#which you can totally do!!!!! that’s fine!!!! just don’t make up a fucking reason to go along with it

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

To clarify,I don't believe in porn makes you evil and I don't believe in like fantasies are evil. I'm pulling this quote off Scarleteen "“If we aren’t both careful and creative we can get stuck in fantasies that don’t mature and politicize with us."" I'm also new to being about to vote, so I'm trying to be careful about what I consume and what stereotypes media perpetuate. Like I'm not moralizing about kink or anything, and my ask was how can I get aroused with media wo my kinks or wo media

hi anon, welcome back! I'm genuinely very glad to hear some follow up.

for anybody who doesn't stay vigorously up to date with all of my anons, this ask is a continuation of this one.

so I went and checked out the Scarleteen articles you mentioned in your first message, or at least I tried to. How to Approach Sexual Fantasies and Desire on Your Own Terms is here, and while I couldn't find anything with the exact title 50 Shades of Abuse, we do have 50 Shades of BS - How to Tell the Difference Between Kink and Abuse as well as 50 Shades Crappier: On Selling Abuse for Valentine's Day, both of which cover how the 50 Shades series isn't a great model of real, responsibly-practiced BDSM.

now, here's what I didn't see in any of these articles: an assertion that anybody needs to, as you've decided to do, avoid any work that depicts anything less than perfectly healthy sexual practices.

the closest we get to that is the quote by adrienne maree brown from How to Approach Sexual Fantasies, which you mention above. now, here's the thing: first of all, I actually disagree pretty substantially with brown's assertions that one's sexual fantasies need to "politicize." I know what my politics are; the fiction that I enjoy can't change that, because I don't have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair. I actually just talked about that earlier today in another ask.

(also, and this may be an unpopular opinion, but adrienne maree brown is kind of a dork who doesn't really say much of anything in Pleasure Activism that Audre Lorde didn't already say better and more succinctly, and I personally lost interest in Pleasure Activism pretty much the moment she casually dropped that she practices reiki healing because that's a pseudoscientific alternative medicine that doesn't do shit or fuck. but I digress.)

listen, I'm not trying to peer pressure or bully you into watching anything you don't want to watch. your porn consumption is up to you. but what you're doing here is absolutely moralizing, I think maybe because of an underlying assumption that media that involves sex is just, like, innately different than any other type of media, which is in itself an idea that stems from sex negativity!

I don't know, let's just try to play out a little thought exercise here. like, would you consider it reasonable if somebody told you that they've decided not to read or watch anything that depicts problematic behavior because they don't want to normalize it. like, first of all, they're never watching anything but Bluey again. except actually not even Bluey because I just remembered about Bluey in the genocide, which actually makes for a great illustration of how nonsensical and impossible it is to try to only engage with media that is 100% ideologically pure.

and again: that's fine! that's literally fine! it is 100% okay to watch or read or play things with morals that don't totally 100% align with yours. it's okay to enjoy them, even. it's a lot healthier than trying to avoid upsetting or incongruous things entirely, because that gives you the chance to actually think about it rather than trying to shut it out entirely! that article actually provides an entire list of questions you can run through with yourself to critically analyze the things you watch if you feel so inclined! that's a much better skill to practice than avoidance!

I get that when you're new to sex, as you said in the previous ask, this might seem daunting, but your brain isn't just a sponge that will uncritically soak up and adopt anything you expose it to. you very clearly have the ability to research, differentiate between fiction and real life, and form your own opinions! and it is absolutely fine if you want to just watch porn with your kinks!

like, listen, I see what the question is, and the easiest answer is just. do whatever gets you off.

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 5 - Meet The Adams Family

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The first thing you’d done when you woke up, still somehow in the Wayne manor, was pull out not-your phone and check the date. When it tells you that you are not, in fact, in some weird version of a time loop, you feel some measure of relief. The second thing you do is look your own damn name up on Google. There were over 3 million results. You have a Wikipedia page. If that hadn’t made you want to gag, the press from last night had you bumbling your way into the ensuite bathroom and puking into the toilet.

It’s still sitting on the bathroom floor, nauseous and achy and sweaty, your mouth washed out but still tasting foul, that you continue your research.

It’s just as you had suspected, your family was dead. Still dead. Well, shit. In the light of day, you supposed that made more sense. That there was no real reason to assume otherwise. You hadn’t for most of yesterday, but as soon as you’d thought that maybe there was a chance, your hopes had been dashed. Which was good, rip the bandaid off and all.

It was good. Things were good. They were fine, you were fine. You really wish you were a better liar.

Again you wash your mouth out. Root around the cabinets for some medical-grade mouthwash, do it again, and then you throw yourself into the shower. Again. You notice the soap smells like whoever’s clothes you stole. Refreshing and awakening, that mint and earth again. You think you can detect something floral in it too. It’s still masculine, but…

Wow, you are such a freak! You put down the fucking soap and manage to resist the urge to slam your head into the tiles. Your headache was bad enough already.

When you leave the bathroom, you glance at the door, and then down at your towel. Guess you’re stealing some more apparel. You find a Superman shirt, give it a judging glance, and then pick out a black T-shirt with ‘The Beatles’ across the front, and some sweatpants. You have to roll up the pant legs so you don’t trip and fall flat on your face.

One hand scrolling through Twitter and TikTok and Reddit and every single piece of social media you could find, getting the people’s source of news and you get the high overlords’ one when you turn on the huge TV attached to the wall. The remote kind of confuses you at first, but you manage to find the good ol’ Gotham news channel.

Immediately, you’re greeted by your miserable mascara-streaked face. You turn the TV off. You take a deep breath. Turn it back on. Luckily it’s not just you getting your private moment of trauma blasted open in the media. Your party had been filled with Gotham’s elite, after all. You weren’t the only rich idiot left crying by the side of the road.

You weren’t the only one who had to suffer. There had been twenty-eight casualties, in total. A small amount, considering the man behind the deaths. The Joker wasn’t known for his cleanliness. You tell yourself that, and yet still, you can’t make them just numbers. They’d been standing right next to you, after all. All in the same boat, all waiting for the axe to swing, secretly hoping you’re the one who lives to the next day. Only one of the party guests had been shot, and that’s because you think they’d personally pissed off the Joker. That’s what Twitter says, anyway. There were multiple video recordings of the altercation, and it didn’t look like he’d been the smartest banana in the bunch. The TV is a lot sweeter on the dead soul.

You feel sorry for all the dead. You still don’t think this rich heir should be the face you see, though. When you check his name, you find several forgotten assault cases. Assault, rape, just like that disappearing bastard had tried to do to you. That female janitor you’d seen shot had done more for this city than that guy ever had.

Did her family know? Did she have a family? Someone to mourn her? You’d never thought about that before. How many people out there wouldn’t have anyone to even remember them?

It’s none of your business, in the end.

After a whiles more research, you switch the TV off and tuck your cracked phone into the sweatpants. You know where your mother’s grave is, on the west side of the estate. Wikipedia knew all, which was now kind of creepy to you as it knew all about you as well. Really, you couldn’t believe it. Your mother, buried with the Waynes? You’d always thought she should find someone new, someone who’d appreciate her, unlike your father who had dipped as soon as Sam was born.

You couldn’t even remember the guy. Still, you remembered that he’d smelled bad and made your Mum do everything, and was just generally all around the worst choice for a husband.

But, Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne? Absolute insanity. You had no idea how the two of them would’ve even met. Let alone fall in love and get married. Your mother was one of the loveliest women on earth but… they had absolutely nothing in common, other than having troublesome kids. And you hadn’t seen her getting lovey-dovey with the other PTA mums.

You walk out of the room you’ve borrowed and into the hallway. In the light of day, the Wayne manor is much less creepy, and you can find it in yourself to appreciate the antique space. Warm sunlight falls over dark oak furniture, illuminating your bare feet as you walk along the Persian rug. Your fingers trail along all the tiny little decorations, some annoying part of you demanding you leave traces of yourself behind. Your fingerprints dirty an old clock, a golden candelabra, a lamp and a tiny spinning globe.

You might’ve gotten lost in a place this huge if you couldn’t hear people’s voices floating down the halls. They were too far away for you to be able to tell what they were saying, but you could still hear them. They’re to the west, so you’re definitely going to have to go past them.

You follow the voices and eventually come to a stop in a hallway. You can smell food. Good, real food. The type that makes your instant-ramen-powered body salivate. The people are in the kitchen, right around the corner. You duck your head and quickly sneak past the mostly closed doorway. On the other side, you pause, your curious self unable to leave just yet.

“She needs help,” Bruce says, and you mentally curse. Balls. You didn’t want to hear this. You guess this was instant karma for snooping. Maybe they weren’t talking about you?

Why did that sound very unlikely…

“She went through a lot last night,” he continues, which, well, yes, you did go through a lot, “And he said that she saw a woman get shot right in front of her. It makes sense if she doesn’t want to talk yet.”

He? Who’s he? Who ratted you out? Wait, dumb question, the four other witnesses who saw the janitor get shot. You were still pretty sure the Waynes weren’t supposed to know that, but everybody knew those GCPD pigs were always just a dollar away from whatever you wanted them to do. It’s not surprising that the Waynes know details only the police should know at the moment.

…It is a bit disappointing, though. You chose to have hope in them, that they’d gotten that information legally. Your fatal obsession with the Waynes wasn’t going to disappear after one miserable party. You wished it would.

“She was acting strange before that,” Timothy Jackson Drake’s smooth voice drifts from the kitchen. You were still a little starry-eyed over him, which was… bad, you think. It’d definitely make whatever relationship the two of you had been forced into a whole lot more difficult. It did not need to be any more difficult.

“Are you accusing her of something?” Bruce Thomas Wayne’s voice is gravelly in comparison, angry, maybe. Also, ‘accusing’? What could he even be accusing you of? It was pretty obvious you weren’t capable of anything nefarious, you were far too stupid for that. You were a plastic bag drifting along the Gotham river, barely able to affect which direction you flowed in.

“God no. And I definitely wouldn’t do it with her listening, that’d be rude.”

Your breath hitches, and you push off from the wall. Busted, damn. Your face feels unbelievably hot. As you leave, you can hear Mr Wayne scolding his adopted son. You walk until you can’t hear their voices anymore, and then a little further, finding an exit door.

You stumble out onto a stone staircase, probably a servants’ one in the olden days. You move down it, hand gripping the railing. You’re barely conscious of where you’re going. There’s a path that leads away from the stone manor and further into the estate, and you follow it. When you spot a small gated area, with stone obelisks and angel statues, you veer off the path and onto the grass.

Hissing out a breath, it’s only now you realise you went outside without any shoes on. Your toes curl in the cold, wet grass. It’s a miserable feeling, and you want to walk right back inside. And then you think about the awkward conversation waiting for you, take a breath and keep going. The gates swing open easily under your hand, the golden embossed ‘W’ glinting in the light.

A guardian angel stands before you. Its stone face is disapproving, glaring down at you from above. ‘Interloper,’ it calls you, but you move past it without pausing. It’s pretty obvious which graves are the new ones and which are the old ones. They’re all clean and well-kept, but the ones to the left have dates going back hundreds of years, and the ones to the right only decades. Your eyes follow the rows of graves. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne…

Your breath whistles out of you, nearly muffled by the grey morning wind.

And your mother. She has a different last name, now another Wayne. Your siblings don’t, which makes sense. You’re surprised to find many of your extended family also in this graveyard. Your grandmother. Your uncle and aunt. A few of your cousins.

It’s cold this morning, and you’re out here with only a thin T-shirt on. Shivering, you rub your palms against your bare arms. It doesn’t do much. Still, you don’t want to go inside yet. Instead, you crouch in front of Sam’s grave, eyes reading the tiny epitaph. It’s not the one you wrote.

‘Beloved Son and Brother.’

Simple, clean-cut, formal… unfamiliar, you suppose. Yours had been much more flowery, ‘All the colour in the world is gone without you’. It was a bit silly, but you’d never said you were a poet. You’d just known you’d wanted something that represented them, if poorly.

Sam was a beloved son and brother. But that wasn’t who he chose to be. He liked colours. He’d change his favourite every other day, so he liked everything rainbow. It made it easier to choose which one he’d like next, he said. You were always buying him more and more coloured pencils because he’d wear them all down to the tips, he dyed the cat a bright red headache, much to your mother’s horror, and considered it his personal job to make every single birthday, christmas, and easter card. He’d paint on the walls in washable markers, and you’d often been the one to volunteer to help him get it all down. In school, he always had the best art project out of the entire class, even if you were slightly biased.

He was a colourful kid. He wasn’t… a plain grey tombstone. Nothing to help remember him, because you were always losing more and more of their precious memories.

The others had similarly impersonal graves. Just what they were, not who. Mother, sister. Nothing that spoke of how they’d lived their lives, what the world had lost when they’d died. It was… you didn’t think it was right. It was a disaster, really. Even when you’d had to rely on the Wanye Foundation donations, you’d managed a better resting place than this.

You suppose you’d never gotten them into the Wayne family’s personal graveyard, though. That was a bit of an upgrade, you guess.

“You need to come back inside. You’re worrying my father.”

“Jesus Christ!” you shriek, leaping backward. Your foot catches on one of the cobblestones, and you end up tipping back farther than you mean to, your ass bruising against the ground. You bump another gravestone, and there’s a horrible moment where it gives a little and you think it’s going to knock over.

It doesn’t. A shining miracle on your day.

From your slightly wet seat on the ground, you look up, finding one such Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His towering height is the first thing you notice, second his stunning emerald green eyes. Both were incredibly shocking in their own ways, but his height really was almost dizzying. Perfect brown skin and a stylish 'long on the top, short on the sides’ black haircut, paired with the sort of face some European model might have, all come together to make sure you feel as pathetic as possible. His posh-looking outfit doesn’t help.

Neither does the fact he just watches you. He doesn’t even pretend to bend over to help you up. Which you’re sort of grateful for, honestly. It’d just make you more embarrassed. You didn’t know if you could hold the hand of your celebrity crush and… well, be normal. Pretend to be normal. You weren’t doing a very good job of it anyway.

You have to wonder, which was the worst introduction? The drunk, the bloody, or the one where you fell on your ass? God, you really are screwing this all the way up. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to make it even worse. There’s a part of you that desperately doesn’t want to meet any of the other Waynes, even as another part of you is screaming that it needs to.

If they knew they had a fangirl in their graveyard, you’re sure they’d kick you out. That was why you were lying about everything, not because you had intimacy issues.

Stop thinking, you idiot! You’re only making things more difficult for yourself with all your worrying and fretting. And maybe you should get off the ground, you looked stupid. You push to your feet, wiping your dirtied hands on the sweats.

He still doesn’t say anything when you stand, still just staring at you. His open staring is far too intimidating, so you scrounge for something to say.

“Your father? You- Is he alright?” you stammer over your words, giving Damian Wayne an awkward smile. He doesn’t return it, instead canting his head towards one of the windows.

You look toward where Damian Wayne gestured to, find nothing but an empty window frame, and then back to the ridiculously tall man. You swear, the guy had grown like a bean pole. He had to be something ridiculous, like 6’5, or maybe more. You were fairly certain you’d been taller than him at twelve, or thirteen, whenever it was he was first introduced to the world as Damian Wayne. Now, now… not so much.

“There’s nobody in there?” you ask, like you’re questioning your sanity. You are.

“My father’s shy,” He says, coolly shrugging one shoulder.

What. Bruce Wayne? Shy? Was he joking or something?

Damian Wayne stares down at you with narrowed green eyes, and dark brows in a harsh frown. His arms are crossed over his rich kid sweater, shiny black shoes tapping against the cobbles. That’s not the face of someone who makes jokes, you think.

You swallow, mind whirring as you try desperately to fix this conversation, “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll come back inside, then. Sorry for bothering you guys.”

He keeps staring at you. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“Sorry for bothering him?” you correct.

Damian gives one slow, cat-like blink of his eyes, and then turns with a tsk and walks away. It takes you a moment to realise you’re meant to follow him. It takes you even longer to actually catch up with him because he’s so fucking tall.

On TV he didn’t look this tall. You feel kind of betrayed, which is weird.

As you’re walking along, getting closer back to the manor, a stick or something pokes you in the foot. You curse, grabbing your foot. Thankfully you don’t start bleeding or something. You’d already be tracking dirt all over the inside of the impeccable space, you didn’t want to bring blood in as well. It takes a moment for you to realise the sound of Damian’s footsteps crunching in the grass has stopped, and you glance up.

He’s staring right at you again. He looks even less impressed with you, raising an eyebrow and mouth ticking downward. You put your foot down and tuck your hands behind your back in a very obvious anxious display.

“You went outside not wearing any shoes?” Damian Wayne asks, incredulous.

“I was… yeah, I forgot to,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Not your best moment, but you weren’t really having any of those today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Maybe you should stop thinking about that, actually.

“That’s disgusting,” The young Wayne sneers, and then turns and gives you his shoulder.

You think your heart maybe cracks a little. Well, they do say to never meet your idols. Maybe whoever wrote that quote had you in mind specifically, because now you were in… this situation. Ex-step-sister. If that was a thing. Your Wikipedia page said that you said that a lot, very insistent that you had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes.

…It didn’t really look like you had nothing to do with the Waynes, from an outsider's perspective. Which obviously didn’t make any sense, since you were… you. You were not an outsider, not anymore.

This was too complicated. You needed a coffee. With like, so much sugar it’ll make you bounce from the walls.

Damian strides up the side entrance’s staircase and through the door, leaving it open for you to follow through. You hesitate at the doorway, looking over your shoulder to the graveyard. The statue calls you names in the distance, and although you feel like a stranger who doesn’t belong here, you manage to step back into the house.

You force yourself to walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, fists clenched tight at your side and your shoulders bunched up to your ears. Bruce Thomas Wayne, Timothy Jackson Drake, and the butler from earlier. Damian Al Ghul Wayne steps around the trio, picking some drink from the counter and moving to sit at the dining table at the edge of the room. There’s an open book on the table that he starts flicking through, and well, apparently that’s the end of your first conversation with the youngest Wayne.

You did… well, alright might be pushing it. You're still going to say you did alright.

Tim Drake gives you a sweet smile, catching your attention. The silky raven hair of his heart-shaped fringe falls over his beautiful, pale face, and for a moment there you totally forget that he’d called you out earlier like that. Which was just, such an odd thing to do. His hand lifts to scratch at the buzz cut under the floppy strands of hair. The movement mesmerises you. You look away from his sky blue eyes, very quickly realising they’re robbing you of the few remaining brain cells you have. And you need those, damn it. Especially because you’d already made the decision to hide from all your problems like a baby. Negative, negative…

“How’re you doing today?” Tim asks you, giving you a friendly greeting. It’s a welcome olive branch.

“I’m good,” you lie like you breathe, eyes glancing around the space. Bruce Wayne has his phone out and a mug of coffee in his hands. He sips from the cup, his focus swallowed by the tiny screen. You glance back over to Damian Wayne. Huh, it really does run in the family.

Your neck prickles, and you glance back at Tim again. You get a brief vision of his tired, unsmiling expression, and then it’s back to the angelic and gentle smile. You smile back at him, a wretched, awful twisting of the lips that you hope doesn’t look like a grimace.

Tim’s smile turns into a grin. It’s really too pretty and makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Damn it all, look away!

“Would you like some breakfast, young miss? I’m afraid we’ve run out of pancakes, but I’d be happy to make some more for you,” the butler says in an awfully familiar British accent. You think you know this person, but you can not remember from where. Shit. Your memory was bad on the best of days, much less after… after an event like last night.

Anyway, the food from earlier had been pancakes. Despite the delicious scent, you really didn’t want to make him make any more food for you. You felt like you were intruding as it was.

“Do you have any toast, or… cereal?” you suggest instead, wondering if rich people even bother with cereal. The butler chuckles, and you think, ‘Oh, yeah, probably not’.

“We have both, miss. Master Grayson has a particular fondness for cereal, in fact,” he informs you, which, oh, cool. You did in fact know that, you stalker you. You’d totally forgotten about that weird fact or the weird fact that you knew that weird fact. Dick Grayson has an Instagram where he posts reviews of different cereals, which of course you have notifications on for.

“It’s more of an obsession,” Tim says, resting his palm in his hand as he… continues to stare at you. Nobody else thinks his ogling is strange, so you try to ignore it as well. Try is the choice word.

“I like cereal too. It’s normal,” you say in defence of Dick, a natural and instinctual urge.

And apparently, the fact that you like cereal is fucking shocking, judging from the open-mouth looks the group gives you. Oh no, you’re supposed to hate him, right? You’re supposed to hate them all, actually. What had you called him on your phone? Something about being annoying and a dickhead?

Swallowing your inner scream, you move around the counter and towards the cupboards. Whatever, they’ll have to deal with this new and improved version of you, which didn’t despise everyone in the room. Along with being a terrible liar, you were also pretty bad at keeping secrets.

You don’t want to think about that, so instead you turn to Alfred.

“So,” you start, “Can I see your cereal collection?” you ask, like a totally normal person. Man, this cupboard’s looking pretty head-smashable right now.

This family has more tact than yours did, because they all manage to put their eyes back to what they were doing and pretend you weren’t acting really, really out of character. Rich people. They’re good at overlooking the crazy.

“Of course,” the butler clears his throat, “In here, you’ll find Master Dick’s collection-” score! Not another fan can claim this right, “-and in the fridge a carton of milk. Are you sure I couldn’t serve it for you, miss? I understand you might still be a little…”

His voice trails off. Little what?

He glances at the others and then leans in close like he’s going to tell you a secret. Behind a hand, he whispers, “Hungover.”

Ah. Well, yes, but you were a big girl who could make her cereal, even on hangover days. Kind of embarrassing it was that obvious, though. You were usually better at hiding how much of a mess you were.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” you say, and the butler nods and backs off. You’re pretty sure at this point that he was the one who called you yesterday morning, but you still couldn’t quite recall his name. When you were out of sight, you’d check your phone for his contact information.

See? You could do this. Stealthy.

As you start perusing through the cereal options, Tim gets up from his spot by the counter and comes to stand next to you at the breakfast bar. He heads straight to the coffee machine, and you glance at it longingly.

It’s one of those cafe-quality fancy espresso makers, with an Italian name embossed in silver on the top. Tim manipulates the machine like a master, which you’re very jealous of because it might as well be alien technology to you. You miss your shitty drip coffee, at least that dingy little machine was loyal to you. Better than George.

“Coffee?” Tim Drake offers, glancing at you. Ah, the starry eyes are back. While Damian Wayne had been a mildly disappointing introduction, Mr. Drake was just reinforcing your celebrity worship. And of course, because your brain works against you, his offer reminds you of the daydreams you’d had on your first twenty-first birthday. Coffee shop au real person fiction- a new low, even for you.

Flustered, you look up at the ceiling. The old mansion is decorated in every single available corner, the plaster above spreading across the entire surface with delicate filigree and pretty curling patterns. It’s gorgeous, absolutely entrancing. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“Please,” you say, your voice just the slightest bit too quiet. He hears you anyway.

It’s surprisingly domestic. Of course, you don’t know any of these people past face value and Wired YouTube interviews, but… it’s quite indulgent. This is sort of your dream, isn’t it? A full house of people enjoying their morning together. Peaceful bird song drifting in through open windows. The comfort of being around people you trust, not having to perform or put on a show. Well, you are very much putting on a show right now. It’s the thought that counts, or whatever.

“What would you like in it? We have sugar, milk, oat milk, and I like having a few syrups on hand,” Tim chatters excitedly, listing off the different ingredients he has on offer. Your poor ass stares at his rich one, and you are very rudely reminded these people live in different tax brackets than you.

Who the fuck had coffee syrups in their house? You could barely afford the little treats of caramel syrup you get every couple of months. The disappearance of the middle class was one you had witnessed personally.

You rattle off a very basic, bland order. Tim looks sort of disappointed in you which… well, you could be a coffee snob. You just didn’t have the time, usually. A flat white kept you going through the day, you didn’t need anything else. And so, Tim hands you a very bland coffee, and it is god sent. You can’t imagine how good it would be if you had mustered up your courage and asked for some caramel syrup.

Huh, you could be a coffee snob. You could be anything you wanted, really. And your first thought is being a coffee snob. Good God.

“Are you going to be staying?“ Bruce Wayne asks, immediately putting you on the spot. You weren’t ready for this, you were thinking about the coffees you could buy. Oh no, you really aren’t ready for this.

“At least for now, right?” Tim Drake says, just making it all the more stressful. You let out an awkward chuckle, fingers tight around your drink.

“Oh, I don’t want to be an inconvenience-”

Damian Wayne slams his mug down on the table, so hard a crack splinters up its side. He picks the cup up, strides across the kitchen, narrowed green eyes meeting yours for a second, and then he dumps the cup in a secret rubbish can. He murmurs an apology to the butler and then is out of the room.

Okay, well, you certainly feel like an inconvenience.

The butler clears his throat, and says, “Please forgive young master Damian. He’s been having a difficult time recently, I hope you can understand.”

And you think, ‘bitch, a difficult time?! He’s not the one who almost died last night!’ but what you say is, “Of course, I completely understand. I don’t want to bother him anymore so I’d really like to leave today.”

Mr. Wayne laces his fingers together, blue eyes giving you an assessing look.

“Stay for the day, and you can leave tonight. I want to make sure you’re truly alright,” he eventually says, and the mere presence of the man has you yielding to his commands. Didn’t really matter you were an adult who’d managed to survive this long on your own, you were listening to the big scary guy when he told you what to do.

Well, that’s that! You make your cereal and have a very quiet breakfast. You can’t tell if they’re being quiet because you’re here, or if mornings are usually like this. You hope they’re usually like this. Once you’ve finished your very nice cereal (one of the highest rated on Dick’s Instagram) you place the bowl by the sink. You want to wash it, but when you ask Alfred he gives you a look like you kicked his dog. Okay, you’ll just go then.

You’re about to sneak away, when you realise Tim’s staring at you… again…? But this time he seems quite focused on your clothing. His eyes follow the double lines on the side of your sweatpants, before settling on the Beatles logo on your shirt. He hums at it. Raises his brows.

“I’m sorry, I borrowed this because I didn’t have any other clothes. Is there something wrong with me wearing this?” you ask, and then experience a moment of horror, “This doesn’t belong to you, does it?”

“Hmm?” Tim chirps, “Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s not mine.”

And then he turns away from you in a very clear dismissal. Nice, you really wanted to go hide for an hour or two. With one last awkward wave to Bruce Thomas Wayne, you scurry out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom you’d started thinking of as yours. You need to figure out how you're going to handle all this, and you're going to do it alone. Maybe with some dessert, if you can find it. You wouldn't say you think better with sugar running in your veins, but it definitely makes you more willing to deal with the bullshit that is your life. Hopefully it'd work in your new one, too.

-

Tim listens to your retreating footsteps, waiting till you’re far enough away to begin talking to Bruce. Humans were creatures of habit, so you’d probably be going back to the same room you slept in last night. He thinks Damian and him were the only ones who noticed whose shirt you were wearing, B’s off his game today. You’ve really managed to mess him up, to Tim’s delight.

“See? Dames was totally fine with her being here,” Tim says, cheerily enjoying his youngest sibling’s suffering. Bruce sighs, witheringly, lifting his hand to rub against the headache he always has. He’s probably noticed the excited, slightly fanatic gleam that’s entered into Tim’s eyes.

It was sort of obvious. This was all so exciting! You’d come back, sporting absolutely none of the defensive vitriol you usually have, and ate breakfast together. You took a coffee out of Tim’s hands. You’d willingly spoken to the devil, who everybody in the family knew hated you as much as you hated him, and even more than that-

You’d spoken to Bruce. Tim was sporting the idea that you’d gotten head trauma, at this point in time.

“Okay, fine. You get the mission, but-” Tim has to resist the urge to clap his hands together like a gleeful child “-but no extra cameras. I’m serious, Tim, if I find out you’ve invaded her privacy just after she’s starting to warm up to us again-”

“She wouldn’t know,” Tim complains, cutting the Bat off with a roll of his eyes.

“She’s smarter than you’d think,” Bruce shakes his head. Tim has to disagree, after the catastrophe that was last night. Unless of course, you were just playing with them all. So many options, it’s dizzying.

“We’ll shelve that argument for later. So, I want full control of the case, and in turn, I’ll do another two weeks as CEO,” Tim waves off Bruce’s complaints, going straight into haggling. The CEO position was tossed between the two of them like a hot potato, and it was one of Tim’s favourite bargaining tools.

“I am absolutely not agreeing to that, a month and nothing less.”

“This is why half your children don’t talk to you, but sure, whatever. Chase away your last, loyal loving son-”

“My God, Tim. Three fucking weeks, and if I hear another word I will hand this matter over to Grayson,” Bruce sighs, sounding a bit defeated.

Tim gives an offended gasp, placing his hand against his chest. And then he realises Bruce might actually be serious, and freaks out a bit.

“He’d be bad for it. Far too personally involved. You definitely don’t want to do that,” he says, leg bouncing under the table. Of course, the Bat notices, but he doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t take this from Tim, they both knew he was getting too frazzled around the edges. He needed something to focus on, to ground him.

You were the perfect project. He loved his projects.

“I am aware. But the girls are out of town, and uncontactable. And I think if I gave Damian this assignment the two of them would kill each other.”

“No Jason option, sir?” Tim says because he’s a shit-stirrer and wants to get to work.

Tim succeeds in chasing Bruce away. He’s left to have his coffee in peace as the old man quickly flees the room at the mention of the son he's on the worst terms with. For the next few hours, Tim taps away on his computer, enjoying his time.

And when the front doors open, his ears prick, and a decidedly evil grin spreads on his face.

“I’m home!” Dick calls out, words travelling through the grand manor.

Tim gets up from his seat and wanders leisurely to the main hall, where Dick stands. He’s got a suitcase by his side, filled with all the things he’s brought up from the Blud. When he spots Tim, Dick’s face spreads in a familiar sunny smile. He quickly rushes to Tim’s side, swallowing the younger brother in a hug. Tim groans at the tight squeezing.

Despite his clinginess, it was good to see him. His tanned skin glowed healthily, and his curly black hair was messy over his brow. Sapphire blue eyes sparkled. He was happy to be home, despite everything that was going on. Dick always looked like he’d just gotten back from a run because he usually had. It was hard to get the guy to sit still for even a minute, much less stop parkouring over every imaginable surface.

“Tim! How’s it been? Ah, it’s so good to be home,” Dick starts, and again, Tim groans. When Dick starts yammering he never stops.

“I’m good, man. We can talk later, you should go put your things away before Alfred does,” Tim reminds Dick, and Dick pouts. It was a general rule that unless it was cooking, the family wasn’t supposed to rely on Alfred for everything.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a minute! I have so much to tell you,” Dick relents, hand lifting to mess with his hair. Tim pushes him off, glaring at the man, and Dick laughs.

Tim gives Dick a tired wave as the gymnast bounds up the stairs to his bedroom. Tim watches him disappear down the hallways, and thinks, ‘I wish I could see this happen.’ He sighs, guess he’ll just have to hear Dick retell the story later. The distant sound of your shrieking voice has him chuckling. Yeah, he’ll hear about it later, he’s sure.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[evie-sturns]

upset - Chris Sturniolo

summary: after a terrible day, your best friend chris, always knows how to cheer you up.

contains: flufffff, crying, comforting, teasing, bestfriend!chris, flirty friendship.

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

my hands shake as i speak on the phone to my boyfriend, well ex boyfriend.

ive been dating noah for the past year, everything had been perfect until today.

he called me 5 minutes ago with no warning, then broke up with me. it was so blunt, he had no emotion to his voice at all.

now i'm left desperately talking to noah on the phone.

"i- i dont understand.. it doesn't make sense noah? c'mon..?" my voice quivers, clutching the phone up to my ear,

"it'll be fine, just move on f'me yeah?" noah speaks, he almost sounds bored.

"why? what is- what's your reason!?" i raise my voice, holding back tears.

"just don't fuck with you anymore sweetheart, i'm sorry." noah says with a small laugh before hanging up.

im in such a state of shock i can't even fully process this.

my first instenct is to call my bestfriend, chris.

"chris! chris please come over right now." i practically burst into sobs as soon i speak, i hear a small gasp from his end before shuffling.

"yeah- yeah! i'm coming right now, ill only be a minute." chris speaks, his voice soft as though hes trying to calm me.

"thank you." i whimper into the phone before hanging up.

---

i hear two soft knocks at my bedroom door, followed by chris's voice.

"can i come in?" he asks, gently twisting my door knob before walking into my bedroom.

im sat cross legged on my bed,

"oh sweetheart." chris sighs, walking over to me and sitting down on the matress infront of me.

"can i have a hug.." i cry,

chris wraps his large arms around me, pulling me to his body.

"whats happing y/n.." chris whispers into my hair, his hand reaching up and stroking my back.

"n-n-noah- noah broke up with me!" i stammer out between hiccups.

i physically feel chris tense, his grip on me tightening slightly.

"im so sorry," chris sighs into my ear, i bury my face into his shoulder.

"he didnt even- even give a warning and he was so mean about it chris!" i choke out,

chris just nods, letting me speak.

"i hate him! i hate him so much!" i cry, my voice breaking.

"i know you do, you hate him don't ya?" chris says softly, stroking my hair.

"i do!" i sob,

"i know it hurts sweetie, i'm right here." chris mutters,

i slowly pull away from his shoulder,

chris gives me a sorry smile, his eyes roaming my face, which is a total wreck.

i have snot running down my face, which chris seems to take amusment to.

he grabs a tissue from my bedside table and holds it up to my nose.

"big blow for me?" chris speaks, then instanltly slams a hand over his mouth with a small 'sorry.'

i crack a small smile,

chris pinches the tissue to my nose, "blow blow blowww"

i pathetically blow my nose into the tissue,

"good girlllll, that’s right." chris smiles,

“let’s get you ready for bed okay? try sleep it off yeah?” chris suggests, staring into my eyes.

i nod, wiping my nose.

he lifts me up off the bed, i flail my legs as i clutch onto his shoulders.

“if you drop me i swear to god!” i attempt to raise my strained voice.

“i’m not gonna drop ‘ya sweet girl.” chris says taking me into the bathroom,

he sets me down on my feet infront of the sink,

i stare at my red, mascara-stained face. only causing more tears to start up,

chris instantly grabs my chin, “shh- shh.” he whispers

“let’s wash your face okay? don’t worry about noah, i promise if he could hurt you this much so easily there’s no point in being upset over him.”

i nod at him,

chris rubs my back, running the cold water.

he stands behind me, slowly tipping my head fowards under the stream of the tap.

he cups water in his hands and brings it up to my face, gently washing away the mascara.

“that feels better doesn’t it.” chris smiles gently, drying my face with his shirt.

i nod, wiping my puffy eyes.

he guides me out into the bedroom,

i slowly shimmy towards him with my arms open, pulling him into a tight hug.

he rubs my back as i bury my face into his shoulder, “you know i love you so much, i’m so sorry he hurt you, you don’t deserve any of it.” chris sighs,

i nod shakily,

“he didn’t know what to do with such a pretty girl like you, i’m sure of it.” chris speaks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

i don’t let him go, holding him tight.

“i know it’s hurting so so much right now, but it’ll get better.” chris says,

i slowly pull away from his chest,

“y-you’re my bestfriend chris, i love you.” i sniff, my voice cracking as i bury my face back into him.

he laughs lightly, “i love you too,”

“are you sleepy?” chris asks, rubbing my back.

i shake my head, “just sad.” i say with a frown.

“do you want to do something to distract you?” chris asks,

i nod, wiping my nose with the back of my hand

“you wanna bake?” he asks,

baking has always been my favourite thing ever, chris knows that.

i nod my head frantically,

he scoops me up off my feet and starts to run down the hallway,

i scream with a loud laugh, clutching him tight, “CHRIS!!”

he grins widely, running me into the kitchen and setting me down on the counter top.

“we’re making cookies i don’t care what you say.” chris chuckles, grabbing out ingredients.

he sets down most of the right ingredients, and grabs a bowl

“not that bowl!! that’s my vomit bowl!” i laugh,

he grimaces with a smile, “stinkyyy”

he pulls out a new bowl and puts it in my lap,

he turns back around and grabs butter, throwing it onto the counter beside me.

i go silent,

suddenly i burst into tears, again.

chris’s eyebrows instantly furrow, he grabs my shoulders, “hey- hey-“ he speaks softly

“i’m sorry- noah- noah used to use that butter to butter my toast every morning.” i sob,

chris picks up the butter,

abruptly chris hurls it across the room into the trash can, with impressive aim.

“then we won’t use butter!” he smiles, wiping my eyes with his buttery fingers.

i crack a smile, before laughing loudly.

he grins proudly at my smile, “there she is!”

i cover my face with my hands as i laugh, “don’t look at me!!”

“i want to look at youuu.” chris smiles, peeling my hands away from my face

i smile at him, “let’s just make the cookies.”

he nods, “good plan.”

he starts to put oil and brown sugar into the bowl,

“oil?” i question,

“i mean it’s basically butter.” he replies,

“fair enough.” i laugh, pouring in the sugar with no measurements whatsoever.

“okay, now flour.” chris says, he grabs the flour back and holds it up to my nose

“sniff it.” he smiles,

i furrow my eyebrows and sniff it,

chris suddenly presses both sides of the back together, causing flour to puff up all over my face.

i gasp, my whole face white, “chris!!!”

he erupts into laughter, bringing his hands up and dusting it off my face.

i’m in total shock before giggling along with him, peeling open my eyes

“you are such a moron!” i laugh, grabbing a handful of flour and slamming it onto his cheeks gently.

he goes to reach for more flour, but i grab his wrist.

he gives me a small pout, clearly trying to hold back a grin.

“okay- cookies!” i smile, pouring the flour into the cookie dough

he mixes it with a wooden spoon, before dumping in half the bag of chocolate chips.

“dude we should just make one massive cookie.” chris states,

i roll my eyes, “chris.”

“pllllleeeaseee.” he grins,

“fine.” i scoff, chris claps.

he grabs all the cookie dough in his two hands and plops it on a baking tray, before punching it several times to flatten it.

“okay- so just put it in for 10 minutes.” i say, chris nods, humming to himself as he pushes the baking tray into the oven.

he shuts the oven door and walks back over to me,

“feeling better?” chris asks, placing a hand on my knee as i sit on the counter.

i nod, “i really am, thank you chris.”

he smiles, “i’m glad, i hate seeing you so upset.”

i wrap my arms around him again, giving him a hug.

-

a couple minutes have passed, chris goes to check on the cookie.

he opens the oven and his jaw drops, a small laugh escaping his mouth.

“bro- it’s like spread across the whole thing.”

chris says, pulling it out of the oven and showing me.

i giggle, “maybe cause we used oil and didn’t measure a single thing”

he pulls a bit off of it and plops it into my mouth.

i grimace, “it tastes funny.”

he tries a bit aswell, “what!! it’s good!”

“it’s gross!!”

“okay, i’ll keep it to myself then.” chris says with a sassy tone

“um.. do you think you could maybe stay over tonight- i mean you don’t have to but i don’t know.” i ramble,

chris smiles, “you wanna have a sleepover with me!!” he claps

i scoff, “yeah.”

he helps me off the countertop onto my feet, grabbing my hand and leading me back to my bedroom.

he sorts through my closet and pulls out a pyjama pair, throwing them at me.

i shake my head with a frown, my eyes watering again.

he pauses,

i start to cry again for the 100th time today,

“that was noah’s pair he bought me.” i sniff,

chris wipes his face, “i’m so sorry.” he groans,

he picks me up, i bury my face into his shoulder.

“no more tears please.” he sighs, wiping my eyes.

i nod, “i’m just sensitive.”

“i know you are, let’s get you into your favourite pyjamas then, how’s that sound?” chris speaks softly.

i nod, chris carry’s me over to my closet and opens my pyjama drawer, letting me pick one.

i pull out a pink pair, my hand shaking.

chris walks me over to the bed and sits me down on the edge,

he crouches down beside me, pulling my jeans off down my legs.

he grabs my pyjama shorts and tugs them up me, a concentrated look on his face.

he tugs off my shirt gently, his cold fingertips grazing over my skin.

he pulls on the baby tee, “how’s that?” he asks,

i sniff, “thank you..”

he turns off the main light and crawls into bed beside me.

he tugs up the sheets over us, pulling me closer to him.

i rest my head on his arm,

chris suddenly lets out a snort, covering his mouth with his hand.

“what’s funny?” i ask with a confused smile,

“just having flashbacks to you with that damn flour all over your face.”

-

@downbad4reid

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[alisonsfics]

place to crash

pairing: carmen berzatto x reader

summary: carmy steps in as your knight in shining armor when your apartment’s electricity breaks, which makes you both test the line between friends and something more

word count: 2.9k

warnings: swearing, whole lotta fluff

“Oh, come on. Hurry the fuck up,” you muttered to yourself. You were currently on hold with the electricity company.

After a hectic service at the Bear, you had come home to your pitch black apartment with no power. The one thing you wanted to do was curl up and eat some leftovers while watching some tv, but that clearly wasn’t happening tonight.

“Hello? Are you still there?” The man’s voice echoed through the speaker. “Yes, I’m here,” you said, quickly. You didn’t want to risk him hanging up on you and having to start this process all over again.

“So, it looks like our crew has already gone home for the day. We can’t send anyone to look at it until tomorrow morning.” He told you. You huffed, running your fingers through your hair. “Alright, thank you. Have a fantastic night,” you said, passive aggressively.

You threw your phone down onto the kitchen counter.

With the electricity out, that also meant no air conditioning. You pulled your hair up into a quick ponytail. You were already sweating, so you knew there was no way you could stay at your apartment for the night.

You glanced back down at your phone, and it felt like the answer was staring you in the face. You opened your contacts and saw the one person you knew you could always rely on.

You clicked on Carmy’s name, smiling to yourself when you saw his contact photo. It was a goofy picture of the two of you from a party that Sydney threw. He had his arm haphazardly thrown around your shoulders. You were sticking your tongue out at the camera while he kissed your cheek.

You both had a history of becoming more affectionate than normal when you had been drinking. That night was a great example.

It only rang once before he answered. “Hey, what’s up? Are you okay?” He asked, immediately. Having seen Carmy less than an hour ago, he knew something was going on if you were calling him so soon.

“Hey, I’m fine, no need to panic. I just have a little favor to ask you, but you can totally say no—” you started to explain before he interrupted you.

“You’ve got it. What do you need?” He answered without a second thought. It made your cheeks heat up. Carmy was always ready to drop everything for you.

“You don’t even know what it is yet, Berzatto.” You told him, giggling to yourself. You couldn’t see him, but you could perfectly imagine the way he’d shrug. “I don’t need to know. I have no reason to doubt you.” He said, simply.

“Not even gonna make me work for it?” You teased him.

“You never have to work for it. Not with me,” he told you, honestly. Every time you talked to Carmy, it became harder for you to pretend you weren’t head over heels for him.

“Alright, well the power is out at my apartment—” you started to tell him. “Come stay at my place tonight,” he offered. You felt so grateful for him.

“Are you sure it’s not a burden? You don’t have to feel pressured to say yes.” You assured him, but you knew his answer wouldn’t change.

“Of course I’m sure. I’m not letting you stay at your apartment with no power. Come on over. I’m making dinner now. You eaten yet?” He asked. “No, not yet,” you told him.

“Alright, perfect. I’ll make you a plate, and I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said, and you could hear that he was smiling.

“Thank you, Carmy, truly. I’ll see you soon,” you said, before hanging up.

You quickly grabbed a bag and stuffed some essentials inside it before heading out the door. Carmy’s apartment was only a short walk from your apartment. After five or ten minutes, you were at his door.

You knocked on the door and heard a lot of noise on the other side. “It’s open,” you heard Carmy yell.

You turned the doorknob slowly before walking inside. You saw Carmy turning his pullout couch into a bed. He was neatly fixing the blankets and adding some pillows.

You also noticed the table was set with two plates of pasta, and you couldn’t tell where, but from somewhere in the apartment jazz music was playing.

“You didn’t have to do all of this for me, Carmy,” you said, feeling guilty. He put a final pillow on the bed and walked towards you. “I wanted to,” he said, simply. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a quick hug.

“I’m sorry about your apartment,” he said, sincerely.

“None of that is your fault, Carmy. You don’t have to apologize.” You replied. His hand grazed the small of your back, and he gestured towards the dining table. He even made sure to pull your chair out from the table for you.

“Such a gentleman,” you said, unable to get the smile off your face. You always felt like a giggly schoolgirl around Carmy. “Only the best for you,” he jokingly flirted, but wasn’t willing to push it any further.

Carmy cared about you so much. You were practically his world, and he was terrified that if he told you that, you’d leave.

After eating dinner, you both got ready for bed in Carmy’s bathroom. It made you feel like a married couple, and you had to force yourself to ignore it.

“I know I’ve asked you like ten times, but are you sure you don’t want my bed? I can sleep on the couch.” He offered, wanting you to feel right at home. You grabbed his hand without thinking about it.

“Carmy, you are so sweet, but I promise that sleeping on a couch will not kill me. I will be fine, sweetie.” You told him. You weren’t sure where the pet name had come from. You’d never called Carmy “sweetie” before.

Carmy had practically jumped out of his skin hearing the name roll so smoothly off your tongue. He only wanted to hear you call him sweetie from now on. It took everything in his power to not confess his love to you right then and there.

“Okay, fine,” he gave up, knowing you were more stubborn than he was. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug. You happily wrapped your arms around him as he held on to you.

You were taking in every part of this moment. You could smell his cologne, the same one he’d worn since you met him. You’d told him how much you liked it once, and he promised himself he’d never change it.

“Goodnight. Sleep well,” he said, kissing the top of your head and leaving you smitten.

You walked into the living room, and fell asleep within seconds of crawling under the blankets.

In the middle of the night, a sound woke you up. You jumped to sit up, looking around to see what the noise was. The bright LED numbers from the clock read 3:42. You realized the sound was someone jiggling the doorknob on the front door.

You jumped off the couch and ran into Carmy’s bedroom. You were half awake, and it was the only thing you could think of.

You reached forward and placed your hand on Carmy’s forearm, trying to wake him up. He jumped up as soon as you touched him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, quickly. Even being half awake and in a dark room, he was somehow still able to sense that you were afraid. “It sounds like somebody’s trying to come in the front door.” You told him, which woke him up fast.

He grabbed the bat from beside his bed and headed towards the front door. Your fear only made him more confident. He knew that he needed to step up and protect you.

You stayed behind him. He got within a few feet of the door. Then, you both saw the door start to open.

“Get the hell out,” Carmy threatened whoever was on the other side of the door.

The door quickly was flung all the way open. “Cousin, chill the fuck out. It’s me.” You both heard Richie say.

You both breathed a sigh of relief. Carmy dropped the bat down to his side, irritated at Richie. “Do you know what time it is? What the fuck are you doing here?” Carmy asked him.

Richie flipped on the light switch and held up his spare key, as though that explained his presence.

“Oh shit, Y/N? What’re you doing here?” Richie asked, finally noticing you standing behind Carmy.

Before you could even answer, Richie’s eyes darted between the two of you. He saw Carmy just in boxers and you in an oversized tshirt, which he assumed must’ve belonged to Carmy. Then, it made sense to him.

“Oh wait. You two are hooking up?” He asked, smirking at the both of you. Richie was the most convinced of all your friends that you and Carmy were meant for each other. He saw it all, especially the way that your’s and Carmy’s gaze always found each other in a crowded room.

“No!” You and Carmy both quickly assured him, but Richie’s smirk didn’t fade. He didn’t believe either of you for a second.

“She’s just sleeping here tonight,” Carmy tried to explain.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure there’s been lots of sleeping going on here.” Richie teased, causing Carmy to put his head in his hands.

“The electricity is out at my apartment, so Carmy’s letting me crash here tonight. That’s it,” you tried to shut Richie up.

“So you came here for the electricity?” Richie asked, very aware of the double entendre. He loved how much he could get under yours and Carmy’s skin with just a few comments. “You’re the worst, Richie.” Carmy said, exasperatedly.

“See, we have the pullout,” you said, gesturing towards the couch. You saw a mischievous glint in Richie’s eyes. Richie was like a brother, so you knew the joke he was going to make before he even opened his mouth.

“The pullout COUCH, you fucking child,” you said, smacking his arm. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Carmy with his eyes trained on the floor and his hand covering his mouth as he tried not to laugh.

You crossed your arms and frowned at him. “You are not helping,” you said, glaring at him. He quickly held his hands up in surrender, not wanting you to hit him too.

Richie moved past the joke, but wasn’t quite ready to stop teasing you yet.

“The couch looks pretty messy to me. I wonder how that happened.” He teased. You knew that was just trying to get under your skin, but if you stopped denying what he was saying, he’d be so much worse.

“Yeah, cause I jumped up in a panic thinking someone was breaking in.” You defended. Carmy placed his hand on your back, rubbing small circles. You and Richie were the two most stubborn people he knew, and he knew that neither of you liked to lose an argument.

“And little Carmy was ready to protect you? I won’t lie, that’s pretty sweet, dude.” Richie said, watching the way Carmy’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

“So, why’re you here?” Carmy asked, changing the subject. Richie plopped himself down on the couch. “I need to crash here too. My neighbors are in a big fight and they won’t shut the fuck up.” Richie explained.

“Well, you aren’t staying here. Go find some other fucking place to stay.” Carmy said. He didn’t want anyone to break up his alone time with you.

“That’s not what you told her.” Richie argued, gesturing towards you. Richie had a point, but Carmy would never tell you no.

“Richie, just please leave. Besides, there’s nowhere for you to sleep,” Carmy begged him. Carmy knew if Richie stayed out, it would ruin everything with you. Richie would tease every move he made, and he couldn’t be as affectionate with you. That should have been Carmy’s first indicator that you both were more than friends.

“I’m taking the couch, you two figure out the rest.” Richie said, grabbing you both by the wrists and shoving you into Carmy’s bedroom. Carmy went to open the door, but realized Richie was leaning against the back of the door.

“Richie, let us out,” Carmy begged. You went and sat down on Carmy’s bed. “Carmy, c’mere, you know Richie’s stubborn, and he won’t give up,” you said, patting the spot next to you.

“Reminds me of someone else,” he teased you as he sat beside you. You lightly smacked his arm. “I am not stubborn. I was out there defending myself but also defending you. He’s gonna be insufferable at work tomorrow. He’ll tell everyone that we hooked up, and we’ll never hear the end of it.” You rambled.

“He’s been trying to get us to hook up for years, it might just be easier to actually do it and shut him up.” Carmy joked before he could process the words he was saying.

You felt your eyes go wide. “I’m sorry, Carmen Berzatto. Did I mishear you? Did you just suggest that we hook up?” You asked, truly stumped.

“Don’t look at me like that. I was just joking.” He tried to backpedal. He couldn’t read your expression, which was a first. It was because if he’d actually suggested it, you would have said yes immediately.

“I’m sorry about this. First, your apartment. And now, Richie being Richie.” He said, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “Carmy, none of this is your fault.” You said, grabbing his hand and tracing your finger over his tattoos.

You both were painfully aware of the fact that you’d never been this physically close before. This was beyond the level of affection that you both could defend as friendly.

“So, if it wasn’t Richie, you were gonna protect me?” You asked.

“Of course, I was. I’m always watching out for you. Gotta keep my girl safe,” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

You sat straight up. Once again, you thought you’d misheard him. “Oh, fuck it,” he said, cupping your face and kissing you roughly. It didn’t take you any time to kiss him back.

He pressed his palms against your back and carefully pushed you back onto his bed. You ran your fingers across his toned chest. You could feel his muscles flex under your touch.

“I thought you said you were joking,” you teased him as he pressed kisses down your jaw. He let out a soft chuckle, his chest shaking against you. “Why? Do you want me to stop?” He teased.

“Fuck no,” you mumbled, cupping his face and pulling him down to kiss you. His fingers fumbled with the hem of your tshirt, letting his hands slip under it and caress your skin.

He felt you groan against the kiss and took it as a sign to keep going. One of his hands crept higher up your chest while he removed his other hand. He grabbed the bottom of your shirt and was ready to pull it over your head when the door burst open.

“Richie, the fuck? Get out,” Carmy yelled, quickly pulling your shirt back down to make sure you were completely covered. You hid your face in Carmy’s chest, not wanting to face Richie. You could already imagine the smug grin on his face.

“Well well well,” Richie said, in his signature “I told you so” tone.

Carmy didn’t want to put up with his gloating. “Richie, enough. Out!” He repeated, grabbing a pillow off the bed and throwing it at Richie’s face. The whole time he kept one arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him and letting you hide from Richie.

Richie jumped backwards to dodge the pillow and finally closed the bedroom door. As soon as the door clicked closed, Carmy cupped your face with one hand and kissed you again.

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach as he ran his hand down your side. He let his fingers trace every inch of your skin.

You placed your hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Did I do something wrong?” Carmy asked, immediately concerned.

You quickly shook your head, trying to reassure him. “There’s nothing I want more right now, but we can’t do this with Richie here. You know that, Carm.” You said, caressing his cheek.

“One part of my brain knows that, but the other part knows how long I’ve waited for this, for you,” pressing a soft kiss against your cheek, “but you’re right.” he said.

“We’ve waited this long, what’s a little longer?” You joked, smiling up at him. He kissed your forehead, falling in love with the way you were looking at him. “Tomorrow night. I’m gonna take you out to dinner, and we’ll have a real date. I’m gonna spoil you.” He said, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said, leaning forward to peck his lips.

You both sat in silence, soaking in the moment. You both knew that it was perfect, and you wanted to remember it forever.

“You look really pretty in the moonlight.” You complimented him, admiring the way Carmy’s curls framed his face.

“You’re making it really hard to not fall in love with you,” he teased, pulling you in for another kiss.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guacam011y @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @visenyaverse @ruzannetheseahorse @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @bookwormchick91 @princess-evans-addict @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @warriormirkwood @one-sweet-gubler @narliesstuff @bibissparkles @stupiidfrogs @navs-bhat

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character/fandom!!

[svuguru]

Step-dad Nanami who slaps your ass each time you walk by and can't keep his hands off you? 🤭🤭

Stepcest, minors and antis DNI!!! I’m not responsible for the content you do or do not consume ^_^ anon this is sooo canon I ❤️ touchy Nanami!! Kinda forgot what I was writing..... i hope you still like it though....?!? lazy ending mbmbbb

Stepdad! Kento just can’t keep his hands off of his sweet girl, she was just so tempting! Any chance he had to even brush his fingers against your skin, don’t even think for a moment he wasted that opportunity.

“These are kinda tight, no?” Kento asks, his hands cupping your ass from behind as if to emphasize his point when in reality, it was just another excuse to slap your ass.

“… no? They look fine to me,” you tell him, genuinely confused because you don't understand the effect you have on him, even if they are actually a bit small.

"Mhm," Kento hums and he almost finds your words funny. "Let's see... they reach way above the middle of your thighs. Kinda short, yeah?" He moves his hands from your ass to the front of your thighs, his fingers creeping upwards until they reach the hem of your shorts.

"Isn't that the point? They're called shorts for a reason," and your sassy remark definitely earns a small laugh from your stepdad.

"You have a point." Kento murmurs, leaning down just a bit to press a kiss to your cheek. His hands slide up from the hem of your shorts to the waistband of them, slipping underneath it, making their way to the thin fabric of your panties.

A soft gasp escapes your lips and you turn your head to the side, looking at Kento from over your shoulder with raised eyebrows.

"What.. are you doing?" You ask breathily, feeling his fingers gently massage you from under your underwear.

"Sorry, sweetheart, is this okay?" Kento whispers in your ear, his warm breath fanning against your skin. After a moment or two, you slowly nod, sucking in a deep breath. He was being so casual about it, it was surprising, not to mention you were just in the middle of your kitchen.

You part your legs only a bit so you can keep your balance on the ground against his front while also allowing him access to your wet cunt. The feeling of his warm digits rubbing your damp pussy already had you grasping for his forearms, looking down at the little bump his large hands create under your shorts.

"You feel that, princess?" Kento groans against your skin, his thumb gently beginning to rub your needy clit, his eyes staring at the way your face shifts and contorts at the sensation from the side.

In response to his question, you nod your head, your breath gradually growing uneven. It's only a matter of moments until you feel Kento's index finger slide down to your sticky entrance, spreading your arousal around your sopping cunt before pushing his digit into you.

"Mmph-!" You moan, your body resting against his and relying on him for total support, which he gladly gives you.

"Hm? Feels good, huh, baby?" His voice is low and almost teasing as his finger sits inside your cunt to get you used to the feeling. "'m gonna start moving, alright?" And when you mumble out a weak "okay," he carefully thrusts his wrist into your tight hole, your juices coating his finger.

Kento continuously pulls soft whines from your throat, his thick digit fucking you tenderly and slowly for yours and his sake. He's so careful about it, so sweet and loving, it has your walls clenching around just his one finger.

You're so wrapped up in the feeling of his finger stuffed in your warm pussy, you don't notice the footsteps echoing from just a few feet away... thankfully, your stepdad does, which is why you're confused when he pulls away from you with a little kiss to your forehead.

You're about to whine about it until you see your mother enter the room casually a few moments later, grabbing a glass from the counter before filling it up with water like nothing was happening just twenty seconds ago because as far as she's concerned, nothing was.

"Promise I'll continue this later, sweetheart, just wait upstairs for me, mhm?" Kento whispers in your ear once your mom leaves the room, patting your ass before walking away and following behind her.

[dizzycoffee]

hihiiii can i ask for hc’s and maybe a small drabble for lucifer, lute, adam, and charlie with a (fem) reader who tends to unintentionally fluster them ?

— Lucifer, Lute, Adam, Charlie / Fem!Reader; Headcanons

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ HEADCANONS ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

— Lucifer;

Intentional or not, he always wonders how you can be so smooth with your words / actions

He tries to reply with the same tone, but he always stumbles with his words

“You’re so cute when you stutter—” “STOP IT.”

Whenever you lightly tease him, he melts from both embarrassment and love

You chuckled softly upon seeing his already blushing face. “Aw, come on, don’t go shy on me already,” you teased, getting pleasantly surprised when you see the way his face reddens at your words. You truly don’t understand how your choice of words could affect him so much — but you weren’t really complaining.

You always laugh it off, but you definitely like the way he just begins to flush over your words

There are times that you forget that he's Lucifer, though. He'll catch you off guard yourself, saying something surprisingly smooth with that enticing voice of his, and he'll eat up every detail of your own flustered face

"Oh so this is how it feels to fluster, huh?"

Essentially, you both match each other's energy <3

— Lute;

my guilty pleasure fr

She'd totally try to cover her blush with frustration

At first, you used to think she hated being around you. Her face always turned red and judging by her scowl, you assumed it was because she was angry

The only reason you found out otherwise was because of Adam, who was brutally teasing Lute

"HAH, no way, your face is so red!" You were going down a hall when you heard Adam's taunting voice ring out. Before you could tune them out, another voice spoke up, "You heard her, who the hell says that so casually?" Oh, Lute was with him too. You paused for a moment, letting Adam reply. "Ooooh Lute, you look so cute with your hair pulled back!" he spoke in a mocking high-pitched tone, laughing right after when he heard Lute bark out, "Unlike you, she didn't sound annoying!" ... Wasn't that the compliment you told Lute earlier that day?

After that, you couldn't help but to stop by a bit more often during training, simply to converse a bit more

While you didn't understand how you can cause her to have that reaction, it didn't stop you from pushing forward

I mean, it just means she's not mad at you. And she also hasn't said anything about you needing to stop... you're sure it's fine!

It wasn't until one day she just yells "Why do you feel the need to torment me?!"

"I'm sorry... I just think you look so pretty when you blush."

She "reluctantly" asks you out on a date after that

— Adam;

guilty pleasure 2.0

Whenever you first catch him off guard, he goes silent for like,, a good minute

It takes a moment to register that his heart skipped a beat and his face began to burn from the blood that was rushing to his cheeks

After hanging out with you, he has to take a moment to sort of realize that someone genuinely makes him flustered and not the other way around

Initially, he's like "well no duh I'm blushing a bit, she's hot as fuck" but that later turns into him being like "she said my hair looks nice today, does that mean anything?? my face is burning, does she notice all of that?? is all of this on purpose??"

He'll call you (jokingly) an attention whore, which you're confused about and leaves him to explain...

Adam chuckled dryly, "You know... because you're, like, constantly flirting with me. That makes you an attention whore." He tried to keep his cool, he really did. But when all you could do was muster up an awkward smile and head tilt of confusion, he realized you genuinely didn't mean to actually fluster him. Fuck. "Don't take it to heart, sugar tits. I'm just joking!" he laughed it off.

After that "incident" he actually tries to match your energy

If you make him blush, he makes it his mission to see you at least giggle from his flirting

I think it's safe to say Adam sort of sucks at flirting because most of his "flirtatiousness" it just lewd comments and stuff

So it takes a while to actually make you blush from his words and not because he said something embarrassingly lewd

You still appreciate his efforts of course :)

— Charlie;

You are, by far, her biggest distraction

She'll be in the middle of trying to come up with lesson plans when you come up to her and say something like "but Charlie, I miss your kisses..."

Immediately folds for you

I'm positive she openly simps for you, no other way around it

"Isn't she just the cutest? She said I look so adorable with a bow tie! She's so considerate and so..." Charlie swooned as her words drifted off into a ran, face already flushed. Angel raised a brow, "Isn't it, like, the third time she makes you go red? You don't think you're sick or somethin'?" "And it's only the morning," Husk groaned behind the two.

The hotel residents are sick of it /hj

Something that they do appreciate it whenever you're able to calm Charlie down from going overboard. Whether it's with the lesson of the day or her going into a near breakdown over how the hotel isn't going how it's supposed to

While, yes, your words definitely have her giggling and kicking her feet, she mainly goes wild over your actions

The way you'll take her hands into yours, looking her in the eyes as you gently tell her "it'll all work out, just be patient."

She just can't imagine a world where you're not by her side, constantly making her heart flutter

She doesn't typically try to match your flirting, especially because she knows that you don't exactly mean to be flirty

But that doesn't stop her from complimenting you and your words/actions

"You really make my day with your words!"

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 22

part 1 | part 21 | ao3

“…Go ahead,” he relents with a heavy sigh.

He turns the radio back on for background noise, and Robin launches herself into a breathless recap of every minute detail she’s ever learned about Eddie Munson. Genuinely impressive how quickly the words come out; Steve thinks that if her dream of becoming a linguistics researcher ever falls through, she’s got a bright future ahead of her as one of those speedreaders who rattle off the fine print at the end of pharmaceutical ads.

Warning: Discussion of Eddie Munson may cause nausea, heartburn, palpitations, sweaty armpits, and an inconveniently timed half-chub any time you use a pocket knife. Talk to your doctor to see if Discussion of Eddie Munson is right for you!

“Which brings us to tonight,” she’s saying when he zones back in. “Let’s examine the facts, shall we?”

“Must we?”

“Yes, we must.”

She makes a loose fist, lifting her pointer finger with an aggressive flourish to kick off her ‘list of reasons Eddie has a big, fat crush on you.’ “Fact number one: he was conveniently wearing a super nice outfit.”

“He said he ran out of laundry.”

“And we’re buying that?” she scoffs. Her middle finger springs up to join the first one. “Two: he was so disgustingly up in your personal space. Like, you really should have seen it; it was—”

Mwah. Mwah mwah mwah. “Yeah, I don’t need another demonstration.”

“Three” —there goes her ring finger— “he came to a movie rental store that you just so happen to work at and then left without renting a movie.”

“Because you did something to spook him!”

“Which brings me to my fourth and final point.” Her pinky lifts up to join the team, fingers spread wide like a paper fan, and she telescopes her arm to shove them back and forth under his nose until he goes a little cross-eyed and bitches about her distracting the driver.

“Cut it out! You want me to drive us into someone’s trash cans?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yeah, well I’m sending you the invoice when it scratches up the paint.”

She retreats to her side of the car, curling her back against the door and repeating, “My fourth and final point: I think he thinks we’re dating.”

“And? Everyone thinks we’re dating.”

“No, everyone wants us to be secretly dating,” she corrects. “But I’m pretty sure Eddie actually thinks I’m your girlfriend. You remember last week when you dropped me off at school?”

He does. Eddie had actually been there early for once; had been sitting on a bench out by the soccer fields, looking surly and half-asleep while he sucked down a cigarette. Hair all messed up by the wind. Looked kind of dangerous. Wild.

“He was, like, fully glaring at me when I walked into school that morning, and then he was super rude to me in band. Which, at the time, I was like, ‘oh, well I guess that’s just Eddie no one can ever tell what his mood’s gonna be like from day to day,’ but noo-o-ow…”

She starts squirming in her seat again, excitement overflowing as she finally cracks the case. “Now it all makes sense! Oh, my god! He totally hates me because he thinks we’re dating, and I’ll bet you anything he either didn’t know we work together or didn’t expect me to be there tonight and he totally, one hundred percent was there to flirt with you because he’s in lo—”

“Okay, Detective,” he cuts her off, because the tips of his ears are burning, and he doesn’t think he can handle her saying the L word out loud right now. “You’ve made your point, thank you.”

“Tell me I’m right.”

“Uh, no.”

“Come on.” She jabs at his side. “Tell me I’m right tell me I’m right tell me I’m—”

“—A fucking menace? Gladly.”

“Translation: I’m right and you’re mad about it,” she smirks, victorious.

Steve knocks his forehead against the wheel as he pulls up to her curb. “Why do I drive you places?”

“Because you love me." She flips her visor down to freshen up her lip balm, mumbling around the chapstick, "I’m adding Surly Best Friendlish to my list of fluencies; I think it'll really make my college applications pop."

"Yuh huh," Steve grumbles. The thought of Robin leaving for college always sits in his gut like raw bread dough — thick and heavy and gross, rising to form a swollen lump in his throat. "Didn't you already submit all of those?"

"Yes, I diiiid," she sings, shimmying her shoulders with pride. "Duke's gonna say yes, I just know it. Picture it with me: Robin L. Buckley," she gestures to an imagined marquee somewhere just beyond the windshield, "class of 1990."

Steve swallows the urge to be a sulky dick about it. "They'd be lucky to have you," he says quietly.

"Nope. No no, none of that. No moping." She tugs at his arm; links their elbows together. "You're not allowed to mope when we have a party to get ready for."

"No, you have a party to get ready for. I'm going home."

"Steeeve-uh!" Holy shit. He just had to be soulmates with the whiniest lesbian in a 500 mile radius, didn't he? "Come to the bonfire party with me!"

"Yeah, that's a no."

“It’ll be fun!"

It most certainly will not be. "You really want me to go freeze my ass off in the woods all night while a bunch of former classmates talk shit about me the second they think I'm out of earshot?" He's been to enough of his parents' 'networking events' over the years to know exactly how that'll go. A full night of subtly closed-off body language, smirking whispers and judgmental glances that dart away as soon as he meets them head on. Fuck that. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

He just wants to go home. Feels momentarily sick with the desire to drive himself to Loch Nora.

"What did I say about moping?" Robin asks. She shoves into his space, hugging his arm tighter and deploying her most lethal sad wet kitten face (and Steve doesn't even like cats; this shouldn't fucking work on him.) "Pleeeease," she begs. "Vickie's going to be there, and I could really use a friend."

"So ask a friend!"

"I am, dipshit!"

Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Goddamn this woman. Steve hangs his chin to his chest in defeat, notices the weird stain he got on his shirt during work. "I have some conditions," he concedes.

She throws her arms out wide. "Condition me, baby!"

"First— ew. Okay, I don't like that; don't call me baby." Yeesh, and furthermore, yuck. "First, I'm borrowing one of your shirts, and you're probably never getting it back."

"Understandable,” she nods as she gets out of the car. Steve follows her out, propping his elbows on the roof.

"Secondly,” he continues, “I'm getting very drunk at this stupid party, and you're figuring out how we get home."

She reaches out over the top of the car; gives his hand a quick squeeze when he puts it in hers. "That's three things," she says fondly, "but I can work with that."

—

part 23

tag list part 1 below the cut; comment if you'd like to be added tomorrow (not tagging ageless or under 21s unless we're mutuals or you let me know your age ✌️)

@a-little-unsteddie @ahsokatanoss @alyelf @anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @awolfstudio @bambibiest @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @cheonsazu @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @dauntlessdiva @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @fandomfix8 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @hallucinatedjosten @hellion-child @hiimlevi @honoragreyskull @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @kas-eddie-munson @littlebluejane @marvel-ous-m @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @milklechee @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @munsonslure @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @questionablequeeries @runninriot @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutabed @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy

[lilyisclueless]

First For Everything

18+

Gojo and Geto find out you’re a virgin, then quickly find out after you wouldn’t mind them taking it from you.

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Satoru Gojo x Fem!reader

Tags: virgin!reader, Virginity loss, Threesome, Praise, Oral, Multiple Orgasms/overstimulation, Fingering

word count: 2637

Part 1/2

———

“Wait… you’re a virgin?”

The question immediately makes you feel heat travel to your cheeks. Two pairs of eyes lock on you, one an endless sky of blue, and the other pair so dark that if the light wasn’t hitting them the right way, it felt like you’re staring into a deep abyss. Both are almost too much to stare into on a good day, much less when they’re looking at you like that.

Gojo and Geto are your best friends. You three have grown very close over the past two years, so close that they didn’t have any shame when it came to you. They were as vulgar around you as they are with each other. Usually, that’s fine. Usually, you just have to put up with them spewing the most filthy things, typically the next day after a hookup. That was fine, even if you had to discreetly clench your thighs together. Sometimes it’s things like “What kind of sex toy do you use” or “What’s your bra size” too, and you used to blush at those questions but you’ve gotten used to them.

You say they, but you mainly mean Gojo. Although Geto always patiently waits for your answer, you can’t say he’s much better.

Today Gojo decided to ask you what it feels like to be fucked as a girl. You three are hanging out in his room since the white hair devil’s mouth wasn’t the only filthy thing about him. He was also filthy rich and got a king-sized bed for his room way back. You and Geto were sitting against the headboard a little ways apart, him reading his book while you scrolled through your phone. Gojo had been resting his head in your lap and legs across Geto when he finally grew bored enough to ask.

You didn’t even have a strong reaction. You didn’t blush, you didn’t feel shy. It was an easy question to answer.

“I’ve never been fucked so I wouldn’t know.”

You honestly didn’t think much about it until you felt both of the gazes on you. Their surprised expressions confused you slightly until Gojo asked his next question, which left you feeling a little embarrassed because yes, yes you were.

“What? Not everyone can be whores like you guys,” you huff, averting your gaze back down to your phone to avoid their piercing eyes. You not only hear but feel Gojo laugh below you, which only makes the red on your cheeks spread.

“No way! You totally are a virgin!” Gojo’s tone was teasing, and you knew that you wouldn’t live this down. Now for a while. This would be his new favorite topic.

“You don’t have to be a whore to have sex, you know,” Geto speaks up, and you glare over at him. He raises an eyebrow back, almost daring you to say he’s wrong, and you decide then and there you weren’t going to feed into this.

“Who would’ve thought? I knew you weren’t as active as us, but I never took you for a prude.” Gojo reaches forward and pokes your cheek playfully, and you’re quick to swat his hand away. “So why haven’t you popped the cherry yet?”

Now that question did actually embarrass you. Because there wasn’t a real reason why. You just… haven't. Between school, missions, and these two constantly dragging you around, you haven’t had time to make another male friend. Much less a fuck buddy.

That, and maybe you had the tiniest, tiny, itsy-bitty crush on your two friends. How could you not? Beyond being two of the most handsome men there are, the way they talk about their conquests almost makes you jealous.

Gojo pouts when you continue to ignore him. As if to get back at you for ignoring him, he turns his face away from you. You can feel his soft white strands gently brush against your exposed thighs, all three of you wearing your school uniforms still, but you pay him no mind. Geto chuckles as he closes his book, setting it to the side for now.

“There’s no shame in being a virgin. Me and Satoru were virgins once,” Geto says, ever the sweetheart, “I mean, not since we were like sixteen. But there’s no problem being eighteen and still a virgin.”

Aaaaaand there he goes, throwing in his side shade as usual.

“I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I can associate with a virgin,” Gojo teases, and you roll your eyes, “how can I say I’m a proper whore if I hang out with a virgin?”

“He’s got a point. We have a reputation to uphold, as you always say,” Geto joins in, his tone just as teasing.

Gojo reaches up, plucking your device from your hands with his nimble fingers. You protest, but he puts the device out of reach. You glare down at him, finally prepared to speak to him if only to tell him to fuck off, but he beats you to it.

“I mean, we could always fix that,” he grabs the hand that was reaching for your phone, moving it out of the way to make eye contact with you, “would you like us to pop your cherry?”

It was a joke. He knew it was a joke, Geto knew it was a joke, you knew it was a joke. He thought you would roll your eyes, give him a little ‘as if’, or call him a perv. He didn’t expect much of anything, truly.

He felt the way your body shuddered at the question, the mere thought enough to get your heart racing. You hadn’t meant to react like that, but it was too late. Gojo felt it. Geto saw it. You could have saved it, but joke or not it had genuinely flustered you. Your brain was coming up blank.

The boys watched you for a moment. At first, they thought you might have been embarrassed. However, as they watched you fumble to come up with a response, watched the way your blush went from a soft red dusting your cheeks to a flow wildfire, growing every second they stared at you, the realization set in.

“Wait…” Gojo starts slowly, making you flinch, and he rises on his elbows to get a better look at your face much to your dismay, “do you?”

You shove him off you before quickly scooting to the end of the bed. God, there was no way to recover from that. Even if you denied, denied, denied it wouldn’t save you. They knew, and you wanted - no, needed to get out of there. You are way too embarrassed, and your only hope is they’ll show you mercy this once and not tease you about it later.

Before your feet can touch the ground, you feel a pair of muscular arms wrap around your midsection. You squeak, embarrassingly, as you’re pulled back. You feel a hard, warm, broad chest against your back, and a few strands of long dark hair dangle in front of you as the person behind you rests their head on yours. His arms wrap tightly around your stomach and chest, and you quickly realize there’s no escape.

“Why the hurry?” You could feel Geto’s voice rumble in his chest as he spoke and he could feel the thudding of your frantic heart, “no need to panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” you’re quick to say, gripping at the arms that were holding you back and trying to pry them off you. It was a pointless attempt.

“You so are panicking.” Gojo had at some point moved to sit on his knees, and now he was sitting in front of you. He reaches forward, and you flinch softly when you feel his fingertips brush against your cheek, delicately moving a strand of hair and tucking it behind your ear. “Dude, relax. It’s just us. We’re not mad that you want to fuck us.”

You groan loudly, sagging against Geto’s chest in defeat. You can feel the deep rumble of his chuckle. It isn't that you think they’re mad. You’re just totally embarrassed, and you don’t want to hear their teasing right now. “It’s not like that.”

“So you don’t want to fuck us?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“So you do want to fuck us?”

“Satoru,” you warn, throwing a glare at him that is ruined by how red your face is. His lips twitch in amusement, but for your sake, he does his best to hold back. “What I meant was I didn’t think you guys would be mad. I just… really don’t want to be teased about this. You guys are ruthless sometimes.”

It was rare you show any kind of vulnerability around them, and they felt a little guilty at how you avoid their gaze and instead focus on your fidgeting hands. Even your voice had a softer, quieter tint to it. Did they really tease you that much?

“We wouldn’t tease you about something like this,” Geto speaks up again, “at least not if we could tell you are really being affected by it, which is obvious you are.”

You relax a little in his hold, especially after Gojo agrees with his statement. These boys could be a lot sometimes, but at the end of the day, they’re your best friends. They like to push your buttons, maybe even a little further than they should at times, but they did their best not to go way too far.

You sit with them in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth radiating from Geto. He kept his chin on top of your head, the tall bastard, as he allowed you to relax against his chest. It was a peaceful quiet that let you get rid of any last jittery nerves.

Gojo watches the two of you for a while. The blush on your cheeks slowly dies down, and it’s only when you’re back to normal he shares a look with his best friend.

It was no secret between them that they really thought you were attractive. They both occasionally talked about fantasies of having their way with you, Gojo being the worst about it while Geto at least tried to be respectful towards her. They couldn’t help it. Beyond just being horny bastards, you’re the only girl they’re close to. Besides Shoko, but it wasn’t the same.

The only reason they’ve held back so far was for two reasons; one, they didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and, two, they both had a thing for you and didn’t want to take things further out of respect for each other.

But fuck, how could they deny you wanting them to take your virginity? Even if it wasn’t intentional to ask, it was out there now. No words were spoken between them, yet somehow they had a full conversation.

Their eyes read: I’ll take the L if she wants you if you’ll take the L if she wants me.

“So, which one of us do you want to take your virginity?” Gojo asks, sounding so casual as if he was asking your favorite color or which ice cream flavor you’d prefer. Your cheeks start to heat again, and you glare at him.

“You just said you wouldn’t tease me,” you respond, a little more than just irritated. Gojo places his hand on your thigh, squeezing the flesh in his palms before drawing slow circles into your skin. You felt heat twinge in your stomach, and it only grew when you saw the expression he was giving you.

Hungry. And he was staring at you like you were a meal.

“I’m not teasing you. I’m being dead serious,” he responds, but slows the movement of his fingers, “unless you’re not comfortable? We can drop it and move on.”

Despite the topic at hand, you thought it was oddly sweet how considerate he was being. Still, your heart rate starts to pick up again at what he was saying.

“It’s not that I don’t want to… I just,” you hesitate for a moment, looking away from him again, “I don’t know. I’ve never done it and I also really don’t want to ruin anything between us.”

You hate feeling so vulnerable, especially in front of them. They are always so level-headed and have their shit together. They found it cute though, even managing to tug at their heartstrings at how much you care about their friendship with you.

“It won’t ruin anything.” Geto moves his chin from your head to your shoulder. He squeezes your body in reassurance before burying his face into the nook of your neck. His nose tickled the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, but he didn’t put his lips on you. Not yet. “And either one of us would take good care of you. If that’s what you want.”

“That’s right, even though I usually like to play it rough.” Gojo plays it off as a joke, but considering the things you’ve heard him say… he definitely likes it rough. “So what will it be? Me, Suguru, or a topic change?”

You give it some thought, gently chewing at your bottom lip. The fact you’re thinking it over at all made both the boy’s heart rate pick up. While they’re both ready to accept whoever you choose, neither wants to be the one kicked out.

You mumble something under your breath, tilting your head down to hide behind the curtain of your hair. Gojo puts a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The blush on your cheeks had suddenly increased tenfold.

“Hmmm? Don’t be embarrassed, it’ll make me embarrassed,” he teases, releasing your chin now that you are looking up at him.

“I said… what if I didn’t want to choose?” You speak up, and Gojo tilts his head to the side. You’d never admit to him how cute that was.

“Like you want us to rock paper scissors over it?”

“Like I want both of you.”

Both of them felt the blood rush to their cocks. They freeze for a moment, immediately sharing a look with each other. They would be lying if they said they hadn't thought about sharing a girl, but neither of them actually ever breached the topic. Now the opportunity was not only there for the taking, it was with you of all people.

You were just about to take it back when Gojo finally spoke up again. “Holy fuck I didn’t even know I could get this hard.”

“Two is a lot for your first time, angel. You sure?” Despite giving you the option to back out, he finally presses his mouth against the skin of your neck. He presses gentle kisses against you, and your breath hitches at the sensation. You unintentionally start to tilt your head to the side, giving him more and more access.

“I-I mean, not at the same time… just, you know….” You trail off, unable to think straight with Geto’s mouth on you and his hard-on pressing against your ass.

“You mean you just want us taking turns fucking that tight little hole of yours?” Gojo kindly explains for you, and you can’t stop your thighs from clenching together and the small whimper that escapes you. Even Geto groans in your ear at his choice of words and holy fuck.

Maybe you can’t handle them both. You already felt like a mess, the way your body was aching for them. You could already tell you’re wet, and they haven’t even touched you yet. Despite that, you couldn’t stop from whispering breathlessly, “Yes.”

You’d be the death of them, and you had no idea. They’re about to make sure your first time is so good that you can never enjoy sex with anyone else again.

[katanablue]

I originally had a totally different idea for this but I think I may just do a part 2 hehehe. ALSO IF ANYONE GOT ANY GOOD 07 DONNIE FICS ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Warnings: NONE JUST DONNIE BEING A CUTE GRUMPY DORK.

Another day another long boring shift full of talking to idiotic people who don’t know the difference between hardware and software and explaining to one too many elderly people that ‘No, you cannot print out the Internet.’

He’s just finished a call, rubbing the space between his eyes as he feels his daily headache come on. He’s impressed that he’s managed to nearly finish his workday without it appearing until now. He groans low in his throat, debating on getting up to grab a glass of water so he can take a pill or just sucking it up these last 30 minutes.

He gets his answer when an incoming call rings through his headset, making Donnie roll his eyes hard and into the back of his skull. He inhales deeply through his nose to prepare himself, letting it out when he clicks on a key to answer the phone.

“Thank you for calling tech support, this is Donatello speaking, how can I help you today.” He doesn’t bother putting on his customer service voice, his headache dully throbbing now as he waits for the other person on the line to start rambling about their dumb issue.

“Hi, how are you today?” You say, giving the standard pleasantries before delving into your computer issue.

Typical, of course his last call would try to make small talk.

“I’m fine ma’am, thank you. How can I help you today?” He repeats it, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again and leans back in his chair, swaying gently side to side. He thinks about what he should eat after, his eyes trailing to the clock in the Lair that signifies in big red letters that it’s nearly 2 a.m. Not the latest he’s stayed up but today’s shift was particularly exhausting. Maybe it’s the full moon or something, ‘Mercury in Gatorade’ as Mikey would sometimes call it.

“Hello?”

Shit. He totally just fucking zoned out on you.

“Apologies ma’am, I didn’t quite catch that. Would you mind repeating it?” Great, he just extended this call by about 2 minutes.

“Oh, that’s alright! I’m dealing with an issue with my laptop’s ability to open programs fast. It’s taking forever just to open something and I’m not quite sure why.” You repeat your issue, quietly sighing as you aimlessly move your mouse around your screen, hoping that the guy on the other side will be able to help with you.

Donnie immediately knows what the problem could be; slow processing speeds a fairly common issue for him but thankfully an easy fix.

So he starts by asking the standard questions: do you have any programs that take a lot of space? Any tabs open that you aren’t using? Anything running in the background?

When you tell him ‘no, no and no’, that’s when he sits up from his chair and squints his eyes. If those aren’t the cause of your laptops slow speed then what could it be?

“Well,”

Ah, there it is.

“I do play a few games but those have never caused me problems before. Could that be it?”

Normally Donatello’s irritation would increase when the customer would ‘suddenly remember’ something that could be pausing their problem. You, however? Didn’t spark that within him for some reason. In fact, besides your calm demeanor, it’s the way you spoke so kindly to him combined with the fact that you also game apparently that has Donnie not wanting to snap at you.

“Like what?” He asks, being sure to keep it professional.

And when you list his all time favorite game among some others that he’s obsessed with, he has to practically force himself to not totally geek out. Sure he’s played some of the popular games nowadays like League or Valorant, but hearing you say that you modded some old PS1 games to play on your laptop practically skyrockets his excitement.

Which in turn makes his headache pound harder.

He’s unable to keep himself from hissing when a pang shoots right through his skull, knowing you heard it when you trail off your sentence.

“Are you alright?”

Maybe it’s because he’s had a long day or maybe it’s because this seems to be shifting into a migraine, but the concern and sincerity in your voice makes an odd feeling bubble in Donnie’s chest. Surely no one would ever be genuinely worried over an I.T guy, not when you have more pressing matters on your hands.

“My apologies miss, I’m just uh, dealing with a bit of a headache right now. Although I think it’s turning into a migraine.” He grunts through his clenched jaw, swinging carefully around in his chair as he searches for his bottle of Advil only to suck his teeth when he shakes the container and hears absolutely nothing rattling around.

“Oh no, I’m sorry! Do you want to go grab some medicine? I don’t mind waiting.”

The corner of Donnie’s lip twitches upward. He brings his hands to massage at his temples, the motions doing something to relieve the tension in his head but not nearly enough.

“I unfortunately just discovered that I’m out of medicine. But that’s alright, I’ll pick some up after this call.” He doesn’t bother hiding his sigh, settling back in his seat as he prepares to ask you more questions to help you out.

“What about any oils? Got any of those? Usually lavender or peppermint do the trick.” You put him on speaker and go to your Safari on your phone to begin looking up other remedies, wanting to assist this poor I.T man.

Donnie’s not quite sure why you’re trying to be helpful but at this point he doesn’t exactly care, the throbbing getting worse by the second.

“It could also be too much pressure, literally, around your head. Do you wear headbands or anything like that? Could also be your headphones.”

“No, no headbands. And my headphones have cushioning all around so not those either.” He responds, debating on texting Mikey to bring him the peppermint oil that April bought for Splinter last Christmas.

“Ah, a man of comfort.” You laugh, fingers quickly typing in your question into the search engine.

Donnie finds himself smiling faintly at the sound, a fleeting thought of ‘Wow, I want to hear that again’ passing through his brain.

“Well, I can’t use regular headphones for gaming. I’m also a fan of those games that you play.”

You blink in surprise, your scrolling faltering for half a second before continuing on.

“No way, really?”

And so you talk for the next 20 minutes about said games; reliving memories, talking about specific moments you wish you could experience again, the soundtracks, the characters. Everything.

For the first 10 minutes, Donnie kept reminding himself that he was just prolonging his work call, that he should drive the focus back onto your issue so he can hang up and clock out. But the more he talked to you, the more he said ‘fuck it’ and allowed himself this one rare moment of normalcy.

He also nearly forgot about his raging migraine, until it pleasantly reminded him that it was still present with a sharp stabbing pain behind his eyes.

It’s what snaps him back to reality, his face grimacing from the white hot torment happening in his skull.

“I’m so sorry, we should really get back to your computers issues.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

God, why did he feel so awful saying that? And why did it make his stomach twist when hearing just how disappointed you sounded? It’s something he’ll have to dissect later, not when he’s already 30 minutes past the standard call time for support.

“Let’s see what we’re working with here.”

This is one of the rare times Donnie wishes he wasn’t so smart with technology because in less than 5 minutes he solves your problem. He wishes he could just be a little average to talk to you more even if it’s computer stuff.

“Alright, you shouldn’t have a problem anymore. Anything else I can help you with?”

Please say yes please say yes please say yes.

“No, I’m all good. Thank so much Donatello!”

“Donnie! You can call me Donnie.”

Fuck.

“Just your friendly I.T tech support here to help you 24 hours a day.”

Double fuck.

Why did he say that? It’s standard spiel protocol but still, how utterly lame…

You can’t help but giggle at him, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much from this total stranger.

“Alright then, Donnie. I’ll know who to ask for if I ever need help again.”

He smiles and asks for your name, just so he’ll know who he’s talking to if you ever do call again. He repeats it back to you once you tell him, the word rolling off his tongue in such a way that makes you feel giddy and grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Have a good night, please don’t hesitate to call back if you’re still experiencing technical difficulties.”

And by Darwin he hopes you do.

[miniwheat77]

Wild. (Rudy x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, MINORS DNI! unprotected p in v sex, (sorry if I missed any.)

*not edited*

When people think of Rudy they think of him as a kind, gentle, loving man. And they’re not wrong, not at all. He’s gentle, he’s a good problem solver. He’s good at soothing people when they’re upset in any way. He’s good at de-escalating situations, and he’s a phenomenal getaway driver.

Everyone knows Rudy is a family man, but he doesn’t talk much about his wife. Alejandro has only met her a couple of times and knows that she’s quiet and reserved.

But everything was about to change, because you were coming to work on base as a bookkeeper for Alejandro.

—

When people met you, they were surprised. You were stunning which made sense because of course, Rudy was good looking. But than, talk started around the base.

Alejandro had overheard very gross conversations between a few of his men, making them do push ups and handing out suspensions like candy on Halloween. He didn’t expect Rudy’s wife of all people to be such a big topic. You got plenty of glances from the men on base and it made you uncomfortable and Alejandro was furious obviously. They looked like a pack of hungry wolves and it was absolutely ridiculous behavior.

After about a month or so, everything finally calmed down. Everything slowly started going back to normal, but you were still getting cat called. They would say gross things to you, stare you down. They were ridiculous.

You were sitting in the mess hall, figuring out a spreadsheet and drinking coffee. Rudy and Alejandro were getting coffee, and you were getting frustrated with the conversations you were overhearing from the table near you. “Yeah, I’d hit that. There’s no way Rudolfo is satisfying that.”

That was your last straw. You let out a very exaggerated sigh, standing up and pushing your chair in. Which gathers a few glances from those around you. You stand there with the spreadsheets in your hand. Leaning up against the table with your arms crossed. “You know I’m sitting 5 feet away from you, I can hear absolutely everything you’re saying.” You say. This catches the attention of everyone, including Rudy and Alejandro who are waiting for coffee. “Yeah? So what. Nothing I said was untrue.” He shrugs. He smiles.

You send him a very fake smile.

“Listen.. Sergeant Ramirez right? There’s a reason that none of the women on this base interact with you. Because you’re a total creep who keeps talking about having sex with a married woman.” You laugh. “I don’t know why my sex life is sooooo interesting to you, but since you must know, it’s great. Rudy is satisfying me just fine, I’m a VERY happy wife. But thanks for your.. weirdly obsessive concern.” You step closer, your face only a few inches from his. “If I hear you say “I’d hit that.” One more fucking time, I’m going to hit you right in the jaw with my fist. Am I clear?” You narrow your eyes at him. He’s clearly embarrassed, nodding his head. “Great!” You say. Walking away from your table, down the hall. “Jesus Christ.” Alejandro laughs. “Didn’t realize she had such a fire in her.” Rudy laughs, bringing his coffee up to his lips. “Oh, no tienes idea del tipo de actitud que domino en el dormitorio.” He takes a drink of his coffee, trying not to smile when Alejandro nearly chokes on his. “Jesus Rudy!” He laughs.

“I’m gonna go check on her.” Rudy laughs. He’s not wearing his normal gear yet, still just wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt. Wearing that signature comfortable grey jacket he has. He opens the door to your room, seeing you looking over something. “Hey. You alright, amor?” He breathes. You nod your head. Turning to look at him. “Don’t let them get to you.. they’re just.. immature.”

“They don’t get to me, I just hate that they think you’re so soft.” You narrow your eyes, an evil grin playing at your lips. “The Rudy I know is far more devilish than they know.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah? That’s cause I have to do something to combat that fucking attitude of yours.” He crosses his arms. You roll your eyes. “Fuck you Rudy.” You laugh. “Sí, te gustaría eso, ¿no?” He smirks. “Quizás lo haría.” You reply. He snorts, locking the door behind himself. He pushes his jacket off, discarding it on the floor as he makes his way toward you. He cups your face, kissing you hard. Helping you pull your clothes off, only stopping to tug your shirt off. He reaches for his belt but you stop his hand. “Keep it on.” You breath.

He rolls his eyes.

He grasps your wrist, tugging you until your back is to him. His lips ghosting by your ear. “I forgot..” he chuckles. The fabric of his shirt burns your bare skin. “You like the way it rattles when I fuck you.” He whispers. “I hope you think about the way I fuck you anytime you hear something rattling.” He growls, pushing you down onto the bed. You whine as he pulls your hands behind your back, lining his cock up with your aching hole. When he sinks into you, you’re gasping out. Trying to take in a breath. Turning to look at him. He pushes your hips into the mattress, rutting his hips into you. “Fuck Rudy-“ you gasp. He’s breathing hard as he fucks into you, gritting his teeth. No matter how many times he was inside of you, he’d never get used to it.

He tries to keep you quiet as he rocks his hips into yours but he doesn’t really care who hears at this point anymore. You push your hips back into him, and he smiles as he moves away. “I wanna ride you.” You breathe. He smiles. He sees your chair, sitting down in it and you move quickly sit in his lap, lining him up with your entrance again, moaning as you sink down onto him. He rests his hands on your hips, looking up at you as you start to rock your hips into him. “Fuck..” he sighs. “You’re so fucking good at this.” He breathes. “Siéntete tan jodidamente bien mi amor.” He breathes, looking up at you through his eyelashes. His eyes are dark and loving as he looks up at you. “God, no wonder they think you’re so sweet, stop looking at me like that.” You breath, pushing down on his chest and rocking into him, raising up off of him more, taking more of him down. “Ah-“ he moans, a smile still on his face. “I’m not doing anything.” He mutters. “Yeah you are, you keep looking at me like you love me or something.” You giggle, a gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts up into you. “Maybe that’s just because I love you. Love that attitude, love your personality.” He breathes. “Love this perfect body you have, love the way you make me feel. And god do I love watching you put people in their fucking place.” He gasps. Thrusting up into you faster. You clutch onto the chair for dear life. “Me vuelves loca de mierda.” He gasps, tilting his head back.

You cup his cheeks, kissing him as he holds your hips, thrusting up into you. He can feel you getting tighter around him, and he’s fucked you enough to know that you’re close, so he stands up with you, lays you back on your bed, and hammers his hips into yours until your crying out his name. “Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me.” He breathes. “Muéstrame lo buena chica que eres.” He growls. You reach your peak with a gasp, eyes screwing shut and he pins your hips to the bed so that you can’t squirm away from him as he rides out your high. He grits his teeth, letting out a cry when he reaches his own orgasm. Not pulling out of you even when he knows he should.

He takes a deep breath. Pulling away from you with a sigh, moving himself to lay next to you.

When you make eye contact, he’s got that same look in his eye that makes you laugh. “What?” He rolls his eyes. “Nothing, I love you.” You breathe. “I love you too. Now Cmere.” He breathes, pulling you into him.

A knock at the door has you both going stiff.

“I think you’ve made your point, hermano.”

[samandcolbyownme]

This will contain how I think Zach would be in your relationship, just summarized.

Warnings: swearing, banter between Zach and reader, fluff

This is purely fiction, not facts. Please don't come at me if you think something doesn't sound right. Thank you and enjoy.

꒷꒦꒷︶˚︶︶꒷꒦˚꒦꒷︶˚︶︶꒷꒦˚︶˚︶︶꒷꒦꒷

Zach would definitely show you love by being mean to you, but immediately after he would baby you.

“Yeah just like that big ole forehead.” Zach pokes your head and you jut your bottom lip out, “Stop it.” He sighs, “Fine, fine. I’m sorry, baby. Come here.”

Zach would be the one to wake up and shove you when you’re hogging up the blankets.

You groaned as you felt gentle push to your back, mumbling out a quiet, “Zach.” You hear him huff, “We are so getting another comforter.” You laugh slightly which only makes him more mad. He leans in, giving you a slightly harder shove, but he didnt hurt you. You sit up, “What the hell, Zach?” He shrugs, “if you would quit being a blanket hog, push wouldn’t have to come to shove.” You roll your eyes, “Go to bed, grumpy.”

Zach would definitely be the one to randomly walk up to you with a horribly bad pick up line, but they always seem to make you smile.

You glance up at Zach as he walks into the kitchen, “Hello. Can I help you?” He stops and leans against the counter, “Do you like pancakes?” You furrow your brows and tilt your head, and before you can answer, Zach points, “Well how about IHOP in that ass.” You stare at him for a few seconds before cracking up, “I’ll give you that one. That was good.”

He would be the one to jokingly make a scene if you texted him something that was slightly provocative.

You bite your lip as you send your text to Zach. You rest your phone in your lap and join in on the conversation. You nod, “Yeah, no. I totally agree with you on that. That is exactly who should have-“ Zach cuts you off, “Wait a second. I’m getting a call from the Oscars. They said they want to give you an award for that performance you just did?” You roll your eyes, “What performance?” He tilts his head, “The one where you acted like you just didn’t send me a picture of your bare booty cheeks two minutes ago.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “Oh my god. Zach.” You hold your hand out, “All I texted him was you’re looking pretty hot today.” You laugh, “I did not send him a booty picture.” Zach raises his brows, “You don’t have to, I see em every night.”

Zach would be the person you trust most.

“Okay, no but seriously. If you had to pick one person in this room you trust with your life, who would it be?” Tara asks and you lean in, instantly giving an answer, “Zach.” Jared raises his brows, “Wow. That was a quick fucking answer, y/n.” You laugh and nod, “I’m serious.” Tara looks at you, “Can I ask why you answered so quick?” You nod, looking at Zach, “Because Zach loves me. If I needed him any time of day of night for any reason, he would be there.” You look at Zach and he winks, “That’s my girl.” He shrugs, “Could be a dead body, but hey. You’re still my girl.”

Zach would make sure you were comfortable and having at good time at any outing, and if you were the least bit uncomfortable he’d offer to leave with you.

“Hey sweetcheeks.” Zach says with a smirk as he peck you on the cheek, “You having a good time?” You nod, forcing a smile. The truth is, you would rather be at home. You were so tired, “Yeah, I’m good. Are you having a good time?” Zach nods, “Only if you are and slap my behind and call me Spider-Man, but my senses are telling me that you’re not actually having a good time.” You stare up at him, “I hate how accurate you have to be.” He shrugs and leans in, pecking your cheek, “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

꒷꒦꒷︶˚︶︶꒷꒦˚꒦꒷︶˚︶︶꒷꒦˚︶˚︶︶꒷꒦꒷

Okay. I’m actually really proud of this one. Let me know what you think! Love you thank you for reading! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[p4ranormaluv]

GAMER’S TECHNIQUE ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

Pairing -> Yunah x F!reader

Summary -> Yunah’s playing overwatch and not giving you enough attention

Genre -> smut, bit a’ fluff, established relationship au

Warnings -> brief masturbation, good girl kink, soft dom!Yunah, sub!reader, pillow princess!reader, praise, begging, fingering, kissing, clit/breast stim, lots of pet names

WC -> 1.5k

Note -> Remember when I said I was making a yunah work with plot? This isn’t it. This is pure smut.

“Yunaaaahh, when are you gonna be done?” You whine, sitting up against your girlfriend’s headboard as you stare at her back.

“Soon, baby.” She answers sweetly, attention completely unswaying from her computer screen.

“You’ve been playing for- like, hourrss!”

“An hour, baby. One hour.”

“That’s still too much.” You pout under your breath, slumping further against the unforgiving wood of the headboard.

“Can you not go without me for more than an hour? You still get to watch me.”

You sigh with a bit of an attitude, your hand moving to pick up your phone again. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” She sing songs innocently, but your eyes shoot up to stare at the back of her head again.

Is she actually intentionally trying to torcher you? Yunah knows how you feel about being called a ‘good girl’, and she decides to say it now? When you’re already practically begging for her attention?

You can’t figure out if she said it on purpose or not, you can’t see her face, but you have this feeling that she’s smirking to herself. Your eyes trail slowly from the back of her skull down to her hands, one on the mouse while the other tip-taps on the keyboard.

Yunah’s hands are pretty, her fingers too. She doesn’t have any acrylics on right now, her nails clean and bare. Which means…

Your phone is totally forgotten now. You need her in more ways than you previously did before, a heartbeat starting to thrum between your legs and a needy fog taking over your brain.

But what are you supposed to do when she’s still ignoring you?

“Fuck!” Yunah huffs in frustration at something in the game, and the words go straight to your pussy. A wave like reaction washes over your body, nipples hardening and thighs squeezing together.

You just can’t take it anymore.

Maybe it’s not exactly what a ‘good girl’ would do, but you shove a hand inside your shorts, fingers feather light as you barely touch your clit over your panties. Breath hitching and body twitching from just the fleeting taste of pleasure, you move until you’re completely laying down on the bed, knees bent and spread. Your pussy clenches desperately around nothing, so you allow your fingers to delve past the threshold of your underwear and press a finger inside of yourself.

Although your fingers are probably just as long as Yunah’s, they don’t feel near as good. They don’t have the same technique or pretty veins, and neither do you have the pretty face looming above you that usually accompanies them.

The realization makes a little whine leave your lips unknowingly.

“A-Angel?” Yunah’s voice resounds almost breathlessly, and you flinch, hands stilling and head lifting to look at your girlfriend through the frame of your legs. Her eyes are just as wide as yours as you stare at each other, and after a few seconds, the embarrassment catches up with you, legs pressing together and lowering to hide the hand that for some reason you still have inside your shorts.

“I-I-“ you blush, trying to find anything to say to fill the silence. But Yunah beats you to it, expression changing from shock to a proud sort of smirk.

“You really can’t be without me for that long, can you?”

“N-No! I tried to tell you.” You complain somewhat bratty, unable to hold her eye contact as you look away to the side.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re still a good girl.” She practically coos, looking down at you with a dark look in her eyes as she slowly gets up from her gaming chair and walks towards the foot of the bed. Your thighs squeeze together a bit more and your hand moves slightly, Yunah not missing the movement as she moves faster to cage your body in with hers. Her hands quickly forces your legs open (not that you don’t spread them obligingly) and she pulls your hand out of your shorts, just to tug them off completely, along with your panties.

She lets out a quiet gasp as her hand makes contact with your moist lips, fingers circling lightly around your entrance, making you whimper.

“Such a good girl.”

“Yunah,” you blush, hands going up to hide your burning cheeks.

“Don’t do that, don’t hide.” The girl hardly scolds, moving your hands away yet again and placing them on either side of your head.

She loves you like this, palms facing upwards, hair spread against the white sheets as you stare up at her. It makes you look like you’re baring yourself to her, all for her, to have and hold and play with however she wants.

And she wants to treat you very, very good tonight.

“My pretty pillow princess.” Yunah teases, because even though you know she loves it you kinda hate it while at the same time absolutely love it. And the opposing noise you let out shows that.

“C’mon now, Y/n. You know you gotta ask, baby.”

“Can’t. S’too hard.” You cry, starting to hide your face again before you stop yourself, and Yunah rewards you with a proud smile, but her fingers don’t move anymore. They stay just cupping your sex.

“I know you can do it, angel. You want my fingers in your pussy, right?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Then say that, baby. Say you need my fingers in your pussy.”

“Mmmm!” You protest, expression scrunching together unhappily. It’s always hard for you to say things out loud, at least in the beginning.

“Or I can just go back to my game-“

“No, please! Please, I need your fingers inside my pussy! I really do, Y-Yunah, please?”

“That’s my good girl.” Yunah smiles, not a moment before plunging two fingers into your entrance right away. You react with a choked sound, back curving upward as she’s already fucking you at a medium pace, not even working you up to it.

“You’re….so wet, fuck. What got you so wet, princess?”

“Y-You, you’re pretty.” You managed to get out rather innocently, eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming pleasure that still isn’t enough. “Please- please, more, Yunnie?”

“More? More what, Y/n?”

“God, you know what, Yunah!” You cry. You know she’s intentionally avoiding touching your needy clit.

“Ooh, sorry, baby.” Yunah says as though she understands, but she wears a sneaky smile as she leans down and snakes a hand up your shirt to squeeze your breast. “This what you wanted?”

“N-No!” You struggle to say as Yunah decides to flick your nipple with her thumb right as you begin to speak.

“Hm, sorry princess. Maybe if you tell me what really got you so riled up, I’ll do what you want.” She lays the law down in such an infuriatingly hot way, like she doesn’t know that she’s being so cruel to you right now. Her pretty lips encase your other nipple that isn’t getting any attention, while her hand continues to massage and kneed at your breast.

“Your hands!” You give up rather quickly as her teeth lightly graze your bud, fingers hooking inside of you right at the perfect spot. “Look- th’look so sexy while you’re- you’re playing, ‘nd you are r-really pretty. Missed you looking at me.”

Fuck. Yunah’s not gonna lie, your adorably embarrassed voice telling her what got your pussy so wet was just watching her fingers on a keyboard and missing her ‘pretty’ face looking at you really got to her.

“Aw, my darling girl.” Yunah praises genuinely, pupils practically hearts as she leans further down to capture your lips in a kiss. Her tongue makes its way inside immediately, and she makes sure to kiss you until she’s stolen your breath away.

She finally pulls away with a wet sound to whisper in your ear, “Don’t worry, angel. I’m gonna watch you the whole time while you fall apart on my fingers.”

You gasp before moaning out, Yunah adding a third finger inside you while her thumb finally touches your clit in electrifying little circles. Her lips move down to your neck, biting and sucking marks into the most sensitive parts of your skin. Yunah is still fully clothed, so her shirt rubs at your hard nipples in a way that makes them ache so good.

All of it’s quickly becoming too much, and when Yunah starts to quicken her pace, using her technique that she knows has you seeing stars every time, you know you’re close.

“Yunnie, cum? Gotta cum, Yunnie, please?”

“Cum, princess. Cum all over my fingers.”

You obey her words, gushing from your pussy and staining her sheets and hand with your juices.

Yunah slows her pace down to not leave you feeling empty too soon, before pulling out to lay down beside you and pull you into her arms.

“You okay, my angel girl?”

“Mhm,” you hum out dreamily, face nuzzling into her chest. “Felt so good. Thank you, love.”

“Course, baby. I’m sorry for playing overwatch for so long.”

“…Wasn’t that long.” You force yourself to admit. Yunah giggles.

“Y’know, my rank in the game is silver, but I’m pretty sure I’m top when it comes to fucking you.”

“…I have no idea what that means but I know it was cringe.”

NOTE: reblog to unify the girlies! <3

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 4 all chapters

Winter is making you stir crazy, so on your day off you decide to go for a hike on one of the copious mountain trails around your town. There’s still snow on the ground, and in the middle of the day you seem to have the woods nearly to yourself.

You like being by yourself.

The mountain is quiet, but for the wind in the trees and some determinedly chipper little birds chirping.

You nearly have a heart attack when you round a bend, and there is a large figure in all black. For a split-second you mistake him for a bear, before you realize it’s Mr. Wick.

“Jesus, you scared me,” you huff.

“Sorry,” he says, seeming genuinely apologetic.

“Where’s Dog?”

“I left him at home. Too cold.”

You like it, that he considered Dog’s comfort in the matter.

With a small frown he peers around you. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. I hike alone all the time.”

You hope he will spare you the lecture, even if it secretly pleases you that he is a little worried for you.

He sighs a little. “I wish you wouldn’t. You never know who you might run into out here.”

You cant your head, finding this statement slightly ironic, considering.

“I can handle myself. You’re looking at a junior Tae Kwon Do black belt, I’ll have you know.” The latter you deliver with a sassy grin, because even though it has come in useful on a few occasions, in the real world you know it doesn’t mean shit. You were just a child, and it was a long time ago.

This actually succeeds in winning you what is nearly a full-on smile, for him. “Well then. Remind me not to piss you off.”

The thought is absurd to you. You’re no willowy waif by far, but you can tell right now that this totally fit—and fine as fuck, if you’re being honest—man could snap you like a twig, if he wanted to. You snort in answer.

“I’m sure it won’t come up.”

He levels you with a long look then, that you don’t entirely understand.  

“So…you like hiking in the cold?” you ask, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

“I guess I’m used to it,” he answers. “I was born in Belarus.”

“Oh.” There is no hint of accent in his words. You reason he must have come to America at a very young age.

“And you?”

“I was not born in Belarus,” you confirm. It’s his turn to huff, and your heart skitters in your chest when he takes a step closer. He veritably looms over you, so tall and broad shouldered. You have a moment of clarity in which it really sinks in that you are totally alone out on the quiet mountain with this man, and he really could do anything he wants with you.

The thought titillates more than it disturbs, and maybe you have a screw loose.

“You’re a cheeky girl, aren’t you?”

There is a look in his eye, and for a moment you think he’s going to bend down to you. Crazier yet, you would have let him. But his hands remain in the pockets of his expensive down coat. The weight of his gaze alone is enough to make you feel as though he’s touched you, and you narrowly suppress a shudder.

It’s not because of the crisp mountain wind.  

“So I’ve heard. I don’t like the cold,” you answer his real question. “But I do like the snow.”

He frowns a little. “How does that work out?”

“It’s an aesthetic thing.”

“Ah. Your artist’s eye.”

“I guess.”

“You’re very good.”

It is, in fact, freezing cold out there in the woods, but suddenly you feel warm, standing there with him, basking in his praise.

“You’re kind.”

He tilts his head, his hair falling in his eyes. “Not really,” he says, and it almost sounds like a warning. “But maybe, just for you. Can I walk with you?”

You were enjoying your solo excursion, but you find yourself nodding in agreement, unable to turn down the opportunity to spend time with your mysterious but favorite customer from the coffee shop.  

“Ok. Are you making the loop?”

“Partly. My house isn’t far from the north fork of the trail.”

“Ah.” He must have just moved into one of the insanely expensive mansions tucked back in the woods, you reason.

It’s too cold to stand around and talk, so you hit the trail together. His legs are long, boy are they, but he matches his pace to stay with you. You don’t say much, but you enjoy each other’s company in the outdoors. You follow the line of a steep bluff on one side, old growth trees towering all around. It’s not a sunny day, but still bright from the freshly fallen snow. Later the forecast calls for more.

When you slide a little on an icy rock he makes a grab for you, and suddenly you do find yourself tucked in against the hard line of his side. It wasn’t entirely necessary—you’re wearing knobby boots, and you would have landed on your feet.

But it is endearing that he was worried for you.

The strength in his grip squeezing you steals your breath away. You only manage to get out a wheezy, “Thanks.”

He acknowledges your gratitude with a grumble, releasing you almost as quickly as he grabbed you. You get the sense that he is annoyed, somehow. You, however, know the memory of his body against yours is going to haunt your dreams that night.

Suddenly too warm, you unzip your jacket a little.

When you reach the trail marker for the north fork that will take him closer to home you look at him, expecting to say goodbye, certain he will be glad to be rid of you. But he keeps walking. “I'll get you to your car,” he says. 

“You don't have to do that.” 

“I want to,” he insists. “If you don't mind?” He’s softened again to you, for whatever reason, and you swear his moods could give you whiplash. Having this man to yourself for another mile isn’t the worst way you've spent an afternoon. 

“Ok, if you insist.” 

When you get to the parking lot, there is a shifty pair of guys hanging out in a beat-up Dodge van that might as well have “FREE CANDY” spray painted on the side panel. You look to John curiously, who is staring down the driver with a hard look in his eyes. Even though that look isn’t directed at you, it gives you a little chill.

The man behind the wheel confers with his bearded companion, and they decide to start up and chug away. 

You feel like you narrowly missed a passing danger, like a shark swum past your hiding spot in the reef.

“How... did you know?” 

“Seen them around the past week or so. Maybe promise me no more solo hikes until they move on?” 

“Yeah. Ok.” Maybe they were just two guys down on their luck hanging out in a van…but they definitely gave you the creeps.

“Can I give you a lift home?” He would have miles to go, uphill, in the bitter cold otherwise. 

“Thanks.” 

You pause at your late model Rav4, kind of embarrassed. He drives a very nice black Range Rover, and though your car is a soldier, bless all four of its cylinders, it kind of looks like a piece of shit. “Um...sorry,” you say, moving some books out of the passenger seat.

However, he seems non plussed. 

“No worries. Thanks for the ride.”

You start the engine, letting it warm up a little. He rubs his hands together, blowing on his fingers. “So…do you pick up strangers from the woods often?”

You laugh quietly. “You’re not that strange.”

 He tilts his head in that way that makes you feel unnervingly seen.

“You don't really know me, y/n.”

Why do you feel like he's trying to warn you?

“So... you’re saying I should make you walk back up the mountain in the freezing cold?” 

His low laughter tugs at your insides, making unbidden warmth spread through you.

“No, now that I'm here that really doesn't sound appealing.” 

You dare to wonder if he means here, with you.

“Ok then.” You put the Rav4 in drive. “Where are we headed?”

[gatorbites-imagines]

*slides a stan buck across the table* can we get more hal and czarnian reader? asking for a client. perchance, hal gets called to come deal with you? but my client doesn't care, you can do what you want with it.

-LB

Hal Jordan x Czarnian red lantern male reader

Headcanons

Clapping my hands and jumping up and down thinking about Hal with a big buff guy. This can be read as stand-alone, or as something connected to my kinktober prompt that this was based on.

After that one time (what happened in the kinktober prompt), Hal follows his plan to… check up on you on the regular. Totally just to make sure your movements are reported, and not cuz he wants his insides rearranged in the best way possible again.

The other green lanterns and the corps they work with, take notice of how you seem more aggregable when Hal Is sent to deal with you, since they can’t kill you or anything, and containing you is very hard work.

In the beginning other green lanterns are super worried about Hal being sent to deal with you alone, until he comes back successful from these missions. Thanks to lanterns flying, they don’t see how badly he’s limping after these meetups.

The few times other lanterns are around, they do notice how you seem to flirt with Hal, in your own Czarnian way, which means manhandling him into less child friendly positions as you growl at him and bite at his neck and shoulders.

Guy probably cracks a joke about how you guys are probably fucking, until someone actually catches you two going at it.

They haven’t heard from Hal for a while, so they send someone to check on him, only to see him twisted into a pretzel in your big muscular arms, tongue hanging out of his mouth and his eyes rolled all the way back into his head, as you lift him up and down like some kind of toy.

They worry for a second that it might be forced, until you slow down with a teasing feral grin on your face, grin only growing when Hal starts begging in a slurred ruined voice for you to start moving again.

The lantern that was sent to check on him returns back to the rest of the corps and just sheepishly tells people that Hal is fine, and has apparently found a… less violent method to calm your rage.

They can’t look at Hal the same after that when he flies off to “check” on you again, cuz they just know he’s going off to hit up a dick appointment.

Your… so called friendship with Hal, also means you could probably be called in by the justice league if they need it. You wouldn’t work with the green lantern corps, or others outside of red on principle, but if Hal asks nicely you can rock up to beat Lobo’s ass.

You and Lobo get along most days though, so you’ll just chase him off, so you aren’t really the best method against your fellow Czarnian.

The only time you actually hurt him bad enough that he needed to flee was after he targeted Hal for one reason or a another. Next time you two meet up for drinks he ends up figuring out that you and Hal kinda have a thing.

Lobo will refer to Hal as “(Y/N)s pet lantern” from then on, and always cackle when the rest of the league, lantern corps, or whoever is there, looks at Hal with a questioning glance, and he cant find it in himself to look at them.

At this point Hal doesn’t even need to stop rages of your most days, he just goes to spend time together without, outside of going at it like rabbits too. He introduces you to earth things, like movies or music.

You are still a red lantern and fueled by rage, but you have perfect control of your anger, something that sets you apart from your fellow red lanterns. So, it’s kinda nice to have someone to just talk too, that isn’t Lobo.

I don’t know if you guys would ever start dating officially, since your corps are so against one another, and you both side with each of your colors.

That is, unless you end up swapping from the red corps to another one that works alongside the green lanterns. But I can’t see one of the last living Czarnians becoming a blue lantern or a green lantern, unless its one of those situations where you dual wield rings without losing yourself.

I also can’t imagine you giving up your lantern status for a relationship, and neither would Hal, so you guys would just keep having some kind of situationship, where you get along outside of battle, but when fights happen you are enemies again.

That’s also why your relationship doesn’t get extremely deep, unless you end up dual wielding rings, like a red lantern ring and a blue lantern ring, like Razer.

But in a situation where you do end up duel wielding two rings, red and blue in this situation, you might even become an ally to the league to some degree. You aren’t a good guy, and you wont stop being cruel just because, its in your nature at this point, but you can be called in to assist if need be.

You only really care about earth cuz Hal loves his planet, and you care for Hal as much as someone like you can. Hal might even be able to pull you out of some of your darker urges or the deep seeded hatred in your person, if only somewhat.

I can imagine you spending time at his apartment, or going on human dates after you get your hands on some kind of camouflage watch that makes you look human.

Hal would probably keep the relationship a secret for a while, since the lantern corps knows how evil you’ve been in the past and still can be at times, and cuz the league would definitely not approve for a long time, until you do something that clearly shows how you have changed.

[kayentokk]

Easy Peasy Sukuna Squeezey(Part 2);Fuck It.

Pairing;Sukuna x Fem! Reader

Summary;Sukuna has found a solution? Kind of, one hint though. It’s not ice cream.

Contains;fluff, little argument, not an adult way to deal with problems, cussing, chef Sukuna, totally not feelings(that Sukuna doesn’t have for you), life is ass sometimes, soft Sukuna 

Wc;1,719

A/N;Okay, so I definitely went heavy on the chef Sukuna.

Prev. Series M.list Next

“I hope you’re hungry for pasta ‘cause that’s what m’makin,” he lowly grumbled walking into the kitchen.

“Yeah pasta is fine.”

You’ve watched Sukuna cook a multitude of times, and each time he looks so comfortable. So at peace, well when he’s not cussing out the stove for taking a long time to heat up. 

“Y’want garlic bread?”

“With cheese on top?”

“Are ya askin me?” He teases.

“Sukuna-,” you started to retort with an irritated tone. 

“Ask nicely, y/n.”

You just mumbled out a low “can you put cheese on top?”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Oh my Go-“

“It’s just one word, sweetness.”

You rolled your eyes at the saccharine nickname coming from his lips, “Sukuna you’re seriously on my last-“

“Hmmm?” He feigned innocence while cutting you off again.

You let out a defeated sigh mixed with agitation and said, “please?”

“Seeee? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Oh yeah, so glad it amused you,” you replied rolling your eyes once again.

“It did.”

Sukuna turned the stove up, the small notches making little tick noises each time the setting changed, and began to boil the pasta. 

He was always meticulous about the way he cut up the vegetables and such, one time you even asked him why it mattered and he grumbled something about how eating ugly vegetables is gross. You weren’t exactly sure how one little crooked square would make it ugly since it’s all going in the same pot, but to each their own right?

“You should be a chef,” you blurted out.

It wasn’t a bad thought, just an inside one. But who wouldn’t want to see a chef Sukuna? The lean but buff figure putting garnishes on top of things and his triceps and forearms flexing each time he stirred a pot or chopped a veggie. His forehead collecting little beads of sweat from the steam of the pot he just opened to taste the contents. His fingers cupped underneath the spoon, and his cool breath blowing on the spoon causing his lips to purse-

“Y/n,” he says snapping his fingers to pull you back to planet Earth.

You immediately refocused your attention on the present moment and nervously asked, “yes?”

“Are y’gonna taste this sauce? Or just keep staring off into space?” 

Then you noticed the wooden spoon in front of you and hastily tasted the sauce. 

“It’s good!”

“Yeah,” he replied, “but as awesome as this tastes I was telling you, before you went all spacey on me, that a chef isn’t exactly the job f’me.”

“What,” you said with a pout, “why not? You’re so good at it. I could even be like your sous chef or something.”

“It’s just not, I dunno, it doesn’t feel like my thing.” 

“But-”

“I’ll cook for you all y’want mkay? So don’t complain, cause you basically get a lifetime of free meals. I don’t think Yuuji even gets as many meals as you do.”

“That’s because I’m always at your apartment, and you’re always cooking.”

He just gave a gruff hum in agreement with your statement. The truth is, Sukuna had never thought about what he wanted to be after college. Being a chef wouldn’t be all that bad but he’d have to cook for everyone, not just you. Which, for some reason, didn’t sit right with him. 

When the food was finished he plated it and set it in front of you with a glass of water. You gave him a low thanks and began eating. You hadn’t noticed before, but you must have been starving because you were scarfing his food down. 

“Let me know if you want seconds with that,” Sukuna said while playfully grinning. 

“Oh shut up,” you said chuckling. 

There it was, your laugh, your bright smile. He loved seeing that. To Sukuna, sadness didn’t fit you. It just wasn’t an emotion he would associate with you. To Sukuna, You’ve never truly been sad, well besides the little petty things you’d get upset over. To Sukuna, those were way different because they were fixable.

That’s why thinking about the current situation made Sukuna’s jaw clench, and even worse it made him scared because what if he couldn’t fix it this time?

Once you both finished eating you had decided you wanted to talk about it. You just needed to get some things of your chest. 

He was washing dishes when you started to speak, “I just don’t understand.”

At first he was about to ask, “understand what?”He had forgotten about the problem, and for a moment so did you. But he knew that you’d open up eventually so he just listened. 

You went through a rundown of exactly what happened. You told him about the tip-off from the mutual friend, the obscene sounds you heard, the trail of undergarments leading to the bedroom, and your little exit. Sukuna was pissed to say the least. He just didn’t understand how some ugly narcissistic asshole could throw away everything. What an idiot. 

Sukuna focused in on what you were saying again, “I mean, I think I was a good girlfriend…I thought I was anyways. People say it happens sometimes though….I just never really imagined it happening to me.” 

You continued on, I mean I probably should have seen it coming.” You scoffed before continuing, I mean just look at me-“

“Stop that.”

Sukuna hated that. He hated it, that you could feel so doubtful towards yourself. Like you weren’t good enough for that sack of shit. 

“You could find someone else, t’treat you nice and stuff.”

You laughed at his response, “That is only gonna happen in my dreams ‘Kuna.”

He just shrugged as if saying, “you never know.”

“I thought that when I went over there I’d be fine, I briefed myself and I knew what was going on. I was prepared for it. But now I’m just confused, and-“

“Angry?”

“Y’know, not everyone feels anger as an immediate emotion when something wrong happens to them ‘Kuna?” 

“Really? So it’s just me?” He said sarcastically, letting out a short chortle.

You rolled your eyes and continued, “I am angry ‘Kuna. So angry, okay? But I- I can’t just punch someone like you do-“ 

“I mean you could,” he mumbled under his breath  barely loud enough for you to hear. 

You just ignored him and continued with a sigh, “I also can’t just cry and ball my eyes out over it. I won’t let myself, it’s already pitiful enough. Crying about it won’t help.” 

He didn’t have a witty, snappy response to that one. “S’not pitiful,” he said gruffly while drying his hands off on a towel and moving closer to your spot in the kitchen.

“Have you ever been broken up with Sukuna? Actually scratch that, because you ‘don’t do serious relationships.’ You ever been rejected?”

“Y/n, that’s not the same-”

“It is! It’s proving my point. You can get any girl you want, Sukuna! You’ve never experienced anything like that, I don’t even think you could comprehend it at this point,” you said laughing dryly. 

“Y/n, you know that’s not the same, we’re not the same.” He said, beginning to think you were being a bit unreasonable, “and m’not sure what this has to do with me, but all I’m saying is that there’s nothing wrong with feeling angry or sad about the situation y/n. It’s perfectly normal to want to punch a guy who cheated on you,” he said escalating, “You should feel betrayed! Hell you should-“

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” you mumbled.

He paused, calming himself before speaking again. “I get it, okay y/n? You’re hurt, and I-,” he pauses in frustration, running a hand through his hair to push it back out of his face, “I wasn’t trying to tell you how to feel. But comparing and contrasting our lives isn’t gonna help.”

Sukuna was offended. his life is different from yours, way different. And if he’s being honest, it’s not one you’d want to live anyways. Sleeping with random people, there’s not a difference from any of them. Half the time he can’t even remember them, or they’re blowing up his phone. 

It’s just a distraction for him, for what he hasn’t exactly figured out yet. Well, deep down he knows but he’d never let himself admit it. And with all the “relationships” you’ve been in. It’s the only way he stays sane at this point. 

“I know, I know, sorry for ‘comparin,” you said knowing you were wrong. 

He sighed not liking the way the conversation had taken a turn, “y’dont hafta say sorry Y/n. I just wish y’would channel your inner me or something.”

“What? You mean act crazy and go beat my ex up or something Sukuna?”

At first, he was just joking with that comment. Trying to bring the light back into the heavy conversation, but he thought about it and seeing a more crazy side of you wouldn’t be so bad. Not that he’s crazy, but thinking about seeing a more loose side of you intrigued Sukuna.

“Well, while that is a me thing to do it’s not exactly what I was thinking.”

“What were you thinking?”

“Fuck it.”

“Fuck it? That’s what you want me to do?”

That is such a Sukuna thing, but only with hookups. Make no mistake, Sukuna is an adult, and he does have responsibilities and priorities that he has to take care of now. So ‘fuck it’ is only for situations where he doesn’t have to care. 

“Yes. I want you to say fuck it to this whole situation, hang out with me the whole weekend and not contact him,” he says while crossing his arms. 

“Even if he calls me?”

“Especially if he calls you. I’m sure he’ll get the hint. Since you left your spare key there and made quite the exit,” he said deviously. 

You rolled your eyes and huffed out a, “fine, let’s fuck it.”

“With pleasure,” he stated. 

You were actually excited for this weekend, sure this wasn’t a very adult way to handle things. But if you were being honest, you didn’t want to handle it, you just wanted to act like it never happened. Not ideal, but it’s fine. Besides, some of your best life experiences were with Sukuna, what could go wrong?

@/cafekitsune for the divider

[ivymarquis]

An Honest Woman

Pairing| Gaz x F!Reader, Soap x F!Reader, Ghost x F!Reader, Price x F!Reader, All x Reader Rating| M Word Count| ~700 Kinks/Content/Warnings| The author wants to write a gangbang fic but suffers from “I have to explain why they’re fucking”-itis. Each guy will get his own chapter and then an epilogue with the gangbang. This is the prequel/set up to the premise. (Just the 141 guys Alejandro is not involved this is just the only gif I could find with all 4 of the 141 guys lmao) This is some toxic shenanigans on the reader’s part BUT no cheating on reader’s end ayo

“What would you do if you found out I cheated on you?” Her (unbeknownst to either of them) soon-to-be ex boyfriend asks.

She blinks, already deciding she doesn’t particularly like this question.

“I dunno. Probably fuck your chain of command.” If he is stupid enough to try and get his lick in, she’ll get hers back.

But he isn’t a stupid man, and she is content that this is just a random question in the same vein as her asking him if he’d love her if she was a worm.

It’s a smartass answer to what she foolishly assumes is a tongue-in-cheek question. Who the fuck asks something like that and is serious about it?

Much like she doesn’t like the question, he does not like the answer.

Rather than rolling with it like she did, his reaction is immediate. “Is that really fucking necessary? Glad to know I’m with a class act.” The question snaps harshly at her.

Hm. Well, things have been too peaceful for too long lately, haven’t they? She supposes they’re overdue for a blow up.

There’s a part of her that realizes it’s not good that she’s so ambivalent about this. She should care, in some direction, that her boyfriend is blowing up at her. She should either be pissed beyond all belief that he’s mad about a situation he fabricated, or be sad that he’s mad at her. Something.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” is all she says before standing up. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” I’m not dealing with your shit tonight is the part she doesn’t say out loud.

“Fuck you, I don’t have to deal with this.” He snaps at her, jerking to his feet and hurrying out the door.

Why the fuck does she put up with him, again?

He’s been doing this shit a lot lately. Picking a fight, and blowing up; whether she rises to the bait or not. It’s like he’s desperate for any reason to justify walking out on her in the middle of the night.

The most telling part about their dynamic is that she doesn’t really even care.

She’s got her suspicions about what all he is up to when he storms out; once or twice, she believes him when he says he went drinking with his buddies. But when it becomes a several-times-a-week occurrence?

She sees the writing on the wall.

“It’s like you don’t even fucking care anymore!”

She doesn’t. Not really.

Her total ambivalence to anything he does is testimate enough to the fact that she’s done with the relationship.

She just needs to get her shit sorted so she can move out and state the obvious; tell him that she’s over it.

Maybe she’s being cold hearted, but she didn’t just wake up one day and decide she doesn’t love him anymore. It’s every little miscommunication and dissonance that neither of them took the time to mend. Eventually that shit piles up and one day she looks at him and doesn’t feel the affection that she used to. There’s no flutter in her stomach or heat in her groin. He’s just there.

Really she shouldn’t be surprised when a few days later she finds an open condom wrapper mixed in with the laundry. Which, considering she hasn’t slept with him in over a week, pretty much solidifies that he’s a cheating prick.

Okay. Fine. He can’t say she didn’t warn him.

It’s pride and ego and spite that makes her act out. She doesn’t have any attachment to him at this point but it’s the principle of the matter. He doesn’t get to act like this and expect to be free of repercussions.

And- well; if she’s being perfectly honest he’s a lackluster lay at best.

When she was in love and being wooed and he was coming home to her and sweet talking in her ear it didn’t particularly matter that he treated her like a living fleshlight. Relationships can take compromise and he’d been checking enough boxes she has been willing to acquise on the good sex one.

Now? There’s no affection to keep her warm at night and she is simmering with pent up energy.

A very simple I’m fucking done. We’re over text, paired with a picture of the wrapper, is frankly more than he deserves at this point, but even she’s got a line she won’t cross and cheating is firmly on the other side of it.

And she knows exactly who she’s going to start with to knock the rust off.