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honestsycrets · 1 year ago

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brujería i: inhuman | ceo!miguel x succubus!reader

❛ pairing | ceo!miguel x succubus!reader

❛ type | doubleshot, explicit

❛ summary | since taking over his bio-father's company, miguel just can't seem to sleep. there may be someone behind that though. or, a succubus wants miguel.

❛ tags | some sacrilege, succubus!reader, ceo!miguel, sex-dreams, sleepy sex, dub!con: miguel is asleep during many encounters, exhibitionism outside of a church, f!reader, some mention of blood and wounds, au with deviations from canon, slight hurt miguel, slight caretaking peter, excessive bodily fluids, some mindgames.

❛ request fulfilled | Was wondering if i could request ceo!miguel x succubus! reader? whether he’s spider-man is completely up to you but reader is basically like a demon hiding in plain sight, toying and feeding on the sexual energy of people. maybe she’s a new hire and then she visits him in his dreams or smth. miguel becomes her target and he finds himself falling in love with her and wanting her so much it brings out an intense carnal desire inside him (1/2)

❛ sy's notes | i based some of miguel's sleep paralysis on my own experience. the catholic religious connotations are not very heavy, but if you're sensitive to that sort of thing, i'd probably skip this one.

Miguel O’Hara was never a superstitious man.

He grew up in a deeply Catholic home thick with superstition. His grandmother’s rosary still sat on his desk, enveloped in a spherical glass alongside stacks of organized paperwork on the latest drug his not-so-dearly held biological father left before he kicked it. Corruption was fiercely rooted, a fact that Miguel was not so subtle about. The papers he rifled through that morning revealed the stupidest account of Brujería among reports of Rapture.

“Brujería-- what bullshit,” he murmured as he dropped a stack of papers back onto the oak desk. He glanced at the glass tabletop and found his reflection therein. His eyes, crinkled at the edges, carried the reflection of countless days of his dark exhaustion. “Si no es una cosa es otra.”

“Miguel?”

“What, Lyla?” Miguel threw a glare at the ceiling at the AI that sang at him. She seemed far too happy with her position as the resident terror of his new office. New was an overstatement. It was his father’s before he croaked, reflected in some of his tacky taste in the things Miguel had immediately thrown out. Why else would it have a picturesque, but grandiose view of Nueva York but for a great view of the people he was destroying? The bright windows also did a bang-up job of burning his eyes

“The psychiatrist is here,” she chirped. “Are you going to tell her about your wet dreams?”

The flutters that danced over his skin at night at the strike of three. Foreign warmth caressed his skin like a warm blanket over his skin. His heart rate raced, and pleasure burrowed under his skin. It never failed that Miguel would wake to a rush of pleasure, cum painting his sheets sticky, his heart soaring into his throat. With such pleasure, why would he tell anyone but Lyla about his pathetic, ruined state that came night after night?

Miguel waved his hand in dismissal. He instead checked the chunky watch on his wrist. You're just on time. He appreciates a punctual professional given how much work he had to complete. In lieu of the report of spiritual abuse, he picks up the pile of sexual misconduct. That was a more pressing matter to address. The actual victims were far more important than some bruto’s complaint of ojos based on a huevo in some water. He should send these idiots to any middle schooler’s chemistry class. The bruja who was coming to visit him today could hardly be a source of concern.

“Why would I do that? Let her in. You listen in and I’ll unplug you.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Lyla teased, but he knew she was right. Lyla was one of his only friends and by far the one he spent the most time with. She has patience for him. He slips his reading glasses out of their holster as the lock on his office door hisses apart, welcoming in the strange woman whose name he could never find but in Stone’s personal records. A chroí, my love, like Stone could love anyone else but himself.

“Dr. O’Hara.”

Miguel slipped the lenses on. Not only was the woman before him, not the sort of hippy-dippy woman he expected, but you were… familiar. Oh, so familiar. He’s never met you before. Yet, he finds himself inexplicably pulled to closing the gap between your bodies.

You extend your hand for him to take.

“Dr…” You finished his sentence by offering your name.

“Have I met you before?” His large hand clasped your own. A blanket of warmth blossomed from your small hand in his grip. Gentle at first, your very same small hands laced in his. The sudden realization of where he’d seen you hit him like a bullet through the head: unexpected and instantaneous. The image rippled across his mind, Miguel’s hand collared on your nape, his fat dick splitting your cunt against his office’s wide windows. Another pulse of heat soared through his hand--

Miguel jerked his hand back. What in the hell?

“¿Estás bien?” You were so close that he could smell the perfume on your skin. A dark cherry, sultry, and so good. He was swimming in the vague delusion that was your skin against his. There was something delicious about the way you looked at him, tracing the outline of his tie that sat tightly behind a constricting vest. He was hazy, clumsily falling back into his office chair. Moving was tiring with the sudden vial of desire that flooded through his veins. You were at his side in an instant.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “It’s… the heat.”

“Oh! Stone's office is always hot. Here, I'll help you,” No-- he tried to argue. Against his wishes, you slipped his suit jacket off his shoulders and down his muscular arms, loitering a bit too long along his pumped biceps. “Though, I guess it’s all yours now, isn’t it? We all are.”

Miguel has no energy to fight you, lost in the haze that was last night’s forgotten dream. He’d never met you before, that much he was sure. Yet he swore, on all that was scientific and right, that he dreamed of your body on his, emptying him of any worries as he came into the nothingness of his sheets. It wasn’t just pleasure, it was a sea of rapture, and he drowned in it.

“According to your AI, you’re burning up lately.”

How do you know? You walked around his chair, your slender heels clicking over the hardwood floor. His eyes traced the curves of your velvet red pencil dress up to your bust as you leaned in, the back of your hand taking his temperature on his forehead. Your bust had delicate black lace detailing that enhanced your natural beauty. It scorched his ability to be a decent gentleman. Every man had their limits. He’s nearly at his, and you’ve only just arrived.

“You're so warm,” you gasped, but it's strained, a crack through stained glass. “Let me help you.”

You reached for the knot of his tie. That’s enough-- Miguel shoves your hand from his neck. He tugs the charcoal tie away from his throat, drawing it away from his white button-up. You wet your lips, drawing a sheen across your perfectly applied lipstick. You came in here with a plan and purpose to inflame him-- and did just that.

“Careful.”

A pause-- your eyes challenged him, seemed to know how weak he was in resisting the strain of lust that came with your mere presence. He was losing the fight quicker than he’d like. Miguel has to focus. “Your findings on Rapture’s… trial run. Where are they?”

“Destroyed,” you answered curtly.

"Project 2099?"

“Under seal. Oh, don’t look at me like that, hermoso. It wasn’t my choice.”

Hermoso. A flicker of anger shot through him as you reclined on his desk and ran your hands across the rim. You seem to notice the rosary on his desk, eyes lingering on it for more than a few seconds. You dipped so comfortably between propriety and looseness. The distance between your easily accessible skirt and his hardening erection is the entirety of only a few steps. “Stone’s orders, not mine.”

“There are no copies?”

“Why would there be? Stone was always very persistent with what he wanted.”

You? He doesn’t ask.

Something in him doesn’t want to think of it, what his father could have done to you that would make you so willing to stand so close to him. Your gaze faltered. You bore at his groin, his sleek dark slacks straining against his length.

“Now you want to know if I fucked him, que no?”

That's a yes. The way you slip onto his desk, legs slightly apart, tells him all he needs to know. His gaze falters, down then up again, an irrational amount of envy welling low in his belly. He found himself wondering what you’ve done in this very room. You bat your long lashes, far too pretty. He isn't easily dissuaded.

“I've barely met you and you want to know everything about my work and personal life. You’re so greedy. So like him.”

“I am nothing like that man.” At that very moment, his eyes locked with yours. A distant rage filled his belly. No one, he meant no one, compared him with that maniac. His tongue twisted in his mouth, ready to make some sharp remark, but you snatched his words by leaning forward, pressing your lips to his head. Your fingertips combed through his dark hair, a warm comfort. A kiss? His hands felt heavy, weighed down by an impossible weight, one he couldn’t push off no matter how much he strained.

"Hasta luego, Miguel.”

The door closes behind you with a clap. Back in the chair, Miguel was heaving heavy breaths. The restriction on his body loosened up and allowed Miguel to grab the black mirror stashed in a drawer below his desk. Your sticky lipstick left a stain on his forehead, strained with stress lines. He wiped away the red stain of your lipstick and rolled the remnants between his thumb and middle finger.

"Like Stone," he repeated with a hiss. "Mierda."

He wracked his hand around his swollen cock-- panting as he beat himself off, ecstasy claiming that he had to have you. The insatiable need to have -- his father’s whore-- overrode any of the papers on his desk. He came into the cold nothingness that is the air, his hands coated in his own essence. Miguel untucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped himself clean.

“Lyla? Who?” he gasped a breath, “Who is that woman?”

“Beats me,” Lyla thought she was so funny. “She’s not in any electronic records.”

“Really.”

Even if that was the case, Miguel would be damned if Stone got the better of him in death. Miguel cleaned up his hand and whirled open the sexual harassment folder-- he was nothing if not a determined man.

You shouldn’t be here. No, really, you should not be employed here.

He doesn’t know your qualifications because he cannot find them. In the electronic documents, your file is bare bones. The suggestion of your education is non-verifiable but signed off by Stone himself. If it were only him, he might chalk it up to corruption. But there were others-- other dead bodies-- who signed off on your highly amended report on Rapture. The board claimed your employment was not a subject for discussion. Even if he were the face of the company, you were untouchable.

He left his office to the small coffee shop on the third floor. The man who ran it, Peter, was a refreshment from the stress of the day in his own, weird little way. It was probably the high quantity of caffeine that kept him awake.

On the surface, Miguel’s dreams are unoffensive. Light things, like fingers brushing veins that creep along his muscles, soapy breasts dragging along his chest. Using your body like a sponge to clean him after a heavy session at the gym. You are always on your knees, suckling the cum free from his cock with an angelic little flutter of your lashes and those sultry, cat-like eyes. He was in a state of constant arousal with nothing to show for it but a consistently swollen dick. At his age, he considers it a feat.

“You’re so sexy, Peter.”

There it was again. Your giggle over top of the sound of the hiss of a coffee machine. Peter was laughing, shy, or uncomfortable, he couldn’t quite tell. Miguel slips off his wire sunglasses, looking along the bar for the source.

“Hey, Miguel!”

He paced around the corner, then back. There are a few work couples and colleagues speaking with one another. Their tables are fresh with coffee and tea, tiny wrapped sandwiches a poor lunch. You’re conspicuously absent. The lack of sleep was fucking with his head, it had to be. He settled the glasses into the lining of his suit pocket and withdrew his wallet.

“Miguel! You'll never guess who came by. Uh, the usual?” Peter bounced over, leaning over the cash register with a glitter in his eye. He was more upbeat than even usual. Some girl must have made his day, he decided. Sí, he rumbled. Miguel dipped his fingers into his wallet to pull out his card only to be stopped short of the action.

“Nope,” Peter pushed Miguel’s hand away. “Someone paid for you.”

“For me?” Miguel settled the card in its proper slot. “Who?”

“You know,” Peter whispers. "The bruja."

“She was here?” he repeated, following Peter across the side of the bar as he began to make his coffee. Peter is an airhead, a wonderful airhead. Some part of him is infectious on days when he’s not being stalked by a woman with no traceable name. It was as if you were wiped clean. “When?”

“About two hours ago? She said you looked spooked and left me some money for your coffee. I think she likes you.”

You were doing more than liking him.

“And why would you think that?” Miguel pulled out a chair at the bar, humoring the scrawnier man. Peter frothed some milk, a fluffy cloud of relaxation on top of his usual coffee dusted with cinnamon and nutmeg. Miguel takes the mug from Peter, wrinkling his nose at the addition of nutmeg.

“Well, she turned down some dude from marketing,” Peter mentions. “I've been here for a while and-- she rarely turns anyone down.”

You rarely turn anyone down?

It bothered him long after he finished the coffee. You’re so sexy, Peter. You weren’t there. Peter told him that you’d been gone for two hours. He should not have heard the wisps of your caramelized voice in the coffee shop.

It’s the exhaustion, Miguel convinced himself. He just needs the weekend, to rest.

By Saturday night, he hit his last nerve.

Restful sleep would not come. He lay in his large, empty king-sized bed after searching through files for another project that had no other name but 2099 for the entirety of ten long hours. Any information-- redacted-- but your name slapped over the top and bottom of countless documents was like a great, big fuck-you O'Hara. The more he read about you, the angrier he became. You enraged him, but he was positively enthralled with your presence.

He lay in bed listening to should-be soothing jazz that now grated his ear. Night after night, his torment never failed. When he finally found an instance of peace, his muscles locked up. Not quite awake, but not quite asleep. Heavy pressure overtook his chest and arms forced him to remain still. The world fazed in and out, doom on beating alarm bells in the back of his mind. Then he felt it, the phantom pressure on his neck that slid over his tawny skin, from his belly to the dark happy trail that dipped below his silky pants.

Miguel gritted his teeth and ripped himself from his trance. When his eyes popped apart, he was greeted by his shock. Hunger flowed through him in warm waves, piercing underneath his skin. Miguel’s fingers twinged, your phantom figure on top of him. It looked like you, but misty, as though an illusion. In the darkness, he can only make out the shadows that bounce off what little light is in the room.

“Motherfucker--”

Though he said that, your teasing fingers freed him from his cozy pants, ripping them around his hirsute thighs. His length lulls against his body, a shameful drool of cum gathered at his cock. A night of phantom touches has done him in. Miguel lurched back onto his flat pillows when he was abruptly shoved down by an outrageous amount of force. With his arms thrown up by his head-- he whimpered, frustrated with tonight's-- dream, delusion, dare he say-- reality. His joints were locked by invincible chains that forced him to stay in place. The more he fought, the hotter his need became for what came next. His body was pitifully trained.

He wasn’t certain that it was you-- but it smelled so deeply of your perfume, rich and cherry, flooding his nostrils. So familiar. He glanced down at the opaque figure, grinding over his hard cock. A pair of hands crashed onto his shoulder, claws curling into his broad shoulders. Blood seeped forth. A growl gathered in his chest, ripping up when something warm and tight sunk down on his bobbing dick. Miguel gritted his teeth: it had been a long time since he’d been with anyone. Not for a lack of viable partners, but his annoyance with them all.

Despite his immense muscle, he was too weak to do anything about it. Even if he could, what would he do? Throw off the sex-crazed hallucination on his dick? You rolled your hips over him, suckling him right back up. Hypnotized by the smoky illusion, Miguel gazed on begrudgingly, grunting as you rolled over him, his dick straining your insides. He was a toy, nothing more and nothing less, used for his fat cock that split your airy body apart. His hips jerked, frustrated as he found he could go no deeper. You punished him by dragging your claws over his swarthy shoulders, over his collarbones. Blood ripped free, sliding down his deltoids.

“Chingado,” Miguel’s lips parted for the word, hips juddering up like a hungry slut. It wasn’t normal, the warm tickle of your lubricant over his shaft, exquisite in its nature. His heels dug into the bed, balls tightened. He was so damn close to his relief, he could taste it on his tongue, bordering somewhere between immense pleasure and decadent pain. Your need for his pain won out, dipping down over his chest and latching your fangs over his chest-- then up, hooking on the front of his throat. It was going to bruise, badly.

You shook loose his orgasm, ripped free with the need to fill you, own you-- as though he were not the one being owned. His hips staggered, sticky whips of cum coating your walls in waves. More than he’d cum before before. His eyes shut hard, tears pricking the sides of his eyes. Then, as if it never happened, the hold on his hands was released. He struggled with his freedom, his hands slack, softening cock worthlessly weeping over his thigh. The pain-- oh, the pain, it washed over him moments later.

“Woah,” Lyla interrupted, “Miguel! What happened?”

She couldn’t see you. His eyes were like two dark coins, staring up at the ceiling, wide, and unseeing. He can hear her frantic questions, the ligature marks left behind from invincible chains, and the all-too-real blood and bruising that left him utterly ruined.

“It,” he choked out, heat biting at his well-chiseled face. “It hurts.”

He doesn’t remember what comes next. It was five in the morning when he finally rolled out of bed, and onto the floor, gripping the growing headache that grew miserably behind his head. Bitterness bubbled in his stomach, exhaustion in his eyes. The aberration that was his poor sleep was irksome more than anything. He felt someone’s eyes on him, soft and worried, rushing to his aid as though he were an old man who fell off a bed.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Peter said with an undercurrent of concern soaring through his words. “No, wait. I got you.”

He helped him sit against the frame of his bed, a frame that looks small as shit with Miguel’s large body against the frame. He’s unsure of what to say, assuming that Lyla called him in desperation, and let him into the house that Peter most definitely did not have a key to. Miguel’s chest ached. “What happened? Are you… are you okay?”

Everyone seems to ask him that lately.

“I’m fine,” he was alien to the feeling of care. He knew when Miguel dug himself into a hole. Miguel didn’t want to think about what happened only a few hours prior when his exhaustion took over his body and knocked him out. He dreamed of nothing. An abyss of unsettled nothingness, the ache low in his belly to fuck you until you were soaked in his cum and Miguel could finally, finally rest his tired eyes. Miguel pulled on a fluffy white robe Peter supplied, dragging it over thick strips of gauze and medical tape.

“You don't look fine.”

They both know he’s lying, but what else could be said? That the state Peter saved Miguel from was a rarity? That he’s used to being preyed upon by his own delusions? He needs a fuck, maybe that’s it.

“If you’re going to stay, be useful and get me that file.”

“Oh-- okay, this one?” he doesn’t look surprised. He padded across his room to his desk, kicked a chair that was falling apart aside, and picked up the folder on Brujería. It was buried behind more useful folders such as sexual harassment and inter-employee workplace violence. A fact that Miguel wasn’t exactly proud about in the first place.

“Brujería? Like witch stuff, right? No way. You think work is haunted too?” Peter says with a choked-out, nearly forced laugh. Miguel doesn’t pay himself enough for this. Of all the files at hand, it was nearly untouched. It included such things as ancestors, spirits, demons, and curses.

“I don’t. But the workers obviously do.”

Peter was soft and kind, but not stupid. He plopped down next to him and crossed his legs one over the other.

“The ones that say she’s a bruja?” Peter tapped on your photo. Your photo offers emptiness. That though you have a bright smile in the photo, it is undoubtedly fake. He never saw a woman look so innocent and sweet, but dangerous.

“You’ve heard?”

“Well, the men she hangs around always end up dead. They get all successful and rich then, bam, dead. But you can’t believe that right?” Peter reasons. “She’s not cursed, she just has bad luck. She’s always been nice to me.”

“A curse?”

“Yeah,” his warm breath wavers into a sigh. “Stone wanted company, found her in Sacred Heart-- you know, the one they say is cursed?”

“A cursed church? Give me a break. The only curse at Sacred Heart are the exploitive priests.”

“I’m just saying what I heard,” he’s whispering, shivers wracking up his arms at the mere mention. He tries not to push him anymore. Peter stood up and walked to the coffee stand in the corner of his dark room. For the days that he couldn’t be bothered to leave his room, he’d make a hot coffee in the corner and keep working just as he always did. “She’s always been nice to me.”

“Maybe you’re not her taste.”

“Yeah well, probably not. I don't look like you-- but she did call me sexy, so that's something right?” Peter laughed, “Want a cup of coffee?”

Sexy. That's it, he's so fucking sick of this shit.

“No, I don’t want a cup of fucking coffee,” Miguel bit back, shoving the bed several inches as he pushed his hand off of it, storming into his walk-in closet. “Lyla. When is mass at Sacred Heart?”

“Sacred Heart?” Lyla laughed. “You’re kidding--”

“Lyla,” he snarled, chucking his bag across the closet. It connected with his tall, black safe with a loud boom. She was quiet for a moment, undoubtedly momentary confusion for why non-believer Miguel O’Hara wanted to go to, of all things, a Catholic mass.

“6:30,” she answers.

“I’ll go with you,” Peter calls out.

Don’t bother, Miguel returns from the next room.

It’s been a long time since he dressed for mass-- some dark brown slacks and a warm, vanilla button-up. He snaps a chain necklace around his thick, bruised throat and his favorite watch. As he grabbed the manilla folder on brujería he felt like a child, lectured by his grandmother to not be like his bad man-loving, alcoholic mother and go to church. Despite very much not believing in any of this shit, it was frustrating, annoying even, that he had to go back there.

He didn’t want to go but his spirit was unsettled. Something told him that going to his grandmother’s favorite church would give him a sense of illumination, that it would make sense of the things that made no sense.

Sacred Heart stands on a hill, both physically and metaphorically. It takes offerings off the backs of the poor and sits atop a lush hill. Its stained-grey architecture is only beautiful by virtue of its stained-glass murals. He doesn’t care for the saints that loom overhead, unseeing eyes judgemental and cold. Viejitos and the truly devout are the only ones in attendance. Based on Peter’s account, he should expect you there. It doesn't take long to be proven right.

“Bendición.”

Is he hallucinating again? Despite the many rows of unspoken burgundy benches, you sit by him. Miguel is disconcerted as you slide your thick hips by, sandwiching him between the side of the bench and your chunky, beautiful thighs. He worked his words in his mouth for entirely too long.

“Dios te bendiga,” he said, the words chalky and thick in his throat, drawn up from the bottomless abyss of his fluttery stomach. You sat with a black lace veil pinned to your head. The only sort of women who wear a veil are very old or not Catholic at all. He veers on the latter. “You’re Catholic?”

“If you want me to be.”

“Why else would you be here?” he reached over and plucked up a cheap bible from a pouch behind the bench before him. Your eyes follow pupils dilating in a way that isn’t human at all, staring at the many words on the page that spun under his thumb.

“I think you know why,” you said with soft and pliable words. He felt himself melting.

Of course, Miguel thought, you always seem to show up during the most inopportune times.

"You didn't bring a bible," he offers it to you. Your eyes, dilate wide and bright at the sight of the thing, flicker a look down to it, then Miguel again.

"I prefer to listen." You turn away from it. He flipped it in his hand before returning it to its rightful pouch. For some reason, you did not want to be close to the book. He thinks he knows why.

“So you are stalking me.”

"Stalking is such a mean word, Miggy. Haunting, I like haunting better." Miguel throws open the report. He doesn’t want to read it-- but it is the last folder that may hold the information he needs. Your eyes fluttered to the footsteps of others filling their spot, an archaic song on the lips of the practitioners. Wrong page, Miguel.

"What was that?" he asked you.

"Nada."

He looked down to his lap where the report sat. The voices of those present, their lips forming an off-tuned song, itched at his already exhausted mind. The more he fought, the worse it became. You flipped open a black fan and cooled yourself with long flicks of your wrist. He doesn’t think it’s so hot.

“The rosary on your desk is from here, isn’t it?”

How would you know?

“You’re hiding something.”

Page 76. His fingers thumb on the pages on their own accord. Your eyes traced the movement, looking down at the pages before him. On deaths of company men.

I just do.

The thought entered his mind without prompting. He scanned names on the page. Aaron Delgado… asphyxiation. Tyler Stone… myocardial infarction. There were photos pinned there, photos that shouldn’t be so graphic, but somehow are. The men are as naked as the day they came into the world.

“If you say so, Miggy.”

“What are you hiding?”

You brought your hand over the file, closing it shut on top of his hand. He turns his hands over the top. Your fingers run over his knuckles, in misleading circles. “Are you sure you want the truth?”

“I don’t hide from the truth.”

“The truth,” you leaned in, your words husky against his ear. “The truth is I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a good girl, Miggy. You have to believe me.”

Something about the way you spoke enraged him, prickling him enough to force him to stand in the middle of the priest’s words. He snatched your wrist with his thick hand, gripping you enough to leave pepper bruises across your skin. Your heels clicked after his boots, out through the foyer, past the bath of holy water, and down the discolored steps.

“Miguel?” you sang like a siren.

He’s hit his limit, throwing you against the discolored church wall. A gasp punched out of your lungs, aggravated by Miguel’s large hand strangling the breath from your throat. He felt warm as he kicked your legs apart and took up that space. The heat doesn’t feel like it is his. His bulge against your skirt certainly is. Now, he seems to expect pleasure when he is in your presence.

“You want me to fuck you, sí? That’s why you’re tormenting me every fucking night.”

“I thought you liked cumming,” you relinquished with a harsh giggle. It grates his last nerve. “You finally look relaxed when you do.”

“Qué mala eres,” Miguel snatched the bottom of your skirt, ripping it up the slit to expose your warm skin. He found no panties there, just smooth skin. He cupped your sex for emphasis. “No panties in church. You're filthy.”

“¿Y qué? You’re proving why I didn’t need them.”

He stared, lingering for a moment, challenging your insistence on control. Since he took over this god-forbidden company, you had been defying him with your devilish smile. Miguel slapped your cunt, eliciting a groan that was half of the pain that he’d had only a few hours ago. You liked it, scratching lines up his arms to his broad shoulders.

“You’re so big,” you balanced his abuse with your overwhelming worship. “So big and pretty.”

“Shut up,” he bit out and slipped his middle finger inside of you, unconcerned for your pleasure. Your muscles tightened around his finger, drawing him deeper. He slides another beside it, his hand leaving your cunt to slap your jaw, forcing you to keep focus. Your tender flesh is hot and red, a wonderful tenderness radiating throughout your jaw.

“And you're dripping, do you have no shame?” He grips your chin to look at your face. Raw defiance was slapped across your face. You rolled your hips onto his hand, forcing him to caress your walls in the right spot. He perked his brow, listening to the priest lecturing in the background. Your sweetness drooled over his curled wrist, dripping from his squelching fingers.

“For you,” you whined. “I want your dick. Give it--”

“You’re a brat.”

He said that-- but he was amused. Miguel slipped down onto his knees, knocking your legs rudely apart. His mouth encircled your puffy clit, bringing it into his mouth and suckling it fat. His rhythm was quick, making a point that he could make you cum too. You weren’t debating him, your hands tight in his hair, loud little moans beating free from your lips. His tongue was warm and soft, kissing and nipping.

The priest went quiet.

“You’re being too loud. Do you want them to hear us?” Miguel’s brow furrowed, slipping up from your vulva.

"Why is that my problem?" You whined in distaste after he stopped pleasuring you, your pulsing cunt beating like an open wound. Asshole.

"You could care for someone other than yourself." Miguel tilted his head, turning you to face the wall. He pulled himself free of his pants-- his thick cock fat against the curve of your ass. That’s what you wanted, he decided, gauging by your whine that came with his action.

"How does that get me what I want?" You shook your ass at him, waiting for him to rear back.

“This is what you wanted, hm? Fine, have it. Just shut up."

He leaned over you, your scratchy black veil catching along his stubble. He doesn’t wait for a response, pushing inside. He wasn’t just thick, he was long. But he knew you already knew that-- you knew every curve of his body, loved the thick veins on his cock that filled you so well. You scratched at the wall as he crushed you into the wall, his hips stuttering with your walls tightening him, drawing him further, impossibly deep.

Estúpida, he thought-- and knew you’d hear it. Whatever you were, you weren’t human. You were somewhere between a human and desire itself, evident in the way you looked at him, pleasured by his rutting hips against the church. The priest went back to his lecture-- the churchgoers enraptured in their worship. The only thing Miguel was enraptured with was the way your pussy tingled, the fluid soaking his cock, and the stretch in your lower belly. His hand clasped over your mouth, index finger poking into your mouth. Your tongue drew him in, fangs nipping his finger.

It earned you a hard slam, stuffing you full, your strange body catching his thrusts beautifully. He slipped his hand over your soft cunt, working your clit for your orgasm, though you deserved no such thing. Habit, he supposed. Gloria a Dios-- the churchgoers clammed with one another. Nearly out of time, your pleasure won out, gushing over his fat cock. Miguel suckled a breath, his ego demanding him to hold out, batter your sweet cunt through your orgasm.

“I’m hungry-- Give it to me,” you bit on his finger, breaking the skin and urging blood to flow into his mouth. Your body twitched violently around his cock, drawing bright pleasure forth. “Give me your cum.”

"Stay out of my dreams."

"I don't want to," you reared your head back at him, your nose tight with wrinkles. He drew you fully onto his dick, the final thrusts were sloppy and immature-- but he held out, making you angrier by the second.

"I'll cum on the floor right here, I don't give a shit."

"No, no! Fine! I promise-- I'll let you sleep," the threat of going hungry is enough that you concede, punching your fist against the wall. He grunts in response and feeds your body with whips of cum that felt far heavier than his usual. A pleasure, far sweeter than any orgasm he could give you. Miguel soaked your sweet little body with his sticky cum, chest swelling heavily against your little back. He finishes and pulls himself free. To his surprise, your cunt doesn’t leak. Miguel staggers back with a perk in his eyebrow.

You look far better for wear than he does, clumsily zipping himself back into cum stained slacks, running his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. You recline on the wall, inspecting him. He knows how he looks. He's bruised, long gashes down his chest, and properly fucked-- a mess. The manila envelope sits forgotten by your heels, your skirt-- perfect, as though he never tore it in the first place.

“You’re not human.”

Miguel bends down, picking up the folder. Not like he needs it anymore. He does, however, need that information on Project 2099. I can help you, he hears. He catches your wide, toothy smile. You've grown fangs. He isn’t surprised.

“Not even a little.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #spider 2099 x reader #miguel/reader #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #atsv fic #atsv fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara/reader #across the spiderverse fic #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara imagines

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pavardscherie · 2 years ago

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fluff with pedri?? maybe dad pedri at camp nou?? 🤷‍♀️🙈

pairing pedri x f! reader

summary: you visit camp nou with your two year old son and pedri shows him how to own the pitch.

izzy‘s non-sense talk: okay, this killed me. have my child, please. i can only imagine him being such a great dad. hope you like it! and thank you for the request!

when the culers bought their tickets to the game, they expected a win from the team, they loved so dearly. what they did not plan on, was seeing a fan favorite midfielder in his most vulnerable state. on the pitch, when the minutes ticked away, pedri owned the game. dribbling out the enemies, finding the loopholes and adding assist after assist to his record.

the clear win spread happiness through camp nou, the individual players celebrated with the culers, clapping and singing the hymns they created. while most of them were occupied by the non-stopping cheering, pedri snuck away from the team to greet his two year old son, paulo. it was the first visit to camp nou, the little boy would remember. after all, he was a weekly guest when he was only a couple of months old.

pedri always tried his best to keep paulo‘s face out of the media, and hidden from the annoying photographers. this time, it was very different. the little hand disappeared in pedri‘s calloused palm, leading the two year old towards the empty goal. a football in his free hand, the midfielder wanted to show off the brilliance of his son to the culers and his mates.

paulo tried to hide himself behind his father‘s leg, the large crowds much scarier when standing in front of them than being in the middle of it. and as if the scene was planned and prepared, a couple of left over teammates started to shush the culers with their hands to allow paulo a perfect, and fearless first appearance in front of the crowds.

lewandowski has done it with his kids, showing them to the world with a proud smile plastered on his face while celebrating another win, another two goals he scored with them. but pedri has always been more protective with his son, always trying to keep foreign people far away from him.

pedri saw how much paulo imitated his father at home, trying to dribble the ball with his little feet, and outplaying you in the living room. and this time, the midfielder wanted to give his son the real chance to feel the cheering of the fans, the loud clapping and the hymn echoing through the stadium.

sharing smiles with his teammates, pedri led the little boy towards the white point in front of the goal. shooting a penalty was easier with no goalkeeper, but ter stegen immediately took his place in front of the net with a wide smile. obviously, he would not catch the ball, no matter how easy it would be.

crouching down beside his son, he whispered little hints about the goalkeeper‘s habit‘s into his ear, earning an understanding nod from paulo. „do it like pepi.“ you shouted from the sideline, clapping your hands together for your little everything. a small exemplar of pedro, the hair as black as charcoal, the sun-kissed tan a mixture of you and him. dressed in his own little jersey with ‚gonzalez‘ written on the back, paulo took a couple of steps back and showed ter stegen his tongue with a smile.

a signature gesture, a celebration gesture his father once made before pedri potter was born. truly exactly like the proud father, dressed in the barcelona kit with the number eight on the back, who stood beside his son with a wide smile. pride glistened in the curve of his mouth, and even tears gathered on his waterline, seeing the grown up little guy with his two years. paulo was everything pedro wanted after meeting you, and falling deeply and madly in love.

running forward, paulo kicked the ball with all his strength, watching with big, brown eyes and expectation. the ball jumped once, jumped twice, and ter stegen fell in the right direction but way too slowly and it rolled over the line. paulo could not believe what was happening, raising his hands in the air and running straight to his father, who watched proudly.

behind ter stegen, the culers cheered loudly, shouting pedris name but clapping for paulo‘s goal. the midfielder reached out for his son, picking him up in his arms with a wide smile. „did you see? i scored a goal just like you do!“ paulo boomed with happiness, giggling between the words.

„yes, yes, you did.“ pedri encouraged the little boy in his arms, his own world, he held tightly. „you just did it much better than pepi ever could.“

from the sidelines, you had your palms pressed to one another, the side of your fingers against your lips. pedri has been a good father before paulo was even born. always so caring, always so loving towards you and the growing belly. it was more than you could have imagined the night, you met the midfielder and engaged in a conversation.

the man you loved, who pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of paulo‘s hair. the little boy that looked exactly like his father, and would grow into such a great person as well. it was perfect.

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marymary-diva17 · 11 months ago

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always be one of the people

Neytiri family x reader x tsut'ey + Jake sully and others

All children are a blessing to the great mother as she saw, all children born on pandora as one of her children. So what happens when a child comes from the skies, a child that doesn't look like anyone else around here. Will she been seen as child of eywa and one of the many people on Pandora or will se been see outsider and the demons that will come to destroyer the planet she will call home.

mo'at " ......" moa's was walking through the forest as she was falling some wood spirts, she had left her home today when the came to her soon stealing her attention.

mo'at " where are you leading me great mother where" mo'at ears soon went up when she heard a babies cries, and as a mother herself her mother mood had kicked in and followed the cries. She soon stopped running once the cries die down and she saw Thanator stand a bit away from blue thing. That blue thing was a navi baby mo'at got her blade out and walked towards the creature, she will not leave the child defenseless.

mo'at " huh" the Thanator soon noticed mo'at as the wood spirts soon came, and soon enough the Thanator had taken off. mo'at race to the child to see it had the blood of the sky people.

mo'at " hello little one wow you are special" mo'at was looking at the child who reach out hand that was not like everyone else, she had five finger and hair on her face. mo'at was looking at the baby as she soon smile and laugh. The wood spirts had landed on the baby forehead making eywa see this as sign.

mo'at " come you will be with my family I will take you in as my daughter as raise you as my own" when mo'at had return with the odd looking baby, it had gained the whole clan attention as no one saw a baby like that until her. Due to mo'at being the tshaik she had the last saying after she told everyone the child, had been blessed by eywa there was no going against her.

Many years later

Y/n “ ………” you are laying in your bed fast asleep, in your family mauri pod. Soon enough the sunlight had hit your face, and you soon got up from your bed.

Y/n “ another day to see what the great mother has to offer” you soon got ready for the day and soon left the home, after grabbing some fruit. You had some plans of exploring the forest along with study the sky people aka humans that came many years ago. There was a major obstacle in your way well three obstacles that stopped you.

???? “ where are you going my daughter”

y/n " good morning mother"

mo'at " morning my daughter you have still not answered my question"

y/n" I'm going out exploring motor and to understand the humans a bit more"

mo'at " you know your father, neytiri, and tsu'tey will hate that idea"

y/n " yes I know but I feel like there something calling to me"

mo'at " I know my child I know"

y/n " I know sneaking off is bad but if dad caught me he will not be happy, and if neytiri caught me she would tag along and try to stop me for going anywhere she deems unsafe"

mo'at " what about tsu'tey"

y/n " he sill do anything in his power to make sure I don't go I love him dearly, but there are times when he do overprotective and I know I will not win a fight against him"

mo'at " they all love you dearly child in their own ways but I understand, go now I will come up with some excuse to them have some fun and follow the will of the great mother" you had smiled towards you mom and hugged her before you ran off with a bright smile on your face. You were wondering around the forest having a time of your life. While wondering your had gather some stuff for yourself and your mother as well.

y/n " huh" you were done doing some gather when you saw some wood spirts foaling near you, making you laugh and smile as you reach out your hand to them.

y/n " It seems like I have been blessed by the great mother or she sending me a sign"

???? " maybe a sign that your shouldn't be wondering off alone during times like this" you soon got spooked when you heard a voice you knew so well, you soon turn away to see tsu'tey standing there.

y/n " oh tsu'tey what are you doing out here did you make sure to have breakfast, before you started your day I hate when you miss meals"

tsu'tey " I hate it when you sneak off without telling others where you are going"

y/n " I don't know what you mean I'm no longer a child I can stay out longer when I wish"

tsu'tey " yes you are no longer a child and member of the clan but you are my future mate, and ma y/n I can worry about you" tsu'tey was now standing near you and soon looked at you.

tsu'tey " what the matter ma y/n"

y/n " are you sure you wish to be with me"

tsu'tey " you are my first love and will always have my heart, there is no one else I rather be with ma yawne"

y/n " are you sure what if our children come looking out like me, will you still love me and them"

tsu'tey " I will love them no matter what our children will be wonderful and blessing and I will love them no matter what happens" you soon laugh and kissed tsu'tey check making the warrior smile.

y/n " you are my warrior"

tsu'tey " you are my heart"

y/n " your warriors are waiting for you don't keep them waiting" tsu'tey soon noticed his students waiting for him, tsu'tey soon kissed your forehead.

tsu'tey " I will see you later tonight at dinner and we can talk more"

y/n " yes my love goodbye" tsu'tey and his warriors soon took off leaving you there, as you went back to herb collecting. You soon made your way back home when you soon ran into your father.

eyuthan " there you are my daughter I was wondering where you ran off today"

y/n " hello father"

eyuthan " so tell me my daughter what are you up to"

y/n " trying to see what the great mother has planned for me, but it seems like I have yet to get answers"

eyutahn " you will get answers soon daughter no need to rush" eyuthan smiles at his daughter making you smile back at him, he soon place comforting hands on your shoulder.

eyuthan " you will always be my daughter and one of the people, no matter what anyone else has to say you are the child of eywa"

y/n " thank you father"

neytiri " sister there you are come on you are with me today ... will it be fine if I take her father"

eyuthan " yes you both can go now I will see you all later on" you and your sister soon walked off together, you were hoping that this happens will last forever for you and your loved ones. Not to your knowledge that some of the things you held so dear will soon be ripped away from you, and that life will never be the same ever again for you.

#avatar x reader #avatar x y/n #avatar #tsutey #tsu'tey x reader #tsutey avatar #tsutey x reader #tsu’tey x reader #neytiri x jake #neytiri te tskaha mo'at'ite #neytiri avatar #neytiri x reader #jake x reader #neytiri #neytiri x y/n #neytiri x you #mo'at #mo'at x reader

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maneatrrz · 2 years ago

Text

‧₊˚✩ 01 ; girls like girls / k. sully

♡ 𓂃 ꒰ girls like girls! ꒱˚.༄ ೃ kiri sully x fem!reader. 901 words. one of two. ⌒(≧▽° )

𓆩♡𓆪 synopsis: kiri sully was certain she wouldn’t ever exist to you-at least, not in the way that she wanted to.

content: na'vi!reader, metkayina!reader, emo teenage angst!kiri, reluctant babysitter!kiri, kiri turning into shakespeare. tuk being the sweet little demon baby she was meant to be. she is my child and i love her so dearly. i don't know, this is pretty short for the first part? but i wanted to get this out for the additional notes and i was just having writer's block with it. sorry!

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ additional notes: i have posted this in the midst of aging drama-the actor who portrays kiri, sigourney weaver, is not a minor. and according to john landau, james cameron's literal production partner, the na'vi have a longer lifespan than humans: 160-180 years, as oppose to the average 80, and they are older than the "equivalent-looking human". as in: na'vi years and human years are not the same. the na'vi reach their adulthood in the time that is equal to 15-17 human years. after that, their aging stagnates. which means if lo'ak and kiri have been alive for fourteen human years, and neteyam has been for fifteen-lo'ak and kiri are the human equivalent of seventeen, and neteyam is eighteen. idk what to tell you girlies. these are 8-foot tall, motion-rigged blue space aliens. enough. i turned eighteen like two months ago and watching you guys made my head hurt. let's put this energy towards real-life child predators, and women & men pushing thirty simping for blatanly established human minor characters! anyways, hope you enjoy this first part of the fic. thank you lovelies.

୨✩୧ ; fic under the cut!

there was no reason for kiri sully to feel such ardor towards you. absolutely none. yet, she couldn’t help but be entranced by the way you moved through the waves.

you were just gliding through cerulean waters with lo’ak, neteyam, tsireya, ao’nung, and roxto. jake had introduced you all to the human custom of ‘marco polo’ when you were young, and it seemed you had never grown out of it. kiri had been thrown out of the game, looking over tuk’tirey for her father while she made a sandcastle. tuk was especially displeased with this, as she thought she could beat you all flawlessly in marco polo. but alas, she was not allowed to wade out that far.

watching your every move from afar, kiri surmised that you were not very good at this game. every single person who was marco before had gotten you immediately, no matter how far away you started. probably because you would start splashing and kicking every time they got close, through a fit of feverish giggles. especially when lo’ak was marco-he’d ignore everyone else just to get to you. then, it became the coquettish game of ‘how fast can [name] swim to escape impending doom?’

“this sucks,” she caviled and clutched a stick limply, etching your name in the warm, manila sand.

“you would feel better if you built a sandcastle,” tuk hummed with an expectant lilt, looking at kiri.

“i would feel better if i was lo’ak.”

“would you really? he kinda smells.”

“true,” kiri tilted her head with a nod, scribbling out your name. “[name] doesn’t seem to care, though.”

“oh, blegh,” tuk’tirey stuck her tongue out, swatting at kiri. “stop that.”

“jeez, jeez-” kiri raised her hands in defense of tuk’s minacious and staunch (endearing and incredibly light) pummels. “tuk, i’m not even doing anything!”

“you’re doing that thing that daddy does when mommy looks at tonowari for more than like, two seconds. you’re being all,” tuk did a sashay back to her sandcastle before turning around and putting her hands on her hips, “j-e-l-u-s. jealous.”

“hello? it’s j-e-a-l-o-u-s. you literally cannot spell.”

“i’m literally seven and i’m trying my best.”

“fair enough. but i’m not jealo-” she was cut off by tuk ‘kikiki’-ing at her with an outstretched finger. “you know what? fine. maybe i am a little bit jealous. but it’s not like it matters, anyways.”

kiri threw her head back, falling into the sand. she stared up at the calm azure heavens adorned with ivory, velvet clouds. the image paired perfectly with what kiri called the polyphonic melody of unrequited love: her pining heartbeat reverberating through her spine, your distant, cherubic laughter, and the sound of the waves skimming across the shore, before melting back slowly into the sea. as far as kiri was aware, you only knew her as one of two of neteyam’s (your neighbor) siblings your age. not the goofy, obnoxious younger brother with unkempt braids and winsome dimples, but the brooding basketcase of a sister. the looming, deviant character who thought she could feel the heartbeat of the empyrean, the atlantis, and the motherlands. she was certain that to you, she faded miserably in comparison to the awkwardly-charming foreigner and prodigal eldest son that newly inhabited awa’atlu. she could tell from the way you hung on every honey-coated word that was uttered from neteyam’s lips-big, sparkly doe eyes complete with dilated pupils completely enraptured by him. kiri could tell from the way those roseate, glacé lips of yours curved into an intoxicating smile that she simply couldn’t get enough of, everytime lo’ak unleashed his ‘comedic brilliance’. she was certain she wouldn’t ever exist to you-at least, not in the way that she wanted to. “yeah, this seriously sucks.”

“why don’t you just ask if she likes you?” a query from tuk that made kiri jolt up, turning her head to tuk’tirey in bewilderment.

“absolutely flabbergasting. that you just told me, to do that.”

“why? whenever i have a question, i ask it.”

“but this is different, tuk,” kiri exhaled deeply, bringing her knees to her chest. she ran her hands through her hair, before scratching the top of her head. “she’s a girl, and i’m not a boy.”

“so? i don’t see a problem,” tuk contorted her face in confusion, before shrugging and kicking her meticulously crafted sand fortress-she was getting bored. she sat down crisscrossed in front of kiri, tapping her nose. “girls like girls, like boys do. nothing new.”

tuk’s idea was not entirely inane as kiri’s riposte made it out to be. it was getting harder to mask her tempestuous affinity for you, with each passing moment. you merely being around her made her heart beat at such a frenetic pace in her sternum. your scent permeated her senses, suffusing her cheeks a feverish and tender sanguine-you smelled as saccharine as the candied simpers you gave her, with light floral notes and a hint of ocean’s brine. and your visage-oh, your countenance as a whole-remained steadfast as the most ravishingly beauteous thing she had ever seen. you were like a painting to her: every curve and every color was painted by eywa’s pedantic hand.

“so if i were to…” kiri closed her eyes with a sharp, delayed sigh, shaking her head. “...confess, when would i? or-how would i?”

tuk’s mouth curved into a smile laced with playful, youthful malign.

kiri was going to have her hands full, wasn’t she?

#@GIA_POSTED!#@AVATAR #@PURE-HEARTED #avatar x reader #avatar x you #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar fanfiction #avatar kiri #kiri sully #kiri te suli kìreysì'ite #kiri x reader #kiri x y/n #kiri x you #kiri sully x reader #kiri sully x you #kiri sully x y/n

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faulty-writes · 1 year ago

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heyhey how are you doing ? I was super excited to see someone writing so much for Tenya. So if it's okay...Can you write hc of him with a romantic partner (gn or fem if you feel more comfortable writing fem) who tries to bond with his family, like someone who would befriend Tensei, help him with his recovery maybe, would get along with his parents etc ⸜( ´ ꒳ ` )⸝

[ I'm doing okay, thank you for asking. Been busy with schoolwork, Abnormal Psychology is kicking my ass this term but so far I've gotten A's so, hooray for me. Also got a new job. Honestly, he's very popular on my blog because I write him well. At least that's what everyone tells me, hah. Anywho, this sounds adorable. Plus Tensei is mentioned! I love him very dearly as well. ]

"This is Y/n. She is my fellow student and romantic partner. She is rather admirable for the way she so victoriously displays her heroic skills during our assigned training sessions as well as the way she articulates her quirk!" You weren't sure if you were more embarrassed that those were his first words when introducing you to his family or that his mother immediately took a liking to you, going as far as to thank you for your interest in her son.

It was an honor to meet Tensei since Tenya continuously spoke of his admiration for the now-retired pro hero. Although it saddened you to see him in a wheelchair, it didn't dampen his spirits. "Hey! It's awesome to meet the girl my little brother keeps talking about!" He said, happily shaking your hand. "Brother! I ask you not to go into such details regarding that," Tenya insisted, flushing softly.

"Apologies, my family has requested my assistance." You understood that family was a priority for Tenya, especially considering he bragged about the Iida name. Because of this, he canceled your date plans on occasion, and you tried to remain supportive considering family bonds were precious.

On more than one occasion, you had dinner with the Iida family. "It is quite an honor to share this family bonding moment with you! I do hope the Iida family has made you feel welcome!" Tenya would always try to break the ice and unlike his mother, his father was less impressed by you but regardless, you tried your best to connect with him.

"You can pull harder, it's totally okay!" Tensei said. Sometimes you'd help him with his physical therapy exercises when Tenya was busy studying or just provide him with companionship, all of which Tenya would thank you for. "To show such noble attributes to fallen heroes is a wonderful characteristic! I hope that I may be able to display true hero qualities such as yours one day!" Sometimes his praise was too much.

His mother would invite you to go shopping or out to eat. Of course, you weren't used to the fine taste the Iida family was known for. However, you genuinely enjoyed your time and when you returned, Tenya was eager to hear what had happened.

The basis of your relationship was honesty and open communication, and you extended this courtesy to his family. Especially with his father who asked you specific questions regarding your dreams and goals for the future. He also asked you about your romantic life both with his son and any past partners you had.

The two of you managed to keep each other in balance and more importantly, worked around your busy schedules. Between your academic and personal lives, it was tricky to maintain your romantic life. But Tenya always made time to show you how much he and, to an extent, his family cared and loved you.

#tenya x female reader #iida x fem!reader #iida x female reader #tenya x you #iida x reader #iida x y/n #tenya x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #tenya x reader #iida x you #faulty writes: tenya iida: 23 #faulty writes: tenya iida: headcanons: 23

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ladylaviniya · 11 months ago

Text

The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 4 || MasterList || Chapter 6

Chapter Summary: August decides to test you with a taste of bondage which leads to a violent fit and a deadly confession...

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Non-Con, Description of Suicide & Self Harm, Trauma Dumping, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Oral Sex M!receiving, Fingering F! receiving, Child abuse, physical abuse, manipulation, subspace.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Author Notes:

★This chapter is based off of the real life events of my father's issues with women and his eventual death. He did toxic things but at the end of the day I still love him dearly and would sacrifice so much to have him back. He was my first best friend in this world. Please be kind. He is the reason I managed to write this story in the first place as a form of narration therapy

★Okay so I might be publishing this chapter earlier than I usually would because I'm doing a lot of packing and searching for a sharehouse or live in because I cannot stand my current housemate. I also am not sure if my rostered shifts will be taking on a new schedule. So please take this early chapter and be patient until I can post the following in 2-3weeks maybe... I'm not too sure honestly. Ciao Bella 😘

Inspiring Song: "Brutal" by Olivia Rodriguez

03:00pm Sunday 18th August 2024, Robertson, Brisbane

When the light hit your eyes you grunted and rubbed them with your fingers until they could handle the new bright light around you with the blindfold off.

You shivered staring up at him. Your eyes were still moist.

He had not changed his clothes. He was smiling softly down at you. He held something against your skin. Trailing the soft material along the goosebumps. Looking down at his mysteriously soft item you shrieked.

“No! No not the rope please stop! Not the rope!” You scooted away from him to the top corner of the bed, “Anything, tape, chain, ziptie but not the rope.”

His hand grabbed your ankle and dragged you viciously back to him. His hand pressed down hard on your chest and trapped you on the mattress.

You started screaming and hitting him. Punching his arms and kicking your legs. He slapped the rope beside your head and laid on top of you until you struggled to breathe and fight. His weight hurt so much, pressing on you arms and hips.

He shoved his forehead on top of yours. His nose nudged your cheek as you wept hard and blinked with those wet lashes.

“Please, don’t,” you whimpered, breaking back into another sob.

He exhaled and pressed his lips to your ear. His tongue was wet and breath hot. It felt ticklish and you had to fight the giggle in your throat. It came out in a horrid choking sensation. Tears peaked and fell down your face, wetting his.

“….the rope is the gentlest on the skin….” He purred heavily, “Why are you so frightened of it, huh?”

“Be-because,” you blubbered, “because my da-ad he-he-he….with rope.”

He sat up off you, letting you breathe and suck a healthy breath of air. You were frozen, laying down, too petrified to move.

August grabbed the rope again and twisted the tip with his fingers, “Is it because he hung himself?”

Your eyes widened. It was like a switch or spark or strike. Something lit the bubbling fuel of rage that had been sitting and mellowing deep in your belly.

'How dare he...'

You flung yourself forward and slapped him the hardest your body strength could manage. A loud ring of the skin bounced on the walls of his large empty home. His eyes were wide and his smile grew wider.

'How dare he!'

You felt the tsunami of anger and fury explode out of you. Your nails swiped him. You caught the skin of his neck and the back of his hand as you tried to claw out his eyes screaming from the bottom of your belly.

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Don’t say that! Don't you ever fucking say that again! You take it back! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

You tried to kill him. You pounced at him from the bed and gagged loudly as the collar and chain snagged your throat. You must’ve looked like a feral animal. Your teeth were nashing and your hands curled like claws at him as you screamed and yelled incoherently.

He grabbed your wrists and held them above your head in the air. You were no match for his strength. Your legs couldn't stretch out and try to kick him either. Your 'claws' were unable to scratch at any of him. His face wasn't smiling smugly. Instead he looked at you with confusion, perhaps pity?

You choked as your body seized, "Fu-ck you Aug-" you took in a shattering breath that burned your lungs, "Fuck you August! You piece of fucking shit!"

A part of you wanted to hear him take it back, to prove nothing very happened. Deep inside you yearned for no one to ever speak of those events because you could just pretend deep inside that it never ever happened. The shame and anger wouldn’t exist, the loss wouldn’t be as bad and permanent. You wanted to kill August for even mentioning it. He wasn’t allowed to talk about it, 'he has no right'…how did he even know? God you hated how much he probably knew about you.

'How much stalking did he do?'

He waited for you to stop screaming and waited until your sobbing had died down again. Your head pounded loudly in your ears as you let it fall and hang. Your tears dripped quietly on the bed covers.

August very slowly released your wrists. You lowered them and held them to your chest. They were sore.

You half expected August to slap you. But when you dared to look back up at him, towering above you still, he was untangling the folded rope. You gulped.

He pressed a knee onto the mattress and laid a hand on your naked chest. He barely needed to use much force, shoving you onto your back. You whimpered. Too scared to try and fight back again.

“O' my sweet, darling girl, Shhh” he cooed, his knuckles brushed the sweat beading on your face “How life has dealt you a poor hand…” he soft rolled you to lay on your front.

You felt your body relax. He rubbed your spine with the flat of his hand smoothly. You shut your eyes and hiccupped loudly.

You were tired and especially depressed. You didn't want to go to sleep but you also wanted to wake up from whatever nightmare this was. You sincerely hoped he would just kill you at that point. Why did he have to torture you like this?

August grabbed your two wrists and tugged them behind your back, sending you into a shock again feeling the line of material on your skin.

“Please no rope!”

You couldn't pull your hands back but twisted and turned pulling and making it difficult for him to tie any safe knit around your hands. He clicked his tongue and smacked your hip.

“Look at me,” he said and waited until your eyes glanced at him, flooded in glassy tears, “You’re safe, I won’t hurt you with the rope. I promise.”

“Y-your promises mean fuck all!” You hissed with wobbling lips, “You sick fuck!”

You heard him drag out a long. His thumbs rubbed the inside of your wrists.

“And I promise you’ll regret that comment, but I digress…I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?...Help me!?”

You screamed as he began to wrap the cord around your wrists again, “Stop! Get off me! No! Please!” You sobbed hard and tried to kick him but it was met with a sharp slap to your backside, “Please! I’m begging you. For the love of God, stop! No rope!” He tightened the tie around your wrists and push you totally onto your belly.

His hands wrapped your ankles tightly and started to push them up your wrists. Your face turned to the side and you squeezed your eyes shut attempting at the last second of anything that could get him to stop.

You swallowed any sense of pride you had left.

“Daddy….” You panted, “Please Daddy stop it. Please stop tying. Daddy please.”

His fingers paused and he left go of your ankles. It was a hiccup of relief that left your mouth.

“Good girl,” his hand said subbing his thumb over the back of your neck, “You’re learning.”

The air in your lungs was disappearing, you hated yourself for submitting to him like this. You tightened your lips and tensed as his breath fanned your face.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded, you obeyed.

“Look at me,” he said, you obeyed.

He had a softened expression on such a hard face. He had this Dr. Jeckle and Hyde side about him.

He would look so sweet and kind and then the next turn into this hardened angry man.

He scared you.

He pushed you to roll back in your back. Your tied arms were crushed underneath you. You were helpless and scared.

He unlocked the chain from the collar.

“Deep breath in,” he asked and laid a hand on your belly. You obeyed.

“And out.”

A breath came out sounding like a gasp and yawn and moan. You were exhausted.

“Now, you are going to not fight me, not squirm. I have kindly let you through your tantrum, now you’re going to be a good girl and lay across my lap. I want you to talk to me and if you stop talking, I’m going to spank you. Do you understand?”

You pouted, “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want you to hit me,” you whined.

He chuckled and ran his thumb gently cross your cheek, “Good, because I want you to talk.”

“About what?” you sniffled loudly.

“How did you find out. About him…your father.”

Your eyes widened and you shook you head dismissively, “No, I don’t want to talk about that.”

“You will,” August recounted.

“I won’t…you c-can’t make me!” you snapped.

Within seconds he sat on the bed and hauled your body over his lap, delivering three hard and loud spanks. As you wailed he rubbed the rising welts on your backside. The heat of your blood screamed to the top of your skin.

“You said that with a little too much confidence,” August muttered, squeezing the stinging flesh, “Let’s try that again, yes?”

“You knew he…” you choked, unable to share the gruesome truth yourself, “did that with the rope. That’s how. That's all there is to say.”

August’s hand left another scorching mark across your arse cheek. You tried to squirm, you tried to push away but his other arm tightly hugged your middle.

“Say it. How he did it,” August commanded.

You spat back with a screech in you tongue, “You already know!!!”

He spanked you again before yelling, “Say it!”

“He fucking killed himself!” You roared, “Is that what you want to hear, you arsehole!? He took a piece of rope, tied it to the ceiling fan and fucking hung himself!!!”

You swore the whole room shook along with your anguished voice.

“And why did he do it?” The billionaire asked the billionaire question.

You hissed, “Go to fucking hell August!” Another stinging wack of his palm.

You could hear the venom drop from his tongue as he grabbed the back of your neck and pinchingly pulled.

“Why did he do it!?”

“Because he fucking hated me!" You squealed in defeat, "He hated me! He couldn’t stand to look at me! I was his mistake!”

Your throat was sore and scratched. He let go of your neck.

After a few embarrassing moments of silence you could hear his voice softenly ask, “And how are you his mistake?”

“Stop!”

He grabbed the back of your head and tugged it up, he grunted into the shell of your ear, “How? Tell me or I’ll belt your arse so raw it’ll bruise and you won't sit for a fucking week!”

When you put up more silence, you were pushed forward and could hear the clinking of his belt coming undone.

“Teen pregnancy,” you hastily blurted, wincing, hoping he wouldnt just use his belt already, “He didn’t know my mum was underage. When she had me, she left us, she left me with him. He took custody. He couldn’t find anyone to replace my mum, he hated me for it- I know he did. He got girlfriends and they didn’t last long…they didn’t want a kid so soon in their lives, so his heart was broken more than once.”

You took a gulp. Your hands behind your pack trembled. His fingers rubbed your inner thigh and pinched your backside.

“Is that the only reason he hated you?” August asked softly.

“No,” shaking your head you shuddered, “it’s not.”

“Why else?”

It hurt, god it hurt to say it…to be forced to confess the honest agony.

“Because I wasn’t a boy and even as a girl I wasn’t pretty. He never said I looked beautiful or pretty when I asked, he just looked away and shrugged...why was I so ugly?” You complained, “Why do I have to look so much like the worst parts of my parents? It’s not fair!” Your nose sniffled as your eyes began to sting hot.

Your kidnappers soft voice then asked, “What else wasn’t fair?”

“H-how he loved his wife more than me. He picked her up one day and said I needed to start calling her my mum and I couldn’t, she was only eleven years older than me, it was weird. I didn’t understand why he chose someone who was only twenty years old at the time, and why he didn’t believe me when I told him how she hurt me when he was at work….he only hit her once he walked in on her choking me…when I started to bleed from the cut on my face. She moved out and started cheating on him. God, I hate how he still loved her.”

“He saw her hurt you like that…and he still loved her? How did you know she was cheating on him?”

His fingers started to do wickedly things. The tips tickled at your labia and dip down to dance along your clit. You hissed and tightened your thighs around his hand, but it didn’t stop him rubbing and molesting you.

You talked, not wanting another spanking and know full well there was nothing to stop him trying to pleasure your cunt.

“Her boyfriends would come around asking to see her. They’d try to come in and touch me too but I’d threaten to call the police and they’d be flying out the door.”

August sighed happily as he felt your heart beat throb against your pussy. He condescendingly asked, “Your dad knew this was happening?”

You whimpered and shook your head, your cheek rubbed the duvet. Your shut your eyes and grunted as a finger prodded your hole. You knew this was sick.

“Yes! And then he tried to slit his wrists to guilt his bitch wife to come back but I called the ambulance in time and got the blood…the bleeding to…to stop….”

“That explains the scars. But that's not what killed him.”

You nodded, he was right.

“He…” you paused as August slid two fingers into your pussy and slowly pushed then in and out, your breath hitched. It was wrong what he was doing to you. And it was wrong you softly moaned.

“Dad got out of the hospital after forty eight hours.”

Your hands clenched in fists, August could see that, you grunted, “They let him fucking loose! I was so angry at him. I told him he could kill himself only after I finished highschool.”

You remembered that look on your dads face as he pouted in his recliner refusing to look you in the eye. What did you expect after you spent hours screaming at him? You were only seventeen. You had to go to school knowing your dad was in hospital and there was a chance he could die….all that blood….red was your least favourite colour for a long while. You didn’t say anything to teachers, you didn’t need to deal with the police asking questions and making things worse with child protection.

Your sighed and felt August’s fingers stop fucking you gently. They paused and pulled away. Your breath hitched as your body felt empty of his hot digits. He drew soft lines on your ass with your wetness.

You heard him warn,“….you know what happens when you grow silent or should I remind you.”

You said nothing and bared the pain of the spank. A hissed caught through your lips but you whispered.

August didn’t catch it at first and made you repeat. You felt flushed. You couldn’t believe you were actually asking him.

You weren’t crying anymore, you didn’t want to, you were angry and sad.

“August…if I call you Daddy…will you let me sit up and…hug me?”

The sound of his inhaled was like a contemplation, “I’m not sure…that’s a special privilege…why don’t you try and ask nicely?”

You opened your eyes and looked over your shoulder at him and whimpered, “Pl-please hug me Daddy.”

He slid a hand beneath your chest and held your hip as he pulled you up and turned you around. He crossed his legs on the bed and swaddled you in his arms. Your hands were still behind your back, your hot bottom stuck onto his trousers.

“C’mere sweetheart,” his voice broke you, you started to whimper and dug your face into his shoulder and cried into his warm cotton shirt.

“Daddy’s got you, all safe now.” He said as he rocked you and let you compose yourself. You pressed your cheek to his collarbone and shut your eyes.

How could a cruel man like him become soft?...

He asked and held your cheek as he rocked very slowly, “And what happened after you gave him permission to end his own life?”

'It wasn't permission, it was a last chance to plea...'

“He did as promised…he waited…and waited…and then when he said he was going to end his marriage I was actually happy for him.” Your voice trembled, “I said he was smart and told him that he…he…wait…no…that’s not right...I-”

You swallowed and squeezed your eyes opened as horror and realisation poured from your puffy mouth, “I said ‘It's about time…’ and the-then he gave me all of his cameras. And left. A few hours he came back, he told me he went to see his wife and I knew he meant he went to go sleep with her….I got so angry.”

You sighed, “I threw something at him?…a cup? A plate? It doesn’t matter. I didn’t even feel guilty for doing it…I was happy I made him sad…for the first time I fed off the glee that he felt shitty…I said he was a ‘fucking loser and a dumb ass.’ I said he shouldn’t have ever had me, should never gotten married and if he was going to keep letting himself get fucked over by his wife he should….”

You cut yourself off. You whimpered and buried your nose into August’s armpit.

Why did he have to smell so good? Why didn’t this man have terrible body odour?

You heard him tut and pulled your shoulder away from him. He cupped your jaw and ran a thumb over your bottom lip.

“What did you say?…Y/N?”

“I said…” you gasped and cried, “he should go fuck himself and stop the pity party because it was me that should be sad and suicidal, not him.”

With another suck if air you growled and glared into August’s eyes, “But…God…deep down I said in my mind that he should kill himself and make it easier for me to hate him. It’s all my fault.” Your eyes looked up to the ceiling while your face contorted.

August leg go of your face and brushed his fingers through your hair as he said soothingly, “Your thoughts didn’t kill him.”

Your naked body pressed into him. You couldn’t hold the balance for to long and leaned against him. Your nose touched his and you frustratedlg groaned, “B-but I was so mean to him…I threw a plate at him. I called him names. I bullied him and argued…I…I killed him. I know it was me.”

August kissed your cheek and slid you down back to his chest to hug you. He turned your hips out and patted your bottom softly.

You didn’t need prompting anymore from him.

“And normally every night I’d always ask him at dinner how his day was, I’d tell him I’d loved him and that I was going to bed and would see him in the morning before he’d go to work. He would get up at four am and leave at five am. He drove a truck around town, delivering to the Asian grocery stores and bars, he was their favourite delivery driver…they’d give him presents and free food all the time.”

“Yea?” August cooed, “What else? Did you wish him a goodnight?”

You mewled, “No, I didn’t. I-I was so m-mad. I told him I hated him and I said he wasn’t allowed in my room. I slammed the door so-so hard…he didn’t go to work and I felt like he was grumpy at me, his door was shut…When it was six am I made him some breakfast and I put it outside his door because he didn’t answer my knocking…”

You took a pause and swallowed to stop yourself crying, you forced a pitiful laugh from your mouth, “I was such a cunt…I remember saying something stupid like ‘’fine be a prick.” I started to clean my room and do the laundry and by nine am he still hadn’t grabbed the porridge. I got…a little frustrated -but I felt sorry for throwing the cup or plate and I knew he was upset. I went in to go wake him up or to apologise…”

You grew totally silent and August waited patiently.

You whispered into his neck, “His feet…I-I saw his feet first and you know what’s sick?” you smiled weakly.

August smiled and whispered back, “What’s sick?”

“I laughed and asked dad, ‘’how did you figure out how to float like that?” And I remember the stab of shock that jolted in me the moment it clicked…” you licked your bottom lip and shrugged, “his forehead was swollen and his eyes not fully shut. Lips a little blue… It was awful. I can’t forget that look.” You sighed and looked August in the eye, “He….he looked like he was made of wax…the moment I knew what he had done I grabbed his legs. I tried to pull him down. And when I couldn’t figure out how to get the rope off the fan I tried to use his phone to call help. His phone was flat. I tried to run to my room and grab mine but I tripped over the bowl of porridge and hit the ground hard.”

You remembered the loud this and the slippery wetness on your side. Your face cringed and you pulled your knees up in August’s lap a little more. He continued to pat your backside.

“I was screaming. I remember the pain in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I had to crawl to my phone because it was too painful to walk. I barely remember the woman on the phone. But she tried to ask me to check his pulse and I didn’t want to go back into the room.”

You gasped, “God I didn’t but I did….I had to. And I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t hear his belly move or his heart beat. I remember standing for a very long time, just holding his legs trying to get him to stand up on my shoulders or, to move. He was freezing…he…I don’t know how long….but…the um…the officers came in, they…I don’t know how they got in…maybe they picked the lock. They got him down and took him out. I got mad they didn’t let me come ….one officer told me it wasn’t an ambulance so I couldn’t come…I don’t think I was able to accept that he died, not until they wrung me up a week later to tell me he was ready to be released and have a funeral set up. A part of me thought he would wake up like a miracle…like he could just do some supernatural shit…like he would come home that evening or the next morning and ask me to make him porridge. And he’d smile and say he just felt sad or something and-and that he would buy me some noodles or some sponge cakes when he went to work tomorrow...”

You angrily whined, “But he didn’t…fucking arsehole. He left me…he…died…he…hated me and chose….the easy way out…”

August rubbed your back and whispered, “Cry.”

“What?” you shuddered not understanding what he was saying.

“You’re allowed to cry. You want to cry….so cry,” he said.

Your blinked once, twice and then the damn broke entirely. You wept into his shoulder and just started to blabber, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Pl-please don’t spank me Daddy.”

He sympathetically crooned, “O' my sweet girl, no more, you don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to, daddy has heard enough.”

After some time of more sobbing and rocking in his arms you rubbed your eyes and yawned.

“I’m so tired,” you moaned and smiled sadly at the feeling of his warm chest vibrate with a chuckle.

“I bet you are poppet, lay back” he pulled away and lifted the bed covers. He lifted you up and slid your legs inside beneath the layers. “You can have a nap,” he whispered sweetly as his fingers tugged at the knot of your bound wrists. When the came undone you curled them Infront of you and rolled onto your side facing him. He locked the chain to your collar and smiled at you. You smiled back.

Jesus…your brain felt fuzzy about that…he forced you to talk about your father and how it was your fault, he humilated you worse than when you cummed in the recliner in your apartment…and you….wanted to fucking thank the man….'what the actual fuck?'

Something made you want to accept this condesending treatment as long as he held you and cradled you and let you cry without a fear of judgement.

To this day you’ll never understand what possessed you to do it… but you could never take it back. As he started to shift away and move off the bed, your hand shot out and wrapped itself around his wrist.

“N-no, don’t leave me, please,” you begged, your eyes soaked the pillow while your wet lips trembled.

He looked down at your hand and softly sighed, he leant down to your head and kissed your temple, “I’m right here, I’m not going far, I’m going to grab you some painkillers because I know you’re going to have a headache soon.”

“N-no!” you whined.

His eyes widened before his voice hardened in a commanding grunt, “Y/N…let go of me…be a good girl…”

You didn’t….you couldn’t. Your hand squeezed tighter. He touched it with the rope and noticed how you flinched off him in seconds like the rope had magically burnt your hand.

He nodded and pursed his lips, “I promise I’ll be back in five minutes.”

He made true to the promise…he returned in four minutes and forty seconds…how did you know? Because you desperately counted ever single one until your abuser returned.

A cup in his hand and a pill in his palm. You didn’t have the guts to ask if it was a pair killer or the same drug that forced you unconcious when he first fucked you.

“Open up those pretty little lips.”

Your mouth parted, he popped the pill in and held the edge of the cup to your thirsty chapped lips, “Drink.”

You guzzled the water down and let out a relieved gasp as he set it aside on the table. “Good girl.”

As he turned, you realised he was going to the door. Leaving… “W-wait!” you called and weakly sat up.

He paused at the door. His fingers traced the metal handle, “Yes?”

“D-don’t leave me…” your sucked in a deep and demeaning breath as you pleaded to him, “D-daddy please don’t go.”

You peeled the blankets back and struggled to crawl out towards him. His blue eyes blinked. He reached up and scratches his chin, observing your pathetic state. He tilted his head.

“What do you want?”

“I…I…” You struggled to answer, your bottom lip buried beneath you teeth, you sucked hard and whispered, “I want you to stay…I want…you to cuddle me again…please.”

A smirk spread in the corner of his mouth, “And what will I get in return?”

It was wounding…the concept you had to earn his affections now…where was the free treatment from that day you first met him?

You didn’t even know what you could offer him.

“I don’t have anything…I…I have barely any money...I don't know what you've done with my purse.”

He chuckled cruelly, “You have a commodity…your body. You have a mouth…”

Your eyes widened. It clicked what he was hinting at. You were unsure if you really want to just for a hug…but after such a long couple days and confusion in your life, you would offer anything for a moment of peace.

“I’ll suck your cock…” your mouth quivered, “Please just hold me…I’m tired and I’m scared. Please!”

He looked you up and down one last time before sighing and nodding. Your hands reached out like a sad needy puppy. His fingers cupped them and guided you back to your original spot.

He moved the chain away from you both. You kneeled and shut your eyes waiting for him to just use your mouth….

“Y/N…scoot over. You can do it in the morning.”

Relief washed over your head like a cold ice bucket.

He pushed your body away as he took off his shoes and socks. He slipped beside you and dragged you to his side.

He playfully scolded you, “I spoil you rotten.” His finger tapped your nose. He kissed your forehead and watched you happily sigh.

Your eyes started to grow droopy. You knew it was the unknown drug he used on you weeks ago. You grew tired too quickly for it not to be.

As your body felt motionless and gooey you let your head roll onto his shoulder. Your mouth uncontrollably starting to drool onto him. He was smiling and stroking your head almost lovingly.

You weren’t sure if he was going to use you while you fell into your drugged sleep but you were happy to have this small peace. Even if he killed you…you were going to die at peace.

“Goodnight,” you heard and fell into the mindless nothingness.

08:02am Monday 19th August 2024, Robertson, Brisbane

You had absolutely zero knowledge of what day it was, how long you had been with August, or where he had kept your clothes…when you woke up though, your eyes watched the ticking of his expensive looking watch. It’s handles moving slow at a time of eight am.

Your head slowly rose. Your chain reflected from the morning sunlight burning from the windows.

You held down the yawn building in your throat and glanced over your shoulder.

August was out cold.

His face was totally relaxed. His bushy eye brows however left a certain hardness to his face. His lips were slightly parted and a soft snore left through them.

He was handsome and it hurt you knowing that beautiful men could be as evil and abusive as ugly men. A beautiful man was probably more ugly because they could hide their evil better.

You gulped and tried to move carefully. You had no idea what waking up a man like him could do to you…and you remembered sincerely of the promise to suck his cock.

You had never sucked cock before...and it disgusted you to think about...

'Men pee from there, why do people even do blow jobs?...ew.'

But you promised, in exchange for this. A loving cradling in a bed with him. And as wonderful as it had felt for a brief moment, you couldn't help but resent your past promise to him.

The more time you put it off, the better.

As you moved you felt something metal press against your ass. Your fingers slowly and carefully picked at it. Lifting the small object to the light…it reflected light into your eye.

A tiny silver key…

The key….

To your chain….

You didn’t hesitate, you slowly unlocked it, trying to be as quiet as humanly possible. As the pad lock clicked open and the chain grew loose. You settle the chain careful on the pillow and away from his arm.

It was scary, the tension of moving your backside across the bed sheets. Your toes touching the carpet. Trying to move slow enough to move nothing. You pushed up and stood.

He hadn’t woken up not moved a inch. You swallowed and stood away from the bed. You stood confused and naked. You couldn't think about searching for clothes in this bedroom. You didn't know where he had stored your stolen gown. Your feet tiptoed to the open door.

You didn’t know if there was a home phone on a wall somewhere. You wondered where he had your clothes and most importantly your purse with your phone.

You recalled him stepping on your phone in the park and considered that it was probably destroyed and thrown away...August had such a fierce look about him. You shuddered and worried to see it again if he woke up soon with you missing.

You looked at the key on you and…you were desperate.

Shoving the metal in between your teeth, it slip to the back of your mouth and your eyes screamed as it swallowed and scratched the entire way down your throat.

There was no way you wanted him to chain you back to the bed. And something suggested confidently to you that the padlocks on the gag and blindfold were the same as the bed chain.

You found his room. You knew the millionaire would have a closet in his own master bedroom.

It was beside the bathroom. A walk in. Your purse was sitting on the centre island. You gasped and ran to it and dumped the contents. You found your phone and almost sobbed… the screen was shatter and it wasn't turning on.

With all the strength you mustered you kept your mouth closed and your brain calm. Your costume dress was still missing, you didn't have time to waste. You stole one of his shirts. It was hanging in a long collection, organised by shades of white, navy, grey and black.

'Definitely a psychopath. No one is this particular or maybe his housekeeper is. Does he have a housekeeper? Surely? He is rich enough.'

His shirts, trousers and blazers where either folded neatly or hanging in the open spaces after all being beautifully ironed.

You buttoned the shirt up. You couldn’t find his underwear. You found some sweat shorts and tried tightening them around your waist. His shorts that probably cut off at his knees ended at your mid calf.

God he was so fucking huge. It made you remember why he was so intimidating. His height…

You took your purse and even broken phone. Dashing out his closet and room you bolted down the hall and staircase.

You tried your best to remember where everything was, including the exit. You found the kitchen and stole a carving knife from a butcher block set.

If he or anyone wanted to fuck with you, you wanted to make it clear that there was gonna be a blood spill.

You would be okay going to jail for assault if it meant you got out of this shit alive. You just needed to run.

You got to the glass doors that led to the outdoor pool in the gardens and patio it would lead to the back yard or some sort of garage where you might find a security button to open the front gates and sprint to the nearest bus stop. Unlocking every piece you smiled as the glass easily slid open.

You felt the cold morning air hit your face and body. His clothes were light and did barely anything against the wind.

You stood onto the concrete platform and heard something shuffle around the bushes of the garden. For a moment you thought you were crazy hearing a growl…a animal growl…a dog growl…your eyes glanced to your side. Your fingers tightened around the kitchen knife.

You held your breath as you met the sight of a dog, no- no, a big fucking dog. A small bear if you might humour yourself. This dogs bottom was in the air while his head was on the floor, teeth bare and growling.

It’s massive coat was pricked up and defensive.

And when it pounced, you squealed and ran back inside, launching the glads door back closed. You heard the beast yelp as you closed the door on the tip of its nose.

It’s teeth was gnashing and biting as it barked at you through the glass.

You held up your hand to block the door from gliding open. You frantically turned the knob to lock it.

Fuck! August would wake up and find you missing if this wild animal kept barking. You felt like an idiot. Of course August would have at least one guard dog.

The moody guard dog huffed and turned around before bolting back and slamming itself onto the door.

The shock had you falling on your arse.

Or rather...into someone’s arms.

His strong muscle appendages caved around you. His hand grabbed your knife wielding hand harshly, twisting your wrist until you were forced to let it go.

The blade clattered loudly as you screamed and grunted pathetically.

August held you strong and walked backwards until he could sit on the couch with you squirming in his lap.

“Oh look at you, miss escape artist…” a whine caught in your throat as his nose shoved itself against your jaw. His voice heavily rasped, “Planning on trying to run off? O' believe you me…” he patronised, looking at his aggressive dog back at you “That would be a terrible idea…”

He slapped your inner thigh. You jumped and hissed from the sudden pain.

This morning would be one to remember for a while.

“I see you’ve met Kal!” His fingers dug into your sides. You sneered at him and grabbed at his hands, weakly pulling him off.

“You didn’t have a dog last time!” you whined as you squirmed.

He snickered and forced your legs over his hips. His hand snuck down into the stolen shorts and he kisses your neck as he rubbed at your clit.

“He was here last time, I swear but he was in his kennel that day and I wanted you all to myself.”

You sighed as his large fingers played and soothed you to a unpredictable horny mess.

There was no use fighting when he had you so caught up. You really weren’t sure if he would beat you but the memory of the recliner and the spanking in the guest bed were fresh to remind you how he could play with you if you refused or displeased him.

You wanted to get out alive. He caught you out of bed with his stolen clothes, your broken phone and a knife in hand. It wasn’t a good appearance.

He didn’t let you cum. No. He pulled his hand away before you reached the sweet completion.

Your bum felt his bone hard erection and struggled to move away from it.

“Do you know how much trouble you’re in? Answer me Y/N,” he softly pressed.

You shook your head and tried craning your neck back to kiss his prickly cheek.

“No…no I…I just…”

“Just thought you could leave without making good on your promise? You have a cock to suck… are you ready for that?”

You shook your head again and confessed strongly, “No, I don’t know how to do that….I said it because I was scared.”

He laughed again and chewed the bottom of your ear, “Oh? Then this will be exciting.”

He pulled your dazed body off and pressed you onto your knees on the carpet rug. Between his thighs, you swallowed and looked up at him. Smirking with a sadistic tilt to his head, August looked like a fallen angel.

You gagged as you watched him lift the hand that was just fucking you up to his lips. He licked and sucked each digit like they were a delicious treat. His exaggerated moans of pleasure had you rolling your eyes.

After another moment he put his hands back and jerked his chin at you.

“Well? Unzip me. Go on.”

His dogs barking made it hard for you to hear him but with your eyes following his lips and direction of eyesight you knew what he wanted out of you.

He watched with a lazy gaze as your finger tips pinched his zipper and tugged down the opening.

His flaccid dick, unprotected from any underwear greeted your sight.

With warm hands and a wish you had for any chance of forgiveness from him for trying to run out on him; you collected his cock into your palms.

It felt warm and lame for a moment before a great pulse cause you to jump and the member to flinch and twitch. His veins bobbed slightly.

You tried thinking about what girls in porn did…they always did this hugging thing with their breast. Motorboating? Tit surfing? You unbuttoned his stolen shirt in one hand while holding and squeezing his heavy cock in the other.

He was staring as you shed the silky shirt to the floor. You sat at his feet with your breasts bare. You wondered what was going through his head…he wasn’t just a lustful predator….he was a calculating business man.

That led you to ponder on if this was like a business transaction? You asked for his kindness and in exchange you had to debase yourself as his personal unpaid whore…

To make matters worse, you were unsure if catching you trying to escape would lead to some sick punishment like how he caught you in the club.

You were annoyed that if you made it out alive there was no evidence of those deals or the murder of the Melbourne Embezzler.

You were still behind in your plot of revenge and as tempting as it was just to bite his cock off with your teeth, you’d never leave this place alive…not even a chance…

You sat up a little on your knees and shuffled closer. You pulled at his cock some more until it was entirely hard in your palm.

He smirked before he mockingly asked, “Are you going to fucking suck it or am I just waiting here until you turn me off enough to lose interest?”

With widened eyes, you sheepishly stared at the pink thick sausage in your hand and cringed.

Your tongue timidly poked out and you licked at his tip. He sighed, but it was full of impatience. A strange anxiety filled you… overwhelming fear of disappointing him. You knew logically it was dumb. You didn't respect August why did you care what he actually thought of you? You just needed to get out of there alive.

Your tongue and lips spread kisses along his wide shaft before you opened your mouth as wide as you could and attempted to put him in your mouth. You looked crazy. Your teeth trying to stay wide open but your lips peeled back away from them….

August laughed at you, “Are you planning to bite my cock off with those rows of fangs?”

Eyes filled with confusion and self-conciousness fluttered up at him. His thumb rubbed along your cheek and he told you to wrap your teeth up in your lips and to stick out your tongue more.

Now it was truly humiliating…following his instructions and wagging your tongue out like some dog.

Your eyes glanced to the left where the glass doors were now empty of his fluffy beast.

His hand pushed your mouth down a little further. Your cheeks felt full with his girth along and when his head hit the bag if your throat, you loudly wretched and pulled back but found his hand forcing you back down onto him. Your spit flew out messily on his cock. Your eyes watered instantly at the irritating sensation. You felt suffocated and choked in his thick appendage.

It was confronting to have something so big being pushed back into your mouth. You gagged on just two fingers, you had no clue what you must’ve looked like with a cock a third of a way in your mouth.

He did it over and over until you scratched at his hand and he let you pulled back, falling back on your ass and rasping for breath.

You heaved and swiped your mouth and tears. You hoped you wouldn’t have to ever do that again and next time you wanted something from him you’d never promise a blow job.

“If you want to leave today, you have to do something for me…”

You were stupid…you were desperate…you asked “What?”

“Open your mouth.” He commanded.

You winced, afraid he would shove it back into your mouth…you obeyed. You didn’t expect the assault of his thick cum spraying across your face. Some dropped into your mouth as it flew. Most of it stuck in your hair and dribbled down into your eyes.

He chuckled at the sheer horror of shock written over your face covered in his pearly cum.

You were about to wipe it away until August grabbed your wrist brutally and shook his head.

“You belong to me. I own you. You aren’t going to clean this off until you get home. Do I make myself clear?”

A shuddering breath escaped you as you nodded.

'Home?'

He was letting you go…you couldn’t understand why he was so lenient with your freedom. You accused him of rape and yet you lived…he killed a man just for a small crime of embezzlement…

But you were graciously relieved.

You were surprised he let you put on his stolen shirt again. He pinched a nipple but he gave you back your purse and broken phone while he called someone to pick you up. A driver. Jude.

August took you out front of the house once the black vehicle arrived and slipped inside of the car with you. He leant across and buckled you in reminding you that he liked this power dynamic even through the little things. Wiping you clean, buckling your seat, feeding you...you wouldn't call it infantilism the entire way...it felt like the motive was to humiliate, not to take care of you...The entire time was filled with a stretchy and uncomfortable pull of tension.

You didn't face the rearview mirror in case Jude could see all the embarrassing white cum drying on your face and in your hair.

“I…I-” you tried to ask but fell silent and afraid. The cum was drying on your face, a perfect reminder of your place. Beneath him.

He looked at you with interest, “What’s on your mind?”

“I am…confused…why haven’t you just killed me yet? I’m disposable, and I know you already know if I go missing…no one is going to look for me…”

He didn’t take his eyes off you and you couldn’t even meet them. Your knees rose up against your chest.

His finger touched the skin beneath your chin and made you look at him.

“Because…Y/N…I am not someone to throw away my toys so easily. You are a important posession and it would be very stupid of me to waste you."

He leant in and kissed you softly, breathing against your soft lips, "You’ve got a tight cunt and a dead father to thank for that.”

That made you lunge…you slapped his face hard. The sound cracking. Everything was dead silent. Even Jude was holding his breath. You turned your body away and cowered in the door.

“Fuck you…fuck…you.” You sobbed. You didn’t like how he mentioned your dad. It made you think on how he forced such a terrible confession from you about the days that it all went down.

You expected him to hit you, to make you beg for mercy.

Only his cheek flinched as his pale flesh became a mean pink in the shape of your fingers. He sat back and nodded slowly.

He knew that was too far. He smirked..

'that selfish fucker.'

He didn’t harm you like you feared he would.

He brought you home and you half expected him to invade your space, rape you again for your outburst in the car. But no…he took you up the stairs. Unlocked the door and returned your key.

He chuckled at the sight of all your installed locks, "Here I thought Jude was pulling my leg..."

He shook his head and smiled. Before you could run inside and slam the door shut he blocked your path with his hand. He leant his head down and purred. With his other hand he fingered the leather around your throat.

And then he asked, “Mind telling me what you did with the key to the bondage gear?”

Your hand cupped your throat…you still wore the collar…fuck…

You bit your lip and shook your head, “I ugh…swallowed it…” you confessed.

His eyes slowly widened in disbelief. His laughter grew harder, “You are truly a special one my little dear, fret not I’ll have another copy made and we can take the collar off you. Or not…I mean I do love the look on your face as you wear it.”

August pulled you close and hard as he planted his mouth over yours and viciously kissed you before turning around on his toes. He waved a hand at you.

“Until next time sweetness!” he called, "Don't forget to clean your breakfast off your face!"

You sighed and felt your knees buckle. You rushed through your door and locked every deadbolt and chain across.

You rushed to the kitchen and vomited in the sink. Your face felt crusty from his cum. You hissed as some peeled from your skin.

Your eyes watered. You stumbled back to your room and struggled to charge your phone. It refused to turn on. It was fucked.

'I need to talk to someone, I need to make sure Lloyd is okay, please dear god make sure he made it out of the Lions Lounge den. Fuck you August!'

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers. .

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#TNOSP #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #august walker x you #august walker x black!reader #august walker x ofc #august walker x reader #august walker fic #dark!august walker #dark!henry cavill

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covehearted · 2 years ago

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Blooming Panic brainrot has given me an idea that won’t leave my head so I have to get it out

MC who is a single parent. After joining the server, you keep that part of your life private for the longest time.

You’re just so exhausted from people making assumptions about you and the invasive questions. You know having a child in your twenties while working such a time-consuming job isn’t the best. But that is no one else’s business; you love your child dearly.

Even if the other parent is a pos.

But when you start getting closer to your chosen love interest you can't put it off anymore. You're aware that not everyone wants to be with someone who already has a kid, you understand. Some people want to enjoy their youth and don't have a child in their plans now or ever. They don't want someone with "baggage."

So you ask for a voice call, readying yourself for the judgment. For the interest that your love interest was expressing to fizzle out as it had with every other date you've had since you left him.

But it doesn't come. You tell them that you have a child, that you understand if it's a dealbreaker but it would be better if it happens now instead of later. But they just smile, telling you that it's okay. That having your child isn't anything to be ashamed of and certainly not something that's going to drive them away. If anything, they admire you for doing so much for your child. Suddenly the number of hours that you work make sense. Your anxiety about changing jobs makes sense.

You have someone who you love, who relies on you. You can't take risks with them. You won't.

For Quest, in particular, he has to ask if the other parent is... him. When you tell him that yes, the same person that doxxed him was unfortunately the other parent he sucks in a breath between his teeth. He offers his condolences that someone who you try so hard to distance yourself from is so connected to the one who you love the most. You joke that at least now your child will have a better father figure in their life.

Quest tries not to show just how that makes his brain short-circuit and how warm his chest feels.

Nightowl has a moment of pause, but just a moment. He's 25, he's just finishing college, and he has some personality hangups but... he can work on those. He has a job pretty much lined up. He can step up if you'd let him. He wants to. Suddenly the more responsible side of himself kicks in. All he wants is to love you and he can absolutely love your child just as much. He comes across as more of a cool older brother or cousin at first but soon he really hit his stride.

Something about being a dad just brings out the best in him.

Everything clicks into place for Toasty. Your escapism and late hours make a whole lot of sense. They don't know how they didn't guess it in the first place but it honestly... makes him want you to get a better job even more? You wake up so early to go to work, then you go right home to be there for your child so you can be a parent to them and then your one break is the server and Bloomic... You deserve to have a job that gives you more time for your family. He wonders if he could convince you to move in with him?

Maybe you could actually be their secretary. They wouldn't mind having you closer... they feel their cheeks getting hotter just thinking about it.

Xyx takes it in stride. Honestly, he might have noticed it earlier than you would expect. Something about your schedule, about how you knew just the right things to say to help him when he's feeling down. Like you know. Like comforting someone vulnerable is something you've done plenty of times. He knows for sure he's not... the perfect role model. He can be reckless with habits that just barely toe the line of being self-destructive.

But he also has a stable, incredibly well-paying job. He would be happy to give some off-record advice on how to cut off parental rights to make sure that he-who-shall-not-be-named won't bother you or your child again. He jokes that he got a great deal, he got the love of his life AND a child in one go.

He's a pretty lucky guy, ain't he?

#blooming panic #quest #nightowl #nakedtoaster #xyx #headcanon #fanfic #imagine

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hashimasims · 1 month ago

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Hypnos: So I already know a bit about your childhood from Kana, don't be too upset with him for telling me. He explained how you were raised by a Servo and had to compete with your siblings for who was better?

Elucea: Essentially. There was a scoring system put into place if there were multiples for who the next generation heir would be and we had to jump through all these hoops completing as many aspirations and maxing as many skills as possible to be chosen.

Hypnos: Do you plan on implementing that? Absalom said you were carrying twins.

Elucea: You've spoken to Absalom as well? And Watcher no! HELL WOOHOCKING NO at that.

Hypnos: Good, good. And yes, the two of them live together in Evergreen Harbor. They're a strange pair but they make the friendship work. It helps they both love you dearly. No offense but, the two of them wouldn't shut up about you last time I went there telling Kan I hadn't found you yet. Now is there anything specific you would like to talk about this session?

Elucea: Well I have been thinking about them a lot lately.

Hypnos: Ok, lets start there. I'm here to listen, that is all, and everything you say to me will be held in strict confidence.

Elucea: Well I miss them. I've been thinking about trying to contact them just tell them I'm OK more than just what I send them through the Bonds. But I don't want them here. I'm afraid that they're not as OK with each other as they're letting on. I'm afraid of raising my children around constant fighting and bickering and I just don't want to deal with it. I almost feel like my heart is being used like a tug toy between them and it's being ripped in two. You say that they're fine together but the Bond doesn't feel any different than the day I left them, when they were arguing over the paternity of my children. They're Absalom's and from what I heard he was vehemently denying it or wouldn't believe it. But I'm tired of looking over my shoulder every time I leave the lot. I want to be able to see my friends more often. I think I've seen them twice since I left.

~The Day Elucea Left The Hospital~

Elucea: What is taking them so long . . .

Kanaloa: She was already pregnant on New Years! Absalom: So? You were with her the day before. They're Mers same as you. Kanaloa: Fifty fifty chance Ab. And I was with her two days before, which is still too soon for Morning Sickness to kick in. Absalom: Exactly. Fifty fifty chance that either you or I are the father. They're yours.

Elucea turns away from them, no longer listening to what either of them are saying.

Elucea: Of course they're fighting! I have to get out of here. Why can't they try to get along for me? For our family? I won't raise my children around this. Maybe when they accept each other I'll accept them back in my life.

She makes her way to the reception desk, it takes her a moment to realize she wasn't admitted under her own name, but after listening to the nurses tell her all the risks of leaving and signing some papers saying the hospital was not liable for anything with her leaving on her own, Elucea was out the door and loading out of the Hospital as fast as she could.

Beginning|Previous|Next

#glynnan legacy #Elucea Glynnan #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 legacy gen 6 #ts4 #simblr #ts4 story #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 legacy challenge #ts4 legacy #the sims community #ts4 gameplay #ts4 simblr #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 screenshots #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims 4 simblr

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esther-dot · 1 year ago

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Idk how attractive jon is supposed to be but he has the stark look and sansa has a thing for the stark look, i mean look at waymar and loras, their descriptions match jon's exactly. Sansa's opinion at the end of the day>>>

I love Sansa’s Waymar and Loras crushes! So cute! I kinda think a good part of what attracts Sansa to any given guy is the romantic notions she can attach to them, not strictly their physical appearance? So while I certainly agree with the Jon and Waymar parallels and think martin intentionally wrote similarities between Jon and her crushes, I believe her romanticized view of knight was a factor as well. Personally, I wish Martin talked about Sansa’s body/ how beautiful she is a lot less, so this isn't a topic I enjoy discussing, but the convo kicked off because of a poll and here’s a screenshot of my totally unremarkable tags:

And here’s what an angry Jon fan posted because they didn’t like the tags on the poll:

They go on to criticize other tags by Sansa fans/Jonsas, but mine were based on specific lines from the books because the question wasn’t vibes but canonical beauty, and it so happens, these are lines I am very fond of because I love NedCat:

And was it really such a terrible thing, to want a pretty wife? She remembered her own childish disappointment, the first time she had laid eyes on Eddard Stark. She had pictured him as a younger version of his brother Brandon, but that was wrong. Ned was shorter and plainer of face, and so somber. He spoke courteously enough, but beneath the words she sensed a coolness that was all at odds with Brandon, whose mirths had been as wild as his rages. Even when he took her maidenhood, their love had more of duty to it than of passion. We made Robb that night, though; we made a king together. And after the war, at Winterfell, I had love enough for any woman, once I found the good sweet heart beneath Ned's solemn face. (ASOS, Catelyn V)

It’s a beautiful passage with a lovely sentiment, so I take exception to classifying this as petty fandom shit when there was nothing intentionally insulting behind what I said, I just think Cat's thoughts about a man she dearly loves were pertinent. Also, Jon’s Stark looks are a big R+L=J clue which is teased a lot in AGOT so it’s intentional and important:

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. "What are you reading about?" he asked. (AGOT, Tyrion II)

Martin described Jon’s face the same way he does Ned’s here, although the point was ha ha! he has the Stark look not because of his father but because of his mother, Lyanna.

Jon had their father's face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. (AGOT, Arya I)

Arya heard and whirled around, glaring. "I don't care what you say, I'm going out riding." Her long horsey face got the stubborn look that meant she was going to do something willful. (AGOT, Sansa I)

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. (AGOT, Sansa I)

"Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her." (AGOT, Arya II)

Now, Ned goes on to say Lyanna is beautiful so a lot of fans really emphasize that and say it means Jon and Arya are/will be attractive, and maybe! It doesn't bother me for people to read it that way, but if you look at the other uses of long face in ASOIAF, or the Stark look, I think it indicates, it's not particularly attractive, and one might even say, it's unremarkable. I didn’t say ugly, its simply unexceptional imo. Obviously the horsey face/horse faced stuff is an insult so we don't have to take that to be a neutral assessment, but I don't think it actually means pretty either, not when you look at how it's used elsewhere.

Anyway, it doesn't matter if Jon is handsome or not because we all were supposed to have already learned that what matters is who he is, not his face. So, while I have no investment in how attractive/unattractive these characters are, I imagine that Jon being Jon is what will make Sansa fall for him, not how pretty he is. Something that might sound kinda like this:

I had love enough for any woman, once I found the good sweet heart beneath Ned's Jon's solemn face

#jonsa #nedcat #r+l=j #book jon #dot chat #discourse #< for filtering

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jj-5656 · 2 years ago

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Illuminated With; Sirius Black

A/N: Hello again! I know I’m on a James kick atm, but I wrote this in my notes ages ago with Sirius in mind, and it only seemed right to keep it as his. Besides, Sirius is undoubtedly a girl dad, nothing can be said to change my mind. Also, the names of the Black family follow the stars and constellations as many of you know, so if you find the girls’ names unique, that’s why. I really just want to give these characters a happy ending. So this is all absolutely canon in my mind. Anyways, enjoy!

T/W: Slight, slight mentions of childhood abuse and details of injury. This one is on the shorter side, shockingly. NOT PROOFREAD YET.

“It’s her teething Lill’s” you shush your six month old between sentences, “it’s been much worse than what I remember from Nova and Maia.

“Poor thing, Harry had a lot of trouble too.” Lilly is solemn on the other line, you can hear water running from yet another load of dishes. “Hun, would you please-” she’s interrupted with an onload of kisses, giggling the whole time.

“Hi, James.” You smile fondly at his antics, hearing them cease on the other side.

“Whose been preoccupying my lovely wife the past hour? I’m not fond of sharing, you know.”

“She was my best friend first, Prongs.”

“Well Pads was my best friend first.”

“Touché, Potter.” You rummage through the freezer for another teething ring, turning on your heel in realization. “It’s quiet in my house.” You mutter, mostly to yourself.

“Too quiet.” Lilly finishes, any parent aware of it’s meaning.

Just then, your two older daughters waddle into the room. Tiny bodies swamped in ties and suit jackets belonging to their father. Each wearing a pair of his dress shoes on the wrong foot.

“Merlin, they really do grow up so fast. I have two businesswomen in my house.” The girls trip over their own feet, giggling the whole way to the kitchen and smiling big for your camera.

“Take pictures, y/n! I want to see the babies!” James shouts on the other end of the line, no doubt hovering over his wife with excitement. “Lill’s, why don’t we try for another? They have us beat by a landslide!”

“We’re wildly outnumbered, James. Besides, Sirius practically makes a fourth child.”

“Fourth child?” Sirius holds his bike helmet against his waist, kicking off his boots in the mud room before entering. “Is this how I find out you’re pregnant again?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Harry, sweetheart. Don’t touch that-” there’s a clatter on their end, what sounds like, from your unfortunate experience, a drink spill. Harry begins to cry, and there’s immediate cooing from James in the background. “Merlin, I’ll have to catch up with you later. Maybe a visit to the park tomorrow, or some tea at the house?”

“Sounds lovely, the girls miss Harry dearly.”

“Hear that, Harry? Your cousins want to see you.” This calms the distant crying, and there’s a small shout of excitement from Prongs, eager for another round of tea parties.

“Talk to you later, Lill’s. Love you.”

“Love you!” The line drops, and you can give your full attention to the scene going on in front of you. Sirius scans the room in a feigned panic, looking behind couch cushions and cupboard cabinets in search of your daughters.

“Sweetheart, we’ve lost the children!” He shakes your shoulders, pressing a kiss to Ophelia’s head as she drools on her teething ring.

“I’m sure they’re around somewhere.” And, of course, the five and two year old are stood right at your feet, overcome with laughter. Sirius crouched to get to their level, grabbing each one of their hands.

“Young ladies, you must help me find my daughters! Merlin, how could I live a life with only one of my three princesses?”

“We’re right here, daddy.” Maia assures through a mouthful of thumb. Nova frowns, not wanting to blow the cover of what she believes is an effective disguise.

Your husband is still in his biking outfit, never having rid himself of the dangerous hobby. It took a lot of convincing, but you’ve managed to compromise on the motorcycle. You’ve come to understand it’s an outlet for him, a sense of freedom and adventure he needed so badly as a kid, that sometimes still lingers in adulthood. You run your fingers through his dampened, messy locks. Unsurprisingly, even helmet hair looks good on Sirius Black.

“What, where are you?” It even gets you laughing, the melodramatics as he whips his head around the room, utterly confused. Maia slips out her (fathers) jacket, engulfing him in a hug. “Oh, my sweet girl! Where were you?” He lifts her shirt so her belly shows, blowing raspberries into the soft skin as she squeals. “Wait a minute now.” As if he’s put all the pieces together, Sirius tugs off your oldest daughters jacket, gasping at the reveal. He lunges for her, but she’s quick, bolting off down the hall and screaming the whole way.

“What are we gonna do with them, Lia?” You use her bib to wipe the dribble off her chin, overcome with absolute adoration when she beams brightly through her ring, as if she’s understood you. Little white bumps, peeks of oncoming teeth, protruding from her gums.

********

He’s wrestling Nova into her pajamas when you notice. The undeniable wince that flashes across his face when her foot kicks against his rib cage.

You’re in the nursery across the hall, swaying Ophelia to sleep in hopes to spend time with your older two before their bed time. Sirius recovers quickly, sending you that award-winning smile he’s utilized to get out of any trouble your entire relationship. Pretty privilege works hard, but not hard enough.

When your youngest settles down, Maia insists on hot chocolate and an episode of Bluey. An accidental the four of you have stumbled upon the past week. Admittedly, the children’s show has even you and your husband hooked. The girls settle on the couch with their assortment of blankets and favorite stuffed animals, hair still damp from the night’s bath. Sirius stalks into the kitchen, watching as you stir the pot of steaming milk on the stove.

“Would you mind grabbing the cocoa? I can’t reach it on that top shelf.” He’s instant in his obedience, allowing you to finally scope what’s caused him injury. When his shirt rides up and exposes his toned stomach, a flash of deep purple spreads against his skin. You lower the stoves’ heat, wordlessly approaching him.

“Eager, are we?” He’s got the audacity to crack a joke, unable to push your searching hands away with their swiftness. Pulling up the fabric of his white pajama shirt and exposing the developing bruise.

“Sirius.” You’re stifling, voice heavy with anger but low enough so the girls enamored with the television can’t hear.

“Baby, I promise it’s really noth-” He’s interrupted by his own whine when you press into the tender skin, clutching your wrist tightly with no real ill-will. You rip away from his grasp, appalled.

“That fucking bike.”

“It was a small spill, honest! I forgot the protection spell because Remus called and-”

“I’m not interested in a single excuse, Sirius.” His name sounds sour on your lips, his heart twingeing with guilt and hurt. He hates when you use it like that, the usual sweet and soft sound of it far from use.

“I may be a little out of practice with the healing charms, but-”

“No, Sirius, This is not something magic can fix. You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.” Hie eyes narrow, voice taught in defense. “I just didn’t tell you. Because I knew this would happen.” He presses his lips together, realizing he’s just sorely hammered the nail to the fucking coffin. Your brows shoot up in bewilderment, almost amused with his valor.

“What would happen? I get right-effing pissed because you’ve been this reckless?” Sometimes you wish he’d yell. But he hasn’t, probably never will. He promised forever ago to never let your children see what he had to, make you feel the way he did all those years ago. It took a long time, for you to be able to argue and not raise your voice at him. The first time he flinched was enough to eternally eradicate the option in your mind.

“I forgot! I simply forgot one time, love. Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit, considering it was just a little spill and I’m fine?” The latter comes out a little frustrated, and he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. You snatch a dish towel from the counter, rubbing at an invisible stain in a scattered frenzy.

“Overreacting? You think I’m overreacting?” You ever think what that conversation would look like for me, Sirius? If you took more than just a ‘little spill’ without the charms and I-” You falter, sick. “And I had to sit our girls down and tell them you-” You stop yourself completely, outright nauseated at the thought. Sirius takes a step forward, any frustration crumbling as soon as he notices your eyes get glossy. You put an arm out, skin singing with anger and hurt. He listens, instead of you he clutches the countertop, knuckles white with need.

“Love.” He says it gentle, slick with sweetness, hoping to ease the situation if at all possible. “I just forgot, I’m so sorry. If you want me to get rid of the bike-”

“It’s not about the bike, Siri.” You shake your head, forlorn chuckle passing your lips. “You cannot be careless like that. You can’t be reckless anymore. We have babies; they need you. I need you.” It’s a whisper at best, voice cracking with the strain in your throat as you contain your conflicting emotions.

“I know, I know, baby. I need you too. It was stupid, really stupid.”

“Moronic, thoughtless, daft-”

“Every bad adjective in the book, yeah?” Your head involuntarily perks at his words. What you said to him the first time you met...

***********

You were studying in the library when the notorious bachelor of a fifth year approached you. He’d flirted, shamelessly at that. And you hadn’t given him even the slightest time of day.

“I know you, Sirius Black. You’re that womanizer Gryffindor.”

“So I’m famous amongst you witches then?”

“Something like that.” You clutch your quill in hand, responding to his mischievous smirk with an unamused grimace.

“So what, you won’t give any guy with a reputation a chance? C’mon love, every good bookworm knows you don’t judge one by it’s cover.” He drums a ring-adorned set of fingers against your textbook, whilst you do little to veil the rolling of your eyes.

“I’m not daft, every witch in Hogwarts knows better than to give the likes of you an opportunity. Charming, evasive, fleeting-”

“Fleeting,” he clutches his chest, lips falling into a pout. “Beautiful stranger, you wound me.” He slides his arms over the table, leaning down so his head is much closer to yours. Hopeful brown eyes searching yours for any signs of surrender. You match his energy, looming over so that the gap between you is even smaller. unrelenting in your distasteful glare.

“You’re every bad adjective in the book, Sirius Black.”

*********

He smiles. That soft, effortless grin that pulls you out of your daydream and at your heart just as it had when you were kids. Visions of potion classes and laughter-filled common rooms flood your senses. You blink, hard, pushing away the urge to allow yourself to be enveloped in his embrace. “Would you bring them their drinks? It’s almost their bedtime.”

“Baby-”

“If you read them their story and get them down I’ll finish up in here.” Alluding to the array of dishes in the sink and other remnants of dinner scattered around the kitchen.

“I could use my favorite girl to help-”

“Sirius, please.” The way his name escapes your lips sends another pang to his chest. Disappointed, strained, exhausted, and worst of all...Wounded. He studies you for a few more moments, deep brown eyes searching your features for any signs of surrender. Tongue brushing over his lips before he bows his head. Collecting the steaming mugs and headed toward the couch without another word.

************

“Have we finally agreed on a book?” Sirius wipes off the excess toothpaste from the sink of your daughter’s bathroom before he enters the colorful bedroom.

“Will you tell us one of yours, daddy?” The two stare hopeful at their father, well aware the puppy eyes will reward them with exactly what they want. He tosses them both into one bed, heart warming at the giggles that ensue. If you were here, you’d chastise him half-heartedly for riling them up at bedtime.

“Alright then,” He slides in next to them, allowing them to shuffle into his sides. “Once upon a time-” Theres a chorus of groans as he pretends to be confused.

“A real story, dad.” Your oldest shoves at his chest, cheeks rosy with amusement despite the annoyance.

“This is a real story! The one with the princess and the dragon-”

“No, a good one! Like how you met mummy!”

“With the shapes in the sky!” Your toddler chimes in, words muffled between her thumb. Sirius gently pulls the appendage from her mouth with a pointed look, his meek attempt to break her habit.

“Alright, alright. we’ll do the one where I met mummy.”

**********

There’s soft voices from the girl’s room as you head upstairs, slightly annoyed to know they’re awake past their bedtime. Your husband’s enchanting voice pulls you out of it, feet taking you to the bedroom down the hall subconsciously. A blue-hued light trickles into the corridor, coming more clear when you push open the door. Your girls are huddled around their father, eyes illuminated with astonishment as they observe the array of holograph-like shapes dancing across the ceiling. Sirius flicks his wand in hand every now and then to keep the spell ongoing during his story.

“She sent me letters almost every day after we met in the library. Said I was the most charming, handsome wizard in the whole school.” He amuses even himself with the fib-riddled retelling. Satisfied with his own jesting delusions.

“That’s definitely not how I remember it.” You add from the doorway, all three heads snapping toward you at the interjection. You giggle at their unison, how much your daughter’s mannerisms resemble that of their father. Heart swelling impossibly bigger when the visions above tenfold when Sirius sees you, hears your laugh.

“You’re making them glow louder, mommy!” Maia shouts, both you and your husband smile fondly at her error of words.

“She tends to have that effect on me, Dove.” His words are directed toward your daughter, but his eyes are on you. It’s truly a wonder, how after all these years Sirius Black still manages to give you butterflies.

“Did dad forget to add the time he tried to ask me to the Yule ball in front of all our friends and ended up making it storm in the Great Hall?”

“It was supposed to be snow, a Slytherin tampered with my spell!”

“Spoilers!” Nova shouts, covering her ears. You both laugh as you make your way toward the bed. Shooting a half-hearted glare at Sirius when he opens his arms and legs for you to sit with him.

“It’s the only way you’ll fit.” He shrugs, doing little to conceal his need for affection. You give in, under three pairs of hopeful eyes. Carefully, you slip into the bed with them, scooting so you can put your back to Sirius’ chest. He releases a sigh, undoubtedly overcome with relief.

The girls adjust themselves so they’re nestled on wither side of the pair of you, arguing over what apparition is the brightest when Sirius nudges the top of your head with his chin, a silent ask to look at him. Using his thumb and pointer finger on your jaw to have you face him.

“I’ll never forget again.” He whispers so only you can hear, sincerity and emotion heavy in his tone. “I’m not going anywhere, my love. I promise.” You study his face, admiring his handsome features with a soft smile. Pressing a kiss to his cheek in wordless response. Mimicking your daughters, you look up at the ceiling so as to not let him see the moisture pricking at your eyes. He nudges at your jaw again, encapturing you in a real kiss. Cementing his promise.

“Gross, no more!” Nova pushes at her father’s chest, but he insists, aiming to tease the lot of you as he deepens the embrace.

“It’s making the lights too loud!” Maia covers her eyes, shielding them from the holographs.

You finally manage to pull away, squinting at the oncoming change in lighting along with your daughters.

“Siri, they’re right. Relax, I can barely see.” You attempt to push away the attack of kisses to your face and neck. The girls squealing to add to the chaos as Sirius pulls all of you impossibly closer. Managing to bunch together on the un-accommodating mattress.

“What? I can’t love my girls this much? Is it such a crime to love you all?” A chorus of yelps ensue in response to his incessant pecks. All of you wincing when sounds of the baby’s crying erupt from the nursery. You’re about to hurry off the bed by instinct when a strong grip stops you.

“I’ll get her, she needs to hear this story anyway.” Sirius scrambles from the bed like a giddy kid, eager to hold your youngest despite her only having been down an hour. But not before blowing rasberries into your daughters cheek’s, ignoring their shouts in protest. He captures you in another kiss too, as if he’ll be gone any longer than thirty seconds.

It’s no wonder Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky.

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 2 years ago

Text

New Records, New Beginnings

A/N: Y’all I haven’t posted a story on here in four months. Four months. I’m genuinely sorry but also first semester of college high key kicked my ass. So here’s a little Christmas gift from me to you, and yes it’s a bit cliche but Hallmark-y type things are what we all love around the holidays (don’t lie, you love those stupid chick flicks too). Hope you guys enjoy! Pairing: Gerard Way x F!Reader Word Count: 2,852 words Warnings: A lot of fluff, like a lot of fluff.

You had spent most of your Saturdays like this, and nothing much had changed.

You would go out around midday after lunch at home, spend time shopping around whether it be physically buying something or just window shopping. It was a way to destress and reward yourself after a week of work that you felt was much deserved.

The only difference now was the increase in people shopping. Around late November and early December your usual shops became more crowded with people trying to find the perfect Christmas presents for everyone they knew. You were at least smart enough to have already completed your shopping for everyone in the first week… except your dad.

The guy who may have been your favorite person in the world also happened to be the one who was hardest to shop for. You loved him dearly, and while yes he did have a wide array of hobby on the spectrum of being a dad, it didn’t make it much easier to shop for him.

So you had landed yourself in a few record stores today, trying to find any album he would like. Generally he wasn’t that picky on music, he loved lots of artists and bands, but combine that with your mentality of record buying being “you better listen to it” and the task was becoming increasingly harder by the second.

You didn’t necessarily notice anyone around you, it was relatively busy given it being a record shop, maybe six to seven other people in the shop, but you were on a mission to find one of the few records you knew was actually worth spending money on given your fathers listening habits. You were also trying to draw away from buying yourself anymore records, given the two you already had snug under your arm.

Gerard, on the other hand, was like any other holiday shopper. Except he managed to be even worse.

He never shopped for Christmas gifts ahead of time, it was always about a week before when he started. He scolded himself every year for doing it, but never found himself changing the habit. So here he was, rushing into a record store and desperately trying to find this one damn record his dad wanted for his birthday… that happened to be tomorrow.

He didn’t scan around, take in any of these new surroundings, instead he promptly led himself to the cashier’s desk, nearly pleading to see if they had it.

“One copy left,” The older man from behind the counter said. He reeked of being pretentious based off of this record hobby, something Gerard found ridiculous when everyone was doing it now. “Back left corner.”  “Great, thanks.” He quickly made his way to the far left aisle and all the way down to where he was instructed to go, eyes scanning over the different bookmarks in-between each album marking a new artist or new letter of artists. He looked up, thankfully seeing you only about three feet away to put the breaks on his legs, but was met with ultimate grief and defeat.

Of course you had to be looking at the same album he needed. And of course, you placed it under your arm with the rest of your records.

So, he had one of two options here: One was to go home defeated, show up tomorrow with some lame card he got at a pharmacy for his dad, and get scolded at by his mother for not being more on top of these things. Second was to approach you, talk to you, and just see if you were willing to let him have it.

But he was bad at talking to girls. Like, really bad.

It was something his friends had joked about before, how he would much rather be reading or drawing than ever talk to a girl. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to (although many times he really didn’t) it was that he felt like he couldn’t. Women were just… hard.

“Um, excuse me.” He spoke up, nerves bundling in his stomach. Hoping this would be an easy interaction for him, he saw you turn around and instantly he regretted everything. You weren’t just a girl… you were a pretty girl. A very, very pretty girl.

“Hm?” You hummed a bit with your eyes growing a bit wide in curiosity. Wow, those eyes, he thought to himself, never seen that color before.

“I’m, um, not trying to be rude or anything,” He began nervously, “But my dad’s birthday is tomorrow and I’ve literally been to four other record stores and no where has the record he wants. This one only has one and you have the last copy so I was wondering-“  

“Sure.” You replied before he could even finish, moving your arms a bit to reach for the one you had just grabbed, snugly fit close to your body. “It’s for Christmas anyways, for my dad too, but I have more time to find another one.”  

“Really?” He asked, somewhat amazed that you would give this to him, and somewhat amazed that he could speak to you. “I- I really appreciate this, like you have no idea, really.”  

“It’s totally fine.” You tightly smiled, “Besides, if not that one I’m sure I can find another one my dad might like.” He nodded.

“Um, thanks again.” He said with a kind smile and mini bow of appreciation which you chuckled at before he walked back to the register.

“Just this?” The same guy at the front asked him. Gerard nodded, placing the record on the counter and searching in his pocket with his other hand for his wallet. “I’m surprised you didn’t at least ask her out.” He mentioned as Gerard grabbed his card from his wallet, head shooting up.

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“I mean, not only were there clearly some sparks, but she gave up the record to a total stranger.” The older man explained, “That’s a new level of nice.”

Gerard looked back briefly at where you were, still browsing but approaching closer to the counter, before awkwardly clearing his throat and swiping his card. As soon as it was approved, he removed it, placing it back in his wallet and grabbing the bag.

“My advice, kid,” The man continued, “Don’t waste up an opportunity like this. The worst she can say is no.”

Gerard stood there for a brief moment stunned, and wondering what to do next. Yes, this stranger had a point about you, but the thought of asking you out despite the fact he really wanted to seemed beyond his ability. But then again, he did ask you for a record. That’s the same thing, right? You could’ve said no then and you could say no now, but that’s the worst that could happen.

With no actual foreseeable good outcome, Gerard retraced his steps to finding his way back to you. This time, you seemed more attentive as he approached you, looking up at him with those same stark eyes again. “I just wanted to say thank you, one last time.” He began, “You really saved me from having to deal with my mom scolding me tomorrow.” You lightly chuckled.

“It’s no problem, really.” You admitted, still with a smile on your face.

“Is there anyway I could pay it back maybe?” He asked, trying to put on some level of confidence, “Like coffee, maybe?”

You seemed a bit taken aback by his request, but after a brief moment of thought, responded, “Sure.”

Gerard could feel his muscles release their tense holding as he took a small breath of relief. “Great, uh, could I get your number, maybe?”

  “Yeah, of course.” He handed you his phone as you typed it in, handing it back to him. Y/N, it read, fits her.

“Okay, well, see you soon, Y/N.”

  “See you soon-“  

“Gerard,” He finished ahead of you.

“Gerard.”

“Are you ready, Gee?” You asked from the front door, throwing your keys in your bag and awaiting your boyfriend to appear from the living room.

“Yeah, just a sec.” You could hear the frustration of him fighting with his boot echo throughout the hallway, a rough sigh following afterwards in frustration. “Here.” He finally said after a few more seconds, walking down to you and grabbing his coat from the rack.

Just a year or so ago you would have found it a pretty large disruptions to your average Saturdays had another person been mixed into that equation. But now, Gerard comfortably stood by your side riding along your Saturday activities. He didn’t mind it much, more than happy to play the cart-pusher and attempt to control your irrational purchases, like buying every Christmas scented candle you could get your hands on, or anything that had some sort of a dog or cat on it.

But he found some peace in just walking by you and getting weekly errands done plus having some fun while doing it. He had learned to try many new things on these adventures: tofu for the first time, a face mask, and honey barbecue chips were just a few. But it seemed like most items you gravitated towards said something small about you, which helped him to learn all about you quicker.

It also happened to give him a lot of ideas for presents, which was helpful this time of year. He had already found you a couple hoodies you had fallen in love with, a new pair of slippers, and a few other smaller items, leaving the bigger ones to be more creative and thoughtful.

“I haven’t been here in forever.” You remarked, pulling into the space right in front of your local record store.

“I know, right?” He replied, “It’s just so easy to buy this online.”

  “True,” You agreed, shutting the engine off, “But at least local stores have cooler, older things that aren’t crazy upcharged.”

“Also, true.” He smiled, getting out of the car and waiting by the edge for you to get out too.

One nice things about record stores is that they never change all that much. Everything was basically the same here as it was last time, which led to a much more relaxed experience looking through each section. Aside from a few new titles and artists, almost everything sat as it was.

Gerard always kept a close eye on you in these situations. He had learned little hints you gave as to when you wanted something. Eyeing it for a bit longer than usual then gasping a bit, excitedly showing him something with a fun fact about it, maybe even blatantly just saying you wanted it. He kept a mental list of all the things you had wanted, trying to make an effort to check off every one (well, almost, bigger things like a dog were for a later discussion).

But here, in the record store where he met you and you him, where you had managed to save him from a hell of a scolding from his mom, his eyes stayed practically glued to your fingers as you scanned each title, lingering on some for longer than others. He stayed like this a good few minutes but keeping his distance and hoping you wouldn’t notice. He had eventually resorted to sneakily walking around and picking out records you wanted or ones he knew you liked. Again, the mental list of these artists stayed glued to his mind.

He had realized relatively quickly that his hands were getting full. He had picked out six or seven right now and hadn’t even made it a third of his way through the store. He took a sigh, looking back to make sure you were occupied and not looking anywhere near the register, before walking up and placing the records down on the front counter. “Would you mind just holding these behind the counter while I look around a bit more?” He requested, “My hands got kinda full.”  

“No problem.” A slightly familiar voice echoed, Gerard looking at the older man behind the counter who was smirking, looking between Gerard and you.

Not thinking much of it, Gerard went back to his shopping habits, picking out record after record. He had gone up for another drop-off trip before you finally approached him, “Hey hon.” Your voice spoke up behind him. He quickly turned around, looking down to see the gorgeous woman he got to call his. “I didn’t find much, I was planning on going to the Target here to grab a few things but it still looks like your shopping.”  

“Yeah, I am a bit.” He admitted with a small smile, “Go on without me, I’ll meet you there and pull the car closer to that lot.”

  “Ya sure?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowing as they always did when you seemed to genuinely care. He smiled even more with a nod.

“Yeah, I’ll be good here.” You nodded back, giving him a kiss on the cheek before leaving the store.

Despite the distance making Gerard grow slightly more uncomfortable, and despite the fact he knew well that you were just a few store fronts away, he obliged to the opportunity before him and quickly collected every other record he knew you would want. The ridiculous figure holding at least half a dozen records under each arm was a man in love, every customer silently knew it. Because no one would buy that many records. That was a new level of head over heels.

“All set?” The cashier asked, the wrinkles on his forehead curling up as his smile grew, the question sounding more rhetorical and satire than anything.

“Uh, yeah.” Gerard awkwardly responded at the realization that he looked just a bit like a fool. The pile of albums in front of him stared right back as one by one they were scanned and placed into bags. He questioned how he would just sneak them by you, and with no avail to any answer.

As the total rang through his ears, he quickly slipped his card out of his wallet, handing it over firmly and not turning back. The cashier inched a smile, inserting the card into the machine. “So, things are going well?” He asked.  

“Yeah, ya know, life’s going alright-“

  “Especially with the girl.” He commented back before Gerard could finish.

“Yeah, uh, really well.” He awkwardly chuckled at him, his lovesick state clearly clouding his vision at times.

The card reader beeped, allowing the older man to remove the card with the receipt and hand it back to Gerard. “Hey kid, do me a favor.” He requested, Gerard quick to nod his head and grab the bags, “When you guys are considering a song for your first dance, come to me and I’ll buy it for you two on vinyl.” Gerard turned to flustered as his eyes went wide in a moment of shock.

“Oh, um, I’m not sure-“  

“You’ll be there.” He smiled from, clicking his ben against the desk, “Trust me.”  

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Gerard mumbled into your hair as you stood by your Christmas tree together. It was by no means Christmas, a couple days before, still, but you wanted to make sure to open all of your presents before you each went to your own families for the holiday.

“You too, hon.” You smiled back, tucking further into the arm draped over you his hand rubbing the small of your back. “Presents?” You asked cheerfully, he nodded back with a smile plastered across his face.

“Presents.” He declared back.

It had been a solid 15 minutes of ripping open the wrapping-covered boxes before hitting the last one, one which specifically Gerard requested you do last. You could tell by the shape alone that it was a record, a new one on top of the other stack of new ones next to you, but as you slowly ripped it open you realized what it was. You let out a small laugh as your fingers gripped the side of the two records.

“It’s supposed to make up for last year.” He briefly explained. You looked up at him and smiled.

“It’s perfect. Now I can actually give my dad this.” You replied, “But what about the second one?”  

“Oh, I figured you give one to your dad, and then we keep one on hand.” He continued, “It was what caused us to meet.”  

“That’s very poetic, Gee.” You softly said, standing up and walking over to his spot on the couch. You cupped his face lightly, leaning down to give him a soft kiss on the lips, which he gladly accepted and he moved his lips against yours. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, sweetheart.” He smiled up at you, his hands now gripping your hips. “I figured we could put it up on the mantle somewhere, make sure it’s seen.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Your hands delicately ran through his messy hair as he let out a purr of sorts in response, “Even if we never spin it, it’s perfect.”

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