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gojonanami · 1 year ago

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THREE'S A CROWD - SATORU GOJO AND SUGURU GETO

✴︎ summary: professors satoru gojo and suguru geto rarely wanted the same thing at the same time -- that was until you. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, professor au, gojo is a physics prof and geto is a ethics prof, competition style smut, so much smut, handjobs (f!+m! receiving), oral (f!+m! receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, dom! + sub!gojo, dom!geto, degradation (whore), praise kink (gojo + reader), semi public sex, office sex, double penetration, pet names (sweetheart, princess, baby, pretty) ✴︎ wc: 12,596 (again what's wrong with me)

There was little Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto did actually compete over — growing up as best friends, most would have expected a little healthy competition, and there were disagreements, arguments, and even a few fist-fights here and there, but there weren’t many things both desired at the same time.

Until you.

A new professor at Jujutsu Tech University, you were fairly green, but your reputation as an academic had preceded you, and landed you a position at this prestigious university. And right in the crosshairs of these two best friends who also happened to hold positions there — ones who were surely some of the most coveted on campus amongst faculty and students alike. There were little times where you would find one professor without the other outside of the classroom — Professor Gojo had even somehow annoyed Chancellor Yaga into having his office next door to Geto’s.

Professor Gojo taught Intro to Physics as well as a few other related courses, including one about the infinite nature of the universe, while Professor Geto busied himself with teaching Introduction to Ethics, and other related courses, including one that was solely based around the trolley problem.

“The trolley problem?” you asked, sitting in Geto’’s classroom, hanging around his desk, as he was beginning to clean the board of his notes from the class you had sat in on — a part of the mentoring program at the university for newly burgeoning professors — giving a sense of camaraderie and community. Right now, all it was giving you was an understanding of why there was an influx of women interested in ethics. Geto had his jet black locks tied into a neat bun, a lock hanging loose that framed his face — one that you had both the urge tuck back into his bun, but also twirl it between your fingers. His crisp white button up was unbuttoned a few buttons down after class, a deep ivy sweater vest thrown over it, “how can you teach an entire class on that single problem?”

“Almost any problem in ethics could be the subject of a semester-long debate, especially the trolley problem,” he chuckles, as he turns to you, placing the eraser down a moment, as he rolls up his sleeves to prevent residue from staining his shirt. His fingers expertly unbuttoned the cuffs, before carefully rolling them up, “the trolley problem has many iterations, it dissects the concept of a moral quandary to a science, creating the idea of an impossible choice with no right answer,”

“Many things in life have no right answer, but there’s always a choice to be made,” you hum, “what would be your solution to the trolley problem?”

“The fact is that there is no right answer, but there are right questions to ask and things to consider,” he shrugs, “most people don’t know truly what their answer would be in that situation — some think it would be better to sit helpless, letting fate decide, others think that they would choose the answer that saved their loved ones, and some think they would choose the answer that benefited the most people — but the way the problem can be formulated has so many iterations that almost any answer could be swayed,”

“And are you so easily swayed?” and he shrugs, pursing his lips.

“I’d like to think not,” he smiled — and you knew why so many people had crushes on him and Gojo — not only their looks, but their intelligence.

You hum at his words, still utterly more enthralled by the way his forearms looked, and judging by his raised eyebrow, he noticed, “But why an entire course about it?”

And he shrugged, as he crossed his arms, smirking as your eyes flicker back from his arms to his gaze, “It’s one of my favorite ethical dilemmas, wouldn’t you want to teach a course on your favorite subject?”

“I would simply like to learn my way around the university without having to come an hour early to account for getting lost on campus,” and he laughs, a noise that makes your heart squeeze, his lips curled in a smile — and you hide your own, happy you were the one who made him make that incredible noise, “It’s 50-50 whether or not I’ll find my car after this,”

“Well, I could help with that,” he steps forward, hands in his pockets now, thumbs visible on either side, “show you around? Show you the spots to see, what to avoid, maybe even how to stare without being obvious?” and you flush at his words, knitting your brow together to feign innocence, “nice innocent act, maybe it’d work on someone else — not on me, sweetheart,”

And you can’t stop the next question from tumbling out of your mouth, “What would work on you then?”

This was a bad idea — you had just started here two weeks ago, and here you were flirting with not only a professor, but the professor assigned to be your mentor here, one of the two professors everyone had their eyes on—you needed to stop.

Then he smirked, a wicked grin that only left you wanting more — more of that smirk, more of his words, more of him, “That’s for you to find out,” he offered you a hand, “so shall we find out?”

And find out you did—

—Find out just how skilled he was with that sharp tongue of his.

It wasn’t supposed to end up this way — the tour was innocent enough. He helped you get down a route from your parking spot to your office to your classroom, he showed you the good spots to escape for the day, the best spots around campus to eat or get a coffee or tea, and then you ended up in his office. He had offered you a drink — an expensive sake bottle that he had gotten from the chancellor for his good work.

“Satoru doesn’t drink so usually, I end up drinking alone, so this is a nice change of pace,” and you snort slightly, as he raises an eyebrow, as he pours the shots, “and what’s funny about that?” he asks, offering you a small shot glass filled with the sake that you swirled before downing. And he did the same, eyes still glued to you, a small trickle of the sake slipping out of your corner of your lips.

“Just the idea of you drinking in the office alone, it’s a little sad,” you chuckle, “do you not have many friends aside from Satoru?” as you pour yourself and him another shot, not noticing how he walks over nor how close he is.

“I’m very selective about who I spend my time with?” and your cheeks warm, and it's not from the alcohol, as his voice is low when he speaks, “and well, I’m not alone now, am I?” he looms over you, his hand resting on the arm of your chair, caging you in, his other hand reaching to rest fingers against your chin, “you’re here,”

“Geto—”

“Suguru,” he corrected, his eyes sliding over your body, “you’re not one of my students, Professor,” and heat trickles down your body at his words, as he leans down, tongue darting out to lick the trail of sake from the corner of your lips, “but it seems like I have a lot to teach you, regardless,”

You shiver at his actions, “We shouldn’t—”

“Lesson one, nothing in the code of ethics prevents any consensual relationship amongst staff members,” his lengthy fingers trace your jawline, before he kisses along it, “lesson two, there’s nothing unethical about our relationship — our mentor/mentee relationship period is ending now, and we are simply colleagues—“ his thumb drags down your plush lips, pulling at your bottom one, “for now,”

“Suguru,” and he’s leaning even closer.

“And lesson three, that I only can teach you if you return my feelings,” his lips are a centimeter away, breath warming your lips, his bangs brushing against your skin, “so the question remains, Professor, do you?”

You nod wordlessly, breath caught as your fingers brush his cheek now, “I do, please—“

And his lips curl, “Good girl,” he leans down, kissing you softly, lips parting only after a moment, and then you lean up again. He’s smiling against your lips, as his hand slides to the back of your neck, more insistent this time as you taste the sake on his mouth — and somehow it’s more sweet on his lips that it was on your tongue.

Your lips part again, a breath away, foreheads brushing, as your fingers grasp onto the soft front of his sweater to ground yourself on something, before it slides against the toned surface of his chest under all the academic wear.

“Like what you feel, Princess?” And you flush, cheeks burning as you give an almost undetectable nod, and he chuckles, “good, because so do I,”

And his head is leaning down for another kiss when there’s a knock at the door, “Yo Suguru!” And Suguru moves back, just as the door swings open, as you struggle to grasp onto any semblance of decorum, as Satoru Gojo enters.

“Don’t you know it’s good manners to wait to hear a person say ‘come in’ after you knock, Satoru?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed — his composure impressive for a man who had kissed you breathless not a minute ago.

“Huh?” Gojo glares at Suguru, lips twisted in a frown, “Haven’t I made enough progress for you? At least I started knocking,” Gojo huffs, smirk on his lips, as he glances at you now, “oh it’s the newbie,” and your gaze slides up to his, a polite smile on your lips, and you almost feel like his cerulean gaze lingers on your lips a moment too long, his gaze sliding back to his best friend, “am I interrupting?”

Satoru Gojo stood framed in the doorway, and he was picturesque — an academic’s wet dream in his blue button up with navy suit coat slung over his shoulders.

“Only a celebratory welcome and end to our mentoring period,” Suguru shrugs, sliding a smile behind Gojo’s back when Gojo turns back to you, “would you like to join us? We were just having some sake,”

He grimaces, “Doesn’t sound like much of a celebration,” he looks to you, sly grin playing on his lips, “she looks like she’d much prefer something sweet, isn’t that right?”

You blink, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind,” and Gojo winks, offering you his hand, your view of Suguru’s scowl obscured.

“Sounds like the lady has spoken — there’s a great place that sells kikufuku not far from campus—“

“We actually have plans for dinner, Satoru,” Suguru cuts in, as you furrow your brow — since when? “And I think a discussion of her future and trajectory at the university is more important than enjoying sweets,”

Gojo only grins, his body grazing the side of your chair as he steps away, hands in his pockets, “Well all work and no play doesn’t sound very fun to me, does it, Professor?”

You crack a smile, “Sounds like you have the opposite philosophy, Gojo,”

“Satoru,” he corrects, his gaze making your breath catch in your throat.

“Satoru,” you say and his lips curl into a grin before Suguru clasps a hand on Satoru’s shoulder.

“Don’t you have papers to grade?” And Suguru’s tone left little to be argued with, and Satoru only sighs dramatically, crossing his arms.

“Fine, fine,” he slides a last look at you, as you rise to your feet, “pleasure meeting you, we’ll have to have dessert some other time,” and he leans forward to whisper this last part in your ear, “though I think I’ll have trouble finding something as sweet as you,”

Your cheeks flush, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Suguru as Satoru leaves, and Suguru only smiles at you, “Shall we go?”

You don’t notice the slight edge to his voice, or the way his eyes slide to glare at the door, as you busy yourself gathering your things, “Since when did we have dinner plans?” You ask, your last word coming out as a squeak, as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you much too close.

“Since I wanted to spend more time with you, is that a problem?” he murmurs against the same ear whispered into, teeth grazing the soft flesh of your earlobe, and you bite your lip, sighing as his lips slide to your jaw, “well, is it?”

And you shake your head, “Never,” and he’s leading you out of his office, and you don’t notice the way his eyes narrow when his eyes narrow as he glances at Satoru’s office right next door.

~~~

“Don’t work too hard,” and your gaze snaps up to find Gojo at your office door, leaning against the door frame, “your face could freeze like that,”

“And would that be a bad thing?” you rolled your eyes, as you pulled yourself away from the stack of exams you were stuck grading since the university hadn’t bothered to assign you a T.A. yet.

He takes your reply as an invitation to come in, swinging the office door shut behind him, “No, not at all, but I’d prefer to see those pretty lips in a smile,” and your lips curl, as he adds, “plus you’ll end up looking like Suguru — a perpetual stick up his ass,”

You snort, “You two have nothing but lovely things to say about the other,” you say sarcastically, “but i guess that’s best friends for you,”

“Nah, Suguru really does have a stick up his ass — pretty sure its a requirement for all ethics professors,” he shrugs, as he opts to lean against your desk rather than sit in either of the chairs, “now, can I take you to have that dessert I mentioned before? Looks like you could use a break,” his eyes glance over the stack of exams piled upon your desk, “let me be your solace, sweetheart — the world of academia is a harsh place,”

You offer a small smile, “I’m stuck grading these exams — I have to have the grades in by tomorrow, and I still have about thirty-two to get through,”

“Don’t you have a T.A. to pass this off on?” and you shake your head, and he hums, taking out his phone, “I’ll reach out to the Chancellor for you — let him see what the hold up is. The old geezer owes me one anyway,”

“You don’t have to—”

He only continues to type, without looking up, “I want to,” and before sending off his email, “should be able to get a student assigned to you soon, and I asked him to give you an extension as well, so now you have no excuse,” he grins, plucking the pen from your fingers, his fingers brushing your own, before offering his hand, “shall we?”

But there was one excuse you hadn’t exhausted yet — “Satoru—”

“You’re really making me work for it, beauty,” he rubs the back of his head, smile on his lips, “not that I don’t mind playing hard to get, but you know, I do always get what I want—”

“What about Suguru?” and his smile fades, expression unreadable.

“And what about him?” you sigh, leaning back.

“I assume you know—”

“About the fact you two have been hooking up?” he shrugs, as you flush at his bluntness, “yeah, and what about it?”

You stare at Satoru, thoroughly confused by his nonchalance, “Wouldn’t that—”

“I’ve already spoken to Suguru, he’s fine if I pursue you as well,” he smiles, as he rounds the corner of your desk to stand closer, “and that’s what this is, sweetheart — me pursuing you,”

And your cheeks grow hot, stomach flipping at his words, as your heart struggles to keep up with your mind, “So you both are okay with me seeing the other?”

His lips curl into a grin, “Nothing wrong with a little friendly competition, sweetheart — me and Suguru don’t have any intention of backing off,” he tilts his head, “you’ll have to choose eventually, and I know you’ll make the right choice,”

“But—”

And he sighs, slipping his hands into his pockets, “For now, this is just a colleague welcoming another colleague to our very prestigious institution, just a friendly outing,” and you nod, rising from your seat, but he draws close, lips a breath away, “but next time, it will be a date, angel, and kikufuku won’t be the dessert I’ll want at the end of the night.”

~~~

“Suguru, should we really—” and his lips cut you off, a bruising kiss that steals the logic from your brain, and only leaves lust in its wake, your fingers moving to grasp the front of his now very creased button up. You needed to ask him about your conversation with Satoru — but all you could think about is how you could get him closer, closer, closer.

“Always taste so sweet for me,” he murmurs, his tongue slipping into your parted lips, as his fingers card through your hair, “what is that cream?” he hums, and you almost freeze — the kikufuku you had for lunch left over from your impromptu time with Satoru.

“Suguru, I need to talk to you about something,” and he’s impatient, as always, as he leads you to his lecture hall desk, pressing you against the edge of it, his legs pressed between your spread thighs.

“Talking isn’t exactly high on my priority list right now, princess,” he hums as his lips slide over your jaw, leaving wet kisses along it, before his teeth nibble and suck a mark right under your jaw, making you hiss.

“Not there, people will see—”

“People, or Satoru?” he murmurs, as you freeze as you pull back, his dark gaze lidded, but his expression inscrutable, “he told me he asked you out,”

You purse your lips, “I wanted to talk to you first to see how you felt—uhmph—” his lips smash against yours, swallowing your words and your noises eagerly, as his hands slide down your sides.

“You can see Satoru if you want, baby,” he mutters against your lips, “see him, date him, fuck him — go have your fun,” and he’s sinking to his knees in front of you, as you look down at him with red kiss ruined lips, “but don’t forget who’s the one making you feel this good,”

And he’s pushing up your skirt, pressing sweet kisses to your thighs, making them shake under his touch, as his finger presses against the wet patch on your panties, “Has he seen this yet?” and you’re too busy gasping to answer, so he only presses down meaner, rubbing you in tight circles, “answer me,”

“No, no, we haven’t even kissed—” and he’s pulling aside the crotch of your panties, air hitting your already wet pussy, “Suguru—” you’re whining already, and he only smiles in response, as his finger teases your opening, gathering your pre-cum on his fingertip.

“Should’ve known, you look fuckin’ tight, baby, gotta stretch you out, don’t I?” and a lithe finger is teasing your outer lips, before it sinks in slowly, dragging against your walls as it does, bullying your insides until it’s knuckle deep. And your fingers find their way into Suguru’s hair as he begins to fuck you in earnest, the lewd sounds of your cunt nearly echoing in the lecture hall as he thrusts his finger in and out, “hear that, baby? Your pretty pussy is practically sucking me it, won’t let me go, but I think it needs more, don’t you think?” and another finger is sinking into you, joining the other, curling and stretching against you as they piston in and out, your slick slipping down his fingers and onto his palm.

“Fuuuck, so fuckin’ wet for me, princess,” Suguru looked so gorgeous, his jet black locks pulled from their normally neat bun, strands hanging in his face, as your fingers grasped at his head, buried between your thighs on his knees, his hands splaying your thighs open on the edge of his desk, the cuffs of his sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up, as two fingers sink into your dripping cunt, “so perfect, such a good girl, wonder if you taste as good as you feel,” and he’s leaning forward, his lips latching to your clit, making you cry out as he sucks harshly, “don’t be so loud, baby, want someone to see you spreading your legs for me — how’d that look?” and you gaze down at him with lust glazed over eyes, his chin glossy with your release, “all messy f’me, how could I resist?” and you’re keening against his touch, making his lips curl, “I’m starting to think you want to get caught, want people to see you cumming around my fingers, don’t you?”

You only whimper, walls traitorously clenching around him, making him let out a low groan, his hand drifting to palm at his bulge, straining against the fabric of his slacks, “g’nna feel so good around my cock, sweetheart, you’re practically throbbing,”

“Fuck,” you whimper, your thighs straining against his grip, hips nearly starting to fuck his face, as his tongue licks a strip right up your sopping cunt, “i‘m s’close, Sugu, I—” and your nails dig into his scalp, he fucks you open with his fingers and tongue, the squelch of your pussy and his fingers ringing in your ears, as you grind into his touch, just as he curls his fingers, hitting that spot that has you cumming, making a mess just as he buries his face in you, letting you ride his face as he pulls his fingers away. His fingers find your mouth making you taste your own release, stifling the moans and pants leaving your mouth, sucking and licking as he eases himself from you. Your fingers finding stability on the edge of the desk, still panting and fucked out, as he chuckles, rising to his feet, as he looms over you, looking at the cum still dripping out of you and onto the edge of his desk,

“So pretty,” he hums, before kissing you, as he helps you make yourself presentable, adjusting your underwear back into place, as your eyes drifting down between his legs, “I don’t need to ask if you like what you see because I know you do, but—”

You roll your eyes, your fingers pulling him by his belt loops between your thighs, “Don’t you want some help with that?”

And he only smiles, as he presses another sweet kiss to your lips, “We’ll save that for next time, I wanted this time to be about you,” his arm snaking around your waist, as he presses himself against you, rubbing his bulge against your sensitive cunt, making you hiss, “when’s your date with Satoru?”

You bite your lip, “Tonight, for dinner,” you admit, and he nods, a hint of jealousy that disappears as soon as it appears, before kissing you again, stealing your breath as your fingers find the back of his neck, knees nearly buckling — which doesn’t go unnoticed by him — a smile on his lips.

“Come see me after.”

~~~

“Why did you want to go out with me anyway?” you ask as Satoru walks you to your doorstep of your apartment right off campus, his hand intertwined with yours, fingers engulfing yours, thumb rubbing across the back of your hand.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he replies back with a hum, “beautiful, brilliant, funny, and you keep up — what’s there not to like?”

“You know I’m not such a sucker for sweet words that I can’t see through them,” and his lips curl into a smile, as you both stop right outside your apartment building’s door, fluorescent light buzzing above you above, the cicadas’ symphony drowning out the light chatter from people walking by, “did you only ask me out to piss off Suguru?”

“That was part of the reason,” he admits, and you tilt your head, rolling your eyes, “what?”

“Such a brilliant physics professor can be so childish — what hope is there for any of the other men?” and he laughs, cerulean eyes flashing with amusement, “then what was the rest of the reason?”

And his teeth graze over his bottom lip, as he steps closer to you, his fingers cupping your chin, “I want you, is that straightforward enough for you?” And you shiver, and he doesn’t miss your thighs squeezing together, as he leans even closer, “c’mon sweetheart, this is more than just a game, because if it was, I would have stopped after the first time seeing you,” his thumb rubs over the mark Suguru left right below your jaw and his lips curl into a grin, “that was already enough to piss Suguru off,”

“And now?”

He’s leaning even closer, breath catching in your throat, “Now I just wanna know every inch of you, sweetheart, that okay by you?”

And you’re leaning up first, lips grazing his, barely for a moment, before Satoru finds your lips again. Where Suguru’s lips were impatient and passionate — Satoru was softer and playful, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his tongue teasing your lips apart, and a smile as he swallowed your moan eagerly. “So responsive,” he’s pulling away to stare at your swollen lips, parted beautifully for him, as he pulls on your bottom lip with his thumb, before his lips press kisses to your ear, latching onto your earlobe, teeth grazing as he sucked, “bet your other lips taste as sweet, don’t they, angel?” hot words sending heat directly to your core, as your hand finds purchase on his shoulder, “I can see why Suguru wanted to keep you for himself — such a pretty little thing, but you’re mine right now, aren’t you?”

His hands slide down down your curves, squeezing your hips teasingly, “Satoru—” and you’re glancing around at the barren streets, the quiet chatter of people could still be heard in the distance, “someone could see—”

“So?” and his lips find the mark Suguru had left, his lips closing around it and sucking, a gasp pulled from your throat, as you keen against his touch, “want them to see you all pliant for me, need them to hear you moaning my name, need you baby, need you so much that it hurts,” as the corner of his lips quirk upwards when you whimper when he sucks an even bigger mark against your collarbone, “and I think you need me too.”

Or maybe, as you pulled him inside of your apartment building, he wanted you to want him as much as he did right now.

~~~

The campus had become a battlefield, and you were the prize they were waging war for — unwittingly so, but by your own hand, as you just couldn’t choose.

But how could you?

“Suguru—” his lips found yours right outside his office, and you could taste the soba noodles he had for lunch, as his fingers threaded through your hair, his other sneaky hand slipping lower around your waist, tugging you even closer against him, “I have a class to teach,”

“Well, there’s something I wanna teach you before you go,” he rasps, as his tongue parts your lips again, tasting your own, “you can afford to keep your students waiting a minute, can’t you? You already denied me your company last night,” he grumbles, and you know he’s jealous that you didn’t stop by after your dinner with Satoru last night, but you’re having trouble finding the words to reassure him as his hand gropes your ass now, squeezing and teasing each cheek, And you don’t have enough time to react, as he’s tugging the turtle neck you had opted for, only for his eyes to narrow at the many blooming red hickies that Satoru had littered your skin with the night before, “were you hiding these?”

Your tongue ties itself into a knot, “I just—” you didn’t want Suguru to get upset — you were hoping to avoid a problem, “I didn’t want you—” And he’s pulling you back into his office, right against the door, as he’s sinking to his knees, as he’s tugging down your dress pants to your ankles, “Suguru—”

“What?” his eyes flicker up, irises dark pools of anger, “he can leave his mark, and so can I,” and his teeth graze the soft flesh of your inner thigh, making you gasp, his hands holding you in place even as you lurch forward, his teeth meanly digging into your thigh, as his tongue flicks over it to soothe the ache, “taste so good, princess — I can see why Satoru couldn’t resist marking you up — maybe I should make a habit of it,” and you whimper, and his fingers press against the crotch of your underwear, teasing the wet patch, “don’t act you don’t like, sweetheart,” and he’s nosing your underwear, pressing a kiss against your aching cunt through your underwear, “I think you’re going to more than a little late to your next class, baby, better send an email, ok?”

~~~

“Where’s that mouth of yours now, Toru?” you tease, looking up at him, your knees were definitely going to have carpet burn after this, as you palmed his tented erection, before going to undo his belt and tugging his slacks down, “been wanting this haven’t you?” and he moans a little too loudly when you tug his boxers down, his leaking cock slapping against his shirt, “don’t be so loud, it’s a library after all,”

This was Satoru’s idea — because of course it was — he had grown tired of your offices and empty classrooms, and wanted a change of scenery — because apparently waiting an entire day to spend some time at home was simply out of the question. And that’s how you ended up on your knees in one of the very back of the library where very few if any ventured, in between one of the stacks that was only visible from one side. But even so, you could hear the distant page flips of textbooks and the whispers from across tables, and anyone could find you both in such compromising position — but the risk was exactly what Satoru wanted.

“Ca-can’t help it, sweetheart, been thinking about how pretty you’d look on your knees f’me all day,” and he’s rambling now, pressing a fist to his lips, as the other clutches at the shelf behind him, his lust glazed crystalline gaze watching you as your fingers graze his cock, thumbing at the pearly bead of precum, “been so hard all day — wanting your pretty little lips around my cock,”

And you giggle, as you lick his precum from your fingers, before spitting in your hand, beginning to rub his his cock, fingers teasingly tracing each and every lovely vein and ridge, making him buck his hips against your touch, “g’nna have to try to be quieter than that when I wrap my lips around you, baby,” and your lips kiss the tip, kitten licking the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum from the source, pulling out a choked gasp from his throat, “must have been aching in all your classes, Toru — I wonder if your students noticed — wonder if they thought about having this cock down their throat,” and he’s swallowing thickly, “too bad this cock is mine,”

And you’re pumping him in earnest now, precum and spit as makeshift lube as the lewd noises of your hand glides over his dick, as he stares down at you with half-lidded eyes, glazed over with pure lust, “Fuck, Toru, your cock is so fucking gorgeous,” and you groan, before you guide him to your lips, letting the precum gather on them, until you let him sink into your mouth.

He’s already so close — you can tell by the way his cock is twitching in your mouth, as you swallow around him, tongue wrapping around him, “I’m g’nna cum down your throat too soon, baby,” and his words come out strangled, your fingers squeezing what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, “fuuuck, baby, I’m gonna fuck that pretty mouth,” and his hips are rolling as he clutches against the stack behind him, the other weaving into your hair, fingernails digging into your scalp, “gonna make you feel so good, gotta reward you for being such a good girl, taking my dick so well,”

You gag lightly on his cock, the tip hitting the back of your throat, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, and the only thing you can hear is the way your mouth slurping around his dick, the wet squelches as he fucks your throat, “I’m—” and that’s the only warning you get, before his hot cum slides down your throat, his hands grasping at your hair to hold you in place, “swallow every drop, baby, so nasty,” he’s whispering now, legs unsteady, as he watches you pull away, a string of cum and spit connecting you to his cock, and he’s almost hypnotized by the sight of you, utterly fucked out, your tongue darting out to lick the cum that dripped from your mouth, wiping the rest on the back of your hand.

And he’s groaning, “Sweetheart, I gotta fuck you so bad,” and he’s helping you to your feet, pressing an insistent kiss to your lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth, groaning as he tastes his release in your mouth. But you’re tugging up his boxers and slacks, adjusting them into place, and he whines, “babyyyy,”

“Not right now, Toru,” you glance around, “someone could see us, we’re lucky no one heard us with how loud you were being,” you kiss his neck, as he pouts, “such a good boy for me, I expect a reward tonight,” and he’s grinning, raising his eyebrows — and so fucking eager.

“Oh, I’ll reward you all night for this, baby,” and he’s pulling you into another kiss, before you hear someone clearing their throat.

And you pull away to find Suguru standing, looking thoroughly unimpressed, “I was wondering why you were late for our lunch, and here you are,” his tone is even, but his eyes are like daggers digging into Satoru’s skin.

But it only seems to bounce off Satoru, his lips curled in a devious grin, as he only wraps an arm around your waist, “Sorry Suguru for keeping her, she would’ve called, but she had her mouth full,” and your cheeks flush, as your eyes snap to Satoru, mouth agape — this motherfucker— “it won’t happen again, or it might,” and he squeezes your ass, as he slips away, “by the way,” Satoru plucks a book out of the stack on the top shelf, “here’s that book you were looking for that you mentioned before,” pushing it into Suguru’s hands, and he’s gone in a moment, leaving you both alone.

Suguru’s expression flashes with irritation for a moment, before his lips curl into a smile, “Shall we go?”

And you only knew that you would catch hell for this in Suguru’s office now — the ache between your legs only growing — not that you really minded.

~~~

The game between Suguru and Satoru only continued to escalate — fucking you and fucking with each other while they were at it. Suguru had retaliated by marking you up in his office after bending you over his desk. He had spanked you, hand bearing down “Such a needy one, aren’t you, princess? Sucking another man’s dick when you were supposed to be enjoying a nice lunch with me,” he scoffs, slapping another mean spank, but this time to your aching pussy,

“Such. A. Greedy. Girl,” he says between slaps, making you cry out, nails digging into the wood of his desk, “don’t think bad girls deserve lunch — you’re probably still full off his cum, anyway,” you can hear the click of his belt, as he’s undoing his pants, “no, I think I should fill something else,” and his thick cockhead is rubbing against your dripping folds making you whimper, “don’t you think, baby?”

And he had spent the rest of lunch fucking you, even doing it again after you had finished teaching, waiting at the back door of your classroom for your students to file out, before he had you in his arms again, spread for him as he makes you ride him on the desk. Deep long strokes that have you whining and writhing in his lap, before he’s fucking his cum into you again. And after he’s setting you down on shaky legs, helping you fix your clothes, before dragging your ruined underwear down your ankles, before snatching them up, and pocketing them, as you stare at him, only a smile on his lips, “for later use,”

He lets you wash up, but insists on dropping you off at Satoru’s doorstep with a grin and a wave. And Satoru nearly has you pressed against the door when you enter, hand already sliding down your pants, raising his eyebrows with a grin, when he finds nothing there, “Teaching without panties, Professor?” and he’s sinking to his knees for you, taking your dress pants with them, looking up with a shiteating grin (though surely it would be pussyeating later), “didn’t know you were such a naughty girl,”

“I didn’t,” the defensive reply leaves your mouth without a thought, as Satoru tilts his head, “I mean, I—” you lick your lips, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment — you were so stupid — “I had them on before,”

And the pieces are clicking in his head, as his hands press your thighs open, seeing the scattered marks left by Suguru — and then he’s pressing a kiss to the marks that Suguru made, murmuring, “do I get to keep something too? That’s not really fair Princess — gonna hurt my feelings if you play favorites,”

“What do you want?” And he’s grinning, and you know he has something specific in mind.

~~~~

“You could’ve chosen anything, and you wanted this,” you settle on Satoru’s lap, making his hips roll helplessly against you — you bite your lip as you look at him, his hands were tied behind the back of the chair, your underwear stuffed in his mouth, “you wanted these right?” You tease, tugging at the back of his head, “how’d your colleagues think of you now?” Your fingers palm the base of his leaking cock, it was so pretty, just as he was, “the great Satoru Gojo tied up and dick out for his junior, huh? Maybe I should take a picture, show them how pliant you are?” You’d never do that, but you knew the idea turned him on — his groan evidence enough, his traitorous dick twitching at your words.

A muffled groan against your panties, his pretty blue eyes staring up at you pleadingly, “want something, baby boy?”

And a whine leaves his throat, and you’re smiling, fingers squeezing harder, and his hips jerk again, “My hand?” And he shakes his head, “my mouth?” And he’s shaking his head, and your lips curl, “you think I’m that easy?” And he gives a nod, making you raise an eyebrow, about to reply when there’s a knock at the door.

Your eyes both snap over, the door thankfully locked, but a slow grin grows on your lips, as you ease off his lap,as he’s staring at you with wide eyes, “Gotta see who it is, can’t be rude, baby,” and you’re adjusting your clothes, opening the door just a crack.

“Oh, Professor,” Satoru hears a female voice - it was a student from one of his classes — Rei? Ren? — “do you know where Professor Gojo is?” Her surprise was evident, but you only seemed to take it in stride. This was the student who always loved to flirt with him, taking any opportunity even outside of office hours.

“Oh he’s all tied up in a meeting right now, I’m waiting for him to get back to discuss school related matters,” you sigh, opening the door slightly more, making him squirm — if you opened it a little more… he’s nearly moaning at the thought, “you know him, he can never shut up when it comes to Physics,” and the student chuckles, and now you’re prolonging the conversation on purpose, asking her about the semester and how classes are going - he’s straining against his own tie you had used bind him, a small whine that he swallows when he sees you give him the middle finger behind your back — a warning, “I’ll let him know you stopped by and he’ll email you to set up a meeting,”

And you shut the door, locking it , before turning, your eyes falling to his cock — even redder than before, pretty bead of precum at the end — “I see you enjoyed that, did you want your students to see you like this? Spread out and tied up for me?” You’re unbuttoning your blouse, as you slowly walk over, before settling on his lap. Your fingers tug at his hair on the back of his head, pulling your panties from his mouth, and stuffing it in his shirt pocket, “I wanna hear you talk now,” and you’re grasping his leaking cock, pressing it against your aching cunt, “beg for me,”

And he whimpers, “Fuuuuck, please, sweetheart, I need you to fuck me, use me as your toy, just—“ he’s biting his lip, leaning up, blue eyes watery, “I need you, I need you so bad,” and you’re dragging your thumb down his erect nipples, before you’re leaning down to bite one, nibbling and sucking, “shit—fu—“ and he’s keening against you, desperate for more, snapping his hips against you making his top part your folds, drawing a moan from your lips.

“So needy, you couldn’t even wait for me to fuck you,” you sink onto him, meanly grinding on him, his thick cock parting his folds all too fast — your walls squeezing the cum out of him. And he’s choking out a gasp as you cover his mouth, his spit wetting your fingers, “do you want other people to hear your pornographic moans? Those are just for me,” and you start to ride him, hips slapping against his, as you moan softly into his ear, “always make me feel so good, Toru, s’full,” and he’s twitching inside you, a moan vibrating against your fingers, “should have known you love praise — it’s your favorite drinking game,” you teased, as his hips begin to snap to meet yours, driving himself in deeper.

“Oh, fuck, you feel so perfect, baby, so fuckin’ wet f’me, so warm,” he’s meeting every snap of your hips, and you’re only moaning now, messily covering his mouth with your lips, so he can eagerly swallow your sounds for you, tongues tied together, the groan and squeaks of the chair only growing louder.

Until you pull your lips from him, “Toru, I’m close,” and he’s nodding, his head lolling back as your walls clench around him. He doesn’t last much longer, toes curling as his hips continuing to fuck you through your orgasm, until he’s notching himself in you deep. Two more thrusts and he’s spilling inside you, fucking his load deeper, as you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. Boneless, as he kisses your shoulder sweetly, as you untie his hands, freeing them, so he can hold you.

And you pull back to look at him, pale cheeks flushed, lips bitten red, and sheen of sweat on his forehead — he’s so fucking pretty—

And he’s only grinning— “can we do it again?

—and a fucking menace.

~~~

“Relax,” Suguru whispers, fingers pressing his glass of wine to his lips, his hand on the small of your back to guide you, “you’re so tense,” he chides gently, as your eyes flit to glare at him.

He knew exactly why you were tense.

The two of you stroll into the university gala, hosted to draw in wealthy alumni and investors in hopes of donations and to show off the prestige of the university. And as a new professor, you were required to attend — as was Suguru, as one of the most reputable.

“Suguru, I know I agreed to this, but is it a good idea for us to be going to an event like this together? People could talk,” and he’s only shrugging, a smirk on his lips.

“People are already talking, so why not give them something to talk about, Professor?” he whispers in your ear, hot breath against your ear making you flush.

“Any publicity is not always good publicity, Suguru,” you sigh, hearing whispers as the two you walked the length of the hall, “don’t think the university would take kindly to gossip and rumors about affairs amongst their employees,”

“Two, no sorry, three single professors engaging in healthy relations isn’t something that should be shamed,” he’s looking at you with mock outrage, mouth agape, “are you not for healthy expression of sexuality, Professor?”

You snort, whispering, “Y’know I’m all about that, Sugu—or should I bring up how many times you came last night? You had to wash your cum off my back,” and you delight in the slight red tint in his cheeks, before he shamelessly grins.

“Remind me? I still have the pictures,” he snorts, and something he says sticks in the back of your mind.

“Are we? Single, that is,” you ask, chewing on your lip — the worst time to ask the “what are we” question was in a banquet hall full of people who didn’t know about your relations — or your ones with his best friend.

“Well, I’m only seeing you, if that’s what you mean,” and your anxiety ease a bit, “but the same can’t be said for you,” and his words are half-teasing, but half serious — his gaze growing a bit more serious, “How long are you going to make us wait until you choose, sweetheart?”

“Until I choose?” and he’s turning to look at you, fingers cupping your chin.

“Do you expect us to share you forever?” he’s glances to see if anyone is watching before his thumb drags over your lips, “because I’m not too good at sharing, and I don’t think Satoru is either,”

And then your conversation is cut short just as two investors approach Suguru to engage in some discussion of ethics. Your mind wanders as soon as you’re done with the formal platitudes, putting your hand on Suguru’s arm to tell him you’re going to get a drink, before excusing yourself for a moment. You wander to the bar, ordering yourself a drink, before pulling your phone out discreetly — notifications only from Satoru staring back at you.

“Can’t believe you got conned into attending the gala,” and you sigh, honestly you couldn’t believe it either — you sneak a look at Suguru in his suit — a deep burgundy suit with a black shirt that complemented his black hair tied into a neat bun, aside from the few strands framing one side of his face. No tie around his neck, because of course, he couldn’t be too proper — although, when that was your view, you suppose you could.

“I can’t exactly say no, I’m a new professor.” and Satoru’s reply is almost instant.

“I could’ve gotten you out of it, but you agreed to crucify yourself with Suguru. Too bad, we could’ve had our own fun :P” and Satoru as always had a one track mind.

You roll your eyes, “Mind only on one thing, Satoru?”

“Only when it comes to you, baby, ;)” and you snort, lips curling at his remark, another text coming through right after—

“Who are you texting?” Suguru’s voice makes you jump, as you tuck your phone away, missing Satoru’s last text as you do, raising an eyebrow, “let me guess, trying to convince you to skip out?”

“Well—” and his arm is around your waist, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Then let’s go,” and he’s striding through the throng of people gathered at tables and floating through the banquet hall, finding his way through the double doors, veering into a hallway right off of the hall that only led to the electrical closet and other maintenance rooms, “we can have a quick respite,” and he’s unbuttoning the button on his jacket, as he turns his gaze to you.

“Where—” and he’s pressing you against the wall of the hallway, a pillar positioned nearby that blocked the view of passersby, but completely exposed otherwise, “Sugu—” you squeal, as you try to urge his hands off your body, but he’s only squeezing your hips harder.

“Like I said, let’s give them something to talk about,” and his hands slide down the curves of your body, and he’s kissing you, stealing any protests from you from your lips, just as he does your breath, “you think I can resist you this whole night when you look like this, princess?” his hand slides up the slit of your dress, thick fingers against your bare thigh, “you’re temptation incarnate—” and two fingers are dragging your underwear to your ankles, “and the best cunt I’ve ever had,”

And his knee pressed against your bare, aching pussy sends a ripple of logic through you, “We shouldn’t—someone could see—” and his knee only presses harder against you, as you gasp, biting your lip, and he’s smiling wickedly as you grow even wetter, cunt fluttering at the thought.

“Be more honest, sweetheart, you love this — your lips are saying one thing and your princess cunt is saying another,” and he’s pressing his knee into you, grunting as he feels your slick collect on his dress pants, “c’mon pretty, I can’t be doing all the work. Fuck yourself on my thigh like a good girl,”

“Sugu—” and he’s meanly gripping your chin, his dark eyes blown out with lust.

“You gonna be good f’me, or do I have to make you?” And his fingers find the soft flesh of your ass, squeezing, ripping a moan from your lips. And you snap, beginning to chase your high, grinding on his thigh, as he flexed in time with it. Your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, tongues tasting each other, as the rest of the party melts away, your fingers reaching down to palm his erection through his slacks, “fuck, such a filthy girl — g’nna make me cum in my pants — you gonna clean up your mess after?”

And you’re nodding, moaning as his knee hits the right friction against your clit, “I’m close, Sugu—“

And he’s reaching down to grab your ass to find the perfect angle, his thigh flexing, and you’re cumming, burying your face in his neck as you ride your orgasm out, slick squelching all too loud against his now ruined pants.

And you’re panting, chest rising and falling, as you lean back before kissing Suguru hard, “sweetheart—“ and he’s lowering you on wobbly legs, as your hands slip off his jacket to drape in front of him as a weak attempt to hide the large stain of your cum.

“Let’s go,” and he’s not protesting, grinning as you drag him out, eyes still on him as you walk backwards out of the hall.

And neither of you notice, the figure behind the pillar, watching, as he slowly tucked himself back into his gray suit pants, pale skin flushed, as his crystalline blue eyes watched you both walk off. He’s panting, teeth grazing over his lip as he composes himself.

Fuck, he had never cum so hard, except with you. The way your face contorted in pleasure, how Suguru had made you moan, how he took control of you — it was fucking hot. He almost scoffs at himself, rubbing a hand down his face, he never thought of himself as a voyeur but maybe he was. And his lips curl, as his mind unraveled an idea — one where all three of you could enjoy.

Maybe he could learn to share.

It would just take the right amount of precision, and luckily, Satoru smiled at your text chain, his last text still unread — he was all about precision.

And who can resist you in that dress?

~~~~

“This is a fucking terrible idea,” you murmur against Satoru’s lips, as he presses you into the desk, “he could come back any minute,” and he’s pressing you into the edge of Suguru’s desk, crumpling papers, shaking books and picture frames on Suguru’s desk, “Toru—”

One minute, you were having a nice lunch with Satoru, and the next, he’s gotten you stumbling into his office with his hands under your shirt — or what you thought was his office.

“Don’t act like you didn’t want this, sweetheart,” his fingers are toying with the hem of your dress pants, his lips pressing wet kisses along your jaw, “so needy f’me two seconds ago, didn’t even notice we went into the wrong office, and now you want me to make the lengthy journey back to my own?”

Your scoff grows into a gasp as his teeth grazes your pulse, teeth digging into your soft flesh before running his tongue over the blooming bruise, “It’s right next door,” and he clicks his tongue against your skin.

“And imagine how long that’d take, might end up taking you right in the hall, and imagine the rumors that’d spread then,” he’s chuckling as his hands slide under your shirt, teasing your tits through your bra, “what then? Gonna let them see how much of a needy girl you are for me?”

He’s plucking moans and whines out of you with ease, all too familiar with tearing down your inhibitions with precise ease, “fuck, what if he sees us—he could walk in any minute—”

“Aww, baby I just wanted to fuck you in the same place we first met, wouldn’t that be romantic?” and he’s tugging your pants down all the same, fingers unbuttoning your blouse as he pouts, “eat you out in the very chair I first saw you in, suck my cock while I sit in Suguru’s chair — doesn’t that sound like a good way to declare our undying love for one another?”

“Toru—” you sigh, and he’s catching your lips in a kiss, lips curled as you melt into his touch, as he sheds you of your clothes.

He’s sinking to his knees, spreading your thighs for him, kissing the wet patch of precum collected on your underwear. He’s inhaling, before warm breath settles against your skin, “such a perfect pussy,” and his tongue drags against the wet fabric, sucking at your clit through it, making you lurch against him, his large palms keeping you spread.

“Don’t know how Suguru doesn’t like sweets since he loves eating you out—” and your gaze is snapping down to him, a knowing grin on his lips, “still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted, pretty girl,”

“How do you—”

He chuckles, as he presses sweet kisses to your inner thigh, the vibration making you shiver, “With the amount of marks he leaves, I’d be surprised he didn’t — I may be a pretty face, sweetheart, but I’m not an idiot,” and you gasp as he uses his teeth to drag down your underwear, “can i keep these?”

“If you both keep stealing my underwear, I’m not going to have any left—”

“Even better,” he says cheekily, as he pockets them, “you’re not helping your case, baby,” and you glare down at him, but your mouth falls open as he presses a kiss to your weeping cunt, nose bumping against your swollen clit teasingly, “neither is this pussy of yours — you’re making a mess all over Suguru’s desk, think he’d enjoy that?” and he’s running his tongue over your folds, a pretty moan falling from your lips, “such a nasty girl, aren’t you?” and he’s teasing your outer lips with his wicked tongue, before he’s back to kissing and sucking marks onto your thighs.

“Toru,” you whine, “please,” and Satoru finally relents, wasting no time to bury his face in your cunt. He’s licking and sucking tight circles around your puffy clit before his tongue begins to part your folds, his fingers assisting in pulling your clenching walls apart, “fuuuck, sweetheart, can’t wait to feel you around my cock, gonna suck me dry with this perfect pussy,” your fingers find purchase in his snowy locks, hips grinding against his face shamelessly, His tongue was warm and hot inside your cunt, flicking against places you couldn’t reach with your fingers, his thumb teasing your clit in tight circles, making you see stars before your eyes.

“Satoru, please, s’close,” and he’s moaning against your sweet cunt, eyes flickering down to see him groping his erection through his slacks, the sensation of his moans enough to make you squirt all over his face, his tongue and mouth eagerly eating you out through your release. Moaning his name as your chest heaves, your thighs try to close around his head, burying him deeper between them, as your toes curl.

And neither of you had noticed that the door had swung open, as Suguru stood in the doorway, his eyes flitting over the scene in front of him, your leaking cunt spread out in front of him, as Satoru turns at the door shuttinh, lips and chin still glossy with your release and his sweat, as he only grins up at his best friend.

“And what did you say about my problem with knocking?” and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, chest still heaving from your orgasm, juices spilling from your needy cunt, “at least I knocked last time,”

“I don't think knocking applies to when it comes to your own office, Satoru,” he sighs, casually removing his suit coat and unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt as he rolls them up, lidded eyes still raking over you, you squirming under his gaze as Satoru still holds your thighs wide open so they both can see your pretty pussy spread out and leaking, your release dripping down the hardwood of Suguru’s desk and onto his carpet, “come on, Satoru, you could’ve done this more subtly?” Suguru sits on the couch, manspreading his thick thighs, as his eyes met yours, dark lidded gaze that only makes your cunt twitch.

“Oh you know how I feel about subtlety,” and he’s lapping lightly at your leaking cunt, making your walls flutter, “I don’t like to waste time,” and he’s licking his lips clean, before wiping the rest on the back his hand, before turning to you, “saw you fucking our pretty princess at the gala — felt a little different than I thought it would,” and Satoru guides your gaze with his thumb on your chin to Suguru so your eyes spot the tenting bulge between his legs, “seems like you feel the same, Suguru,”

“And if I do?” He’s raising an eyebrow finally tearing his eyes away from you to glance at his best friend, “then what?”

And Satoru is kissing your neck sweetly, “Think someone could use your attention, got this sweet cunt all ready for you,” and Suguru’s cock twitches in his pants, “or if you prefer, her mouth is more than willing, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“What would you be doing? Watching?”and Satoru scoffs, as he’s pulling you into a kiss, lips sliding against yours, as his tongue parts them, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

And he’s pulling away, wiping a little saliva that drips from your lips, “oh I’d be doing more than just watching,” and Suguru sighs, as your gaze flicks over to him, his lips surprisingly curled in a smile.

“Wonder how tight our princess will get with both of us in her,” Suguru hums, and your mouth falls open at his words, “wonder who’s name she’ll scream first,”

“If you have to wonder, then you’ll know it’s mine,” and Satoru is forcing your gaze back to him, “what do you say, sweetheart? Are you ready to handle us both?”

And you can’t believe your ears, as you glance between them, “but what about choosing?” And Suguru chuckles, two fingers unbuttoning his pants, dragging them down to pool around his ankles, his cock straining against the fabric of his briefs, a wet patch where the head rested.

“Right now, the only thing I want you to choose between is whether you want my cock in your cunt first or in your mouth,” and Satoru only grins, his large palms sliding down your back, and under your ass and thighs.

“Want some help getting there, baby?” and you’re biting your lip and nodding, and he’s lifting you with ease, pressing wet kisses down your neck, before placing you on your knees in front of Suguru.

Suguru looks down at you, lips twitching upward into a grin, “Have you made your decision, princess?” and you nod wordlessly, as you settle on your knees between his thighs, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the damp fabric of his briefs, making him hiss.

“Wanna taste you before you fuck me, Sugu,” your fingers sliding into the elastic of his briefs and tugging them down, his pretty cock nearly slapping both your face and his shirt as you free it from its confines. He’s a little thicker than Satoru, you can barely get your lips around him, but Satoru had a easier time hitting the back of your throat, “need your cum down my throat,” and he’s grunting, your lips kissing the tip of his cock, tongue darting out to collect the precum leaking from the slit. Your tongue then drags along his vein, making him hiss, as Satoru only grins, adjusting himself in his slacks.

“Don’t know why I haven’t fucked this perfect mouth sooner,” Suguru groans, the weight of his cock was so nice in your warm and wet mouth. Your fingers stroked what you couldn’t fit, as Satoru sits back and watches, his gaze boring into your back, as you hear the click of his belt, and you know Satoru is undressing behind you, “now you’re going to know what it’s really like to have your mouth full, princess,”

And Satoru scoffs, his footsteps growing closer to you, as you hear the dull slump of his clothes against the carpet, “Jealous that I fucked it first and fucked it better, Suguru?”

Suguru’s fingers weave into your hair, tugging at it lightly, making you moan around his aching cock, making him grunt, “We’ll see about that,” and then you feel a pair of lips pressing a constellation of kisses along your back, as Satoru presses himself against you, his cock sliding between your thighs, teasing your aching cunt, “don’t wanna just enjoy the show this time, wanna be a part of it, ain’t that right, baby?”

Your cunt is fluttering around nothing as he rubs his cock against your outer lips and thighs, drawing more moans out of you, your fingers stuttering with their touch, until a sharp pull at your hair, draws your gaze upwards.

“Don’t forget whose cock you’re sucking, princess,” and his hips shallowly thrust against you, tip brushing against your throat, making you gasp, fingers digging into his thighs, “or I’ll remind you,”

“Oh, so scary, Suguru,” Satoru snorts from behind, as he steadies you from behind, his tongue dragging up your back, “now c’mon baby, squeeze your thighs for me like a good girl,”

You re-double your efforts with Suguru, hollowing your cheeks and sucking as he slowly began to snap his hips and fuck your throat, all the while moaning around his cock as Satoru fucked your thighs. You squeezed your thighs, his cock slipping against your dripping cunt, making your walls flutter around nothing.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re dripping aren’t you? Making my cock all messy before I’m even inside you,” Satoru is leaning down, grazing his teeth against the soft flesh of your back, before his own thighs on either side of you, force your legs closed tighter, making him groan, “don’t think I can wait much longer to fuck this little princess cunt,”

“You’re going to have to, I’m first, after all the stunts you’ve pulled, Satoru,” and Suguru is close, his words coming out as pants, rutting against your mouth, his lidded eyes meeting your teary eyed ones, “that pussy is mine first,”

And Satoru lets out a breathy chuckle as your pussy twitches at his words, as he continues to roll his hips into you, driving your mouth deeper onto Suguru’s cock, “if you’re that eager, don’t think our princess would mind having us both at the same time, now would she?” Satoru drags his tip against your clit, making you whine against Suguru. And you’re whimpering, unable to nod, but Suguru moans, hips stuttering, as you swallow around his dick.

“That’s it, my greedy girl — g’nna cum down your throat, swallow every drop,” Suguru groans, his hips rut into your mouth, his warm load painting your throat, as you swallow his cum eagerly. He fucks himself into your mouth, your name leaving his lips as he pants, working himself through his orgasm, “that’s it, good fucking girl,”

“I’ve trained her well,” Satoru grunts, “can take cock like a pro, can’t you baby?” And you’re pulling yourself off Suguru’s cock, a mix of saliva and cum connecting you to his dick, tongue licking your lips clean, watching Suguru’s chest heave.

You moan as Satoru fucks his cock between your thighs, the tip dragging against your dripping pussy, “Look at the fucking mess you’re making of my office, Princess,” Suguru coos, his fingers cupping your chin, and thumb brushing against your bottom lip, as he palms himself lazily, “think she’s ready for both of us, Satoru?”

Satoru is close, squeezing your thighs tighter around his cock, “not yet, think this cunt needs your fingers stretching her out first,” and his cock twitches again, “fuuuck I’m close, sweetheart,” and he’s turning you over onto your back, lifting your legs up against his chest, fucking his cock between your thighs. And it’s too much for you, as you moan, clenching around nothing, your slick slipping down, as Satoru groans, before he’s painting your face white with his cum.

And Satoru is panting, as he’s pulling you into his arms, collecting his cum with his fingers from your flushed face. His fingers drag down your lips, urging you to suck on them, “Fuck, Princess, so fucking hot,” and he’s leaning down to lick the length of your cheek, chuckling, “you taste like me, baby,”

“Don’t hog her, Satoru,” Suguru chides, as he takes off his button up, and Satoru is shooting him a glare, before handing you over.

And Suguru is grabbing you up, pulling you into his lap, pressing your back against his chest, letting your legs spread, pussy leaking your release all over him. He hissed as his cock rubs against you, “you’re fucking drenching me, you already ruined my carpet and desk, gonna ruin my couch too now, sweetheart,”

His fingers part your folds, thumb bearing down on your aching clit, making you gasp, “So sensitive, haven’t even had our cocks yet, wonder if you’ll cry,” he hums, all too pleased, “gotta stretch you out first,”

And his lithe finger begins to circle your lips, before sinking into your cunt and making you gasp, “So tight even after Satoru ate you out — what do you think, Satoru, three fingers or four?” And he’s already sinking another finger in, beginning to bully your walls, scissoring and stretching, as he pumps his fingers into you steadily.

Satoru hums as he comes over, rolling your pebbled nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, drawing another moan from your lips, “Four, got to be sure she’ll fit us both,” and he leans down and takes your other in his lips, sucking before his teeth grazes your nipple.

“Fuck, she got tighter when you started playing with her tits,” Suguru smiles, as you huff in embarrassment, fading into another moan as he slips a third finger in, and it’s almost too much — you’re seeing stars nearly, as his fingers find that spot that makes you squirm and squeal.

“Sugu, fuck, it’s too much—“ and Suguru is only grinning, redoubling his efforts to find that spot again, pistoning his fingers in and out — the squelch of his fingers in your cunt ringing in your ears, as you give a broken whine, “I can’t—”

“Sure you can, baby,” Satoru coos, his teeth grazing the soft flesh of your breast, sucking and licking, making you nearly sob, “feels so good, look at you, taking his fingers so well—almost there,”

And Suguru finally sinks the fourth finger into you, and you’re so fucking stretched out, it feels so good — too good, “Gonna soak my whole hand at this rate, Princess,” and you’re only gasping and whining, grinding your hips against his fingers, wantonly chasing your high, and Satoru has the best view of it all — your swollen lovely lips parted, your eyes fluttering, and your pretty pussy fluttering around his best friend’s fingers. And Satoru can’t wait to see it all again, when they sink into you.

You can’t hold back, your voice raw and broken, “I’m g’nna—” and Suguru is grabbing your chin, pulling into a sloppy kiss, his lips gliding against yours, saliva running down the corners of both of your lips, swallowing your moans eagerly. And finally your back is arching against his chest, his fingers relentless even as you do orgasm, fucking your walls through it, thrusting your release back into you.

“That’s it, pretty,” Suguru murmurs, as he’s pulling his lips from you, dragging his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “think you’re ready for us now, aren’t you?”

“More than,” Satoru hums, as his fingers spread your pussy lips making you moan, before spanking your abused cunt, pulling a gasp from your lips, “who’s first?”

And Suguru is manhandling you so that you’re settled in his lap, facing him, “You got to watch her pretty face when she cums, now it’s my turn,” and the tip of leaking erection brushing against your sensitive cunt, making you lurch against him, “so responsive as always,”

“Hurry up, Suguru,” he’s grumbling, as he presses himself behind you, dragging his cock between your ass, making you whine, “wanna feel this pretty princess cunt milk me already,”

Suguru chuckles, leaning forward to kiss along your jaw, “Baby, think Satoru is more desperate than you are,” and you’re smiling against his lips.

“He always is,” you turn to smile at a pouting Satoru, but Suguru takes the opportunity to sink his cock into you, pushing past your walls, making your head snap back, mouth parted in an ‘o’ as his large palms settle on your hips, “Fuuuck, Sugu—”

“I told you to pay attention to who’s fucking you, princess,” he grins, grunting as he bottoms out, his cock twitching inside your walls, “you’re fucking soakin’ my cock, still so fuckin’ tight after I stretched you out,” his hips slowly thrust into you, teasing you, lazily edging your sensitive pussy, “so pretty, so perfect,” and your walls flutter around him, “fuck, you like that, huh?”

“Such a whore for our praise, huh?” Satoru pressing messy kisses to your neck, as he lines up himself in your cunt, “tell me you want this,”

“Fuckin’ hurry up, Satoru, or I’m gonna burst before you even fuck her,” Suguru growls, his hips snapping a little too roughly that has you crying out, as Satoru makes you look at him, thumb cupping your chin.

“Tell me, pretty, tell me how much you want both our dicks inside you,” Satoru croons, and his lips are pressing chaste butterfly kisses to you in contrast to the dirty words he says, with the slick sounds of Suguru fucking your needy cunt.

“P-please, I need you, need both of you to fuck me,” your words fall from your lips without hesitation, “shit, I swear to god, Toru, just—”

Your mouth falls open when Satoru pushes past your entrance, impaling you further, joining Suguru in your sweet cunt, and your mind is blanking — the fullness of them makes you nearly fall apart right then, the two of them groaning in beautiful synchrony.

“Fuck, didn’t think you could get any tighter or wetter, but you keep proving me wrong,” Suguru moans, squeezing your hips sweetly.

“So fuckin’ good, sweetheart, so, so good for us,” Satoru is mumbling into your shoulder as his hips begin to move against you, his balls slapping against your ass.

They move at different paces — Satoru faster and harder while Suguru was slower and deeper — their dicks driving into you, pressed between their bodies, sticky with sweat. Their hips strike their own rhythms, your orgasm quickly building like a flood, a wave ready to rip through you, as they fuck you again and again.

“Fuck, perfect little princess cunt gonna break our dicks in half,” Satoru groans, as he’s pressing kisses to your neck, “not gonna last much longer, Suguru,”

“Neither is she, judging from how her pussy is squeezing already,” Suguru grunts, as he’s pulling you into a sweet kiss, “now don’t forget, you gotta moan one of our names — moan the name that makes you cum,” and you’re fuckin’ close, so fucking close, you let out a pathetic whine that makes you flush at the sound of it, until they both begin to stutter inside you, hitting deeper, both brushing against that spot again.

“I’m g’nna—” and that’s all you manage before your walls clamp down on them, drawing out pornographic groans from both of them in your ears, as their cocks bottom out, as they cum, emptying their loads into you, fucking their cum inside as you three come down from your highs.

Pants fill Suguru’s office, the squelch of their hips slowing, as they twitch inside your desperately clingy cunt, stilling, as the three of you rest, boneless against one another. Suguru’s lips find yours softly, while Satoru is burying his face in the nape of your neck.

“You know Satoru, this has to be one of your better ideas,” Suguru hums, as he slowly eases out of your pussy, eyes darkening as he watches all of three of your mixed releases leak out of you, “although I’m going to have to get my carpet cleaned now,”

“Worth it,” Satoru sighs, pulling himself out as well, to collapse on the couch beside Suguru, before grabbing at you and pulling you to sit between them both, one of your thighs on either’s leg. His fingers drift to your all too full cunt, before using two fingers to collect some of the cum and stuff it back in, making you yelp, “sorry, baby, can’t have you wasting our cum, can we?” he winks.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, all too exhausted, as your head leans back against the couch, “so where does this leave us?”

And the two best friends share a look, seemingly having the same thought, “Well, at an impasse really,” Suguru sighs, lips curling into a grin.

“You never moaned one of our names, did you?” Satoru hums, pressing needy kisses along your shoulder, “so guess we’ll have to do it all over again.”

“Guess we will, only fair way to decide, isn’t it, Princess?” Suguru cups your cheek, leaning in for another kiss, as Satoru nibbles at your pulse, “again and again and again.”

And again, there was very little that Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto competed for — but you were one thing that they wouldn’t mind competing over for the rest of their lives.

✴︎ a/n: this is @bucky-of-the-opera's fault. all their idea. i simply was possessed while writing this. thank you to them, @laneysmusings, and @lemonpoppy-seed for beta reading and encouraging me to stick through this monster of a fic. its also my first time writing a threesome fsjndkj

✴︎ tag list: @penny18271, @getowhxre, @doodlingpizza, @pandoraium, @gojoslittlecrybaby, @wavychelle, @n3cromancyy, @invisible-mori, @shujiforever, @vorschlaghannah, @karazorel7, @arquiiva, @samisubi, @gumisgirl, @moranguitosz, @pasta-warlord, @thejeezyweezys, @4ri3n, @goldeneclipsedragon, @kaerean, @vitaminjee, @grooveandshit, @californiadreaming20, @ilovetwodmen, @bontensbabygirl, @crazynocturnalkiki, @gojosatorumyoneandonly, @bloodmoon25, @jaszzsy, @strxwberrysmoothii, @naruucore, @puffaloxx, @starlightstream, @purplegalaxynight, @sinnerstardoll, @eliz-lovesgojo, @hopplessdreamer, @sociedadvinperfecta, @jamleon, @ichikanu, @negroperson, @anakinskywalkersloverr, @dohwaesu, @rosesxviness, @goldeneclipsedragon, @forest4bee,

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru smut #suguru geto #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #sab [mlist]

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 24 days ago

Text

pt.4 SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In a Gotham steeped in darkness, Bruce Wayne confronts a past resonating with secrets. As he uncovers the identity of an enigmatic antiheroine, he will discover hidden truths that will stain his legacy. Blood, a symbol of betrayals, intertwines with his fate, revealing that darkness dwells within him as well.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, tw.noncon, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I took a long time because I went on vacation, I wasn’t inspired, I had a lot of things to catch up on, and blah blah blah. The good thing is that I brought part 4, and just so you know, there are about four or five more parts of the story, maybe more.

I'm dirty, infinitely dirty,

this is why I scream so much

about purity.

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the memories and the silence that now inhabited that room. Every corner of that space reminded him of his daughter's presence, a presence that had been fragile and ephemeral, like smoke disappearing between fingers. He looked at the diplomas and trophies on the shelves, those small proofs of her effort and dedication. He caressed them with the same reverence he used when going through old photographs, searching for something, anything, that would tell him he had done enough, that he had been a good father.

But he only saw the same emptiness in her eyes that he had known since childhood. She resembled him more than he would have imagined. In her dull gaze, in her absent smile, he recognized the same pain that had accompanied him after his parents' death. He realized, almost bitterly, that this darkness was an inheritance, a shadow he had left in her without realizing it.

Bruce ran his fingers over an old photo from her first birthday after losing his mother. That day, Alfred had secretly taken her to Metropolis in a desperate attempt to give her some happiness. But even at the amusement park, where laughter and noise were contagious, her face remained a vacant mask. She wasn’t really smiling, as if something inside her knew she would never have the normalcy that other children enjoyed.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce rested his head on the pillow that had been hers, wanting to cling to the scent of his daughter. But there was no trace of her aroma left. Alfred, in an act of rigor that Bruce couldn’t understand, had eliminated any trace of her, perhaps trying to close a wound that Bruce was unwilling to let heal. He had reproached Alfred for hours and hours for erasing that last vestige of his daughter. But Alfred’s look, serious and filled with silence, told him what he already knew: maybe he didn’t deserve to keep those memories because he had failed to protect the person he loved most.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the pain of each thought that emerged from that dark room. Everything reminded him that, somehow, he was responsible for his daughter's disappearance, as if his own shadows had consumed her. In his mind, images of what he could have done differently began to surface, a parade of possibilities where he was a better father, more attentive and less blind to her suffering.

Suddenly, Titus and Alfred the Cat entered together through the door, coming in silently, as if they understood the weight of that moment. Titus approached Bruce, resting his massive head on his knee, while Alfred the Cat jumped onto Bruce's lap, purring softly. Bruce petted the dog and the cat, finding in them the only comfort that seemed left to him. His voice trembled when, in an almost delirious tone, he confessed to them:

"Maybe I’m the real killer here. What kind of father lets his daughter get lost in the dark? What kind of monster was I that I never saw her pain? If she’s dead… if my little girl has left this world… then I am the only one responsible."

He paused, breathing heavily, as the words he wanted to suppress escaped his lips in a bitter and disturbing whisper. "Sometimes I wish I had… had stopped her mother. If she hadn’t been… if I had raised her from the beginning… I could have saved her from so much pain."

The words, though spoken in a barely audible murmur, weighed heavily in the room. He caressed the pillow, almost pleading for the past to change, for every mistake to be undone. The cat purred softly, as if understanding the pain Bruce was trying to stifle deep in his chest. Titus looked at him with eyes full of loyalty, without judging him, but not offering the redemption he desperately sought.

"I would give anything for a second chance," he whispered, his voice broken. "I would give my life to undo every moment that made her drift away. I would give anything to see her smile again, even if it were just once… even if it were just to tell her how sorry I am."

The house was silent, and in that instant, Bruce understood that there were no words, no time, no strength that could change the past. He was trapped in an abyss of guilt, with only shadows and memories now haunting him, reflecting his own empty and broken face.

Finally, he could no longer contain himself. Feeling the emptiness in his chest, tears began to fall onto the pillow, soaking it with his pain, as if the weight of his own guilt slid out in every sob he tried to stifle. His face was buried in the memory of his daughter, lost in the pain that tormented him with an intensity he could no longer bear.

It was then that Damian entered, dressed as Robin, with his katana stained with a dark red liquid that could be nothing other than blood, with a sharp and direct arrogance, breaking the silent mourning of Bruce. Coldly, he looked at his father and pronounced, almost with disdain, "No matter how much you cry like a whore, Y/N won’t come back."

Bruce looked up, surprised and hurt, but before he could respond, Damian continued with the same hardness. "While everyone was out in a gang like a bunch of lowlifes and came back empty-handed, I found something you didn’t even bother to look for while lying here like a cheap whore." Damian looked at him with a mix of disappointment and reproach, as if he couldn’t understand how his father had let so many signs slip by.

"Did you know? I had a relationship with Ivy, that old woman who had the indecency to date my little sister while being an old hag. Plus, she worked as a waitress in some bar wearing little clothes to survive. Like some common bitch. And the last time, she was seen in the subway, with a strange man with psychiatric crazy vibes... surely another one that slipped away while you were lying here." Damian’s words were blows to Bruce, each revelation a testament to how much he had let slip away.

Damian continued, each phrase laden with resentment and questions. "Why did she have to work? Why did she, the daughter of the renowned multimillionaire Bruce Wayne, the masked hero of Gotham, have to depend on a miserable paycheck that didn’t even cover the end of the month? And the subway, father, did she really have to take the subway like any unknown person in this city?"

Bruce looked down, unable to respond. Each of those questions was a dagger reminding him how far he had been from understanding his own daughter. He had ignored, or perhaps never wanted to see, the sacrifices she made to survive, the paths she took in search of something he had never given her. Now, with Damian's words filling the silence, Bruce realized he had condemned his daughter to the same fate he was trying to combat on the streets.

Damian watched him, his gaze cold and critical, as the room filled with a tense silence. For the first time, Bruce understood that perhaps he was never the hero he thought he was, and that in his attempt to protect everyone, he had failed to protect the one who needed him the most.

Bruce felt anger bubbling inside him, intensifying with each word that left Damian's lips. "How dare you come in here and say that? You weren’t a brother to her, you weren’t there when she needed you the most," he shot back, his voice echoing in the room like dark thunder. The image of his daughter intertwined with his rage, each contained tear now fueling his fury.

Damian frowned, unrestrained. "That's how I show my affection; you should be used to it," he retorted disdainfully, recalling that moment when he arrived at the mansion, he had stabbed Y/N with his katana. "I did what I had to do, and I don’t have to accept your reproaches. Everyone failed Y/N, even you."

"Don’t try to blame others for your own failures!" Bruce shouted, frustration filling every corner of his being. "You weren’t there, Damian. You can’t always hide behind your arrogance."

Damian crossed his arms, his defiant attitude unbreakable. "And what if I wasn't? At least I didn’t hide behind a mask of sadness. Better stop reproaching me and listen to what I have for you." He stepped closer, pulling out a half-open old cardboard box. "I brought you a gift."

Bruce looked at him suspiciously. "What is it now?"

"I went looking for Selina, but she slipped away like a scared kitten," Damian said, mocking the situation. "A waste of time, but I found Ivy in Arkham. She said little about Y/N, which annoyed me, so… well, here you go." He opened the box slowly, revealing Poison Ivy's head, the fresh blood still dripping from the edges.

Her face, once beautiful, was now serene, with pale skin and a touch of green that evoked her connection to nature. Her normally vibrant red hair now fell messily around her face, while her eyes, closed forever, seemed almost at peace, as if she had found a breath in the chaos she once inhabited.

Bruce felt as if the world had stopped. There was no horror in his gaze, only an emptiness where anger and sadness collided. "What have you done?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but resignation permeated every word. The life of his daughter, the decisions he had made and what that meant now overwhelmed him.

Damian shrugged. "She was a monster, just like all of us. What matters is that now you have something tangible, something you can show."

"What kind of family are we?" Bruce let slip, feeling defeated. "This family is a failure."

"Oh, so it turns out we’ve been a family all this time?" Damian replied, scornful, but his tone was less certain.

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling the discomfort of the situation. "Take me to the apartment where she lived," he said, his voice enigmatic and cold. It was a request that resonated with the gravity of what he had lost, an echo of what he had failed to protect. As Damian looked at him with surprise and a hint of concern, Bruce knew that the truth he would face in that place was beyond any form of redemption. The darkness that had invaded his life was about to be confronted, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what he would find.

As Bruce and Damian prepared to leave, Titus and Alfred the Cat watched them from a distance. The dog remained alert, his ears perked, as if he could sense the tension looming in the air. His instinct told him that something grave was about to happen. Alfred, with his wise and sharp gaze, seemed to share the same unease, his eyes fixed on the men who were heading toward the dark fate they had chosen.

As Bruce and Damian headed for the door, Titus stepped forward, his expression a mix of concern and determination. It was as if he were trying to convey a silent message, a call to reason that his owners could not hear amid their emotional turmoil. Alfred the Cat, with his elegant stride, approached Bruce and rubbed his head against his leg, seeking comfort for the hero who seemed on the brink of losing himself even further in the darkness.

Turning around, Bruce felt a pang in his heart. He looked at his animals, those innocent beings who had always been there to offer him companionship, and realized that they were aware of what was about to come. In a world where violence and betrayal lurked around every corner, their departure was the beginning of something much darker.

With one last look, Bruce found himself in Titus's eyes, reflecting a mix of loyalty and worry. It was as if the dog knew that the decision they were making would not only affect them but would also drag others into a chaos from which they could not escape.

Damian, impatient, had already crossed the threshold, but Bruce paused for one more moment. "I’m sorry," he murmured, although he was not sure to whom he was really addressing: whether to the animals who looked at him with eyes full of wisdom or to himself for the path he had chosen.

However, it was already too late to turn back. With one last glance at the room where it all began, and at the animals who looked at him with concern, Bruce stepped into the dark world that awaited them, unaware that soon, everything would get worse. The air was charged with ominous anticipation, and the feeling that tragedy loomed over them like a shadow, deep and inevitable.

You lay on the bed, your body still heavy from the forced encounter, thoughts fluttering in your mind like butterflies trapped in a net. The room was enveloped in an unsettling gloom, the air thick with a tension that could not be ignored. Beside you, he breathed with a calm that contrasted with the whirlwind inside you. There was no name, no face to remember; it was just him, the one who had kidnapped you and made you his own, a figure who had taken your life and distorted it at will.

As you stared at the ceiling, the silence became a mirror of your thoughts. Rage and hatred toward your family surged within you, feelings that had once seemed so distant. They didn’t understand you, they hadn’t been there to protect you, and now, in this strange intimacy, you found yourself wishing to be with him more than with them. Confusion engulfed you; on one hand, there was a part of you longing for affection and acceptance, while on the other, there was a strange pleasure in the situation, a desire to escape the life that had caused you so much suffering.

Despite everything, you missed your mother. Her laughter, her hugs, the way she always knew how to calm your fears. But that maternal figure was slowly fading from your memory, drowned by the anguish of betrayal and loneliness. You found yourself trapped between the desire to remember the good and the hatred toward the past that had brought you here.

As the room remained silent, a dark and almost self-destructive impulse took hold of you. With trembling movements, you picked up a sharp object and pressed it against your skin, feeling a sting that was both physical and emotional. In that moment, you thought about the irony of your situation: you had lost control of your life, and in seeking an escape, you chose to hurt yourself.

The duality of your feelings was heartbreaking. On one hand, you yearned for freedom, to reclaim your identity and the love that had been taken from you. On the other, there was a part of you that felt alive in this new relationship, a twisted connection that kept you captive. The internal struggle manifested in every thought and every action, revealing the complexity of your situation.

You remembered moments from his life, the wounds he carried, and the pain he had faced. Had Bruce ever been so lost, so filled with sadness that he had to do the unthinkable to feel something? The idea that the man you admired could also have been vulnerable struck you like a revelation. You wondered if he had ever cried in solitude, questioning his place in the world, if he had ever felt so trapped in his own life.

As you touched your stomach, an old pain resurfaced. There, beneath the skin, was a scar, a reminder of the time Damian had hurt you with his katana, an act that had been both an attack and a cry of desperation. The brush of your fingers over the wound, although healed, still brought memories of suffering and betrayal, a deep connection intertwined with the pain you felt now. The scar was a metaphor for your life: a wound that would never fully heal, a reminder that pain is part of your existence.

Tears fell more forcefully as you thought about how your family’s decisions, rivalries, and chaos had influenced your life. Bruce, with his constant struggle against the shadows of his past, was a reflection of what you could have been: strong, determined, but also broken and lost. In that moment, you felt just like him, entangled in a cycle of suffering and confusion.

You allowed yourself to cry, feeling that perhaps in that vulnerability there was some freedom. It was a relief, an act of resistance in the midst of the oppression that surrounded you. As the outside world faded away, the pain of the scar became a reminder that, despite everything, there was still a part of you yearning to break free, wanting to escape this darkness. And amid that sadness, one thought grew stronger: perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to find your path again.

The man let go of your cheek and, with a casual gesture, lit a cigarette, the smoke dancing in the air like shadows in the dim light of the room. His eyes, fixed on you, had a dangerous intensity. "Do you see this?" he said, exhaling the smoke slowly. "Now you are stained, like Gotham. You’ve been in the mud, and it’s your duty to clean yourself up. This is just the beginning."

He looked at you with a twisted smile, an expression that mixed amusement and dominance. "You have to understand that you can’t escape from what you are. The city is a reflection of yourself. And like Gotham, you too need to be purified." With a sudden movement, he offered you the cigarette. "Smoke. It will help you forget the tears."

You hesitated, but his eyes challenged you, a clear message that there was no room for denial. With a mix of fear and despair, you brought the cigarette to your lips, feeling its bitterness touch your tongue. "Don’t make me repeat myself," he said, his voice a cold whisper. "I want you to feel the poison, just like the city does. You are part of it now, and you must accept your role."

The pressure of his words overwhelmed you, each syllable a reminder of your distorted reality. "But why me?" you stammered, feeling desperation twisting inside you. "Why do I have to be part of this?"

"Because there is no choice," he replied with disdain. "There never was. Every day, every decision you made has led you here. Weakness is not an option. Look around you; Gotham has no place for the weak. If you want to survive, you need to get your hands dirty. And believe me, there is a lot of blood to clean up."

Your heart raced as you inhaled the smoke, the burning filling your lungs and leaving a feeling of emptiness. "What do you want from me?" you asked, feeling the power he had over you strangling you.

"I just want you to accept your new place. I want you to understand that in this world, death and destruction are inevitable. There is no redemption for the stained, but you can try to fix it… in your own way."

He trapped you in a dark cycle of thoughts, where each of his words echoed in your mind like a terrifying echo. You knew he was playing with you, manipulating your emotions. "If you don’t clean yourself, you will suffer the consequences. And if you cry for her again, I promise you will pay for it," he said, tightening his grip on your arm.

As the smoke dissipated into the air, the feeling of being trapped became more palpable. You found yourself between acceptance and internal struggle, but deep down, you knew you had to find a way out. However, the darkness around you grew more intense, and each of his words was another chain binding you to this fate you had not chosen.

The air thickened as he exhaled smoke, the room filling with a gray fog that seemed to reflect the chaos in your mind. He looked at you with an intensity that overflowed with obsession, a strange mix of affection and dominance that enveloped you. Despite the tears running down your face, you felt no sadness or fear. You had passed the stage of terror; now you felt strangely alive, almost liberated in your pain.

"My dear," he said in a soft yet authoritative voice, "you must not see this as a punishment. It is a purification. Gotham needs someone who understands its pain, and you are the chosen one." He leaned closer to you, his hot breath on your skin. "You are like a spark in this darkness, and together we can illuminate it. You just have to let the poison flow through you. With each tear, you are cleansing the city."

As he held you, the contact between the two of you was electric, and a part of you began to understand his madness, the way he had woven his dreams of greatness and purification through your own desires for belonging. "Did you know my mother was in Arkham?" he continued, as if sharing a special secret. "She was stained too. In her mind, she fought demons that no one else could see, just like you now. And look where she ended up: trapped in her own memories, in her own shadows."

The revelation hit you. A fragment of pain resurfaced, intertwining with the new knowledge. "What… what happened to her?" you asked, your voice trembling. It wasn’t sadness you felt; it was curiosity to know that story that had remained hidden.

"She got lost in the darkness of Gotham, just like everyone else," he said with contempt. "But that doesn’t have to be your destiny. You are stronger. My mother let herself be consumed by her madness, but you… you can take control. Let me guide you."

You fell silent, contemplating his words. The tears continued to fall, but now they were just a part of you, a manifestation of the internal struggle. You knew you were trapped in a dangerous game, but there was something in his promise of power and control that began to seduce you.

"So cry if you need to," he said, caressing your cheek with a touch that was both gentle and threatening. "But don’t let those tears weaken you. Every time you feel the urge to cry for her, remember what you are. Remember that the city needs someone like you to cleanse it of the filth."

"How can I do that?" you asked, feeling the echo of his words resonate in your mind. "How can I clean something so deeply rooted in darkness?"

"With determination," he answered firmly, his eyes shining with a mix of fervor and madness. "You must learn to see the beauty in chaos. There is power in pain. With every action you take, with every decision you make, you will be purifying Gotham of its own decay. And I will be by your side, guiding you. Together, we will be unstoppable."

As you absorbed his words, a strange sense of purpose began to take shape within you. Although his love was perverse, there was something in his vision that resonated with you, as if you were destined to fulfill that role. As the smoke from the cigarette faded into the air, so too did your fears, leaving only a cold and clear determination: you were going to take control of your destiny, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

"No! I don’t want you to go!" shouted little Y/n, clinging to her mother's handbag with the desperation of someone who knows something important is about to slip away.

Her mother, a blonde woman with a tired gaze, let out a sigh of impatience. Y/n couldn't quite remember her face, but she knew it hardened at the tug on her bag, and without thinking, she pushed the girl, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud. Y/n looked up from below, her big eyes reflecting a mix of fear and pain.

"Stop being silly, Y/n," her mother murmured, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice. She leaned down, trying to smile, but the coldness in her eyes betrayed her. "You know I have to do this... for both of us. Everything I do is for you, even if you don’t understand it now."

The girl nodded slowly, but inside, she felt the truth—that repeated phrase was just a curtain. She knew there was something broken in her mother, something she was too young to fully comprehend but sensed in every harsh gesture, in every bitter word that hung in the air. Something that made her feel alone, even when they were together.

Her mother straightened up, adjusting the bag as if it weighed tons. She raised a hand in a mechanical farewell, and without another word, she left through the door without looking back.

Days passed in a haze of silence and dry tears. Y/n had no idea how much time had passed since her mother left, leaving the echo of her footsteps as the only reminder of her presence. Hugging herself, she spent the nights waiting for some familiar sound that never came.

When she finally opened her eyes, she realized her surroundings had completely changed. She was no longer at home; she was sitting in a cold, unfamiliar room, with gray walls and flickering lights dimly overhead. In the distance, she could hear whispering voices.

"How is it possible that someone left such a small child alone?" It was the firm, serious voice of a man. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she distinguished a police badge on the man's uniform. It read Commissioner Gordon.

Next to him, a red-haired woman spoke in a low voice. "Dad, you can't be sure. Maybe it was just a lie. You know how her mother was: a history of psychiatric hospitals and drugs at home. How do we know she didn't make up the story about Wayne?"

"Barbara, we have evidence that doesn't lie," Gordon replied coldly, his tone tinged with disdain. "We know the paternity test is real."

The girl felt the world sway around her. She listened to every word and felt each comment like a dagger sinking deeper into her chest. Those adults, figures of authority and trust, spoke of her mother as if she were little more than a mistake, something despicable that had left scars on her life. Sitting there, hidden behind a wall and hugging her knees, tears returned to her eyes, a mix of sadness and a terrifying understanding of what it meant to be alone in the world.

"Do you really think someone like that should have had a child in her care?" Barbara said from her wheelchair, her tone full of contempt. "She was probably just looking for easy money, manipulating everyone she could."

Commissioner Gordon frowned, clearly uncomfortable. "Barbara, that's not fair! Even if she didn’t lead the best life, she was still a citizen like anyone else, and she had the right to rebuild her life. No one is perfect."

From her corner, Y/n tried to cover her ears, but Barbara's words were impossible to ignore.

"I can't believe it, Dad. How could anyone in their right mind have left a child in the hands of that woman?" Barbara said with a cold, almost poisoned voice. "Someone who clearly had drug addiction problems and who was in and out of psychiatric hospitals. I bet she didn’t even know who the real father was."

Each word made Y/n's chest tighten even more. Her mind screamed silently: Stop! Please stop saying that about her! Her small hands trembled as she remembered the moments she had spent with her mother. Her mother, who although had those dark days and her brusque manner, had fed her, tucked her in, and cared for her as best as she could. Despite her mistakes, she had been her mother, and that was all Y/n could understand.

But Barbara’s words kept filling the room, like a storm of resentment. "I don't know how Bruce can even be involved in something like this. That woman was a burden to everyone. I can't imagine anyone worse as a mother."

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block it out. It's not true. She’s not bad. She took care of me. We didn’t have much, but she always tried to be there for me. But no matter how hard her thoughts tried to silence the pain, Barbara's words left deep scars, increasingly difficult to heal.

As Y/n remained there, her tears already dry, her thoughts twisted in her mind like threatening shadows. She heard the echoes of Barbara's cruel words and Gordon's, and a silent resentment grew in her chest, almost like a slow poison. She tried to remember the good moments with her mother, but the dark thoughts seemed to drown them out. She was good, she was good... No, you can't say that about her... But those same thoughts tangled with hate and confusion, and the pain grew stronger.

Suddenly, everything turned white. The walls, the voices, the cold metal chair beneath her legs... everything disappeared into a blinding void that enveloped every corner of her mind. And then, there was only her, standing in that white abyss, with a strange weight on her shoulders and in her hands.

She looked down and saw a white armor, shining as if made of shards of moon and shadow. It covered her body completely, with firm, polished plates that fit like a second skin, protecting every part of her. The gauntlets were solid, with sharp and detailed edges, and in her hands, she wielded two katanas whose blades reflected that void like deadly mirrors.

The design of the armor was imposing and terrifying. The helmet resembled a bat, with long pointed ears extending upward, and a dark V-shaped visor that barely revealed her eyes. The lines that ran across her chest and arms formed the silhouette of folded wings, as if that bat awaited to unfold at any moment. The chest was engraved with fine black details, resembling veins radiating dark power. In the center, a small emblem in the shape of a black teardrop contrasted with the radiant white of the armor, like a mark of pain and sacrifice.

In the dim light of the void where she stood, Y/n felt the weight of the katanas in her hands as if they were extensions of her own being. In that moment, the white armor fit her like a comforting embrace, a reminder of the power she now possessed. She looked at herself in a non-existent reflection, feeling that every part of her being was ready to act, to reclaim what she had lost.

With a tremor of emotion and a palpable obsession, she held them to her chest, hugging them tightly. Words flowed from her lips, laden with a burning, almost manic desire: "Soon you will be mine... I will go home. I will be my little girl again."

The echo of her voice resonated in the white void, vibrating with the intensity of her longing. In her mind, an image formed of a home, a place where shadows no longer lurked and where her mother, though imperfect, would be able to embrace her once more. The idea of being together again, of transforming her pain into power, filled her with a fierce determination.

"I will come back for you," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of tears and a crazed smile. "Nothing will stop me. I promise." The choked laughter turned into a murmur of echoes, resonating in the abyss like a sinister promise, as the world around her began to fade again, leaving her alone with her obsession and her new identity.

In the silence, whispers began to rise, soft at first, but increasingly insistent. One word repeated, muted yet burning, like a spark in the shadows.

The word reverberated in the void, growing more intense, like a kind of dark mantra. And when Y/n could barely bear the weight of those voices, one final phrase emerged, chilling and final:

"Death is the ultimate prize."

You walked through the halls of the old apartment block, your white armor shining in the dim light, like a bat defying the embrace of the night. The echoes of your heels resonated, a dark song reverberating in the solitude of the worn walls.

Your figure, sculpted in gleaming metal, was a silhouette of elegance and mystery, as you hummed a forgotten melody, slipping between the shadows like a whisper of the forbidden. Each step was a heartbeat in the silence, a chilling reminder that there is still life in abandonment.

The portraits on the walls watched you, empty eyes that seemed to come alive, as you moved with the grace of a specter, a macabre dance of light and shadow at dusk.

The doors, worn and creaking, whispered secrets of past stories, and you, guardian of those forgotten tales, advanced fearlessly, seeking what was left behind.

You were an enigma, a reflection of the lost, a shadow walking, dressed in white, in a world clinging to its demons, where the past and present intertwine in a lethal embrace, and the night waits, eager for your return.

You paused before the door of one of the apartments, its frayed wood opening like an abyss, a dark invitation that defied logic. The silence became thick, almost palpable, and the echo of your humming faded, leaving a void that swallowed the darkness.

The threshold awaited you, a portal to the unknown, and a cold breeze, laden with whispers, caressed your skin like a lost lover. Inside, the shadows seemed to come alive, a palace of echoes and laments, where time had woven a web.

Your heart raced, a mix of adrenaline and challenge, as you gently pushed the door. It creaked in protest, like an old ghost, and when it opened, revealed an abandoned world, furniture covered in dust, with withered memories.

The remnants of a past life crowded every corner, and a scent of decay floated in the air, but something more, a glimpse of presence, urged you to enter, to explore the hidden. You peered in, and the dimness embraced you, as if the apartment claimed you as its own.

Each step on the creaky floor was an act of daring, and the walls seemed to murmur forgotten secrets, stories of betrayed loves and lost souls. In the center of the room, a dark, diffuse, and shadowy figure formed among the shadows, like an echo of your own existence, a reflection of what could have been.

You stood still, breath held in the abyss of the moment, the half-open door, a threshold to your destiny, and the silence, now laden with promises, stripped you of fears, leaving only the certainty that in that space, you faced the echoes of your own darkness.

As you advanced, your eyes fixed on a dusty, worn wooden box resting on the small dining table. Something about it drew you in, as if it held a dark secret. You approached and, with trembling hands, opened it. Inside, horror was revealed: the head of Poison Ivy, the green hair still vibrant, a gaze frozen in time. You didn’t cry, but a slight tremor coursed through your body, a mixture of surprise and disdain for the brutality that had taken place in that space.

"Normally you enter through the window," you murmur to the air, with an ironic smile on your lips, as if addressing a presence you hoped would appear.

And then, as if the night itself had responded to your call, Batman emerged from the shadows, his dark figure silhouetted against the dim light coming through the window. The air became tense in an instant.

"Who are you?" he asked, his grave voice resonating with a mix of distrust and anger. "What are you doing in the apartment of Bruce Wayne's daughter?"

You laughed, a laugh that echoed in the empty room, filled with irony and knowledge.

"His daughter?" you mocked, your eyes shining with a mix of challenge and amusement. "So Y/n is your daughter. Isn’t it curious how things intertwine in this city?"

The silence grew heavy, and you felt his gaze intensify, evaluating every word you had spoken. He knew you had crossed a line, but the revelation had ignited a spark of playfulness in you.

"How do you know who I am?" The question slipped from his lips, but there was no fear, just an unsettling curiosity.

"Gotham has its secrets, Bruce. And I, like you, am part of this darkness. The identity of a hero or heroine is just a game of shadows, and in this game, you and I know how to move between the lines."

You stood firm, the tension between you palpable, as the echo of laughter still resonated in the air. Batman's figure, always imposing and enigmatic, seemed to waver at the revelation that in this dark labyrinth, he was not the only player.

The tension intensified, and Batman took a step forward, approaching you with an intense gaze.

"How do you know about my daughter?" he inquired, his voice brusque, each word laden with frustration. You remained firm, crossing your arms, letting the silence settle between you.

"Oh, Gotham speaks, even in whispers. The city has a way of revealing what heroes prefer to hide," you replied disdainfully. "Your life, your secrets, are more exposed than you think." He frowned, anger crackling in his eyes.

"What do you know about Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening, as if waiting for you to throw down a challenge.

"I know you didn't want her. That you left her in the shadows while you dedicated yourself to your personal crusade," you replied, irony dancing in your tone. "That girl grew up without a father, and you, the great hero of Gotham, preferred to be a myth."

Rage etched itself on his face, but there was something more, a hidden pain surfacing behind the armor of his anger.

"It's not that simple, and you have no idea what I've done for her," he retorted, his voice tense, each word like a blow.

"Really?" you asked, flashing a mocking smile. "What have you done? Cut off her partner's head, the only person I love, just to extract invalid information? What a great father."

An uncomfortable silence settled between you, as the air vibrated with unspoken emotions.

"You are not one to judge me," he declared, his voice tense. "You know nothing of what I've sacrificed."

"Maybe not, but I know enough about the void you've left," you replied, undeterred. "And I know Ivy was there for her. You, the hero, vanished while others took on the role of father."

The anger shone in his eyes, but there was also a spark of recognition. He observed you, assessing the courage that led you to challenge him.

"And who are you to come and point fingers? A lost anti-heroine in her own struggle?" he shot back, his voice laden with contempt.

"I am what Gotham needs," you replied, confident. "A reminder that even heroes like you can fail."

The discussion turned into a power struggle, both of you clinging to your truths, while Poison Ivy's head remained a sinister reminder of the choices you both had made.

Suddenly, Batman's fury exploded like lightning in the darkness. Without warning, he seized you by the neck, lifting you with surprising strength. The air became scarce, and the pressure on your throat made you feel vulnerable, although the mockery never left your expression.

"Where is Y/N?" he demanded, his voice charged with rage and desperation. The shadows moved around him, intensifying his figure, which seemed more monster than hero at that moment.

Despite the iron grip, you kept your gaze fixed on him, challenging him, feeling the adrenaline pulse through your veins.

"Are you that worried about her whereabouts?" you replied, a mocking smile barely hiding your disdain. "Maybe she's hanging from a hook in a slaughterhouse, who knows? That would be an ironic twist for a girl who grew up in the shadow of a hero, don’t you think?"

His eyes narrowed, anger and helplessness battling within him. You leaned in closer, feeling the pressure on your neck, but that only fueled your defiance.

"Don't laugh about this!" he roared, tightening his grip slightly. The fury in his voice was palpable, but something deeper kept him on edge.

"Me? Laughing? You, the great Batman, scared for your daughter's life?" you shot back, never breaking eye contact.

The tension was becoming unbearable, but there was something fascinating about the game you were playing. He was caught between rage and fear, and you, in your shadowy game, fed off his anguish.

"Do you know something? You're losing yourself in your own legend," you continued, while he held you in the air. "I'm sure you once dreamed that she would have died in that alley with her mother."

In that instant, something in his expression changed. The anger slowly faded, giving way to a deep concern, though he still held you firmly.

"I warn you," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours. "If you lie to me, I won't show mercy."

You laughed again, though the risk was imminent, as your heart raced.

"And what will you do?" you challenged, your voice trembling but resolute. "Threaten me with your dark past? I'm here because I know the truth, and I do not fear your shadows."

Bruce's patience evaporated like smoke in the heavy air of that apartment. With a sudden movement, he hurled you towards the table, the impact resonating with a crash that reverberated through the walls. Your katanas slipped to the floor, leaving you defenseless. The furniture creaked under your weight, but adrenaline kept you alert, your instincts sharp.

You quickly rose, shaking your head to clear the confusion, while the anger on his face transformed into determination.

"I don't have time for your games, Kerosene," he shouted, stepping forward, ready to fight. "If you know Y/N, tell me!"

You steadied yourself, smiling defiantly as you positioned yourself, preparing for combat.

"Do you really think you'll throw away the only one who can help you?" you replied, feeling the pulse of challenge coursing through your veins. "I'm offering you a chance to know the truth, and you choose to fight. Very typical of you."

With a swift movement, he lunged at you, throwing a direct punch. You dodged, making an agile turn, but the atmosphere became a whirlwind of force and speed.

You charged at him, hitting him in the side, feeling how his tense muscles responded to your attack. It was not just a physical fight; it was a clash of wills, an explosion of repressed emotions.

"You’re an idiot if you think you can scare me!" you yelled at him while he tried to immobilize you. You twisted and managed to sidestep him, landing a blow to his jaw that made him stagger.

Bruce quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. He advanced again, his movements precise and calculated, while you played with speed and agility.

"Stop!" he roared, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "I just want to know where my daughter is."

"And I just want you to stop living in your hero fantasy," you replied, with a defiant laugh as you dodged another attack. "The truth hurts you, Bruce, and you prefer the fight over facing it."

The exchange of blows continued, the sound of fists colliding and the creaking of breaking furniture filling the air. The room became a battlefield, with the table as the central stage of your struggle.

Bruce, with a mix of skill and strength, cornered you against the wall, but instead of giving up, you seized the closeness. With an agile movement, you pushed him back, making him lose his balance.

"Are you going to keep this up? Destroying what’s left of this city?" you said, breathing heavily but not yielding. "Or are you going to listen to what’s really at stake?"

His eyes were now inches from yours, the fury and frustration of his search fueling the spark of the battle. Both of you were willing to fight, but deep down, you knew there was something deeper at play than just physical strength.

The battle continued, becoming increasingly intense and violent, like a whirlwind of unleashed fury. You launched at him, landing a blow that hit his chest, but Bruce responded with a punch that made you stagger; the force behind his blow was terrifying. The rage emanating from him was palpable, and with each attack, both of you took the struggle to a new level.

The apartment walls vibrated with the thud of bodies colliding and furniture being dragged. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the air as you crashed into a table, breaking it into pieces.

You got back up, a piece of wood in hand, and threw it at him. Bruce dodged it, but the fragment smashed against a lamp, exploding into a million shards. The light flickered before going out, plunging the place into an unsettling darkness.

Both of you moved like shadows through the chaos, and sweat and blood began to mix, the air filled with a metallic smell that only intensified the battle. Bruce landed a punch on your jaw, and you tasted blood in your mouth. You didn’t stop; with a cry of defiance, you responded with a series of rapid blows, each one stronger than the last.

You darted to his side, using your agility to hit him in the ribs. The impact made him stagger, but before you could capitalize on the opportunity, Bruce spun around and kneed you in the abdomen. The air escaped your lungs, and the sharp pain made you fall to your knees. However, you didn’t give up.

With renewed determination, you got up and threw a direct punch to his face, hearing the crack of his skin upon impact. Blood spurted from his lip, and the fact that you had hurt him only fueled his fury. With superhuman strength, he pushed you back, slamming you against a shelf, which gave way and collapsed on you. Books and personal items scattered across the floor, covering the place in even greater chaos.

But there was no time to stop. You rose amongst the debris, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. With a leap, you charged at him again, landing a blow that left a mark on his face. Rage and pain intertwined in the air, and both of you were on the brink of madness.

The room had turned into a battlefield, with blood staining the floor and walls. The apartment’s decor, once a refuge, lay in tatters, as if Gotham itself had decided to yield to the brutality of your confrontation.

Bruce, with his determined gaze locked on you, lunged at you again. Both of you were exhausted, but the fight was a necessity, an uncontrollable impulse that kept you standing. His fists and your movements were a wild dance, and amidst the chaos, both of you knew that the outcome of this battle would not only define the present but also seal your fate.

You charged at him, landing a direct blow to his stomach, and when he bent forward, you took the chance to hit him in the face once more. Blood spilled from his nose, but he countered with a knee strike, and the impact resonated in your bones.

The fight continued with increasing ferocity, the room transforming into a wreckage. Every blow exchanged resonated like thunder, but it was the moment when Bruce landed a punch to your side that made you fall to your knees again, gasping for air. The pain was intense, but there was no time to lament; rage and frustration drove him to push onward.

Seeing the opportunity, Bruce lunged at you, and with a rough movement, he lifted you off the ground, holding you by the neck and raising you into the air. You struggled, feeling the pressure increase, the air escaping your lungs. The room blurred around you as you began to lose control.

"Tell me where Y/N is!" he shouted, his voice echoing in your mind like a refrain of desperation and fury.

You were on the brink of passing out, your eyes clouding, but amidst the confusion, you managed to maintain lucidity, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Bruce's hands were like a yoke around your throat, and the feeling of suffocation intensified with every passing second.

The pressure was unbearable, and you fought to free your neck, to breathe, but it felt like trying to break chains of steel. Your hands struck his arm, but he wouldn’t relent, becoming more focused, more desperate.

Finally, with a titanic effort, you managed to reach your helmet, and in a twist, you pushed him back, but the pressure of his grip was too much. It was then that, in a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, the helmet slipped off your head, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

The light of the apartment filtered back into your vision, and it was at that moment that Bruce, seeing your face, stopped dead in his tracks, the expression of his fury transforming into horror.

The face before him was not just an adversary; it was a reflection of his own daughter. The reality crashed against him like lightning.

"...Y/N?"

A/N ──── I WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT YES, WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND Y/N IS REAL. And yes, it's necessary; you'll understand why by the end. Furthermore, Ivy's death has always been planned. In the next chapter, a female character will appear who, I warn you, will be a victim of the Waynes, and the scene will be a bit graphic and very grotesque.

I want to add that this chapter is very, very, veeeery weak because I’m very tired, not very inspired, and dealing with other things. I’ll try to do better for the next one and bring you a chapter of better quality.

And a warning for those on the taglist: if you’re already on it, please don’t ask me again and again to add your name because I end up getting confused and repeating names.

Also, there are some that I can’t add for reasons I don’t understand.

If you requested to be on the taglist before and you're not, please ask me here or send me a message; I don’t bite.

Feel free to ask me anything if you’d like.

Take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

@redkarmakai @the-rouge-robin @twismare @wizzerreblogs @beeboopneep @mistfire1999 @delfinadolphin @expctron

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing 's work and @klemen-tine 's work, be sure to check them out!

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writing-mlm · 6 months ago

Note

Hiii, can we please have more college!damian x male reader? Like a scenario where damian loves to draw reader but reader doesn't know this? Maybe friends to lovers? Idk your pick. The artist and his muse type of thing. Also, i LIVE for soft damian on this blog ong.

Forever my Muse

Summary: Damian has his finals coming up and he wants you to join-- at least that's his excuse to get you into the art venue. An artist needs their muse and for some reason, most of Damian's drawings include you in, naturally, he could fill museums with drawings of you. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.8k

Dust-covered fingers were always something you had associated with Damian. Graphite, charcoal, pastels— anything he used to draw or even paint would inevitably stain his hands. It wasn’t intentional, and neither were the fingerprints he left on your stuff, or the paint you could never remove from your favorite sweater, but that didn’t stop him from apologizing. From buying you cleaning products and a new sweater; never mind it has never been worn in the year you’ve had it, Damian felt terribly sorry whenever he felt he’d stained something of yours.

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings.

You’d ask, you’d beg, but he would never give in. He’d show you when he was done, sure. You’d see the finished still-life drawings of whatever object had been in the line of sight, the paintings he’d done of his pets whenever he missed them, and the random sketches he did to loosen his wrist. But, damn, sometimes you wanted to see an unfinished drawing that wasn’t a warm-up.

Even now, as the two of you are on the campus bus heading towards the music hall, he’s drawing. Sitting across from you on the bus, Damian easily adjusts himself to the movements of the bus as it jerks to a stop. He’s nice like that, you’ve never caught him off guard, he’s never fallen or stumbled in the time you’ve known him.

Studying him, you wonder if he’s naturally so agile. You’ve seen him in your dorm's gym, during all-nighters you can sometimes see him running around campus, and once you had caught him doing one of those athletic challenges for some guy's video. He won. Of course.

The bus comes to a complete stop and you look away, double-checking that it wasn’t your stop. It wasn’t. You knew that. But still. The need to check was far too great and you slipped back into a conversation with Damian. Only this time, you’re looking down at your phone to double-check the event and his eyes switch from staring at his sketch to staring at you.

His eyes flicker between you and his drawing, erasing and adding lines where needed. He catches your eyes traveling up and he looks back down, working from memory as you start up a new conversation.

Eventually, the bus reaches your stop and he carefully closes his book; he always worries he’d smudge his art, while he follows you out of the bus.

It’s the end of the semester, ergo, it’s finals week. And for one of your music finals, everyone was to prepare a song and perform it. Truthfully, Damian doesn’t understand why you’d picked him to accompany you. He knows he’s not the best comfort, his demeanor often being the reason people don’t stick around too long.

But, you reassured him. Telling him that his presence was more than enough for you. Knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd calms you down more than you ever cared to admit.

The walk to the music hall isn’t short, but you can see the large building in the distance. The size is daunting on you as you see the crowd forming at the entrance. People aren’t allowed inside yet, but performers and their guests can head inside before anyone else.

“I’m nervous,” You admit, wiping your hands on your shirt. “What if I fail?” You mutter, your eyes desperately searching to find solace in his green eyes.

“You’ll do as you’ve always done,” He nods, looking ahead as you approach the building. “Exceptionally.” His sketchbook bumps against your folder of sheet music and you sigh through your nose, trying to calm down.

“I’m so gonna choke,” Seeing your reflection in the glass, you feel as if you’d forgotten everything you learned. Every lesson, every mistake you fixed and learned from, the late-night practice performances with your friends. The song you’d composed nearly slips from your mind as you see yourself, walking in that suit and tie you’d worn several years ago. All of it left your mind and you felt like a beginner again. What even was a solfège?

“I'm trained in CPR.” He opens the door for you and gently encourages you inside, his fingers grazing your back. “You weren’t nearly as nervous for your accounting finals.” He notes, falling back into step with you.

That’s another thing. Maybe that’s why you were so stressed. Double majoring was hellish. Twice the finals, quadruple the headaches.

“Those were tests,” You scowl, showing the security your campus ID. “I’m going to be performing a live concert in front of nearly a thousand people. I cannot fuck this up, Damian. This is going to be posted for everyone to watch, too,” You ramble on.

“Which you’ve done before, no?” He presses the elevator button and your heart hammers. You swear you’re going to pass out. He notices, of course, he does, and digs in his bag to find the fidget cube he keeps in there.

“I have— thank you,” Taking the cube, he nods. “It’s just… I don’t know. Tests suck.” Rolling your thumb along the metal ball on one side of the cube, you stare at the numbers as they slowly tick down to the first floor.

“That’s true,” He steps inside the elevator and you follow suit. “But you’ve made it thus far, you can go further.” He squeezes your shoulder as the doors close. There’s a silence in the elevator as it goes up to the second floor where you see your teacher waiting at the door to the waiting room, talking to a pair of students.

“I can,” You affirm, dipping your head down as you smile.

“You will.”

—

You’re fifth in line to perform, watching a singer, dancer, another other pianist, and an opera singer go on before you go on did absolutely jack shit to help you. As you’re announced, you step onto the stage and try your best not to accept that there were thousands of eyes on you. Instead, you smile and wave as you walk across that large stage. Desperately looking for Damian in the sea of people.

He’s in the front, right in front of where you could see when you glance up from the piano, you find out as you’re standing next to the piano seat.

Damian’s eyes don’t leave yours, making eye contact with you as you fiddle with the buttons of your coat. He motions for you to stop and then does a breathe in breathe out motion with the same hand. Nodding, you blink away from him and hold your hands behind your back. Focusing on your breathing, you listen to the teacher as you’re done being introduced.

The applause settles as you bow in, take a seat, and flip the page where your music sheet is. Slowly, you start. As a general music major, you weren’t restricted to just playing the piano. As emphasized by the microphone taped to your cheek.

You aren’t the strongest singer by any means, you’re good for singing in the shower or on drives but you doubt you’d actually make a career off of your voice. What you hope will carry you is the piano, as you press each key your eyes flicker to Damian. He’s attentive, a smile on his face as you perform.

Testing the waters, you glance at the people around him and they seem… pleased. Happy. Moved, even. You grin and return to staring at the sheet music. All of the notes flood back to you as you reach the last bit of the song, your eyes closing as your voice reaches a peak, holding a note. Then it’s just the piano, your voice echoing in everyone’s mind as the notes get slower and slower until you end it.

Applause fills the hall and you stand up, taking a bow. Standing there, even if only for a moment, you can’t imagine why you’d been so nervous.

Collecting your sheet music, you exit the stage and hand the mic to the stage tech before leaving.

When you’re nearing the exit, you spot Damian holding a bouquet of flowers.

“When did you have the time to get these?” You laugh as he hands them to you. His eyes merely twinkle, refusing to give up one of his many secrets. “Thank you, they’re dope.”

“You did it,” Damian reminds you as the two of you exit the building.

“I did! Ugh!” Grabbing his shoulder with your free hand, you give him a little shake. “Thank you so much, you’re honestly the best. Was it good?” Falling into step with him, Damian doesn’t bother to fix his shirt. It’s hardly even moved, but you know he was detail-oriented in stuff like that. Hell, he hates it when he messes with his clothes.

“It was mesmerizing.” He promises. “I do believe the woman behind me was crying.” Grinning, you stand at the bus stop, suddenly buzzing with excitement. Wanting to do it again, you start to imagine creating your own side business. Wedding musician, you can see it now.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He avoids looking at you as he’s speaking. A rare occurrence on his part. But he does his best to look at you after building the courage. “I have an art showing next week. I understand the notice is short and you’re—“

“Send me the details.” You grin. His shoulders drop and he nods, clearly more relaxed. “I hope the attire is fancy. I got this fancy turtleneck I’ve been wanting to wear and slacks from my high school graduation just waiting to be worn!”

—

With all of your finals out of the way, you finally had time to start removing the items from your dorm. One by one you removed posters and trinkets scattered across your end of the room. Pack your clothes into boxes, and save for enough outfits to get you through your two weeks left on campus.

Damian was held up from finishing his art showing, unable to see you in person but he was more than happy with a Facetime call. With both your laptops placed in a space away from disturbing you, the two of you worked on your tasks.

“I do need to be at the showing two hours early,” He tells you as you’re dragging the anti-suicide chairs to the closet, trying to see the top shelf. “But I’ll have arrangements to bring you to the venue.”

“And my outfit is okay?” You ask, the chair wobbling as you stand on it. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, you’re not the one who installed a closet tall enough that only Shaq could see the top. “Because I can always swap out the turtle neck for a green button down— the silk one that Maddison made,” Always gave a fashion designer friend. She had used you as a model for of her projects a couple of months ago and with your measurements being unique to you, let you have it after she’d gotten her grade.

“The button-down would be better suited,” He nods, leaning close to his painting before adding a tiny stroke. “The turtleneck is a little… on the nose.” Leaning back, he checks his reference picture before frowning. It goes away quickly as he picks up a bit of white and dabs it onto a dry brush.

“I was afraid it was,” You laugh, grabbing a first aid kit from the shelf. Listening to him lightly brush the paint over the canvas, you toss the kit onto the bed and grab what little items are scattered up there. “Holy shit! Do you remember when that frat dude lost his frat ring?”

“Unfortunately,” Damian glances at his screen, watching as you haphazardly get down from the chair. Nearly tripping, he wonders how you've made it this far in life without breaking a bone.

“I think I did take it! Look!” Showing the screen, Damian looks almost impressed as you hold up a fraternity ring. It’s a shiny gold, likely fake but engraved with the initials of the Frat house. The two of you remember the guy had been going around to every single campus building with a missing ring poster.

“What a thief,” He chides, setting his brush down and taking a physical step back from the painting. Harsh glares scan over brush strokes, ripping apart his painting bit by bit before he nods to himself. His glare morphs into a soft sort of gaze and he signs the back of it.

“Is that your final painting for the semester?” You ask, the ring forgotten about as it’s tossed in a box of trinkets and you’ve moved on to ordering food. Probably Panda Express. Or maybe Chipotle…. really it’s whatever is closer and cheaper.

“Hopefully,” He sighs through his nose, his paint box clicking shut. “I’ve been drawing and painting these past couple of days. My canvases take up an entire section of the art studio. I’m sure my professor cannot wait for them to dry and get glossed. Which I should probably start doing.”

“How does that taste?” Setting your phone down, Damian’s face goes sour as he looks at you. “Personally, I think the gloss would taste tarty.” You add. “Or maybe like the frosting for Toaster Strudel.” Picking your phone back up, you continue your order.

“Neither is correct.” He blinks. “It’s a toxin and filled with chemicals, it most likely tastes as good as acetone does, Hab—“ He pauses, and you look at him wondering what the issue is. “Habits of tasting chemicals shouldn’t be one you pick up.” He finishes his sentence with a bit of force.

“I just love chemicals. Violin resin is my favorite.” Making a chomping noise Damian huffs. As you’re finishing up your order, you look at him. He’s halfway across campus and judging by the rack of canvases he wheeled over, he won’t be back until well into the night. Eh, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “I’m ordering some food, do you want something?”

“No, thank you, though.” He shakes his head. “I have food from the court in case I get hungry.” He quickly adds. Humming, you place the order and scan over your room. The only things that need to get packed are things you’re still using. Now it’s just a matter of organizing the boxes and bins so you can still move around your room.

“After the glossing, what’re you doing?”

“I have to write short summaries for each painting. No less than one hundred words,” He explains as he’s putting on a pair of latex gloves.

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods.

“I’m afraid I’ll go over the word limit,” He admits, sparing you a glance as you’re lugging a box to a corner of your room. “My paintings harbor a lot of my emotions and they’re far from short.”

“Real as fuck.”

—

On the day of his art exhibition, you spend extra time in the bathroom. Making sure your hair is neat, and presentable, fixing your outfit, making sure you don’t stink. Anything and everything you could check over, you did.

This nervous feeling was different from your pre-show nerves. Especially since you don’t even know why you’re nervous. Probably because you’d never actually gotten to see his paintings, at least the ones he was showing. He’d been ultra allusive about those, citing the exhibition would be the best place to view them. But even he was nervous and that’s a lot considering he’s Damian fucking Wayne.

He texted you two minutes ago saying that the car was going to arrive within the next ten minutes and you rushed out to the front of the dorms. No need to lock the door behind you, since your roommate was busy sleeping and would stay in there until you came back. Plucking at your shirt, you watch a sleek black car pull up in front of you, and Damian texts you that the car is there.

The ride is long, far too long for your liking anyway. But considering it’s in the middle of the city, it’s not unwarranted.

The art… museum? What should you call it? The space where the exhibition was being held was a well-known art gallery— that’s the word! The gallery was well respected, talked about within art circles, and incredibly high-brow. Thank fuck you didn’t go with that turtleneck.

There’s a woman in front of the gallery, greeting everyone who enters. She sees you and there’s a flash of recognition across her face.

“It’s great to finally meet Damian’s muse,” She smiles as she shakes your hand.

“His what?” You ask but Damian pulls you inside.

“How was the ride?” He asks, his eyes darting between his professor and you.

“Good but what did she mean?” You ask, looking around to see the other people around. Like your performance, it was open to the public and with Bruce Wayne’s son being in attendance, many people had showed up. Including his family. “Bruce Wayne is here?” Your head whips to Damian as you spot him in the crowd.

“He is my father…” He trails. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Fuck no!” You gasp. “The knowledge of his wealth is burying me as we speak— but this is about you,” Turning to him, you smile. “Where’s your paintings? Those don’t look like your style,” Eyes flicker across the paintings and you can’t see Damian’s strokes, his colors or his lighting in any of them. A sort of pride swells within him, knowing that you’ve looked— studied his art enough to know that the ones around you weren’t his.

“It has its own section,” He tells you, guiding you through groups of people and halls. “It’s going to be revealed in around half an hour. My professor insisted,” He stops at a section of the gallery covered by a curtain and two security guards. You never knew it was that serious, but damn.

“Mr Fancy. Why don’t you catch up with your family? I’ll look around?” In truth, you were going to the nearest bathroom and making sure you didn't look stupid.

“I’m more than certain they’d be more pleased if you accompanied me.” He shakes his head as you raise your eyebrows. “If that’s something you’d be comfortable with, of course.”

“Sure,” Once more, he guides you past people until he spots his father and brother talking in a corner.

“Father, Richard.” He calls as the two of you approach. “This is (Y/n).” Richard’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile, the smile only furthered curbed by his brother's glare.

“Hello,” Waving at the two men, they reach to shake your hand instead. Bruce has a firm grip, probably tighter than it really needed to be but Richard is more than welcoming. He’s more than excited to meet you, although you can’t imagine why.

“My other siblings are still in Gotham,” Damian explains, physically taking Dick’s hand from yours with a pointed look. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t bring Cassandra, father.”

“She’s here,” He shakes his head, glancing around for the mop of black hair. “In the bathroom, probably.”

“Is that her?” You ask, looking at the woman in the corner. She’s standing there, downing a glass of champagne before returning to a conversation with a man. She looks like how Damian had described her, although he downplayed how intimidating she seemed.

“Oh boy,” Dick huffs. “Let me go help her,” Excusing himself, you’re left with Damian and his father. The two of them talking with their eyes.

“So, Damian’s told me you’re a double major,” Bruce breaks the silence and their weird eye conversation. He talks about you? Glancing at Damian, he’s making a point to look anywhere but you. That’s sorta cute— totally not in a romantic way, totally.

“I am,” You nod, wishing a man with drinks would walk past you. “Accounting and a performing arts major.” He hums and there’s another beat of awkward silence.

“From what he tells me, you’re excelling at both. That’s incredibly hard. Do you have any job prospects lined up for when you graduate?” He asks and you shake your head.

“Not yet,” You admit, picking at your hands. “Since I'm not sure where I’d like to settle after I graduate it’s difficult finding places.” Bruce nods, quickly making sure Dick and Cassandra are okay.

“Well, if your grades continue to stay or improve, Wayne Enterprises is always looking for accountants, especially one so esteemed.” He smiles at you, that sort of small smile that makes you feel more relaxed in his presence. A fatherly smile.

“Yeah, praise from Damian is a lot.” Dick grins, leaning his weight on his younger brother. Cassandra agrees, leaning against the wall Bruce was standing in front of. “And he talks about you a ton!”

“That’s enough.” Damian huffs, pushing himself away from Dick who frowns. “Let’s look at some of the artwork,”

“You talk to your family about me?” You grin as he’s hauling you away from his family. He looks at you, clearly licking the inside of his mouth before he blinks and gives one strong nod.

“Of course I do, it would be a shame to hide someone so talented.” He explains and then looks forward, his eyes swimming across the faces around him. “I do believe in your talents and my father is someone who can help them flourish; it would seem awfully cruel if I didn’t at least try.” You go to speak; to thank him but his attention is pulled away by the director of the show.

“It’s time!” She gleams, ushering the two of you after her.

There are already people gathered in front of his top secret exhibit, cameras and people wearing PRESS lanyards like the front and sides. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, they find Damian walking and try to hound him, only to be stopped by his family. They’re far more intimidating now but Damian pulls your attention from them and towards him.

The two of you are in front of the whole crowd, the two guards holding one piece of the curtain and waiting for a cue to open them.

“We welcome everyone to Damian Wayne’s very first art show,” The director says, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. He takes that as a sign to step forward, barely leaving your side as he explains his art.

“Through My Eyes is a collection of various pieces I’ve created over the course of two years,” He explains. “The music that accompanies the art are pieces composed by my muse.” His eyes find yours as the curtains are pulled aside and for the first time, you notice the way he looks at you. The way his eyes never seem to want to leave yours, how he takes you in the same way he takes in the art around him.

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself.

You hear the piece you’d played during your final, hearing your voice fill the spaces where people aren’t talking. Each key, and each note floods your ears as you turn to see his art.

It’s you.

All of it. Each painting, each frame has something of you in it.

“Holy shit.” You breathe, moving to the closest one. It’s a painting of you, wearing clothes you’d only seen in shows like Merlin, holding onto a statue of an angel. It’s almost impossible to not know where the inspiration had come from. After convincing Damian to go exploring with you and some friends, you’d come across a newly abandoned church with a large angel statue. On a dare, you pretended to dance with it.

Sure, you’d seen the picture before but it was nothing compared to the painting. It looked amazing, you had never looked better. Your features were captured in the best way possible, you’d been posed in a way that made it seem as if you were guiding the angel in a dance.

The description catches your eye next.

One Last Dance wasn’t the first drawing of Muse, but it was the first drawing of him that I truly loved. He’d resparked a passion for painting for me. The painting had been on my mind for two weeks before I finally started to work on it, having it become my only focus for the two days that I worked on it became the norm for the next two years of my life.

Muse doesn’t personally care for the Renaissance era, but it seemed fitting for such a painting. The feeling of dressing Muse in modern clothes didn’t ruin the drawing but it didn’t make sense, in my head their dance is accompanied by the sounds of the wings and their feet gliding across the floor. Just outside is probably a mob, unbelievable of a true angel. Muse would probably say that he was dancing to the sounds of Sleep Token and outside was a bunch of ‘angel fuckers’, but who knows.

D.W

The next painting was smaller than the first, but it’s a close-up of your face. Your eyes are wide and you’re desperately pulling at your eyelids as a light twinkles inside of it.

Blinding Gaze came about when Muse had gone to the eye doctor, fearing he was going blind. Turns out he was just extremely stressed to the point of temporary blindness. When we spoke about it, he joked that he was developing powers from that time he drank a sports drink mixed with a crushed-up Tylenol and he could shoot lasers from his eyes. While Blinding Gaze doesn’t follow his original plan of lasers, I imagine developing eye lights could be frightening.

Blinding Gaze isn’t body horror, although I had intended it to be but I couldn’t bring myself to put Muse into that position. Even if it was completely fake. I did eventually remake the painting how I truly envisioned it, but I still prefer my Muse to the remake.

Drifting to the next painting, you see yourself, dressed in your favorite smudged hoodie, dancing amongst the crowd. The people are drowned out in the colors of the background, nearly blending in meanwhile you’re ever so present. The light shone down on you in a way that made you seem like the main character in some movie, all eyes meant to be on you.

A Night To Remember was undoubtedly one of the best moments of college thus far. Muse had been invited to a friend's party and insisted I come instead of remaining in the art room, drowning myself in oils and pastels. Although I’ve put his words in a more friendly manner. I hadn’t wanted to go, the noises and being pressed against unfamiliar faces was hardly something I ever enjoyed. But for Muse, I’d do anything he’d asked of me.

Glued to him for the night, I found myself unreasonably drawn to him. I do not remember the song, in truth, I don’t remember much from that night aside from him. The way he danced, how he looked at me. How he looked in the room. I resented not bringing my sketchbook, but I would’ve been more out of place than I originally had been.

Smoothening your shirt, you take a nervous glance around you. You’re unsure about how you feel, it’s a lot. You’ve never truly thought about Damian in such a light before, at least not to your knowledge. Sure, you’ve written compositions about him and sure, if you read between the lines in some songs they’re definitely about him. You and Him.

Perhaps, without realizing it, you had made him your muse just as he had made you his.

“I want you to see this one,” Damian says as he walks up behind you, finally free of people asking him questions. The music loops as he does and you count that there’s five songs on the set playlist. Each and every song was one you had created. Your song from the previous week plays again as you stare at him, smiling.

“I’m your muse?” You softly ask, unable to remove yourself from the spot until you have gotten your words out. Damian dips his head down for a moment and wipes his nose. “You’re nervous,” The small tease makes his eyes roll and he clears his throat, the red settling from his tanned ears.

“I want you to see this one,” He repeats and grabs your hand, gently guiding you past the people surrounding the room. They look at the two of you, watching as you walk up to a large painting in the center of the room. Clearly a last-minute addition but it seemed to be the focus.

“Woah,” Is all you can say when you see the painting of you during your final. It’s painted in the same style as your favorite art era. The romantic era where colors were soft, even if they were dark. The painting itself had you in the center, a sea of people at the bottom and there are several ghostly figures of yourself, dancing across the stage leaving streaks of yourself at the top. The floor of the stage was covered in candles.

“How long did this take you?” You ask, eyes darting between details and finding new ones each time you look.

“Two days,” He shrugs. Slowly, you look at him and he looks back at you, confused. “I couldn’t sleep until I finished the painting. The way you looked during your final.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s truly beautiful— you’re truly beautiful,” He adds, looking at you.

“When you paint me like that I definitely am,” You laugh, looking back at the painting.

“I only painted you through my lens. Perhaps your eyes aren’t as good as you think they are because the paintings truly do not live up to their references. You’re captivating and the way you’ve consumed my thoughts is honestly intoxicating.” His eyes twinkle as you look at each other. You don’t know what to say, honestly. You can stroke your ego a little, you could crack a joke, or you could bear yourself completely to him. But definitely not in a room filled with people.

“Ah,” Dick breaks the silence. “You know he used to be a junior poet?” Grumbling, Damian looks over at Richard as he’s staring at the painting, sipping sparkling champagne from a flute glass while holding a cracker with cheese and jelly. Gross. Probably, you’ve never had it before.

“I do believe I asked for a moment alone,” Damian gives a half-snarky grin and Dick shrugs.

“A whole lotta people here, doubt you’d be alone.” With a sweeping motion, he gestures to the crowd around you. It’s not elbow-to-elbow crowded but you can hear at least seven conversations happening around you.

“I suppose you’re correct,” He nods, following his brother's line of thinking. “Fresh air?” He asks you and you nod.

There’s a park in front of the exhibit and it’s mostly empty, save for two kids and their parents but they’re clearly about to leave. Damian heads towards the benches but you pull him to the swings. There are three but one of them is tossed over the bar and you don’t feel like fixing it.

Sitting with your back to the exhibit, you look over the trees and the playground. The sandpit with someone’s lost doll sitting down, a bucket behind it.

“What did you think?” He spoke up after a minute had passed. The entire time he watched as you gently rocked back and forth on the swings, tempting yourself to actually swing.

“You’re amazingly talented,” You hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Although, I already knew that. You’re like Michelangelo with everything you pick up.” Glancing at him, you smile when you see his hands. “You still haven’t cleaned the charcoal from your nails.”

“No,” He blinks, his eyes staying closed for a beat longer than a blink. “Not of my skill level, (Y/n). Of the drawings. That you’re Muse.” He looks down at his fingertips and starts to pick at the bits of charcoal. “That you’re my muse.”

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees.

“What is there to think about? You’re my muse, I'm yours.”

“You’ve written songs about me?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, refusing to look at him. “Which? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Birds of a feather, I wanna be yours, and Golden hour. There’s more but they’re too embarrassing to admit,” Hearing him take a deep breath, you pick at your fingernails and slowly stop swinging.

“What now?” You ask, finally looking at him. He shrugs and starts to slowly swing. He thinks for a moment before he checks his phone.

“When are you free? I can make reservations to—“

“Applebees or Red Lobster,” You cut him off and he looks at you, confused. “Applebees is once every so often, birthdays or celebrations. But Red Lobster? That’s graduation or date.”

“You could’ve gone for a five-star restaurant, you know that, right?” He laughs and you shrug.

“I heard they’re pretty shit. And I want to fuck up a seafood boil. Oh wait,” Blinking, you try to remember the Red Lobster menu. “Never mind, I don’t think they have vegetarian options. We could do Olive Garden or whatever vegetarian places you like. I’m not picky,”

“And I am?” He teases and you roll your eyes. “Friday, at five. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Olive Garden. And then to the movies to watch that new horror movie you’ve been wanting to watch.”

“That sounds perfect,” You nod and nudge your swing into his.

“Can I admit something?” He slowly asks. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward but…” Watching as he licks his lip, you stop swinging. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes.” You nod. Trying not to seem too eager, the both of you stand up and you watch as he raises his hands to cup your face. His fingers are warm, gliding across your skin as you hook one arm around his waist while the other holds his shoulder. “Do you want to lead?” You whisper as he looks at you, unmoving. His eyes dart down to your lips and he nods before closing the distance.

His hands drag a little down your face, his pinky curving under your jaw before moving up into your hair. Slowly the kiss breaks and he dips back down for one quick kiss.

“He’s been waiting months to do that,” Dick announces and Damian groans. You snicker and look behind Damian. Dick isn’t even looking, looking off into the distance before he’s sure that you’re done kissing before looking at the two of you.

“Must he ruin everything?” He whispers to you before facing his brother. “I understand you have no concept of privacy, but this warrants that.” Dick frowns at the rudeness before he shrugs and points his thumb towards the venue.

“They’re asking for you, thought I should come and get you before they spot you.” He explains through a sigh. “Would hate for our little demon’s kiss to end up on the front page. But, yeah,” He sighs and looks over at you. He stares at your face for a moment before he chuckles.

“Take him to the bathroom, you got dust on his face.”

“It’s charcoal.”

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian al ghul x male reader #damian al ghul x reader

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yanderederee · 11 months ago

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SocialCues

a/n: Been feeling a little down lately.. very self-comfort, but I hope anyone else who has deep rooted anxiety and poor social skills can appreciate this…

cw: depictions of bullying and self-degradation/anxiety. Angst/Comfort

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Why did this always happen? How, even?

You seriously couldn’t wrap your head around how you always found yourself in these damned situations…

After being left alone at your desk, you quietly listened as the classmate who had just walked away whispered to themselves.

“What a freak…”

What did you even do? A freak? You were rightfully polite and pleasant, just as you always have been.

Did you say something wrong? Something weird? All you did was ask your classmate about their dog. Out of all the subjects you were taught to bring up in conversation, pets and hobbies were a universal win. (Strictly of the other person, because if you started going on a rant about your own pet or hobbies, you would make the person feel awkward and at a loss for words.)

How is it you always had a way of making everyone you talk to feel so awkward and bored?

But it was so lonely being forced into submissive quietness. You may have hated that more than the quiet glares of others. So still, you try to do your best and talk to people.

But only after a month of trying, it was evident that others were beginning to avoid you. To avoid talking to you. Avoiding eye contact.

You repeated what you’ve been told over and over again.

Saying less is more.

Use considerate language; words and phrasings.

Don’t make the conversation about yourself.

Avoid too specific points of conversation.

Read their facial expressions.

If they look desperate to leave, end the conversation quickly as to not bother them further.

Maybe being too conscious of what you said was your downfall?

But seriously, what else could you do? If you tried being casual, you make it awkward. If you tried too hard, you make it awkward. And if you don’t try at all, you force yourself into isolation.

Once lunch time rolled around, you started your way to the bathrooms to wash your hands before eating. How could you eat when your hands were covered in eraser shavings and lead stains? However, just at the threshold of the bathroom entrance, you could hear a conversation.

“L/n just doesn’t know when to shut up, does she?”

“Seriously! I can’t even get in a word with her!”

“Really? I just felt like she wasn’t even there when I tried talking to her! Like, she was waiting for me to ask her questions or something.”

“She asks way too many questions, like, why are you so obsessed with me?”

“She doesn’t really have much of a personality, I can’t stand people like that!”

“I dunno, I just can’t stand her.”

Honestly, they were pretty loud. People around the bathroom could definitely hear whoever it was talking.

You honestly didn’t even know how to react.

Maybe this was a good thing? At least this way you knew what you were doing wrong. Unfiltered criticism on how you could do better. So silently, you stood and listened.

It really hurt, hearing people talk about you like this. But it was your fault in the first place. Suck it up. Do better. Be better.

Holding back your tears, you fidgeted with your fingers. It was no good. You were bound to burst out in tears at any second.

“Oi.” Out came a sudden call. Startled, your heart leapt out of your chest. Looking up, you saw your classmate, Baji Keisuke, holding three filing boxes of what you assumed to be pre-graded tests and other miscellaneous paperwork. “Lend me a hand, would ya? Teach wants these taken to the teachers lounge before lunch’s over.”

It took you a few seconds to properly register that he was actually talking to you. Though it was hard to tell, given his huge thick rimmed glasses. Once it finally clicked that he was actually talking to you, a wave of embarrassment hit you hard.

“Me? Oh, uhh… o-okay.” You agreed slowly, looking at your dirty hands. You guessed it would be more suitable to wait to wash your hands after carrying a dusty box. Somewhat relieved, you nodded and walked over to your black haired classmate, gingerly shifting the top most box out of his face, into your grip. “Just this one is fine, or should I grab another..?”

You began to ask, until you were met with awkward silence.

SHIT. YOU DID IT AGAIN? Already? Embarrassed to the point of tears, you started down. “S-sorry, dumb question.”

Your classmate seemed disgruntled at your comment. Self pity never looked good. You were just digging yourself into a more massive hole. Just shut up and take the boxes.

Lift your fair share.

Almost forgot that rule.

Just as you went to shuffle the second box out from his grasp, your class mate stepped back. “I got these, just the one is fine.” He said.

“Just the one?” You asked.

“Yeah.. I mean, not to sound like an ass— I mean, um…” he clicked his tongue, trying to think of a better way to rephrase his comment.

“You can say ass, I don’t care.” You giggled quietly. You were faking it a little, what with how shot your confidence was already. But it was cute watching Baji flounder for the right words.

“Right. What I mean is, I’m probably stronger than you are, carrying these isn’t any issue. I just needed help with the third one since it was blocking my view.”

That made sense. He was damn near a foot taller than you after all. And he didn’t seem to struggle with the load in strength. Your silence made your classmate a little on edge.

“I ain’t trying to call you weak or anything. Shit. Just.. lets go.” He huffed before starting his way to the stair case.

Following close behind, you were scrambling your head with how to reply. Do you need to reply? But he sounded a little unsure of his own phrasing, sometimes validation was good for these kinds of situations.

‘It’s okay, I didn’t think you were calling me weak.’

Simulating the conversation in your head, you give up, rationalizing that your comment would more than likely go unanswered anyway.

Lost in these thoughts, you trailed behind Baji silently.

That’s right.

When it doubt, just be quiet. Just. Be quiet.

And it seemed your classmate was content with this as well.

Just as you were rounding the stairs, you were suddenly overwhelmed by a group of boys roughhousing with one another, laughing and unbothered. Before you even had the chance to move out of their way, a boy had rammed into your side hard. This caused for a series of unfortunate events.

Being as you were just making your way down the stairs, this rash shove caused you to lose your balance, trip over your feet, and topple forward. It wasn’t pretty. You definitely did at least one summersault on your crash down, the box of papers you held flying everywhere. What would have made it worse was if you had crashed into Baji on your way down, but luckily for both of you, he had walked at a much quicker pace, and had already reached the bottom of the staircase before your topple.

It was dead silent. Luckily, there weren’t too many students around, but there were enough. The boys looked back to one another, contemplating if they could just run off before you realized who they were, stay and help, or even apologize. You were the weirdo of their class after all, it’s not like these kinds of things didn’t just… happen.

“The hells your guys’ problem, huh?!” Baji yelled. It was really loud, louder than you’d ever heard him before. “Got a death wish or somethin’? Help pick this shit up, now!”

Hell with his reputation, this shit pissed him off way more than his tempter would allow him to suppress.

“R-right!” The boys who’d bumped into you nodded and scrambled to pick up all the scattered papers. “And apologize!” Baji yelled a second time, furious that they hadn’t even considered to do that first.

“We’re really sorry!! We weren’t looking, it was an accident!! We’re sorry!” They groveled low to the ground as they cleaned up the mess of their own making.

Baji huffed, but seeing as they were doing exactly as he told, he let it be for now. He sat his own boxes down gently, squatting over to help you up. “Hey, you okay?” He asked.

“No—“ you snapped in a sarcastic tone, but it was only out of bubbling up frustration and humiliation. Clearing out your throat, before he would reply, you started to pick up the papers scattered at your bruised knees. “Yeah, sorry. I’m okay; just didn’t expect it.. sorry I dropped the box. Sorry.” You repeated quietly, head hung low.

You only ever made trouble. If you’d just moved out of the way faster, you wouldn’t have messed up so harshly. Even if they were clearly in the wrong, if you’d just caught your footing instead of tripping, none of this would have happened.

“Come on, these bastards can take the rest from here.” Baji glared while his glasses slipped past his nose, leaving each boy trembling in fear. “W-we’ve got it from here..” One nodded in defeat.

Baji grabbed your shoulders, you rushed you to your feet. “Don’t worry about this, ‘going to the nurse.” He had an aura of order around him while helping you down the remaining stairs. “It’s okay, you don’t have to walk me..” you mumbled, not even sure it was worth going to the nurse for anyway. All you did was fall.

“You’ve got a few knots, and a lot of bruising. You should really be put on ice.” Baji looked you over as the two of you walked. “It had to of hurt. Seriously, those guys should have been looking where they were going. Don’t worry about it though, I’ll make sure they properly apologize again later.”

You chuckled humorlessly, and waved him off, eyes still glued downcast. “It’s not that big of a deal. It was an accident.”

“Accident or not, they’re gonna pay.” He muttered. “Sorry to trouble you, you’d probably have been better off if I just took the boxes all myself.”

“No worries, I wanted to help.”

Once you reached the nurse, Baji stopped you before going in. “You’re L/n, right?”

“Y-yeah, Y/n L/n… I sit in the front, a few rows to the right of where you sit.”

“Right. Sorry bout that again, I’ll let the teacher know you’ll be back a little later than lunch, so don’t sweat hurrying back. Just take your time.”

When was the first the anyone was this considerate of your wellbeing? Sure, it was a common courtesy, but it was still out of the norm. He gave a final look over of you, he seemed to narrow his brows further. “Well … I’m off. Seriously, take it easy.” He waved, and stepped back, waiting for you to enter.

“Right… thank you, Baji.” You have a slight bow before escaping into the nurses office.

⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You were so tired. Maybe it would be best to let it go. Just accept you weren’t able to make friends. Finally accept something was actually wrong with you, and just stop trying.

Murmurs about your little fall were the talk of the class after lunch. Apparently the guys who bumped into you were actually pretty popular. Spreading misinformation about what happened, and making you out to be the bad guy. Seriously, what did you ever do to them? It wasn’t fair.

Overwhelmed, the end of the day came, and it was becoming impossible to tune out all 20 different conversations happening simultaneously as students filed out of the classroom. You bit your tongue and waited. The room would become empty before too long.

One by one, everyone left. And you were finally left alone. Finally. The weight of the day finally began to settle in the newfound quietness.

You quietly laid your head down on your desk, and held your arm sleeves tightly. Just breath. Why is it no matter what, you always make things worse? It was so suffocating, you didn’t even realize how harsh your breathing had become. Tears burned your eyes, and suddenly you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Openly sobbing into your sleeves, you huddled in upon yourself closer.

This sucked! What the hell! You didn’t do anything wrong! So why…

It didn’t do any good to think about it further than that. All thinking did was make it worse. Stop thinking. Just pretend like it didn’t happen. Pretend like you don’t hear anyone when they talk behind your back anymore. Pretend like your knees don’t hurt, like your feelings weren’t crushed. No one cared anyway. Suck it up.

Do better. Be better. Stop crying. Stop—

“Hey…” you heard a soft voice call out beside you. Your breath hitched. Was the classroom not empty? Did you seriously start crying in front of someone like that? This had to be the worst day.

You felt something cold touch your shoulder, and what you can only assume to be a juice box plopped down on your desk.

You didn’t lift your head. Soon to follow, the slight screech in a chair pulled out beside you, and the shifting of clothes. “Leave me alone…” you said softly; hoarsely.

“I thought about it… but it kinda seems like you could use a friend.” Wait, you recognized that voice. Ever so slightly, you turned your head to the side, and peeked past your hair to see Baji sitting slouched and wide legged beside you.

Still, you couldn’t let him see you like this. Rubbing your eyes against the material of your sleeve, you mumbled again. “It’s okay. You really don’t have to do all that.”

He was quiet. You were hopeful that he wouldn’t push the pity treatment further. The juice box was enough. It was thoughtful, and sweet. He was trying. But it was unnecessary. You’d forget about today soon enough.

Baji wasn’t sure what he should do. Maybe he should just leave you alone. He wasn’t really that good at comforting people, and you really didn’t seem in the mood to talk.

He’d never talked to you before today anyway.

Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to do it.

Anytime your name was brought to mention, it was always some bullshit gossip he never cared to listen to. You kept a low profile and seemed to always have a cheery aura about you. Those rumors were just that, rumors. It kind of reminded himself of when people would mumble about him behind his back when he first got held back. Sure, everything that everyone said about him was true, about being a delinquent, or being dumb. But it didn’t seem that way with you.

“People are assholes and just say shit to make you feel bad about yourself. I’m friends with a bunch of weirdos— some real freaks, so I can confidently say you aren’t as weird as people make you out to be.”

Well, it was a nice thought, if anything else. You giggled, sniffling a last few times before turning away from Baji, and wiping your face clean. You faced forward, a guilty smile decorating your features.

Baji Keisuke wasn’t ever really one to notice a person’s appearance, not for girls anyway. Yet he couldn’t help but admire you. Maybe it was the puffiness of your eyes and lashes, all clumped up together in wet mattes. Or maybe it was the gentle smile of giving up that twisted his heart into feeling like he should help you. To get closer to you.

“H-here.” Baji stuttered, and held out his glasses to you. “I don’t actually need them, they’re just for show. You were trying to hide you were crying, right?”

You blinked suspiciously at him, who was a little red faced and shifting of his own gaze. Was he trying to be considerate? Either way, it made you laugh. “Why do you wear them if you don’t need them?” You took the bait, and reached out for the plastic glasses.

“Well, I’ve been told I can look, intimidating, kinda. Like I’m always glarin’ or something. S-so, I guess that’s why?” He couldn’t exactly tell you he didn’t want to be recognized for being Tokyo Manji Gang’s first division captain.

“That so?” You played along, putting the glasses on in playful banter. “Huh, you’re right. They’re fake.” You smiled, and looked back over at Baji. Immediately, Baji broke out into a fit of laughter.

“Bwaaahaha! What the hell! You look so dorky!” He toppled onto himself, holding his side. You immediately followed his fit of laughter, kicking the chair below him. “I look dorky? Speak for yourself poindexter! You’re the one who looks goofy on the daily!”

Normally, those comments would cause Baji to roll his eyes, but with how lighthearted the air was, it only managed to make him laugh harder.

It felt good, laughing so hard with someone. A stranger even. “Alright, come on’, I’ll treat you to some ramen. You had to skip out on eating lunch since I asked you to help me right? You gatta be starving.” Baji offered, hoisting himself up and out of his chair, pushing it in.

“Well…” you thought about it. You’d hate to put him out and cause anymore unnecessary trouble. Yet, for once, you felt like you understood the social cues going on around you. Being able to relax, smile and laugh with someone, and they offer to take you out for food? Would it really be a bad thing to accept?

“Sure…”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers comfort #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo revengers baji #baji #baji keisuke #keisuke baji #baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #tokrev baji

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 2 years ago

Text

Frank Castle X Reader: Spaghetti and meatballs

This post contains explicit content (minors dni)

Warnings: Smut, creampie, oral(male receiving), nipple play, rough sex, explicit depictions of sexual activities, unprotected sex, penetration (p in v), use of birth control, dirty talk, cursing, dry humping, size kink(kind of), bit of begging, pet names, fluff, sad feelings, ptsd.

Summary: Your curiosity about your new neighbor lead to unexpected consequences.

This man deserves the world

He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe he missed not hiding who he was. Maybe the lies were making him forget the truth of his identity. Or maybe he was just a lonely man looking for some comfort. Comfort you were more than happy to give him.

The apartment was shitty, the building was falling apart and you could never have a moment of peace and quiet since the thin walls allowed everything to pass through them. Still this was home, mold stains and all.

Frank had become used to the musty atmosphere he lived in. He'd spend most of his nights at the construction site, hacking away at the walls until his fingers bleed and the voices of his loved ones died down a bit. But they never went away. Not fully. He was grateful for the outside noise, it seemed to dampen the weight of the memories but it couldn’t erase them. He’d been living here for a while but had never gone out of his way to introduce himself to anyone. He wasn’t looking for friends. He wasn’t looking for anything really. But you had other plans.

You’d grown curious about your mysterious neighbor. You rarely saw him in the months he lived at the building but you could hear him through the walls. You’d hear him in the middle of the night gasping for air as he awoke from another nightmare. Could hear the sound of his boots clanging against the floor as he left to god knows where in the middle of the night. Listened to the small pained grunts he’d let out as he washed up after a day of work. You knew Frank's routine like the back of your hand, still you’d never met him before. It felt a tad invasive listening to him through the walls but it wasn’t your fault they were so thin they could barely keep out the noises on the other side. You don’t know what triggered you to walk over to Frank's apartment that fateful day but it was safe to say that nothing would be the same after your decision.

Frank didn’t have visitors. Ever. So when he heard a knock on the door on a random afternoon it surprised him. He’d gone into protection mode, the years of being in the army having forced him to believe all unplanned visitors were unwanted. Frank stood to his full height as he opened the door fully expecting to be greeted by some old enemy. Instead what he got was you. Your hands shook lightly as you held onto the tupperware container you’d decided to bring over. It seemed like a nice enough thought. Bringing some food over to your neighbor sounded like a hell of a good excuse to you but it didn’t stop you from being nervous. Your anxiety tripled the moment Frank opened the door, your eyes falling on him for the first time. He was huge. Much taller than you had anticipated and much more muscular than you’d imagined. You couldn’t help but think of how handsome he was. Frank glanced down at you, his eyes falling to the container in your grasp before moving up to your eyes.

“You need something?”

Gosh his voice sounded like heaven.

“Oh uh hi, I live next door.”

You gestured to your apartment door watching as Franks glanced at where you were pointing at.

“Okay.”

“Uh well i know we’ve never met before but uhm i ended up cooking too much food and i’m not one to waste a meal so i was wondering if…uhm… maybe you’d like some?”

You were stuttering like a little kid which caused Frank's eyes to soften a smidge. He glanced down at what you were holding his eyes trying to figure out what you were offering him.

“It’s spaghetti and meatballs.”

Frank wasn’t picky but he was careful. He was used to having enemies which made him always stay on edge but the way you were shaking was enough to tell him you meant no harm. Frank reached for the food in your hands, taking the container from you. You played with the hem of your shirt, trying your best to keep yourself occupied.

“Thanks.”

“That’s what neighbors are for.”

You gave him a smile and Frank almost stopped breathing at the sight. He’d been too busy admiring your innocent features to notice the hand you’d stuck out for him to shake. Once he realized he hesitated for a moment before gripping your palm in his. Your hand was so warm against his. You told him your name and before he could stop himself Franks told you his. He told you his real name, not the shitty fake one he’d had to come up with. He expected your face to drop into a look of fear but you continued smiling up at him, seeming completely unaware of who he was.

“Well I'll get out of your hair. It was nice meeting you, Frank.”

And with that you walked back to your apartment, leaving Frank to himself. That day was the first time in a long time that Frank had indulged in homestyle cooking and the moment he put the first bite into his mouth he knew he was screwed. The PB&J’s weren’t going to cut it anymore. Not now that he’d tasted your cooking.

Since that day Frank and you kept crossing paths whether it be in the hallway or in the elevator or even at the supermarket. Basically wherever you went you’d risk running into Frank. You tried to brush it off as a coincidence but something told you it was more than that. And your gut was absolutely right. Frank had figured out your schedule and had made it his mission to run into you as much as he could. He wanted to talk to you but he didn't know how to go about it.

Until one fateful day.

He’d been laying in bed trying to read one of his books when his nose caught waft of a delicious smell. Frank got up from his bed making his way towards the scent. To his surprise the smell was coming from your apartment. He knew it was odd but he’d been itching to have another decent meal for ages. One of your meals to be more precise. And now that he could smell you cooking up heaven in your kitchen he couldn't resist. He knocked at your door lightly, his feet thumping against the ground anxiously. What the hell was he doing?

“One second!”

He heard you race over to the door turning the key before opening it. You were wearing an apron and your hair was pinned up so it wasn’t in your way. He didn’t know how to explain it but the homey nature coming from you made him feel calm.

“Oh hi Frank.”

“Hey, sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s okay, what can I do for you?”

“It smells like heaven in there.”

You blushed at the praise, Frank's words making you flustered.

“Thank you. It’s a family recipe.”

You glance back at the kitchen then at the small two person table in your apartment. It had been a while since you’d had company and you were sure Frank hadn’t just strolled over to tell you your food smelled nice. You’d reached out to him weeks ago and now he was reaching back to you.

“Actually… I could use some help. If you’re not busy that is.”

“Oh I wouldn't want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing. I’d like the company.”

You stepped to the side, holding the door open for Frank.

“Come on in.”

To your surprise Frank hesitated at the door for only a moment before entering your home.

Frank helped you cook and the two of you enjoyed a pleasant lunch together. Before you knew it you were pulling out a bottle of whiskey and offering Frank a glass. The two of you moved over to the couch, the alcohol making your tongues lose. You spent the night chatting about things like you were old friends. Frank missed this. He missed talking to people like a human being. Missed being treated like a person rather than a machine. You were nice to him in ways he’d forgotten people were capable of being. It made him forget the idea of being alone. Made him crave something other than sleepless nights alone in a rickety bed. Made him wish he had someone to hold him again. Before he could hold back things started spilling out. He told you about his family, about the things he’d done, the people he’d killed and the truth of who he was. He’d expected you to run, grab a weapon, scream for help but you didn’t do any of those things. Instead you made your way over to him, placing a hand on his face and caressing his cheek. He looked up at you, the sadness in your eyes making his heart warm up. You felt for him. And in that moment it was like a damn inside him broke. The tears started pouring out of his eyes. All the pain and hurt he’d been hiding coming out all at once. You pulled him into your arms, your hands weaving into his hair as you shushed him. Frank latched onto your waist burying his face into your chest as he sobbed.

“That’s it, let it out dear. It’s okay.”

The two of you stayed linked in each other's embrace for a while before Frank sobered up a bit. He thanked you for the food and for listening to him and you told him it was your pleasure. He could tell you were telling the truth. Just as Frank was about to close his door you yelled out to him.

“Don’t be a stranger!”

And he knew there was no going back.

In the next few weeks you and Frank grew closer. Every morning he’d walk you to work before making his way to the construction site and everynight when he’d arrive there would be a container with food at his door. On Saturdays Frank would go over to your apartment for lunch and on Sundays you’d take him to your favorite restaurants. It was easy being around you. You didn’t push too much about his past and it was nice to not have to hide who he was. You liked having someone around and Frank made you feel safe. Just knowing he was on the other side of the wall in case you ever needed him made it easier to sleep at night. It got to a point that neither of you could be seen without the other and even though you didn’t know exactly what you two were you knew it wasn’t just friendly behavior.

One night you’d woken up to the sound of Frank banging on the walls as he screamed out in anger. You got out of bed, grabbed Frank's spare key and made your way over to his apartment. You knocked lightly on the door pressing your ear to it so you could hear inside.

“Frank, are you alright?”

No response. You knew about his night terrors, he’d told you about his bad dreams and the ptsd he had to deal with. The thought of him being alone when it happened tugged at your heart. You knocked again. Still no answer.

“I’m coming in, Frank!”

You unlocked the door, pushing it open slowly before entering the dark room. Your eyes adjusted to the lack of light from inside allowing you to see the rough outline of Frank's frame on his bed. You made your way to him, your hands moving to touch his shoulders. He flinched at your touch turning to look at you, a wild look in his eyes. His gaze softened once he realized it was you.

“You okay Frank?”

“Just a nightmare. Sorry I woke you. You can go back to bed i’ll be alright.”

He wouldn't be tough. Frank knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink after that dream. He'd just lay in bed looking up at the ceiling and trying to get those foul images off of his mind. You could tell he was lying. Of course you could. You’d spent enough time observing him to know the signs.

“Can’t bullshit me, Castle. Not anymore.”

Frank glanced at you as you gave him a small smile causing him to crack a slight smirk of his own.

“Can’t keep anything from you hum darling?”

“Lay down.”

Frank did as you said his body crashing onto the mattress. His eyes followed you as you moved to lock his door before coming back to his bed. You pulled the sheets over Frank's body, tugging them up so that you could move in next to him. Frank's brows furrowed as you laid down beside him and turned to face the opposite direction.

“Nothing bad is going to happen Frank. Not now that I'm here.”

Frank's shoulders sagged at your words. God you were an angel. What the hell had he done to deserve something so pure like you? You turned around to face him, your eyes finding him in the dark.

“This okay?”

You waited for him to kick you out but he didn’t. Instead he pulled your body flush against his, his arms wrapping around your waist as you molded into his frame. You let out a content hum, snuggling into Frank's mattress.

“Night Frank.”

“Good night.”

Frank slept like a baby that night, the warmth of your body luring him into a deep sleep. It was an innocent gesture. The only idea in your mind had been about comforting a friend. Sure you liked Frank and if he offered something more you wouldn’t deny him but that hadn’t been your intention. Not initially anyway.

It’s funny how fast things can change.

You woke up the next morning to the sun shining through the thin curtains and making the room warm. You moved to stretch your body, pausing once you remembered where you were. Frank let out a small hum behind you causing you to recall what you’d decided to do last night. You’d been so focused on willing yourself to remember that this was real that you hadn’t noticed Frank's hand. There was no way it’d happened on purpose. Frank's hand was underneath your shirt. And that is not all. His palm was dangerously close to your breast. If he moved an inch he’d be cupping you in his hand. You closed your eyes as you let out a sigh. No way this was real. You had to still be asleep. Just as you were about to pinch yourself Frank stirred, his nose bumping into your neck as he moved closer to you. It was then that you noticed something was prodding at your ass. Frank Castle was hard. Hard and completely unaware of what that knowledge was doing to you. You tried to wiggle yourself out of his grip and spare yourself a weird interaction but the moment you moved you realized your mistake. Your hips had pressed against Franks hard on causing him to let out a groan, his eyes opening sleepily. Your eyes widened as they made contact with Franks who trailed his gaze down your body, eyes opening wide as he noticed what was happening. Before you could open your mouth Frank had sprang out of bed, his hands moving up in surrender.

“Ah shit. I’m so sorry I didn't mean to do that.”

You watched Frank stumble over his words as he tried to tell you that he’d never disrespect you like that and that he completely understood if you never wanted to see him again but that he was truly sorry. It was sweet of him to care so much but you’d be lying if you said you were paying attention to him rumblings. Instead your eyes were glued to his crotch. Frank noticed the blank stare on your face, his eyes trailing down to find what you were looking at.

“Oh fuck.”

Frank moved his hands to cover his hard on a blush staining his cheeks as your eyes found their way to his face.

“It’s a natural thing. It’s not your fault. Not that you couldn’t cause it i mean…shit i mean i’m not saying you’re not attractive enough-”

“Frank…”

“Dear god, I'm only making this worse. I just meant it happened other times too. But yeah you being so close to me didn’t help-

“Frank!”

Castle's eyes widened as you raised your voice forcing him to shut up. Now that you’d gotten his attention you moved closer to him, kneeling on the bed before reaching for his hands. You gazed up at him with doe eyes, your small hands wrapping around his large ones.

“I wanna see.”

Frank's breath hitched at your words a groan leaving his lips as he looked at you.

“Darling you don’t-

“I want to see you. I wanna see what I did to you.”

“Ah shit.”

Frank threw his head back as you moved his hands out of the way. You cupped his member through his sweatpants making him moan. You inched yourself closer to the edge of the bed allowing your feet to hit the floor before glancing up at Frank once more.

“You gonna let me take care of you? Or am I gonna have to beg?”

“Fuck sweetheart.”

You took Frank's flushed response as an answer, your hands grabbing the waist of his pants and tugging them down. To your surprise Frank wasn’t wearing any boxers which allowed his dick to spring free. You rubbed your thighs together at the sight, eagerly getting onto your knees in front of Frank. He towered over you and you couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to be railed by him. You’d find out soon enough. For now you were focused on bringing Frank some relief. Heaven knows he deserves it. You palm at Frank's dick for a bit before moving your head closer to his dick, allowing him to shove himself into your mouth. You struggle to breath, the pure size of him overwhelming.

“Ahh, would you look at that? Taking me like a good fucking girl….”

You hummed at Frank's praise making him moan at the vibrations.

“You like that huh? Like listening to me praise you?”

You nod your head slowly keeping Frank's dick nudged deep in your mouth as you do.

“Well go on then. Show me what a good girl you are and suck me off.”

You do as you're told, moving your head up and down Franks shaft at a torturous speed. He liked it though. You could tell by the way the muscles on his stomach clenched at your movements.

“Attagirl.”

Frank's hand weaves into your hair, pushing his dick even deeper which causes you to gag lightly. Your hands make their way to Franks thighs, braceing yourself as he fucked your throat. Frank couldn’t help but watch his dick disappear into your eager mouth. He wondered,not for the first time, if this was real. If this was a dream he hoped he’d never wake up.

Frank got lost in his pleasure, fucking into you faster and faster as he sensed his orgasm coming. He was close you could tell by how he twitched in your mouth but then, just as you were about to wrap your hands around his balls, Frank pulled out. You gasped for air you chest rising and falling rapidly as you glanced up at Frank

“What’s wrong?”

“Take your shirt off.”

You gave Frank a questioning look before doing as he asked. The second he caught a glimpse of your breasts Frank was a goner. You watched him wrap his hand around his cock before moving at a rapid speed. You didn’t understand what he wanted but then it hit you. Frank Castle wanted to cum on your tits. Wanted to mark your body as his. And you’d be lying if the thought didn’t make you fucking wet. You leaned on your palms allowing your breasts to perk up a bit more.

“Come on, Castle mark me with your cum. Let everyone know I'm yours.”

That was the last straw. Your words combined with the image of you on your knees tits perked up just for him made Frank's orgasm rip out of him.

“Ah fuckkk..”

You closed your eyes feeling Frank's seed spill against your chest and run down your body, soaking into your already damp underwear. You relished the sound of Franks moaning the thought that you were the one who caused them, filling you with pride. Your eyes snapped open when you felt a pair of hands latch onto your body. You glanced at Frank's eyes for a moment before pulling him into a steamy kiss. Frank's hands wandered around your body pulling you onto his thigh as he caressed your breasts, smearing his cum on you as he went.

“Such a good fucking girl.”

“Ah Frank!”

You gasped as Frank's lips latched onto your nipple, sucking on it harshly as you wrapped your fingers into his hair. You humped Frank's bare thighs, your need overwhelming you.

“Franky…”

“Yeah baby?”

“Need you.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“Fill me up.”

“Ah shit. Dirty little thing aren’t you?”

“Only for you Franky.”

“Oh is that so?”

Franks hands grabbed at your ass squeezing your cheeks roughly which caused you to buck against him.

“Franky pleaseeee”

“Patience. I need you to cum first. Think you can do that?”

“Uhhum but I need your help.”

“I’m right here baby. Take what you need.”

You understood what Frank was saying. You moved to straddle his hips pressing your clothed cunt against his muscular thighs. Frank guided your movements by holding onto your hips. You moaned as you found a good rhythm, your hips moving on their own. In any other circumstances you would have felt ridiculous about getting off on someone without them even touching you but the look of pure awe Frank was giving you made you realize you didn’t give a shit. You kept bucking against Frank until your legs couldn’t take it anymore.

“Frank…can’t anymore-uhu- so close.”

“Want me to help baby?”

“Please.”

God he loved the sound of your voice like this, all high and whiney for him. He could live off the sight of you all flustered and desperate, rocking against his leg like a bitch in heat. If he wanted to, he could be mean. He could let you get to your orgasm by yourself but the idea of watching you fall apart was much more appealing. So instead of torturing you Frank reached into your panties, his fingers latching onto your clit and rubbing the bundle of nerves. Two seconds later Frank's name ripped out of your chest, your cum staining his thighs as you reached your orgasm. Frank collapsed backwards pulling you on top of him as he went. The two of you stayed on the ground for a moment trying to catch your breaths. Franks massaged your scalp feeling your chest move up and down as your breathing became steady.

“You okay darling?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Frank laughed at your words which made you smile. You looked up at Frank, your hand pulling at his beard and forcing him to look into your eyes.

“One thing would make this perfect though.”

“Oh yeah what's that?”

“You railing the shit out of me.”

You watched as Frank's eyes darkened with lust, a smirk gracing his features. You propped yourself up laying your hands flat on Frank's chest.

“So what is it gonna be, Castle? You gonna fuck me? Or am I gonna have to take matters into my own hands?”

You punctuate your question by grabbing Frank's once again hard cock in your hand making him gasp at the feeling. In a matter of seconds Frank managed to get up, his hands wrapping around your thighs as he lifted off the ground. You let out a squeal when Frank threw you onto the bed before climbing on top of your body, his hands reaching down to rip your underwear off. You watched as Frank lined himself up to your cunt. He looked up at you with a smile on his face as he watched you gulp in anticipation.

“Careful what you wish for.”

Frank thrusted himself into you without warning, causing a groan to leave your lips as he filled you up.

“Ohhhh Frank….”

“Fuck darling-ughu- so fucking tight!”

You wrapped your legs around Frank's hips for support. Frank placed a hand against the headboard as he continued to thrust into you at a rapid speed. The bed frame creaked and groaned beneath the two of you. You were a mess of moans and mumbled words. Frank wasn't much better mumbling praises about how wet you were and how good of a girl you were being. Frank had never heard you curse before today but it didn’t surprise him to find that you had a dirty mouth on you. Especially when he started toying with your clit. His dick pulsated against your walls as they clamped down on him. One expert move of his fingers had you seeing stars, your mouth slackening as you moaned out his name.

“That it baby… that's it”

“Oh Frank, don't stop!”

He had no plan on stopping. In fact he’d keep you here all day if you’d let him. He’d fuck you in every position he could. He’d dine of your body for the rest of his days. He’d suffocate inside your thighs if that's what you’d want. Anything to keep you here with him. Anything to hear those pretty noises you made. He was close. You noticed the way his thrusts were getting more and more of tempo as his legs started to burn from the rapid movements he’d been making. Frank tried to pull out of you, fully prepared to cum on your stomach but you stopped him by pushing your heels into his ass. He looked into your eyes, his hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes were almost rolling back into his head but he managed to speak.

“Gotta let me pull out baby.”

“I want you to fill me up Franky. Remember?”

“Yeah but we didn’t use a condom.”

“Don’t need to. I’m on the pill. It’s okay, baby fill me up. Mark me with your cum.”

That right there did it for him. Before he could even respond, Frank's orgasm arrived, his hips moving frantically as he filled you up to the brim with his seed. Once he was done Frank collapsed beside you, careful not to squish you with his body. You threw your arm over Frank's chest snuggling into him as he came down from his high. You stretched your neck up leaving a kiss on Frank's cheek before laying your head back down.

“Thank you.”

“For the head?”

Frank let out a laugh. Always a jokester you were.

“For that too. But I meant for reaching out. For tolerating my shit. And for not running away.”

“I’d never run from you Frank.”

Frank placed a kiss on your forehead, his hands making soothing circles against your back.

“Hey Frank?”

“Yeah doll?”

“Can we make this a part of our daily routine?”

Frank's hand found his way to your chin raising your face so you were looking at him.

“I think we can fit it in the schedule.”

You smiled against Frank's lips as he kissed you tenderly.

Thank heavens for that extra serving of spaghetti and meatballs.

#frank castle #the punisher #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #frank castle smut #smut #mcu smut #the punisher smut #frank castle x reader #punisher smut #jon bernthal #jon bernthal smut #jon bernthal fanfiction #frank castle fanfiction #smut fanfiction #smut tag #marvel smut #nmcu

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iliketangerines · 5 months ago

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make-up sex

a/n: this was a lot fluffier than i expected, but yk what, i'm not complaining. consider this a part 2 to angry sex @neteyamsoare @inlovewithpandora

pairing: tsu'tey x afab!omatikaya!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), porn with FEELINGS, cowgirl, mentions of almost dying

you were right, of course you were right, the tawtutes were dangerous and deadly, crushing everything in their path with no mercy or remorse

and it had only taken you being shot with one of their guns too close to your heart to make Tsu’tey realize that as he holds your hand in the tsahik’s tent

you had gone into the forest to gather herbs, staying well within the lines of the Omatikaya territory, and still, those tawtutes had trespassed and shot you because they had thought you were a threat

Tsu’tey takes in a breath to calm himself, and he holds onto your hand, praying to Eywa that you survive and that he swears that he would make it up to you

your eyes blink open, a sort of haze still hovering over your vision, and you weakly call out his name, your hand lightly squeezing his

he brings your hand up to his face and kisses the palm, thanking Eywa for keeping you alive, and he tries to keep the tears at bay as you smile up at him

bringing a bowl of herbs for you to drink to ease the pain, you grimace at the taste and smell, ears pinning back, but you drink it dutifully and wait for the medicine to start working

you smile up at him and say that you can take a hit and that you’re fine, but Tsu’tey shakes his head and brings the back of your hand to his lips, kissing each of your fingers

he can’t help it as tears slip by his cheeks, thinking he had lost you when Neytiri had carried you into Hometree, blood everywhere and dripping onto the floors and staining your skin so deeply that he thought it would never wash off

it’s a sight he can never erase from his mind, and he whispers to you that he swears that he will never defy your orders again

there’s a weak smile on your face as you tell him if you think that’s best, and you let exhaustion take you back into sleep’s arms

the next few few weeks, he tends to your wounds every day, making sure to not skip a single step: changing the dressing, wiping off the medicine, applying a fresh salve, repeat

Tsu’tey can’t help but worry and worry and worry everytime you even wince or have a bit of trouble breathing or even bend over in pain

but you heal, slowly and surely, hobbling around Hometree and teaching the children about the different herbs and plants in the surrounding forest that they can use in case of an emergency

and since that day, he hasn’t touched you more than he has to, afraid you might break or that he might make your injury worse or that he might accidentally hurt you

even when you have fully healed, and you flirt and purr and cuddle in close, he only pets your hair and kisses your forehead and resumes his task or goes to sleep

he knows it isn’t fair to you, that you’re fully healed, but still, a nagging fear echoes in his head everytime he goes hunting and he hears the tawtutes in the distance destroying

right now, Tsu’tey sits in his kelku, fashioning new arrows for his bow, carving the intricate patterns into the bow and wrapping the arrows carefully in the vines when he hears your soft footsteps pad into the living space

you wrap your arms around his neck, and he stops what he’s doing and turns his head to the side to kiss your cheek, making you let out a small giggle

putting down the supplies, he turns around to kiss you properly, melting slightly into your touch as your hands gently cup his face

but soon enough, you grow restless, hands trailing lower and lower to fiddle with his tewng, and he regretfully parts, saying that he must go and sleep for an early hunt tomorrow

you roll your eyes and bring your hands up to hold onto his shoulders, telling him to stop treating you like you are a fragile flower, you have healed, you have survived

his hands can’t help but come up and trace the scar the bullet had left, and he shakes his head at you, saying that he cannot risk hurting you

your hands come up to hold his, and you say that you are fully healed, that you trust him not to hurt you unless you wanted to, that you will not break in his hands, please

he presses his lips together, still unsure, and you sigh, saying to let you have the lead this time, to show him that you are truly okay

with a hesitant nod, you smile and guide his hands to rest on your waist, and you place your hands on his shoulders once more and kiss him

it’s gentle, slow, nothing rushed in your movements, and Tsu’tey hums into your mouth, gently squeezing at your sides and drawing small little breathy moans out of you

you pull your head away and lightly push at his shoulders for him to lay down, and he does so, waiting with bated breath to see what you do as you straddle his hips

your quick fingers untie both his tewng and yours, and you stand up on your knees to pull them off you and pat at his side for him to lift up his hips so you can pull down his tewng

he does so easily, hands holding onto the ground, and his eyes can’t help but trace your body on top of his as you sit back down on him, grinding yourself on his hardening cock

the room fills with your soft sighs and Tsu’tey’s strained groans as your clit grinds and catches against the head of his cock, and he can feel your slick start to drip and wet his cock

it’s an addicting feeling, and Tsu’tey gasps as you roll your hips just a little harder into him, his hands flying up to grab onto your waist to ground himself

you smile down at him and smile at him, continuing to grind down on him, adoration in your eyes for the na’vi below you

a great warrior, a better mate, and you bring your kuru out from behind you and hold it out towards him

he knows immediately what you want, and he brings his own kuru out with one shaky hand and sucks in a breath as he makes tsaheylu with you

your love, your admiration, everything about you floods his senses, and he groans, blinking up at you with blown pupils

great mother, he loves you so much, he sees you, and he will forever be grateful that you had noticed him and showed him how to be gentle

you let out a soft whimper, growing impatient and lifting your hips off of him, and you line yourself up with him, ready to sink down on him

there’s resistance, but you push through the slight pain, biting your lip as the stretch only heightens the pleasure, and press your hips flush to his

he grips onto your hips, breath quickening as you bite your lip at the feeling of being so full of him, and you moan as his hands involuntarily squeeze at your waist, nails digging into the sensitive skin

you grind slowly against him, pleasure growing inside of you like a flower blooming, slow and beautiful and intricate

no rush abides your movements as you gasp and moan and ride him, staring down at him and flooding your feelings with your love for him

Tsu’tey can feel it through the bond, and he can’t help as a few tears well up in his eyes at how overwhelming you love him

he loves you so much, he loves you so much that he can’t even express it in words, and he hopes you can feel how much he loves you through the bond

slowly, you lean down, continuously grinding down him and reaching your peak, and you press your lips to him gently, gasping and whining into his mouth

it’s nothing spectacular when you both cum, soft moans and sighs into each other’s mouth as it slowly rolls over the both of you, wrapping the both of you in a softness he could only ever muster for you

but he would trade everything for the softness of you, beautiful and gentle, and he murmurs into your mouth that he sees you, he sees you

you smile and say that you know, kissing him again underneath the starlit skies

#avatar 2009 #avatar james cameron #summersinpandora2024 #tangerine writes #avatar smut #avatar x reader #avatar x y/n #avatar x you #avatar x na'vi reader #tsu'tey smut #tsu'tey x reader #tsu'tey x y/n #tsu'tey x you

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dark-frosted-heart · 4 months ago

Text

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 6

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

Kate and co.’s lively voices could be heard throughout Crown’s castle’s garden.

There, two figures slink about unnoticed.

Nica: Oh, sounds like they’re having fun. Crown’s closer than I thought. They’re like a “family”.

Ring: …

Nica: What’s wrong, Ring? Do you want to be their friend?

Ring: Ah, well…

Nica: You can’t. You know we’re not here to make friends.

Ring: I know that. I’ll only follow what you and Dari tell me to do.

Nica: I don’t want to control you like a puppet, Ring. But if that’s what you want, then I will.

Eyes peek through a blue-grey gap before landing on Roger.

Nica: Roger Barel. Apparently he’s conducting research on Cursed Ones.

Ring: Research on Cursed Ones? That guy…what does he want to do?

Nica: Who knows. Maybe it’s research that’ll interfere with our ambitions. The kind that will shake the meaning of our existence.

Ring: …Should we eliminate him? No one will notice if I take care of it.

Nica: What are you talking about, Ring? We’re here as goodwill ambassadors. We have to stay white and clean for now. Besides, that guy can be both poison and medicine for Vogel, so let’s let him go for now.

Ring: But—

Suddenly, his lips curled into a ferocious smile.

Nica: The nail that sticks out gets the hammer* and beautiful flowers get plucked. Let’s just hope no one else notices him and makes him disappear.

—Meanwhile.

Within the palace, “Her Majesty the Queen’s Privy Council” is full of frustration.

Privy Council Lord: A few days ago, “Vogel”, an organization under German rule, arrived as goodwill ambassadors. Why don’t the chief of Vogel and his subordinates show any interest in us? Instead, they’re only interested in “Crown”...

One member spat out words full of hatred, and the others joined in on cursing Crown.

Privy Council Lord: With strange powers called curses, they do whatever they want under Her Majesty the Queen. This stain on our country must be erased!

Privy Council member: Her Majesty must be out of her mind, keeping these cursed monsters as pets.

Privy Council Lord: As the Privy Council, we must protect Her Majesty before Crown’s existence becomes known to the public.

Privy Council member: Crown must be dissolved then.

This was what “Her Majesty the Queen’s Privy Council” wanted.

Privy Council member: …But to object to an organization directly under Her Majesty’s control, you must know a weakness.

Privy Council Lord: Let’s look for a weakness immediately. The best kind to take Crown down.

Little did they know that darkness was about to creep back into “Crown”...

Kate: *sigh*...I’m finally done.

Finally free from my self-defense class, I trudged up the stairs with wounds all over.

(I need to work my legs out more…)

Exhausted, I rubbed my weary legs that wouldn’t even let me climb up the stairs.

Concealed under my skirt was a garter belt holding a gun wrapped around a leg.

The gun was a gift from Roger.

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: Kate, I got something for you. The best from Victor’s armory.

Kate: A…gun?

Roger: Give it here. I’ll teach you how to shoot.

When I handed the gun back to Roger, he immediately fired at a distant target.

(Amazing…)

Roger: The height you hold the barrel depends on the opponent’s feet. In close range, point it down. Long range, horizontal. If you’re in a room, on a train, or some place with obstacles, you can point it up. But keeping it steady takes practice. If the muzzle’s shaking, you have a higher chance of hitting a comrade so the basic rule is to aim down.

Roger explains while demonstrating with the gun.

Roger: That’s about it. Now we just have to practice.

Kate: I’ll give it a shot…

The gun was placed back into my hand and I held it up like I was instructed.

Roger: Grip it like this. Yeah, good. Keep your finger on the trigger…no, don’t squeeze it. Loosen up.

Kate: Okay.

Roger: Relax. Just pull it back.

Roger’s hand slowly moves away from the gun and I pull the trigger.

—There was a dry sound and a bullet grazed the target.

Roger: A little more to the left. Fire them all.

Kate: …

I repositioned my arm and fired in rapid succession.

Roger: Out of 6 rounds, 1 was a hit. 2 grazed the target. Not bad for a first time. I’ll add this to your training so you better start doing push-ups every day. Also— Kate, use this as a last resort. Got it?

~~ Flashback end ~~

(At the time, Roger looked a little scared…no, he looked serious)

My breath shuddered at the memory and I heard the sound of a piano coming from somewhere…

(It sounds beautiful. Who’s…?)

I followed the sound and opened the door.

William: …

There sat William playing the piano.

He glanced at me, raised his fingers high and then continued playing dramatically.

The song eventually comes to an end with a decrescendo and as the final note fades, I give a generous round of applause.

Kate: So it was William playing the piano so beautifully.

William: Thank you for the praise, Kate.

In response to my applause, William gracefully placed his hand on his chest and then suddenly lowered his gaze.

William: Ah…He gave you a gun. Robin with a gun is quite the image.

Kate: H-how did you know? It’s concealed under my skirt.

William: I could tell from the way you walked. When going undercover, be careful not to let others notice.

Kate: The way I walked…I hadn’t considered that.

William: However, it looks like you’re growing well. The “robin growth map” was it?

(Ugh…it’s embarrassing hearing it said to you)

William’s smiling, blood-red eyes held a subdued power that seemed to see through everything.

(William’s a curious person)

(It’s like he knows everything, but I’m not uncomfortable)

William: Kate, do you know why Roger uses a hunting rifle?

Kate: No…Now that I think about it, Roger’s the only one that uses one.

(Everyone else uses either swords or pistols…)

Roger’s hunting rifle stood out and as an amateur, I thought it looked difficult to use.

Kate: I was under the impression that hunting rifles were used by people with good eyesight. So initially I wondered why.

William: One reason is that he used to go hunting with his father, so he’s familiar with it. The other is because of his “abnormal hearing”.

My eyes widened at the unexpected answer.

Kate: Ah, Roger can tell where a target is by listening out for them!

William: That’s right. Rather than risk injuries at close range, he can shoot from a distance. It’s very like Roger to value efficiency. However, those are the reasons he gives. I’m sure there are others.

Kate: Other reasons…?

William: Did you know, Robin.

William spoke softly.

It was like he was telling a fairy tale.

William: In war, 80% of those given guns wouldn’t “dare” to shoot the enemy.

Kate: …I didn’t know that.

The percentage is a lot higher than I expected.

Kate: Even when faced with the enemy, it might be too much pressure to shoot another person…

William: What if it’s a hunting rifle? A hunting rifle’s original purpose is to hunt beasts, not people. It would be an undeniable evil for a former doctor to kill someone, even if it’s to condemn them.

At that moment, I remembered��Roger’s serious expression when he was teaching me how to use a gun.

William: I heard from Victor that when Roger joined Crown, he chose the hunting rifle.

Kate: He chose the hunting rifle on purpose…?

William’s smile was an affirmation.

Roger willingly chose the hunting rifle to kill people and condemn them of their evil, while also having the skills to save lives.

Roger had more knowledge about medicine than anyone else, yet called himself a former doctor and lived in darkness.

(...The more I learn about Roger, the more questions I have)

Why did Roger decide to live on with Crown?

It wasn’t just out of curiosity—that is obvious…

(Would I be able to ask him why?)

(And William…)

Kate: Um, why did you give me this information about Roger?

William: Hm?

Kate: You don’t seem like the kind of person that says things without a reason.

William: I see…

William frowned in thought.

William: Perhaps it’s because humans are creatures who meet people and gain wisdom at the right time.

Like the scriptures in the Bible, his words weren’t immediately understood.

But it felt like I received some sort of “guidance”.

Kate: I don’t really understand, but..thank you.

William: You’re welcome.

Kate: Ah, that’s right. William!

(There was something I wanted to ask him)

Kate: I was told that the palace library has books on medicine.

William: Books on medicine?

Kate: Um…Since I’m going to be around Roger, I thought it’d be good to gain some knowledge.

William: Wouldn’t it be easier to ask Roger?

Kate: I can’t.

William: Why?

I want to make him happy with my growth

I want to beat him

It’s a secret surprise +4 +4

Kate: I want to keep it a secret and surprise Roger later.

William: So it’s a special surprise.

William chuckled when he heard about my plan.

William: In that case, I’ll show you the way. Of course, I’ll keep it a secret from Roger.

—That night, Roger and I were summoned to Victor’s office at the palace.

Victor: Her Majesty has entrusted Roger and his exclusive Fairytale Keeper with a mission.

(Our next mission…)

Since Roger started teaching me a lot of things, I’ve felt myself grow every day.

Realizing that it was time to put my abilities to the test, I straightened up.

Victor: There's a village out in the countryside. It may be small, but it’s a special place where the people live by their own rules.

Roger: Hmm, is that what they call village customs? What’s wrong with it?

Victor: The other day, skeletons were found in the mountain by the village. There were a lot of them.

I came to the realization that the previous mission to infiltrate the “death party” was a lot simpler than the usual missions.

I quietly swallowed down the fear rising from my chest and mentally organized the mission.

Kate: But burials are normal in this country, and if it’s the village’s custom, then—

Victor: I had thought so too. So I did some research. Police sent to investigate the village never returned.

(Even the police…that can only mean something’s happened in the village)

Victor: And I found something else. There is a village chief who they call the spirit god. Supposedly this man can ward off illness.

(Spirit god…? The heck…)

Roger and Kate: That’s really suspicious!

Grimacing, we both said it at the same time.

Roger: I see. If illnesses are involved, then I’m the right guy. It’s possible this man’s a new Cursed One…

Kate: New Cursed One?

Roger: It’s nothing.

(What are you talking about?)

While I tilted my head in confusion, Roger spoke enthusiastically.

Roger: Alright. Kate and I will go undercover at the village. And we’ll expose the evil spread in the sandbox. Right, Kate?

(This time I’ll help out with the mission and not be a burden as Fairytale Keeper!)

Kate: Right, leave it to us.

Victor: Thank you. Liam, with his power to disappear, will sneak into the village first and gather intelligence. Once you’re in the village, make contact with him without getting noticed.

Victor turned toward us—

Victor: Roger, Kate. Don’t get hurt. Now, let’s pledge allegiance to evil.

He sent us off with a few words that were very “Crown-like”.

His POV | Next

*Idiom meaning those that stand out are forced to conform

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil jp #ikevil translations #roger barel #ikevil roger #ikevil roger route

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avensthetic · 7 months ago

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𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐄, 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 (40mp, deco*27)

to you who sobbed as you looked at me who was troubled yet smiling, i say: "welcome home!" because yesterday and tomorrow as well, there is a place here for you to come and say "i've come home!" tw: brief mentions of abuse, slavery, blood, and a pet name. nothing graphic.

𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚, 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚

━━ ╸i almost left. almost did plenty of times if i’m honest. it's stupid, i know. running's always been my solution, my way of gambling with the inevitable disaster that follows me around. i’m selfish aren’t i? i didn’t even think how destroyed you would be. but i thought it was better than dragging you down with me.

i’m a fool. me, a man who's gambled everything and walked away from worse, nearly bailing on the one good thing i've got in my damn life. i know i don't deserve you. every day i wake up expecting my luck to run out, expecting it all to go up in flames, you getting sick of me and leaving.

but everytime i come home, sometimes late, sometimes smelling like the deals i had to make, blood and all that, and you're there, waiting patiently, eyes lighting up in relief and delight seeing me unharmed. you smile, and that simple "welcome home" ... damn, doll, it's like finding an oasis in my damn desert of a life.

i’ll be here…if you’ll still have me.

love, kakavasha

deep down, aventurine was still the terrified boy sold at the slave market, his worth measured in a handful of copper coins. all the credits in the world, all the influence he'd acquired, couldn't erase that brand imprinted on his soul.

his gaze drifted to you, sleeping soundly. a pang of guilt and love twisted in his gut. you were the one good thing in his life, a beacon of warmth contrasting the memory of the cold shackles that once coiled around his neck and wrists. the way you smiled at him, the unconditional acceptance in your eyes... it was everything he'd ever longed for, and yet, it felt unbearably fragile.

aventurine always believed he didn't deserve this happiness, this soft illusion of home that your presence created. his hands, stained with blood from past betrayals and gambles gone wrong, felt contaminated. every day with you was a borrowed luxury, a ticking clock until his rotten luck inevitably turned, and he destroyed this haven as he'd destroyed everything else he touched.

a bitter laugh threatened to escape his lips. ending it... maybe that was the kindest thing he could do. spare you the pain of his inevitable downfall, let you find someone worthy, someone who wasn't cursed like him.

he tiptoed closer, unable to resist tracing a finger along your cheek. aventurine had already been through a lot—beaten, starved, used. but the thought of never feeling your touch again, never hearing your voice, was the one pain he wasn’t sure he could handle.

you stirred slightly, mumbling a soft greeting even in sleep, “kakavasha? welcome home.” his heart constricted. that simple welcome, offered so freely, had been his lifeline through countless dark nights.

your promise echoed, “when you say i’m back, i will always be there to greet you with a welcome home.” who was he kidding? he can fool others, but not himself. and aventurine finds himself holding onto your hand tightly rather than let go.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 - 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓

#💌. from me to you #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail #aventurine honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine x you #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x y/n #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #hsr x you #hsr x y/n

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saratinz · 2 years ago

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Erase Him From Your Brain

pairing ➩ Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

warnings ➩ angst, drinking, smut, pure filth, spanking, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, degradation, praise, pet names (good girl, slut)

synopsis ➩ sequel to 'Fuck Away the Pain'

word count ➩ 1.4k

a/n ➩ to celebrate reaching 69 followers, I give you part 2. comment to be added to taglist.

Your date with bucky is tonight, and you could not be more nervous. It’s weird, the fact that you’re about to have a romantic evening with the guy who you only had hatred towards two weeks ago. There’s a thin line between love and hate, and you two had crossed it. You have no idea what’s going to happen at this dinner. He picked a fancy restaurant, but no amount of money spent can make up for a lack of connection. And that’s your worst fear, realizing that even though your sexual chemistry is off the charts, your ideas of romance might clash.

You went through hundreds of different outcomes in your head, but never did you expect this one to even be possible. “Ma’am, if he’s not gonna show up, I need you to give up the table.”

“Thank you for being so patient, he’s not coming. Here, let me give you, $20, for your time.”

“I’m so sorry about your boyfriend.”

“Appreciate it. Have a good evening.”

When you get back to the compound, you can’t stop the tears that flood your eyes. How could he do this to you? How could you fall for it, fall for him? Whatever shred of respect you had for him a month ago is gone. James Barnes is a no-good, very bad, wretched man, and no amount of charm will ever get him out of this hole he dug. You are done. Done with lies, done with assholes, and done with love. What even is love anyway? Seems like all it does is cause pain. Your thoughts race as you lie in your bed, wondering what the fuck you did wrong. You’ve felt this pain before, you know you can beat it, but everything feels so awful. You want this hurt to be gone. Why won’t it just go away? Why won’t he just go away? That’s your last thought before you drift off into a not-so-peaceful slumber.

You wake up to violent knocking, with your eyes puffy and pillow stained with makeup. “Y/n, it’s Bucky.” Fuck this, you roll over, figuring he’ll eventually go away. “I know you’re in there, F.R.I.D.A.Y confirmed for me.

“Fuck off James.”

“C’mon baby, just let me apologize.”

“Get away or I swear to god, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“Just, I rescheduled our dinner for tonight, if you don’t come, I understand, but I’m giving you the option.”

“Hope you’re more embarrassed than you’ve ever been in your life.”

“I love you. ”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay, I’m leaving.” You scream into your pillow. The thought of going to dinner with Bucky makes you sick. It still crosses your mind though. No, you refuse to think about what could happen. Like how he could apologize, could be easy to talk to, could be your soulmate. Shut up brain. You do not want the guy who betrayed you, the guy who teased you to no end. You hope he’s in pain, and maybe that’s wrong, but it’s simply how you feel.

You’re not usually a day-drinker, but this situation calls for it. You cradle your favorite drink, sipping it way faster than you should. You see a familiar face passing. “Hey Sam.”

“Hey Y/n. I need to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Bucky.”

“God, please don’t tell me he put you up to this.”

“He’s so sorry. He had a few drinks before dinner, he was so nervous, he wanted things to be perfect. He passed out from not sleeping or eating.”

“Here’s the thing, I don’t care what happened. I was scared too, but I showed up anyway.”

“He wanted me to give you this.”

“Take it back to him, I don’t want it.”

“He said even if you didn’t open it, I have to force you to take the box.”

“Sam you’re really getting on my nerves.”

“Y/n, you want my honest opinion?”

“Go ahead.”

“He’s an asshole, you deserve better.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because even though he sucks sometimes, he’s never cared about anyone half as much as he cares about you. He’s always had your back.”

“That’s what you do when your an Avenger.”

“No, I mean he literally begs people to check up on you, to look after you, hell, he convinced Steve to give you a chance.”

“I didn’t ask for him to do any of those things, and look how well my thing with Steve ended.”

“He cares more about you than he does his best friend, that’s what came between them. You’re special, he didn’t intentionally fuck this up, that’s just what you get when you fall in love with him. So please, for the love of god, take him back, so that I never have to do this again. I will pay you to go on this date. Name your price.”

“One million.”

“I was thinking more like $50.”

“I’m not going to dinner.”

“Just, don’t drink too much, okay?”

“I know. Goodbye Sam.”

“Bye.” Once he leaves, you get right back to self-medicating. The drinks start to taste less and less like alcohol. You know your limits, and you use that knowledge to drink as much as you can without blacking out. When you finally cut yourself off, you realize it’s time for dinner. But there’s no way you’re going. Even drunk you knows that’s a bad idea.

Bucky clouds your mind, like the virus he is. How do you even explain your feelings toward him? He’s just, he won’t get out of your head. You kinda wanna go to dinner. Wait, what? No you don’t, let him be so embarrassed like you were. But he’s so hot, and good at sex. No, shut up brain. And you love him. Well, that you can’t deny. No matter what you tell yourself, that will always be true. Fuck it, fuck reasoning, you are going to stop him from going. You don’t want him in pain like you are.

You practically sprint to his room, trying to catch him before he leaves. You run into him in the hallway with his room. “James, don’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s humiliating.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do. I still love you, I don’t want you to go through with this.”

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Not even if I let you fuck me?” You put on your best pouty face.

“What?”

“Not even if I suck your dick?”

“Y/n, stop it.”

“Not even if I call you daddy?”

“How, how did you know I like that?”

“I didn’t, but I do now.”

“Shut up.”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to punish me, daddy.” All of a sudden, you’re pushed against the wall, caged in, and getting really turned on.

“You wanna be a brat? I’ll treat you like one.”

“Do your worst.” His lips are on yours in an instant, and it’s a filthy kiss, just tongue and teeth. You yelp as Bucky pulls away and throws you over his shoulder. Once you get inside his room, he walks to the bed and tosses you onto it.

“Take your clothes off, underwear too.” You do as he said, feeling self-conscience under his dark gaze. “Good girl, now I’m gonna sit down, and you’re gonna lay across my legs.” Crawling onto his lap, you cry out as he smacks his hand across your ass.

“What the fuck?” Another hit.

“You begged me to do this with your bad behavior. I can’t just let you get away with whatever. I’m gonna make you my obedient little slut, it’s time you learn a lesson or two. But if you feel uncomfortable, just say the word ‘red’ and I will stop.” Once again, you’re struck. “After every spank, I’m gonna need you to say ‘thank you, daddy’. You got that?”

“James, that’s humiliating.” He puts all of his strength into the next blow.

“That’s not my name princess, now what do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy.” You reluctantly mumble.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Thank you, daddy.” You scream.

“Good fucking girl. Now we’re gonna do that 20 more times.”

When your punishment is finally over, your eyes are puffy and your face is soaked. “It’s over honey, you did so good.” He helps you straddle him, kissing your tears away. You lay your head on his shoulder, wishing this feeling will last forever. He lies down, maneuvering your limp body so that you can use his still clothed chest as a pillow. You’re super drowsy, from the alcohol and spanking, and before long, you fall into a deep slumber.

Previous part / Masterlist / Next part

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #song fic #angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #smut

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goodmorgan · 2 years ago

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Perfect Strangers

Chapter 3: A Sin to Hang

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Series Summary: When a stranger appears at your homestead to steal from you, you set out to help him instead. What follows is a reckless relationship with potentially dangerous outcomes.

Chapter Summary: A pleasant afternoon turns into a delightful evening as you and Arthur exchange some intimate confessions.

Word Count: 4.4K

Tags: NSFW. MDNI. 18+. Smut, Porn With Plot, Mutual Pining, Infidelity, Clothed Sex, Vaginal Sex, Pet Name, Mentions of Masturbation Voyeurism and Oral Sex, Teasing, Swearing, Touch-Starved Arthur Morgan

AO3 Link

A/N: This one's just smut. Necessary smut! Things get a lot more intimate!

You should’ve known that satisfying Arthur Morgan wouldn’t be as easy as pie.

As you serve him another slice, you notice the pie you baked earlier now has a 4 o’clock shape, the apple filling spilling over the bottom of the round plate. You wonder how he can eat so much dessert after such a hearty dinner, even for a man of such build.

“This is the best pie I’ve ever had, missy.” Arthur is swift to gobble another bite, downing it with a sip of his whiskey.

“It’s my grandma’s recipe.” You watch attentively as he devours your baking while nibbling on one of the pieces of chocolate Arthur brought you. You hadn’t had some in months and the sweet familiar taste comforts you after such an unpredictable day.

You both eat the dessert each of you got for the other, enjoying your mutually pleasant company in silence as you’re now both perfectly at ease. The night sky has just settled over the horizon and you hear distant whippoorwills outside. Amber and Titus are now sheltered on the stable outback, enjoying the comfort that Arthur spent all day renovating.

Arthur is now wearing a plain white shirt, a spare one he had on his horse since the blue one he wore during the day was stained with your wetness during the afternoon’s recreations. You were insistent to wash it before dinner and now you watch as it dries on the clothesline outside from your living room window.

After a short while, the inevitable happens. Before reaching his mouth, a piece of apple filling lands right on the pristine white on the middle of his shirt. You both chuckle as Arthur reaches for the fallen chunk with his fingers, quickly bringing it to its destination as he places it on his tongue, swallowing as he savors its sweet taste. He licks his fingers, adamant about not letting anything go to waste.

“I’ll get a towel.” You head to the kitchen and wet a tea towel on your sink, hoping to reach him in time before the shirt stains. You swipe the remaining filling off, rubbing at the smudge to try to erase it. It soon becomes apparent the effort is pointless. Another shirt is ruined.

Arthur watches your face attentively as you attempt to salvage it, his chest getting wet as you damp the shirt with the towel. When you let out a frustrated sigh, he places a hand on your jaw, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “It’s no use, darling.”

You’re stubborn enough to keep going. “You don’t happen to have another shirt on your saddle, do you?”

“I’m afraid we’ve ruined all the ones I have.”

You both laugh as Arthur’s thumb continues his motion, moving up as your smile widens. You stop cleaning his shirt, setting the towel down on the table, smoothing the wet spot with your fingers as you try to dry it out. Arthur’s free hand snatches yours away, lifting its back up to his lips to plant a soft kiss as you fix your sight on each other’s gaze. He then smoothly pulls your jaw down, leaning in the rest of the way until he finally kisses you languidly. Then he’s brave enough to part your lips, deepening the kiss as his other hand pulls the rest of your body clumsily onto his lap, a place that’s becoming all too familiar and all too exciting for you.

You prop yourself on his thighs as he begins pulling you downwards into his embrace, eventually sneaking his tongue between your teeth. You find yourself sinking into him while beginning to float all at once.

As he gets more excited, his hands reach for your thighs and he caresses them as he did during the afternoon, before he moved to see if you were ready for his ministrations. Your hips are now intimately close to his and you feel him starting to tent underneath you.

You withdraw from his lips to speak, hoping he doesn’t take you right here and now. “Arthur, the dishes.”

He reaches for your jaw, a subpar replacement for your lips. “What about them?”

“Let me finish them before we start.”

He heads for the crook of your neck. “We don’t need them clean for what we’re doing, darling.”

You let out a scoff. “I hate leaving the kitchen messy overnight.” You straddle his face between your hands. ”You can have me after.”

“You promise?” He’s almost pouting and it’s endearing.

“Yeah, I promise.”

His scowl reaches your lips as he wrings from you a short but passionate kiss before he lets you off his lap. You break from his embrace as you head to the kitchen.

“Bring me the rest of the plates, would you?” You begin to scrub one of the pans you used to make dinner.

He exhales in disappointment. “Yes, ma’am.”

Arthur begins to do as he’s asked, clearing the table a few dishes at a time, brushing sideways behind you as he places them by your side. You notice he gets a little closer with each brush, a move that is certainly intentional, making you giddy. You pretend to ignore his attempts to rattle you, which makes him lean closer every time. He eventually runs out of plates to bring you.

“Can you help me out and dry the washed plates, please?” Your tone is of obliviousness.

Another exhale. “Yes, ma’am.”

He somehow still finds a way to keep brushing past you as he begins to put away the plates and cutlery in their cabinets. You’re doing the final dishes when he finally places his last one, brushing past you again but stopping with his body front facing your back. You feel him sinking into you slowly, putting his hands on your shoulders before he suggestively runs them down your arms, stopping at your bent elbows before he slides them downwards to your waist, leaving their warmth on your hips.

“I haven’t finished the dishes yet, Arthur,” you say almost as a reprimand. You know that he’s fully impatient now, but you’re not above teasing him further.

“I don’t think I can wait, missy.” He lowers his lips to kiss that magical spot below your ear and you try to fight the urge to let your head fall back. He continues to rummage his hands where he pleases, moving from the width of your hips to the small of your back and then forward to the curve of your belly. You can’t be sure if the plate on your hand is already clean as you become increasingly distracted, so you keep scrubbing, applying more pressure as he does the same to you.

“I’m almost done.” A few dishes still remain.

“You better be.” His face creeps up on your collarbone and you feel his hot breath on your neck, the sensation so intoxicating you're surprised when his fingers reach the underside of your breasts. You respond by holding your own breath but when he finally cups them fully in his palms you can’t help but let out a ragged sigh. When he lightly squeezes them, your sharp whimper is perceptibly loud and it echoes directly into his ear.

He purrs in response. “Enjoying this, are we?”

You’re so delighted to be in his embrace you stop moving your hands, savoring as he encapsulates your frame. This only encourages him further and he pushes his whole torso onto your back, taking a deep breath to smell your hair as he switches sides, soon nibbling at your other ear. His hips lean heavily into yours and, even with the fabric of your skirt and his pants in the way, you feel his hard bulge pressing against your ass, sending a hot wave of desire through your whole body.

Arthur suddenly begins to suck the spot below your ear, which makes you let out another gasp, making him more determined, tightening his hold of your bosoms. You continue to fail at remaining quiet, especially when you begin to feel him rubbing himself over your, strategically moving his pelvis to create enough friction to alleviate his growing stiffness. You lean your hands over the edge of the sink to ground yourself as you lift your buttocks higher to meet his grinding, chasing the euphoria of the moment. He responds by letting out a long-repressed groan, making his chest vibrate against your back. It feels too good not to keep pressing against him, especially as the movements become less restrained.

“You know, I could just come like this,” he admits. The image is heavy fuel to the fire in your core and you feel yourself twitching as you become wetter. “Is that what you want?”

Your instinct is to immediately say yes. You imagine him rocking into you vigorously, clutching your hips to keep them from moving. You’d hear his obscene groans directly in your ear as he brings himself closer to release, making you reach underneath your skirt to find some consolation. You figure you’d unravel by the sounds he would make as he’d make a mess on his jeans, another garment to wash before your sinfulness hangs in the clothesline to dry again.

But then you think of the past few days, how you had touched yourself to the idea of him bringing you to the edge while sinking into you, his thick length the reason you came apart. The one thing that you didn't get on the night you met. It has nagged you too much not to recall it now.

You seem to get lost in your reasoning as he's insistent to ask you again. “Is that what you want, missy?”

You grip the stone of the sink tighter, scared you’ll disappoint him with your answer. “I’m sorry, Arthur. No.” Your voice quietens at the end.

He hears you perfectly though and upon your last word he stops his grinding, reaching for your waist before he turns you around so he can look at you, concern in his eyes. “What is it that you want then?” He can tell you have something on your mind as he tightens his hands on your hips, kissing your jaw lightly to put you at ease. “Tell me what you want and I'll do it.”

You’re a little reticent to tell him, but he seems sincerely interested in your pleasure. He leans his lips into your neck so you take the chance to whisper into his ear. “I need you inside me.”

He hums at your suggestion. “Yeah?” He resumes rolling his hips lazily. “What else?”

You trail his ear as he deepens his hold on you, placing his palms on your back. “I need you to make me come.”

He rises to look at your face, a slight smirk on his lips. “You wanna come around my cock, huh?”

You nod gently, palming the side of one of his moving thighs.

He hovers over your lips. "Naughty little thing, ain't ya?" You close the gap between your mouths, answering his question affirmatively.

Arthur finally gives you the ardent kiss you seek, pulling you closer as his hands run down to your ass, grabbing at you desperately. His rutting fastens as you thrust yourself into him as well, both of you needy with unashamed desire. Your hands are still wet and soapy from the dishes but you sink them onto his shoulder blades with gusto, further ruining his stained shirt. When you feel his erection poking into your thigh, you lean crudely into his center so it prods directly on your pulsing core. The blinding stimulation frees from you your biggest moan of the night.

He lets go of your lips to look at you again, not pausing his movements for a second. "Maybe we should stop." Neither of you do.

“What for?” You’re too lost to understand why.

"You haven't finished the dishes yet, missy." He lands his joke with a satisfying grin.

You respond with a hiccuped sneer. "I don't care, Arthur."

"I thought you didn't like messes." He sinks into your neck again.

You like to fight fire with fire. "Why don't you make a mess of me again and we find out?" Your tone is more challenging than humorous.

He suddenly stops his hips as he raises his head and you see his gaze is completely overcome with lust now. “Let’s get you out of these clothes then. Before you have to wash them too.”

Arthur practically drags you to the bedroom before he sits on the bed, working quickly to remove your blouse while you begin to undo your skirt for the second time today.

“You sure you’re ready again, missy? You’re not sore from this afternoon?” He looks at you while he slides the top from your shoulders.

You shake your head, desperate to relieve your arousal again. The pleasure he gave you a few hours ago seems to have been wiped from your memory as you’re more than ready for another round. “I need you, Arthur.”

Your skirt finally falls on the floor on top of the blouse and you feel Arthur pulling at your drawers until they reach your ankles. You step out of them while you remove your chemise.

His eyes are now facing your bare folds and he parts them lightly to see how aroused you already are. “Hmm. So wet already.” He reaches for your hips, pushing you on top of him again. ”Such a good girl for me.” He clasps your shoulders as he swiftly swaddles you down to lay you flat on the bed, pressing his chest against yours before he lands on his feet, already working his damp shirt.

You watch as Arthur unbuckles himself, removing his boots before letting his pants fall next to your clothes. His already stiff length is protruding inside his underpants, now considerably stained, no doubt the result of his fervent grinding on you. It dismays you when he doesn't remove his shaft right away. Instead, he climbs on top of you on the bed, caging you beneath him, being careful enough to keep his hips from touching you.

"What was it you wanted again, darling?" He leans down for a quick kiss.

"You inside me." You reach for his shoulders, trying to force him to come down on you.

“And how much do you want it, missy?” He starts pecking your collarbone.

“So much, Arthur.” You're growing uncomfortably desperate, so you jolt your hips trying to try to meet his.

He chuckles. "I can see that. Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

How does he know, you wonder. "Yeah." You try to reach his waist again.

"When?"

"Every day." You thrust again.

He looks up at you. "Every day, huh? What did you think about?" There's a snooty smirk forming on his face.

“I thought about you being inside me.” Your tone reeks of impatience as you become frustrated by his unyieldingness. You hook one of your legs around his back but he doesn't give in.

"Yeah, and did you come?" He sounds and looks beyond pleased with your confession.

"Every time." You remember that to get to a man you get through his ego. "Some days more than once." Your other leg joins the other and it manages to lower him a bit, his undergarment slightly brushing your core.

He fixes his greedy eyes on you. "On which days, missy?"

You deliver your coup de grace. "All of them."

"Oh, you're killing me." He succumbs fully to the pressure now, not just of your insistence but of his throbbing cock, reaching for your warmth to appease the unbearable ache inflamed by your words. He sinks into your neck as he writhes you hungrily, his covered erection rubbing your folds apart, exposing your swollen clit to his frenzied movements as you begin to lose composure.

"Arthur, I need you inside me!"

He fastens his squirming as you feel him twitching at your words. "We'll get there, missy."

"I won't last long!" You cry out petulantly, feeling pathetic that you're this aroused after what you got this afternoon.

You get his attention as he surfaces, swiping your lips with his thumb. "Well, let's make sure your dreams come true then."

It's pure torture when Arthur stops moving, lifting his whole upper body as he kneels by your thighs, towering over you as you watch him lowering his underpants to let out his fully hard cock, its head beading, begging for attention. Your hips jolt reflexively at the sight, unable to do much under his weight. He reaches for his shaft to pump a few lazy strokes to smear it with his precum as his thumb works the head. He continues even when he lifts one knee at a time to remove the garment, releasing a few huffs of gratification.

"You ready to take me?" He gets faster as his hand glides easier around its member.

"God, yes! Arthur!" Your whole body moves with restlessness as you clutch the sheets beneath you. "Inside!"

He moves his free hand to part your legs, placing a knee between them as he curls one of your legs around his back. His other knee joins the other as he bends your other leg to make you open wide for him. "I'm gonna tell you a secret." He bends downwards to place his smeared head at your entrance as you dig your nails into the white cotton threads. He kisses your lips annoyingly tame. "Wanna hear it?"

Your shaking turns into a nod. "Yes!"

He guides his cock upwards to reach your clit, the move so intense you bolt your head sideways and close your eyes. Arthur's hand reaches your cheek to make sure you look at him, his fingers smelling of his heat. You open your mouth as you feel his hardness return to your entrance, ready to swallow him whole.

He delivers his own finishing blow. "I touched myself thinking about you too."

Arthur begins to enter you, slow but steady, and you suddenly think you're about to black out, your senses clouded by the intensity of the moment as you take in his cock and his words. The thought that he chased his pleasure thinking about you just like you thought about him sends you flying, crashing as you begin to feel him filling you, reaching your spot of untamed delight. You swap the grasp of the flimsy sheets for the strength of his shoulders, as he deepens himself into you, recreating the dream you kept yearning for in the past few days.

He begins to share his own dream. "Thought about you taking me like this too," he reveals through ragged breaths that fall on your mouth. "All warm and tight. Just for me." He steadies himself on his elbows as his legs begin to tremble slightly. "Here to feed me and save me. So good for me." His hands reach for your shoulders as he begins to angle down further. "An angel from heaven." You would think this corny if you could think. "Sent down to fuck me."

You feel your chest heaving with what must be sharps wails but you're only able to hear the words coming out of his mouth, trembling at his every remark. When you finally feel him reach your hilt, you're amazed you haven't finished yet, blindsided by something beyond any of your waking fantasies.

Arthur stills himself as he lets you adjust to his significant size, toying with your bottom lip as he bottoms out. “Oh, fuck, you fit me so well, missy.”

You ache at the lack of his thrusts, so you do some of your own. "Arthur!" You tell him something you've never told another man in bed. "Please!"

He must notice the desperation in your eyes and your voice because he budges, rolling out a slow buck of his hips. "This what you want, angel?" Your moan comes from deep in your throat. "For me to fuck you?" Another roll. "My perfect fucking angel." He begins to set a rhythmic languid pace as he lowers his mouth to one of your breasts, teasing your other one with his fingers. His broken name begins to echo throughout the room, each time followed by one of his mind-numbing thrusts. You tighten the hold of your hands and legs around him, trying to consume a body almost double your size, convinced to devour him whole.

You're disheartened when he stops telling you of his time away. "How'd you have me? In your touch?" You fail to form comprehensible sentences.

Somehow he understands you. "Thought about you stroking my cock with your pretty little fingers. Like you did the other day by the fire." He keeps pecking your tit as he speaks in short bursts, his breath hitching further. "That it was your hand instead of mine. At the end of the day. On my bed. In my tent." His tongue slides in and out of his mouth to rile you up. "A few times I had to stop. By the road. Behind a tree."

You're so close now, you can feel it. If only he keeps talking. You shout his name again, hoping he continues. He does. "Thought about your mouth. Sucking. On your knees." His own knees are now bouncing on the mattress as his motions become more erratic. "One time. At the farrier. Had to go outside. Thinking of you. Your hand and your mouth. Couldn't help it. A lady saw me. Didn't say nothing. Just left." He sucks on your nipple for a moment. "But that's not how I ended."

"How?" you let out between moans.

"I was inside you. Like this. Tight. So fucking tight." He lifts his head and you find his gaze. "Squeezing my cock. Hard." He licks his lips, setting now a dramatic pace as he steers his cock down to hit the sacred spot inside you again and again. "Need you to repeat it, missy." He tries to kiss you as you grit your teeth. “Need you to be a good girl for me.”

Nothing about what happens next is calm or collected as you near the point of no return, shutting your eyes closed as his request reaches your ears. You must look hysterical as your whole body braces for the inevitable, already eclipsing this afternoon's debauchery. You undulate carelessly under the confinement of his frame as his cock slams into you with unrelenting force.

"Come around me, girl." He feels your muscles clenching rapidly around him. "Like that. Yeah." Animalistic grunts cascade from his words. "Just like that. Come for me." You feel your muscles begin to lose any control they have left. "Come on, missy. Do this for me. Be my pretty little angel." His wish is granted as you finally reach the edge, turning both your lewd fantasies into delectable reality as you come around him.

Your husband's bed creaks loudly under you as you ascend a heaven he never even prayed for you, wrapped around another man as he calls you his angel.

"Oh, fuck, missy. Fuck." Arthur's plunges get brusque as your climax makes him approach his own, gripping your hips tightly as you toss uncontrollably from the overwhelming sensation. He revels in your oversensitive state as you attempt to subdue his force unsuccessfully. His moans start getting louder as yours subside. You open your eyes to see his face recoiling in ecstasy as he struggles to hold on.

A few seconds later he finally removes his cock from you as he reaches the finish line, stroking himself to completion, slathering your stomach with his warm white spend, marking you with his sinful elation.

This is the second time now he has climaxed on you, but this time he releases himself with more composure, lasting longer, the effort of someone regaining his footing on a forgotten skill. You can tell this round was more enjoyable to him, like it was to you, both of you enraptured by the bliss of intimacy.

"Christ, missy." He opens his eyes as he continues to hold himself, running on empty. He exhales a cackle as he looks down at you, both of you already able to breathe again. "You look a fright, darling. Let's get you cleaned up." Arthur gets up to reach for the towel hanging from your vanity before nestling between your thighs again, your legs still open from exhaustion. He begins to clean the spill he made with smooth wipes.

"Now that's the kind of mess I like," you joke, watching his delicate handling of your skin. He chuckles as he finishes, throwing the towel on the floor. Another sin to hang on the clothesline.

Arthur leans over to your side, lying next to you as you embrace him, settling your head over his chest. You hear his heartbeat return to its usual crawl underneath you as he soothes your stilling sweaty back.

"That was something else, Y/N."

You leap at your name and you turn your head to see his lashes looking down at you. "Yeah?"

"Really something."

"For me too," you finally say, forming a smile. "Thank you."

He rubs the thumb on your back more noticeably. "No. Thank you, angel." He places a soft kiss on your temple.

You wait for a moment before you're bold enough to ask. "Did you really think about me? Like that? These past few days?"

"Yeah." He pauses for a moment before he words his confession. "I- I haven't been with someone else… for a while now. Like we've been." It pains him to admit it. "I guess I'd forgotten what it was like until the other day."

You try to set him at ease with your own admission. "Out here, by myself. It gets lonely too."

Arthur's lips stretch shyly from your empathy before he places another chaste kiss on your forehead, relieved to find solace in you. He leaves his lips there as you two savor the closeness neither of you has had recently.

When Arthur is relaxed enough to feel the weight of sleep bearing down on him, he's careful to prop you on a pillow, thinking you feel the heaviness settling in too, reaching stealthily down for the quilt. He begins to cover you when he sees you're still very much awake.

You prop yourself up on a bent elbow. "At the farrier? Really?"

He sighs heavily as he realizes he still has plenty to put up with before he gets you to sleep.

A/N: Chapter 4 coming very very soon!

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #goodmorgan

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nomsfaultau · 5 months ago

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Hybrid AU in exile week where avian instincts can take over to a degree that is almost horrific, erasing someone’s personality and rationality when they’re panicking. First part here.

I swear to GOD the next one is the last. NO MORE CHAPTER MITOSIS

The firelight flickers, enchanting as it sends up spiraling pine-scented smoke into the constellations above. “Woah!” Techno laughs, throwing an arm out to stop Tommy from getting closer to the campfire. “Stay back, feather duster, you’re going to get singed!”

“How am I supposed to sit at your side if you’re practically inside the fire!” Tommy shoots back. There’s no practically about it; the piglin’s hooves warm themselves on the coals of the blaze, happily toasty. Meanwhile, one accidental brush of feathers and Tommy will go up in flames. Wings ruffling in annoyance, Tommy glances at the ragged pair, irked to once again be held back by them. True, with proper care and time they’ve lost their desolate edge, but the filling out wings only increase his chance of catching fire.

His fingers itch with the impulse to pull out his feathers. Tommy busies himself with preparing a s’more with Philza.

He perches on a log next to Philza, the distant fire crackling away. His back is cold as the arctic night presses against the bonfire’s brief shelter, but Philza drapes a large wing around him for warmth. At least his wings aren’t as big as Phil’s, he consoles himself. Tommy takes up less space that way. He’d used to sprawl, pushing to fill the world. But his abuser taught him it was easier to cut away the parts of himself that were too obnoxious for others to deal with. Get out of the way, don’t be a problem and you won’t get what’s coming. He would’ve cut his wings off, too, if he could’ve. Some days he still wants to. But no, it will hurt like hell and Phil and Techno will be upset. He can’t afford that, it’s bad enough how often he’s cussing them out and breaking their stuff. Their irritation runs like an undercurrent, sending alarm bells ringing. Part of him hates himself for it, begging to appease Phil and Techno, to fawn until he’s forgiven and safe. Part of him is terrified of it, waiting for punishment that never comes.

But another part likes the alarms and screeching panic, because it means he can tell when a situation is dangerous. Because last time he made himself palatable and all it did was chew him up. Tommy’s lost the knack for pulverizing the ugly parts of himself, and he reckons that might be a good thing even if his instincts scream that his friends are going to start hating him. Still. If he did cut his wings off, he could never again feel his abuser’s soft fingers petting his feathers. Maybe if he starts cutting off the parts of him that are easy to love no one will ever take advantage of him the same way.

Tommy hears the hiss of his abuser’s TNT even if he can’t see it. Automatically he drops to his knees, obediently clawing into soft dirt to make a hole. Phil shouts, an arrow flinging the explosive back, but the thunderous cacophony swallows him all the same, and suddenly he’s drowning in weeks old fear. Tommy is lost in the high-pitched shrieks of a scared chick, chirps ripping out of his throat and panic blotting out his mind. He frantically calls for his abuser to rescue him, and only in a hazy recess of his mind does Tommy remember his abuser is dead and never coming back.

The first thing he registers when he comes back is the dirt caked under his claws from clawing into the earth. The little splotches of mud from where his tears stain the ground. The dark aegis of Philza’s wings sheltering him, the older avian crouched protectively overhead. Territorial alarm caws pour from him, head frantically whipping as dilated eyes search for a threat to his chick. Great. Now he’s making his stupid instincts Phil’s problem. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be weak and helpless, now he’s triggering Phil’s instincts and robbing him of free will, too.

“Creeper, guys,” Techno winces. “Just a creeper.” His cautious approach freezes as Philza locks onto him. There’s a tension in his eyes, wary and sad, as he waits for his best friend to attack in an instinct blinded rage.

But Phil doesn’t, more concerned with covering his chick. The alarm caws cease as he realizes there isn’t danger. Tommy tries to wriggle out from under Philza, but when Philza’s head jerks to stare at him his eyes are still dilated. Worried chirps replace his cawing, pinning Tommy down and checking him over for injuries. Right. He supposes ensuring the chick is safe includes more than just fighting. But he isn’t hurt, the creeper wasn’t anywhere near him.

The answer comes from Tommy’s own instincts. He clamps down on the first notes of a coo, realizing it’s supposed to assure his guardian he’s alright. But it’s only the trigger for the next phase. The natural next step is to calm the chick. The coo builds up in Tommy’s throat, aching the longer he suppresses it. Nauseous fear tenses him. No. No, please, he can’t go back to that state again. It’s taken so much from him, breaking him into something pliant and pleasant and easy to love. Easy to control.

Tommy digs his talons into Philza’s arms, clawing in until blood wells up. Snarling and kicking and biting and unlovable and yet it doesn’t save him. It only gets so, so much worse, Philza’s worried chirps giving away to adamant coos, to soft caresses through his thrashing wings.

“PHIL!” Techno calls, startling forward. “He’s alright, alright? Let him lea-mph!” Philza’s wing smacks him hard, hurtling him back. For a second his eyes meet Tommy’s, and in an instant Tommy knows he could charge right then and there and tear Philza off him, to hold him at bay while Tommy escapes. Techno could rescue him.

But he won’t. It would cost him too much to fight Phil.

“Phil, the creeper is dead,” he tries gently. “Come on bro, nothing’s wrong. You’re the one freaking the kid out.” Techno coughs roughly, then breaks into a purr like the crackling churn of a redstone contraption. “See?” he rumbles, “you can stop now, Phil. Stop.”

If anything it just makes it worse for Tommy, yearning strangling him. It hurts so bad to shove his coo down. Tommy, the real Tommy, wants to howl, but the stupid animal inside him is stronger. The world darkens, hazy and hard to reach no matter how he struggles. Vision smearing into something warm and pleasant, Tommy can’t tell if the tender hands running through his hair belong to Philza or his abuser.

His body automatically relaxes as the soft coo breaks free from his throat. Despair wells in Tommy, but it slips through his hands, his real thoughts fading as artificial calm drowns everything out.

The hands combing through his hair freeze as the assurance releases Philza from his protective instincts. “Sorry,” Phil croaks. It shatters the spell. His abuser never apologized. He scrambles away, leaving Tommy flat on his back, watching the swirl of constellations overhead. Tommy would like to be angry, but it’s been drained out of him, the dregs of bliss acerbic in his mouth.

He wants to attack Philza, vaguely. He should. Maybe it would stop this from ever happening again. All he has to do is stop the older avian from caring about him. But the thought of what it would take to make the kind and patient Philza truly despise him makes Tommy feel quite sick if he’s honest. Even now Phil is apologizing, concerned and compassionate and utterly confused when Techno presses a healing potion in his hands for the wounds Philza hadn’t even noticed. Tommy’s hands curl into fists so he doesn’t have to notice the blood under his claws.

Techno offers Tommy a hand up, and he just stares at it. “You good, bro?”

Tommy expects the offer to drop as he doesn’t respond, but Techno remains reaching for him. “I hate that I’m like this,” Tommy says quietly, watching the crescents of wounds buried in Phil’s flesh vanish in a curl of rose magic.

“Alright,” Philza measures carefully. “So what can we do to become a Tommy you don’t hate?”

“Nothing. I’m just like this now because of him, I won’t ever be the Tommy I used to be.”

“Hm. Maybe a better question is what types of things does a better Tommy do?”

“Maybe… doesn’t waste your time with stupid crap like this.”

“It’s not a waste of time if you need help,” Phil assures him.

“But a better Tommy wouldn’t need help.”

“That’s just not true, mate. Everyone does. Me and Techno aid each other all the time. We care about you and want to support you.”

“Then a better Tommy would make it worth it to care. He’s nicer. Doesn’t shout and break your stuff when you’ve only been kind to him. But whenever I act like that, it feels close to the preening. And I don’t want to get stuck like that, all cuddly and fawning and nauseatingly meek. It feels like I’m losing control, just trying to do appease you so I don’t get hit. And- and if I’m awful enough you’ll leave, too, and then I won’t have to worry about it at all. But that isn’t working, either. I don’t get it. I’m awful. I’m awful on purpose. Why do you put up with me?”

Techno shifts from hoof to hoof, firelight tossing his shadow wildly. “While I admit it would be cool if you stopped smashing my cupboards…I get it. Heh, you should see our training room after I’ve had a bad day. I’d prefer that frustration is channeled into something productive instead of being taken out on us, but we can work on that. You went through a lot; it’s okay if recovery is rocky. Besides, after I baby-proofed the house it hasn’t been too bad. You’re going to have to try a lot harder to get us to hate you. But I gotta ask, is that really what you want?”

Tommy bites his lip, eyes burning from staring at embers for too long. Or perhaps it’s the threatening tears, but Tommy refuses to admit that. Does he want them to hate him? Will it be okay to hate himself if the entire world does? Will he be finally safe if no one cares? “It’d be easier if you did.” Then he won’t have to wonder what they could possibly see in him that he can’t.

“We’re not trying to make it easier for us,” Philza explains. “This is about what would make life easier for you, Tommy.”

“I wish stupid things didn’t upset me, like touching and grooming and holes and obsidian and smiles and feathers. But most of all I hate my instincts, the way I just shut down. How ease to manipulate it makes me.”

“Those hatchling instincts aren’t forever, mate. You’ll grow out of them, just like I did when I first flew.”

“But I can’t! I’ve tried, Phil, all it did was nearly kill me! I can’t fly, and maybe I never will.”

“I never said you have to fly alone.”

Next >

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eksvaized · 1 year ago

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‘don’t be a tease’ [ 1 ]

>>> MDNI, 18+

>>> fem!reader x könig

>>> tags: OnlyFans, smut, dirty talk, au (kind of), pet names, etc.

>>> word count: 1868

>>> render by: @661ave

AustrianKing tipped you $100.

You were kneeling on the bed, running your hands over your body. With each passing moment, you could feel yourself sinking further into the softness of the mattress.

‘unwrap the robe, doll.’

As you watched yourself on the laptop, which was placed on the bed in front of you and whose screen was lowered to obscure your face, leaving only your form in the frame, your fingertips caressed your soft flesh, your nails skimmed lightly over the exposed skin.

Even if the stranger couldn’t see your face, you nodded your head, like an obedient girl, and murmured a very muffled, almost voiceless okay. Your tongue grazed your bottom lip, a surge of excitement causing your heart to race.

Although this wasn’t your first time undressing in front of the camera, while some stranger, who you couldn’t see or hear, watched you, it still took you some time to build up confidence; the heat rushed to your cheeks, colouring your face bright red as you threw your hair back, tucking a loose strand behind your ear.

Your fingers undid the loose knot, letting the fabric slide off your shoulders. However, before the robe could fall down, you grabbed it, only revealing your collarbone.

Normally, you wouldn’t be such a little tease. However, you knew that if you drew out the time and continued to be slow and deliberate with your movements, you would waste half of your evening, but you would also collect more tips from the stranger, who was undoubtedly eager to see that silk robe vanish.

AustrianKing tipped you $150.

‘don’t be a tease, princess. take it off. now.’

You bit your bottom lip harder, sinking your canines into the soft flesh. Your grasp on the fabric gradually relaxed, allowing it to flow down your curves and pool beneath you; you didn’t even bother picking up the robe and tossing it to the ground, even though you knew it would be ruined and stained by the time you finished the video call.

You placed your palms on your thighs, dragging them up, letting your acrylics trace up your tummy, sending a jolt of heat up your spine. Your upper half was completely devoid of clothing, leaving you feeling exposed and coy. The man's consistent generous tips and compliments boosted your confidence, gradually erasing your shyness and leaving you feeling alluring and wanted.

The chill in the air caused your nipples to instantly stiffen, a visible sign of a sudden change in temperature. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and the chilly breeze flowing in through an open window caused goosebumps to arise all over your body.

You had taken off the robe, but you were still wearing a pink thong that barely covered anything and left very little to the imagination.

AustrianKing tipped you $200.

‘lay down and spread the legs for me, doll.’

You allowed your back to hit the mountain of pillows, your head resting against the headboard. You slowly parted your legs while continuing to tease and play with your nipples, squinting slightly and focusing your gaze on the screen to ensure that your face was still covered; you weren’t ashamed of your side hustle, but you preferred to keep it and your personal life separate, which meant you had to keep your face hidden.

You did not know who the stranger was or what his name was. And despite trying to find him on other social media a few times, when you were bored and had nothing better to do, you could never find anything other than some weird online profiles with no pictures, so you had no clue what he looked like either.

But none of that really mattered.

He was only a subscriber at first, someone who watched you while you made yourself cum in front of the camera, letting the audience see how pretty you looked while squirming on the bed, tangled in the soft sheets, legs spread wide as desperate whimpers and needy moans, which you tried to suppress, slipped past your pretty pink lips. But after months of silent tipping, he dared to send you a message and request a private session.

You were reluctant to agree to it. You’d never done anything like that before, and you weren’t sure if having a one-on-one session with a stranger was something you were comfortable with. However, the money (not to mention the tips he still kept sending) was too good to pass up.

AustrianKing refused to turn on his camera, and he never spoke. Instead, he preferred typing, talking with you through messages, and sending way too much money, which you assured him wasn’t necessary because he had already paid you for the session, but he insisted on giving you more, so you soon gave up and decided to enjoy the extra cash.

The stranger was controlling. He liked being in charge and watching how you eagerly followed his every command, desperate to please him and yourself.

In the beginning, it was strange, and the first private call was awkward. Having someone direct your every action - from the placement of your hands to the way you should angle your body and even dictating when you’re allowed to climax - was a new experience for you. But you got used to it and even began to prefer these sessions over regular livestreams since you could turn off your mind and let someone else control you.

AustrianKing tipped you $250.

‘tease yourself. show me what a desperate little slut you are.’

You closed your legs, elevating your ass for a split second to hastily slip off the thong, leaving the fabric dangling loosely around your ankle. You pulled the laptop closer to the edge of the bed before laying down and letting your back sink into the pillows.

As you looked at the screen and your eyes were met with the sight of your glistening, aroused pussy, a soft, seductive moan escaped your lips. The sound of your fingertips grazing against your delicate folds filled the room, heightening your, and his, anticipation.

The intoxicating scent of your arousal filled the air, adding to the sensual atmosphere. With effortless ease, your fingertips glided between your moist, inviting folds, spreading them apart, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, and allowing the stranger to see how needy you were, and what a mess he had made of you, while not even being in the same room as you, stuck on the other side of the screen.

At first, you teased yourself slowly, taking your sweet time and letting the pleasure build up gradually. After you coated your digits in your juices, you began to play with your clit, circling it, moving your fingertips at a controlled speed, and having to apply a lot more pressure than usual because it was difficult to get some friction.

No matter how much you wanted to throw your head back and sink into the mattress, letting the sheets swallow your body, you forced yourself to keep your eyes open; you had to make sure that you didn’t miss any messages that occasionally popped up on the screen.

But when your muscles tensed and your toes curled as the knot in your stomach continued to coil, getting tighter and tighter, making your breaths grow messy and erratic, a message popped up on the screen.

But so far, there was nothing and the stranger, who was usually quite bossy, today seemed to give you free rein, which you were planning to use efficiently and make yourself cum before he could tell you otherwise.

AustrianKing tipped you $300.

‘you’re not allowed to cum, unless I give you the permission.’

You groaned and parted your lips, taking a long breath in and letting the irritated sigh escape. The muted voice in the back of your head urged you to ignore the message, maybe pretend that you didn’t see it, because you were so close: a little nudge, a few more seconds, and you would push yourself over the edge. But instead of rebelling, you slowed down your rhythm in the hopes of delaying the climax.

AustrianKing tipped you $350.

‘pick the pace back up, princess. you’re not allowed to slow down, you’re not allowed to cum. be a good girl for me.’

Usually, you didn’t talk, and the only sounds coming from you that could be heard were heavy breathing and desperate mewls, which you sometimes attempted to suppress. Still, as you continued to circle your clit, your hips began to roll, and you couldn’t keep your pretty pink lips sealed any longer.

“P-please… just.. I can’t anymore..” You inhaled sharply, your voice desperate and high-pitched. “I want to cum.. I need to.. Please..”

You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it together. Your fingers started to twitch. Your skin felt as if it was on fire. Your hair was sticking to your neck, and whiny moans kept slipping out of you, echoing off your bedroom walls.

AustrianKing tipped you $400.

‘start counting. if you don’t finish in ten seconds, you aren’t allowed to cum today, doll.’

Of course, he couldn’t just make it all simple for you, but perhaps that’s what you liked about him and about these private sessions. Most of the time, you were in control, but you relished succumbing to a stranger, someone you’d never met, and allowing them to control you and everything that you do.

You counted. Slowly. But no matter how hard you tried to drag out the seconds, they were still ticking away, and the time was running out. You quickened your pace, spreading your legs even wider. Your thighs trembled, but you resisted clasping them together.

“Five… four..” It was difficult to talk and breathe simultaneously. Your mind was void of thoughts, and all you could think about and focus on was the impending pleasure as you chased your orgasm, desperate to make yourself cum.

“Three..” You took a long pause before resuming counting. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your body writhed on the bed, your hips swayed in rhythm, and a damp patch formed beneath you as you continued to rub yourself dumb.

“One… ahh-mhh. F-fuck.”

The knot in your lower stomach uncoiled, your legs clasped together, entrapping your hand as your thighs quivered. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your lips were visibly red and swollen from you chewing on them, and you struggled to maintain control over your voice as your moans got louder, needier, and more desperate.

You don’t know how much time had passed, but when you pushed yourself to sit up again, grabbing the robe and draping it clumsily over your body, the stranger had already disconnected.

AustrianKing tipped you $450.

‘good girl.’

During the brief thirty-minute session, you not only left a mess on your sheets, but you also reached such a mind-blowing orgasm that you felt completely helpless; your body was numb from all the stimulation.

But instead of a pack of instant noodles, you will be able to order some takeout tonight. Maybe something from your favourite restaurant. So saying that those thirty minutes today were the most productive part of your day would be a vast understatement.

#this is my first attempt at this kind of story so bear with me #call of duty #cod #könig cod #könig x reader #könig x you #dbat:konig #smut #konig cod #konig x reader #konig #konig call of duty #writing #dirty talk #pet names #fem!reader

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bonezone44 · 1 year ago

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Muddy Waters, pt 3. (18+)

'Lateralus'

Ezra x F!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: You and Joel spend an evening together. It's romantic. And awkward. The next morning, you and Ezra have 'quality time.' It's filthy.

Word Count: 8,8k

part 1, part 2 ----- part 4

tags: NSFW 18+. Intuitive!Reader. Afab!Reader (she/they). Southern!Reader. Established Ezra x F!Reader. Polyam. No use of Y/N.

This Chapter: Pet names: baby, darlin, 'shy girl'. Oral (f receiving), fingering, objectification (maybe?), rough/painful P in V, bicurious!Ezra, dirty talk re: anal, threesome, double penetration, math, activities involving a hairbrush, cuckolding.

Warnings: Country music, slow dancing, romance.

Author's Note: I feel like I'm fresh from the trenches. My body hurts from sitting at the computer and ruminating! I suffer for my art!

----

That night, once Joel had finally peeled himself off of you, you got up from the kitchen table and started talking to him like nothing had happened. He tried to grab a rag to help clean you up, but you waved him off and grabbed it yourself. You washed the glasses and put away the liquor. You even made sure the table was in its right spot and the chairs were back underneath it. You made it look as if you had never been there to begin with. No remnants of you at all.

Something about it made him feel used.

Then Ellie walked back in the house.

And you looked just as shocked as he did.

“Joel!” Ellie whined.

You were able to compose yourself faster than he was, hands held carefully in front of the cum stains on your clothes.

“Jesse?” you asked with narrowed eyes.

“Ugh!” Ellie groaned and stomped. “Is it that obvious?”

You offered a sympathetic smile.

“Joel. Jesse is ruining me and Dina’s house plans!”

Joel’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two of you. Utterly befuddled.

“I’ll let you handle this,” you whispered. You waved good-bye the same way you did after your first visit. All nice and friendly-like as you stepped out the front door.

What the hell?

Now he was really confused by you.

“Joel! Are you listening?” Ellie waved her hand in his face.

“What?”

“Dina showed Jesse our house plans and now he wants to make ALL these changes and they’re bullshit, okay?”

“Wait, what houseplans?” Joel tried to orient himself.

“You said I have to follow your rules as long as I’m under your roof.”

“Okay?”

“So we’re gonna build us a new roof!” She gave him a cheeky smile. “And put a house underneath it! But look!” She slammed a piece of paper down on the table. Right where you had been sitting only minutes before.

Joel’s stomach turned.

“Look at the bathroom!” She pointed to the drawing, pencil lines drawn and erased several times. “Anytime I tell Jesse anything, he has to do the opposite. He wants to put the toilet and the shower and the sink on all different walls—”

“Well, Ellie,” Joel cleared his throat, trying to focus himself. “Y-you really wanna have all your water in a line on one wall–”

“That’s what I told him!”

Joel looked one last time out the front door, but you were long gone.

There was no way–absolutely–no–way that you knew that Ellie would come back home instead of staying at Dina’s overnight like she had said she would. And yet you got up and cleaned the place as if you did.

Joel didn’t like that. He didn’t like the burning it made him feel in his chest, like a fresh wound stinging in the open air.

And, once more, you got away without him learning where you lived.

And now he really couldn’t ask someone in town. They would know there was something between the two of you for sure. It would be written in red all over his face. And he wasn’t ready for that.

He would have to wait again. Wait until the two of you happened to cross paths in town or by the stables. Or, if Lady Luck was favoring him, you would walk by his house, and he could invite you in again.

Joel didn’t like waiting. Especially when he had already had a taste of what he wanted. Not even a real taste at that. His hands never crept under your shit. His mouth never went lower than your neck. He didn’t see your bellybutton–your pants were pulled up too high. He can’t remember if he even held your hands.

It was like getting the scent of coffee wafting by and not being able to take a sip. He couldn’t find where the goddamn coffeepot lived, for Christ’s sake.

But at least you were out and about again. That was something to look forward to–aching every day for the sight of your smiling face, walking in the sunshine, and knowing you were aching for him right back.

‘Poor Ezra,’ Joel thought. ‘That man’s not gonna know what hit him.’

+++++

The next time you visited Joel, it was Friday night after dinner. He had found you in town to invite you–said something about Ellie staying out ‘for real this time.’ And before you parted ways, you made sure to tease him for ‘looking for you.’

But once you got home to get ready, you became an anxious mess.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Ezra,” you said as you stood naked in your shared bedroom, digging through your clothes dresser. “Is-is this okay? I mean, am I being selfish?”

“Selfish?” Ezra smirked with furrowed brows. “You think anyone else in this town wants to fuck that old man?”

“Ezra!” You turned to him with a gasp and slapped him hard on the arm. You couldn’t fight back your smile.

He chuckled. “I would like to point out that you did not answer the question.” He raised his brows, lines drawn on his forehead. “And it is certainly a fair one. Shit, baby.” He placed his hand on his chest with his fingers splayed. “The way I see it–” His eyes were wide and serious. “--You’re doing this town a favor. You fuckin him is a goddamn public service. Maybe while you’re over there you can pull that giant stick out of his ass.”

“Ezra.” You groaned. “You’re not helpin me.”

“Well,” he held his palm out. “I am supplyin you with my perspective of the matter. I suppose it is up to you, then, to determine how you feel about the whole situation.”

Part of you wished that Ezra could read your mind and figure it all out for you, but he clearly wasn’t even gonna try. You sighed. “... I want it, you know?” You stared down at the top of your dresser, covered in clothes and books. “But I don’t understand why. I don’t–I mean–shouldn’t–” you huffed and faced Ezra. “Should you be enough? Why do I want this?”

“You are an evolved woman.” He held your hands within his own and looked into your eyes. “And you are precious to me. And if you believe that this will make you happy, then why are you worried about whether it is something you should or should not do?”

You closed your eyes and breathed through your nose. “I just… I need it to make sense.”

Ezra stood from the bed. He released your hands and slid his fingers up your arms, sending goosebumps all over your skin. You opened your eyes again when he cradled your cheeks. “Not everything is going to fit into a pretty little box for you to define and decipher. Embrace the random,” he said with a grin. “Ride the spiral to the end.”

You fought back a smile. “It may just go where no one’s been.”

“That’s right, baby,” he muttered and kissed you softly on your lips. “Now c’mon. You need to get dressed.” He smacked your bare hip with the flat of his hand, causing you to yelp.

How was Ezra so sweet and so perfect to you? You rested your forehead in your palm, smiling and shaking your head. “I-I don’t know what to wear.”

“Wear the blue number,” Ezra suggested with a wink. He was sitting on the bed again with his left ankle crossed on his right knee. His right knee jumped up and down.

Your lips curled in. The blue number–named affectionately by Ezra himself. It was a bra and panties from two completely different lingerie sets whose shades of blue vaguely matched. They weren’t even the same material. The panties were a simple cotton and the bra was a dull satin–the wire long gone. He enjoyed it, though. Not that it ever stayed on for long.

“No,” you shook your head resolutely. “That’s for you. I don’t wanna wear it for him.”

Ezra leaned back on his elbows with a thoughtful look. “Well, then wear whatever makes you comfortable, baby.”

Now that was the right idea. Comfort. That’s what you really needed.

You didn’t want to spend the whole evening tugging on your clothes and worrying about your appearance. You wanted to focus on Joel. Focus on yourself. Focus on whatever the hell was bringing you two together.

Turned out, Joel had dressed up for you. Your chest warmed when he opened his front door. His hair was brushed neat and his beard was freshly trimmed. You swore he even ironed his button-up shirt; deep clay red with tortoise shell-looking buttons.

“You look amazing,” you blurted out after your quiet hello’s.

“Thank you.” He grinned.

“I feel so underdressed,” you said quickly, watching him close the door behind you. “I was so nervous about someone seein me walk over here all dolled up so I just put this on. I hope that’s okay.” You wore your favorite long sleeve shirt and jeans. The comfort of it wasn’t make you feel as confident as you had hoped. Not with Joel looking sharp and smelling crisp with cologne.

He walked to your front, placed both hands on your lower back, and gently pulled you close. “I think you look beautiful,” he spoke softly.

You wanted to wave him off, part of you unconvinced, but he leaned forward a little more and pressed his lips into yours. There was no tug or pull, no beginning or end. It was light and playful the way your mouths met. His facial hair tickling your skin.

It made your cheeks burn. Your hands slid up his arms, resting on his broad shoulders. The fabric of his shirt was smooth and felt almost new.

He stepped backwards and you stepped with him–his hands guiding you further into the living room, lit warmly by table lamps. Excitement was already heating you within. The house was quiet and still.

“So, no Ellie tonight?” you asked.

“Some kinda campin trip for the older kids.” He huffed and shook his head. “I can’t figure why they wanna sleep outside.”

You grimaced. “Campin stopped bein fun a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.” He leaned forward for another kiss. As light and teasing as the one before. It felt good. Comfortable. You were a little embarrassed, though, by how quickly he could turn you on and how easily you let him pull you in. Ezra had to do the work, sometimes, to get you to relax.

“What did you uhh… have planned for us?” you asked in an attempt to slow things down a bit.

He nosed your cheek. “We can do whatever you want, darlin.”

You scoffed with a smile. “You invited me over.” Your hands slid down to his arms and squeezed. They were warm and firm beneath your fingers. “I’m not here to just fool around.”

He stood tall, his hands rising to your waist, thumbs sliding back and forth. “You’re not?” he smirked.

You laughed. “I am your guest, Joel.” You smirked right back. “Entertain me.”

“Okay.” He nodded with a sparkle in his eye. “Alright.” He let you go and walked over to the corner of the room, fiddling with something on the end table while you fiddled with your too-casual outfit.

Shit, you felt silly. You felt out of place and out of time. He looked beautiful over there with his shirt tucked into his dark denim. Long fingers messing around with an old stereo. He looked mature. Sturdy. Put together. In fact, his whole house was nice and clean and organized. Nothing appearing out of place. His presence felt like a towering mountain and you–you felt like a street puddle in comparison.

Soft country music began pouring from the speakers, only a little warped. You didn’t recognize the singer’s baritone voice, but you were never much for country music anyway (It wasn't angry enough for your taste).

“It’s not the best, but it’ll do,” Joel said as he returned to you. “Alright.” One hand circled your waist while the other grasped your hand and raised it in the air. It made your stomach sink. You knew what was coming. “May I have this dance?” he asked.

Your eyes went wide. Your free hand clenched his bicep. “I-I don’t know how to dance.”

“What?” he huffed, amused and confused. “Everybody knows how to dance.” He shrugged. “It’s easy.”

“I’ve never… danced,” you said, feeling like sweat was about to start dripping down the side of your forehead.

His brows furrowed with a smirk. “You never went to a school dance even?” He shook his head. “Homecoming? Prom?”

“Not really.” You squirmed. “I’d go with friends, but I wasn’t the type to really dance. I never dated anybody to-to-to dance with.”

“Really?” He grinned wide with surprise. “You’re too pretty to not been asked.” He raised his chin. “Were you one of those shy girls or something?” Clearly implying that he was not one of the shy ones in school.

You had to look away, suddenly feeling even smaller than a street puddle–you felt like a bead of condensation falling off the corner of a window unit mid-summer.

“I wasn’t that shy,” you mumbled in defense of your younger self. “Boys just wanted sex in high school and I was not about to have sex with any of them.”

“Yeah, we were trouble, weren’t we?”

“Y’all were awful.” You forced a smile, though you felt anything but happy about those years. “I was terrified.”

He laughed. “Alright, shy girl.”

You shrank even smaller.

He bit his lip. “Lemme show you how to dance.” He pointed with his chin. “Put that hand on my shoulder.”

You brought the uncertain hand that had been resting on his bicep back up to his shoulder. Your thumb toyed with the collar of his shirt as you held your breath in your chest. You prayed he didn’t enjoy this ‘shy girl’ thing too much. You weren’t exactly here to relive your teenage years.

Though you two did get off last time like teenagers.

And boy, if you knew then what you knew now–

He took a tentative step forward and you fumbled.

Your face went cold. Your body froze.

“Just relax.” He spoke gently. His smile, soft and kind. “We were dancin when you came in.” He brought his lips to your neck. “Just move with me, darlin,” he whispered beneath your ear. “I gotchu.”

You swallowed. His mouth felt so good and his smoky voice washed away all the anxious thoughts that were icing up your mind. You could finally feel his hand, too, the one holding yours. It was both soft and calloused, strong and tender. His sturdiness comforted all the frightened little nerve endings that had spread throughout your limbs. He was a mountain–grounding you and giving you a stable surface to stand upon.

Maybe you weren’t condensation.

Maybe you weren’t a street puddle, either.

Your bodies came together once more and he swayed you both from side-to-side, meandering to a song of love and longing. Your footsteps creaked along the wooden floors, but you felt like you were floating.

He pulled his head back as you two glided. “Ezra never dance with you?”

“Ha!” You rolled your eyes. “I’m pretty sure he’d find the whole concept ridiculous.”

“Damn shame,” he said with a smirk, bringing your bodies even closer. “You got a good way of movin.”

His compliment gave you butterflies. Though you weren’t really doing much of the moving–you were just following him.

But maybe that was what he liked about it.

Maybe he wanted someone flowing along with him, wherever he guided. Like a stream running down and around the crevices of his stony surface, following along whatever path he carved out.

“Did you dance with a lot of girls in high school?” you asked. “You seem to know what you’re doing pretty well.”

“Yeeaah, I dance with a few.” He nodded. “Danced a lot more after high school, though. Used to go to this bar back in Texas called Howler’s.” His mouth widened to a grin. “My friends and I would go on Saturday nights. Get all dressed up to meet women.” His brows went high into his forehead. “Women. Not girls. Women,” he clarified with a laugh. “We somehow got it in our heads that we were too mature for the girls our own age and we belonged with real, sophisticated ladies.” He started shaking his head with a flustered smile, cheeks turning red. “They taught us a thing or two, I tell ya. Laid us out flat.”

You laughed. “I… I honestly can’t even picture that.”

“Oh yeah,” he assured you. “They were havin none of us, I can tell you that much.” He smirked. “It was fine with me, though.” He shrugged. “Got real good at dancin and got real good at women.”

You wished you could see a photo of young Joel Miller. Wished you could see him trying to hit on older women at bars and get turned down or laughed off. What a riot it must have been.

It ached, though. You never got to have that experience. You were only eighteen when everything happened. You had just started taking classes at a community college and feeling like you were in thirteenth grade. You hadn’t even been to a club, yet, let alone a bar. You were in a new town with a new home, new job, surrounded by new people. All alone–

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. You quickly wiped the tear from your eye, only recognizing it when Joel spoke up. “I just… I like this.” Because you did. “I like gettin to dance.” It was healing something in you that you had forgotten even hurt.

“‘M happy I get to share it with you.”

It was hypnotizing the way he was looking at you. His smile was steady as he searched your face, moving you around without looking where he was going. There was so much affection in his sweet brown eyes. You had to close your own to stop your cheeks from burning and instead, chose to rest your head on his chest. He was so warm. So tender. And you were so present that you could hear his heart beating over the music.

As Joel continued to lead you around the furniture in the living room and kitchen, you suddenly thought of the other night, when you were grinding against him and he countered your rhythm so perfectly. The carnality of the memory brought your stomach to the floor and fire to your cheeks. You opened your eyes, wanting to kiss him again. Wanting to feel the poke and scratch of his mustache.

And there was Joel, still staring right back down at you with stars in his eyes. You couldn’t help but lean forward and press your lips into his–finding a way to dance and kiss and melt all at once. The kiss was slow. Languid. Dragging on and on without breaking.

And then Joel stopped dancing–stopped following the flow of the music.

The abrupt change of momentum set your heart racing, running laps in your chest. You wanted to keep dancing, keep moving, but you didn’t know how to express it with your lips tangled as they were.

You felt his broad hands slide up and down your back and it made your breaths grow shallow. You tried to push past it and adapt to the new direction. You didn’t realize how much you had been focusing on the music. The movement of your mouths felt so disparate to the tune coming out the speakers.

You heard a weighty thud and realized Joel had backed into the wall. He pulled you into the space between his legs, his growing hardness pressing against you. Part of you wanted to pull back.

One of his hands tugged your shirt by the hem before slipping beneath.

As soon as his warm fingers touched your flesh, you gasped.

Your body flinched and your hand came down and clutched his wrist.

“Shit.” You bit your lip. “I-I’m sorry.” You weren’t though. You were grateful that your body spoke up when you didn’t know how to. Your eyes squeezed shut. You took a breath and let go of his hand.

He rested it lightly on your hip. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so embarrassed.” You gave him the most apologetic look you could muster. “I-I don’t think I can do anything tonight.”

“That’s fine,” he said quickly. “We don’t have to.” He stood tall, separating your bodies. The hand on your hip dropped away while his other found rest on your shoulder. “I want whatever you want.”

“I just–” you briefly closed your eyes again and sighed. “I suddenly feel like a–like a scared teenager.”

A sheepish smile bloomed on his face and you weren’t sure why. “Yeah, I hear ya.” He ran his fingers through his hair, eyes wandering the room. “Let’s go sit down,” he said and pointed to the couch with his chin.

Fuck, you felt awkward–loud footsteps bringing you back to Earth after a brief stroll through the heavens. This whole thing was going very differently than last time and very differently than all the scenarios you had been imagining all week in your head with your hand between your legs. You wondered if this was even going to work or if your previous visit had just been fueled by too much alcohol in your systems.

Shit.

It felt so weird and confusing to be alive sometimes.

You sat on the couch feeling so much colder than you had only moments before. Like a bucket of water had been poured over you–wet clothes clinging to your skin.

Joel turned the music down low before joining you on the couch, the cushions sinking deep to the weight of his body. “I haven’t done my due diligence,” he said as he angled himself toward you.

“What do you mean?” You turned to him as well. You were close enough to each other that your knees could touch if you wanted.

He reached forward and grabbed one of your hands, holding it and grazing the top of it with his thumb. It was nice. Sweet, even.

He looked into your eyes, working his jaw, words on the edge of his lips. A smile flashed on his face–arriving and disappearing in seconds. He looked down and sighed.

The anticipation only made you more curious. Whatever he wanted to say was clearly something difficult. You always considered yourself easy for others to talk to–you tried your best to be open and accepting. It was why you were so good at visiting people.

He ran his thumb across your knuckles. “I noticed you for a long time.”

You blinked. “...what?” you whispered, shocked. Some unknown emotion started twisting itself in your throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he said so matter-of-factly. So clean cut and dry. “And you always look so happy, but I–” He released a hot breath from his nostrils. “--But I never had a reason to talk to you.”

“Joel…” You had no idea. Not a clue. His words caressed your heart.

He gave a playful smile, eyes crinkling around the edges. “Then you noticed my shutters.”

A laugh burst from your chest and your free hand flew to your mouth, trying to quiet down. “I was pissed,” you said, grinning beneath your fingers. “I see everything that goes on in this little town but I never saw you workin on those things.”

“‘M glad for it.” He chuckled. “I am.” He looked down at his hand holding yours. “And you got me feelin like a teenager, too.” He smirked up at you. “Got me movin fast and makin assumptions. Thinkin I know everything.”

It felt good to hear him say it. It felt good to hear him admit to something. But he wasn’t the only one moving fast.

“You know, you were right the other night about…” You steadied yourself through your stuttered words, unable to look at him as you spoke. “About you callin for me and I just came runnin.” You stared at the woven threads of cotton spanning your knee. “People tug on me everyday.” Your free hand moved to your stomach. “I can feel them wantin my help or wantin my attention. It’s like they got a lasso around my waist and I gotta dig my heels in to-to-to make ‘em leave me alone. But with you–” You threw your hand up and met his eyes. “When you tugged on me, I didn’t question whether I should or shouldn’t.” You shrugged, but that unknown emotion was snaking around your throat again. “I-I came runnin like it was nothin.” You shook your head, eyes back to your knee. “I don’t know what that means–”

“I don’t think it means anythin bad,” Joel said with a laugh.

“Yeah,” you smiled and sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

What was that from before? If you knew then what you knew now–and now, there was nothing in your gut telling you to stay away. Not yet had Joel given you any kind of warning sign that he had any particularly nefarious intentions.

Your body wasn’t so cold anymore. The music no longer felt so disparate. You felt comfortable with Joel again. You felt at ease. You felt tired, too. The excitement. The dancing. The talking. It wore you out. You had had a long day on top of it all.

“I don’t wanna leave, yet.” Because you didn’t. “Can I stay over?” You placed your hand on top of his. “Just to sleep,” you clarified with a wide grin.

“Of course.” He mirrored your expression. “I want whatever you want.”

That phrase he kept saying… He was giving you something with it, but you weren’t sure what exactly. He couldn’t possibly want what you wanted when you didn’t know what you wanted. You tried not to think about it too much.

You made it to bed about an hour later, after more conversation. You were content to sleep in your own shirt. Joel stared at you from the other side of the bed as you undid your jeans and slid them down your legs. His expression made you laugh.

“Sorry. I’m not sleepin in these,” you said as you stepped out of them.

“That’s fine,” he muttered and looked away–fingers scratching the back of his neck. He wore a plain white t-shirt and navy blue sleep pants.

If you were at home, you would have left your jeans in a little ring on the floor, but Joel’s house was too clean. You picked them up, folded them, and placed them on the dresser next to the bed. You hated to do it, but you kept your bra on, knowing your back would ache in the morning. It felt too exposing. Even under your shirt.

Climbing into bed with him had your body warming up all over again. But it had your heart racing, too, just like before. It felt so strange to share a bed with someone other than Ezra. You hadn’t even shared a room with anyone else since you two first arrived in Jackson a couple years previous.

“I’ll stick to my side of the bed,” said Joel as he got situated under the covers.

You laughed. “Thank you, Joel.” You reached over from under the blanket and grabbed his hand. You pulled it close and kissed his knuckles. “Good night.”

He rolled toward you–watching and making sure you weren’t gonna pull away. He placed his palm on your cheek and leaned in, kissing you sweetly. “Good night,” he said into your lips. You could feel him smiling before he pulled back, showing you the grin on his face.

He turned away to face the window and–-there was that mountain again. His broad shoulders high above the low dip of his waist. You felt like gravity was pulling you in, bringing your body closer to his. You slid your hand along his ribs, fingers splayed to hold him.

“Is this alright?” you asked with your neck tilting your head up from the pillow.

“Yeah.” His shoulders shook as he chuckled. “It’s alright.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you tighter.

You kissed the back of his neck and nuzzled into him before falling asleep.

+++++++

Ezra wasn’t worried about Joel.

Not one bit.

Not even a little.

Okay, well, maybe a little.

But only in the way that kept him on his toes–kept him from taking advantage of the partnership you two shared.

You were right to say that Ezra didn’t keep you on a leash. You were your own woman. Always had been. Always would be.

Ezra was just along for the ride–doing everything he could to love you and see you happy. He made sure to protect you and take care of you.

Because not only did you understand him–you indulged him. You let him indulge in you. You let him express parts of himself he hadn’t known existed until you came along and found a way to reel it right on out of him.

He couldn’t remember how it started between the two of you all those years ago. Just that it did. It was while you and Ezra were still working alongside his cousins.

Seemingly outta nowhere, you two had slowly gravitated towards one another on a level deeper than survival and then—SMACK! You were like two magnets clacking together; lips, hands, groins, in constant contact. And then there were times when you would be so repelled from each other it was like one of you went flying off into the sky, getting lost in the clouds, til the inevitable pull of gravity brought you right back down again.

You two had good times and bad, but Jackson was good. Very good. And he was keen to let the good times keep rolling.

It just so happened that Joel Miller became a part of these good times.

Now…

Ezra was a man.

He wasn’t supposed to want this. He wasn’t supposed to want another man making love to his woman. It was insulting to his physical prowess. Humiliating to his ego. Downright derogatory to his dignity.

Which made the situation all the more appealing to him–being as contrary a person as he was.

Ezra was overwhelmed by the thought of Joel fucking you. Couldn’t stop fantasizing. Couldn’t stop touching himself. There was no need to savor the orgasms, either. Ezra was rubbing them out, one right after the other as he leaned his forehead against the shower wall, muttering to himself. He didn’t feel like some aging man hitting 40 anymore, with libido and desire in decline. He felt like some pubescent kid who newly discovered what his dick was for and was aching to get some practice in.

Ezra loved you. Loved you more than his extensive vocabulary could possibly define. And the thought of someone else loving you? Doing things to you that had hadn’t and maybe in ways that he couldn’t?

And the fact that it was Joel Miller of all people? Ol’ Gruff ‘n’ Tuff with the stick up his ass?

Sheeeeiit.

(For how explicit Ezra could be with his thoughts and feelings, there was a certain piece of all this that had him speechless. A forgotten memory had been unearthed. An old fantasy. An unrealized dream from decades ago that Ezra had put out of his mind for reasons he could not yet approach for fear of rapture. It came to him in flashes and dick twitches. It set his mouth watering and his heart racing. It had him sweaty and confused. It was the thought, the idea, the implication of himself being sexual with another man.)

Ezra had been aching for you to come home–had been aching for you all night, in fact, while he was out on patrol. He had been uncharacteristically quiet with his patrol partner as they circled their way around the outskirts of Jackson. He was too busy wondering what Joel might be doing to you and how he was doing it and what kind of noises that old man might make and how loud he would be when he made them.

It didn’t matter how many times he had just jerked off in the shower, he was ready and eager for more–his leg bouncing impatiently while he sat on the bed.

He sighed in relief when you met him in the bedroom. He rubbed his palms on his pajama-clad thighs.

“There’s my little slut,” he said with a sly grin.

You laughed and waved him off. “I am not dealing with you right now.” You walked over to the dresser and started taking off your clothes.

“Why not?” He asked, all offended.

“Because nothing happened!”

“What?”

“Nothing happened.” You repeated. “We didn’t have sex.” You laughed again. “He didn’t even get to second base.”

“Not even second base?” Ezra was aching and pained. “Baby.” He gave you a compassionate look. “Could he not… perform?”

“Ezra!” you shouted. You picked up one of your notebooks from the top of your dresser and threw it directly at his face.

He caught it. “It was an honest question,” he mumbled and tossed the book on the bedside table.

You took your time to explain it all and Ezra did his best to understand.

He thought it was the sweetest thing in the world that Joel danced with you. He had no idea you were a dancing kind of woman. He tried to picture himself dancing with you and–no. It was wrong. All wrong. Ezra just wasn’t a dancing kind of man.

Maybe dancing was for you and Joel.

Like the ‘blue number’ was for you and him.

He liked that. He could work with it.

All you had changed into was a loose t-shirt and a pair of underwear before lying down next to him on the bed. You clearly had no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. So he decided to feel you out. Poke at you a little bit to see how you responded.

He laid on his side, propped up on his elbow. “I think you’re beautiful, too, you know.” He grazed your arm with his finger.

“I know, Ezra.” You smiled and turned your head away.

“It is unfortunate that your body reacted the way that it did.” He caressed your cheek with the scarred-up knuckle of his right index finger. “Your love is the most precious experience there is.”

“Stop.” Your embarrassed grin grew wider as you squirmed and turned away again.

Ezra crawled over you and you made space for him between your legs. “It’s been a while.”

You covered your face with your hand. “I know–” You looked up at Ezra with urgency. “--and it has nothing to do with Joel, okay?”

Ezra’s cheeks warmed and he felt a lightness grow in his chest. “I know, baby,” he cooed. “I know.” It soothed him to hear you say it aloud. He mouthed at your breast through your shirt with his eyes up.

Your worry disappeared–replaced with a soft smile as you looked at him affectionately. You wove your fingers through his hair.

He palmed your breast and found your nipple. He sucked on it through the fabric, increasing the intensity over time. Harder and harder.

Your breath hitched and your mouth opened.

The hand around your breast tightened as he pulled his mouth away.

You released the tiniest whimper.

“Lemme play with you, baby,” he said with his chin tucked in and his eyes wide and serious.

Your expression changed once his suggestion registered. Your jaw went slack. Your breaths shortened.

You swallowed.

He waited.

“Okay,” you whispered and started to nod before stopping yourself. “Wait. But… but…”

“But? But?” He mocked you. He already knew your answer. He knew whatever excuse you had wasn’t worth a damn. He knew you were already getting wet for him. “But what, baby?” he smirked.

“I should shower first,” you whispered.

Ezra threw his head back and laughed. “Baby. Have you met me?” He shook his head at you, bewildered by your protest. “If that’s your best appeal, then we shall proceed.” He scooted down the bed and tugged your underwear roughly down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder.

He tapped your knee with an amused sigh. “Alright, show me what’s good.” He said it with his eyes locked tight on your lower half, mouth watering like some cartoon wolf about to eat a Thanksgiving feast.

With slow breaths, you slowly pulled your knees up and lifted your feet into the air. You grabbed the backs of your thighs and spread them apart. Exposing yourself.

Ezra moaned. “Been far too long,” he muttered to himself. He licked one strong stripe up your seam, causing you to twitch. “Baby,” he began with nothing but endearment in his eyes. “You are like sour candy the way you make my mouth water.”

You threw your head back against the pillows in an attempt to hide the burning shame on your face.

He wasted no time in spreading your pussy part with both of his hands. He applied pressure with his forearms on your thighs to keep you from squirming too much. You yelped and cursed when dove straight into your clit, laving it with languid strokes and teasing it with the tip of his wet tongue.

“I am a disgrace to every man on this planet, baby, and I apologize sincerely for that.” When he pulled away to speak, he’d reach out with one of his long fingers to toy with your bud, watching it puff and swell. “No time like the present, I suppose,” he murmured against your lips, rubbing his mouth up and down your spread folds, tickling you with unkempt facial hair. He gave it a chaste little kiss. “I should be eating this pussy every day.” He looked up at you tenderly. “Lord knows you deserve it.”

He slipped his finger inside of you to collect your wetness. His eyes glittered as you gasped from the sudden intrusion. He pulled it back out and swirled the tip around your entrance. “Fuckin’ ambrosial.”

Next, he used his tongue and finger at the same time. He lapped and sucked at your clit, lazily moving his finger in and out of you.

“C’mon, Ezra. I need more!”

He pulled back, pulled his finger out, and slapped you hard on the meat of your hip. He pointed at you–with the same fucking finger that was just inside you. It was shining in the dull light of the room along with everything surrounding his mouth. “You take what I give you and you fuckin like it.” His words rolled out of him low and heavy.

This was the only time Ezra was allowed to speak to you like that–all angry and mean. It was rare for him to speak to anyone like that since living in Jackson. He knew how much you loved it–how much you loved this fun, chatty man turning cruel and denying you.

“Here I am, providin you a fuckin service,” he muttered to himself. You had become someone in the background, again. His mind focused solely on your pussy. Like it was a mystery of the universe he was so close to solving if he could just fiddle with it the right way. He licked into you with the flat of his tongue and moved his head up and down. He tried to keep at least one forearm on your thigh, his fingers spread across your folds as he splayed you apart. “Fuck, I missed this,” he spoke into the hair on your mound before giving it a loving kiss.

“Me, too,” you sighed.

Ezra grinned. “I haven’t fucked your asshole in a while, either.” He felt sweet victory when you moaned. “That was the one good thing about Memphis, huh? That big jar of Vaseline.”

“Uh-huh,” you answered.

“Yeah?” His fingertip found your entrance once more. “You liked that, huh?” He spread your slick around your lips.

You moaned out a ‘yes’ and rolled your ankles.

He stared between your legs at your wet cunt, at the spit and moisture that leaked down to your other hole. “You took that hurt so good, baby. So fuckin good.”

“Mhmm.”

“Strongest woman alive.” He slid the broad side of his index finger up and down your folds, lost in a distant memory. “Remember that hairbrush?” he smirked.

“Ezra.” You whined and adjusted the grip you had on your legs.

“It’s just me and you, baby. There is no reason to feel any sense of shame.” His finger dipped inside you, all the way. “Nothing wrong with using what you have on hand.” He wiggled it around, teasing you without any significant stretch or pressure. “Or are you worried about Joel uncovering your avaricious and sordid history?”

Your eyes and brows were squeezed tight. You huffed. “Ez.”

“What?” he pulled his finger back out, all wet and glistening before sliding it around your folds again. “He seems like the kinda man to appreciate our ingenuity, don’t you think?” He didn’t expect an answer. His mind already somewhere new. “How big did you say his dick was?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” you spoke between frustrated breaths.

Ezra grunted in disappointment. “I was trying to visualize my fat cock stuffing your ass full and him in your tight little cunt instead of that hairbrush.”

“Oh my god,” you moaned and started rolling your hips.

Ezra’s tongue was back on you, digging deep into your entrance.

You were crying out his name and whimpering.

“C’mon, baby,” Ezra said low with his mouth still buried close. “Gimme one.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You were shaking your head and writhing. “I need more.”

He burst into cruel laughter. “No, you don’t.” He leaned back and replaced his tongue with his finger. “I've seen you get off with less than this.” He shook his hand side-to-side, finger sliding back and forth across your wet clit at a rapid speed. “You want me and Joel to fuck you at the same time, don’t you?

“Mhmm!” you answered through hitched breaths. Your right leg jolted.

“Well, now let’s examine the options, baby. Two men for three different holes.” He grinned. “What’s the math on that, you think?” Your whimpering desperation spurred him on. “It’s called variation.” He raised his brows. His lone finger continued its unforgiving pace across your clit. “And I believe it adds up to six, but that just sounds wrong and limited, don’t it?” He tilted his head to the side. “If I’m in your ass and he fucks your mouth, that’s one. If I’m in your ass and he’s in your cunt, that’s two.”

You started bouncing on the bed, trying to grind yourself into Ezra’s hand.

“Stay still!” he groused and placed both hands on the backs of your thighs.

“Nonononono,” you whined and kicked at him with your feet.

He held you tighter and snarled. “I am trying to work out the specifics of this equation with you and you are not helping my concentration.”

“Fuck, Ezra. Why are you like this?” you cried.

“If you are unhappy, then you are free to leave,” he said.

You whimpered. Sighed. Resigned. “I’ll stay.”

He huffed with a smile. “Fuckin predictable.” He slapped the back of your thighs with both hands. He hummed, fingers squeezing into your skin. “If I’m stuffin your cunt and he’s fuckin your ass, that’s three. If I’m stuffin your cunt and he’s fillin your mouth, then that’s four.” He looked up at the ceiling, murmuring to himself. He rocked back and forth, using his palms on your thighs as leverage. “Actually in this situation, it would be six variations for myself as well as six variations for Joel. But if we include using the same hole at the same time, then it would be nine variations per.” He looked at your dazed expression with a grin. “Doesn’t that sound nice?"

“Yes, Ezra. It sounds very nice.”

“I thought so, too.” He collected the growing moisture in his mouth and spit on your entrance, causing your body to shudder. He slipped his finger back inside. “Do you think you could fit two cocks in here, baby?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned.

He shook his head, slowly pulling his pruning finger in and out. “I’m sure with enough lubrication and determination that Joel and I could find a way.” He swallowed, overcome with an image in his mind. “Or maybe I fuck you and make him watch.” He stared at your sopping wet center, finger gently circling its edges. “Make him sit in the corner like a bad little boy and jerk off without gettin to touch you at all.”

You moaned and Ezra grinned.

“Think about it, baby.” His voice grew deeper. “Think about Joel Miller wantin you down to the depths of his soul but I won’t let him touch you.” He grunted, wiggling his finger around inside of you. “I would likely have to cuff his hands together. Otherwise I am sure he would simply pull me out of you and replace my cock with his own inside this wet little hole.” He started grinding his erection against the mattress. “Think about it. Think about the chains of his handcuffs jinglin while he’s jerkin off, wishin he could fuck this tight, chokin pussy.” He curled his finger, finally pressing against the tender spot of your inner wall. He sucked your clit in a strong, steady rhythm–slurping and lapping at your wet flesh.

And there you were, shaking beneath his mouth, breaths short and high in your chest. You groaned deep and loud as if your orgasm had been punched straight from your diaphragm. You reached down with frantic fingers on his head and face to push him away.

“Too much. Too much,” you panted.

“From not enough to too much.” He grinned and relented.

“Holy shit, Ezra.” Your legs fell and you stretched them out, curling your toes. “Oh my god,” you sighed. You shifted your hips around and rolled your shoulders.

Ezra waited for your breaths to become slow and even before he asked, “Are you good?”

“Yeah, my hip almost started cramping,” you answered in a daze. Your whole body appeared limp and sinking into the bed.

“Good.” Ezra stood up and ripped his shirt off over his head. He shucked his pajama pants off, too, before crawling back between your legs. “I’m not stretching you out.” He hovered above you. His hard, wide cock was warm and moist against your thigh. He looked down at you, wide-eyed and serious. “You’re gonna take what I give you and you’re gonna like it.”

You nodded with your eyes barely open. You licked your lips. “Okay.”

“I’m gonna tear you up, alright?”

Your eyelids fell shut. “Yes,” you whispered with your brows furrowed deep.

“You like that, huh? When I tear you up?” Asking these questions and hearing your answers made his whole chest heat up. His cheeks burned and his hips rolled into you–the pressure relieving some of the ache he felt in his cock.

“Yes, Ezra,” you whimpered desperately. “Tear me up.”

He huffed. “Alright.” He guided his cock to your entrance, breaching it only just so. Then with his other hand, he covered your mouth. “Fuckin masochist,” he muttered. He locked eyes with you. His hand muffled your pained groan as he swiftly pierced your tight wet cunt.

“Shit, that’s beautiful, baby.” He didn’t wait for your body to adjust before pistoning in and out of you. He moved his hand from your mouth to the back of your head, holding it in place so he could maintain eye contact as your warm hole swallowed his cock. “This pussy takes it so good for me. So beautifully.”

You nodded and groaned.

He palmed the backs of your thighs and pushed them upward, in the same way he had you positioned before. “Old man doesn’t know what he’s missin,” he laughed as you shouted in pleasure–his cock thrashing against your g-spot. “Maybe you should inform him of the ways I pleasure you. Maybe then he’d have something to fantasize about while fuckin his own hand in the shower.”

You were nodding and groaning, dazed and slack-jawed beneath him. Face twisted in anguished pleasure. His hips snapped harder, deeper and deeper.

“I can’t wait,” he spoke through panting breaths. “I can’t wait for him to fuck you. Want that dirty old man to fuck you so bad.” One hand released your thigh and grabbed your cheeks. He got real close, his lips touched yours as he spoke, as he pistoned in and out of you. “I want you chokin on his cock, baby.”

“Uh huh?” you cried.

“Let him fill up that pretty mouth of yours with his cum.”

“Mhmm! Mhmm!” you nodded. Your voice was breathy and shaken.

“You gotta let me know how it tastes, okay?”

You nodded again. Frantically.

“Yeah?” You’d do that for me, baby?” He let go of your face and leaned back, clenching his teeth. All angry and focused. “You’d let that old man fuck your pretty mouth? Let me taste that cum inside you?”

You whimpered. “Yes! Yes!”

“Fuckin filthy,” he spat, chasing his own high, using your pussy to get him there. He wasn’t worried about you coming again. It was his turn now. “Fuckin filthy.” He repeated, shaking his head.

He wished Joel could see you like this–split wide open on his cock–lost in a warm vortex of pleasure and speaking in tongues.

Ezra continued to snap his hips into you until a warmth tingled through him and a white hot light overtook his vision. He spilled into you with a pained groan. He rolled his hips again and again as your cunt milked him dry–his whole world coming to a quiet standstill.

He fell forward on his palms over you.

Ezra was wide eyed and clear-headed, but a little unstable, as blood pulsed in waves through his body. The whole room seemed to jut out at him–all the shapes and colors suddenly becoming three-dimensional objects. His mind reeled. His face and body stung sharp from those words he said toward the end.

‘Let me taste that cum inside you.’

He replayed those words again and again.

All with a clear vision in the back of his mind of Joel’s cock–well, the way he was imagining it, anyways–making his mouth water and making his dick fire into the heavens.

But you were there beneath him with chewed up lips and glazed eyes and tears running down the sides of your face.

“I love you. I love you.” You said again and again, sniffling and pulling him close with trembling hands. “I love you so fuckin much.”

You.

You made everything so easy. You took Ezra. You took everything he gave you. You weren’t doing it because you were forced to. It wasn’t an obligation. He wasn’t a chore.

You did it because you wanted to. Because you both had an overwhelming desire to hurt and be hurt. To love and be loved.

He pressed his forehead into yours. “I love you, too, baby.” He let you kiss him soft and slow with your tongue. “I love you.” You had no idea how much you made everything okay–how much you allowed him to allow himself to think and experience.

Ezra’s tenderness returned in full force as he cleaned you up and cradled you. He showered you in kisses and caressed your skin.

“My angel,” he said and he meant it. He felt like you were some divine entity sent to Earth to heal him and love him. To save him from a life of plasma-hot anger and pain.

“Born bad,” his daddy would say. Ezra had spent most of his childhood in juvenile detention. He had just gotten out of jail for the first time, in fact, when it all …happened.

And then you came along and told him he was ‘too smart for his own good.’ Though, because you two were arguing at the time, there were a lot more curse words involved in the sentiment. But it had given him so much peace to be recognized as something more. Something other than the ‘stupid fuck-up’ he had been taught his whole life that he was by his daddy and his cousins and the government bodies that had shuffled him around.

There were so many times over the years that you soothed him, altered his perspective, guided his hand toward more cooperative choices.

He worshiped you. He worshiped every inch of your skin and every ounce of your soul.

He loved you so much.

Ezra wasn’t worried about Joel Miller.

He only worried about your happiness.

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tag list: @toxicanonymity @jksprincess10 @walkintotheriveranddisappear @shotgun-shelby @alwaysdjarin @longlongtime2023

Author's Note: I hope that smut at the end was okay. I've overthought it for the past 72 hours. I don't know who's cucking who at this point. 🙏 god bless.

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Part 4

(story masterlist)

(my masterlist)

#joel miller #ezra prospect #joel miller x f!reader #ezra x reader x joel miller #my writing #muddy waters series

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