitch's girlfriend?"

"Eh, yeah. They're in love and she's the only one Regina even treats like a normal human. But y'know, even better. Because they're dating. So maybe this stupid shit she's saying is all for show, for the thrill. But still, girl I know you wanna kill her but please don't."

"I know, Damian. She's not worth it. I— am so angry right now." Someone threw something at your head. You reached behind the pulled a cheese fry out of your hair, immediately tossing it back before she could dodge. You hit her directly in the mouth. The students surrounding your tables laughed. Satisfied, you returned to eating then cleaned out your hair afterwards.

Regina didn't retaliate again. Until the last bell let out for the day. While you were waiting for Janis to be done with her gym class, someone just came up to you and slammed you against a locker. "Regina! What the hell?" Aaron yelled, "Are you okay?"

"I-"

"How dare you? No one messes with me." Regina continues, pushing Aaron away and lunging at you. She easily shoves you to the floor. You were caught by surprise, completely unable to defend yourself.

"Regina, it's you." Gretchen spoke up, "You have been messing with her all day and now you've really hurt her. I don't know why I'm so scared of you- she's right. You're the same age as me, as so many of us, why are we living like we need to bow down to you no matter what? What's the point?"

God, the pain. The pain in your wrist, it wasn't going away. Tears pricked at your eyes as you tried to help yourself back on your feet. "Regina George, you better stay where you are!" Janis came running, ready to tackle her to the ground. Again, Aaron stops it from happening. "Get off me! She hurt my girlfriend."

"And it's no use getting yourself in trouble over her." Aaron says. Karen and Gretchen helped you up, and you crying out in pain freaked them the hell out.

"Janis, let's go. Now." Damian glared at her, "She needs to go to the hospital."

Janis froze, stopping whatever she was planning on doing. "Fine."

[willowedhepatica]

Ava falling asleep on Beatrice's shoulder

When Beatrice was a kid she used to go down on bruised knees and pray to God. 

She doesn't know if she really believed in him or not, or if it was just a pursuit for her parents validation. She doesn't know if he ever believed in her. But even then, when she stayed down on the scratchy wooden floor she hoped it would bring her something inexplicable. Something holy.

Even that felt like sinning back then.

The fire cracks and Ava holds a beer up towards the starlit sky as she leans her weight on one shoulder. "To Shannon and Mary for arranging this, I've always wanted to go camping!" 

Camila giggles as Ava takes a swig from the can. Beatrice resists the urge to steady her when she seems to tip a little too far to the left. Ava only straightens, a wonky grin forming on her face as she turns to her. "Want some?"

"You know I don't drink."

"Really, not even when a pretty girl offers?" Ava wiggles her eyebrows and Beatrice's cheeks grow warm. 

Lilith scoffs somewhere from the far left but she isn't paying enough attention to her surroundings for that to matter. That was her first mistake. Because Ava is gorgeous. The flames light up her face and dance across her skin, making her eyes glow. She shifts in place. There's just enough space between them on the wooden log for Beatrice to be able to place a hand between them. "I- you're not..."

Before Beatrice can sputter any further Ava bumps her on the shoulder. "I'm just messing with you, Bea. Would be cool seeing a nun drink though." 

She nods meekly. Digs her nails into the palm of her hand. "Yeah." She doesn't want to remember that part of her right now. Not when she's here. Not with Ava.

She is everything Beatrice isn't. Wild, carefree and bubbly as if everything would burst if she held it between her ribcage for too long. Her cargo jacket, ripped and mended together with all kinds of patches in yellow green and red, hung loose from one of her shoulders and revealed a black tank top underneath. Ava didn't seem like she had noticed. Beatrice had. Damn it she had. How could she possibly have not?

The fire cracks. Everyone is laughing about something, probably Mary because Ava has challenged her to a drinking game and Mary is leaning in like she was born for this moment.

Beatrice simply watches. They are used to her being quiet. 

After two shots Ava sways towards her, arm pressing into her own as she whispers. "You alright?" 

The skin where she makes contact burns. Her whole body tingles. Her voice comes out like a single breath. "Yeah." 

"Okay." 

Beatrice's eyes shoot down to her hand. Ava is playing with her fingers, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. She shudders. The chatting around them feels distant.

"Are you cold?" Ava continues, still close. Still tracing her fingers over her skin.

"I'm fine. The fire is warm." 

Ava laughs. Beatrice blushes again, jaw tightening. 

"Here." Ava says as she starts taking her jacket off, quite clumsily but doing it nonetheless.

"Ava, no, you need to stay warm."

"Yeah yeah, I know. I can catch a cold or whatever." She rolls her eyes, but not mockingly, just knowing. In a way that could only be done between people who had known each other for a while. She'd only known her for a couple months, Beatrice reminds herself. She shouldn't feel like this--

Ava scoots closer, slides her jacket over her shoulder and adjusts it, keeping her arm there. "There, now we can both stay warm." 

Beatrice tenses, looks around to see if anyone is watching. They aren't, surprisingly so. Beatrice believes they are sparring them, at least for now. Ava doesn't seem to care at all. In fact, she is only watching her. "This is okay right?" 

It isn't the first time Ava's done this. Beatrice has learned from the short time she's known her that she's a physical person. Always in need to reach out, feel the world around her. As if though she is afraid it might disappear. Afraid it wouldn't be real. Beatrice has never been fond by touch but Ava-- Ava made it feel sacred. Like the creation of fire sparked from the simplicity of it. 

She allows herself to relax into it. Into Ava's side. "Yes, yeah it's okay."

Ava answers by letting her head fall on her shoulder, buries her face into her neck and hums. "You smell nice."

God she wishes the others weren't here right now. 

"Do I?"

"Yea." Ava mumbles, lips tickling across her skin. "Smells like pine."

"Pine." She mutters uselessly, mouth dry and heart beating out of her chest. 

Ava draws closer, eyes closed. "Mhm, it's like, you're one with the forest. Or something. Like the werewolves." Beatrice can feel her break into a smile.

She turns her head just enough to glance down at her. "Did you just compare me to a werewolf?" 

Beatrice isn't able to hide the amusement from her voice, especially not when Ava starts to giggle, her entire body shaking with her laughter. "You would be a great werewolf." 

Beatrice doesn't know how to answer that but it doesn't really matter. Ava is dozing off, arm slipping from her shoulder to land loosely behind her back. Beatrice adjusts herself slowly, careful not to disturb her. 

If this is sinning she didn't want to be right. If anyone told her this is anything but holy, she wouldn't believe them. How could anything that felt like this be wrong? 

[melodyofthevoid]

“Captive”

Drinking alone, of course it happened the one time she ignored her own advice and went out for a few drinks alone. Hindsight and all that nonsense Ilia talked about at length. Whatever.

As Mariza might say: her mistake.

But with Willow breathing down Mariza’s neck, Mariza taking that about as well as could be expected, and generally needing a single solitary moment to herself? A drink was more than in order.

The green fins even set her at ease after the first few rounds, her vision a bit too faded at the edges to realize that the fins surrounded an entirely human ear. Not until it was already too late.

Then the room started to warp and turn, her ale a bit too salty, and her face too warm for the measly amount she’d drank.

After that? A complete blur.

Which left her here, with a pounding headache, rope burn, and absolutely no clue where the fuck she was.

People stood at odd intervals around her, holding onto the ropes binding her from head to toe. One even lashed around her neck in a noose, an unspoken threat. She bared her teeth and searched her surroundings for something, anything that might help her break loose. The moment that one of these idiots slipped up, she’d make them pay.

“Ah, our guest has arrived!”

A voice called from the distance, opening the door and letting in a flood of bright light, forcing Delta to squint as her head protested. Rather violently. Great.

Which idiot with a vendetta (or desperately in need of the bounty money) decided to take their shot at her this time?

The blood in Delta’s veins froze as the figure approached, too familiar. Nightmarishly so. Blonde hair fell over her shoulders in waves, loose, not tied up and away just yet. An eye the color of rotten seaweed examined her from a face that should have been beautiful. If it wasn’t for the too smooth perfection, like a ceramic doll, it might’ve been.

It was a face she glimpsed only once, cowering beneath a table in a place forsaken by Indra and all things good, a place no one but her, lucky frightened her, returned from. The Butcher’s Den.

“Oh,” her voice wavered in delight, “You’re even more perfect than I’d imagined. I’m honored to meet you, Delta.”

Somehow, that sparked her body to start working again. Delta thrashed, still exhausted but she’d be damned if she went down without a fight. Anything to ignore the terror of the Butcher knowing her. The Butcher laughed, tutting like Delta was merely a misbehaving animal, and not a piece of meat that she wanted to carve.

“No need for that now, I’d hate to put your body through any unnecessary abuse before I even get started. It’d be a waste for such a rare specimen.”

The Butcher’s face fell, polite smile turning into a sneer.

“Charles!”

The man who’d spiked her drink straightened, nearly shaking the fins he no doubt cut off himself from his head.

“Yes? What is it?”

“You said that she was alone, right? No one followed you?”

“Not at all, Hea-“

“Good. Well Delta,” the Butcher grinned again, somehow wider now, “Looks like no one will find you. Now, let’s get you all prepared. But I think you’ll last longer than the others, I’d hate to lose you too soon.”

Delta grimaced, yet sighed in relief. If her crew didn’t come, good. They’d be safe. For now… she’d have to stay alive. Survive.

Gods she didn’t want to end up in that tank. But it looked like she didn’t have a lot of say in that.

[gayerthanevertbh]

bestiee aaaa hiii ik this is kinda late but welcome baaacccckkk im glad that you're writing again hahsjssjsk can i request for a beefy!nat x reader? im a big simp for beefy!nat 🤭🤸🏼‍♀️

daddy’s arms.

warnings | reader just being so obsessed with natasha's beefy arms and physique, daddy kink, and fluff. :)

notes | hi hon! i hope this isn't too late, enjoy this short shot of natty's beefy arms <3 (PLEASE SEND MORE REQUESTS LIKE THIS OMG)

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I love my girlfriend’s arms. Sometimes, in secret, I’d have my mouth on one of her biceps and admire how strong and muscular she was. She would be asleep at that time–and I’d bite her gently, without her knowing, and fulfill my satisfaction. Do I have a kink about her arms? Yeah, sure. I can fully admit that I love them too much. Oh, especially those abs that would be crunched and flexed right before my eyes. Natasha would tease me with a baleful smirk, saying: got you staring, pretty girl? Oh boy, how much I love it when she calls me her pretty girl.

She was in the gym room again where she usually works out with Steve, who I’m very close with. I would rarely visit, I don’t know why, I think it’s because my face would be so flushed whenever I hear those low grunts and her stomach flexing. Perhaps I should visit, maybe even take a peak. It wouldn’t hurt, right?

So I got to the gym room and opened the door–my eyes are glued to her muscular body. This time, she had her black tank top on with her jogging pants. I assumed that she was only about to exercise since she wasn’t wearing proper attire. She turns her shoulder and catches my gaze; I could feel her smirking and that surely made my stomach churn in so many ways.

“Hey, pretty girl,” she flirts and I immediately brought my arms around her body, hugging her close. I laid my head on her chest and sighed, feeling content with her arms around me. She whispers, “You’re so pretty, hm? What are you doing here?”

“Jus’ wanted to see you,” I murmured into her chest. “I love your arms so much.”

“Oh, you do now, huh?”

She’s a big tease with her buffed arms and toned stomach.

I nodded, “Yup.”

“You’re so cute,” she says, feeling a peck on the top of my head. I could smell her smoky scent; assuming that she had a cigarette. I hugged her longer than I imagined, falling in love with her arms wrapped around my tiny body, the feeling of her touch–those damn calloused hands–and her kisses that would linger on my head and skin for a while. “Let me work out first, m’kay sweetie? Daddy just needs some relief.”

She would exercise whenever she felt like it. Heck, she’d do it in her bed if she had to. I would sometimes catch her doing push-ups on the floor with her muttering how many numbers she has done. She would huff out loud with her chest burning up red. Her eyes would catch my stare and would tease me once more, she’s always good with that. It’s a talent.

“Okay, Daddy.”

I felt her hand smacking my left cheek, feeling a gentle squeeze. God, she was obsessed with my ass. What for, anyway? I don’t understand the obsession with my ass. I hear her groaning and say: “Now let me go, you can watch me if you’d like.”

And I watch her from the bench, clenching my knees together–trying to hold off that tightening feeling in my core. And like I said, I rarely watched her exercise. But I gave this an opportunity, and I’m glad that I even got to watch her.

—

Around dinner time, I was making the Avenger’s favorite dish from mine. Cannelloni is a pasta that is close to my heart. Natasha loves it, but she’s more of a steak person than a noodle person. She keeps her diet on track, sometimes she would only have oatmeal for dinner then the next day, a big steak that I’d cook for her–gladly, of course. While I was at the stove area, I felt a familiar person behind me and almost squealed when those arms wrapped around my tiny lower waist.

“Oh my, Tasha–”

“Missed you so much,” she says with a breathless moan to my ear, peppering kisses underneath my ear. I felt her other hand creeping to my right breast and gave it a little squeeze; chuckling to herself, knowing that she was smug. “Daddy wants playtime. They can fix their dinner for themselves, they’re big people and you’re my little girl.”

“But honey, it’s almost done.” I turned over my shoulder to give her a fake pout, trying to be cute at least. She smiles widely and leans in to give me a full kiss that I never expected; I did let her tongue slip into my mouth, and we might’ve had a make-out session in the middle of the kitchen room.

“I want to play with my girl first.”

tag: @splatashaizgay

[verslxt]

Actually do y/n and Gojo at a party and they get dared to make out with a jolly rancher then toji sees and he get upset and into a fight with gojo. After the party Toji rails y/n so hard but after that y/n patches up to his wounds from the fight earlier at the party. <3

yes i can actually. i love this idea! i hope that i can bring it some justice with my writing.

genre ♡ : smut pairing ♡ : satoru gojo x y/n x toji fushiguro warnings ♡ : fingering (f! receiving), blow job (m! receiving), implied drinking, tojis rich in this one mk, mentions of hard drugs, mentions of weed, hairpulling, make out session, mentions of cheating, toji being jealous, daddy kink, impregnation kink, tell me if i missed any 😙

as you walked into the party with your vape in one hand and phone in the other you didn't expect both gojo your side guy and toji your main there. your boobs being showed off through the grey cropped tank top and your ass being hugged by the baggy ripped jeans you were wearing. your black thong strings showing from the top of the your jeans. your black high top converse making you look taller than you actually are. you put your vape in between your boobs and started walking around thats when someone grabs your hand. its your sister shoko ieri.

"god damn you look hot!" she complements

you look at her outfit up and down. a form fitting top, flowy black skirt with bedazzled heels.

"thank youu so do you!" she hands you a shot and you take it. she smiles as 'party' by chris brown comes on. she pulls you with her to the dance floor. you take your vape out of your cleavage and you take a hit off of it.

you blow it out and scream the next lyrics with shoko

"BITCHES DANCIN NAKED IN MY LIVING ROOM"

you felt two hands around your waist. you looked up and it was some random dude. you pushed him off with a disgusted look on your face. after the song was over everyone circled up and started to play truth or dare.

"y/n truth or dare?" nanami asked you

"dare i ain't no pussy" you replied taking a hit off the blut you got handed

"make out with gojo with a jolly rancher in your mouth"

you got handed a blue jolly rancher and gojo got handed a red jolly rancher. you got up took another shot and sat down by gojo. he pulled you closer by pulling you into his lap. you unwrapped the candy and stuck it in your mouth

gojo latched his lip onto yours and you two started swapping spit. you felt a pair of eyes staring right through your back. you damn well knew it was toji. as the. next song came on they went on with the dares. after the two jolly ranchers were completely gone you and gojo parted. a string of purple tinted saliva was all that connected you two.

you got back up and sat in your normal spot over by shoko. you took another hit off your blut. you got handed another shot with a purple jolly rancher in it. you downed the shot and started sucking on the purple jolly rancher.

~time skip brought to you by toji and gojo's big dick energy~

you got into your car keys in the ignition when toji knocked on the window. as your phone connected to the radio you rolled down the window

"my place or yours?"

"yours" you smiled. toji grabbed your face to face him and he kissed you

"your mine."

'i cannot breathe without you being right by my side i'll die' the song played (brownie points to whoever can name the song(hint : stray kids))

toji smiled and went off to his car. you put yours in reverse and pulled out of the drive way. you followed toji home. your phone playing all kinds of freaky songs on the way over

streets - doja cat kiss it better - rihanna and many others

you pulled up next to toji and put your car in park. you grabbed all your things and walked inside. you walked up to tojis room and planted a kiss on his lip scar.

after you have sat your stuff down, toji grabs your waist and slams you down onto the bed

"open" toji commands. you open your legs. tojis hand travels down to the button on your jeans. he unbuttons them. he slides them down your legs and puts a tiny slap on your pussy. you yelp at the sudden harshness on your clit. you take your top off showing the black lace bra that you had on. the necklace that toji got you showing. the gold chain matching perfectly with your (s/c) skin

toji smiles and latches his lips onto a small piece of skin on your collar bone. tojis teeth lightly graze it. you yelp once toji fully bites down on it. you slip your shoes off and kick them off the edge of the bed

toji unlatches his mouth from your collar bone and sees your vape. he takes it out of your cleavage and takes a hit off it

"come on pretty girl open those lips for daddy" you parted your plump lips and toji stuck the vape in between them your took it out of your mouth and put it on the bed side table

tojis hands slid down to pull your jeans the rest of the way off. after he slipped your jeans all the way off he stuck his hands on your hips

"your mine you know that right?"

"yes daddy"

"okay baby"

toji pulled you off the bed and puts you on your knees. he pulls his grey sweats down along with his boxers. he sat down on the bed his erection standing straight up. you took it in your hands and attached your lips to it. your head started bobbing up and down. lewd phrases coming out of tojis mouth.

"what a good slut" he pushed your head down a little bit more. making sure his tip hit the back of your mouth

you let go of him with a loud pop sound. you focused on the tip of his cock. your lips wrapped around it. sucking it slowly

"i'm close, i'm close" you took your lips off the tip of his cock and started pumping your hands up and down. his hot sticky cum shooting all over your tits. he picked some up with his finger and stuck it in your mouth. the next thing your know your on the bed. lace bra and thong on the floor next to the rest of your things

tojis middle and ring finger pumped inside of you at a slow pace. you put a pillow right above your ass in your lower back area. tojis fingers were now going in and out of you at a fast pace. curling them right where your g-spot is.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck" you moaned out

toji knew you were close. repeating words was your first sign. next was moaning. third was trembling breath and fourth was clenching around him.

your breath started to tremble. and finally you spilt over the edge when toji placed a kiss on your clit.

toji licked up your juices and looked up at you. your chest going up and down. up and down. up and down.

toji got up and took his shirt off showing off his muscles. he put your legs up on your shoulders. he lined himself up and leaned down to put himself in and kiss you. you moaned in the kiss. toji started moving in and out.

toji flips you over onto your stomach. and arched your back. he grabbed a handful of your hair

"fuck your so damn tight" toji groaned. you moaned into the pillow. toji pulled you back up by your hair

"ahp what do good girls do"

"t-tell da-d-daddy what i-i wa-want"

"good girl"

you moaned out as toji arched your back more and more. you knew you were close. your legs started to give out under you. your moans became more lewd and louder. toji let go of your hair and his hand traveled down to your clit. he started rubbing it

"come on baby we gotta get you pregnant. you know how pretty you'll be with my baby in your"

you moaned out and with one final thrust you came. and with 3 more thrusts into your toji came inside you. you flopped over on your side and fell asleep.

~4 days later~

y/n baby come home quick i have some thing to tell you

toji ♡

be there in a little bit ♡

you waited for toji on the couch 7 different pregnancy tests laid out on the counter. the door opened and you saw toji come through the door bloody and bruised. you instantly got up and grabbed the med kit. you pushed toji down onto the couch and and started to patch him up.

"baby what'd you do"

"i beat that bitch gojo to a pulp"

"well now everyone can know your mine" you got up and handed him one of the 7 pregnancy tests.

[mr-m-murdock]

hiii can i request nat x reader where reader hides an injury from Nat and Nat finds out? maybe angst ending with fluff

band-aids for bullet holes

| natasha x reader |

warnings: injuries

a/n: thanks for the angst :) I'm enjoying torturing you guys. BUT it does have a happy ending, as requested

The apartment is dark when you open the door. You scan for any signs of Natasha, a plate on the drying rack or her jacket thrown over the back of the couch: nothing. But your tired eyes skim right over the takeout box on the coffee table, and you stumble into the bathroom down the hall without noticing it.

You discard your ruined shirt on the edge of the bathtub without bothering to close the door, and begin to rifle through the medicine cabinet. Painkillers, cough syrup, even damn hand sanitizer, anything you can find just to take the edge off the pain in your side.

You can't bear to look at the wound yet, but even in the dim light, you can see your stomach is slick and wet with blood.

You shake three paracetamol into your palm and take them dry with a desperate swallow and a wince. Then you sink down onto the toilet lid, slowly, slowly to avoid agitating the pain, and rest your head back against the tank with a clunk.

You touch the wound tentatively. The light brush of your fingers sends a sting through your ribs and you suck your bottom lip in past your teeth, bite down hard so as not to make a sound. You're stiff, your head swimming. God, if you'd just dodged the idiot, this wouldn't be happening.

With every movement sluggish and careful, you slit open the first aid kit and try to clean yourself up. You wet a cloth with water and drip it down your side, ignoring the pink puddles it makes on the bathroom floor. Then you blot the cloth with antiseptic, take a deep breath, and press it all up against the wound.

The pain is instant like a burn. You whimper into your teeth. Thank God Nat isn't here, thank God she's not going to see you like this and worry and panic-

"You okay?" comes a voice, from just down the hall - Natasha's voice, low and rough with sleep. You freeze, your side stinging like a bitch. Her feet thud closer, purposefully noisy, and she calls your name as she emerges from the hall. You react, slamming the door closed with your foot, and you hear her stumble backwards. "Um..." she says.

"I'm naked," you blurt. You smack yourself in the head. I'm naked? Seriously?

Predictably, Natasha laughs. "Okay, babe. What are you actually doing in there?"

"Cocaine," you reply acidly, fumbling for a bandage. She tests the door handle and you push your heel more securely against the door.

She says your name again, worry creeping into her voice.

"I'm fine," you reply.

"So let me in."

"I'm having a bath."

"I didn't hear the water running."

With the bandage now in your teeth, you can't reply, and she then she says your full name, her voice tinged with urgency.

Uh-oh.

"Let me in," she says. No room for argument. You thump your head against the toilet tank and glare at the ceiling. Then you release your foot from the door.

It swings open torturously slowly. She stands in the doorway, head tilted, surveying the mess you've made. And when she speaks, her voice is tight. "What the hell happened to you?" she says. Rhetorical question. Her face is carefully, casually blank. She's angry.

And she's right to be. You'd only recently been shot in the shoulder by an asshole with a sawn-off shotgun, and after that she'd made you promise you wouldn't go picking fights by yourself. Promises mean too much to her in your opinion, but you really had intended to keep this one.

"Knife," you say, in between your short breaths. "Nat-"

"Don't," she says shortly. Ice cold. Sharp as a blade. You shut your mouth. You'd been about to apologise.

She steps in, avoid the smears of blood on the floor, and kneels next to you. She pulls your hands from the wound impatiently. Were she less pissed, she'd be scolding you for not cleaning it properly, but now there's just thick, freezing silence between the two of you.

She cleans you up, stitches you closed and bandages the whole thing in clean, methodical movements, her touch gentle and her face hard as stone. You watch her hands move and wait for your chance to speak, a lump in your throat. You never want to scare her. Never.

When she's finished, she stands to wash her hands without looking at you. You sit slumped on the toilet lid, blood crusting and drying on your skin and clothes.

Natasha stoops to pick up your ruined shirt and leaves silently. You let her go. You hear her pedal open the kitchen bin and drop the shirt in amongst the trash.

Natasha's never forceful when she's angry, never loud or abrasive, never emotional. She's silent, viciously so, which is somehow worse. She'll speak softly - you know she hates to get mad, especially at you. And you know her well enough to recognise all the signs.

She doesn't talk to you when you limp out of the bathroom, your side aching. You avoid her eyes.

Until she's turning to walk away, and you realise she's put pants and a jacket on, and she's about to walk out.

"Nat, wait," you say. She halts, reaching for the door handle. Her shoulders are tight, her knuckles pale as she grips the handle. You search for words to fill the silence. "Where are you going?" you ask. They fall flat in front of you.

"Out," Natasha replies. She offers your bandaged ribs a cursory glance over her shoulder. "I'll be back to redress that."

"Can you just-" you say, your throat thickening. "I'm sorry. Please stay." Useless right now. She wants to be alone. But you can tell she's reluctant to leave.

She releases the door handle, and clenches her hands by her sides instead. "You promised me you'd be careful," she says. Her voice is not cool and vicious anymore: now, the vowels shake and her shoulders are tight as she gets the words out.

"I'm fine," you insist. "It was a mistake. Just one mistake." She turns to face you, but she doesn't look at you. Her eyes are rimmed angrily red. "Nat?"

"If I can't trust you, of all people, to keep your damn promises," she says, and she takes a large breath that seems to catch in her chest. Her eyes drag painfully up to yours and narrow. "Then who can I trust?" And she turns, yanks the door open and is gone.

The jamb clicks. You can't hear her footsteps receding.

Fuck.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

You're sprawled across the couch when Natasha gets back, your eyes closed and a frown resting like a stone between your eyebrows. She closes the door quietly. Waits. Watches.

She regrets arguing and growling and leaving. She regrets that she didn't really explain anything at all.

You wake slowly, sensing a shift in the room. You turn left, right, and your eyes slide right over her before you double take and snap back.

"Nat," you say, your voice slurred with sleep.

She twists her hands into the front of her shirt. I'm sorry. So easy to say, two words, three syllables. "How are you feeling?" she asks instead.

You blink at her, still registering her presence. Relief rising: she came back, she's not so angry that she wants to leave you hanging off a hook like a guilty idiot who took the bait. "You're back," you say. Your breath rushes out of you and your side twinges and you wince back from the pain. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry-"

"No, it's okay," Natasha says, and she crosses the room and pushes your hair off your face. She kisses your cheek. "It's okay. I'm sorry." She traces a pillow crease down the side of your jaw. You frown at her. "I should have explained. I should have trusted you. I know you can take care of yourself." The sentences come piling out of her mouth, each one eager behind the other, like three bullets in a wall. You grip her wrist.

"You were so angry," you say sadly. But she shakes her head.

"I wasn't angry, I wasn't. I was upset. I was - I was scared. I shouldn't have taken it out on you." She doesn't seem able to keep your gaze.

"Okay," you say. You press your lips to the inside of her wrist, feel the tendons relax. "I'm sorry I got my ass beat."

Above you, she snorts. Her fingers play over your skin and you lean into her hand.

"Stay tonight," you mumble, your eyes closing. Her other hand drifts through your hair.

"I will. I'm sorry."

"And stop apologising." You know what she feels, even if she still hasn't explained. She cares far more for you than she ever has for anyone before: it's a terrifying thing. But losing this is even more terrifying. You grip her arm and tug her down to kiss her.

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[mynutpanda]

A common trope in an art around Jason makes me feel a bit weird (I mean you do you, fanart is for the artist and all that).

It's where Jason is noticeably scarred up or in group images more scarred up than the other members of the bat family/clan or the other Robins.

And it seems to me that it has more to do with him being the bit of rough rather than anything to do with anything in Canon or Fanon.

Like all of the Robins have injuries that should leave them visibly scarred – Dick got shot in the God damn head for fuck's sake. But Jason (excepting Arkham Knight Jason and White Knight Jason et cetera) got a complete reset on his scars when he came back to life and since then has worn or almost full face headgear (and yes I know the Joker managed to get fucking gas into it and god damn Joker war). But what I mean is he's kept himself pretty well covered and protected compared to other members of the group.

For example you never see Stephanie depicted like that despite the fact that she was cut up and tortured by Black Mask or Cassandra despite the fact that her training by David Cain should have left visible scars.

But you will the one character known for being working class (not the one character who is working class, but is known for it), known for growing up incredibly poor in fact, is now built like a tank, has a common Fanon theory of being a bit of a bruiser, he's frequently depicted with way more scars than his counterparts.

It's got to the point that it is now a trope, and one that seems pretty classist to me. Why would Jason and only Jason be the one with visible scars. Well sure you can go with arguments and say well he's got no legal identity (apart from he kind of does now) but that wouldn't mean he wouldn't care about his appearance, wouldn't need to go undercover, and so forth.

In terms of kinda shitty tropes in fanon I certainly don't think it's the worst, but I do think it's worth thinking about why so many fan artists default to making the poor kid covered in scars.

Just to say, I'm not saying I don't like one or two discrete scars. Personally I like to see a couple of small scars on all of the Bat clan. I think there should be evidence of their work, but I think they should all have evidence of their work. I also don't think one should be noticeably more scarred up than the other. But that's my personal taste there

edited because dragon dictation really did a number on what I was saying this time!