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elliesmainhoe · 7 months ago

Note

need ellie to take care of me drunk desperately

i love your writing 😭

Rescue Remedy

e.williams x fem!reader

summary: you call Ellie to come and rescue you from a bar after having a few too many drinks

warnings: alcohol, cigarettes, mentions of hangovers, slurred speech, drunk crying, fluff.

just realized this is basically a self insert vent post of a very similar situation I've been in LMAO

WC 1K

DAY 4 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER

you were relieved when the familiar beaten up Ford focus pulled up beside you. you'd been sitting on the curb for almost 15 minutes- tear stained cheeks, smudged glitter and mascara as your body shook and jittered from both the cold Seattle night and the mixture of cigarette smoke and alcohol causing the most humbling case of hiccups you think you've ever had.

"Ells!" you whined, a new flood of tears streaming from your eyes at the sight of your night in shining armour- your girlfriend.

"c'mon sweet girl" she huffed, hair thrown up messily in the usual half up, half down style, clad in red and black checkered pyjama pants, black hoodie that was splattered with paint topped off with the obnoxious lime green crocks you'd gotten her for her one Christmas, of course decked out in charms shed collected over the past few months.

before you could even process it you were sitting in the passenger seat, leather seats sticking to your sweat glazed skin, and sobs turning to hiccups.

this had been the worst night out you'd had since your 21st. and as soon as the car revved and moved down the road, Ellie's hand pressed firmly on your bare thigh, the fabric of your dress not long enough to cover the majority of your thigh.

"what happened sweet girl?" oh and by that one question, it's like Ellie had opened a flood gate.

firstly, you got to the club of choice after having to walk almost a mile from where your designated driver had parked, accompanied by a couple of friends. after queuing on the curb for almost thirty minutes, you reached the front of the queue and then promptly realized you had left you purse. with your id. in the car. a mile away.

so after you'd trekked all the way to the car, retrieving your purse and id, getting back to the club, queuing for another 30 minutes, on your own this time- as your friends who had not forgotten their id decided to go in and leave you to sort your shit out.

let's just say you were already a little pissed off.

secondly, you got in the club and it stunk. not just of sweat and booze, but piss. fucking piss. and to top that all off you couldn't find your friends so- you did what any other sane person would do and ordered shots.

shots that were actually doubles, but of course you hadnt realized that until way too late.

which leads into the final stage of the night, your head being deep in a grimy toilet bowl, knees bruised from having to kneel on tiles that were not grouted properly and pieces of them shot out and cut at your skin.

and by that point you had gotten out your phone, which was now on 7% charge because you had offers to use your GPS and it drained all your battery, and was a blubbering mess on call with your girlfriend.

you would later have to retell the story again, as apparently according to Ellie- she couldn't understand a word you were saying, just nodding along in a desperate attempt to keep you awake long enough to get a glass of water and a slice of toast down you.

it must have been during your tangent when you'd gotten home, as when you finally finished your incoherent mumbling you were sitting on the beat up leather couch of yours and Ellie's apartment, a couch you'd hated as soon as you moved in, but Ellie had a weird attachment to so it stayed in it's place, the first thing you saw when you entered the home.

Ellie was kneeling in front of you, sitting between your thighs and facing you, holding up a large glass of water,

"sip baby" she spoke softly, to which you groaned.

"do- do- I haveeeeeee to?" you whined, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to distract your girlfriend "jus' wan' sleep"

"you can sleep after you drink that." after another groan you took a sip of the glass of water- admittedly, it was refreshing, however you still gagged to prove a point.

"good girl" she purred, standing up and kissing your forehead, moving over to the cabinet to grab a packet of pills.

"fuck off"

she laughs, moving back with a small white pill in the palm of her hand, to which you begrudgingly take after Ellie promises to take you to get ice cream the day after.

you felt your eyelids droop once more, you couldn't tell if it was sleep, or just your false eyelashes becoming suddenly very heavy, you whine "'m tired ells..."

"alright I hear you, c'mon baby" she sighs, leaving a half eaten piece of toast on the coffee table, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees as she made her way to your bedroom, plopping you on the mattress and you sigh, already drifting to sleep before you screech at the feeling of something wet in your face.

"hey- hey" Ellie laughs, "I'm just taking off your makeup baby, just taking off your makeup", she smiles, dragging a cotton pad across your skin, taking off the creams and powders you had applied previously, smudged mascara coming off with it.

Ellie was thankful you'd taken off your clothes as soon as you stepped foot into the apartment saying something which she thinks was "dresses like these are modern day torture devices"- but with the way you slur your words when drunk she could never be sure, leaving you just in your underwear, making her job a whole lot easier.

trying to maneuver you, who had now dropped on the mattress like a deadweight, would've been a too strenuous task for 3am.

after discarding the used wipes and pulling your hair back into a very messy ponytail, Ellie scooted in beside you, the mattress sinking as you unconsciously snuggle in closer, head nuzzling into the girls neck, her hand going around to caress your back, soothing you into an easy sleep.

the hangover tomorrow was going to be horrible.

••••••••••••••

The third time I've tried to write this, I almost gave up 🥰

#lesbian #ellie williams #the last of us #wlw #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x reader #lesbian fic #ellie williams headcanons #ellie x fem reader #the last of us fic #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams imagine #ellie x reader #the last of us part 2 #tlou 2 #tlou fic #sapphic summer

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 11 months ago

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Hiii

Can I request top!Agatha Harkness x bottom!reader? And Agatha overstimulates reader with her fingers and magic. maybe you could add breeding kink

PLEASE 🥺

Under Her Spell

Top!Agatha Harkness x bottom!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, top!Mommy!Agatha, subby!reader, overstimulation (R), use of vibrator (R), Agatha uses magic to restrain R, A uses magic strap on R, breeding kink, magic strap does have cum

Word Count: 1,151

A/N: I had a fun time exploring this first time really writing Agatha, so I did go a little overboard from my usual requests. Hope you enjoy anon!

The rays of the setting sun flooded through the double floor to ceiling picture windows leading into the living room of your shared space. You had fallen asleep for a nap earlier in the afternoon only to be woken up by the rays on your face.

The timing seemed to be perfect though as you heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking and opening. Shoes being taken off and set on the rack by the door. Keys dropped in the bowl.

“I'm home, angel!” you hear your girlfriend call out, making you smile as you get up from your spot on the comfy sectional. You kept your blanket wrapped around you, not willing to give up its warmth just yet.

You shuffled your way over. A smile on your face as well as hers as her deep blue eyes settle on you.

You bound up to her, blanket falling and forgotten about as the warmth of her embrace takes over.

“Welcome home!” You say, burying your face in her chest.

“Did you miss me dear?” You look up at her nodding “We're you a good girl while I was out?”

“Of course! I was the best!” Agatha already knew that, of course she did. She always had eyes and ears around the house to keep an eye while she was away.

“Well good girls deserve rewards, don't they?” She pulled you up and into a kiss, slowly moving the two of you to the bedroom. “Strip down sweetie. I'm going to get some toys to play with.” You undressed quickly, not wanting to upset Agatha and got yourself on the bed as she came back with only a magic wand making you tilt your head in confusion.

Before you can verbally question anything Agatha waves her hand, purple swirls of magic tug on your wrist until they're above your head. Your legs being tugged in opposite directions being held firmly in place by her magic. You couldn't move even if you wanted to.

The wand is being held in place over your clit Agatha turning it on its highest setting.

“Ahhhh…Agatha…” she smirked down at you.

“Stay right there pet. I'm going to go take a shower.” You whine and try to squirm, but no matter how you moved the vibrator was in just the right spot. “Cum as much as you like pet. I want the bed soaked by the time I'm back.” That was how Agatha left you as she closed the on-suite bathroom door.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

“Are you still with me sweetie?” Your eyes glazed over as your head lulled towards her,

“Mama…” your brain was entirely fuzzy. Words are difficult for you right now. You lost count after five, but you knew from the look on Agatha's face she was happy.

Your eyes trailed over her still wet and naked body before your eyes landed on the magic strap between her legs and you knew this wasn't over. Agatha took the vibrator away from your now extremely overstimulated clit. You shudder in relief though you could still feel phantom vibrations from it being there for an hour.

“Are you ready dear?” Agatha asked, already knowing the answer. You dumbly nodded your head. “Such a good girl doing exactly as I had asked. Now it's time for your reward.” Agatha moved herself between your legs, lining herself up with you. She knew you were more than wet enough. She let your legs go in favor of holding them as she pushed into you. Making you moan out and pull against your restraints.

“Mommy! Touch! Pease!” Your last word slurring slightly as she hits your spot.

“Shhh soon baby, let Mommy enjoy you for a bit.” Agatha cooed into your ear in such a way that made you shiver and fall deeper into that fuzzy head space only being able to moan. Words are becoming too much for your brain to handle currently.

Agatha let her mouth wander, biting and sucking wherever she could, she loved marking you and since she had started you always had various states of hickies littering your body from fresh purple to healing yellows. A beautiful collage that Agatha had made across the canvas of your body.

You came back from your thoughts when Agatha added her fingers back into the mix on your clit.

“C-cummin’ Ma…” you somehow managed out.

“Go on, baby girl. Cum for Mommy.” Agatha husked, breathy in your ear. As the coil inside you snapped once more and she finally let your arms go as she continued to pump inside you.

“Mama…too mush…” you gripped her, scratching down her back.

“One more angel. I want you to cum with me. You can do that, right? You're such a good girl for me.” You nodded though everything felt like it was on fire in both the best and worst way.

The build up was quick for both of you as Agatha gripped you tightly, looking down into your Y/E/C orbs.

“I'm gonna cum baby. Gonna cum all inside you and fill up that pretty tummy until you're perfectly full and breed with my babies.” You moansled at her words, you hips moving with her own as, making her strap hit your deepest parts and as soon as she started to spurt inside of you, you snapped and joined her in the bliss of yet another orgasam as you gripped and clawed at Agatha only able to repeat, “Breed me Mommy…please…please breed me…” your brain on autopilot.

Agatha had trained you so well over your time together as her movement slowed down. Slowly pulling out making you groan and clench around nothing as she shushed and cooed at you.

“It's okay sweetie. I'm right here. I'm gonna grab you water and a towel.” With a flicker of Agatha's wrist the room was cleaned. No more of your mess on the bed and it even felt warm as you started drifting off until you felt the cold cloth against you as you instinctively tried to pull back, but her strong hands held you there. “It's okay baby I need to clean you. I know I overstimulated you didn't I?” she cooed, your hazy eyes looking at her.

“Yes.”

“You loved it though, didn't you?” she asked with a smile as she helped you sit up to drink some water.

“Yes.”

Agatha got the two of you in your pajamas with a snap of her fingers, letting you curl up against her body. You start falling asleep comfortably against your dominant and your girlfriend in your fuzzy little headspace.

“I love you Y/N you did so well for me tonight.” She whispered as she rubs your back and runs her fingers through your hair as you smile and press yourself further into her.

“I love you too, Aggie.” That night you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

#ley speaks #ley writes #ley requests #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #dom!agatha harkness #top!agatha harkness #mommy!agatha harkness #sub!reader #subby!reader #bottom!reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

can you do a ghost version of the Memories of Youth fic you did for price please?

Harvest Storms

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, emotionally distant father/Simon, injuries, arguments, mentions of Simon's past, hurt/comfort, fluff near the end, etc.

A/N: I know this might be controversial but I really don't see Simon wanting kids so I tried to keep this realistic but also cute, lmao. Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon admitted that having a kid was never on his to-do list, and it wasn’t only his job that caused that. In fact, at any point in his life, the thought alone terrified him.

His icy eyes spaced out as the man unstrapped his combat vest in the on-base armory, hucking it over his head with a tiny grunt. Muscles ached; wounds burned.

He’d known having that one-night stand wasn’t right—he should have just stuck to his perfected solitude of dark rooms and middle-of-the-night workouts. But there was only so much you could do before instinct overcame any sort of common sense; add a few drinks into the mix and the concoction had glazed over his mind like a honey-laced dream.

And then nine months later a single text. A photo attachment.

“She’s yours.” His child. His daughter. Simon had a daughter.

It had taken weeks of self-isolation to figure out what to do. There were moments of very real panic—bone-deep worry and hatred. He couldn’t be a father and still be the Ghost that he was now, but there wasn’t a way to reverse his already damaged psyche. Home in Manchester didn’t feel like a real place anymore; home was a gun in his hands and his mask over his face. Slumping bodies and adrenaline-blown pupils. The high he got out of killing could never be topped by the joys of having a family he didn’t want.

But then he remembered his own father and the guilt that had struck him at that moment left Simon physically sick. Head pounding and bile lacing his tongue as he retched over a toilet. It would have been easier to just promise money, and give over some of what he earned to give you a future. He could distance himself but still be a shadow on the wall if it all went south.

Yes, it could have been easy.

Until your mother up and disappeared; leaving you all alone. There was no way in hell he could leave you in foster care. The stories he’d heard…

Simon’s gloved hands flex, joints cracking, before he checks the watch on his wrist with slow-blinking eyes. He needed to be home in two hours.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” A groan escapes, rolling his shoulders twice before grasping at his thigh holster—slipping out the X12 to place it down with a small thump of black metal.

These movements were entirely routine and soon there was a neat line of multiple knives, the pistol, an automatic rifle, frag grenades, med pack, rope, and anything else that Ghost could have even the slightest possibility of needing in a tight spot. Through it all, the mask stayed; icy eyes behind the spread of black face paint numb.

It’s one hour later that he’s done cleaning and putting everything away with tired fingers. Feet shuffle before he’s exiting the armory all together, snatching the large duffle bag near the double doors; a small grunt plays out of his chest. The strap is dragged over his head when Soap passes him in the base’s hallway.

All Simon could do is hold back a groan as a headache already begins to form.

“Lt.” The Scot calls, smile pulling his lips up, “off to go hide in back-alleys, then?”

“Jesus, Johnny, shut the fuck up already.” Ghost grumbles out, hands slipping into his pockets as he continues off down the hallway. Behind him, the mohawked Sergeant belts out a laugh before disappearing into the armory Simon had just vacated.

“Copy and check, Sir!” Sarcasm bleeds out and makes icy eyes fall half-closed with subdued annoyance.

The large phantom continues on until he exits the base and digs his keys out of his pockets—finding his car in the underground parking garage exactly where he had left it two months prior. As if on autopilot, he shuffles open the door and tosses his bag in the back before sitting in the front seat and twisting the ignition.

Reaching into the glove compartment, Simon pulls out a clean balaclava and holds it loosely—his opposite hand slipping up to the skeletal mask of his head and feeling the fibers on his fingertips. Replacing it swiftly, the clean fabric slips over his face with a stiff movement of his arm. Seconds later, his foot presses into the gas.

There are no words spoken, no comments under breath, just a silence that seems to stem from some underlying anxiety completely foreign to Simon on the field. Going home always made him nervous. A soul-digging kind of hesitation.

It takes him the rest of that last hour to drive home—a tiny little country house far removed from Manchester though still leaving it well guarded by local law-enforcement patrols. A perfect mix of safety and distance that had been the driving force in Simon’s initial purchase of it. But it wasn’t his only properly, not by a long shot.

Like a rat, the holes of his paranoia ran deep into the earth.

He pulls the car into the dirt driveway and kills the vehicle. Outside in the darkening sky, his eyes slide to watch over the top of the garden wall; seeing tree branches sway in a subdued breeze. Sitting there for a few moments, the man just ends up shaking his head and shoving open the door with his shoulder.

Veins tighten under his flesh.

“Kid!” Simon raps on the front door with his knuckles when his boots take him over and up the steps, voice gravelly. A house key slips into the lock, turning over before the barrier opens. Ghost stomps in and immediately knows the entire home is completely empty.

He blinks in confusion, looking over the still air and dull noises. The AC unit whirls; the fridge shakes. No feet on the floor—no groan or sly comment.

You were a teenager now, but the absence of your aura was harsh to him. You were supposed to be here. The Manchester man’s lips thin.

“Christ, don’t go and tell me she’s fuckin’ gone again…” Simon kicks the door shut and lets his bag fall from his fingers, feeling his chest tighten slowly. He beelines to the kitchen where, sure enough, a note from the far-off neighbor who keeps an eye on you when he’s gone was sitting with its delicate font.

Fast fingers snatch it like a snake, jaw clenched and tight grip creasing the paper. He reads with a growing disappointment.

“She got into a fight out of school again—black eye and bruised knuckles. I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, but I couldn’t get a hold of you to tell you about it. I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father. When you read this, I’ll have tried to make her come back inside but I was unsuccessful. I left supper at the base of the hill and a blanket. I’m sorry. I’ll be at my home if you need me.”

Simon places the note down and runs a hand up and down his face, a deep sigh exiting his lips as his fingers cover his jaw and chin. Like the definition of fatigue, his body lightly bows forward. Slouched shoulders.

This would make the fifth fight this year.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

After a minute of mute irritation, the man drops his hands and goes to the freezer, taking out an ice pack with a small glint of further emotion stinted in his gaze. There are so many things that Simon feels for you—some of which he would never be able to properly express.

He’s not a good man. Not someone to look up to or place on a pedestal. He’s in the 141 because he can do a job; a job that not many others can do simply for the fact that something in him was broken. Shattered beyond repair.

Simon was never meant for this.

The blond placed the ice pack into a rag from the drawer and exited through the back door of the house. Grunt stuck in his throat at the thought of the delinquent activities you seemed to always get up to when he was gone which, admittingly, was more often than not.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

But wasn’t he doing a good thing by staying away? He took you in—provided food, water, shelter, and anything else you could need. What was he doing wrong?

Simon’s brows tighten as the chilled air hits him as a winder wind would. By now the sun had fully set and the darkness was becoming more black than blue by the second; dim twinklings from stars dancing in the pupils of his eyes. His feet take him off the back porch and easily finds a small trail that leads through the barren garden all the way to a hill in the distance.

Icy blue easily finds the tiny hunched being at the very top. His hand tightens over the ice pack.

Ghost was unable to understand, of course, he hadn’t had the kind of childhood people would want—was never around kids in general. No friends with little brats running around, obviously. Was this a normal kind of thing kids did? Start fights?

He’d heard some things about teenagers.

Closing his tired eyes for a moment, Simon silently walks past the plate of food at the foot of the hill but snatches the fluffy blanket that had been beside it. If you don’t want to eat he won't force you, but it was getting cold out quickly.

Simon wasn’t letting you catch a bug.

He huffs as he ascends the slope, all the aches and pains finally making themself more known in his thighs and abdomen.

You hear him coming when he’s three-fourths of the way there.

Your red eyes widen in shock, hands that had been trapping your legs to your chest rising to wipe the tears on your cheeks away aggressively; frantic. Three seconds later a heavy fabric hits your head and you tense, widely looking up into the dead eyes of your father.

The blanket thumps to the ground beside you in a heap.

“Put it on,” he grunts from behind his balaclava and your surprised expression slowly sours.

You turn away with a growl. “Don’t want to.”

“Bloody ‘ell, just put it on,” there’s no acidity behind the words, but the annoyance is clear. “Asking to get fuckin’ sick at this rate, are you? I’m not cleanin’ up your vomit from the floor when you're hunched over like a mutt on drugs.”

Not a stranger to his humor, but with a venom-laced look, you grab the blanket as Simon sits next to you and end up throwing it over your shoulders. Your face hurt too much to talk for long periods—right eye swollen and radiating heat; hands weren't that much better, the knuckles puffy and blood-flooded under the skin. It made you flinch when you had to clench your fingers.

You’re acutely aware of your father’s presence. How he sits with his spine bent with one hand behind him; legs laying out flat. You should be happy he’s back safe in one piece, but in reality, there would be little change if he never showed back up at all.

The house was always silent anyways. Dead. Simon was as much a stranger to you as he was to everyone else.

“What did I tell you when I went away, eh?” The man asks you lowly when you’ve settled, and you grit your teeth and look out over the landscape, long grass swaying in the wind. “Kid.”

“Don’t get into any more fights.” Words are stiff, reflective of both of your muscles and hearts.

“Affirmative. You want to explain to me what you did?”

“Got into another fight.” An icepack is tossed near you, bouncing in the grass. You scoff but take it, softly applying it to your face with a concealed flinch. Shame permeates in your ribs, a desperate need to prove yourself. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s not an excuse.” Simon glares at you from the side of his eye, utterly serious. “When I tell you something, you listen, yeah?”

“...Yeah,” you grit your teeth and clench your hands, a bitter huff leaving your lips. “Sure.”

A tense silence keeps you in its clutches, the kind of silence that stems from two people who really have no idea how to speak or understand one another.

“No more fighting,” Simon grits out, “now show me.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Show me it.” Your face burns as you slip the ice pack away and turn your face his way, meeting your father’s gaze head-on and seeing his lids slightly pull back. You spy his hand clenching in the grass, ripping strands out like hair from a head.

“Happy?” You sarcastically ask, turning back forward and putting the ice pack back into your socket.

It’s a long while before he speaks to you again, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face when he does. Your heart rampages at the deathly slow and tiny voice.

“Why?” The question makes your body flair with anger and you grip the pack tighter, feeling the ice shift in your grip as you clench it violently. You feel your fingers twitch when you answer, unconsciously closing into fists.

“Why?” You glare at him, “Why the hell do you care?”

Simon’s eyes go blank, brows going up his head. Gazes lock and you’re suddenly standing to your feet, chucking the ice pack right into his chest. It only makes you madder when he catches it easily, glancing down at the object before slowly shifting his numb eyes back to you.

“You’re never fucking here, what’s the point in telling you anything about me?” Your father’s face is covered, but the mask is more than just physical—it’s a part of him in every sense. You don’t know what he is, but you see his lungs going still in his ribs. You splay your hands around you as the blanket hits the ground at your feet. “It wouldn’t even make a difference if you never came back! Even when you’re here it barely even matters beyond who’s dishes are in the sink.”

Bitter tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, a tight itch in your skin. Slight guilt hits you when you shove out such harsh words, but you don’t care enough right now to think about what you’re saying. Everything just hits a breaking point. Shaking your head you scoff again, weaker this time. “You don’t even know the first things about me and you want me to try and explain why I do the things I do?”

Simon watches and listens, stone still. It’s as if he doesn’t even breathe; his pulse doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. If you would have been able to see it, you’d have noticed the way the large man’s lips were slightly parted.

He wasn’t averse to arguments, he yelled on Ops and cursed aggressively on duty, but he had made a stark promise to himself to never yell at you. If there was one thing that reminded him of his father—it was that. Explosive fights that only ended one way.

What you were saying was everything he knew to be true. This came to him in a slow and silent realization of growing pain. Simon didn’t know your favorite color or what food you loved. Your interests or your goals.

He knew how much you spent on snacks at the store, but didn’t know what you bought.

Ghost clenches his jaw and watches your resolve deteriorate with a heavy heart. What was he supposed to do? He was your father, sure, but…he didn’t know the first things that went with anything beyond giving you items and objects.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

How could he be a father to you?

Simon clears his throat, for once in his life completely unable to pull on any sort of skill to rectify this situation. You take his silence as blatant disregard.

With a burning face, you sniffle and twist on your heel, speed-walking down the hill back into the house. Your brain is pounding in your head, just as fast as your heart when you finally stomp through the garden and shove open the back door.

Simon doesn’t tell you to stop.

Left on that hill, he watches your back disappear into the house and gets a rabid pain in his stone heart. You were his daughter. You were hurt; neglected. He’d never felt like this before.

Simon had failed the only job that he knew was far more important than any other. Blue darkens into a color reminiscent of storm clouds.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Standing, he snatches at the ice pack and the blanket, lightly jogging down the mound of earth. In no time he’s standing in the house again, having completely forgotten about the plate of food outside. It’s the tense set of his shoulders that really give away how unprepared he feels. How out of his expertise.

Give Simon a gun and he’d be able to take it apart and reassemble it in one minute; a knife and he’d have it sharp in seconds.

Simon Riley has no idea how to be a good father and he’s suddenly very aware of how fast the window is closing to try. You were his blood and his responsibility. He can’t end up like his own father.

The thought almost makes him sick again, stomach rolling with anxiety.

Inside the house, he tosses the items in his grip onto the couch and whispers past into the hallway to your room. Fingers twitching, he grabs at his balaclava before ripping it from his head; stuffing it into his pants pocket. Stopping in front of your room, Simon raises a hand.

Just as he’s about to shove open the door, he instantaneously stops himself with a sharp thought.

Daughter, not soldier. Home, not barracks.

Hand lowering, he takes a long and deep breath and waits a moment; gathering himself. He still didn’t know what to say…but…

God, your words hurt, but he needed to hear them because they were true.

Simon’s knuckles rasp on the wood, a series of three dull thumps that echo over the stale air. There’s a shuffling of sheets and a dull, “God, just go away!”

Cursing quietly under his breath, Simon runs his fingers through his hair tense-like; pushing back blond strands.

“Open up for me, yeah?” He tries, awkward as his hips shift weight. “Need ‘ta talk to you.”

A cruel laugh exits from under the bottom of the door. “You? Talk?”

Simon keeps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, pulling from the deep pit of patience he holds for on-duty missions and not mastered yet for disagreements and verbal talks. He calms down and rolls his shoulders slightly.

“Please.” A pin could drop.

It’s a long, hot-air moment before there's the padding of feet over the floor and the slight shift of the door handle. The metal jiggles before it’s twisted back with a firm hand.

Your face comes into view through the tiny crack of the door, injured eye on full display in all its swollen glory. A young face is laced with surprise at seeing your father’s bare visage—only the black face paint stuck to his skin—but even more so at his plea. There were only a few times you’d actually seen him and even fewer when you’d hear something like that. Simon stops himself from getting angry at the sight of your wound, staring down at you as his gaze softens just a fraction of a sliver.

He recalls the moment he had first held your form when he had picked you up at hospital years ago. You were so small, squirming in his foreign grip. The nurse had to tell him how to hold you properly—what to do and what not to do.

It had been the first time that Simon could really say he’d been terrified down to his marrow; sweating and lips pulled tight. This being so small it couldn’t do anything by itself had rendered him frozen with unease like he had been stabbed in the heart. Your eyes had looked up at him with trust and love. You hadn’t cried or screamed at his hidden face, even if he thought you should have…you’d done something worse.

You had reached up to his face and placed your little fingers on his brow, slapping his flesh with no strength or hatred. Simon’s gaze never left you for hours after you’d done that, uncharacteristically warm and rendered mute to all else.

Tiny. Weak. Innocent.

How could anybody ever leave you? Hurt you? But the man had been petrified; utterly fearful to the point he would begin shaking when you’d begin crying for a bottle.

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

“What?” Your crestfallen voice brings him back and he blinks, expression going blank once more. But he tries.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t know—are you going to give a lecture?” You ask, eyes red and other hand still holding the door handle. Simon breathes out a grunted sigh.

“Negative, Moppet, no lecture.” He relaxes his posture, eye bags plainly visible. He was so tired his fingers had gone numb. “Jus’ need ‘ta…” Words fail him. What did he need to do?

Simon clears his throat, looking off down the hallway before his eyes drift back to you.

“You land a hit, then?” You blink in silent shock at the graveled question, a hitch in your lungs giving way to confusion.

“I…” your feet shuffle, face burning, “what?”

One of your father’s large hands goes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers creating red lines across his flesh as his chest rises and falls. You could immediately tell he had no idea what he was doing.

But…he was trying.

“A hit,” he vaguely gestures to your eye, staring intensely. “Did you get ‘em back?”

It’s a vague few moments before you respond, oddly touched by the question. Your door opens the slightest bit wider.

“More than one person,” you admit hesitantly. Your father’s gaze darkens but you quickly continue. “T-they look worse than me right now.”

Simon nods stiffly, hands going to slide into his pockets. “That’ll do,” a pause, “...‘cause I can’t beat up teenagers without getting into a fuckin’ heap ‘o shit.”

Your heart lurches with amusement and a small smile grows on your face. You stare, still just a tiny bit confused at the sudden shift, but unable to stop the chuckle you let out. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest when his ears twitch at the sound of your humor, yet Simon pulls a smirk to his lips. It made him…content, you could say.

“Who said they were teenagers?” you smirk, tinting your head, and your father immediately frowns, unamused. Brows pull in.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“No, it isn’t. Shut your bloody trap.” The air lightens to a degree you hadn’t experienced before. A silence settles before you break it, vision darting down to spy on the dog tags Simon wears.

“...How long are you staying?” The man hums, licking his lips.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

“I’m off as long as it takes to get you to stop picking fights, yeah?” Your fingers flinch and you stare into eyes that are always like ice, except now try to melt themselves into a chilled puddle.

“Change of heart?” You ask, voice subdued. A bitter hope builds in your veins.

Simon motions with his chin for you to open the door to your room and you do, elbowing it to the side before backing up—letting your father’s large frame enter.

He looks around for a moment at the posters and the bits of personality, glaring internally at himself because he didn’t know what you liked at all. He seems disappointed with his own negligence.

He’d really fucked up.

“C’mere,” Simon goes and snatches your desk chair before he whirls it around, “lemme take a proper look at it.” His hand pats the top of the wood and you listen, going to it and sitting down softly.

Your father kneels in front of you, bones cracking, and he delicately grabs hold of your chin to tilt your head to the side with practiced ease. You avoid his eyes, hands in your lap held tight together in this silence that brews from shared thorns.

Simon has to take a deep breath to get his head out of his rage at the sight of your damaged skin; instinctual reaction to guard you rearing its head even more so now that he can see the injury in the dim light of your desk lamp. His thumb caresses the side of the swelling with intense care.

“Won’t die,” is all he can say, voice hard and strained. “Lucky you, eh?” You scoff and his hands leave—there wasn’t much he could do. “Moppet.”

Eyes slide up to his and his grip finds your bicep, squeezing once. You’re momentarily locked at the sight of real concern in his glinting orbs; a once in a blue moon occurrence.

“Give me your word.” Simon levels firmly, feet shifting. “No more of this. You’re gonna end up gettin’ hurt—badly—you got that?”

“They were calling soldiers cannon fodder.” You glare at your hands in your lap, mumbling out the truth with a burning face mixed with shame and honesty. Your father goes silent. “That they weren’t even good enough for bullets.”

Jaw clenching, you rotate your wrist and feel the flare of pain from the joints. A deep sigh exits from Simon and with a hesitant clench of his jaw, his hand travels to the back of your head. He presses firmly, and your face finds the junction of his neck and shoulder with little fight. Tense in the beginning, you slowly breathe in sweat and tarmac with a gradual loosening feeling in your muscles.

Eyes wide, you slowly begin to return the strange embrace. Your father flinches lightly when your fingers slip along his waist, hands grabbing into his shirt. But like you, time makes him calm—the side of his face connects with the side of your scalp, lashes fluttering closed tightly.

It was you. His daughter. Innocent.

The emotions are so foreign to you that it brings a burning behind your eyes as the minutes lengthen.

Simon can’t even begin to process it, it just felt natural to do such things for you. If there was one thing he did know—it was that he didn’t want to see you in pain or suffering; hurt or eyes filled with pain. His hands slip to bring you up into his arms like you were a baby again, carrying you easily as your nose sniffles with restrained tears. You’re placed in your bed with a delicate plop, icy eyes darting over you until it seems a decision is made with a quick nod.

You watch him leave and return seconds later with a pile of manilla folders in his hands. Your father grunts softly, “Go to sleep. It’s late out,” and drops the items to your desk, sitting down with a huff and a squeal from your chair. The air is warm and you sit in it a moment longer.

Eyes blink at the silhouette before a small smile builds on your lips—genuine and warm like a weighted blanket.

“How long are you gonna be there?” You ask your father, grasping the covers and slipping under as your head hits the pillow; making sure to stay on the uninjured side.

He doesn’t turn around.

“All night. Need ‘ta get this shite done for my boss.” You don’t know why, but you feel like he’s lying. Simon looks over his shoulder with a tone dipping to a whisper. “Sleep, Kid. We’ll get those knuckles sorted in the morning.”

Of course, he’d noticed that, too.

“Dad?” You ask and his spine straightens instantly at the title. It’s a long time before he answers and when he does his emotion is the softest you’ve ever heard him; gravel so deep you almost miss the words entirely.

“What is it?”

“Goodnight.” Simon’s hands shake as they open the first folder in the small stack, small tremors that are both horrible and endearing. He doesn’t say anything until you’re fast asleep behind him—when he stands up and walks over, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling the covers farther up to your chin.

Into your skin, he whispers, “...Goodnight, my little Moppet.”

Simon wonders if his daughter likes eggs for breakfast as his pen slides over the first report, one eye forever staying on your slumbering body to watch the rise and fall of your lungs.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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sleep-0-deprived · 1 year ago

Note

if your requests are open i was wondering if I could get the doa trio x bottom male reader? (like a foursome with them, just the brainrot is so unreal rn)

DOA nsfw head cannons with a sub bottom male reader

Ok so I am having some severe writers block so I’m sorry in advance for it being shitty and also sorry for taking so long to get to your request but I hope you do enjoy ;]

Female aligned dni 18+ only below this point

Things in your relationship was a bit more on the complex Side that still applies in the bed room too they are all different Fyodor is a strict dom who loves to over simulate you, dazai is a serving dom that loves giving praises and pleasing you, and Nikolai is a rough dom that gives harsh punishments

A common thing in the four of yours sex life is bdsm and sub/dom dynamic all of you have a few kinks like Nikolai like taking a knife and tracing it all over your body while dazai sucks you off and Fyodor fucks you and they each take turns over and over with you until all four of you are over stimulated. Fyodor has a choking kink and a collar kink, he loves seeing your throat littered with bruises and bite marks from him, Dazai has a breeding kink and likes to see your eyes glazed over with fresh tears from being fucked silly.

They never get jealous because they all understand that you are theirs and they are yours but they do get possessive in bed about who can please you more

Toys and cuffs are a must, Fyodor will play will put vibrators up against your nipples and blow you while grabbing your thighs, Nikolai likes to insert a vibrator against your prostate and Fuck you from behind with his hands around your waist leaving bruises, Dazai likes to make you ride him until your legs give out and he starts fucking you roughly while praising you and stoking your dick.

Now you’ve heard of double penetration but with them it will be triple penetration with them and they get rough with you but they give a lot of praise, and the aftercare is amazing they will take a shower hand help clean you and that sometimes leads to more sex, afterward all of you cuddle with you in the middle.

#x male reader #sub male reader #x male reader smut #bottom male reader #bsd x male reader #bsd x reader #fyodor x male reader #nikolai x reader #dazai x male reader #sigma x reader #smut #mlm ns/fw

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 1 year ago

Text

Whumptober 2023

No. 25 “They’re not breathing!”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Whisperers Era

Warnings: Description of injuries, mouth to mouth resuscitation

“Y/N. Hey, hey. M’righ’ here.” Daryl sat on his knees beside you, leaning over you. “Can ya open yer eyes?”

“D-Daryl?” You obliged him but found it hard to keep your eyes open, let alone keep his face in focus. “It’s o…okay. It doesn’t…hurt.”

The archer looked at the wound in your side, still steadily oozing blood. He placed a hand over it, his expression sympathetic and guilty when you winced.

“Okay…I… I take it…back. That…fucking sucks.”

Daryl snorted, but he couldn’t hold on to the humor. Crimson seeped from between his fingers, warm and sticky. “Jus’ hang on, y’hear me? Siddiq’s on ‘is way.”

“Tired.” You whispered, your eyes glazing over. “D…Daryl? Daryl?” There was an urgency in your tone that filled the bowman with panic. He leaned in above you with a loud plea for you to keep looking at him, but your eyes slipped shut.

“Y/N?”

Carol sprinted over, doubling over with her hands on her knees in an attempt to catch her breath. “She okay?”

“Y/N?! Fuck!” He clumsily shook your shoulder, keeping his other hand over the wound. “She ain’t breathin’!”

“Shit.” Carol whispered, lowering to her knees opposite of Daryl to place two fingers to your carotid artery. “There’s still a pulse.” She didn’t hesitate to pinch your nose and place her mouth over yours to offer much needed oxygen to starving lungs.

Daryl watched with grief and horror, desperate to hear you take in a breath. “C’mon.”

Carol glanced up at her best friend. “Daryl—”

“Nah. No. Don’ ya stop.” He was shaking his head adamantly, eyes fierce and nostrils flaring. He didn’t give Carol a chance to continue, taking his hand from the wound to proceed with breathing for you. Carol scrambled to put pressure back on the wound. “Ain’t losin’ ‘er.”

Carol watched, lip quivering and eyes leaking. She pressed her fingers to your neck again. Your heart was still beating but slowing with each passing moment. Daryl continued forcing air into your lungs, begging you to respond. Carol turned when she heard Siddiq calling your name.

“Over here!”

“C’mon, Y/N. Please.” Another breath, but this time, when he slanted his mouth over yours, you dragged in a harsh gulp of air. “Tha’s it. Good girl.” You remained unresponsive but you were breathing, sparking a flame of hope within Daryl’s chest. “Stay with me.” He could hear Siddiq right beside him now, but The archer’s eyes remained on your face.

Carol and Siddiq scrambled to stabilize you, leaving Daryl to tether you. The wound was deep with the threat of internal injury as well. Still, Siddiq was hopeful.

“I’ll get Aaron to help us move her. We have to get her back to the infirmary.”

Carol nodded and watched him go, her hand instinctively reaching out to squeeze Daryl’s shoulder. “She’ll be okay.”

Daryl nodded, stroking your bloody cheek with the back of his knuckles. “I know.” He brushed your damp hair off of your forehead before pressing his lips there. “Y’ain’t goin’ anywhere, Sunshine. Yer too damn stubborn fer that shit.”

Somehow, in the darkness, you could hear Daryl’s voice, leading you back to him.

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sensei-venus · 2 years ago

Note

gosh darn it tumblr. 😭 my original ask had a request for daniel x female reader where they're at daniel's place doing homework & the reader gets distracted by how attractive he is (aka horny) and one thing leads to another and they end up fucking and that homework gets shoved off the bed so fast

(Unedited)

“Uhhhh I hate this! How are you so good at this stuff when I just straight up suck at it!”

“It’s because I actually pay attention and take notes, not sleep all class. Like someone in this room.”

Reader huffed as she rolled onto her side on Daniel's bed. She fanned out on his bed and groaned into the mattress in annoyance. Her brain hurt just from the thought of another math problem. Daniel was way better at this stuff then she was and she wished he would suck it up and let her copy off of him.

But no he had to “help her” by trying to tutor her. It did little to help her at this point.

Daniel just smirked and rolled his eyes at her before looking back at the worksheet. His eyes scanning over his own work, not even bothering to look at the mess of Reader’s. It looked like it could rip at any minute from how much she had erased over the thin paper. He almost grimced at it.

Reader turned back over and looked at him. Her hand resting under her head as she laid on her side and just studied him.

She had only known the boy for a year and only dated him a few months now.

Up close she could see why some of the girls at school thought he was so attractive. She felt a pang in her heart, feeling like she was lucky to have caught his eye. For him to dating her. But that was nothing in her mind.

Daniel was attractive by all things holy. He might be slightly smaller and more scrawny then most boys, he wasn't beefy or have washboard abs. But it was attractive none the least. His face was a big winner for most girls including herself.

Big brown eyes that always had a glint of mischief in them. Tan skin that was only darkening the longer he stayed in the california sun. The almost invisible dust of freckles on the bridge of his nose. Not to mention his cute nose that fit his other features perfectly.

Kissable plump lips that he was always darting his tongue out to wet.

Reader couldn’t help rubbing her thighs together to try and get some friction. Her pussy was already starting to get damp just from just thinking about him. Her eyes glazed over just a little as she watched him work on his own homework. The way his jaw locked a little when he was thinking or the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He was already starting to get annoyed with his own work and he watched as his jaw started to lock up.

She slowly moved a hand over his bed sheets, her fingers ran up is arm and finally over his cheeks. He didn’t seem to interested or he just didn’t notice.

That was until her fingers ran though his thick hair and her hand grabbed a big chuck, giving it a hard tug at the roots. He grunted and his eyes sprang up to look her way. He puffed out a cheek before huffing, she just gave him a innocent smile.

“Soooo you said your mom was going to be working late today? Taking a double shift?”

He raised a brow before slowly nodding. A smirk coming over his lips as he started to get what she was hinting at.

Not even five minutes later the two where naked on his bed.

Reader giggled as she pushed him down and straddled his waist. She grinned as she started to stroke his already hard dick. He hissed as she played with him, her fingers playing along his shaft and her finger tip running over his slit.

She let go of him only to run herself against him. She was already slick as she rubbed her folds over him. His dick pushing though her soft spongy folds. They both moaned out at the feeling, the tip of his dick digging into her clit with every movement.

“Babe shit, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum.”

“We don’t want that do we, not till your inside me that is.”

She laughed as she lifted herself up a little bit. Her had reached around to stroke him once more before helping to line him up with her pussy. His tip brushed her entrance before pushing fully into her wet heat. Slowly she let herself slid down his dick until he bottomed out. His bass pressed against her ass just right. They both moaned and groaned at the new feeling.

Reader panted as she let him settle inside her tight cunt. She felt so full with him inside of her, and he was so deep. Her head was in the clouds as she started to move on top of him.

Daniel grunted as she moved on top of him, her hands on his chest as she used him for leverage to move herself up and down on him. She was bouncing on his dick like not other and all he could do was try to help push and pull her down. He moaned out as he buried his face into her fat tits. Almost smothering himself in her soft tits as she moved around, her hips circling on top of him. He could feel how wet she was as she spilled all over him.

His eyes rolled back for a split second pushed himself deeper into her breasts. All he could hear was her heavy breathing and moans. The way her voice rumbled in her chest. He could hear the way her heart pounded. He groaned as she felt himself slowly start to let go. The coil in his belly was tight and about to snap, his dick felt like it was going to break off at this rate. The way she moved made his head spin.

His fingers dig into the rolls of his belly as he try’s to find some kind of purchase of leverage. Her bouncing only growing more violent by the minute. He could feel his balls throb. He was so close just a little more and he would be over the edge.

He felt her grind down and her pussy clench around him. Her tight channel fluttered and she squealed out before jerking around. It took him a moment to realize what even happened.

She just squirted on his dick.

That was all it took for him to go over the edge cum. His ball drew up as he unloaded a fat load of hot cum into her tight cunt. It quickly spilled out along his shaft with her fluid’s. Her own juices painted his thighs and pelvis. It was wet and sticky as they both lay together. Her weight was like a heavy blanket on top of him and he couldn’t help but snuggle more into her. His head resting against her pillow like tits. He sighed.

She panted over him before setting back into a normal rhythm. She hummed as her gummy walls flutter around him once again. His dick slowly softened but twitched inside her.

“Remind me to take these sheets down to the laundry later, at least before my mom gets home.”

“Ummm will do baby will do….”

#cobra kai #cobra kai blog #cobra kai ask blog #daniel larusso x reader #cobra kai daniel larusso #daniel larusso x chubby reader #daniel larusso smut #karate kid #karate kid fanfiction #karate kid imagine #the karate kid series #karate kid blog #cobra kai smut #karate kid smut #cobra kai smut thought #cobra kai x chubby reader #chubby reader

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lovings4turn · 1 year ago

Text

୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 rum and revelations . . . (l.s.)

— after one too many drinks at a party, logan forgets how to keep his own secrets. but drunk words are sober thoughts, right? (1k words)

+ inspired by this ask from my lovely dolly — i know this was a sugar n spice saturday ask but it just made my mind go BRRR so i had to write a full fic!

+ contains fluff, drinking and drunk behaviour, mentions of vomiting but no one is actually sick. divider from cafekitsune

“woah, sorry!”

before you can react, logan is slumped against your side, essentially placing his full body weight onto you. high-pitched laughter escapes his lips as he attempts to steady himself, placing a hand onto the wall you’re both leaning against as he regains his balance.

there’s no mistaking it. he’s drunk. absolutely shit-faced, to be more precise.

but you can’t really blame him. all of his hard work and determination had finally paid off, and just a few hours earlier he’d earned his first points of the formula one season. what kind of friend would you be to deny him the chance to celebrate? especially when such a large party had been thrown, a friend of one of logan’s friends offering up their house to host.

“feeling okay?” you ask, an amused smile tugging at your lips as he lifts his head.

“never better,” he responds.

even his voice suggests he’s a little worse for wear. his accent has somehow grown thicker, and his words are a little sluggish, slurred together in a blur of vowels and consonants with a meaning wrapped up somewhere in the middle. a couple of glasses of champagne paired with tequila shots and rum and cokes will do that to a person, you suppose.

any conversation dies on your tongue as logan slumps forward once more, warm forehead resting against your shoulder as he emits a low groan. if it weren’t for his shoulders shaking with laughter, you would have been concerned.

“this is what you call ‘never better’?” you tease.

without thinking, you lift your hand to his hair, carding your fingers through the blonde strands in a motion that you hope is soothing. logan’s response comes in the form of an incomprehensible groan, and you can’t help but laugh yourself.

“i think it’s starting to hit me,” he admits, removing his head from your shoulder.

his eyes are a little glazed over, and though he’s smiling, there’s a far away look on his face that indicates the copious amounts of alcohol is starting to catch up with him.

“alright, let’s get you some water,” you say, the smile audible in your voice.

you and logan are no strangers to taking care of one another. you had been best friends for the past five years or so, so you’d had your fair share of looking after the other when they got a little too carried away at a party. still, you don’t think you’ve ever seen logan this bad.

you take his hand in yours, lifting his arm until it’s draped around your shoulder in an effort to support his weight. he stumbles alongside you, mumbling inaudible comments to himself and bursting into gratuitous laughter as he trips over his own feet.

some divine force must be on your side, as you’re able to find an empty room without trouble. god knows how you would have reacted if you’d… interrupted something between two other partygoers.

you lead logan over to the queen sized bed, sitting him down despite his protests that he’s perfectly capable of doing it on his own. luck was certainly with you, as the room you’d selected bore an ensuite bathroom.

“wait here,” you instruct, striding over to the bathroom and filling a glass with cold water.

as the crisp water fills the glass, you check yourself over in the mirror. when you think about it, you’re not sure why. sure, you don’t want to be walking around with smudged makeup, or your hair a mess, but it’s also just logan. he’s seen you at your very worst sober, so why should it matter how he sees you now, when his vision is likely double?

you thrust the glass into his hand, cupped palm coming to sit under his chin as he greedily downs the liquid. a few droplets hit your hand, and you hold back a shiver at the cold temperature.

“y’okay?”

“i’m not gonna vomit, if that’s what you mean.” he jokes, and you smile back.

it’s quiet for a moment, until logan speaks again.

“thanks, y/n. i’m sorry, you should be enjoying yourself. yet you’re here taking care of me.”

logan exhales, throwing himself backwards until his back hits the mattress.

“don’t apologise, logan. if there’s any night for you to get shitfaced, it’s tonight,” you reason, giving him a smile. “anyways, ‘m happy to do it. long as i know you’re okay.”

“you’re too nice,” logan mumbles, his tone once again far away, as though his mind is somewhere else entirely. “y’know, this is why i like you so much. you’re always so nice to me.”

suddenly, your heart is in your throat.

“what?” you ask, forcing out a laugh.

he’s drunk. you reason. he has no clue what he’s saying.

“i mean, y’always there for me. at every grand prix, even when i’ve fucked a race, you’re in the garage for me. you always answer my calls, and you’re just really nice. and really pretty. my god, you’re so pretty,” logan mumbles.

his eyes are closed, and it’s apparent to you that he has no idea what he’s saying.

“oscar’s tired of me talking about you, actually. though he promises it’s not your fault. it’s mine, for talking about you so much. oscar thinks you’re great.”

you’re glad he’s out of it, because it would be impossible to hide your flushed cheeks and dropped jaw.

“of course,” you respond, begging your tone to stay even. “we’re best friends. and i’m fucking amazing.”

logan scoffs a laugh.

“yeah, ‘best friends’. not like i’ve been in love with you since we met or anything.”

it’s clear his tone is begging to be joking, but the alcohol prohibits him from being convincing. your heart is in your throat, and you swallow it down, praying it doesn’t try to crawl back out. instinctively, your hand finds itself in logan’s hair once more and you sigh, biting back a smile.

“we’ll talk when you’re sober, yeah? i think you’ll be quite pleased with how the conversation turns out.”

logan nods at this, leaning further into your touch. when he finally responds, his voice is thick with sleep.

"mm, sounds good. love you."

your heart skips a beat as you smile.

"yeah. love you too."

🏷️ tags : @faerieroyal @starriesworlds @itscrzy

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant blurb #logan sargeant drabble #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fluff

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

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This request is actually inspired by my fic I'm writing and I wanted to see your interpretation of the scene.

Tav is the daughter of a well known pirate, basically the black beard of Baldur's Gate, but after an attack that lead to her father and alot of the crews death she roamed Baldur's Gate until the mindflayer thing happened.

Currently, she and everyone are at a tavern, celebrating another successful quest and honestly still being alive when she hears a familiar song and she sees four old crew members (family) she thought was gone. What is your interpretation of the scene, how would Astarion would react to the news, and seeing her reuinte with her family?

I did not expect this to turn out as long as it did lmao

Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader (can be read as gn)

Warnings: fear of abandonment, alcohol/drinking, swearing

Word Count: 2,123

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The tavern was lively and bustling on the evening you and your companions squeezed in, the sun beginning to paint the sky in dramatic colors as it sets. Almost instantly, your party's spirits are lifted - yours included.

Finding a table for 7 people is no easy feat, but you manage to snag one in the corner. Drinks were served around, jokes about the battle you’d just endured and old stories of lives before the Illithid threat fill the air with an easy camaraderie. It reminds you of your father's ship, of the crew that raised you. Thinking about them again left a bitter taste in your mouth. Astarion must have noticed the distant look in your eye. He reached under the table for your hand, interlacing your fingers easily, and trying to catch your eye.

You smile at him, but your eyes are still glazed over. “I’m just thinking about my family, is all,” you tell him, as though it’s as mundane as thinking of what one needs to get from the market to make dinner. You’d told him of your father, his crew, the ship - and what happened to it. It’s been months, but it’s still too fresh. You still wake up in the dead of night from visions of colossal waves that pull your head under, and screams cut short with the slice of a cutlass. “This… reminds me of them.”

He offers a concerned smile, though it comes out as more of a grimace. “I’m flattered we remind you of drunken sailors,” he drawled sarcastically. It worked to get a laugh out of you, if nothing else.

“Drunken pirates,” you correct. He watches the smile slip, your eyes become distant once more, water pricking at the corners.

Astarion had a… complicated relationship with family. He couldn’t remember his parents, and the “family” Cazador provided were less-than-welcoming at best. As such, he never really knew how to comfort you in times like these. Not that he knew how to comfort anyone, really, but he wanted to try, at least.

“Gods,” you sigh, choked with emotion, “I miss those daft fools.” You lean your head against his shoulder. He maneuvers to wrap his arm around your middle, holding you close, and takes your hand again. “We used to celebrate like this,” you mumbled. His elven ears picked it up easily. “We’d drown the night in ale and groan about it in the morning. Played knife-throwing games as our visions start to spin and double. Sing songs at the top of our lungs, like screaming it would scare away any monster at sea.”

You sigh again. Though he can’t see your face, he can see when you use your free hand to wipe your eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with this.”

“Darling,” he hums, squeezing your hand, “we are technically in this together. Your burdens are mine and all that. In any case, you’ve carried all of our burdens, even when you didn’t have to. I’m only returning the favor.”

“Thank you.” You lift your head from his shoulder to kiss his cheek. He grins, all too pleased with the simple affection you lavish on him. “Now, enough wallowing.” You clear your throat and grab your tankard. “This is a celebration. And I intend to be too drunk to walk before the night is out.”

He sighed dramatically, lifting his goblet of wine. “And I suppose I’ll be the one to carry you back to camp?”

You smirk up at him, a glint in your eye. Like this, he can imagine you as the pirate you are. Swashbuckling and taking down other ships, climbing up ropes to the top of the sails, peering out from the crow’s nest for any sign of adventure. Dry land did not suit you, he thought.

But then came the thoughts that always followed. If you did return to the sea, to your old life with a new crew, after these tadpoles are removed, he couldn’t follow. The only reason he’s safe from the sun and the burn of running water was because of the damned, wriggly things. He couldn’t follow you onto a ship to be locked away in confined cabins until night, or help if the waters chose to fold over the deck in great big waves, threatening to take down the vessel. He couldn’t have that life. Not with you.

Your head was thrown back, neck bobbing with each gulp of shitty ale. You did not see the pain on his features those thoughts brought him. He tossed back the last of his wine.

You stand and gather the empty mugs of your companions, bright-eyed and ready for round after round (Karlach only encourages this.), when something sounds across the tavern. It’s a rather large establishment, and the bustle of other patrons covers up everything. But it’s there. Loud and boisterous and-

You rush to step over the bench and find the source of the noise. Astarion frowns and chases after. He’s right on your tail as you push through drunkards with half-formed “Excuse me”s and “Coming through”s. As you get closer and closer, the sound becomes clearer. It’s not just noise - it’s singing. A cacophony of voices all singing together.

You squeeze past a barmaid, nearly knocking the drinks from her hands, but the apology is lost when you see a table full of drunken pirates. One starts to take a swig mid-song, when his eyes land on you. He’s on his feet - Is that a peg leg? - in an instant, dropping the tankard carelessly to the table.

“Tav?” he gasps. The rest fall silent, turning around to see what the man was gawking at. They thought he was imagining it, as he’d done time and again since the attack. They all leapt up and rushed forward when you were more than a figment of their alcohol-addled minds.

Astarion was pushed aside as a horde of pirates surrounded you, hugging you and ruffling your hair and all speaking hurriedly with worry and joy. He can’t ignore the pain in his chest, as though someone had driven a stake through his heart. You hugged each one, misty eyed. Questions fell ceaselessly from your lips as you asked how they survived, what happened, what they’d been doing all this time. And he knew. He knew without a shadow of a doubt. He could not hope to be more important than your family. He couldn’t be the one you chose - not when you’d recounted your friends with tales of the open ocean and your father’s crew for hours.

He quietly backed away. The others ask why you rushed off and what was happening when he returned to grab the bottle of wine. He wasn’t too sure what he said. He’d like to think it was some sort of “They found their family” said with a charming grin, and a simple, but believable, excuse to go back to camp not like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, but like a vampire with things that need doing back at camp. Alone. With a bottle of wine.

Your eyes are red and your smile is about to burst off your face when you drag your pirate family over to meet your companions. You’re bouncing on your feet with energy, introducing everyone and nearly crying again when the pirates embrace everyone like family. Your heart is soaring when you look around for Astarion, searching around the table, the bar, the crowd. And it starts falling when you don’t see him anywhere.

“Hey, have any of you seen Astarion?”

Gale groaned as he was released from a bone-crushing hug. He winced as he held his shoulder. “He said he was heading back to camp.”

Your heart crashed firmly against hard cement, leaving cracks in the foundation. “Back to- Why? Did he say why?”

“No,” Shadowheart answered this time, trying not to get caught admiring the intricate braid of another crewmate. “He just took the wine and ran.”

The warm environment suddenly felt cold and unwelcoming. Was he uncomfortable with your family? They were known to be rather callous and loud - maybe they’d scared him off? Was the idea of confronting their family just too stressful for him? Did it bring up unwanted memories? Why… Why did he run off?

You touch an older pirate’s arm, letting them know you’ll be right back. They smile and nod and pull you in for one last hug. It feels bittersweet. You dash off from the tavern back to camp.

When you arrive, he’s uncorking a second bottle of stolen alcohol, frowning and grumbling and pacing. He’s so deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice you’re there until you say his name. He frowns deeply at you. “Shouldn’t you be catching up with your family?” he asks, but it’s bitter and cold.

You frown. “I wanted you to meet them. Why’d you leave?”

He looks away, focusing instead on taking a long drink from the bottle. It’s had no time to air out; he almost grimaces at the flavor. He pretends to read the label. “It was getting a little crowded in there,” he dismisses.

“So you leave without saying anything?”

“Well,” he begins, drawn-out and sarcastic, creating a barrier between you and his emotions, “you were busy. I’d hate to get in the way.”

You huff. “Astarion, please, just tell me what’s wrong!”

“Nothing.” He scowls. He begins pacing again. “Nothing’s wrong! You’ve found your family again! I’m so happy for you.” He spits the word like it burns him to say it.

“Is that what this is about? My family?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” you plead. “What’s wrong?”

“YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE!” He sighs at his outburst, glaring at the ground. His feet are locked to ground, refusing to move closer or further away - because he can’t decide which would be better. “Once this is over, once we figure out how to remove these tadpoles, you’re going to run back to the sea. To a ship, with your family. And I can’t follow.” He scowls at himself. He hates laying out his thoughts, his feelings. It feels too vulnerable. He feels exposed. “You won’t stay on land.”

You won’t stay with me.

A silent war wages on in your head and in your heart. You’re torn in two directions - forced to choose between the people who raised you, the last fragments of your father and his ship, or Astarion, your vampiric lover. It’s painful.

You step forward slowly, like he’s going to startle and run away like a frightened rabbit. He doesn’t move. And he doesn’t look at you. The bottle in his hand feels too heavy.

“I love my family,” you start. You can see in an instant as his walls come back up. His face, still upset and angry, becomes stoic and defensive. “And I love the sea.” You stop in front of him. “And I love you.”

He closes his eyes, prepared for the rejection.

“I… I had a whole life on the ocean.” Your fingers brush his hand. It twitches involuntarily, wishing to hold you, for just one last moment. When he doesn’t pull away, you tangle your fingers with his. “I want to see what a future on land would be like.”

He swallows. He opens his eyes, but he can’t look at you. He looks instead at your hand in his. “And when you decide a life on a ship is better than hiding in the shadows with me?”

You pull his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles. He watches longingly.

“If I decide to sail again,” you accentuate your words with a kiss to the meat of his thumb, “I’ll come back. Over and over again. I’ll sail for a week and stay with you for a month. I’ll sail a month and stay with you a year. I love you, Astarion. And I will always choose you. And when we find a cure for vampirism, you can come with me.”

He huffs a laugh. “I’d be a poor excuse for a pirate.”

“You can scrub the deck.”

He finally meets your eyes with a playful scowl. It softens into something quiet and sad. “I don’t want to tear you from your family.”

You shake your head, stepping even closer. “You’re not, I promise. Now that I know they’re alive, I’ll be damned if I don’t keep in touch. But all they know is the sea. They have no reason to stay ashore - they’re heading out with a new captain next week.” You cup his cheek with your free hand. He sighs and leans into the touch. “I want to stay on land for a while longer.”

---

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mochidolls · 21 days ago

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now introducing . . . corporate!rafe !

uhhh, so this is a byproduct of binge watching industry for the past like two weeks… mdni por favor / brief mentions of masturbation & fingering + bot

now he’s not the y’know traditional multi millionare ceo of a big real estate firm daddy’s company who fucks his secretary from time to time (close enough but not quite).

corporate!rafe is a stocks bro —neck-deep in crypto, efts, and the kind of investments that make everyone else’s eyes glaze over. he’ll mansplain the basic principles of capitalism over lunch like you didn’t just close a deal worth more than his annual bonus. (rafe: 0, you: 1)

rafe’s favorite pastime is reminding everyone that he clawed his way to the top. him. not ward cameron’s money. not ward cameron’s connections. him. never mind that his “humble beginnings” included a trust fund the size of a small country’s GDP and a private boarding school education.

rafe is terrified of being nothing without his wealth and status. the dude is genuinely afraid that without the recognition, the promotions, the stock portfolios, he’ll be just another rich kid with a hollow sense of identity.

this is what drives him to undermine you: if you’re successful, it forces him to confront his own feelings of inadequacy, and god forbid, that cannot happen.

corporate!rafe has icanfixyou syndrome. in his silly little goofy brain, he is the one who has control, not you. the problem is, you’re fully aware of what he’s doing, and you’re only more determined to get under his skin. he keeps failing to win you over, and he doesn’t know how much it pisses him off. you don’t need him. he can’t stand it.

rafe has no idea how to flirt. his version of courting you is begrudgingly fetching your coffee order and getting it completely wrong. you like a hazelnut latte with just the right amount of foam? congratulations—you’re now the proud owner of a black americano that tastes like shit and the depths of a black hole. grim, i know.

and please don’t start to fantasise about him fucking you in the most nefarious of ways. quite frankly he was all too repulsed and blinded by the sheer eager need to be simply better than you to even imagine you in that light.

that is…until the hotel incident.

to summarise (and quite frankly not waste your time): HR’s genius solution for “team bonding” was sticking you two in interlinked hotel rooms. pure hell. he leaves his damp towels everywhere, his skincare products are obnoxiously expensive (and you definitely didn’t try his moisturizer when he wasn’t looking), and you’ve caught him singing jack harlow in the shower. loudly.

rafe had bare witnesses too many nip slips to be considered ‘normal’ around you. thus his little fantasies about you began.

you wore a bikini (a bit revealing for a work trip, but i mean…c’mon you’re in mallorca!) the bikini was a choice—your choice. rafe spent the entirety of the beach day trying to look anywhere but directly at you. that night however? a poor pillow suffered, fucked mercilessly and bred into (room service are going to have a ball cleaning that up!)

but…let’s not kid ourselves here, you weren’t less of a pervert yourself.

one single fateful night with his stupid gold heirloom ring glittering in the moonlight, lead to you clutching one of his beach shirts like a feral animal, babbling and praising his name into the soft cotton and wondering if the gold signet ring on his hand could double as a vibrator.

you think it’s a joke that everyone around you sees this mild rivalry between you and rafe? it’s not. it’s a full fledged fucking war. every small win you get, he has to match it. your first big client? rafe’s out there trying to snag a bigger one, even though it’s none of his business.

he hates that you’re quietly, secretly thriving, and the fact that he can’t quite figure you out drives him insane. you’re not his type. you don’t need him. he can’t stand it. he’d rather see you fail than admit he’s even a little bit impressed by you…maybe a little infatuated too.

your relationship with rafe fluctuates between clear disdain and ‘i want to fuck you and have your kids’ ism. he’ll try to play the role of “cool, unattached guy,” but everyone can see how much he carnally wants you.

he’ll make snide comments like, “i mean, it’s not like i’m some guy you’d bring home to meet your parents, but sure, you can always pretend i’m a secret you’re keeping.”

when rafe knows he’s gone too far and messed with you too much, he’ll offer you an apology— “look, i’m not sorry for calling you out, but i can tell you’re a little sensitive about it. so... i’m apologizing in the way that doesn’t undermine either of us. happy?”

he steals your favorite pens; you "accidentally" unplug his monitor before meetings. his powerpoints are aggressively over-designed, and you make sure to point out every typo during team calls. HR doesn’t even bother with your complaints anymore—they just schedule you for the same meetings so they can watch the fireworks. it’s childish, really.

on the surface, rafe oozes alpha male (threw up a bit there, excuse me). but underneath all that bravado? he’s a fucking miserable mess. he constantly checks his portfolio every 5 minutes to make sure his money is still growing. the real kicker? he’s terrified of you being smarter than him, which is why he’s always trying to “one-up” you. he knows you’re not impressed by his stupid wealth, and that drives him crazy.

#corporate!rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron smut

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bat-mom-writer · 3 months ago

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Picture This...

Reader(Mother) X bat boys (More of 1 on 1 Damian)

Summry: Reader forgets she didn't give birth to any of the boys, which leading to the reveal that Damian wishes that Reader was his real mother. Reader comes up with an idea to tell Damian a loving story at how she pictured giving birth to Damian. (No birth details!)

Note: Got this idea from a TikTok, then become more emotionally later on.

(I do not own any DC characters)

"You know, Dick," Reader began, her voice filled with warmth as she sat on the plush couch, her legs tucked underneath her, "I'm so proud of the man you have become." The living room of Wayne Manor was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the floor and painting the walls with a gentle orange hue. Dick leaned back into the cushions, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving hers.

"It felt like just yesterday," she added with a wistful smile. "I can still remember the day I gave birth to you," Reader said, her eyes glazed over with a fond nostalgia.

Dick's smirk grew wider as he teased, "You gave birth to me, huh?"

Reader’s laughter filled the room as she playfully slapped her forehead. "Oh, I can't believe I said that!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing pink.

Dick's shoulders shook with mirth as he held his stomach, his eyes watering with the effort to contain his laughter. He toppled sideways, his legs shooting out in front of him as he lost his balance. The plush cushions of the sofa muffled the sound of his laughter as he collapsed into a heap, his body convulsing with joy. The sight of Dick, usually so composed and stoic, in such a state of unbridled amusement was infectious, and soon Reader found herself joining him.

Her laughter grew louder, echoing off the high ceilings of the manor, and she couldn’t help but clutch her side.

“I remember that day too!” Dick finally managed to say between gasps for air. He laughed harder, his eyes shining with mirth as he propped himself back up on the sofa. The banter between them was light, a stark contrast to the weight of the secrets they had shared moments before. The room, once filled with the heavy silence of revelations, was now alive with the sound of their shared amusement.

Tim's footsteps approached, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished marble floor. The youngest of the three siblings, Tim had a knack for appearing at the most unexpected moments. He stepped into the room, his eyes widening at the sight of Reader and Dick, both doubled over with laughter. "What's going on?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice as he glanced from one to the other.

Reader managed to catch her breath and wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh Timmy," she said, her voice still shaking with mirth, "you wouldn't believe what I just said Dick!"

Tim looked at her curiously, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What did she say, Dick?" he asked, his gaze shifting to the older man.

Dick, still chuckling, wiped the last of the laughter from his eyes and sat up straight. "She said it feels like just yesterday she gave birth to me," he replied, his smirk never fading.

Tim's eyes lit up with curiosity, and he took a seat on the floor, cross-legged, in front of the couch. "Well, come on," he urged, his voice fake eager. "Tell us the story."

She falls over laughing again, and Dick quickly follows suit. The siblings laugh so hard that their sides ache and their eyes water. After a moment, Reader wipes her eyes and sighs, her shoulders still shaking with mirth.

"Oh, I'll never hear the end of this," she says, shaking her head. Dick nods in agreement, his own laughter subsiding into chuckles.

Dick looks over at Tim, who's watching them with a bemused expression, his curiosity piqued. "Did you give birth to Tim as well?" he asks, his voice a mix of humor and incredulity.

Reader gasps, trying to contain her laughter. "Don't you start!" she says, pointing a finger at him.

Tim's smile broadens, and he says, "Well, if you're going to take credit for Dick, I'm pretty sure I want in on this mom of the century gig."

Reader laughs even harder, her eyes crinkling with delight. "I take no credit for your births," she manages to get out between gasps for breath, "Only for my stupidity of forgetting.”

Tim shakes his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, you're not getting out of it that easily," he says. "I want to hear the birth story now."

Dick rolls his eyes but grins. "Yeah, come on, tell us the gripping tale of how you brought the dynamic duo into this world."

Reader , catching her breath, shakes her head. "Alright, alright," she says, her laughter dying down to a gentle chuckle. "But remember, it's just a joke." She smooths her hair back and clears her throat dramatically. "Once upon a time, in the grand halls of Wayne Manor," she starts, her voice taking on a fairy tale-like quality. "I was in the most luxurious birthing suite, surrounded by the best doctors money could buy. And then," she pauses for effect, "I pushed and out came a tiny, squalling baby Dick Grayson, complete with a utility belt and a cape!"

Tim laughs out loud at this, his head thrown back. Dick rolls his eyes but can't help the grin that spreads across his face. "And what about me?" Tim asks, eager to hear his own fictional birth story.

"Ah, Tim," Reader says with a knowing smile. "You were a bit more... dramatic. You shot out of the womb, flipped in mid-air, and landed in the bassinet with a flourish!"

Tim's eyes widen with mock astonishment. "Wow, I had no idea I was born ready for acrobatics!"

Dick playfully nudges Tim's shoulder. "Why do you get all the cool moves, huh?" he says, feigning jealousy.

Tim's eyes sparkle with amusement. "Well, I had to make an entrance somehow, right?"

Dick shakes his head, his smile never leaving his face. "Alright, alright," he says, "I can't let you two have all the fun. What about Damian?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment before a set of footsteps echo down the hallway, growing louder as they approach the open doorway. Damian Wayne, the youngest and most brooding of the three, walks in, his dark hair a stark contrast against the light from the hall. His eyes are sharp and focused, scanning the room until they settle on the two of them, a hint of curiosity in their depths.

"What about me?" he asks, his voice devoid of the playfulness that Tim had used moments before.

“Mom’s telling us about our birth stories.” Tim's words hung in the air, a playful grin dancing across his face as he looked up at Reader. Dick's eyes twinkled with amusement, watching his brothers' exchange with a fondness that only a shared history could bring.

"That's highly unlikely, given the circumstances," Damian said dryly, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Oh, I know," she said, her eyes twinkling with the same mischief that had sparked the original joke. "But I'm sure you had a dramatic entrance as well."

Dick couldn't resist egging him on. "Yeah, what was it? Did you come out fighting a ninja?"

Tim chuckled at his brother's quip, but Reader’s smile faltered a bit, noticing the tension in Damian's posture.

Damian's eyes narrowed slightly at Dick's words, and he pushed himself off the doorframe. "This conversation is beneath us," he said, his voice cool and dismissive. "I have training to attend to."

Reader’s smile faded, and she watched as he turned to leave. Before she could stop herself, she was on her feet, crossing the room to follow him. "Damian, wait," she called softly. Dick and Tim exchanged a knowing glance, their laughter silenced by the sudden shift in the room's atmosphere.

When she reached him, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice earnest. "It was just a bit of fun. I didn't mean to..."

Damian looked down at her hand, his jaw tightening before he met her gaze. "It's fine," he said, his voice clipped. "I know you're not my real mother."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the hurt that lurked behind his stoic facade. "But I am here for you," she said, her voice soft. "In every way that counts."

Damian looked away, his eyes scanning the opulent hallway. "I know," he murmured. "It's just... difficult sometimes."

Reader’s heart ached for him. She knew the pain of feeling like an outsider, of being born into a world that wasn't quite yours. "What is, darlin'?" she asked gently, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Damian sighed, his eyes focusing on a spot on the floor. "Sometimes I wish..." he began, then stopped, as if the words were too heavy to speak aloud.

Reader’s hand tightened on his arm, her gaze filled with understanding. "You wish what?" she prompted, her voice filled with warmth.

Damian looked up at her, his expression unreadable. "I wish that you were my real mother," he said, the words slipping out like a confession.

Her heart clenched, and she stepped closer to him, her hand moving from his arm to cup his cheek. "Damian," she whispered, her eyes brimming with affection, "I love you as if you were my own flesh and blood. You are a son to me in every way that truly matters."

For a moment, Damian's walls cracked, and she saw the vulnerability in his eyes, a stark contrast to the hardened exterior he usually presented to the world. "But it's not the same," he murmured, looking away again.

Reader’s smile was gentle, her eyes never leaving his. "Do you want to hear a story?" she asked, her voice low and soothing.

Damian hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. "A story about what?"

"A story about how I would have felt if I had given birth to you," Reader said, her eyes filled with a warm glow.

They sat at the grand staircase of Wayne Manor, the polished oak gleaming in the soft light from the chandelier above. The stairs curved elegantly up to the second floor, a silent witness to countless moments of joy and heartache within the walls of the mansion. Damian sat next to her, his posture slightly less rigid, his curiosity piqued.

"Picture this," Reader began, her voice soothing and low, "It was a stormy night, much like tonight. The rain lashed against the windows, and the thunder rumbled like the heartbeat of the world itself. I was in the library," she continued, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Even after having your two brothers, I was nervous for your arrival, I was looking over ever book on birth and childcare I could get my hands on. I wanted to be ready for you."

Her hand absently stroked his cheek, and Damian felt a strange warmth spread through him. "Then, the skies cleared, and in the silence that followed, I felt you, a sudden kick, a declaration of life. And just like that, I knew it was time."

Damian leaned into her touch slightly, his curiosity piqued. "What happened next?"

"I ran," Reader said, a hint of excitement entering her voice. "I sprinted down to the batcave, my heart racing faster than a bat out of hell, and found your father right underneath the Batmobile. Then, I shouted at the top of my lungs, 'Bruce! The baby's coming!'"

Damian's eyes widened, and he couldn't help but smile at the image of father, ever unflappable, jumping out of his skin at the sudden commotion. "And what did Father do?" he asked, leaning closer.

Reader chuckled. "Well, let's just say he was a bit surprised," she said, her eyes sparkling with the memory. "He hit his head on the undercarriage of the Batmobile, and I thought for a moment he might pass out from pain or shock. But when he saw me standing there, all wide-eyed and frantic, he snapped into action."

Her voice grew serious. "He held my hand through the storm, both literally and figuratively. We rode the Batmobile to the nearest hospital, with him driving like a madman and me trying to breathe through contractions." She paused, her expression softening. "When we got to the hospital, he didn't leave my side. He whispered in my ear, telling me I could do this, that I was strong, that we would meet you soon."

Damian's eyes searched hers, looking for any signs of doubt or untruth in her words. He found none, only the warmth of a mother's love and the strength of a woman who had faced the unknown with courage.

"I wouldn't get into the details," Reader said with a wink, "but I'll say you were a bit of a stubborn baby. You decided that you weren't going to come into this world until you were good and ready."

Damian's smile grew a little, his curiosity peaked by her playfulness. "Stubborn, huh?"

"Oh, you have no idea," she said with a laugh, her eyes crinkling with the memory. "But when you finally did arrive, it was like the sun had come out after the longest winter. Your father was so overwhelmed with emotion he could hardly hold the camera straight, snapping blurry photos of you with your tiny fists in the air."

Damian couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of the stoic Bruce Wayne reduced to a nervous, fumbling mess. It was a side of him he rarely got to see, a side that was reserved for the most intimate of moments.

"And when the nurse handed you to me," Reader continued, her voice taking on a tender note, "I looked into your tiny, squinting eyes, and I knew that you were the bravest little soul I had ever met. You had faced the storm and the chaos, and you had come out fighting."

Damian felt something in his chest loosen, a knot that had been there since he was old enough to understand the complexities of his birth. He had always known that Reader cared for him, but to hear her speak of a hypothetical birth, one filled with love and excitement, made him feel a sense of belonging that he had never experienced before.

He leaned his head against her shoulder, and she wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. "I know it's not the same," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "But in my heart, you're as much my son, as you are to your own mother is to you."

Damian remained silent, processing her words. The warmth of her embrace was foreign to him, but comforting. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time, not since the days when he was just a child in the care of his mother, Talia al Ghul.

Then, without warning, he leaned into her, his arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace. "I love you, Mom," he murmured against her shoulder, his voice thick with emotion.

Reader’s eyes filled with tears as she held him, her arms tightening around his small frame. She had always known that Damian was the most guarded of her three boys, but in that moment, she felt the weight of his vulnerability, the depth of his longing for a mother's love. "I love you too, Damian," she whispered back, her voice choking with emotion. "More than you could ever know."

For a few moments, they sat there in silence, the only sound being their synchronized breaths. The air was thick with a bond that had been strengthened, a connection that had been forged through shared pain and the desire to belong. Reader stroked his hair, feeling the softness of it under her fingertips, and she marveled at how much he had grown in such a short time.

Then, with a sniff, she leaned back and kissed the top of his head. "My sweet baby boy," she murmured, her voice filled with a tenderness that seemed to echo through the vast halls of Wayne Manor.

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