#a decent suit finally
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
From Home for Christmas with Katherine Jenkins - 25/11/2023
#Michael Sheen#Home for Christmas#Katherine Jenkins#concert#a decent suit finally#now I understand why someone saw him two weeks ago on the beach of Port Talbot#he read out a speech about Wales at the start of the Katherine Jenkins concert
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
i keep thinking that im like. doing fine. but then i realize that i have about two weeks (or less) to:
fully memorize and finish prepping my concerto for string juries
memorize jazz standards and have an orchestral excerpt all the way ready for bass juries
learn and memorize my piece for my piano class
co-write a 5 page paper and give a presentation for a group project
be able to play a Mozart symphony well for orchestra
be able to play all 4 of the tunes for my jazz band (i am not good at many of them)
umm. i also probably have some assignments and an exam for my music theory class. but that is like the only class that im not actually worried about right now.
#constance speaks#look. it is a lot of things to do. for sure. luckily i will get some good practicing time in over the next couple weeks.#i am Extremely worried about juries but i know that i will do the best i am able to do so. hopefully thats good enough.#for most of these its like. yes i need to work on them and do better than im doing right now. but i will be fine.#but for piano... yeesh.#i purposefully chose a piece that has as little overlap between the hands as possible#(basically. i cannot play both hands at the same time very well.)#and so its decently well-suited to what i'm able to do but. i can play hands separate decently well at a somewhat steady tempo#thats slower than it should be but like. passably slower.#but i still cant put hands together. and i am nowhere near having it memorized.#i dunno what im gonna do for this class. honestly.#the GOOD NEWS IS that in about 2 weeks. everything except juries is done. for better or worse.#i only have class tomorrow. 2 days of classes next week.#and then one final week of classes (which is gonna be. insane i have so many concerts.)#and my juries are early on in the next week so.#i'm in the final stretch. at what cost.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
took a page out of moon's book and started playing around with the idea of illustrated icons but i am Unsure
#actually tbh i considered using the webtoon for icons way back at the beginning of this blog#the only thing that stopped me...... was the short hair#it's still the main thing making me hesitate tbh#but lbr nothing's ever gonna suit perfectly for an oc#even my irl icons aren't Perfect for byan and never will be bc their perfect look exists only in my head#but the vibes here are decent now that i finally went to the trouble of digging up a pdf of the full comic and started scrolling through it#(bc i'm a fake fan who has never actually read it oops)#also it's literally animated jk like it can't get more ideal than this right#AND LIKE. it's always felt a little off to me to throw my irl icons onto threads w my mutuals who only have animated icons/fcs#i don't mind it THAT much but similar media makes things a little less jarring to look at#IDK idk i'm finishing up a reply to one such thread so i might take the opportunity to test the idea out idk#could play around with the colour palette too and make it more pink or smth 🤔#that could help add a little more of the right energy too maybe hmmm#anyway i'm rambling yes i'm thinking about it too much shush#if u read through all this ilu pls feel free to share ur opinion w me bc i'm Indecisive™️#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ ooc ⋮ don't @ me.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
i have noticed that lately boy groups have actually been doing a lot of fun and different concepts and i see more and more crop tops every day. finally. boy groups are fun and being slutty again. nature is healing
#there was a period i was pretty anti boy group#bc LITERALLY they were all releasing like the exact same two or three songs and only ever got styled in like. different kinds of suits#like do u all remember the state of boy groups in roughly 2017-2019 ??#sure there were some outliers but for the most part they were all so BORING#like boring generic music boring generic mv sets no creativity in the styling#but boys are finally able to have fun again these past couple of years!! thank god !!#i'll always prefer girl groups at my core. because obviously#but it really does make me happy seeing all these new bg mvs coming out and they're actually decently fun to watch#okay#i know no one cares abt my cold ass kpop takes but oh well#this is my blog i do what i want#snow.txt
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (III)
A whole lot of confusion as to whether Reader and her yakuza friend are actually dating. After much back and forth and a coworker being threatened, the awaited confession might finally take place.
Bonus part: Kazuya tells Reader about his and Daitou's past and how they ended up working for the yakuza.
Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence
Tags: @vinivave @ansy-tea @evvie8 @angelicbunnee @jingerbreadoutofstock @azukoya @randomlyblues @alien-consummation @neverlandlostchild @mimiemie @toji-whore @cloudie-skay @lilkittenmitten
[Part 2] | [Part 4] | [Yakuza Masterlist]
The items are scanned and Kazuya finishes paying. He looks back, searching for Daitou, and finds him wandering among the narrow aisles of magazines and manga. They'd stopped by the konbini at the train station after their job.
"Here's your bentou." The blonde man extends a small box, eyeing his friend suspiciously. "Say, do you have an upset stomach or something? You're uglier than usual."
Daitou thanks him with a nod, but doesn't take the neatly packaged food. He's idly playing with the cover of a romance volume, bending and straightening its corner.
"Nah, nothing like that. Just, ya know, feels a bit like (Y/N)'s been avoiding me. She hurries straight home after work and barely waves hi. I thought we'd do more things together now that we're dating."
Kazuya nearly spits out the soda he opened while listening to Daitou's troubles. He snorts and quickly wipes his mouth.
"Wait, are you serious? You actually asked her out? And she said yes??"
Daitou thinks back to the time he gifted you your stalker's finger and teeth, the way you defended him, and the way you quietly walked home and almost held hands. That pretty much made it official, didn't it? So he confidently nods to his utterly baffled partner in crime.
"You little rascal, you! Who would've thought you had it in you?!" He cheerfully slaps Daitou's back and wraps his arm around his neck. The dark haired man blushes and scratches his cheek awkwardly. "You should've told me earlier!"
True. Between the two of them, Kazuya has always been extremely charismatic and popular with women. His perfectly combed blonde hair, his sparkling designer suits, his luxuriously elegant cologne. The handsome features and assertive smile. More than once he'd been approached by modeling agencies, and he likes to joke his lust for violence stopped him from living the glamorous life. In comparison, Daitou has the opposite effect on people. The room will empty if he steps inside. He's unnervingly tall, with bulging muscles, has multiple scars crossing his face, and his prosthetic eye always ends up twisted in the strangest position, causing him to look like he's only missing the straight jacket. Everyone is shocked upon hearing about their friendship.
So it makes sense that Kazuya would have the required experience to offer him decent advice when it comes to (Y/N).
"Listen here, if there's one thing you should know, it's that women like a guy that fights for them. You gotta show them you care. What can you offer that other guys can't?"
The tall man listens intently, with a concentrated frown as if taking mental notes. He's not entirely sure who he should fight in this ordeal, but he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of Kazuya, so he nods vehemently to his words.
"That's the short preview. If you have any more questions, just come over later. I'm piss tired, so I'll go home and have the nap of a lifetime." He yawns deeply to showcase his exhaustion and slowly walks away, throwing his hand in a lazy wave.
The yakuza remains standing, still ruminating over the words of wisdom generously offered by the expert himself. Is he to randomly beat up people on the street as you watch? Won't Boss be angry if he attacks civilians? He gasps in realization. Perhaps this is what Kazuya meant. What kind of man is he if he can't even go against his Boss? So what if Boss won't like it? He has to prove himself to you.
With newfound determination, he clenches his fists and gazes out of the window.
That's when he notices you. You seem to be returning from work. Even more - and this causes his jaw to tighten in anger - some unknown man is walking next to you, cheerfully chitchatting and gesturing.
That settles it.
"You really didn't have to walk me home." You laugh clumsily to the man at your side.
A new coworker recently joined your company, and you've been asked to show him the ropes. You gradually discovered you had quite a lot in common, throughout your ample opportunities to gossip and talk leisurely. Your schedule isn't as packed nowadays, given you'll show up earlier and leave later.
Normally you'd prefer to be in your warm bed as soon as possible, but you've been feeling rather tense since the incident with Daitou. During his heated exchange with Kazuya, you've heard mentions of 'being liked by women' and 'having a crush on someone'. You thought it involved you and you nervously awaited further explanations from Daitou himself, but on the way back he was completely silent. You didn't have the courage to bring it up, so you assumed there must've been a misunderstanding somewhere along the way.
Which, after all, would make plenty of sense. What business would a yakuza have with you? He's already shown much more courtesy than it was required of him. Hoping he'd also confess his feelings on top of everything was downright ridiculous and you're embarrassed to admit you'd harbored such cheesy fantasies to begin with.
"Don't sweat it. You might not know", the coworker warns with lowered voice, "but this area is reeking of gangsters. I'm surprised you've been fine so far, but you should be more careful."
"O-oh...I see..." You glance at him and hold back a smirk. You doubt he could protect you from Daitou or Kazuya, but you appreciate his chivalry nonetheless.
There's an uncomfortable pause as you stand in your doorframe, having reached the intended destination. The man hasn't left yet, waiting expectantly. He lowers his head towards yours and you swiftly slam the door, muttering something about an emergency.
"Cute." He thinks to himself as he chuckles and steps away.
There's always a next time.
The coworker heads towards the train station in a relaxed strut. At the first intersection, however, he feels his clothes being pulled and he finds himself abruptly shoved in an empty room by an unknown assailant.
Daitou easily lifts him up by his collar and nonchalantly throws him in a chair. It seems to be a small storage unit, possibly belonging to one of the shops.
"What's your business with (Y/N)?" He barks.
"Huh? I should be the one asking-" The man pauses for a second, going over his conversations with you. "Could it be that you're the stalker she mentioned?"
Naturally, you had left out the part where your stalker was carefully packaged and dumped in a place unknown. To your coworker, he was very much still alive and a potential threat.
The yakuza is taken aback.
"I'm her boyfriend!" He retorts angrily.
"Bullshit. She doesn't have a boyfriend."
Another slap to the face. Daitou's cheeks are becoming increasingly red and he runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm down. Why, this son of a...
He marches to one of the metal shelves behind, grabbing his tool belt. Simultaneously, the door opens and Kazuya sheepishly peeks his head in. His blonde locks are ruffled and one can tell he's freshly woken up.
"Yo, I just realized I might've been too metaphorical with you back at the store so I've been texting you, but you didn't-...Wait, why is there a guy handcuffed to the chair?"
He crosses his arms, with a habitual scolding glare towards his friend.
"I just caught this cockroach flirting with (Y/N)! Went all the way to her place!" Daitou whines, his face full of indignation.
"Of course you know where she lives, you fucking stalker." The coworker exclaims bitterly.
"Watch your mouth buddy, he ain't no stalker!" Kazuya straightens his back and approaches the mysterious man. "If he's right, and you've been messing with his woman...We ain't letting that go. Today you learn why no one fucks with the yakuza."
The two men exchange a knowing look.
You drop yourself on the sofa and groan. Tomorrow will certainly be strange. Was the coworker trying to kiss you just now? You'll have to think of a polite way to turn him down next shift. Is it because you're not interested, or because you're still hoping to have a chance with Daitou? You slap your cheeks vigorously, trying to pull yourself out of such thoughts.
You suddenly notice the foreign wallet sticking out of your bag. Your coworker had dropped it earlier today while running for the train, and you offered to throw it in your bag to save time. Except you forgot to return it.
You check your phone. It hasn't been that long, so maybe you can still reach him if you hurry. Without much contemplation, you pluck the wallet and sprint out.
As you dash past the buildings, you have the idea of calling the man and asking him to wait instead. Why run like a madman? You stop and rest a hand against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Ugh, you've been so scattered today. This should've been the obvious choice, instead you sprang out. Silly.
From around the corner you can make out the familiar wails you've learned to ignore. Whoever the yakuza tortures is not your problem. You are about to scurry away, yet something about these whimpers feels odd. No...Could it be?
You tiptoe down the vacant alleyway and try to catch a glimpse inside through the small, dirty window. As a matter of fact, it is your beloved coworker. Kazuya is holding his arm against a table, with the fingers forcefully fanned out, and Daitou has a blade secured over the pinky finger.
You elbow yourself against the door in a theatrical entry.
"What the hell are you guys doing?! That's my coworker!" You yell.
Daitou freezes, and Kazuya instantly releases his grasp. They turn to you, shocked.
"Stay out of it, (Y/N), this is to be settled among men. This bastard insulted your boyfriend, we can't let it slide!" Kazuya regains his composure and defends his cause fervently, pointing to the man that's now sobbing and crying uncontrollably.
"Boyfriend?" You question, mouth agape.
The blonde man stares at you.
"You're...You're dating, aren't you?"
"Since when?" You demand, confused and upset.
Both you and Kazuya turn to Daitou for answers.
"I'm going to ask you one more time. Did you actually ask her out, Daitou? Did you say it out loud?" Kazuya's voice breaks in exasperation.
"W-well, I didn't...I didn't say it, but I thought..." the man's eyes dart between you and his friend. He gulps. "W-we almost held hands, didn't we?"
Overwhelmed with anger, the blonde stomps over to the shelves and kicks one to make his point, loudly bemoaning his friend's lack of social awareness. He can't believe he went along with his nonsense. Him, of all people! He should've anticipated it.
As the coworker weeps and Kazuya continues his foul monologue, you can't help the blush that's now burning across your face. You fidget anxiously next to the tattooed man.
"Y-you thought we were dating?"
"Sorry for not making it clear." Daitou is once again twiddling with his prosthetic eye, dejected. "Is it too late to ask you out now? Because I do like you a lot..."
"Since you put it so nicely...I can't really say no~" Your ears are bright red and you're twirling your hair. Is it truly happening? Are you dreaming? Everything feels snug and fuzzy and the butterflies are swarming your stomach.
You don't have time to enjoy your romantic encounter, as Kazuya is now behind you, clearing his throat.
"Alright, you lovebirds, what about this one here, then?"
You suddenly remember your coworker and an icy cold flashes through your body.
"Oh God, how will I explain this at work? I'll get fired!" You bite your nails in terror. You can already visualize the slip of unemployment. The long lines at the Job Center, you and the homeless. Panic begins to build up.
Until Daitou's large hands rest on your shoulders. He's unexpectedly warm.
"Don't worry about it, (Y/N). I'll have a word with Boss, and we can get you a job here. This way we can spend more time together", he suggests with childish enthusiasm.
You glance up at him, moved by his soothing words.
"I wouldn't want to bother you like that."
"Hey, it's my fault you ended up in this situation. You can leave everything to me." He reassures you proudly.
"That didn't answer my damn question." Kazuya points out, annoyed.
"Can't we just kill him or something? He did call me a stalker, and I'm still upset about that..."
Daitou stretches and sighs in boredom, pondering the options. Once he's decided on the outcome, he shoos you away lovingly. You don't need to see this part.
Bonus: Daitou's backstory
"Oh, right, how did it go with your tickets?"
Kazuya is walking beside you, hands in pockets. Every now and then he removes the cigarette from his mouth to tap away the piling ash.
"Well, I still have both kidneys, but I won't be swimming in cash for the next months at least." You respond, slouching your shoulders dramatically for the effect.
"Flying abroad is always expensive. Unless, I don't know, you book years in advance."
"Yeah. I should've looked earlier, but I wasn't sure about my work schedule. At least I get to see my family and friends for Christmas."
After a few more steps in silence, you glance up at the blonde man. He notices your curious stare and raises his eyebrows, as if encouraging you to speak up.
"What about you? Will you be going home for the holidays?"
He grins at your question and proudly places a hand on his chest.
"This is my home, actually! I was born and raised in this very neighborhood."
"Really? Was it not a yakuza quarter before?" Your eyes widen at his statement.
"It was." Kazuya blows some of his smoke in your direction and you cough lightly. "You know the soapland further down the street?"
You nod.
"Mom used to work there. One of the clients got her pregnant and she found out too late. She had a room upstairs, and I just kind of tagged along. The other girls looked after me, too."
You recall one instance when Kazuya received a phone call about some drunkard causing a ruckus at the brothel, and he shot up without a word, rushed out and returned with bloodied knuckles. At the time, you'd assumed he's a client himself and maybe got attached to one of the girls. Now it makes sense. You're a little embarrassed of your obvious prejudice. If he grew up there, it must be his way of showing gratitude to the workers who loved him despite the circumstances.
"Oh, what about Daitou, then? Is he from the area, too?"
The man frowns and purses his lips thoughtfully. After a moment, his features soften up again and he sighs.
"I suppose you're his girlfriend, after all. It's also not a secret per se..."
Your ears perk up at the strange reaction to your inquiry.
"I mean, it's just a bit of a grim topic. No one knows for sure. Boss found him on the streets years ago, when he was a wee kid."
He presses his thumb and index finger together, emphasizing the small size to you.
"I don't know all the details, just what the Seniors told me - I was a kid myself back then - but it was pretty bad. Had no shoes on, scratches and cuts all over. His left eye was swollen and terribly infected, that's how he lost it, actually. Boss felt sorry for him, so he took him in.
They did try to ask him for parents or relatives, but apparently he wouldn't speak at all. Took him like a year to finally open his mouth. Even now, if you ask him anything about his past, he just pretends he didn't hear you. So maybe don't bring it up to him."
You shake your head along, urging him to continue with more details. Kazuya seems to warm up to the memories and slows down, indulging in the recollection.
"Anyways, one day Boss' car is followed and he gets shot in the shoulder. Some snot-nosed trainees from the rival gang. They hadn't even gotten their pins yet, wanted to impress their older brothers I guess.
Daitou heard about it and went after them. One of our Seniors - he's a tough guy alright, been with the Family for decades - he told me he was sweating like mad when they found him. Daitou was just a teen at the time, but he butchered those guys up so bad they couldn't tell them apart anymore. Even bit a few bullets, and still kept going, like a crazed animal. The adults were freaking out. They didn't expect him to be this strong.
I suspect they were pretty afraid of him, you know? They were probably thinking, "if one day he has it out for us, we're done for!", so they told Boss they should kick him out. But at this point Daitou was like his own son, so he laughed and said, "What's the matter with ya, he does your dirty work and you wanna get rid of him?! If the boy wants to fight, let him!", and he arranged for Daitou to join the Family officially. I was recruited around the same time.
We didn't get along at first, I mean, they warned me to stay away because he's crazy and also Boss' favorite. He didn't hang out with anyone. He had his own jobs, the mercenary stuff no one else wanted to deal with.
You might not believe it, but back then I was an angry, stubborn asshole. It didn't sit well with me that this guy was out there, doing his own thing. I had a reputation myself, before I dropped out of high school I was pretty much undefeated. I thought I'd see it with my own eyes, this all-powerful jackass even the Seniors avoided."
You smile faintly, trying to imagine a young Kazuya without the expensive, flashy suit and polished appearance.
"So one evening I just walked up to him and told him to join me outside. Didn't even give him a speech, just rammed my fist into his face. This was my signature move, you know, I can't even count how many guys I knocked out with this punch. Straight into the jaw, sends your brain spinning. Whew, and this guy? He didn't even flinch! Just stood there and looked at me like I was dumb. I was pissed off at this point, you can imagine, it felt like he was mocking me. So I yelled we ain't done until one of us gives up.
He understood what I wanted and finally fought me earnestly. Hell, he even knocked some of my teeth out. This one here's an implant. Mad expensive. Anyhow, as much as it hurt my pride, I'd lost fair and square. So I got up, wiped the blood, and asked him to come grab a drink with me. My treat.
You should've seen his face, (Y/N). I think it was the first time I've witnessed him smile. 'Really? Can I? Are you sure?' He was like a stray dog after you've thrown him some leftovers. Kept that dumb grin the whole night. You could've given him a clown hat and people would've paid to see the circus.
That's when I realized this poor bastard probably just wanted a friend. The next day I went to pick him up again and he was beaming like a princess. Heh. Afterwards he started following me around and eventually Boss called me in. I thought I got into trouble or something, even brought a bunch of gauze pads in case I needed to slice off my finger. Turns out he'd heard of us becoming pals, and he asked me to maybe attend Daitou every now and then because he always leaves a mess and everyone's too scared to deal with him. We've been teamed together ever since."
You realize you've been standing in the same spot ever since Kazuya begun talking, completely entranced by his story. He chuckles upon seeing your expression and ruffles your hair.
"Man, I sure rambled a lot. Sorry about that. In any case, that was my piece about Daitou. I'm sure you already know this, but he's not a bad guy. Just has a twisted sense of loyalty. Once he finds someone to serve, he doesn't see anything else.
Hell, I'm his closest friend and I'm convinced he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it was for Boss."
Upon further consideration, he smiles and winks at you.
"Or for you. Especially you."
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x darling#female reader#yandere yakuza#yakuza x reader#yandere imagine#yandere imagines#yandere oc#yandere original character#yandere mafia#mafia x reader#original work#oc x reader#male yandere x reader#x reader#yandere scenarios
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Swept Away | Epilogue: Smooth Sailing
Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader
Chapter Summary: Your new job at The Parador allows for some exciting perks.
Chapter Warnings: language, angry!joel, oral (m!receiving), smut (18+ MDNI), office sex, unprotected piv sex (reader has implant now as previously mentioned, we're safe), spanking, praise kink, mentions of substance abuse (not Joel or reader)
WC: 6.1K
Series Masterlist
Ten Months Later
It was still surreal sometimes to walk into an office with your name and Creative Lead printed on a nameplate next to your door, but after a handful of months, you were beginning to feel like less of an imposter.
Admittedly, it wasn't the type of job you had been applying for. You tried to use your experience as a production assistant to get your foot in the door with a talent agency, but you weren't having any luck. When Joel offered you the job in his marketing department, you didn't think you were qualified for it, but after discussing the duties with Caroline Harris, the creative director, you discovered your background would be well suited for the job. He must have known you would have instantly taken a liking to her because after a few more days of soul searching, you accepted the offer.
It felt strange in the beginning, and sometimes you still felt paranoid other employees were looking at you like you didn't deserve your success, but you felt confident all the hard work you did in the past several months spoke for itself.
And as it turned out, you were actually really fucking good at your job.
You left your office door cracked and set your things down on top of the chest of drawers behind your desk. Smoothing down your simple, grey dress that fell just above the knee, you sat down with a sigh in your leather chair and booted up your computer. While you waited for it to turn on, you sipped your coffee and glanced at your phone.
Zoe: Remember to call me later, I have news! I'm dating someone new!
You grinned and tapped out a quick response, promising to call before it got too late on the East Coast. Zoe never found out the truth about you and Joel, but you figured by now it didn't matter much. As far as she knew, you were still planning the "wedding", but it was just delayed until the hotel was built in Fiji, meaning you had a decent chunk of time to come up with another cover.
You saw a flash on your computer screen, indicating the monitor was up and running, so you placed your phone down to type in your password, then gasped excitedly when you were reminded of a Zoom call you had scheduled with Ellie.
Even though hiring Ellie wasn't technically your idea, Joel told Caroline it was because as he had told you at the time, he wouldn't have given her a second thought had you not been so taken with her work. So Caroline put you in charge of overseeing her progress, as well as a few other things for the new hotel.
It had been almost a month since you last spoke to Ellie and you were thrilled to get an update. The little video popped up, briefly displaying her name before she turned her camera on. You grinned from ear to ear when you finally saw her, specks of paint adorning her face and hair.
"How are you still up? Isn't it, like, three in the morning?" you asked.
"Yeah, but you know I do all my best work at night," Ellie replied before flipping the camera around so you could see her studio. There were a few drop cloths down, splashed with all sorts of colors of paint, and about six easels, all of which held paintings in different stages.
"Don't look at those yet, they aren't done," she said, and you laughed.
"You're the one in control of the camera, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled. You could hear her converse sneakers scuffing along the canvas drop cloth while she took you across the room. She flicked on a light and you gasped at the shock of color.
"Oh, my god!" you exclaimed.
"Man, I was feeling so inspired last week, I just couldn't stop. We had a little tropical storm blow through and it just created all these beautiful scenes. Like, beauty amongst the wreckage, you know?" Ellie was saying as she slowly walked around the room, panning the camera to each painting so you could get a good look.
"Oh, wow. Ellie... these are stunning. You've made such incredible progress, I'm so impressed!"
She finished her lap around the room and there was a pause in the video before her face returned to the screen.
"Yeah, thanks. It's going really well. You know how nervous I was in the beginning, I didn't think I would be able to make the amount of paintings you were looking for, but at this rate I think I'll have them done ahead of schedule."
"Well, I always knew you could do it. You're so talented and you see things in such a different way than everyone else. I swear, your work is going to make the hotel really stand out," you gushed before taking a long sip of coffee.
"You gotta thank Joel again for me," Ellie said, flicking off the light and heading back into the main part of her studio. "The amount of money he's paying me is keeping my bills paid so I can focus entirely on this."
"I will. I'm sure I'll see him later this afternoon. He'll be so happy to hear about all your progress."
"I'll take a few pictures and text them to you before I go to bed. That way, he can see for himself," she promised.
"That sounds perfect. Is there anything else you need? How's Dina?"
You spent the rest of your thirty minutes catching up with her about her girlfriend, laughing as she told you how Dina finally wore her down and they adopted a cat. Just as she was telling you how the cat stepped in some paint and walked across one of her paintings, she yawned.
"Go get some sleep. We'll touch base again next month but in the meantime, if anything comes up, you know how to reach me."
She gave you a little wave before ending the call and you sat back in your chair, your office filled with silence once again.
The rest of your morning was spent reviewing potential candidates for a pianist position in the hotel lobby. On one screen you had a video of a candidate playing and on the other, their resume and list of references. All of them were natives from Fiji, just like Joel had promised Glenn.
By noon, you had whittled down the candidates to your top five. You were making a little pile with your notes written on bright pink post-it's when you heard a gentle knock on your door.
"Come in," you answered distractedly.
"Hey... busy?" Liam said. You looked up and smiled before shaking your head and offering him a seat.
"Just getting some resumes ready for the pianist job. I have to set up some interviews after lunch. What's up?"
Liam sighed dramatically and collapsed into a chair.
"Your boyfriend is on a tear today, I needed a break," he said, curling his fingers into a loose fist so he could examine his cuticles.
"Why? What's going on?" you asked, setting down your pen, curiosity piqued.
"Well... first, Jack kicked his ass during his boxing lesson, which he always fucking hates," Liam said with a roll of his eyes. "Then he found out there was a delay in shipping the marble flooring, but I told him that shit's coming from Italy and it's custom!"
"He really hates when there's any delays in construction," you said, wrinkling your nose. You had seen your fair share of his outbursts over the past few months as the hotel in Fiji slowly became a reality. Joel always said, Time is money, baby. The longer this takes, the less money I make.
"Then Tommy called to tell him some wood or... something... got damaged in a storm they had down there recently, so now he's waiting on another shipment from the states."
You buried your face in your hands at that point, knowing exactly the type of mood Joel was in just one floor above you. On one hand, you were always thrilled whenever Joel and Tommy spoke after they finally hashed things out and made amends six months ago. But on the other, you would have much preferred Tommy call with an update about his wife, Maria, or TJ, their son.
"And about ten minutes ago, Chrissy spilled his coffee," Liam finished, dropping his hand to his lap and crossing his legs. "Only saving grace was she spilled it on the floor and not on him."
You cringed when you imagined how stressed out poor Chrissy must have been in that moment. She was a trooper, you had to hand it to her. She had been Joel's secretary for almost three years and every time you saw her she looked more meek and frightened than the last time.
"So, what you're saying is I should surprise him and take him out to lunch."
Liam's face broke out with a huge grin and he lightly clapped his hands.
"Would you mind? I think it would really help. He's always so much easier to handle after he sees you." He was really laying it on thick now and you knew it.
"I already agreed, you can drop it," you laughed, locking your computer and grabbing your purse.
"It's not an act," Liam said, following you out the door towards the elevator. The floor was quiet, most employees likely out to eat already. "I mean, yeah, maybe sometimes I try to flatter you into helping us out, but I'm serious. It's like you're chamomile tea on legs."
You arched an eyebrow at him when the elevator doors slid open. "Chamomile tea?"
"Is a tranquilizer dart better? Or lion tamer?"
You pursed your lips, thinking it over when you pressed the button to his floor. "Yeah. I like lion tamer."
Liam laughed and pulled out his phone to check his texts.
"This is perfect timing. He's about to wrap up a meeting and he doesn't have another one until two." Liam slid his phone back into his pocket and gave you a pleading look. "Please feel free to take your time."
"Oh, come on! He can't be that bad," you said with a hand on your hip. The doors opened up and let you out onto the executive floor, on the opposite side of the building from Joel's office, which is why it was so impressive you could hear him shouting from where you stood.
"Is the door open?" you asked quietly.
"Nope," Liam replied, giving you a look that said I told you so.
You swallowed nervously then lifted your chin with confidence as you made your way past the conference room towards his office. When Chrissy spotted you, she practically jumped out of her chair.
"Oh, my god, thank you," she whispered, her curly brown hair bouncing across her forehead with every step she took. She clasped her hands together and held them tightly against her chest.
"Don't thank me yet, I haven't done anything," you replied, but gave her a reassuring smile anyway. "Why don't you guys go to lunch? I'll take it from here."
The speed in which they tore out of the office was Olympic level.
You perched on the edge of Chrissy's desk as you waited for Joel's meeting to be over. Through the door, you could hear some voices through his phone, as well, one of which you recognized as the project manager for the hotel in Fiji. You looked down at your hands, ignoring the raised voices in the next room, and stared down at the huge diamond ring on your right hand. Splaying your fingers wide, you admired the way the light caught the little facets of the diamond, smiling a little when you saw rainbow flecks dot the walls of the mostly empty floor.
Ages ago, Joel had asked you to keep the ring he got you to use in Fiji. You nearly had a heart attack until he realized how it looked and he nervously clarified he wasn't asking you to marry him, just that he felt the ring was always yours and he couldn't bring himself to return it, so he bought it.
You smiled to yourself when you thought back on that day. It was just after he finally said I love you for the first time. It was a little ridiculous to think he would be asking you to marry him when it took him months to say those three words, but your heart still skipped a beat in that half a second of confusion.
After your pulse slowed, you accepted it with an awkward laugh, putting it on your right hand where it had remained ever since. You knew there was no use arguing with him about gifts and money anymore. When he bought you something, he was relentless until you took it.
Actually, you've grown to kind of like it.
Or, maybe you just liked the idea of Joel thinking about you when you weren't around.
Through the door, you heard the phone call cut with a terse farewell and then, the tell-tale rustle of men's dress pants with the clearing of throats. One man was still talking, his voice forcibly calm as he assured Joel that he would get back to him by the end of the day with the correct numbers on some payroll report, and then the door swung open. Men poured out, some hurrying past you without even realizing you were there, their faces red and their jaws clenched. The ones that did notice you gave a quick nod of acknowledgement before hurrying away, as if they were afraid Joel would remember he had one or two more biting comments and call them back in.
When the last of the men filed out, you heard Joel bark, "Shut the door," and then the creak of his leather chair under his weight. A man you vaguely recognized pulled the door shut behind him before spotting you. He was frazzled and exhausted when he exhaled and loosened his tie.
"Good luck," he said, and you laughed softly. You watched as the last of the men filed towards the elevators, their padfolios and phones overflowing in their hands as they shuffled onto the car and disappeared behind the closed doors.
The floor was quiet now. Joel's office was the only one with a light on.
Biting back a smirk, you pushed off Chrissy's desk and straightened your dress before rapping your knuckles on his door.
"What the fuck now?" came Joel's sharp voice from the other side. You pushed the door open and crossed your arms, waiting until he dragged his gaze up from his desk. When he realized it was you, his expression instantly softened and he stood.
"Sorry," he grumbled.
"It's okay," you replied, stepping inside the room, shutting the door behind you. Joel rounded the desk and raked his fingers through his hair. You bit your lower lip, gaze quickly drifting down his broad frame. He was wearing a white dress shirt with his dark grey suit, the coat abandoned over the back of his chair. It was the first time you had seen him since you left him asleep in bed early that morning.
"What's goin' on, baby?" he asked as he crossed the room to pour himself a drink. You made a face at the amber liquid and he swiveled around, raising the glass of whiskey in your direction.
"Want one?"
"No, Joel. It's barely noon. I came to see if you wanted to get lunch, but I'm guessing today's not the best day," you said, closing the distance between you to smooth down the front of his shirt with your palms. He lifted the glass to his lips and tossed the drink back in one go before setting it down on the bar and wrapping his big hands around yours, pressing them firmly to his chest.
"'M sorry, not havin' a great day."
"I can tell."
"You hear all that?" he murmured, bringing one of your hands up to his mouth. His lips brushed over your knuckles as he gazed at you through tired, heavy eyes and you smiled. Moments ago, those eyes were firey and filled with rage.
But not when he looked at you.
"Some of it," you admitted. "What's wrong?"
Joel exhaled through his nose and dropped his hands to your hips, giving them a little squeeze and pulling you closer. "You weren't there when I woke up this mornin'."
You rolled your eyes playfully at him and he gently pinched your side.
"I told you I had to get up early so I could get ready for work-"
"'N I told you to bring your stuff over last night," he countered.
"Joel, I hadn't been home in days. I needed to make sure the place was still standing and water my plants."
Then, he said something that sent shockwaves through your whole body.
"Just move in with me, then it ain't a problem anymore."
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you forgot to breathe for a moment.
"What?" you asked breathlessly. But Joel just shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Move in with me," he repeated. "Plants, too."
"Y-you... you want me to move in with you? Like, permanently?" you repeated in disbelief. Joel smirked down at you and nodded.
"Yeah, like, permanently. The hell you think I mean? Get rid of that place, you know I don't like that neighborhood," he said, then lifted his chin when he heard his email program chime somewhere behind you.
"Joel... are you sure? That's a big step for you," you replied, feeling completely knocked sideways by his blunt request. Sure, he had the room. His house was the closest you'd ever come to being inside a mansion. Hell, to you it was a mansion. Six bedrooms and four bathrooms with an in-ground pool, tennis court, steam room and gym was only ever something you'd seen on television. But living in Los Angeles told you there were plenty of houses three times the size of his.
"Yeah, I'm sure. I want you with me all the time," he said, kissing your cheek before leaving you by the bar so he could check his email.
"My stuff, too? I can't imagine my shitty television in your house," you joked. Joel just nodded, his eyes pinned to his computer screen.
"Your stuff, too. I want all a'you. Even your coffee pot."
Joel collapsed angrily into his high back chair to answer the email while you sneakily slid back to the door, quietly flicking the lock before slowly walking towards his desk. You knew most people were at lunch, but you still didn't want to risk it for what you had in mind.
"Okay," you said softly, hip pressing against the hard wood, fingers nervously digging into the complex design carved into the edge.
"Okay, what?" he murmured, focus still fixed on the email. You watched his scowl deepen the more he read and you knew he was slipping back into that mood you found him in earlier.
"Okay... I'll move in with you."
His eyes snapped up to yours and for a moment, the scowl smoothed out into a pleased grin.
"Good. Start packin' tonight. Don't wanna be wakin' up anymore without you," he said, then his eyes dropped back down to his email. "Messes up my whole day when I do."
You giggled and rounded the desk, intentionally slotting yourself between his eyes and the computer.
"Is that why you're up here screaming at everyone? 'Cause you woke up without your sugar baby?"
Joel leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at you.
"Quit it. You ain't a sugar baby."
"Didn't answer my question."
Joel laced his fingers together and dropped them in his lap with a sigh. "Sure didn't help."
You gave him a fake pout and leaned forward, hands bracing yourself on each arm of his chair. "I'm so sorry," you whispered, mouth hovering over his as you spoke. You could see his muscles tighten under his shirt when he heard the seductive tone in your voice. "Want me to suck your dick and make it all better?"
The corner of his mouth tugged into a devilish half-smirk, email long forgotten.
"Feels like it's the least you could do," he replied, his voice deep and gravelly. It sent a shiver down your spine and you grinned.
"The least I could do? What else do you want?" you asked before allowing your lips to brush delicately over his. You could taste the whiskey there and you licked your lips.
"Wanna bend you over this desk and fuck you. Hard."
A soft moan slipped past your lips right before his mouth crashed into yours. His tongue opened your mouth, licking feverishly past your teeth, giving you a stronger taste of the whiskey and mint from the gum he was likely chewing in anger during the meeting.
"I think that can be arranged," you gasped when you pulled away from his kiss. His dark eyes lit up when you sunk to your knees, his legs spreading wider when you began to unbuckle his belt. Two fingers rubbed against his lips, hiding his smile while he watched you pop the button on his slacks and slowly work the zipper down.
Your heart was beating wildly in your chest when you dipped your fingers past his waistband and felt the stiffness of his cock hiding just underneath a thin layer of fabric. Your eyes flickered up to meet his and with a sly smile, you said, "Hard already?"
Joel shrugged with a shit-eating grin.
"Been hard since you walked in the goddamn room, baby."
You bit back a smile, chest bursting with pride and, yeah, it turned you on to be the one who made this big, scary man all soft and weak. Rubbing your thighs together, you inched forward to gently pull his stiff cock over the top of his underwear.
You tutted under your breath and frowned, both of you watching your hand slowly slide up and down his shaft.
"Poor thing," you murmured, smiling when you heard his breath stutter after your thumb swiped over the bead of arousal pooling at the tip. "Look at you. All worked up and angry the whole morning when all you needed to do was call me. I would've come up to help you."
Joel gasped, fingernails digging into the padded leather armrests when he felt your fingers tighten around him.
"Then fuckin'... goddamnit - fuckin' help me now. C'mon, quit teasin' me and suck it," he commanded through clenched teeth.
You raised an eyebrow at him and your hand paused.
"Say please."
"Please," he whined without hesitation. The sound made you weak, eyelids fluttering for a second before you shook it off and met his gaze again.
"Good boy."
He smirked down at you, some snappy response on the tip of his tongue but it disappeared when your wet lips wrapped around him, tongue darting forward to flick teasingly at his slit, all while maintaining eye contact.
"Oh, fuck," he groaned, allowing his eyes to close and his head to tip back when you took him deeper into your mouth. Before he reached the back of your throat, you swirled your tongue around his girth, moaning when you tasted a new drop of precum.
"Yeah, baby, just like that," he murmured when his hand found a new home on the back of your head. Carefully, he urged you down, hissing when you hollowed your cheeks and took him as deep as you could handle. Joel forced his eyes to open so he could admire the pretty little mess he made of you. Your lips were swollen and wet, stretched wide over his considerable length while you focused on keeping your breath steady and your gag reflex in check.
He could have came from the sight alone.
You pulled back with a gasp, saliva pooling around the corners of your mouth as you dragged in deep lungfuls of air. Your hand picked up where your mouth left off, twisting your wrist and spreading the wetness up and down his shaft as you caught your breath for a second.
"You taste so good, Joel," you whispered, locking eyes with him again. "Might just have you come down my throat, instead."
Before he could answer, your lips were wrapped around him again, sucking and moaning around his cock like it was the sweetest thing in the world.
"No," he rasped, fingers tightening their hold in your hair. "Wanna - fuck you," he added with a deep groan. Even though he knew he shouldn't, he let you keep going, his hips involuntarily bucking up towards your mouth as he spoke.
Right when you began to get carried away, your head bobbing faster and your wrist flicking quicker, he yanked you off with a shared gasp.
"Sorry," he apologized, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before reopening them. "Too close."
You stood up, thumb swiping your lower lip with a cocky grin. Then, Joel watched as you shimmied out of your panties, dropping them in his lap before hiking up the skirt of your dress to your mid-thigh.
"Whenever you're ready, sir."
He chuckled darkly and stood, thighs trembling for just a quick moment before he swiveled a finger in the air.
"Turn 'round."
You did as you were told, palms pressed flat against the top of his desk, tilting your hips back so your ass jutted out, just barely covered by your dress.
With one hand he pulled the material up, exposing you to the tinted windows behind him. His other hand came down with a sharp smack across your skin, the action so fast and unexpected that it took you a few seconds to register it.
"Again," you whispered over your shoulder, this time bracing for the hot sting of pain across your ass. When he gave it to you, you moaned, arousal pulling tight between your legs, then you dropped your head limply between your shoulders as the pain blossomed into pleasure.
"That's my girl," he growled in your ear. His knee pushed your legs open and you held your breath when he leaned back to slide his cock through your folds before lining himself up at your opening.
"Breathe, baby," he whispered, and you let out a shaky breath right as he pushed inside.
"Shit," you panted, arching your back and digging your fingers into the dark wood of his desk while he continued to ease inside of you, muscles only relaxing when he finally buried himself to the hilt and his lips returned to the shell of your ear.
It wasn't the first time he fucked you in his office. In fact, both of you were very eager to take advantage of the new situation only a week into the start of your job. But it didn't matter how many times you'd done it because it was still always a thrill. There was something incredibly hot about this powerful man fucking you on his desk. Or his couch. Or his chair.
Or one time on the conference room table long after close of business.
Joel set a quick pace right away, knowing full well your time was limited before people began to return from lunch and inevitably came looking for him. One hand remained firmly on your hip while the other drifted up to squeeze your breast through your dress, fingers giving your nipple a little pinch just so he could hear you whimper for him.
"Always ready for me, ain't you?" he groaned, teeth grazing over your earlobe. His breath was shallow, soft pants against your skin matching the rhythm of his hips. "Christ, baby. So fuckin' wet. You love takin' my cock like this, huh? Or was it me askin' you to move in that did it?"
"Both," you moaned, tossing your head back to rest on his shoulder, eyes gliding shut and mouth falling open as you focused on the intense pace he set. The tip of his cock brushed steadily against that spot inside you that had your knees going weak and you could feel that warmth in your stomach turning into fire the harder he fucked you.
Joel's eyes lifted to glance at his door when he heard the faint sound of voices filing off the elevator. Lunch hour was wrapping up, and so was your time. He clenched his jaw and pounded into you faster, the telltale sound of skin slapping against skin the only noise echoing in the room.
"I... locked it," you gasped, falling forward onto your elbows, hips sparking with pain against the hard wood of his desk. He grinned and straightened his spine, watching the way your ass rippled against him every time he slammed into you.
"Good. 'Cause no one gets to see you like this 'cept for me."
You nodded dumbly, unable to form words as your orgasm began to swell, threatening to destroy you. Your pussy started to pulse around him, stars littering your vision and you slapped your palm over your mouth to muffle the sound when you came.
"Oh, fuck yeah," he groaned, hips losing rhythm. Breath growing sharp. Fingers digging deep and eyes rolling to the back of his head. You whimpered when he pounded into you one last time, stilling as he pumped you full of his release, broken moans tumbling from his lips until he was spent.
Almost immediately, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you up and pressing you protectively against his chest.
"You okay?"
"Mhm," you hummed, admittedly still in a bit of a daze but you were starting to snap out of it. His ragged breath in your ear was all you could hear, his pounding heart against your back all you could feel, and it was enough.
Without warning, he slipped out of you, but kept his arms circled around your front, pressing sweet kisses behind your ear and down your neck. You melted into him, knowing how much he enjoyed holding you after, at least until he caught his breath and came back down to earth.
"I love you."
Those three words still managed to send a tingle down your spine and brought a lazy smile to your face.
"I love you, too," you whispered, twisting your neck so your mouth could seek out his. His beard was untamed and prickly against your lips, tickling you and making you giggle.
"C'mon, get yourself decent," he teased with a playful grin and a smack against your thigh. He stepped backwards to fix his clothes while you swiveled back and forth, searching the ground for your panties.
"Lookin' for these?" he asked, holding them up between two fingers when you turned around. You reached out to grab them but he pulled them back, shoving them in his pocket before tucking in his shirt.
"You're gonna make me walk around the rest of the day without underwear? With your come dripping out of me?" you asked. You already resigned yourself to your fate and pulled down the skirt of your dress.
Joel pinched your chin and pressed a quick kiss against your lips.
"Yep. Just the way I like you."
"Dirty man."
"Just the way you like me," he laughed, dodging your hand when you reached out to smack him against the arm.
You opened your mouth to say something back when his desk phone chimed and the red light in the corner lit up. Joel finished buckling his belt and glanced up at you to make sure you had fixed yourself before pressing the intercom button.
"Yeah?"
Chrissy's nervous voice filtered through the speaker.
"Mr. Miller, just confirming your dinner reservation for tonight. Still expecting three people?"
"Yep," he replied, then thought about it for a quick second before pressing the button again. "Thanks, Chrissy. Why don't you take off early, after my two o'clock?"
You grinned, practically sensing her shock through the wall as you sat down in the chair opposite his desk.
"Uh... okay. T-thank you so much!"
"No problem," he said, then the red light turned off and he slumped down tiredly into his leather desk chair.
"Where are we going tonight?" you asked, crossing one leg over the other while you watched him shake his computer mouse back to life.
"Sarah picked this time. Some Mexican spot she wanted to try," he murmured, already fixating on an email in front of him. After some encouragement on your end, Joel had reached out to Sarah around the same time he called Tommy for the first time in years. While things had been rocky and awkward at first, it got easier over time. Eventually, they committed to dinners every other week, and after maybe the fourth one, Sarah had asked to meet you.
You were nervous leading up to it, but the moment you met you knew you'd get along. She was smart, beautiful, funny and had the same smile as her dad. She told you both a little bit about high school but preferred to talk about her soccer team or the play she was trying out for.
She didn't mention her mom much, and you didn't want to pry. From what Joel had mentioned, her mother ended up having some substance abuse issues in the past, which caused a strain on her relationship with Sarah. He felt horrible when he found out, told you that he felt like he should have been involved more to protect her, but you reminded him that he was there for her now and that you were proud of him for stepping up.
Despite it all, Sarah was a great kid. Every time you saw her, she opened up a bit more, smiled wider and laughed louder. After your dinners together, you could see the change in Joel: he was happier, too.
"Sounds good. I like Mexican," you said, fidgeting with your ring while Joel quietly replied to an email. The scowl was gone, his shoulders were looser and there were no more angry taps on the keyboard.
You opened your mouth to announce you should get back to work when he suddenly spoke.
"Why're you wearin' the ring on your right hand?"
Your eyes flickered up to his face but he looked like he was still absorbed in an email.
"This ring?" you asked, holding up your hand. It was the only ring you wore but you didn't know what else to say. You'd been wearing it on your right hand for months and he never said a word.
"Yeah. You wore it on your other hand in Fiji," he said, tearing his eyes away from the computer to look at you.
You stood up from your seat and gave him a curious look. "We were pretending to be engaged then, if you recall. We're not engaged now."
Joel smirked, the corners of his mouth dipping down when he shrugged, then stood to walk you to the door.
"Huh. Suppose you're right. Someone oughta do somethin' 'bout that."
You threw your head back and laughed before coming to a stop at his door and turning around.
"You just asked me to move in with you. What happened to the commitment-phobe I fell in love with?"
He grinned and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close so he could press a gentle kiss against your lips.
"You're right. I'll wait a week," he joked, then gave your ass a little tap before opening his door for you. "Thanks for lunch," he added as you walked past Chrissy, who was mid-whisper to Liam, no doubt telling him about Joel's sudden burst of generosity. You gave them both a little wave and tossed a wink over your shoulder at Joel leaning against his doorway, hands shoved in his pants pockets with a sly smirk on his face after his fingertips grazed the wet fabric shoved in there.
"See you tonight."
"Can't wait," he said, watching you disappear around the corner towards the elevator bank.
"So, you ate?" Liam confirmed, holding a leather bound journal and pen in his hand as he approached Joel. Even though the answer was no, he still nodded in response. "Good, because I have a couple things," he continued after clearing his throat. "Ellie's painting arrived yesterday, I'm having it gift wrapped right now. I got a call back from the guy who's renting you the yacht. He's good for Saturday. The captain and crew know the deal, too. Drop the anchor, make the food, pour the champagne, and disappear after dinner's cleared up. They have a little boat they can take back to land so the yacht's all yours til morning."
A slow smile stretched across his face and he looked down the hall again, towards the elevator bank.
"Reschedule it for next week. I made a promise."
Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel the last of us#joel miller fanfic#joel miller tlou#joel x reader#joel x you#joel miller au#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#the last of us hbo#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fic#the last of us au#swept away fic
723 notes
·
View notes
Text
// brutally soft // II.
baby daddy!sukuna x reader
tags: non curse au; fluff; tension; reader and sukuna are co-parents; girl dad sukuna; mentions troubled past with sukuna; alludes to significant size different; sukuna being extremely soft | wc: x | read this for more context & this
note: you and sukuna attend your daughter's winter performance at school
dni if your blog is blank / ageless / or are a minor
your lips part, eyes widening as the crisp air stings the tip of your nose.
you take sukuna in - his tall body leaning against the pillar of the kindergarten in an outfit that's far too sharp than anything you've ever seen him in.
an overcoat, pressed matching colored slacks, a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle, polished loafers and a dark charcoal turtleneck hugging all the muscle he carries. the all black attire highlights his fiery hair and silver piercings glittering underneath the warm light. he has one hand in his pocket, the other flicking through his phone screen.
your heart hammers. the space between your leg pulses.
he looks so good.
you step forward, the heel of your boot climbing up the concrete stairs. he looks up when he hears you approaching, and stands upright to greet you with a warm smile. "hey," he states calmly, berry tinted irises tracking down your body to subtly check you out.
"hi," you reply, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. sukuna rarely ever dressed up like this. he was a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy. he owned one denim and one leather jacket. he loved worn band tees, gym attire and cut out shirts. he hated spending money on clothes because he found it "frivolous" and instead would blow it on his motorbike, booze, and weed. he rented a suit once and complained the entire time. but this...
"you look," you stammered, unable to ignore the slight spark that ignited between the space where you both stood. "you look really good, ryo..."
he runs his hand over his freshly trimmed undercut, the scent of oak moss and wood wafting across your nose and making you picture an evergreen forest.
"thanks," he murmurs with a slight pout, his face falling into an honest expression of uncertainty. "I thought I overdid it a little..." "not at all, you look…fantastic…” you answer with a shake of your head and a firm word of reassurance. "this shit cost me an arm and a leg, but I had nothing else to wear tonight..." he huffed, before relaxing his stance. "glad it paid off at least" you furrow your brows softly, "you bought all this for her play?" a hint of pink kisses sukuna's cheeks and he averts his eyes shyly. "yeah, the brat keeps complaining about my scary clothes and shit..." your heart melts over the gesture.
when you think about how much sukuna cares for your daughter, how much he wants to prove to her and everyone else around him that he does, in fact, take his role as a father seriously, it makes you immensely proud of him.
you've seen the growth in the man.
the sukuna you knew five years ago and the man standing before you now were two completely different people.
and that fact messes with your head.
you swore to yourself that you would never take him back.
that you would never give him a second chance.
"anyway, shall we head inside? the show is about to start in fifteen minutes..." he interjects, cutting your thoughts abruptly before you even have a chance to tell him anything else.
you nod your head, and he casually places his palm against the small of your back to lead you inside.
the parents were cramped in the auditorium, the steel fold out chairs were uncomfortably cold but even more so for your former ex lover who was struggling to find a position for his large physique. after watching him suffer for a few minutes, you finally offered him your own seat on the aisle to give his legs a bit of breathing room.
"fucking hell, all this money we spend and they can't get some decent chairs in..." he complains and you chuckle as you bump his shoulder into his.
the performance was all about celebrating the seasons of the year and each class from the kindergarten were set to perform a specific season. the first batch of kids started with the spring season, where the kids sang and danced in little floral costumes as they taught the audience in question all about how spring brings abundance and the start of something new. the next scene moved into summer, where the performance transitioned to upbeat tempos as the kids celebrated the warmth that the season brings. the third scene transitoned to fall, where the colors of the set morphed into earth tones as the kids sang about the celebration of the harvest.
and finally it was the last scene to honor the beauty of the ice, cold winter. the scene where your daughter was performing. you nudge sukuna when you notice him dozing off, and he instantly perks upright to catch the part that he's been waiting for all night.
his face lights up when his daughter scampers onto the stage, dressed as a sparkling little snowflake. you both can see her eyes scanning the crowd, and her face brightens when she finds the two of you.
sukuna leans in to whisper in your ear, "she wanted to wear that from when she woke up this morning..."
"and did you let her?" you prod, teasing him over his softness towards her and knowing full well that she could have easily gotten her way with him.
"hell no. I wasn't going to deal with the mess of all that glitter," he answers back, your voices getting lower as the audience hushes.
the performance starts - your daughter is twirling and moving with confidence. she sings along with the choir and whenever you glance towards sukuna, you find him beaming with pride the entire time.
and then there was her big moment, her solo.
the one she has been going on and on about for weeks.
the spotlight shines on her as she takes center stage, her small hands squeezing into two tight balls as she shifts her weight from one foot to the next.
she's nervous, you can see it and it makes you itch with anticipation. you can't help but tug at sukuna's sleeve subconsciously, but the man responds by naturally taking your hand in his own.
your daughter swallows the lump in her throat, a hint of fear veiling her eyes as she glances to the side of the stage then back to the audience.
her eyes fall to you and sukuna once again, and the man simply meets her focus as he playfully waves his fingers in her direction.
her small hand relaxes, and she gives him a secret wave in return before easing her stance.
your eyes sting with tears at the interaction before she starts to sing.
you're holding your breath the entire time, pride sitting at your throat as you let go of sukuna to pull out your camera to record the entire thing. her confidence unfurls as she carries on her performance, making you think of all the afternoons and evenings she has spent performing her solo in front of you and probably sukuna while at home. by the end she takes a dramatic bow before returning to the rest of her cast.
you pause the video and turn to the man by your side who is applauding louder than everyone else in the room.
he looks at you with nothing but fulfillment.
"that's our girl," he says with a wolfish grin and cheeky wink, only triggering happy tears to fall.
sukuna drapes his arm around you, and you sling your own around his bicep in return, the other wiping away at your cheek. "yeah," you answer with a sniffle, "yeah it is"
for a moment your eyes lock, the two of forgetting your surroundings as the final song ensues.
“thank you for bringing her into my world,” sukuna murmurs, his lips merely inches from yours. but you don’t even pick up on the depth of what his gratitude even means.
you dab away at the dampness on your face. “that girl is your world, ryo” you tease but pause when you notice his face soften as he dips his gaze to your bottom lip.
“you both are.” he clarifies earnestly, but you are too stunned to speak.
he leans forward, and replicates what happened on the sofa just a few months ago by placing a small but innocent kiss on the corner of your lip.
“you both are.”
#Sukuna fluff#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#ryomen sukuna#jujutsu Kaisen fluff#jjk fluff#jjk fanfics#baby daddy sukuna x reader
776 notes
·
View notes
Text
Steve has a decent singing voice, not one that would make him famous it's better suited for singing in the shower or belting along in the car, the occasional serenade and most importantly lullabies
It isn't until after the events of 84 that he realizes how soothing having someone sing can be
The party calls and walkies often in the following weeks making sure everyone is okay, he's staying with the hendersons until he's safe to be on his own and hears Mrs. Henderson singing Dustin back to sleep one night and tries it himself one night when Dustin wakes him up as to not further worry his mother and sings one of the top 40 songs he's heard enough to know enough of the lyrics and it works and Dustin doesn't make fun of him for it
He starts implementing it for every one of the party that comes to him for comfort, though only when one on one because he knows the second anyone points out its "childish" then none of them would ask for it or allow him to anymore and it seems to genuinely help them
After starcourt he does it to robin and she asks why he sings pop songs instead of actual lullabies, he admits he doesn't actually know any proper lullabies so she teaches him by returning the favor (robin cant sing very well but she's musical enough that it isn't unpleasant)
After they finally defeat vecna he's almost always humming or singing under his breath because you can never be too careful and it's really grounding, which leads him to singing to the party as a group
The first time he does it to Eddie he has shown up at Steve's door in the middle of the night tear stained and terrified so Steve bundles him up and starts to sing once Eddie calms down some he starts singing along with Steve
#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#stranger things#robin buckley#dustin henderson#platonic stobin#claudia henderson#steve and the party#the party stranger things
639 notes
·
View notes
Text
moving day; m.k.
pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader
summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.
warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.
word count: 9.9k
notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”
MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS
Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.
He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.
(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.
He just couldn’t move on.)
But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.
It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.
The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.
However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.
Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.
It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.
(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.
Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.
But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.
Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)
-
Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.
They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.
When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”
Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.
Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”
“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.
“Still—”
“Oh, don’t start—”
At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.
Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.
It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.
“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”
Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”
“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”
It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.
And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.
They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.
There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.
In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.
.
.
.
Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.
There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.
(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.
Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.
Steven likes having something just for him.)
Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.
“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.
It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—
Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.
In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”
Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”
“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”
“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”
“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”
“What? No—what?”
“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”
“Steven!”
-
“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.
“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.
They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.
“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”
He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.
“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”
“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.
(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’
Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)
“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”
Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”
“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”
Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”
He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.
He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.
You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”
Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.
Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.
So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”
“What?”
“What?”
“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”
Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.
“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—
—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.
“How do I look?”
The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.
Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.
God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”
You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”
“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.
A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.
His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”
You light up. “Really?”
“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”
Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”
Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.
It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.
Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.
Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.
“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."
Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”
Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”
And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.
“About time, innit?”
-
Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.
The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—
You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.
(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)
So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.
After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.
Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”
You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—
“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.
“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”
It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.
“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”
The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”
“Oh?”
“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”
“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”
“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.
You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.
“You can open—”
You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.
“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”
You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.
“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.
They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.
When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.
“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.
.
.
.
You are the bane of Jake’s existence.
First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?
Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.
Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.
Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.
But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.
Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.
But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.
(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.
Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)
In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.
So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.
Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.
-
Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?
Jake has his car.
Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.
The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.
That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.
It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.
He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.
(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.
That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.
How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.
How do they know?)
There’s a rustling in the bedroom.
Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—
“Marc?”
You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.
He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”
A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”
You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”
If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.
But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.
You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.
“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”
He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.
There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.
For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.
-
Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.
You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”
“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”
Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”
Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”
That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”
You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”
Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”
“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.
“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”
His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”
A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.
He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—
That third sarcophagus—
Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?
Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.
“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.
Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—
To the right—
-
So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.
He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.
The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.
But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—
You are the bane of his existence.
Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.
He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.
They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.
-
You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.
But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”
The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.
That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—
“Jake.”
The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.
“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.
“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.
“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”
A wave of dread washes over you.
He’s not talking about last night.
No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.
He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”
Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.
There’s no way—
“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”
You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.
You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—
You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—
You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.
No. You can’t believe it.
You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.
None of it makes sense.
It—it can’t—
The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.
They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.
They call you princesa.
-
It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.
Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.
He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—
It’s best to steer clear for a while.
Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.
“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”
No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.
You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.
Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.
Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—
Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.
He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.
Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.
It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.
His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.
(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)
Then—your keys turn in the door.
.
.
.
Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.
“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.
“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”
“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”
“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”
You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.
“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”
Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”
Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”
He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.
That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.
Let Jake try and beat that.
“Oi! Share!”
Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”
“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”
Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.
All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”
“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”
Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”
“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”
“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”
“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"
“Are you kidding me?”
Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.
He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.
“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”
He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.
Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.
Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.
It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.
“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”
He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.
Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”
The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.
“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.
The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”
“Jesus, man.”
Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”
The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.
He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.
Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”
It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.
“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”
Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”
They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.
It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.
In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—
Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.
And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.
#moon knight x reader#marc spector x reader#steven grant x reader#jake lockley x reader#moon knight#marc spector#steven grant#jake lockley#moon knight fanfic#my writing#mk bingo 2024
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
im not going to be overly critical or say too much yet because I feel like I don't have enough info and I haven't read enough of this to really say anything major but I think a lot of the things I'm personally not liking so far seem really reminiscent to me of all the things I didn't like in oshiro's works, there's a similar quality and pattern to the things that are making me go :/ that aligns pretty well imo with the patterns that made me go :/ in his works I read in prep for that which sucks because I really want to enjoy what oshiro brings to the table... I dont want to call any of it "flaws" as there's definitely a point where art is just subjective (I mean he's a publishes author so he's doing something right for sure) but there's these same "hang ups" that keep appearing that's just not good? it's like reading a poem and nothing is clicking and it's not like I don't get it, I can understand what's being put in front of me, it's just... not good.... oof... it's like all the issues beginners make in writing to me.... there's no emotion there's no depth there's no build there's no reconnection of the story to deeper themes there's nothing that makes your breath catch or your heart stop or even to make you laugh- if you can't be emotionally introspective at least be funny...? I feel like each of us a desert was at least somewhat better than this because it was a world and characters oshiro designed themselves and he knew how to play with and that creates some semi-interesting and semi-unique concepts and plots and characters but instead here we have oshiro being handed dolls and a world he didn't build so of course it comes off like fanfic and it's just.... Will feels like arm candy rather than a person, there's more telling than showing going on....
#im kind of struggling to get through even the preview :/#Like I get through 10 paragraphs really fast and I'm like 'oh cool this is pretty decent' and then there's like a section of 2-4 paragraphs#that just absolutely drags and is so boring and out of place to me#oshiro tries to be artistic or poetic in his works a lot and I appreciate that but he ends up coming off like a middle schooler to me#like a well done intentionally choppy writing piece for example pobawf is still deeply artistic and intentional in its choppiness#and I know Rick has never been much of one for poetic works which has always suited him well#or at least fit in with him and been something that despite me liking more poetic works it didn't bother me#because he was so matter of a fact about it#but there's this clunky awkward early poet who doesn't quite have a grasp on the language they've been gifted#when oshiro's voice is stronger and it's aggravating to me for some reason#Im trying to give the benefit of the doubt because it's a preview not a final release#but so far all I can say is I hope they find their voice or a third person is able to come along and fine tune things#because right now they're stumbling blind in too many directions and the writing feels like an awkward introductio more than an epic
0 notes
Text
Heart Over Hooves
pairing: tyler owens x reader
synopsis: in which you and tyler recount to the wranglers how exactly you began dating at a local rodeo in your home state
warnings: established relationship, cliche mean girl, cowboy charm, slight enemies to lovers
word count: 6.8k
masterlist
I just saw Twisters in 4dx and I know I'm late to the trend, but I have finally joined the Glenissance!! Please send me all of your Tyler Owens requests, I literally can't stop thinking about him. Here I present to you the fruits of a sleepless night. I hope it's decent!
The Oklahoma air was unusually chilly for a summer night as you felt a light breeze brush against the skin of your bare arms, raising rigid bumps in its wake along any part of you that wasn’t concealed by your tank top and denim jeans. But it didn’t matter how much of your body was covered; in all honesty, you could’ve been in your favorite bathing suit. The cool air was no match for the warmth of the toned arms of your husband that wrapped around you, keeping you glued tightly to his lap so that he too wouldn’t fall victim to the cold. Your cowboy, Tyler Owens, could never inhabit his own chair alone so long as you were around.
“You doing okay, baby?” he whispered into the cusp of your ear as the heat from his breath spread all the way down to your neck. Though a cluster of goosebumps had sprung from a patch of exposed skin on your forearm, it wasn’t long before the discomfort was extinguished by the gentle caress of Tyler’s wandering hand and he leisurely traced the length of your arm in an attempt to keep you content within his embrace.
“I’m just fine, thanks.” you smiled, though the summoned words weren’t nearly as effective at communicating your gratitude for him as your attempt to snuggle closer to him despite the fact that it wasn’t physically possible. Tyler got your message all the same, the clear sign that you couldn’t imagine a place on Earth that would fill you with an equitable amount of enjoyment.
Though you couldn’t see his face, you could picture Tyler’s grin more clearly than the speckled tile bottom of a shallow pool before his lips met your hairline to place a soft kiss near on your temple.
“Alright lovebirds.” Lily stated abruptly, interrupting your moment of intimacy as you were suddenly reminded that you and Tyler were not the only two people gathered around the dim glow of the small bonfire.
It had been a long day of chasing storms for all of you. In Tyler’s case, he had been the leading man in three Wrangler live streams that day as EF1s and EF2s sprouted from the clouds like flowers in the spring. His team had worked just as hard, aiding in each chase and keeping all channel content at its peak. While there were occasions when you enjoyed joining Tyler in his pick up as a special guest, the reason for your exhaustion was not quite as intense as chasing after tornados, though the role you assumed was equally as vital.
Lacking in Tyler’s lust for natural disasters that was very much necessary in order to tackle twisters head on, you became the team’s marketing expert instead. While it was considered more of a bench seat compared to the other Wranglers duties, you had proven yourself to be most useful during the recovery process once the storms had vanished in something you liked to call the ‘After Effect’. Backed by your wit and Bachelor’s degree in psychology, you maintained the channel’s engagement levels and ensured that there was more international visibility for your cause as well. The numbers added up overtime and you were proud to boast that you had managed to raise thousands of dollars from online donors that went entirely towards helping the people of Oklahoma rebuild their destroyed homes.
Such a busy day had left all of you much too tired to make it to the nearest motel that was more than a couple hours away and instead you resorted to gathering around a bonfire in the dirt ridden clearing of a wheat field. It wasn’t ideal, but you were all more than used to camping together after years of being as close as a family.
Traditions had formed after countless nights just the same. Tyler always placed his chair directly beside yours as it was never long before you gave in to sharing with him. The other Wrangler’s sat further away from each other scattered around the fire, but always in the same arrangement. The seat next to your discarded one was occupied by Dani, with the next supporting Dexter, and the one after belonging to Lily who was eagerly leaning towards you as she brought her can of beer back to her lips. Boone completed your inverted circle as he planted his chair dangerously close to the fire in between Lily and your husband who doubled as his longtime best friend.
Usually your group consisted of only the six of you, but tonight you welcomed an extra guest into camp. Ben, a British investigative journalist, had been traveling with your crew for months now and though he preferred to linger behind as an outlier, you could tell from the way he sunk into his seat that he had grown to be very comfortable with you all. You weren’t sure if he would ever leave at this point, but none of you minded his extended stay.
“Something wrong?” you asked Lily, lifting your head to gaze at her as the flames seemed to lick at the sides of her face from your perspective. You worried the team had grown tired of Tyler’s need to share his seat with you (as well as your reluctance to turn him down), but of course no one paid any attention to your couplish antics.
“I just can’t go on one more minute without knowing the story,” she explained.
“Story?” Tyler repeated, sharing your befuddlement.
“What story?” you asked.
“Your story,” Dani clarified, pointing to the foreign man that had settled just behind her outside of the circular formation. “Ben here wants it for his tornado piece.”
“It’s just intriguing,” Ben reiterated, his stumbling British accent a stark contrast from the southern you were so used to. He cleared his throat before continuing, eyeing you and your husband. “Everyone else here met while you were forming your chasing team. Everyone except you two.”
“And me!” Boone shouted, raising the hand that wasn’t occupied by his second beer of the night. “I knew Tyler before any of you.”
“Easy Boone, no one’s forgotten.” Tyler laughed, not bothering to point out the inaccuracies in his best friend’s claim. While Boone had befriended Tyler decades before you’d shown any interest in him, the three of you all grew up together in the same tiny Arkansas town.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to your paper.” you pointed out as Ben had made it clear that he wanted to write only about Oklahoman tornados and the recent uprise in storm chasing tourism that was a direct result of your husband’s online presence.
“It isn’t,” Ben admitted. “But it would be helpful for context. Just so my readers can better understand your dynamic. It frames how your team operates.”
“And I’ve always been dying to know!” Lily added with such enthusiasm you would’ve guessed a tornado had suddenly formed right behind you.
You sat up from your nestled position on Tyler’s lap to look back at him, delighted as you discovered an expression matching the one upon your own face: a knowing smile. He was more than happy to share how the two of you ended up together. All he needed was a signal of your approval, one you gave him with the loving squeeze of your hand against the taunt muscle of his bicep.
“Alright,” you agreed, turning your head to face the group once more. “But I get to tell it.”
“Fine by me.” Tyler nodded to your condition.
“With help from me at least!” Boone interjected to which you sent him a playful glare.
“You best not.” you threatened as Boone broke out in laughter beside you.
“Fine,” he grinned. “Woo, y’all are in for a real treat!” he hollered, already very well versed in the tale as he was there to witness its unfolding.
“Just start already.” Dexter demanded as he spoke for the rest of the group. Even with the whole night ahead of you, there was no time to waste.
You thought back to the moment at once, recalling the fateful day as if it had only happened just yesterday rather than several years ago. You sighed happily at the memory, collecting your thoughts enough to be able to share it justly.
“It all started in our hometown,” you began setting the scene as you rose from your husband’s lap, standing beside the fire so that everyone could see you. “Y’all know that Tyler and I grew up together, but we had what you might call a rocky start. He liked to bull ride and I was too busy caring for my horses to pay any attention to him. I used to barrel race back then and I got so into it that it was all I ever thought about. It wasn’t until much later that we finally got together, during the biggest rodeo in all of Arkansas…”
“Whoa, Cyclone!” you shouted to your horse as you yanked back on his worn leather reins. Your mighty steed, a chestnut brown stallion that had been racing at his fastest gallop, halted at your command just in front of the last yellow barrel. Dirt flew from the power of his mighty hooves and at once he neighed in protest to the sudden loss of speed. He was just as bothered as you were when the sound of nasally cackling came from outside of the practice corral, your head turning in sync with your horse towards the disturbance even though you already knew who it was.
Propped atop her luxury racing horse and adorned in a custom made, spotless, metallic pink riding outfit was your arch nemesis, Addisyn Claire, with a wicked smirk so evil it could wilt rose petals and an ugly laugh that echoed even out to the hills that surrounded the rodeo set up.
“Looking rusty out there!” she called out to you.
You scoffed at the remark, narrowing your eyes at the girl before clicking Cyclone towards her.
“I’d rather look rusty than like I skinned a pageant girl for my clothes.” you nodded at her sparkling get up though really you wished you had enough money to buy new clothes for every competition. At least you didn’t waste so much money on something so needlessly tacky.
You and Addisyn had been in competition since you were old enough to stay on a saddle, your hatred for her bubbling at just eight years old from the first moment you had suffered at the hands of her ego. It only got worse as the years ticked by as she transformed from a bratty little girl into the spoiled bitch she was today and now as a young adult, you weren’t sure how much more of her classic mean girl attitude you could take. It just wasn’t fair. She had the money and the privilege to buy her way into winning most of your past races with horses just as prissy as she was. But even so, you hoped that this year everything would be different.
You had happened across Cyclone by complete accident during a storm that eventually became his namesake. After saving him, you’d searched endlessly for his owner, but as luck would have it, he remained unclaimed.
Your family joked that it was almost as if he had been gifted to you, pushed into your life by a deadly storm so soon after the tragic passing of the horse you had grown up riding. You didn’t plan on riding him, not after all he had been through, but after his minor injuries and habit of being spooked by the very non-threatening barn latch had cleared, you discovered that you didn’t really have a choice. He was the sweetest horse you’d ever cared for, never ornery and always affectionate. It was curiosity that finally convinced you to saddle him up for a morning ride.
Much to your delight, Cyclone was a natural at taking commands and so morning rides turned into teaching him how to barrel race. He was quick for a stray, so much so that you were sure he was the fastest horse in the whole state. But of course with such a gift, he had the only stipulation that prevented you from beating Addisyn in so many previous races where her professionally trained horses always stole the blue ribbon. He struggled with each turn.
It wasn’t entirely his fault, such a feat was hard for the average horse to pull off. With Cyclone’s super-speed, it became damn near impossible. Regardless of the facts, you trained every chance you got and without fail, your horse was forced to slow to a losing time in order to make the tight turns.
”If I had known it was gonna be so easy to win, I wouldn’t have bothered training this one at all. You can’t even make it to the last barrel.” laughed Addisyn as she flipped a handful of long blonde curls behind her shoulder.
“That’s funny coming from a gal who doesn’t even know how to use a coat brush.” you shot back. Cyclone snorted and tucked his head down as if he had understood your come back.
“Mark my words,” she snarled with gritted teeth. “You’re going to regret speaking to me that way. There’s a lot more on the line today than some flimsy ribbon.”
You hated that she was right. Not only did the winner of each rodeo event get massive bragging rights, but the first place spot came accompanied with a large sum of money this year. While Addisyn had enough cash to fill the colossal space inside her skull a million times over, you weren't as fortunate living off a small farming family’s wage. After a long two years out of high school, you finally had the longing to continue your education, but even admission into the local state college came with a tuition that was too big for you to pay all on your own. You needed the prize money to cover the rest.
You bent over to stroke the white stripe that covered Cyclone’s nuzzle, attempting to calm him knowing that he could feel the animosity steaming from the blonde. “Don’t listen to her,” you whispered. “You’re gonna do just fine.”
“Petting your horse ain’t gonna make it any better.” Addisyn smirked.
“And talking at me ain’t gonna make you any smarter, but you’re still trying.”
Addisyn huffed as she took hold of her own pristine white horse's reins, kicking it hard in the side until it was facing the direction of the rodeo arena.
“Whatever,” she spat, tossing her perfectly styled hair in retort. “You know you’re not going to win.”
Your steel glare faded as she trotted away, resting in a hopeless frown as you realized how right she was. You hopped off your horse and led him to the edge of one of the wooden fences to tie his reins to. “I know.” you mumbled sadly.
“Hey, stranger,” sounded a deep voice from beside you, in fact it was the same voice that had plagued you since your first acquaintance long ago. “What’s with the frown?”
You turned to face him, the only person you'd ever avoided at the rodeo besides Addisyn. The cockiest bull rider to walk on Arkansas dirt, Tyler Owens. And while the hatred you felt around Addisyn didn’t bubble through your veins around Tyler, you considered him just as annoying. The worst part about him: he never could leave you alone.
“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” you asked, commenting on the impending closeness of his event as you guided Cyclone’s head to the nearest water trough that was only a few inches from Tyler. He shrugged as he answered.
“My event’s not for another hour,” he paused to check the time on his nonexistent watch, something cowboys never wore for fear that it would break under the pressure of the thousand pound beasts they endured riding. “I wanted to stop by and say hello.”
“I hope you don’t mean to me.”
“Of course not. I meant your horse,” Tyler grinned as his hands tickled beneath Cyclone’s ear forcing the horse to lift his majestic head and give a hearty neigh. You never understood your horse's bond with the man as, though it sounded insane, Cyclone tended to reserve the same opinions about people as you. Even so, they got on so well for a cowboy and an animal that didn’t even live remotely close together.
You rolled your eyes at the pair.
“C’mon, you better leave us be,” you climbed over the fence to shoo Tyler away, ignoring the sign of discontent from your horse. “We’ve got a big race today and Cyclone has to be in the best condition possible.”
“Well, if I’m being honest,” Tyler began, holding his ground. “- there might be another reason for my coming here.”
You waited for him to explain, leaning on the nearest fence post as Tyler sent you a signature grin.
“And?” you prompted.
“I’d like to propose a little wager, just something to help motivate ya.” smirked Tyler.
As annoyed as you were by his cocky grin and suffocating charm, you couldn’t lie, his proposition intrigued you.
“Explain.”
“I know you’re really fixing to beat Addisyn today, even more than usual, but I don’t think you have enough on the line. I was thinking maybe I could help raise the stakes a bit.” he explained.
While you and Addisyn’s rivalry didn’t qualify as even partially a secret, you weren’t sure how he found out about the significance of today’s race. You sent him an expression of confusion as you tried to figure out how he knew. Tyler seemed to understand immediately.
“Boone.” he shrugged.
You rolled your eyes.
“Of course.”
Other than being Tyler’s best friend since middle school, Boone harnessed the talent of figuring out people; their likes and dislikes as well as their desires and motivations. Though he was a few years younger than you and Tyler, he preferred your age group over his own.
“So how’s about this,” Tyler started as he pulled off his sunglasses to stare you down with daring eyes of emerald, briefly wetting his lips. “If you win today, you can ask me for any favor. And nothing’s off the table. I’ll even leave you alone if that’s what you’d want…”
You tried to imagine a world where Tyler Owens didn’t pester you at every waking moment.
“Okay,” you agreed. “And if I lose?”
You were sure that no punishment from the brilliantly smooth brain of the cowboy before you could ever be bad enough to motivate you to win. Boy, were you wrong.
”If you lose,” Tyler repeated as he paused to lean in closer to you, pulling on the tension between the two of you like a rope around a bull’s neck. “- you have to kiss me.”
You backed away with wide eyes disgusted by the grin that seemed to stick on Tyler’s mouth like dirt on a dew drop.
“What?!”
“You heard me.” Tyler shrugged. “If Addisyn beats you today then you have to kiss me. A long one too, mouth to mouth.”
“And why on Earth would I ever do that?” you asked, forcing the urge to gag at the mention. You couldn’t even think about voluntarily kissing Tyler, not to mention being forced to do it after a devastating loss.
“Simple. I know you hate me and I know that you want this more than anyone else here and he’s good enough to win it,” Tyler nodded towards Cyclone who was loudly drinking from the water trough. “But I know from experience that as badly as you want it, you‘ll never try hard enough if you’re not risking more.”
“I don’t think you understand how much is on the line already.” you glared.
“Sure I do,” Tyler argued and you knew that he was telling you the truth. While the Owens family owned the property neighboring your farm, they had as much as your family did. Everything they earned went back into their crops leaving nothing for Tyler or any of his siblings to go to college, if that was something he even wanted. You doubted he ever would. “Losing the money alone would be tough, but it’s just not enough.”
“Why are you doing this?” you couldn’t help but question.
“I thought that was obvious,” he chuckled softly. “I want to see you win today. And if I’m being honest, I’m sick of seeing Addisyn win on her professionally trained horses. Lord knows you deserve it more than her.”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You knew from casual eavesdropping that your worst enemy had a terrible crush on Tyler, one so bad that she had nearly begged her father to pay a dowry for him until one of her cronies informed her that purchasing people was very much unethical and illegal.
It was one of the reasons you couldn’t stand the cowboy. Any man that caught the attention of a brat like Addisyn wasn’t worth more than a second of your time. If you had known that Tyler shared your disliking for the blonde, perhaps you would’ve grown up closer. But the past was in the past and changing it was a feat best left unattempted.
“If I win,” you began, crossing your arms and staring him down. “- then starting tomorrow, you can never talk to me ever again.”
You thought you saw a hint of regret in Tyler’s eyes as remorse bloomed in your gut, but he hid it behind acceptance before you could comment on it.
“Fine,” he nodded, holding out one of his hands for you. “Shake on it?”
You took his hand in your own, taking in the leathery calluses on his palms that matched your own before you let go to jump the corral fencing once more and untie Cyclone’s reins for another round of practice.
“What about your event? Why aren’t we betting on you too?” you wondered aloud.
“Oh darlin’,” Tyler smiled which caused you to flush into a heated fury of both annoyance and embarrassment as the name slipped from his lips. “I’m gonna win. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. You need a boost?”
You glared at him as he held out his hands in a makeshift step exactly in time with you as you expertly mounted Cyclone, snapping his reins so he would return to the start of the course, dodging all three barrels as you called back, “Good luck Owens!”
As promised after a long hour of anticipation, Tyler Owens had taken first place in bull riding by a landslide, not only earning him a ripple of cheers from the giant crowd (along with a few girl’s numbers), but also his share of the coveted prize money.
You had taken a break from the more and more dreary barrel practice to watch him do it, sitting in one of the nosebleed seats surrounded by far too many girls who couldn’t have been there for any other reason besides to see Tyler. Still, you were amazed by his talent. More surprised still when he had a whole arena of girls screaming for him and his roaming eyes still managed to find you clapping quietly near the back. He sent you a grin as soon as he caught sight of your unenthused scowl, brushing the dirt from his chops and sending a wink your way as if to playfully say, told ya.
It was then you noticed another woman in the audience jumping for his rewarding gaze, though it was never won. Tyler was simply too busy looking at you to pay any attention to swirling Addisyn.
Heat blossomed in your chest as you felt a sensation like a swirl of wind blow throughout your stomach, a feeling you horrifically identified as affection.
It wasn’t often that people chose you over Addisyn; you were confident that most of her friends were hired. And while there was no doubt that Tyler was the cocky bastard you couldn’t stand, perhaps you had judged him too harshly as there was evidently more that lay beneath the surface. As much as you hated to admit it, the charm he had been using on you for months was starting to work.
You fled the stands, not wanting to delve into your change of heart any longer. That was one of the best parts of barrel racing; training Cyclone served as a great distraction. And you had much to figure out before he could compete.
It was the same problem over and over again, Cyclone’s speed being both his greatest asset as well as his worst setback. He would build up so much speed that by the time he had to round the barrel, it was virtually impossible for him to slow down enough to finish the race. There had only been two outcomes during practice, both of which were not nearly good enough to win. Your horse was forced to either stay at a slow, but steady pace or face flipping over a barrel, both of which kept you from winning the title by making you too slow or disqualified.
You felt hopeless as you walked your horse to the arena, as no amount of practice could cure your dilemma. You had only managed to sire one good run out of Cyclone, but even then, it wasn't nearly fast enough to beat Addisyn past times on her purebred horses that were bought at the highest price with intent to win.
She and her horse were just before you in the lineup, sending you dirty looks as you sunk glumly into your saddle. The line was moving too fast for your spinning head to keep up with, the dread pooling in your gut intensifying by each lost second. You and Cyclone were going to be the most disappointing finale act in history, this you were sure of. A horrid ending for what had been a fantastic rodeo. At least until this point.
It was by pure chance that you found Tyler in the crowd.
He was all the way on the other side of the arena from the entrance closest to you, seated at the front with a big blue ribbon pinned to his button up flannel shirt. Despite the distance and the spectacle playing out before him as Addisyn began her race, he only had eyes for you.
Though he was too far away for you to make out his grassy green irises from the deep black of his pupils, he acknowledged you with a simple tilt of his head that was neither patronizing nor teasing. The cocky bastard you thought you knew was nowhere to be found. Comfort swirled around you like a gush of warm wind in the field by your farm. Familiar, yet something completely foreign all the same. An indescribable mix between encouragement and understanding that you didn’t think a cowboy like him was capable of. It sent a wave of excitement through your spine, a damper on the constant anxiety you had been suffering from, that he knew you were suffering from. Maybe your race wasn’t hopeless after all.
If Tyler Owens thought you could do it, certainly the win was well within your reach.
His motivating expressions were so distracting that you had nearly missed Addisyn’s fatal move if not for the large gasps that erupted from the arena crowd. Her horse, so pristine and primed to be absolutely perfect, had turned just slightly skewed too far to the right, kicking over the last barrel with its hind legs as it attempted to recover into a sprint. But there was no coming back from the five second penalty.
As Addisyn finished, her time shone above the dirt arena in the digital shine of red numbers and it would’ve been perfect if not for her mistake. You could hardly believe it as the bitter sting of karma finally bit the girl who deserved it the most.
You fought the urge to cackle as Addisyn exited the arena, sending her a taunting smirk instead. It was as if she was waiting for it, shooting you a scowl so nasty that you were certain all she wanted was to hurt you. Her face had turned so red that even the expensive power couldn’t hide her reaction and her premium pick riding gear started to seem much less impressive.
“Hard to beat, Addisyn.” you joked. While it wasn’t like you to poke fun at the people going through the worst of times, you didn’t exactly count Addisyn as human. Only equal to the devil with too much money for her own good.
“Can it,” she hissed as she hopped off her horse to drag it back to the corral, dirt scuffing up her shiny new boots as she stomped away.
“C’mon, boy.” you whispered to Cyclone, a wave of new motivation washing over you. Even if he didn’t win, at least you couldn’t do much worse than Addisyn. No matter what, you'd walk away victorious over her. “Let’s show her.”
Steadying your foot in the stirrup, you swung over him and pulled his reins back before leading him a lengthy distance away from the entrance of the arena. You knew what would happen as soon as you crossed it, the Cyclone would instantly set off the motion sensor and officially begin your time. While many liked to build as they raced, you found starting in a sprint to be more efficient. That is, if Cyclone could make every barrel.
You tried to block out any last minute doubts that tried to claw through your mind as the announcer called your name and your hometown.
“The duo from Atlas, she’s riding her trusty horse Cyclone!”
Eyes fluttering closed, you searched for any last second serenity as you sucked in a breath, the last before you would find out the results of the competition. There wasn’t anymore time for you to obsess over everything that could go wrong and you tried to not let that bother you. A sudden flash of Tyler’s face popped into your mind forcing you to grin as you were reminded of his faith in you. With no more inhibitions left to act as a hurdle between you and your goal, you tightened your grin on Cyclone’s reins and gave them a hearty tug. He was off at once, soaring through the open gate and into the arena.
Everything felt like it spun by in a flash as Cyclone rounded the first barrel. It was as rough as expected, but he was able to recover faster than before, no doubt motivated by the pressure of the competition and encouraged by your commands that were accompanied by guiding kicks to his side.
Focused on your race and entranced by Cyclone’s quick adaptation, you didn’t think to look over to Tyler as you rounded the second barrel. He was up from his front row seat, hollering for your success and beaming with pride as Cyclone sped up again, an even steadier repeat of his last.
“Cmon Cyclone!” you cried as he galloped towards the last barrel, utilizing every skill you’d taught him during practice to the max. He’d only lost some of his speed and not an ounce of his momentum as he steered straight for the last.
It was as he began the final loop that you realized he was going too fast, speeding into the circle so quickly that there was no sustainable way for him to complete the turn without flipping the barrel. You braced yourself for the mistake, heart skipping a beat as your horse nudged the orange plastic with his flank. Though it all happened in a flash too quick for you to keep up with, you swore the sound of it toppling into the dirt echoed through your mind and you couldn’t bear to look back.
“Fast!” you commanded, hoping to end on a high note despite the fact that you had failed. The fact that you weren’t any better than Addisyn anyhow. You hadn’t proved yourself. The least you could do was lessen the losing time as Cyclone sprinted for the finish line at your command.
The deafening beat of your heart pulsed so loudly in your ears that you could barely hear the cascade of cheers in the arena you had left behind. You turned Cyclone around, collapsing upon your saddle as you saw it. The last orange barrel had miraculously stayed in place. You couldn’t believe it. You’d actually done it.
“And it looks like we have our winner!” the voice of the announcer boomed from the speakers. “With an Arkansas State Rodeo record of 13.62!”
“We did it!” you screamed in disbelief as you dismounted Cyclone, turning to the horse with a wide grin and new found energy. Your exhaustion faded away like the moon with the sunrise. Every hour put into training, all the hard work for the best of outcomes. You were going to be able to afford your education. “You won, boy!”
Not only had you won, but your horse had run a state record time. It was almost like a fever dream, but the pang of your heart in your chest was all you needed to know that it was all real. Now all that was left was to remedy your bet with Tyler.
You were obligated to be honored with your prizes before you could search for him. He seemed to appear out of thin air as you tied up Cyclone back in the corral with a wide smile on your face, turning to find just the cowboy you’d been searching for.
Tyler Owens didn’t have his usual confident swagger as he approached you, the loss heavy in his two booted feet. While he was proud and rooted for win, it seemed the weight of the cost was starting to get to him. He hated that you wanted him gone, but if that was the price you wanted him to pay, he’d do it solemnly and willingly.
“Good race out there.” he congratulated your success, his face tinged with the slightest shade of pink. It was a strange sight for you to see, a cowboy blushing at the thought of your loss.
“You too, champion.” you grinned.
“That’s nothing to a record holder. You could go pro with a time like that.”
“True, but I have some bigger dreams.” you admitted as you started to picture how Tyler could fit into them.
“You’re not gonna stick around another season to torture Addisyn come more? I just know she’d be devastated.” he jested.
“As much as I love the sound of torturing her, I’m afraid my calling is elsewhere now.”
“Right,” Tyler nodded, his smile dipping. There was no doubt he was wrapping his head around the outcome of your bet, how as requested, he’s no longer be allowed to speak to you once the sun would set down on the grassy horizon. Dusk was already upon you as the lights around the arena shone a little brighter, casting an artificial glow on the darkening sky. “Well, I guess this is the last time I’ll see you.”
Unlike Tyler, your grin only intensified, but not for the reason he must of suspected. The more you started to ponder the prospect of him truly never speaking to you again, the longer you wanted the day to last. You weren’t ready to let him go, and maybe you didn’t really have to.
“Uh huh, because I won,” you stated with a knowing smile, stepping just a hair closer to the cowboy.
“You sure did. And now I’ll leave you alone like you wanted. Just like I promised.” Tyler agreed, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
His discontent reminded you of what he had requested from the bet had it turned in his favor. At the time you thought it was all one big joke, another way to motivate you by making fun of you. But now, seeing him trying to hide the tears in his soul from the thought of leaving you increased your certainty that it was more than that. Perhaps the consistent years of harmless teasing and never leaving you a moment of peace were in lieu of the words he really wanted to say.
“Right.” you took another slow step closer, leaving only inches of space between the two of you.
You thought your excitement had made your intentions obvious, but as Tyler pointed back towards his truck, you realized he was completely misinterpreting the message.
“So I’m just gonna do that now…” he stumbled over his words, waiting for you to give him a reason to stay. Just like in your race, you didn’t waste another second.
“Just kiss me already,” you ordered, watching as his folded features brightened at the invitation.
“Thank god.” he breathed as he finally closed the gap between the two of you, sealing his lips to yours with a searing kiss.
“That’s when I knew Tyler was my home,” you finished your story, looking away from the camp of your friends and towards the cowboy who had captured your heart. “We went to college together the next year, sharing a couples dorm and when Tyler proposed moving to Oklahoma, I knew I’d follow him wherever he wanted.”
Tyler reached out for one of your arms from his chair, pulling you in to press a kiss into your knuckle, touched by your interpretation of the story.
“Even if it meant facing God's wrath everyday,” he chuckled, referring to the storms you chose to spend your life chasing alongside him.
“Where’s Addisyn now?” Ben inquired, looking up from the scribble of notes he had jotted down in his worn notepad. You doubted much of it would make it into his article with all the rush of storm chasing that was intended to be the focus, but it was a flattering gesture nonetheless.
“Exactly where you’d expect,” Tyler shrugged, answering for you. “Housewife to some politician. She quit racing after she failed to beat Cyclone’s record time.”
“She even tried to buy him off me the season after we’d left for college,” you explained. “It was more than 15 times the prize money amount, but I couldn’t sell him. He still lives with my folks back home, happily grazing wherever he pleases.”
“What did you have to do with any of this?” asked Dani pointing at Boone who had moved onto his third beer of the night.
“Who do you think gave Tyler the courage to make the bet? I orchestrated the whole thing.” he claimed, smiling with such pride, you would’ve thought he was in on the whole thing.
“Did not!” your husband protested. “There would’ve been nothing to orchestrate if I hadn't liked her in the first place.”
“Yeah and it was my decision to kiss him in the end.” you added.
Boone only rolled his eyes. “Sure, take the credit,” he groaned drunkenly. “-that’s what they all say.”
Shaking your head at the display, you couldn’t help but chuckle as you found your seat again in Tyler’s lap. No matter who the credit went to, a better outcome to your’s and Tyler’s childhood feud was impossible to imagine.
“Last time I saw her,” Tyler began, changing the subject back to your past arch-nemesis. “- was when we invited her to our wedding. She wasn’t doing too hot, nearly had to kick her out for all the trouble she caused.”
“That reminds me!” Lily straightened in her seat. “Y’all have never told me the story of how Tyler proposed. I’ve been wanting to hear it for ages!”
“Well, that’s definitely a story for another time.” you laughed, as a whirlwind of memories played in your head from the day you two got engaged.
“How about instead, Boonie shares the time he got so plastered that he woke up backstage at a Dolly Parton concert.” Tyler suggested.
“Oh c’mon, you know I hate telling that story.” Boone sighed.
“No you don’t.” you and Tyler argued in true couple unison.
“Ahh who am I kidding. It’s the coolest thing that ever happened to me. It all started when we were pregaming in Dallas…” Boone began rambling, recounting the event with such detail and focus that it was difficult to tell that he had been drinking.
You and Tyler were silent for your best friend’s story, though neither of you were really listening as it was an event you had been present for. Instead you held your cowboy close, grateful that fate had thrown him so far into your path that you never couldn’t pass him by.
#tyler owens x you#tyler owens#twisters 2024#twisters movie#glen powell#send asks#or just send help#I'll take both ;)#tyler owens x reader#tyler owens x y/n#meet cute
414 notes
·
View notes
Text
His Medicine
Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Stephen has a nightmare and when he wakes up he seeks comfort in your arms.
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: SMUT: Possessive sex, oral sex with male and female receiving, deep throat, fingering, unprotected p n v sex, hair pulling, creampie, cum eating, slight male domination. A bit of angst if you dig too much.
A/N: I was missing writing the good and classic smut with og Stephen so here it is. Hope you guys enjoy it and have a good reading. - Any typos or grammar mistakes you see in this, pretend you didn't ;)
You woke up to the movement of Stephen tossing and turning next to you in bed. Your first impression was that he was irritated at not being able to sleep, after all you knew that Stephen had been struggling with insomnia since the accident. Before, he used to sleep really well, according to him.
You closed your eyes again to try to go back to sleep, but he continued tossing and turning in bed so, sighing, you turned on the lamp to finally look at him. It was then that you noticed that he was sleeping, but his body was sweaty under the blanket and he seemed to be struggling against something invisible. You had never seen Stephen have nightmares like that and for a second you wondered if you should wake him up, but before you could make the decision he sat up abruptly on the bed gasping for air and running his hands over his face.
"Stephen..." You sat next to him, touching his shoulder lightly so as not to scare him.
He held your hand tightly and sighed heavily.
"Are you okay? You were having a nightmare."
He nodded. "I haven't had one of these in a long time." He confessed, his voice shaking a bit. "Christ, it was like being there again."
You put your arm around his shoulders and to your surprise, he laid his head on your shoulder seeking comfort. Stephen was extremely affectionate with you, but it was always the other way around, it was always you looking for comfort in him. The change was welcome, but not in that circumstance.
Automatically your hand searched for his hair and you started stroking it.
"Do you want to tell me about it?"
His arms wrapped around your waist and he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.
"The accident. It's always the accident. I thought I had left it behind me, but it still haunts me in my sleep."
You held him in your arms as if that way you could protect him from all the evil that had affected him or that could still affect him. You just wanted to keep him safe there within your reach.
"It was an extremely traumatic experience and you dealt with it alone. Maybe you should consider seeking help..."
He shook his head "I don't need therapy. I already have everything I need."
He said lifting his head and searching for your lips.
You kissed him softly, but disagreed, "I can't save you from the ghosts of your past, Stephen, as much as I want to help you, I don't know how."
He sighed, running a hand over his face again. "They're just dreams. What harm can they do?"
You shook your head. You had been together for almost two years and you were still surprised by how headstrong and stubborn Stephen was. "Disrupting what little decent sleep you have is already something to worry about." You pointed out. "You've barely been sleeping lately, always worried about everyone except yourself. Someone needs to take care of you while you're taking care of everyone else, don't you think? Being ill you don't help anyone, sweetheart."
Stephen sighed and you took that as a sign that he agreed with you, at least a little.
"You're stealing my pet name." He said, changing the subject in a not-so-subtle way. "I gave it to you."
You smirked running your fingers through his hair absentmindedly. "You gave it to me and I can use it however I want. It's extremely cute if you ask me and it suits you. Especially when you're clinging to me like a koala because you had a bad dream."
Stephen hummed knowing full well that you were teasing him but he didn't give in, he continued cuddling with you, it was as if he couldn't bear the thought of moving away from you for even a second.
"Promise me you'll see a doctor." You pressed and he groaned knowing full well that you wouldn't give up on the subject so easily. "Stephen..."
"I know every neurologist and psychiatrist in New York, I can't see any of them."
"Well then go to Europe, use your amazing ability to open portals for something that benefits you for a change."
He pulled away enough to look at you. "I love you." He muttered.
You cupped his cheek "I love you too, Stephen, but sometimes you're as stubborn as a mule and it makes me really angry."
He chuckled "I'm sorry."
He caressed your face and placed his trembling hand on the back of your neck and pulled you in for a hard kiss. The intensity surprised you, but you let yourself be pushed gently against the mattress as Stephen positioned himself on top of you, his knees making room for him to settle between your legs.
When your head hit the pillow, he took your lips again while with one hand he held yours on the side of your head and the other he slowly moved between your legs. You moaned involuntarily when his fingers touched over your pajama shorts, tracing circles there, teasing you as he grinded himself into your thigh.
"You're the only one who can give me what I need to make me feel better and you know it." He confessed in your ear and then licked your ear making your body shiver. "I love you so much, sweetheart, you are my medicine."
You couldn't help but giggle, but then a loud moan escaped your lips as his fingers pulled your shorts to the side and began to play with your folds.
"We can't fix everything with sex." You tried to rationalize with him, but you could feel reason quickly giving way to desire in your brain.
"No, but I'm not talking about sex, I'm talking about the way you make me feel when I'm in your arms, when you stroke my hair or massage my hands. I'm talking about love. Your love is my medicine and it’s all I need."
You felt your heart flutter in your chest hearing those words, but at the same time your hips started to move against his hand as if it had a life of its own. It was very difficult for you to separate sex from love with Stephen. Before him the line was thick and visible, but with him it simply disappeared. The two things seemed to complement each other so well.
"Stephen...make love to me." You asked, giving in to your desire and abandoning reason once and for all.
He bit your lower lip lightly before taking your mouth in another hungry kiss. "I thought sex didn't solve things..." He teased you with a smirk while grinding his erection into you.
"You just said it's not about sex..." You tried to say, but shook your head, changing your mind when he stuck two fingers inside you. "Fuck...need you."
Stephen buried his face in your neck, stifling his giggle, but his fingers curled inside you with precision to reach your g spot and he moved them quickly. You held his face in your hands making him look at you. "I love you... oh yes... I love your fingers even more."
He kissed you again giggling and knelt between your legs.
"I think there's something you love even more." He teased, "But first..." He snapped his fingers and your pajamas disappeared with a glimpse of orange light. "Open wide for me..." He licked his lips dramatically which made you laugh softly. You loved that about Stephen. You loved how he could make you feel so good and at ease with him. Even though you had been together for so long, it never stopped enchanting you.
"Or maybe a combination of the two." He announced before diving between your legs and entering you again with his fingers. Your hand grabbed the pillow and the other grabbed his hair and you allowed yourself a loud moan, not giving a damn if Wong would hear you or not. In fact, it had been a long time since you stopped caring about Wong's presence at the Sanctum and perhaps because of that he almost never spent the night there.
Stephen hummed contently, delighting between your folds, taking turns licking them with the tip of his tongue and sucking your clit while his fingers moved nimbly to stimulate your g spot.
He was so good, perfect, surgical when it came to giving you pleasure and as much as you knew that that night he was using sex to escape the current problem, you couldn't resist, you always fell into the same trap.
But it wasn't just to distract you from the subject that he used sex, but also to distract himself from all the problems and fears that afflicted him. He wasn't kidding when he said you were his medicine, and you might even feel flattered by that if it weren't worrying. The man never allowed himself to feel. Always trying to be in control of everything, especially his own emotions and there was nothing Stephen controlled better than sex. He had simply mastered that art so well that he was able to make you forget your own name with just a touch of his fingers.
"Steph... gonna make me cum..." You murmured, giving in to the delicious pleasure between your legs, but keeping your eyes wide open to look at him and see him eating you. There was nothing more mesmerizing than Stephen going down on you because you knew he took pleasure in it and he was so lost in his need for you that he started rubbing his erection on the mattress while eating you and that vision, Stephen so lost in his pleasure , that's what made you finally get there, moaning his name loudly and creaming his fingers.
He emerged from between your legs with a proud smile on his lips and you ran your hands over his face to clean him of all his fluids and pulled him to your lips, delighting in the taste of your cunt in his tongue.
"You're not going to be able to change my mind about you needing to see a therapist. Not even after such a wonderful oral." You warned and he smirked.
"I guess we can talk about this later." He said, running his lips on your neck and placing little kisses on your skin and finally nibbling on your earlobe.
"Later when?" You rasped.
He grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his cock, slipping it inside his pants. "After you take care of this."
You grabbed his cock and started pumping him up and down. "But this is a full time occupation. It really seems like you're always like this." You said pulling him to your lips.
He groaned when you tightened your grip on his cock. “Is this a complaint?”
"Never." You said gently pushing him to the side and straddling him. He let himself be moved easily and you ran your lips down his neck, making a point of leaving a clearly visible hickey just below his chin, your nails went down his chest, scratching him lightly as you took one nipple and then the other in your mouth, circling your tongue on the sensitive skin and feeling him pulse beneath you.
"Sweetheart... please..." His voice was so beautiful when he begged.
"Please what?" You teased, running your lips down his belly, giving small bites.
"Fuck me... with your mouth. Please."
You lifted your head to look at him and couldn't keep the cocky smile from your lips. Your hands grabbed both sides of his sweatpants.
"Since you're asking so nicely."
He lifted his hips, letting you take off his pants and you were treated to his beautiful, hard cock. It's no exaggeration to say that your mouth always watered at that sight.
You held him upright by the base and licked him from the base to the tip, finishing with a suck on the tip that made him see stars. His legs shook and he moaned outrageously loud.
"Oh yes... please take it in your mouth sweetheart, give this delicious mouth to me."
You smiled mischievously, taking your hands up to your hair to tie it into a bun tied with your own hair and Stephen grabbed his cock by the base, gesturing with the other hand for you to take it. You let him lead, opening your mouth for him to put his dick in and letting him thrust all the way in.
"Fuck yeah!" He praised taking his cock completely out of your mouth, saliva dripping down your chin. You took the opportunity to swallow some. "Open for me really big" He ordered and you did as he asked letting him go deep again and gagging around him which made him moan even louder. He loved that.
Stephen loved seeing you gagging on him because it inflated his ego, he knew very well that he had a huge cock, but he liked seeing you suffering to take it all in, it made him hard as a rock and when you cried, when he saw tears streaming down your face he loved it even more. You were sure he could cum from just that.
"Gonna let you take me however you want now." He said taking his hand away which was quickly replaced by yours. "Just keep making me feel good" He asked and you took the lead pumping his cock and sucking him in perfect synchronization. The wet noise his dick made moving in and out of your mouth filled the room.
"So good... fuck sweetheart it feels so good."
He grabbed your hair and without holding back he began to push your head so that you took him entirely. Stephen never gave up control completely and he was obsessed with deep throat, he was only satisfied when your nose was against his pelvis and his cock was deep you’re your throat.
"Taking me so good. Always taking me so good, sweet..." He moaned loudly and his cock pulsed hard in your throat making you gag.
"Wanna cum in your throat, please let me cum in your throat..."
You hummed positively and relaxing your head and throat, breathing through your nose and letting go of the control completely, letting him use your head to get off.
He thrusted up a few more times and then held you tight against him and began to cum down your throat. "Oh yeah... fucking take it, love. Oh yeah... fuck... take all of it... take all of my cum."
When he finally let go of your head and you took him out of your mouth you were gasping for air. Your face was soaked with tears and your chin was dripping with saliva, some still clinging to a thread connecting your mouth and the head of his cock that was soft, but not completely flaccid.
"You always take me so good. Always accepting what I give you. Such a sweetheart indeed." He patronized.
You wiped the spit off your chin with your hand and moved to straddle him.
"Yeah? Now you're gonna fuck me with the same harshness that you fucked my mouth and you are going to make me cum again. Hard."
"And isn't it always hard when I make you cum? Always writhing and moaning my name, thanking the gods that is me fucking you so good." He teased grabbing his cock and giving a couple of jerks before entering you.
You moaned loudly, letting yourself sink into his cock and started riding him fast and hard, placing your hands on his chest for balance.
"Yes... oh yes I love to have you inside me. Feels so big... you always fuck me so good... such a good lover, Steph..."
You leaned your head back and placed both hands on his thighs, moving your legs forward and allowing the new position to give him a better view of where you joined.
Stephen placed a hand on your clit, circling it and stimulating it deliciously, increasing your pleasure, which made you moan so loud that anyone in that house could hear it.
"Just like that, sweetheart. Give it to me."
You kept moving fast on top of him, letting your body move instinctively in search of your release, but Stephen had other plans. Quickly, he moved you under him, getting lost between your legs again, sucking your clit and licking your dripping folds before patting your leg and ordering, "Turn around and lift that ass for me."
You did as he ordered, but not satisfied he slapped your ass cheek and ordered again. "Higher." He gave another slap and when he was satisfied with your position he entered you again, fucking you with surprising ferocity. That was one of the things you loved about Stephen, you never knew what sex with him would be like. Sometimes it was soft and other times it was like that. Hard and delicious.
Stephen was so big that his body covered your entire body, his weight made it impossible for you to move and when he fucked you like that you were completely at his mercy and that was fucking hot. You loved being dominated by him, you loved knowing that your man had complete control over you.
"Fuck yes Stephen... take me, use me, I'm yours. Fuck me harder. Show me I am yours and no one else's. Prove to me that you own me… my owner."
Stephen groaned at your words, grabbing the headboard and increasing the strength of his thrusts as the bed creaked beneath you.
"Gonna make me cum, Stephen, uh? Want me to cum? Tell me, wanna hear you saying it."
He grabbed your hair with one hand and started using it as a rein, pulling you against his thrusts, which became increasingly irregular and strong.
"Gonna cum for me, sweetheart. Wanna see you fucking cum in my cock, come on, give it to me, cream my dick."
You moaned loudly feeling the knot threatening to break in your stomach.
"Yes Stephen...please."
"Come on, love. Let go for me. Cum... Cum on my dick."
And so you did. You came hard feeling your whole body shaking with the force of your release and your legs gave way making you fall face first into the pillows.
"There you go. Such a sweetheart doing as you're told." He groaned the words as he continued thrusting.
"Now you're going to let me use this pussy to get off. What do you think, uh? Letting me using you like this. I know you love it."
You groaned positively, but your groans were muffled by the pillow.
"What is that, uh? Can't hear you, love."
"Use me..." You tried to say, but your voice came out hoarse, but it was enough for him to hear.
He kept thrusting hard into you searching his own high.
"Want me to use you, sweetheart? That's what I am doing and you feel so good. So fucking amazing. Pussy feels so warm and wet and delicious, gonna cum so fucking hard inside you, fill you with my milk, it’s that what do you want?"
"Y-yes, please." You begged and he moaned loudly, placing his hand on the headboard to increase the strength of his thrusts.
"Yeah? Want my milk inside this warm little hole? Then tell me, ask for it."
"Please Stephen, cum in me, cum inside me, want your cum so badly, please."
Stephen groaned loudly and gave two more hard thrusts and then began to cum. He kept thrusting, pushing his cum inside you until he was finished.
"Oh fuck, fucking take it." He groaned in your ear and finally rolled onto his side, his breathing ragged and rapid.
You buried your face in the pillow trying to compose yourself, but a fit of laughter invaded you.
Stephen wrapped his arms around you and began tickling your hips giggling with you.
"Okay, okay, please... I can't..." You begged, gasping for air from laughing so hard. He let go of you and you rolled to the side finally looking at him. The worry, the fear that you saw on his face had disappeared and in its place was the most beautiful smile in the world.
"You’re feeling better." It wasn't a question, but an observation.
He nodded confidently "I told you. You're like medicine to me."
You smiled, dragging yourself closer to him and he wrapped you in his arms letting you lay your head on his shoulder. "You get different sometimes when you're horny."
He let out a small laugh.
"I'm serious. You get a bit rough. I like it."
He cupped your cheek making you look at him and kissed you softly. "It must be because I love you so much. You do these things to me."
You smiled feeling your heart flutter in your chest again. "I love you too, more than anything."
"More than chocolate?" He joked and you grimaced.
"Not that much."
He giggled, squeezing you against his chest and the two of you were silent for a minute. It was you who broke the silence first, determined to return to the subject he was avoiding.
"Promise me you'll seek professional help to deal with these nightmares." You insisted.
He sighed heavily. "You know what they say about therapy. You start it for a reason and the next thing you know you're digging up all the dead bodies on your floor."
You knew exactly what he was talking about and what he was afraid of, part of you always knew it was much more than the accident. You just didn't know how to broach the subject with him. It was something so deeply hidden within him that he didn't even want to talk about it, but you knew this was the moment.
"I know you're afraid to deal with your feelings about your sister, Stephen, but these nightmares are your unconscious telling you that you need closure."
"I'm not afraid..." He said, staring at the ceiling. "I just don't think it's beneficial to go over things that happened so many years ago. I'd rather forget."
You rolled your lips. "But you can't forget, that's the truth. No matter how hard you try, it's all in there and you're just trying to distract yourself from the pain. It was like that with medicine and then at Kamar Taj and now with me..."
"Is not the same thing." He interrupted you. "Medicine was a way to prove to myself that I could be more. Kamar Taj was my salvation when I had lost all hope. You... you are the love of my life. I'm not with you to get distract from my problems, I'm with you because you gave meaning to my life, you made me happy."
You nodded, stroking his chest absently.
"But I'll do it if it's what you want."
"It's not for me that you have to do this, but for you, Stephen. You need to think about yourself sometimes."
He chuckled dryly "I've been called a narcissist, you know? Arrogant. Prepotent. It was when I stopped thinking about myself that I became a better person, they say."
"Fuck them. This is not true." You cupped his face making him look at you. "You've always been a good person, you've always done good even when you did it for selfish reasons. Now I'm asking you to dedicate some of your time to yourself. Please."
He smiles reassuringly at you. "Okay. Consider it done."
You allowed yourself a relieved sigh.
"I liked the 'you're my owner' thing. A little possessive, but I liked it." He teased, changing the subject again and again without any subtlety.
You smirked "We talk and do unimaginable things when we're horny."
"Yeah? I like making you horny, I love seeing how you transform at my touch. It's fascinating to me and I never get tired of it."
You pulled him to your lips and kissed him lingerly, pulling a hum from his throat.
"No man has ever made me feel the way you do. I love everything about you, Stephen."
He rested his forehead on yours and smiled proudly.
"And I love everything about you, my sweet… sweet... sweet... sweetheart." He said separating the words with kisses.
Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)
DOCTOR STRANGE MASTERLIST
MAIN MASTERLIST
Tag list: @doctorstrangelovemusic-blog @rachelessfreedom-world @a-tong @ppatricia34me @strangesgirls @dreamxonxx @benaddictcumberpatch @iamsherlocked1479 @veryladyqueen @notglucose @wickedscribbles @agathassscribbles @rmoonstoner @fanartka @fanartka @nicoletk @azu21 @captaincarmel416 @harlekin6 @coffedraven @withalittlehoney
@dontmindme262 @dementeddoll @yourmajesty13 @strangeions @bloodyflowerrr @insanelyobsessedwithdilfs @dragonqueen89 @newtsniffles @whiskeyho @sherlux @xourownsidee @kakashibabe02 @hobimysolecito @geeky-politics-46 @lykaonimagines @d0ct0rstrangewife @classickook @iobsessoverfictionalmen @bobateadaydreams @aphroditesdilemma @sassenach-on-the-rocks
@thealleydog @anadlockfan @pinkthick @loverofallbroken @butchers-girl @ironstrangeheart @asgards-princess-of-mischief
#doctor strange#doctor strange smut#doctor strange fanfic#doctor strange fic#doctor strange fanfiction#doctor strange fluff#doctor strange angst#doctor strange 2016#doctor strange x reader#doctor strange x you#doctor strange x self insert#stephen strange#stephen strange fanfic#stephen strange fanfiction#stephen strange x reader#stephen strange x you#stephen strange smut#doctor stephen strange#doctor stephen strange fanfic#doctor stephen strange fanfiction#doctor stephen strange x reader#doctor stephen strange x you#defender strange#supreme strange#sinister strange#doctor strange supreme#doctor strange what if#marvel x reader#marvel fanfic#mcu x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
DP x DC Writing Prompt #9
"Are you sure about this?" J'onn asks, reading the discontent amongst the Kents. Clark and Lois each have a hand on their teenage son's shoulders, who several weeks prior was aged ten years old.
"We're sure," Clark says. He is not, nor is his wife. But his son is, who lays his hand on his mother's and squeezes. It is that surety that J'onn honors as he delves into the young (but not as young as he should be) man's mind.
The memories are hard to find but not gone, hidden behind what Jon can only see manifested as a glowing green wall. When he raises a tentative hand, the shield sparks green, but does no harm. Pushing through is like wading through the consistency of jello, which he finds an overall unpleasant experience. But he is unharmed as he passes through.
Before J'onn can sort through the memories he is all but sucked into the one at the forefront, where a Jon most similar in visage to the one recently returned perches on the edge of a building. Beside him lies a burger, partially unwrapped though uneaten, and a small soda.
As the memory builds out a sun sets on a small suburban town, and a muscled thigh knocks into Jon's, an older man with a shock of white hair and eyes the same light and color as the shield formed around these memories appearing. He's tall even sitting, likely about as tall as Superman, and looks to be in his thirties. A full body suit comprised of black and silver accents stretches across broad shoulders, a stylized D on his chest. He knocks his thigh into Jon's again.
"You said I couldn't go back," Jon says quietly.
"I lied," the man says lightly.
"You're lying now," Jon says, glaring at him. "I can hear your heart."
"Nice try, kiddo, I don't have a heart in this form," the man says, reaching a hand out, presumably to ruffle his hair. Jon dodges.
"I know you're lying. You would've told me. You would've helped me get home."
"Jon--"
"You're protecting Clockwork, aren't you?" Jon demands, eyes beginning to burn red. "That old coot decided it wasn't enough to play with you, he had to play with me too."
The man slaps a hand over Jon's eyes. "Breathe, like we practiced," he instructs firmly. Steam rises from where his palm meets Jon's eyes, but if it hurts he shows no indication. "In, 2, 3. Out, 2, 3."
Jon whimpers but heaves a breath, and the burst of red light dies down from between the man's fingers. His hand moves down to Jon's shoulder.
"I can't pretend to understand Clockwork's decisions," the man says, as tears begin to pool in Jon's eyes. "Frankly, I don't want to. I suspect they are hard decisions to make, sometimes."
"I don't get why you defend him," Jon says. "Dumbledore acting bastard."
"Language," the man says, lightly bopping him on the head. J'onn notes the boy actually winces, as if the blow hurts.
"I am upset with him, I hope you know that," the man continues. "But at the end of the day I'm also grateful. Because I got to meet you." He hooks an arm around Jon's shoulders, pulling him in. "And now you'll get to see your family again. And Sally, Arnold, and Damian!"
Jon sniffles, rubbing roughly at his face. He leans into the man's bicep. A trusted adult figure, then. One he's described his life to. A life, J'onn is sad to note, he appears to have lived for the past six years, as opposed to a sudden shift in appearance. Jon's next question all but confirm it: "Can I really go back? It's been so long. They'll be all grown up."
"Hey, of course you can," the man says, rubbing his shoulder. "I'm sure they've missed you so much. They'll be so happy to see you again."
Jon starts to smile. "I'm going home."
"You're going home!" The man laughs, shaking him.
"I can finally eat some decent barbecue again!"
"Hey!" the man protests, "The smoker blew up one time!"
Jon continues, beginning to get excited. "And Ma will make her jalapeño cornbread! I never could get it right, I can't wait for you to try it!"
J'onn notes the older man's smile fading, eyes growing sad.
"And Damian will definitely want to spar and oh, oh! With you on our side we can totally prank Batman! I bet Alfred will even help! And Mom gives the best hugs, Pops comes really close but Mom will be really excited to meet you, everyone will."
"Jon," The man says.
"I knew you'd be worried about it, but they'll want to meet you," Jon says, clocking his expression. "They'll be grateful. You, you helped me. You kept me safe and taught me how to be Superman. They'll love you, I promise."
"Jon, I can't go with you," the man says gently.
"I'm not saying you stay, but you can visit! I'm sure the Justice League can figure out a way to maintain a portal, they're super used to all that multiverse stuff. Once they have the coordinates, you can stop by whenever!"
"I can't go through the portal, Jon," the man says. "To other worlds, I'm a god. And gods can't interfere. The only reason I can continue to live here is because this is the world of my origin."
Jon gapes at him. "But--but,"
"You're going to see your Mom and Dad again," the man says. "And your brother, and grandparents."
"I can come here, then," Jon says desperately, pushing his way out of the man's arms. The man is already shaking his head. "I can!"
"You can't."
"Why, because Clockwork says so? He's a liar!"
"Because multiverse travel is never a good idea. If you got trapped here again--"
"I wouldn't,"
"You belong with your family,"
"You're my family!" Jon cries. The man freezes. "You, and Sam, and Jazz, and Tucker and Val and Ellie and Pops and Mads, you're all my family! I can't just leave you, I won't!"
"Oh kiddo," The man says, eyes wet. "I love you too. We all do."
"So I'll stay," Jon says decisively. "For all we know my world is a wasteland. Gramps wasn't exactly right in the head when I left. It's better to stay here."
J'onn notes a green vine unwinding from a nearby trellis. It slides down the eave towards the pair.
"You don't mean that," the man is saying.
"I'm sixteen. I can make my own decisions. I'm staying."
The man cups Jon's face. "Your parents did not have a choice in losing you. I'm willing to bet they're devastated. Because I'd be devastated, losing a kid as great as you."
"Maybe they're not even there," Jon says, but the words are half-hearted, and it clearly hurts him to say them.
"I know I seem like a pushover, but if I thought Clockwork was sending you back to anything less than your loving family, I'd destroy him first. And he knows that. They're going to be there, I promise."
"I don't want to go," Jon says. Behind him, the vine rises from the eave of its own will, poised like a cobra enchanted by a snark charmer.
"I know," the man says, eyes drifting to the vine. "I'm so sorry, Jon."
"For what?" Jon asks, as the vine attaches itself to the nape of his neck. His eyes roll back as he collapses into the man's arms. The man hugs him tighter than is strictly necessary.
J'onn expects the memory to now end, alongside Jon's consciousness. To his curiosity, it does not.
"For what it's worth," a young woman spits bitterly, vines supporting her weight as she slips over the side of the roof. "I still think this is horrible." Her eyes are red and miserable.
"Seriously, team punching Dumbledore in the face," A young black man says, appearing in the air supported by a woman almost identical in appearance to the man holding Jon, down to the suit colors. They land on the rooftop.
"Are you sure about this," the dark haired woman with powers over plants asks. "Because to be honest, Danny, I'm five seconds away from punching you in the face."
"Jazz won't speak to you for months," the girl, likely his sister, points out.
"Make it a year," the man says, crossing his arms.
The man, Danny, ignores them all. He cards a hand through Jon's hair. "He'll retain the experience, but not the memories?"
"Yes, he'll be a perfect little superhero, just as you taught him," the woman says, vines twisting agitatedly around her, wrapping around her thigh, wrists and neck almost punishingly.
"Sam," the man says. "He needs to go home. All of you know that."
"He doesn't have to forget us to do so!" the sister bursts, eyes flashing green.
"Remembering would be a torment," Danny says. "He'll know he was loved. That's enough."
"Danny," the plant woman says, sitting beside them both. She puts a gentle hand on his, both on Jon's back. "This is just a different torment."
"And if someone finds out?" Danny asks. He has been patient amidst their scorn, but now a tiny edge ekes into his voice. "A god's child, unprotected? Threatened? He would never stop looking for a way back, and being vocal about it could get him killed."
The others are silent.
"He'll be home. He'll be happy," Danny says. More powerful than a prayer. A directive. He raises his head past the child slumbering in his lap, past them all, face hardening, and says to J'onn: "And you will say nothing."
J'onn takes a step back, fear so thick he could choke on it flooding his very being. Thismanwillkillhim, thismanwillkillhim.
This man will reach through dimensions and kill him.
"Now, get the fuck out of my kid's head," Danny snarls. J'onn is pushed back with enough force he enters his own mind in a vicious whirl that leaves him physically on the floor, gasping.
"I'm sorry," he says as Superman rushes to lift him, and he's not sure who he's apologizing to. Green eyes will pierce his dreams. Vines will crush his throat in his nightmares, screaming silence, silence.
You will say nothing.
"I'm sorry," J'onn says, politely pushing Clark's hands away as he rises. He's already beginning to calm, because he understands. Those are consequences he will not face. He will do as directed. He looks at Jon Kent, bewildered but unharmed, clutching his mother's hand.
J'onn reaches down and dusts at his pants. "I'm sorry," he says evenly, ready to spin his tale. Perhaps the Kents will continue to seek their answers. Perhaps not. He will stay out of it either way. He has been warned.
You were loved by gods. And to keep you safe, they would quiet us all.
Part Two
#dp x dc#dp x dc au#dp x dc prompt#dp x dc crossover#danny phantom#dpxdc#superman#superboy#jonathan kent#jonathan samuel kent#my writing
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Can I please request Soshiro using Weapon 10 for the first time in front of his secret girlfriend (that is also in the Defense Force) and the kaiju read his thought and announces the secret to everyone to hear?
Wingman
Soshiro was stuck in place. Like actually, physically rooted to the ground.
He had been ready for a fight, ready to use his secret weapon, ready to clean up the battlefield in a few minutes flat and be home at a decent enough time to cook you dinner.
But 10 was not having it.
The second that Soshiro had synced with him, all his little secrets went flooding into 10's consciousness. Including the one where he was dating you, which was a secret to the entire Defense Force, and the one where he wanted to propose to you, which was a secret to you.
Soshiro had desperately wanted to show off in front of you, show you what he was capable of in this suit, show you just how much he could protect you, but 10 didn't give a flying fuck what Soshiro wanted.
10 wanted to tell everyone that you belonged to Soshiro. 10 wanted Soshiro to propose to you now, in the middle of a battlefield. And the fact that Soshiro kept the engagement ring on him always in case he found the perfect moment to propose did not help the matter. 10 did not care about the perfect moment, 10 was all about the now.
And it didn't help that when Soshiro had first put on the suit, you had complimented how attractive he looked. 10 took full credit for that compliment and he immediately began liking you. If he could not do this one thing for you, if he could not get Soshiro to steel his nerves and ask you the damn question already, he would have failed you. He would have no honor as a Kaiju.
So there you were, in the middle of a fight, guns blazing, organs flying, and suddenly you noticed Soshiro dropping to his knees, planting them firmly on the bloodied ground. You run over to him, concerned that he might have injured himself.
"Sosh- Vice Captain! Are you... are you okay??"
His face is pained and he's gritting his teeth but you can't find a single injury on him.
"What's wrong, what's going on?"
His head snaps up to you, the movement sudden and seemingly against his will. He bites his lip so much it bleeds and you take a sleeve and start to dab at it worriedly.
"This... this is not... how I wanted... to do this." The words come out strained as his trembling arm reaches for his pocket. He yanks his arm back with his other hand but it's to no avail.
"Do what?" You're starting to get more anxious, wondering why your boyfriend is acting so strange, especially in the most dangerous of places.
You shoot another kaiju away from him as he pulls something out of his pocket.
"I... fuck... fuck, fine. I know, I know, shut up, I'm getting to it. Baby, I love you. This is absolutely not how I wanted to do this, I wanted to be significantly more romantic, but this fuckhead won't let me leave this spot until I do this. So please, love of my life, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me? Feel free to say no so that I can propose again in a better place at a better time."
Your eyes widen as he flicks open a ring box and gazes up at you, waiting for your answer.
Then you start laughing. "I think this was the most perfect proposal ever, I'll definitely never forget it now."
He blushes but he lets you continue.
"Yes, baby, I will marry you. There's no doubt about that, there was never any doubt about that. I'll marry the hell out of you. Now please, 10, will you let my fiancee up so I can kiss him?"
You shoot another kaiju out of the way as 10 allows Soshiro to pull himself to his feet.
Finally in control of his own limbs, he pulls you to him, sliding the ring on your finger before devouring your lips in a passionate kiss.
All at once, your comms start to blow up with the voices of your fellow officers ringing loudly in your ears; the thing you hear the most is, "WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? DID YALL JUST GET ENGAGED IN THE MIDDLE OF A FUCKING BATTLE?"
Soshiro face palms.
"I'm gonna kill 10."
#kaiju no. 8#soshiro hoshina#soshiro hoshina x reader#hoshina#anime#oneshot#hoshina x reader#hoshina soshiro x reader
476 notes
·
View notes
Text
Logan x Reader pt.2
So I truly didn't think that many people would like this but thank y'all so much, genuinely
The reader is unfortunately no longer GN, they are referred to as 'mom' but otherwise fairly neutral
There is blood/sort of self harm imagery in this one but it ISNT SELF HARM I promise! Make sure you only read if you're comfortable though!!!
<< Part 1 Part 3 >> Masterlist
Waking up next to him was pretty surreal. Mostly because of how relaxing it actually was. His chest pillowed your head and one of his arms was around your back, playing with your hair. He smelt fucking amazing.
You lifted your head and looked down at him, images of last night flashing behind your eyes. It had actually been pretty funny to begin with, neither of you could work out how to get the other out of their suits, ending in you both giggling and undressing yourselves. He was out of his suit lightning quick - you're surprised it is still intact - and immediately found his way back to you. Kissing your neck and you struggled to remove your shoes.
“I promise this isn't some elaborate plot to turn you off.” You laughed as your foot was finally free of the blasted shoe.
He merely hummed, breath fanning your neck as he slowly bit down. Your brain short-circuited and it took a full shaky breath for you to be back in the room and removing the spandex.
His face was calm, relaxed, and he gifted you a small smile.
“Hey.”
You grinned back. “Hi.”
“It's still pretty early.” He wiggled his brows.
Your cheeks warmed and, in a move that probably wasn't wise, you hid your face in his chest. “No. We have to get ready.”
His chest rumbled with his chuckle and you groaned, placing playful kisses on his pecs.
“C’mon, baby.” He pulled you up to his lips and kissed you slow. Taking his time with a leisurely pace.
You kissed him back before nipping his bottom lip, knowing it would drive him crazy, and pulling back. “Stop." Kiss. "It's a big day." Kiss. "I gotta make sure Laura eats.”
Confusion splattered across his features but he slowly released you. A fact that you were grateful for because you don't think you could've rebuked him another time.
You eased yourself up, still a little sleepy and a little sore before stretching fully. His eyes watched your naked body shamelessly and you turned to locate your suit.
“What is that?” His expression was stony.
You turned around to catch what he had seen and couldn't find anything. “Was it a spider or something?”
“No, what is that?” He pointed at you.
There better not be a fucking spider on me. You looked down, scared, to see nothing. Just yourself, naked as the day you were born. “I'm still confused.”
“That fucking scar on your back."
Ah.
Shit.
He hadn't seen it last night because he had you laid on your back for the majority of it.
“Oh. That scar.” You played it off. “It's nothing real-”
“Did I do that?”
“No. It wasn't you.” You bit your cheek. “It was a version of you.”
“Wh-”
“Lo.” You stopped him before he could spiral, placing a hand on his cheek. “Nothing happened that I couldn't handle. He just got lucky and unlike you I can't heal everything so unfortunately I have claw marks. But I am alive and safe and you are not to blame.”
He looked like he was about to argue but a knock at the door stopped that.
“Guys, are ya decent?” Wade asked in a sing-song voice.
Not really. “You okay?” You called back.
“Yeah, I'm here to tell you to hurry up because Maya doesn't know how to end this part.”
Who the fuck was Maya? “O-okay?”
“See ya soon!”
Logan didn't look like he wanted to move. He was content with staying here and blaming himself for something that he didn't do.
“Look, Logan, if he is awake they all are. It's time to go.”
He had to agree with you there.
~~
Logan entered the main living space and was unsurprised to see everyone else there. Gambit was sitting with Elektra talking strategy, Blade was kneeling spinning his weapon and psyching himself up, Deadpool copying every move he made and you were braiding Laura's hair.
“At least they won't be able to grab your hair, lovely.” You kissed her crown as you finished, tying it off with a small piece of fabric. She smiled and scooped a handful of dry cereal into her mouth. “Make sure you have some fruit, please.” The girl rolled her eyes but did take a piece of fruit from the can by your feet. “Good girl.”
Laura would never tell anyone but she loved praise from you. You were her favourite person and for you to tell her she was doing good meant the world. She liked to be strong and fierce but secretly she loved when you babied her.
“You her mom or something?” Logan asked. He didn't mean for it to sound so insulting. Every set of eyes turned to him, their judgement sitting heavily on his shoulders.
Wade even piped up, “What in the ever loving fuck?”
You looked up shocked and a little embarrassed. “No, of course not. But it's good to keep her safe and s-she needs a balanced diet, so I try to... provide one.” Oh, god. You sounded crazy. Your gaze fell to Laura who was staring right back at you. “Sorry. I guess I have been acting like your.. I know you have parents and I know I'm not- I’m sorry.”
“I don't have any parents.” She clarified.
That didn't hurt, per se, but it didn't feel good.
“‘course you do.” El called over. “She just braided your hair.”
Laura smiled and leant further into you, you hugged her back and handed the can of fruit to her. “Have you packed your things?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. Her ‘things’ were her comics and a pair of sunglasses. The light was far too bright for her eyes and they were a blessing in this wasteland.
“That's good.” You smiled as she stood up and walked through Wolverine, clipping his shoulder with her own.
Gambit asked Laura to help him in the other room. Everyone in your party knew it was a distraction so that Blade could feed. It was your turn and you knew it would go over swimmingly with the man that just insulted you.
“I didn't mean-”
“It's fine.” You stood and made your way over to the Daywalker. “You ready?”
“I hate this.” He clasped your arm and you helped him to his feet.
Wade reached his arm out and you obliged, pulling him up too. He bounced happily on his toes and hugged you. “You can be my mom any time.”
“Sure thing.” You chuckled.
“Where are you going?” Logan asked. He was just stood awkwardly where he had stopped in front of you and Laura.
“To feed Blade.”
“Feed him?”
Blade sneered, revealing his fangs. “I used to have a friend that helped my hunger. Now I'm here.”
“We all pitch in.” Elektra continued. “Take turns.”
Wade fanned himself, “he bites you? Kinky bitch.”
“No,” You shook your head. “I cut myself and pour an amount into a glass, we have a measuring line. It's a very well thought out system.”
“Cut yourself.” Logan's stony expression hadn't quite left from earlier but was back in full force now.
“It might sound strange to you but it's a good system.” You defended it. “We try to shield little Laura, we all take turns, it's fair. The only victim is Blade! He hates it!”
Blade, who had stayed quiet, nodded. He was embarrassed to ask anything like this, he hated that he was a Dhampir. His mother had died because of a selfish Vampire and said being cursed him, he swore to rid the world of them and here he was. No better than those he hunted.
“I'll do it.” Logan volunteered. “I heal so I'll do it.”
“You don't have t-”
“I'll do it.” He was firm but then spoke lowly. “I don't want any more scars on you.”
You sighed but agreed, half hating and half loving him.
“Come on then.” You ushered them both into the makeshift kitchen.
Deadpool followed watching with wide eyes.
Blade hung back as you got the glass, it had been scratched halfway to indicate the measurement.
“That's a lot of blood.” Logan's tone was accusatory.
“Every other day.” Blade informed, emotionless.
Logan was quick to yank off a glove and cut a quick slice on his hand. The hand had so many veins that he was sure it would take seconds to fill the cup. Except, he healed before he could fill it a quarter of the way.
He repeated his actions and the cut seemed to heal faster.
“This is embarrassing.” Wade ‘whispered’.
“Shut up.” Logan growled as he did it again and finally got just under the mark. “Is that enough?”
“Not quite-”
Blade agreed to stop this painful display. “It'll do.”
“Blade, we have a big fight coming up, you'll need all your strength.”
“It's okay, I'll be good.” He picked the glass up and took long thick swallows, hating that the taste was good. That it itched the scratch in the back of his head.
“So if he's a Vampire why can he go out in sunlight?” Deadpool asked whilst Blade licked his lips.
“Daywalker.. he can handle light.” You recalled something, “actually did you know that Dracula could as well? Sunlight didn't kill him, it just weakened him.”
Blade set the glass down, “I killed that mother fucker.”
“Dracula?”
“Yeah.”
“He's real?”
“Real as the stake I shoved into his heart.”
You were in complete shock. “Are you being serious? For real life? This… this is mind-blowing.”
Wade shrugged. “I dunno, I'm pretty sure in that comic he comes back to life.”
“Comic?” Blade raised a brow.
“Yeah keep up, sweety, this is a bunch of nerd comics thrust together with you included.” Deadpool pointed at you.
~~
You'd never seen a fully grown man scream ‘shotgun’ and sprint to the side of a car. Yet, here he was, shoving Gambit to the side and opening the door of a beat up Honda.
Wade rolled down the window and explained, “I'm not driving but I am a passenger princess.”
“I guess, I'll drive.” Elektra shrugged and there were no objections. She was probably the most logical of all of you, she could handle his outbursts and tune him out. She had done that to Daredevil for years apparently.
Laura, Gambit and Blade were next in the car, the latter sandwiched in between the others, they say in the middle row as the back row had been destroyed. You smiled at Laura leaning against Blade.
“Y/N.” Logan gestured to the open boot. Oh, right. Yeah. You'd have to get in the boot. With Logan. The man that had been cold towards you today. Great.
You shuffled into the car and settled your backpack next to you, he got in behind you and you were both just sitting facing each other. Knees meeting.
You busied yourself with your backpack, handing Laura her sunglasses. She had them on her head and placed them down for a second, forgetting them. Luckily you picked them up for her.
“There you go, hun.”
She blushed and took them happily. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
After that there was nothing else to do. You had no distractions.
Wade had put the radio on as El had pulled away from your home. This might be the last time you ever saw it. It was actually a little bit sad. You all might never be back here. Or all but one could be, you hated that thought. It was bad enough Johnny being dead - and he was fairly annoying - you couldn't handle anyone else. Were you going to cry? No. You weren't. You were fine. Everyone would be fine.
You sniffed just as Britney Spears started singing and Gambit and Wade put on a terrific performance.
"I think I did it again."
“You look tired.” Logan whispered, the others wouldn't hear him over the duet.
“Do I?” You frowned. What had you done to him this morning? “Way to make a girl feel special.”
“No I mean.” He sighed. “Have a nap. It's a long journey.”
“There's not an abundance of space.” You gestured to each other.
Logan manoeuvred and motioned for you to move with him, you were wary but did as he asked and ended up in a very comfortable position. It mirrored how you had awoken this morning, resting on his chest, except you were both closer. If that was possible.
To be comfortable he pulled your leg over his, leaving the other straight, and wrapped both arms around your sides.
“I'm sorry I've been a dick.” He whispered against your hair. “I- The scar set me off this morning and everything I've done since I can't explain. I don't know why I've been an asshole. I jus-I haven't meant to be it's just come out like that.”
“It's alright.” You raised one shoulder in a half shrug. Your Logan had explained once that sometimes he says something and between his brain and his mouth it was as though it went through an 'asshole filter'. He truly didn't mean to be a dickhead but he couldn't help it. He usually felt horrible when it happened.
“No it isn't-”
You placed your hand on his lips, “yes it is. Now shush let me sleep. I was up practically all night.”
At least that got you an amused huff.
Part 3
#logan howlett#logan 2017#logan x reader#logan#james logan howlett#deadpool 3#deadpool#deadpool and wolverine#wolverine#the wolverine#wolverine x reader#xmen#logan xmen#wolverine x men
765 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kinktober Day 8 ~ Temperature Play
Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader
Summary: Miguel and you play around with cooler temperatures.
A/N: This one got me a bit bc I didn't know how I wanted to write it but enjoy!
Prev *✧・゚: Next
Kinktober '24 Masterlist
Miguel wasn’t a fan of the cold.
Due to his spider DNA, he was more fond of warmer temperatures. His lab was warmer, and whenever he was home, he'd set the thermostat at a decent temperature—not too hot, not too cold.
It didn’t annoy you.
You found it cute that your spouse had a preference for specific temperatures. You wondered how far it went when you hugged him one day and he shivered at your cold hands. Of course, before it went any further, he went into caring husband mode, wondering if you were getting enough iron.
But you were curious.
When you visited him one day, his lab was at that usual, warm temperature. A cup of ice in your hand. He didn’t question it, too focused on his work. So when you cradled the ice cube in your palm, you glanced at the nape of his neck, before placing it on him.
Miguel tensed when he turned to you, an innocent look on your face.
“What was that?”
“An ice cube…” You said, shaking your cup.
“Why…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Why did you do that?”
Before you answered, your husband jolted a little as the cold water droplets trailed down his back. “Did you like that?”
“I don’t know...”
“Want me to do it again?”
Miguel folded his arms, glancing away from you. “Sure.”
You take another ice cube, tracing it from his chin, and journey to his Adam's apple as more melted water dripped down his chest. Miguel held in a breath, crimson eyes watching you trailing the ice cube down his suit.
“You know…it’s better with no clothes on.”
He rolled his eyes, mouth twitching to hide the impeding grin. “I have work.”
“What do you have that’s so important than this?” You asked while tracing the ice cube around his pectorals, right above his nipple.
Miguel groaned, “Team lineups for missions, Peter wants me to sign off on the cafeteria having taco Tuesdays, and-” His lip caught between his teeth when the ice cube circled around his naval, the water running down to his crotch.
“Sounds like you can do that tomorrow…”
“Hermosa…” Miguel’s eyes were closed, taking in all the cold water drying on the spots of his body. You grinned before kissing his neck, your tongue taking a long lick up to get rid of the water.
That’s when you two found yourselves back home.
Unknown to Miguel, you had bought some cooling lube and massage oils that were cool to the touch. To start off, you pulled out the oil, not wanting to do too much too quickly. Miguel relaxed against the headboard while you straddled him, oil on your palms.
“Say ‘pineapple’ if it gets too much.” You say. Miguel nodded before you started to rub the oil on his pecs.
Once you rub the oil in, you feel it cool. He shivered at the switch in temperature, and goosebumps appeared on his skin.
“Feels good?”
“Y-Yeah.”
You ignore his cock straining against his boxers, grazing against your thigh when you kiss him. A sensual kiss while rubbing more of the oil into him. His nipple grazes against your own. You feel Miguel’s hand on your ass when you trail down his neck with kisses and then to his chest. Right when you hover above his chest, you blow against it.
“Oh!”
He squeezed your cheek, cock jumping at the sensation. When you do it again, you hold back a smile, eliciting another surprised reaction.
“You like that?”
“Mmhm.”
You do the same thing to his other pectorals. Blowing against them, cooling down his usually warm body. Miguel shifts under you while releasing a whine. Cum starts staining his boxers, so you keep going. Another drops of oil in your hand and you spread it across his abdomen. Only reaching it to the top of his pubic hair.
Miguel lifted his hips for you to pull off his boxers, his large cock finally free from its restraints. You continue to ignore it when you go around to blow across his stomach. He grunted, his other hand tangled in the sheets. Miguel’s hips started thrusting upwards, aching for you to show his cock more attention. When you continue to ignore it, you earn a desperate whine from your husband.
“Please…”
“Please what?” You ask while placing your lips right below his navel, ghosting over his shaft. “If it’s too much, you know the safe word.”
“It’s not. Give me more. Please.”
You hum at his plea, pretending to think it over. “More like…this?”
Finally, you touch his length by rubbing some oil on it. Just at the base of cock, not wanting to smear it all over. You blow on his cock and cum leaks more from his tip. Miguel shifted once more, hand leaving your ass to rest on the back of your neck.
“Do that again.”
You do it again, and Miguel loses his restraint. He kept shifting, whining for you. The sounds of his pleasure make you squeeze your thighs together. You start trailing up his shaft, hovering over his tip and giving a kitten lick.
Miguel keels over, hands buried in the sheets now. Slight tears were heard from the comforter. Another lick, and he’s gasping, groaning when you alternate between swirling your tongue around his tip and blowing at the base of his cock.
It’s only until he let out a guttural cry, cum quickly shooting out and staining your face. You blink, not expecting that at all.
“I’m guessing you enjoyed that?”
It took Miguel a minute to calm down, but he shot you a look once he did.
“Let’s go again.”
Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed):
@fandomfics @freythecrazyfae @maddyperezzzsstuff
@mynamesstevenwithav @eyes-ofhell @maxad99
@howlingco @cherrypieyourface @snails-doodles22
@siren-141 @nega-omega @sweetimpurity
@hehekittyhawk @spencerswh0r3 @saintdiior
@maliaofthevalley @wolverigrl @pigeonmama
@shybluebirdninja @tomie-it-girl @antishadow2021
@honey-and-olives @hyjionie
#kinktober#kinktober 2024#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o hara x reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel o'hara x black reader#x reader#x black reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara#spiderman 2099#cookie's kinktober 2024
331 notes
·
View notes