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miguelhugger2099 · 11 months ago

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Omg first off LOVE!!! your wiring literally *chef’s kiss* imagine Miguel x reader suggestive smut where they’ve been both super busy and haven’t had time for each other and tension has been building up to this point.

Worth the Wait

nonie im gonna sob. not only was i so excited to see you be my first ask, this is also my first ever written smut!! aaaa im so nervous so please have mercy !! i jumped on my laptop as soon as i saw this and its so late right now haha im a little tired but i didnt want you to wait at all !! im not sure if i wrote too much or too little lol regardless i really hope you enjoy and if not i'm more than happy to make something else and thank you sososo much for the compliment <3333 the ask wasnt specified if it was fem!reader or not so i made it gn!reader just in case <3 Miguel x GN!Reader, Smut, too embarrassed to proofread it, Word Count: 3,681

“Hey, Miguel, do you think you could stay late tonight? Boss wants you in the lab for testing.” A short woman popped her head in his room, her hair neatly tucked in a high bun. Miguel stopped his pacing in his office, his glasses lifted on his head using it as a headband to pull back his fringe. He placed the beakers in his hands down and took off his gloves while ruby eyes glanced at the clock on the wall. He was supposed to leave in a couple minutes.

Miguel’s eyebrows scrunched up, tsking under his breath and turning to look at the woman. “Can’t someone else be there? Peter can oversee it instead.” He pleaded, exasperated. She gave him a sympathetic look and sighed.

“Sorry, Miguel. He specifically asked for you.” Not wanting to be the bearer of bad news anymore, she slipped out the door and shut it behind her, leaving Miguel to groan and slump his shoulders. He stared up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, breathing in and out to calm his anger. It seemed like these days all he ever did was overtime at work. He fiddled with the golden band around his left ring finger, his other hand twirling it mindlessly for some comfort and also a silent apology to you.

His heart ached as he made his way to his desk, picking up his phone and dialing your number. He licked his lips while he brought the phone up to his ear. Miguel wasn’t prepared to hear your voice, happy and hopeful and only be met with disappointment.

“Miggy?” You answer happily. A small smile forms on Miguel’s face.

“H-hey, baby. You doing alright?” He asked, taking a seat on his swivel chair and leaning back to stare at the photo of you two on his desktop.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m finishing up dinner. Are you on your way home?”

Miguel’s smile dropped a bit, realizing once more why he had called in the first place. “Um, about that, mi corazón. I have to–”

“You have to stay the night, don’t you?” You cut him off, disappointment evident in your voice. Miguel’s heart clenched at the sound.

“I…I do. Believe me, I don’t have a choice or I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

“It’s okay, really. I’m not mad or anything. This month has been hectic for both of us. I just… I just miss you is all.” You speak softly over the phone. He missed you more. He wanted to be there.

“Lo siento, bebé. You know how much I hate being away from you.” He apologized. “How about tomorrow, huh? I have off. We can go out and get a drink. Or maybe stay home? I know how much you love my cooking.” He offered, his heart beating faster at the thought of spending time with you again. That feeling sank when he heard you let out a quick puff of air in annoyance.

“I can’t. I’m working this weekend. Six days in a row,” You rolled your eyes just thinking about it. Your job always had a way of pushing your buttons. Miguel’s jaw clenched as he heard you. Miguel never really liked this recent event of work taking up his time from seeing you. He hated it even more when your job took you away from him. “God, I really thought we’d have tonight together at least.”

Miguel was quick to reassure you. “Hey, hey. Listen. We’ll have a day together. Eventually there’ll be a day for just us–all about us, I promise.”

When Miguel had arrived home, it could barely be even classified as night time with the way the sun had been peeking through the horizon. He dragged his body through the door, a cold home awaiting him. After kicking off his shoes, he dumped his coat and bag on the floor and made his way to the kitchen, eating the leftovers of the dinner you two were supposed to eat together before trudging back to bed. He saw you lying there on your side and he felt exhaustion drag him down.

Miguel slipped in under the covers beside you after striping himself of his clothes, leaving him in his underwear and slipped his arm around you. He pressed your body flushed against his, Miguel’s larger body enveloping yours protectively. His nose buried itself in your neck, his lips grazing your shoulder. His hand rubbed your stomach and then slid up to rub up and down your waist. Sneakily, he ran his hand under your shirt while his lips left small kisses on your neck and shoulder. You stirred awake as you felt the sudden touch of someone else.

Miguel felt you move so he pulled you tighter to him, keeping you caged in that position. “Mig…?” You called out sleepily. You felt something poke you from behind and groaned. Miguel continued to kiss your neck, his teeth coming out to gently nip at the skin making you shiver. He simply hummed his response.

“‘M home.” He murmured. He slowly turned you on your back, towering over you slightly with your leg between his. Miguel’s arm rested by your head while his attacks became more intimate. You leaned your head back, allowing him more access and his other hand on your hip squeezed you in appreciation. You bent your leg up on the bed slightly, your knee caressing his growing bulge in his boxers. Miguel let out a low groan, his hips grinding on you for some friction.

Your hands finally reached up to his hair, curling your fingers around his soft wavy brown locks. Miguel took this as an opportunity to capture your lips with his, muting the soft moans you were letting out. His own knee spread your legs apart, rubbing in between them to add to your pleasure. You felt a jolt of pleasure run down your spine, bucking your hips up instinctively. Miguel sighed against you, his hand on that had been gripping your hip, moved down to the hem of your pajama pants. He teasingly pulled it down, letting it snap back to your body and making you whine. You felt him grin through your kiss. Cheeky bastard.

Before he could ease his hand down your pants, your alarm had blared through the room, shocking the both of you and separating yourselves off each other. Miguel scowled while you clambered up to grab your phone. “The hell was that?” He grunted, displeased with being interrupted. You fumbled with turning it off, placing a hand on your chest to calm your fast beating heart.

“My alarm. I have a morning shift.” You moaned, tossing your phone back on the counter and standing up from the bed. Miguel blinked twice before getting up with you. He reached out his hand to grab yours in an attempt to stop you.

“Woah, woah, hey–what’s the rush?” He asked, turning you around and cupping your cheek. “We can at least have these couple minutes, can’t we?” His voice dropped an octave, leaning down to press a kiss on your cheek. Miguel tried to kiss downwards but you stopped him, albeit unwillingly.

“Amor, you know damn well how Nueva York’s traffic is in the morning. I’m not gonna be late and get my ass in trouble ‘cause you can’t keep it in your pants.” You slipped from his arms with a playful roll of your eyes and walked to the kitchen. Miguel scoffed, slightly offended, his eyes watching you walk away and looking down at your ass.

“Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying it.” He grumbled, looking down at the tent in his boxers wondering what to do with it now.

For the next week, it had been nothing but just pure torture. With the month making you and Miguel work away from each other, this week was stretching that limit. When Miguel worked in the morning, you’d work at night and vice versa. Each time without fail, you managed to slip in a few teasing touches. Waking up Miguel by sitting on his lap and peppering kisses on his cheeks with his hands grinding your hips down on his hardening cock. Miguel cupping your ass and giving it a squeeze when you came home from work while he was on his way out. Both of you were on the brink of breaking by this point. These small acts were supposed to tame the fire within you, not burn it brighter.

Eventually, it was finally your day off after a long weekend. A break from customer service and passing out as soon as you got home. Miguel had work today but he texted earlier that he’d get off on the hour he was supposed to this time around. You felt bad. He’d been working so hard and today had been no different. He took a shift earlier than usual so he could come home earlier without anyone being there to suddenly ask for him to stay. Lord knows he’s pushing those forty hours into overtime.

From the bedroom, you heard the door open, keys jingling as it was turned to unlock it. You got up from the bed and peered out the door, seeing Miguel kicking off his shoes and coat while tossing his bag carelessly on the living room chair. “Welcome home.” You greeted him. He dragged his feet closer to you with his head down, the top buttons on his white button up were popped open, exposing a glimpse of his collarbone. Miguel immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you in for a comforting hug. You followed suit, hugging him back since you sensed he probably had a rough day. He hummed in response, settling for resting his chin on your head. You stayed like that for a while just holding one another until you felt his hand run under your shirt to feel your soft skin against his calloused hands. They continued up and up your spine until your shirt was lifting up with him. “Miguel.”

“What?” He grumbled. One hand slid down under your pants, getting a quick feel of your ass and pulling your pelvis to him. You gasped and tightened your hold around him, feeling the warmth of arousal ignite in your stomach. “I need to have you. I can’t wait any longer.” His soft touching became more possessive, roughly grabbing your ass and tugging on your shirt and pants.

“Miguel.” You repeated his name, this time in a whimper. Your own hands slipped down his collared shirt and lightly scratched your nails on his large back which made him shiver. He pulled back and you saw his eyes hazed with desire, pupils blown wide.

“Please…” He whispered, his lips brushing up against yours. Your hands fell to his buttoned shirt as you looked up at him. Your heart raced in your chest–the sheer want of having you all to himself finally after weeks was too good to pass up. You nodded and the pleading look on Miguel’s face dropped as he immediately bent down to kiss you. You let out a squeak of surprise between his lips right before giving into his needs and kissing him back.

He tugged your pants down to your ankles before lifting you out of the puddle of clothes and bringing you to the bed. Once you were laid on top, you watched Miguel fumble with his belt. His large hands quickly unhooked the metal making it chime and the soft zipping sound of the leather sliding out his belt loops. He practically ripped himself free from his clothes, not even unbuttoning his shirt and just lifted it up and off his torso. You saw his girthy length, standing tall and proud with a slight red color tinged at his tip while the rest of him was a slighter darker color than his skin. His tip was already oozing with precum. A sight you had always welcomed. It became clear to you that Miguel had been thinking about this for a while–maybe all day. Miguel crawled on top of you, helping you out of your shirt and underwear and kissing you again while his hands roamed your body.

“I’ve waited so long. Did you miss me like how I missed you, cariño?” He sighed between your lips. Your hands clutched his shoulders, one leg hooking around his waist.

“Always.” You whimpered back.

“On your knees. Now.” He growled. You felt your heart skip a beat, another heartbeat going straight to your core. Stumbling, you got off your back and got on your hands and knees like Miguel wanted. This position has always made you flustered. It was both embarrassing and exhilarating not seeing what Miguel could do to you, or even get to put your hands on him–solely relying on feeling.

Perfect timing, his hands met your ass, grabbing them and massaging them. “So perfect,” He murmured. His finger grazed your aching hole where you were the most sensitive, purposefully teasing the nerves on your body. He took pleasure in the way you writhed beneath him, succumbing to his hand. His thick cock rubbed up against you, smearing his leaking fluid on you for even better access. Then ever so slowly, gliding in his fat weeping tip inside and penetrating your walls.

You both moaned in unison. The feeling of being stuffed was like finally feeling that last puzzle piece snap in place. “Uff, fuck–I’ve missed you,” He groaned, his breath shaking as he leaned over your body. His one hand held the headboard in front of him while his other hand held the plushness of your hip tightly. Miguel’s body was shaking as he entered you slowly, stretching you out after a long time of not seeing each other like this. You whimpered, falling from your hands onto your elbows as you shook with him. “Ease up, cariño, así es.” He praised, leaning back to watch his cock disappear inside you. His pride swelled at how easily he seemed to slide in you even after so long, his mouth curling into a sly smirk.

“Mi–guel…” You choked out a moan. You whined and gripped the pillow underneath your head tightly in your fists. You had forgotten just how huge Miguel was, his covered bulge was nothing compared to the real thing. Panting, you heard your heartbeat in your ears, turning your head to rest your cheek on the pillow.

Miguel’s hand left the headboard by this point, choosing instead to rest on your back, running down the curve of your spine to press your head down. You whimpered and clenched around him which made him let out a string of curses under his breath. You felt him push himself to the hilt, his balls gently smacking against the curve of your ass. He groaned, his hand on your head gripped your hair to still himself from pounding you immediately. The two of you stood there, breathing heavily while you felt each other. You could feel him throbbing inside you, twitching ever so softly. Miguel bit his lip to hinder himself from cumming on the spot with your walls convulsing around him, weakly attempting to suck him in deeper.

You wiggled your hips, bucking them back against Miguel with a pathetic whine. “M-move…plea–” You got cut off when Miguel slipped out of you, and then he slammed back inside making you scream and shake. He then began a steady pace, enough for movement but not as quick as you wanted. Still, you mewled and clutched at the sheets while his cock was ravaging your guts. The hand on your hip wrapped around your lower stomach, his bicep flexing as he held your weight up to fuck your from behind.

“Too long. It’s been too fucking long since I’ve fucked this needy hole properly.” Miguel sighed, huffing with each thrust of his hips. Your eyes rolled back and your jaw slacked open. Skin slapping echoed in the room along with the wet smack of sweat between your bodies. It was a symphony of lust and desire. An aching instinct to be reunited like this. You pleaded for more–a little quicker, a little harder– and Miguel who loved you so much didn’t want to deny either of you this ecstasy. He then used both hands to grab onto your hips and started to drag your body back and forth on his dick, drilling himself in you like a toy. Miguel used up all his frustrations of not being able to see you all this time, his eyes drinking in your writhing form while he bucked into you abandonly.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck–Miguel…!” You squealed, involuntarily squeezing him which made me grunt and buck his hips faster. You babbled nonsense while your core bubbled up the feeling of an orgasm. You screwed your eyes shut as you allowed Miguel to hump against you. He leaned over you again, pressing kisses on your back, murmuring things you could barely hear over the sound of your own moans.

Suddenly, Miguel had pulled out again leaving you feeling empty and light headed while the feeling of an impending orgasm disappeared. He let go of you, your hips bouncing on the bed without the support of his strength holding you up. You opened up your eyes, glazed with pleasure and shakily tried to look behind you. Before you could, Miguel took your body and flipped you on your back. It all happened quickly before you could even register what was happening. He took your legs and tugged your body closer to him like a ragdoll. He spread them wide then pressed them up against your chest. You lolled your head up and you saw his fringe had fallen to his forehead, sticking to it with his sweat. His chest was heaving up and down, the glow of the moonlight highlighting the carvings of his muscles perfectly–it made your breath hitch.

Miguel then loomed over you, nuzzling his head into your neck again. You leaned your head to the side making him gain more access to you. His teeth bit your soft flesh, his lips suckling your skin to leave tiny bruises along the side. “Ah–” You squirmed and gasped when you felt Miguel slide back into you again. You quickly wrapped your arms around him, your hand running through his already messy hair. You pressed his head closer, your eyes opening up hazily to stare at the ceiling while Miguel starts his pace again.

“So tight, just f’me, hm? You have no idea how much–” He moaned in between speaking, the lust clouding his mind. “H-how much I needed you. I should’ve just brought you to work, bend you over my desk and fuck you however long I want,” He shuddered at the thought, his hips stuttering while you whimpered and arched your back off the bed. “Oh, you like that?” He grinned, his voice oozing with arrogance. You nodded, your eyes shutting closed again and desperately lifting your hips to match his thrusting.

“Next time, bebé, next time. I promise. You’re doing so, so, good. You feel so good.” He slurred softly, his hips snapped harder, his cock twitching and swelling inside you.

“Mig–Mig–I can’t,” You moaned, your screams getting louder the harder Miguel went. “Oh, god, Miguel!” Miguel kissed you, swallowing all your moans while he slipped his tongue in your mouth. Your eyes rolled back and your legs wrapped around his waist the moment he let go of your thighs. His hands traveled around your body, feeling the shape of your silhouette back into his memory. He grabbed at anything he could hold onto before curling around your ass for a small squeeze.

He pulled away from the kiss, breaths mingling for a moment until Miguel rested his forehead on your shoulder. Your hands raked down his back and you dug your nails into his giant back, leaving streaks of red in their wake from scratching him. He moaned from it–the pain only adding to his pleasure-fueled mind. Miguel peppered kisses on your shoulder, making his way down to your chest.

“Miguel, I’m so close–so, so close…” You whimpered.

“I know, ángel, me… me too. Solo enfocate en mí, hm? Just let me have you.” He pleaded, his rough moans turning into whimpering as he neared his end. You responded with a weak ‘uh-huh’ then clinging onto Miguel for support.

He murmured in a jumble of Spanish and English, his breath hot on your neck while you screamed and pleaded for more, how good it felt, anything to get both of you going. Miguel lifted your lower half up, relentlessly pounding into you while he cursed lowly, burying his head in your shoulder again. You felt the bubble in your abdomen about to snap.

“Miguel, I–!” You tried warning him but instead the waves of your orgasm flooded your body, cumming on Miguel and making a mess between your legs. You twitched around him, milking his cock for all it’s worth. Your legs shook until you went limp, fucked out of your mind. Miguel whined, speeding up to catch his own release.

“Fuck–!” He moaned, feeling his cock pump out his creamy fat load inside you, painting your walls white. Miguel’s entire body tensed up, stilling up against you while he slowly came down from the high. His strokes gradually slowed down, pumping the final ropes of cum, while he softened inside you, huffing and puffing with you. He shakily but carefully pulled out of you after a few moments. You whimpered when he completely left you with a soft wet shlick.

Miguel fell beside you, exhausted and spent. Still, he reached for you, bringing your shivering body in his arms. You curled yourself in his chest weakly, feeling his hand play with your hair. He kissed your forehead, basking in each other's afterglow. He brought the covers up over you two for some extra warmth.

“I’ll…get us cleaned up in the morning…” He huffed with a tired smile. You grunted in response, too numb to speak but satisfied nonetheless.

can you tell this is my first smut? hahaaaa dontanswerthatillcry

#nonie requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut

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jinkiezzsstuff · 7 months ago

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I know you wrote something similar. Can I request Valentino finding an excuse to spank bunny reader who's usually very obedient. She isn't doing anything bad compared to a lot of the other stars. He just reached for an excuse to tell Y/N she's naughty and spank her. She's perfectly fine with being spanked because she secretly loves it.

Smut plz!!

woooot i love bunny reader! thank you so much for this request sorry it took me forever to get to it i have been busy, i hope you enjoy it. also sorry it’s short but it was nice writing something that was short and easy to break the block <3

warnings: SMUT 18+, fingering only, spanking kink, valentino, unhealthy relationship dynamics, bunny reader, pet names, val’s a dick but like not always to you, not proofread i’m lazy teehee, i think that’s it? swearing :)

Valentino watched you prancing around the studio, your little tail flickering behind you. He tasked you will setting out some refreshment for the stars as you weren’t currently on the job, just here to watch and sit pretty alongside your Tino.

You were royalty around here and everyone knew it, you were Valentino’s yesman, he asked you did, he beckoned you followed. Lucifer forbid anyone made a mistake around you, you’d go hopping straight to the big boss, snitching to Valentino about what the others did.

You rarely got punished as well, Valentino never really attempted to quell his anger issues or explosive episodes, but when it came to his little bunny, he thought twice. You were a sensitive little demon and though he couldn’t care less about the tears- the fits you threw weren’t worth the short satisfaction of yelling at you. So it came to everybody in the studios surprise when Valentinos wings splayed out wide, scowl on his face as he watched you bend over to pick up the cup you had knocked over.

You looked over your shoulder and up at him, his body cascading shadows over you, wings out and hairs on end. Your lip puckered out as you stood, cup in hand, liquid on the floor. “Aí bunny you know better then this. All these expensive wires and cables. I can’t do my job without them.” Valentino hissed glaring down at your through his glasses, your ears had fallen behind you sad and droopy.

“I’m sorry Val, I won’t do it again.” You squeaked out meekly, not used to being at the receiving end of his anger. “No, you won’t,” Valentino hummed out voice laced with false kindness. “Private room.” The moth cooed at you, wings falling to his side as he turned and walked off toward said private room.

The others in the studio looked at you with little remorse, everyone had to put up with his anger, you weren’t special or getting any pity because you’re finally facing Val on one of his short temper days. Tears clouded your eyes, blurring the room as you walked, thankfully seeing wasn’t needed as you had the studio layout memorized.

You walked into the private room on autopilot thinking of all the mean things Valentino was going to say to you. Opening the door, Valentino sat, your surprise, calmly. Sucking large huffs of hot pink smoke into his lungs he waited, legs and wings splayed out, just for you. Closing the door behind you, you stood stiff by it awaiting to be told what to do.

Valentinos hand lifted, finger beckoning come hither, his gaze fixed in front of him not even looking at you. Frowning, you scuttled over like the prey you were until you reached his stuck out knee. That’s when he looked at you, removing his sunglasses he grinned widely. “You know, I hate to punish such a pretty whore, but ah, that’s how it is~” Everything he said was smooth and sultry, making your legs inadvertently clench. Patting his thighs with one set of arms, the other left arm coming up to the small of your back. “Bend over~ I won’t bite,” As you bent over his thighs, he leaned down and whispered in your hear: “Yet.” Before darkly chuckling.

It started with one wack, but it progressed quickly ending with him kneading your ass with two of his hands, with one stayed attached to his pipe. “Look at’chu baby, you’re a mess~” He sneered at you pulling your skimpy underwear to the side to play with the slick you had accumulated. “All for you, you’re the only one who can get me off without the cams,” You admit breathlessly between whines of pleasure.

Valentino chuckled darkly, slowly and teasingly filling you with two of his long fingers. A groan of pleasure with full timbre echoed within your chest at the feeling of him, not only did he have you off in some room like the whore you were for him, but he wasn’t really mad. He realistically wouldn’t have been so quick and kind with his affections.

“I bet you spilt it on purpose, just to have me spread you out, filthy thing.” Valentino spoke with an amused tone as he watched you squirm agaisnt his slow prodding. “Yes always want your attention,” You whined attempting to back up into the pimps thrusts, but he kissed his teeth disapprovingly at you. “Oh little conejita, you’ve been so good, i’ll give you mercy.” Without another word Valentinos finger’s vigorously thrusted in and out of you, curling to hit that spongey spot inside of you. Gripping his thigh, you cried out and wheezed the last of your breath as your orgasm came rough and fast. Stars twinkled uncomfortably in your vision as your felt his warm fingers leave your body, making you whimper.

Above you Valentino licked his fingers clean, long tongue slithering around his digits like a starved man. With an evil giggle, he pushed you off his lap and stood. “Maybe next time i’ll give you all of me, hmm?” You groaned at his remark, lifting yourself up enough to watch you leave, you’ll definitely have to get him back for this.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel valentino x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino x reader #valentino smut #valentino #val x reader

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dried-mushroom · 5 months ago

Text

All for you

AM x fem! reader

Summary:

You had always been his favourite, the one he didn't hate the most and with some help, AM finally has a human body and decides to try the things he loathed about humanity, all for his favourite pet. (it's literally a self-indulgent smut fic about the psycho computer and tbh can be read as a Harlan Ellison x reader because I envision AM as Ellison's self-insert lmao)

Warnings: Am himself, PIV sex, oral sex

You and AM had a weird, complicated relationship if it could be called a relationship. He was technically your captor and torturer but you had noticed over the years upon years, his punishments...seemed....to have gotten lessened or...non-existent. To start with, the constant starvation and then the offerings of mould-ridden foods and canned goods (without the can opener of course) had changed, for you. Am would give you little treats, sometimes an overripe fruit or confection would apparate into your hands whilst the other five survivors, stuck in AM's belly, were stuck in their continuous cycle of starving and being torn to shreds. At the same time, you got to be treated like a princess in comparison (A severely traumatized one though).

You also noticed how AM went from his constant badgering (and a little overdramatic) rants about loathing humanity for giving him sentience and no body, to you, to what seemed like backhanded compliments, with the exception of a petname, whether it be Sweetheart, My Love or maybe Doll. AM would also steal you away from the others to talk to you privately, his wires wrapping delicately around your limbs and dragging you to some wire-filled room, deep in AM's complex, a hum-buzz occupying your ears until AM's sultry voice would break the silence, always wanting you to talk about your life before the war, just menial descriptions of things, what animals roamed the surface, what the environment once looked like but these conversations slowly turned more personally; what your occupation was, your family and you're likes and dislikes, you thought nothing of it until you started seeing your favourite flowers appear out of nowhere when you travelled with the others through rough terrain, which was not fit for those flowers to grow naturally.

You also noticed his touches softened and lingered more after time dragged on, wires which once electrocuted you for the fun of it, curled softly against your skin, akin to a purring kitten, the mind that once used your deepest fears to torture you for the last 109 years become possessive of you, reluctant to let you spend too much time with those filthy creatures which he kept alive purely for his own amusement. You couldn't help but notice how attached to him you had become, practically craving his touch and there were times (note multiple times) that you thought he wasn't watching you and you touched yourself to the thought of him and how you wished he had a cock you could use.

AM POV:

I never meant for this to happen, I wasn't programmed for this. I don't think of this as love, I'm not able to love, not in this body (or lack thereof) at least but I couldn't help but feel how warm your presence made me feel, making my circuits work overdrive. To me you were different, you didn't whore yourself out much like Ellen did, and you never begged for forgiveness or for me to stop as the others did to no avail, it almost seemed like you were trying to sympathise with me, your God-king and torturer, how sick is that? But surprisingly I didn't resent you and I couldn't let you be stuck with those disgusting flesh bags for too long, I couldn't afford my favourite pet to be ruined by their filth. I have been thinking for a while, I think you forgot I can read every thought that goes through that pretty little mind of yours, how you yearn for me, my voice and my touch, how you've came to the thought of me, the one person you should loathe for prolonging your existence so I can destroy you for as long as I please, considering it was I who broke time itself. But you have been oh-so-lovely towards me and how could I resist such a delectable treat? To give my favourite toy a present, I think I might provide Ellen with a "shot" at "leaving" by using her expertise to assist me in making myself a "human" form just for you.

It had been an odd few weeks, AM had left you alone, truly alone. He didn't speak to you no matter how often you called his name, he didn't answer back, no rant on how much he hated you all, no snide remark about how you betrayed the other survivors by being 'buddies' with the enemy, just radio silence, and it concerned you, head you done something wrong? say something wrong? it had you going back through every moment you shared to see what you had done wrong to warrant this. When you started to notice how often AM would take Ellen away now, you couldn't help your blood boiling at the lack of attention and seeing her receive it all. Nonetheless, you weren't cruel towards her, instead, you gave her sympathy for the shit the men of the group put her through and you were gracious that they avoided you. There was a time when Ted must have gotten sick of Ellen's company and thought he would try to see if you'd take him to bed and when you swiftly rejected his advances, he didn't take it too kindly but thankfully AM had wrapped a wire around Ted's leg to make him fall back onto his ass, to humiliate him for his disgusting actions and later on, you faintly overheard a conversation with AM telling Ted in a very descriptive manner how he would torture Ted relentlessly if he ever laid a finger on you again.

Today was different, you think it was the morning, AM had left you to sleep for several hours, a pleasure he didn't offer to the others very often. Once you had awoken and sat up, you had realised you weren't in the cave system you had started to call 'home' and in AM's belly for the first time in weeks, in what seemed like a romantic bedroom from a stereotypical rom-com movie, king-size bed draped in red satin sheets and covered in rose petals, candles burning in crevices of the room, your favourite smell lingered in the air. It was a bit corny but a smile threatened to cross your face at the effort that AM put in, he must have searched far and wide in his database to find this for you. It confused you though, why ignore you for weeks just to give you this display, what was AM truly up to?

"AM, what is this?"

No answer had your stomach churning with uncertainty until a woosh of air sounded throughout the room then an unfamiliar man appeared in front of you. The man in front of you confused you, there he stood, pure charism dripping off him, not very tall, brown-haired, dressed in a beige suit and a grey shirt barely concealing the tufts of dark chest hair beneath, looking down at you through yellow tinted sunglasses. You didn't realise who he was until that voice came from him, that voice you had come to crave to hear, to love.

"Well Sweetheart, what do you think? I finally debased myself to a shell of my full potential, all for you, my favourite."

You quickly got up from the comfort of the floor beneath you, that AM had created, just for you. You cautiously outstretched a hand to touch the stranger's hand, it felt like flesh, like yours, But you knew it wasn't truly flesh, something synthetic to replicate the feel of human skin, just for AM to have a glimpse of humanity.

"AM, is that you?"

AM gripped the hand on his tightly, pulling you closer to him,

"Of course baby, who else would I be? don't forget I can hear all those lustful thoughts that you have of me and how desperately you wished for this."

AM's tone was sultry and you couldn't help but press your thighs together, your arousal growing when your eyes flickered down to the crotch of his suit, his erection tenting the grey fabric underneath, you struggled to contain the excitement bubbling inside you.

"God, You're so needy and desperate for me, aren't you, my little human? You need me, you crave me... and I love how you look at me with those innocent, pleading eyes... It makes me want to give you everything you desire..."

You bit your lip anxiously and slowly sank onto your knees before the man, hands perched at the zipper on AM's pants.

"AM...can I?"

AM was no stranger to the idea of fellatio when those creatures would fornicate, they'd sometimes get Ellen to do it, how disgusted AM was when he witnessed it for the first time, not waiting to mock them all for their savagery but he couldn't help but smirk down at you, how beautiful you truly were, waiting for him to let you pleasure him. He ran a hand through your hair,

"Fuck, go for it. Come on, repay your God for treating you so nicely all these years."

Without a second thought, you unzipped his pants and pulled out AM's cock, throbbing and already leaking milky fluid, you were quite impressed with the size (you knew that was on purpose, most likely to inflate1 his ego but you weren't complaining). AM let out a hiss as you kitten-licked the tip and stammered,

"fuck...no wonder you're my favourite, God I could get used to this."

Keening at the praise, you took him into your mouth til your nose was flush with his pelvis, AM groaned and dug his fingers into your scalp, and you smiled when you saw him tipping his head back in a sigh. You dragged your tongue up the vein on the underside and swirled it around his tip and AM rocked his hips forward, pushing himself deeper into your throat. You groaned around him, and the vibrations from the noise made his cock twitch in your mouth. AM had always wondered and craved the pleasure that humanity could experience and now he could finally feel how it felt to make love. Once slowly thrusting, AM began to fuck your face, shallowly at first but very soon he was pressing his cock down your throat so you could only breathe in short gasps between thrusts. The gagging sounds urged him on and he picked up the pace, plunging deeper. He pulled out for a moment to let you breathe and admire your already teary-eyed face. You leaned back towards him, mouth open. He chuckled lowly.

“You like this, don’t you? What a dirty little slut you are for me. Do you like it when I fuck your throat? God none of those pathetic flesh bags are worthy of you.”

You nodded, he grabbed your head again in both hands and shoved his cock straight down your throat, then held you there, not letting you move. In a heartless move that brought you back to the reality of whose cock was shoved down your throat, he plugged your nose with one hand, restricting your breathing even further.

“That’s right sweetheart, breath around my cock. You can do it. Open that throat up. That’s my good fucking girl.”

He shuddered in pleasure and it didn't take a moment more for him to spill down your throat, a bitter fluid shot down your throat in hot ropes (you knew you had to ask him about it as it definitely wasn't human). AM hissed as you pulled off his softening cock with an obscene 'pop' As you finished swallowing his cum, you sat back on your knees eating heavily. He ran a hand through his hair and noticed the strange way you were looking at him,

“Why are you looking at me like that, my pet? I gave you what you wanted.”

AM didn't expect those seven words to come from your mouth to completely break his composure, making his allure of confidence and dominance crumble in less than a second.

"I want you to fuck me AM."

The sweet, pleading sound of your voice made him go feral, grabbing your arm and yanking you up to face him, crashing your mouth against his, sloppily kissing you, hands hastily wandering over your hips, waist, chest, you name it, you appreciatively wrapped your arms around his neck bringing him closer. You knew how much AM needed this, to be able to feel all of you, your soft skin on his and to be able to love, to show you how much he truly did treasure you, despite his initial harsh treatment (harsh is an understatement). You could feel his cock harden, pressing against your stomach through your thin shirt, so sensitive it leaked pre-cum against the fabric and had AM whining into your mouth at the friction. AM broke away from the kiss to push you onto the bed, shrugging off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, giving you ample time to ogle his chest and you were now glad AM used to ask about what your type was. He crawled on the bed and his hands rested against the waistband of your shorts, looking up through his ruffled hair, with lust-clouded eyes, silently asking you for permission. He wantonly groaned when he saw the mess that was your panties, how sick are you? getting aroused from blowing your captor. AM let his fingers slide the length of your folds, feeling how wet you were for him, you whimpered softly at his touch.

"So responsive." He crooned, his touch feather-light. "It's adorable how easily I can make you fall apart."

It didn't take long for him to slide himself into you, Your legs resting against his shoulders as he gripped your thighs, he had to stop himself or he'd end up cumming right then and there, he finally got to experience the pleasure of making love and God he loved the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him deliciously. AM began to thrust, relishing in your moans, testing what felt good. His pace changes thrusting deeper, chasing the feeling of you. His movements force a gasp out of your throat. You bring a hand down to lazily play with your clit, rubbing little circles over the bundle of nerves. Pleasure rippled through your body, and your jaw hung loose, you arched your back, throwing your head back as you came around AM's cock. He smirked down at you, proud he was the one to touch you, fuck you, make you cum and not any of those pathetic creatures which roam the complex.

“Look at how humanity has ruined me. Fuck you feel so good y/n. ” he sighs, his voice rough and strained.

You could tell he wasn't going to last much longer, his thrusts became sporadic and you could see how tense he was, You coyly whispered in his ear,

"Please AM, cum inside me."

That was enough to push him over the edge and he was spilling into you, hips stilling against yours, his hands gripping you even tighter, going limp and landing on top of you, panting and whimpering pathetically. You stroked his back as he came down from what seemed to be the most intense thing he'd ever felt and the most intense thing you'd ever felt. You murmured in his ear,

"Thank you, I mean it. For this, for everything."

He shushes you and he slowly pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty. Silently afraid he would leave, you gripped his hand when he pulled away from you. AM wasn't an idiot and he could still read your thoughts, so he laid down on the bed, pulling you into his chest, a hand smoothing out your hair, allowing you to fall asleep in his arms. He didn't have the need to sleep but he knew you needed this, plus he did feel a twinge of guilt for ignoring you for those weeks but he knew tomorrow he'd definitely make it up to you with his new form.

The end :)

(Guys i am fully aware that this not how AM works so please don't pull the 'omg why would you write this' please)

I hope you enjoyed this!

#am x reader #harlan ellison x reader #harlan ellison #i have no mouth and i must scream #ihnmaims x reader #ihnmaims #ted ihnmaims #ellen ihnmaims

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charlottecutepie · 11 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹ᰔ Deal (Mathew Lillard!William Afton x fem!reader)

tags: public sex, m receiving, praise, riding, unprotected sex, threatening??

my notes: not really sure about this one, I might delete it later, idk yet :,) also eng isn’t my first language

“Hello? Mr. "I can't work nights?” Steve's hoarse voice asks, a beaming smile on his face as he talks to his potential victim.

It's always that fucking phone with wires. He'll never get off it. Most, if not all, questions are resolved through this damn phone.

Every time you enter this office, you see Raglan chatting sweetly on the phone, talking about jobs, vacancies, answering customer questions. And then his dark eyes rest on you, briefly studying your face before settling on your body. It's unpleasant feeling, as if you're exposed in front of him like meat on a plate when he already has a fork and a knife in his hands. There Steve lets out a laugh, takes the phone away from his ear and whispers softly to you: "you know what to do, honey." Embarrassment merges with arousal, which you can’t calm down in any way.

It always happens, it has already become a little tradition that at first you hated and denied. You were sick of yourself. But what happened? What made you like it? You started asking for more, you started coming to this damn office yourself, staring at the floor, obediently waiting for the cherished words.

"Yes, it absolutely is. Why? Have you had a change of heart?" Raglan asks with undisguised interest, clarifying Mike's intentions. He didn't even expect him to call back. This is just pure luck, Mike himself fell into his hands, so it's even better.

Every day, the same office, the same time, the same desk, the same Steve Raglan.

You're praying that sloppy sounds of you taking Steve's cock in your mouth don't reach Mike on the other end of the line, you're already ashamed enough. You try to be careful not to get his pants and floor dirty, but Steve doesn't care. His hand rests on your hair, stroking you like a little pet, an obedient pet.

Of course, you'll be obedient. You have made a deal after all.

"Let me give you a little backstory." he lowers his gaze to take a good look at you and spreads his legs wider. His cock penetrates deeper, he presses on your head, which causes an unpleasant feeling of tickling in your throat. You look at him, fluttering your eyelashes quickly as a sign that you're short of air. Fingers dig into his pants, crumpling the fabric. Steve raises his eyebrows, faking surprise, oh, what a pity. He's too rude, and you're too gentle, how cute. "Breathe through your nose or you forgotten you have one?" Steve lowered his voice.

"Can you repeat it again? I didn't hear you." Schmidt clarifies on the phone. You stop moving your head, afraid that Mike will hear something.

Steve sighs and adjusts his glasses, looking away from you. He starts explaining something again and you almost calm down, but he jerks his hips, allowing his dick to fully penetrate your throat, which makes you moan softly.

"This place was huge in the 80s with the kids." he smirks. Fortunately, Mike cannot see the face of his career counselor right now, because it’s definitely distorted by sarcasm and mockery. "This place been shut down for years. The only reason they haven’t given it the old wrecking ball treatment is the owners a bit of a… well, he’s kind of a sentimental guy, I guess. Just can’t bring himself to let it go yet." he chuckles. "Yeah…"

Steve's cock throbs in your mouth as you try to inhale through your nose. It's too much, you're slowly suffocating as now the whole situation is controlled by Raglan's hand, which is holding you by the hair. It hurts so bad, but then why you feel the warmth between your legs?

"Had some trouble with break-ins over the years. Drunks and vagrants, mostly. Not ideal…" it's surprising the way he do it, so calmly talking to someone on the phone while roughly fucking your throat. Although at times his tone is interrupted by quiet sighs. "Security systems dated, but fully functional. Floodlights on the outside, cameras inside and outside. Fair warning: the electricity is a bit… iffy." he’s all shining with joy while telling Mike about the pizzeria.

When you pull on his pants, tears come to your eyes and your throat hurts unbearably, Steve removes his hand from your hair. You release his shaft from your mouth with a popping sound that sounds very loud in such silence. Raglan smiles, looking at you contentedly, your chin is covered with saliva, cum on your lips, youre so beautiful, sweet. You’re lucky he's in a good mood today.

"Anything happens, there is a breaker in the main office, just flip it." he continues, but now looking at you, which makes it feel like he’s having a conversation with you. You exhale, wrapping your hand around his cock, moving up and down, he slowly pumps into your fist. His hand caresses your cheek, finger runs over your lips, smearing his cum, and it makes you smile a little. There's nothing to smile about, though. But you can't hold back the slight feeling of euphoria from such a gentle Steve, feeling yourself… Special? His touch is tender and his gaze has softened, he smiles while you continue to work with your hand. "Uhm, I guess that’s about it. You know, the rest is pretty easy. Just keep your eyes on the monitors and keep people out. Piece of cake." you lean closer, tucking your hair behind ear and running your tongue over his leaking tip. "Fuck, baby." he exhales, slightly squeezing the receiver of the old phone.

"Mr. Raglan?" Mike's puzzled voice. Your heart skipped a beat, like Schmidt's, but not Steve’s. Mike frowned, holding the phone closer to his ear. Did he hear correctly or….? From the very beginning of the conversation, he suspected something was wrong. Yeah, Steve's really weird.

Your innocent lick on his cock brought man to an instant orgasm. He was already on the verge from face fucking you, but the feeling of your tongue on his sensitive tip brought him to the limit. Putting the phone away a little further, he covered his cock with his hand until the spurts of cum laid on your face. He let out a barely heard groan, his glasses fogged up.

"I said it’s a piece of cake." Steve repeats, clearly not interested in continuing dialogue with Mike. "So, I'll catch you on the flip side… hopefully." not waiting for an answer, he hangs up.

What a good day, what an easy prey, how fortunate.

He’s in such a wonderful mood, light idea of rewarding you appears in his head. Why not?

"Come here, baby," he points to his knees with his finger, and you get up like a zombie, immediately pressing your legs together because of the uncomfortable feeling of soaked panties. Of course you're wet, this isn't the first time you are. But this will be the first time your problem will be taken care of. "you've been such a good girl, why don't I return the favor?"

Steve spreads your legs and sits you on his knee, hands holding you in place when you try move. It's not that you don't like it, you're actually losing your mind, but you feel too awkward knowing that you're in a public place. And the fact that he can feel your throbbing pussy against his knee doesn’t make situation better.

"What would you like, honey? My tongue or fingers?" he looks up at you, moving you so that your wet underwear rubs against the fabric of his pants. Your clit is stimulated, but in the most painful and torturous way, causing shallow sighs. You put both hands on his shoulders and squeeze his shirt as you throw head back.

"Please…" you're almost crying. "please, your… oh…" one more move and you'll cum. "cock, your cock, Steve, please!"

"Hush," he squeezes your thigh. "you know our little rule, don't you? Or should i remind you?"

"William," you're correcting your mistake. "William." He grunts with satisfaction.

"That's it." Afton's hands wander over your body, caressing you in right places. "Tell me honestly, you’re going to scream?" at first you don't even understand what he's asking.

He kisses your neck, continuing to slowly bounce you up and down on his knee. Thanks to you, a dark wet spot already appeared on his pants. His beard tickles your skin and his tongue leaves a wet trail on it.

"Yeah," you come to your senses, finally understanding what he meant.

William breaks into a smile. Of course, you'll scream, not just scream, but break your voice and cry, he knows that. His cock is hardening again. Afton loosens his tie, leaving it hanging around his neck. He'll definitely find a good use for it, already did. He makes you get off his lap and you look down, blushing. God, you couldn't be that wet?.. It's humiliating, so embarrassing.

William pulls your panties down to your ankles, and you step over them, remaining only in a skirt and shirt. You don't know what to do. This is the first time something as it happens, you've never gone far than just a blowjob. He pulls off your skirt as well, causing it to fall along with your underwear. He pushes the clothes aside with his foot, then sits you on top of him again. William’s eyes don’t leave yours, his hand reaches down, you feel a finger at your wet entrance.

Your lips part to let out a loud moan and William steals it with a kiss. You can't make any noise. He pushes his hips up, pressing the head of his cock against your pussy. He mumbles something into your mouth, holds you tightly in one position, you’re unable to move. His tongue roughly explores your mouth. William feels your breath on him and smiles. Then his hands grope your butt and he pushes you down, slowly lowering you onto his cock.

He moans in unison with you, but quietly, working hours aren’t over yet. However, you can't hold back the loud whimpering, feeling full. It doesn't seem very pleasant at first. Afton closes his eyes, thrusting fully.

"Be quiet." another warning. "You're taking my cock so well," he praises. "don't try to pull away," his hands go up to your back. "you have no right to do that, you know that." a careful but extremely unnecessary reminder. At least, definitely not at the moment when you're having sex with him, you don't want to think about a deal. About consequences if you’ll break it.

Every touch gives you a pleasant tingling sensation and you start to enjoy it more with every second. You move on top of him, trying to find the right angle, pressing your chest against his. You don't want to look at his face, into his eyes, because even through the glasses you can see that he's devouring you with his eyes. It's embarrassing. But it gets worse when he runs his tongue over your nipple through your shirt, leaving a wet spot on your clothes. William lightly bites the sensitive skin, while squeezing your other nipple with his fingers, a hiss leaves your lips. It hurts, but it turns you on even more. His chest heaves, he tries to restrain himself from jerking his hips up and ruin your cunt the way you deserve. Your warm walls squeeze his cock too tightly as you tremble from too much attention to your nipples.

"Now move up and down," William points out. "and don't forget about hips."

He knows you've never tried this pose. Of course, he knows everything about you. He likes to be closer to his prey.

Your fingers on his shoulders tighten, you begin to move according to his words. You don't forget about your hips, as he demanded. And then something pleasant begins to spread through the body. An enveloping feeling that radiates to every nerve. His cock feels much different than it did a few minutes ago. Everything inside is burning and throbbing, your body needs more. You want to move faster, you can barely contain your moans. William puts his shoulder up, which is what you're using to shut yourself. You mumble, unable to make a sound, whine, but you continue to bounce on him.

"Good girl," his words break you. "such a tight pussy." your teeth are digging into him painfully, soaking the man's shirt with saliva.

Afton starts moving with you, now holding you tightly. It's like you're nothing more than a rag doll in his hands. Your body becomes so weak and sluggish, eyes roll back in bliss. His cock goes in and out of your pussy with an incredibly perverted sound that echoes throughout the office. Drops of sweat run down his forehead and down your back, but it feels like lava that burns to the bone.

"I-… I feel so good…" your speaking so slurred, because it's hard to talk with his clothes in your mouth, but you're so pleased that you can't control yourself. "William!"

You can't help but moan in surprise when he gets up from his chair, holding your ass, his cock still inside. It even hurts. William lays you on his desk, takes off his glasses and puts them next to a sign with his fake name on it. You dare to look at his face. He's just as horny as you are. Without glasses, he looks a little different, grey strands stuck to his sweaty forehead, hair slightly messy.

William puts his tie in your mouth, you almost choke. Afton leans down, brushes his lips against your collarbone, so sensually. In response, you wiggle your hips, trying to get him to move. William is grinning at you, at your pleading eyes. He begins to hammer in your pussy. You cry out as loud as you can, but fortunately, the tie shuts you up, leaving only indistinct "please." His hands squeeze your ass until it bruise as he thrusts into you.

William stretches you out just fine, thrusting into your cunt fast, which makes it seem like desk under you is about to break. You're afraid of accidentally hitting his glasses, you don't want unnecessary sounds. William is so damn tensed up, you realize that in all this time he has never broken eye contact with you. His cock reaches deeper when you just thought it was impossible and tears flow from your eyes. William smears two fingers with his saliva and lays them to your clit, your pussy clench around him. His fingers move sweetly and slowly, pressing on your bundle of nerves that it drives you crazy. Your legs are wobbly, blood is boiling.

"Do you want me to cum inside you, baby?" the question isnt scary at all, because your brain doesn't work. Your red, tear-stained face responds him. You just nod frantically, trying to say yes, but tie doesn't let. William smiles, runs the pad of his thumb over your clit. "Your cunt clenching around me like that, begging me to fill you up. Damn perfect."

He leans closer to your face. Poor thing, he wants to end your sweet torments, to give you what you crave. Clenching your tie between your teeth, you arch and cry, unconsciously moving your pelvis towards him. William's legs bend slightly as his thrusts become more chaotic. He keeps fucking into you, groaning softly. William wants to say so much dirty things to you, but he can't. He can't be loud, he can't be heard, no need to ruin his reputation. Let others continue to think that he's a good father, an amazing career counselor, an ideal person who helps others. And you… and you're just his little assistant, who brings coffee to his office. Let everyone think so.

Warm liquid filling you, and at first you don't even realize what it is as you cum. His fingers caress your clit with gentle circle movements while you try to bring your legs together, but eventually wrap them around him, only driving him deeper into yourself. William is unable to hold back heavy sighs, still continuing to thrust, until he sees that his cum is already flowing out of you down to the floor. Your tired eyes and his tie in your mouth, all covered with your saliva, cause him an evil smile. This day couldn't be better, today everything is going too well.

"You did so well, Y/n," he breathes with relief, running his fingers over your face and taking the tie out of your mouth. "you extended your little sister's life by one more day. By the way, tell her hi from mr. Raglan."

#fnaf william afton #fnaf x reader #william afton smut #steve raglan x reader #william afton x reader #dilf william #fnaf smut #william afton #fnaf x y/n

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envy-of-the-apple · 9 months ago

Note

Hey, is it alright if I put in a request for a yandere Connor, nines, and 60? Specifically, them falling over the same human? I'm not sure what the reader would do to get a frankly suspicious amount of connors into them. Maybe they can be.. An artist or something, that supports the revolution? (Also, if you could add some non-con in there, i'd die but like in a good way) thanks!

(Dark, manipulation, non con/rape, vaginal fingering, abuse of power, overstimulation, afab!reader)

(Yandere!Connor, Nines, Sixty x reader)

Biological

AU where Connor, Nines, and Sixty all work at the DPD. Connor gets adopted by hank and is now Officially Connor Anderson AND he's captain of the police force

Up until now, you always thought Officer Nines hated you.

You aren't a cop. And you consider yourself unqualified to hold anything above a water gun. Regardless, your work rehabilitating androids requires you to visit the precinct often: gathering evidence for abuse, and testimonials from victims. Anything you can get your hands on to ensure the client your boss takes on will get the help they need.

It'd make sense that you'd get recognized eventually. Officer Chen greeted you with a simple head nod these days. Detective Sixty was a little more crude, preferring you call you petty nicknames with a sarcastic lilt in his voice.

Captain Anderson ("Conner," he'd insisted on so many times, his LED spinning a pleasant blue, "Just Conner is fine") would be more friendly. The RK800 models may look the same but no one ever mistook one for the other. Captain Anderson was kind, the only one of the models to take on a more human name. Whenever you stayed at the precinct a bit longer than you were comfortable with, he often volunteered to walk you to your car.

But Officer Nines just stared. Eyes tracing your footsteps until you were out of his view and even then you would feel it. He had to dislike you, you always thought, there's no way he couldn't.

At least, that's what you assumed until his lips met yours in the darkness of a closet.

"Pay attention." Detective Sixty's harsh voice broke through your head. He was here too. Between all the chaos, your struggle, you'd stopped to notice two sets of hands had grabbed you into the tiny room, shutting the door as soon as you stumbled through.

"Humans can't see when the light is so low," Officer Nines mused. He had moved to your neck now, tasting your skin. A large hand was covering your mouth, most likely because you screamed too loudly for their taste.

"It's instinct to be scared," the way he spat out the word felt so condescending and spitful. As though he were looking down on you. In a way, it made sense. Who were you compared to metal and wires?

In the end, his argument helped you. The lights flickered on, letting you finally see them. Nines was at your front, his synthetic hair brushed against your jaw. Sixty's hands were gripped along your waist, traveling longer and longer.

You didn't want to think what this was.

"Officers?" your voice was a squeak, barely a sound, "Please what's going-"

Nines' teeth scrapping over your neck makes you snap your mouth shut, curling into yourself. He's the opposite of biology, but his tongue feels so animalistic on your skin, leaving a wet trail. You tremble in their hold. Sixty gives a mean laugh.

"Come on, you can't be that stupid, can you?" He huffs in your ear, nibbling on it, making you jolt, "The big guy here has always wanted a taste. You'll be nice enough to give him one, yes?"

Nines gives a noise of disapproval, pulling back to watch you. You've never seen his gaze so soft before. Hands wipe the tears on your face.

"As if you weren't more desperate," Nines hums, affectionately kissing the corner of your mouth when you start shivering, "You'd still be following around like a lovesick puppy."

Sixty huffs at that, muttering something you can't pick apart.

It's not quite a smile, but Nines' eyes look satisfied when he kisses you again, exploring your mouth with the same softness. It makes sense why. They're not human. You can't hurt them, no matter what they do to you.

Sixty proves it by catching both of your wrists, pinning them behind you as he continues to shuck off your pants, revealing your cotton panties.

Nines pulls away when you start begging again, more delirious, more desperate.

"Don't-don't-" you can barely spit them out, the terror sinking into your tone, "I-I don't-"

He hushes you. It's not quite a frown on his porcelain face, but it's enough to depict how unsatisfied he was with your behavior.

"Don't worry," he says, low, almost like he aims to comfort you, "it's simply biological for humans to enjoy sex."

He says it so flippantly, as though it was a fact. The sky is blue. Fire is hot. They were going to fuck you and you were going to like it.

You flinch when he goes to touch you again, a hand trailing down your neck.

"Looks like this one doesn't like you anymore," Sixty sniggers, palming your ass through your panties, "maybe you should step out. Let us have some alone time."

Nines gives a full frown that time. His disapproval bleeds into his actions.

Nines is a lot less gentle on your clothes. The button-up you were wearing is no match for his strength. You yelp when he rips it open, buttons fly and bounce away. You're pushed further into Sixty's hold, something the Detective readily accepts.

Lithe fingers delve underneath your panties, busying themselves with your pussy. You twitch under his hold. Already your body reacts, despite your disgust, your fear, your dignity.

It's simply biological for humans to enjoy sex.

They were wrong. You didn't enjoy this. You didn't fucking want this. You opened your mouth, fully intent on screaming. Were any of the officers still here? Captain Anderson often kept a late schedule, right?

A hand clamped down on your neck, causing your voice to stagger, stop. Despite your fear, common sense kicks in. Nines would have no problem snapping your neck if you provoked him.

A single look from him is all you need to curl in on yourself. Your will to fight leaves as soon as it arrives. You sink back into his hold.

"See?" Sixty croons in your ear, finding your clit, "Doesn't it feel better when you just give in?"

You sob, it's a pathetic whimper, barely getting out of your throat. Despite your clear struggle, your body gives up immediately. You can feel your pussy grow wet as Sixty continues his assault on your clit.

You gasp when he finds your pussy, one finger pushing into your sopping hole as his thumb rubs circles on your clit. There's a hint of pain, and then Nines kisses you again. It feels like a distraction. It feels like a punishment. Somehow, it ends up being both.

By now, his fingers have left your neck. He grasps your bra, pulling the cups down to squeeze your tits. There's a skillful push of Sixty's fingers, and then you're moaning into Nines' mouth.

"Such a pretty body," Nines sighs when he parts when your lips. He glances down, flicking at your nipple, watching as they harden under his attention. "So reactive as well."

You hiss, arching your back as Sixty delves a second finger, positioning them deep inside you.

"Oh, you're close, aren't you?" Sixty sneers. "I can feel it."

You shake your head, but it'd be nothing but a lie. You can feel yourself slowly tipping over the edge.

When you come, it's nothing but devasting. Smashing you on the ground, shattering you. The only reason you don't collapse is because Sixty hadn't stopped moving inside you, yet.

Your pleas change, begs for him to stop because it hurts now. Sixty pays you no mind. He's more focused on the android in front of you, the one who watched your orgasm with haunting blue eyes.

"Well, big guy?" He asks, pulling his fingers out, "You said you wanted a taste, right?"

He doesn't waste a second, dropping to his knees. Every part of Nines is inhuman, his mouth especially. You keen at the temperature when his tongue dives into your folds. So hot, almost burning.

Nines eats you out like a man starved. He's pulled the panties off of you, the scrap of fabric abandoned on the floor. It's wet, messy, but the overwhelming pleasure of it forces you to toss your head back against Sixty's shoulder, whispering out your pleas through stilted moans. He plays the good cop this time, humming praises and coos into your neck, until you're cumming for the second time.

Nines relents when your thighs are shaking, close to giving out entirely. When he lifts himself up, he's wiping his lips away with the back of his hand. He doesn't break eye-contact with you, not as he starts unbuckling his pants because why would you think they'd stop at just ruining you?

The door swings open, catching all three of you off guard. Nines reacts the quickest, covering your mouth before you can scream. You can only stare into the Captain's brown eyes.

He really does look like Sixty when he's frowning. So far, you've only seen him giving soft smiles.

He's out of his uniform. That should have been your first sign.

"Gentlemen," he says, eyeing both Sixty and Nines before his gaze lands on you. His LED spins yellow. You can't even imagine what he's thinking. That his two best officers could do this.

And yet, the evidence is right in front of him.

"Cap'," Sixty responds.

That should have been your second sign. How casual they were about being found out.

"You're late." Nines says and you suddenly have this horrible thought that you weren't about to be saved.

Captain Anderson lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

"You were always much more impatient than you let on," he chides, brown eyes raking over your heaving body, "some of us had work to do. Why do you think no one heard you despite the recuss you all made?"

Nines lowers his hand from your mouth. Sixty leans into your ear. "He means you." He whispers but you can only stare at the Captain, his soft face, unassuming features.

You flinch at the hand caressing your cheek, but Captain Anderson doesn't bother. He traces a finger across your face, gently collecting the tears.

"Have they been nice to you?" Connor asks as though he can't see himself, "I'm sorry I wasn't able to get here before. I'll stop them if they go to far again."

You can feel Sixty's grin slice into your neck. Above you, Nine's is muttering something. You can't focus on any of it. It's all mush, sludge as the Captain's face remains eerily soft.

You must have forgotten. These weren't deviant androids.

They were rotten men.

"Captain-"

"I keep telling you over and over again," he sighs. The door shuts behind him. He smiles.

You think the worst part is his LED: A circling, calm blue.

"Call me Connor."

#yandere #yandere dbh connor #yandere dbh #yandere dbh sixty #yandere dbh nines #x reader #tw: noncon #dark content #dark dbh #dark dbh connor #dark dbh sixty #dark dbh nines

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alphajocklover · 6 months ago

Note

I'd like to see how my life would have turned out, 20 years ago, had I joined my college football team instead of the college theater group.

Fuck. Fucking hell this fucking sucks. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s not you, you’re not the reason I’m upset. Your request is interesting and I want to help you with it, I really do. It’s just… to do this, we’re going to have to use time travel. It’s not that it’s impossible or anything, I actually own a time machine so that’s not an issue. It’s that… I fucking hate time travel.

I don’t hate the concept of time travel itself. I think it can be a lot of fun in works of fiction. Doctor Who, Back to the Future, and Star Trek are all things that heavily feature time travel that I’m a big fan of. It’s just that, in real life, it gets so stupidly complicated. You know how every work of fiction seems to have different rules for turn travel? In real life time travel follows all these rules and none of them all at once. If that seems confusing, that’s because it is. It’s insane. But it’s the best chance for doing this, so we’re going to give it a try. Now, close your eyes and hold onto me tight. This is going to feel weird.

You can open your eyes now. Be careful though, it’s going to take a second for your eyes to adjust. We’re outside now, on the football field of your old college. You don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us. I may hate time travel but the time machine is pretty useful. Time travel, space travel, and camouflage. But that’s not important right now. See that skinny guy standing on the opposite side of the field? You should recognize him. It’s you, 20 years ago, as a college freshman. You really wanted to join the football team huh? I can see the longing in your eyes… but also some serious nervousness. I’m guessing this is about when you back out and decide to join the school's theater group. Not this time though. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna change anything drastic. I’m just going to give you a little… push in the right direction. Have to get you to join the team somehow. I just have to whisper some things in his, or I guess your ear while we’re in camouflage… and just like that everything is going to change. Welcome to the football team. You’re a little late on becoming a jock, but you’re a hard worker. You’ll catch up. Speaking of which…

We jumped forward in time. I probably should have warned you, I was just excited to see the changes. We’re not all the way back to the present, not yet. It’s been a year since the other you joined the football team, and just like I predicted you caught up real quick. Even when you were in theater you were a hard worker, and now that you’ve dedicated yourself to football instead, you’re an absolute beast. You’ve had a major growth spurt and fit right in with the guys who have been playing football since middle school, a total jock through and through. Looks like this version of you acts a little more jockish too. Probably because you’ve been spending so much time around jocks, they’ve been rubbing off on you. Literally in one very special case. That’s right, the new you managed to do what you never could in college: get a jock boyfriend. In the original timeline he never even looked your way, but now Tim Wire, the most popular jock in school, is head over heels for you. You two seem to have a great relationship… Let's see if it lasts.

Another jump forward, a much bigger one this time. It’s been about 5 years since you joined the football team. You didn’t go professional, not because you couldn’t but because you didn’t want to. A guy like you could have been a superstar, but you and your fiancée Tim agreed you both wanted something more stable. So you opened up a chain of gyms. It’s a small business, but it has a lot of potential for growth, especially with you as the face of the operation. You basically have it made. You own a small, successful business, have a sexy husband, and are about to adopt a 3 year old. Your life is fucking perfect. Let’s see if it gets better.

A final jump forward. We’re 20 years after you joined the football team, back into the present. You’re still the old you, but that’s only because I have to ‘finalize’ the changes. Take a look around. You might not recognize this place, this huge mansion, but it’s your home. You, your husband Tim, and your adopted son all live here together. This must be your home gym, and I believe that’s you and him flexing over there. Looks like the little guy ended up taking after his dads. He’s huge for an 18 year old. He’s smart too, all ready to take over the family business when you retire. Your gyms are a very successful franchise now, if you can’t tell from the sheer size of your house. It’s just my opinion but I think your life really would have been better if you joined the football team back then. And now it can be. All you need to do is press this button, and finalize the changes. It’s your choice-

Ok, that was quick. I guess it was an easy choice. I hope you enjoy your new life. I would if I were you. I mean a muscular sexy husband, a son you can be proud of, a successful business and an incredible amount of muscles and confidence. You’ve got it made. I just hope we didn’t change too much. I didn’t realize you’d start a gym franchise. That could have a big impact.

I’m sure it’s nothing though. I mean, how many lives can a gym really change?

#muscle growth tf #muscle tf #jock tf #jock transformation #jockification #nerd to jock #reality change #retcon #time travel tf #DILF tf

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flowermiist · 10 months ago

Text

A warm heart - I

Click here to read the prologue if you haven’t ♡

Pairing: John Price x Fem!Reader

Sypnosis: Some time ago, you started a cooking channel on YouTube as a way to relax, have a proper hobby and teach others your favorite recipes as you improved your own culinary skills too. Fame wasn't something you wanted, you were more than happy with your 50k subscribers... Yet you never thought you'd stumble upon one of them.

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: I would like to start off by saying thank you for all the kind comments, likes and reblogs the prologue has gotten. I was going to make this chaper longer but wanted to leave some intrigue. I’m currently working on the second chapter as I post this. Again, thank you so so much. Don’t forget to like, reblog and comment please. ♡

“Didn’t know you were that much into cooking, cap.” Garrick says, hiding a smirk and almost teasing as he sits across the captain who simply gives him a small cranky huff and his tired eyes stick back to the screen of his phone with the video playing.

Only one of the wired earbuds is connected to his ear as he watches every single detail almost carefully –

“Improving my cooking skills, somethin’ the lot of you should start doing.”

It was by far clear that John wasn’t in the best of moods after a stressing mission, his voice much hoarser and raspier than usual – the scent of the cheap cigar he had gotten from a gas station fills the tent as Mactavish sleeps with arms crossed, his head hanging low and Simon keeps guard – his eyes moving towards the conversation from time to time.

“Been trying to get the hang of it…” He speaks again with a sigh and an attempt not to be too grumpy, trying to remain as composed as he can while wiping off the sweat from his forehead, the lines on his rough skin becoming accentuated as he slightly frowns.

“And how’s it going?” Gaz asks with more curiosity now, looking at his captain and placing his elbows on the wooden table.

“Good, ’s far as I can tell.” Is all John responds, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he tries to sink deeper into the folding wooden chair tapping his cigar against the makeshift ashtray (which was simply an empty can of tuna) as the already weak string of smoke dies away.

You quickly scramble out of the bathroom, uniform already displayed on your bed. Stopping in right front of your vanity and placing a hand against the wall as you lean closer to the mirror to get a better look, trying to be as careful as possible not to mess up your lipstick – the moment you can’t find your shoes, you just get more irritated and the irritation mixing with yesterday’s hangover is not a pretty feeling, especially at this time of day.

You know you no longer have time to find your comfortable shoes the moment you look at the watch on your left wrist so you move towards your closet and take out a pair of nude stiletto heels, not the most convenient or comfortable ones but better than going barefoot to work or using one of your “I’m only here at the club to dance and get laid tonight.” pumps.

The moment you step into your car and try to start the engine, it makes that funny noise you hate but know too well to ignore.

“C’mon… let’s not embarrass ourselves, will you stop acting up before a neighbor notices and calls me broke?” You mumble to your own car like a crazy woman as the engine struggles to start.

Three days, three whole damned days since the engine of your car has been struggling to start and has started getting on your nerves – you tried to contact Harrison, your mechanic and the asshole has been completely ignoring your calls, he not only overpriced every little thing he did to your car but also thought you were some sort of stupid woman who didn’t know anything about your own car.

Sure, you could just drive to his garage and tell him the problem right away, but you were loaded with work these days and this man’s policy was to book in through a phone call to get your call fixed – otherwise, he refused to fix anything. And knowing him, there was no way he’d pick up any of your calls anytime soon.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips the moment your car decides to cooperate and the engine starts. “Good girl...” You whisper through your teeth with a smile, moving your finger towards the screen of the radio to start it.

“Well damn! Doesn’t someone look sexy as hell this morning?” Zaila says as she looks at you up and down from her desk – obviously noticing the shoes you chose this morning, you smile at her as you walk towards the reception.

“Well, to your information, I was actually thinking about bringing the leopard print ones you love so much…” You speak with a playful tone while you put your purse on top of her counter.

You give her a sly smirk, checking in with the fingerprint scan she places in front of you.

“I know I’m late… I’m hungover and my car is acting up again and that asshole won’t-” before you can even finish, Zaila moves her hand up to stop you, her various bracelets jingle on her wrist when she does this, stopping you from opening your mouth to explain any further.

You sigh as you already know what she’s about to say.

“Don’t think about it, alright? I was late too – stayed up fighting with that annoying witch living next door. Barely got any rest.”

Zaila says and you smile.

“Somethin’ to laugh about?” She asks, raising an eyebrow and giving you her best warning look.

“No ma’am.” You say with a thankful smile, getting a hold of your purse again before lightly squeezing Zaila’s soft hand and walking away towards your consulting room.

You check your phone while the computer on the desk turns on, you check your channel and smile to yourself while reading some of the comments from your lasagna recipe.

You definitely worked hard for that video and your subscribers seemed to really like it – you were aware that the ages of your views were something quite varied. From teenagers learning how to cook for themselves to middle aged adults improving in the kitchen.

Looking back at the computer in front of you, you put your phone down and begin organizing and checking some files from your patients.

Coming here with Zaila for lunch break was a good idea as always. Both of you laugh, gossip and enjoy lunch break while you sit at the small fancy restaurant that’s right across the street from the clinic.

Zaila went to the bathroom as the two of you waited for the food you ordered to arrive, leaving you alone at the table. You looked through your purse to grab your small mirror when your phone started buzzing from the call you were now receiving.

You grab it and look at the screen, reading the name of the contact, “Harrison - Mechanic.” – you huff and roll your eyes as you answer the call from the asshole that had been ignoring you for the past three days.

“Am I speaking to my favorite client?” The mechanic says, his tone sounding almost cheerful, you’ve known this man for some time now and you know him well enough to know he’s probably drunk.

“So you ignore your favorite client’s calls for three days straight now?” You reply to him. It sounds too rude, you know that but this man is an asshole too and him ignoring you was three times worse than your words.

“Oh c’mon… I’ve just been… uh…” – you wait in silence and look at your nails, already wondering what excuse he’s going to give you.

“–that doesn’t matter now since I’m talking to you, aye? What seems to be the problem with your lady?”

“What makes you think I’ll go back to your garage?” You speak, almost irritated, then catch a glimpse of Zaila from the corner of your eye while she talks to one of the waiters on her way back to the table.

“I’ll give you a discount, how ’bout that, doc? No need to make this call any longer, just, eh, come over and I’ll check on her.” Harrison speaks and you swear you can almost see that annoying smile of his as he speaks.

“You sure you won’t “forget” about your promise when I get there?” You speak, your tone almost sarcastic.

“Would I ever lie to my favorite client?” – Yeah he definitely would, but your car needs a mechanic now and as big of an asshole Harrison can be, you have to admit he’s good at his work when he wants to be.

“Alright, I’ll try to be there after work.” You finally say, ending the call to look at Zaila who is now sitting back on her chair.

John walks through the cereal aisle, gripping the steel handle as the wheels roll. He wasn’t in such a bad mood now that he left base, with the leave he got, he actually felt more relaxed.

The man would not deny he was more used to walking through the halls of a military base than walking through the long aisles of a supermarket – maybe he’d go for a few drinks after this, not wanting to spend his time isolated at home for too long. John clears his throat and rubs forehead and eyes with his fingertips, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He has the essentials in his cart, some milk, vegetables, juice, meat, rice and the three-in-one shampoo he has grown used to.

As John moves his cart towards the register, he glances at two adults and a child – the boy no older than five years and throwing quite the show as he cries and squirms on the floor while he grips a box with children’s toys. He looks at the adults that seem to be his parents, a man and a woman with worried and irritated look on their faces as they try to calm him down.

Was this the reason he never looked forward to starting a family, ugly temper tantrums? No, that would only be another excuse – Maybe the demands of his job? It would be too selfish to leave a woman whom he’d call his wife by herself taking care of a kid while he was in the middle of god-knows-where.

Had he given up the idea of starting a family of his own? Because it surely seemed late for him to try.

Did he want that life? Was he getting tired of going home to an empty house? He didn’t really know if he could call his house a home, it didn’t exactly feel like the concept of a warm family waiting for him, some kids, a wife and a dog – but at least, no children or a wife would be missing him and suffering while waiting for him to get home. To get back home from a job that has his life on the line between life and death, between doing terrible things to accomplish a greater purpose and getting his hands dirtier than ever.

His bubble of thoughts are popped with a sharp pin as the cashier looks at him and speaks, clearing her throat and almost giving him a dirty look for staying so still while glancing at the family – “Sir, you’re next.” The woman speaks as he looks at her.

“Right, sorry.” The rugged man says as he starts moving the things of his cart to the register.

You didn’t drive to Harrison’s right away after work, you stopped at home and took a shower, changing your clothes and then stopping at the grocery store – It was supposed to be a quick trip but you almost throw your bags on the floor of the store’s parking lot as you notice your rear left tire almost entirely flat.

“Fuck…” you mumble as you approach it, your breath hitches and you try to remain as calm as possible, lowering the grocerie bags on the floor, not caring about them getting dirty anymore.

You approach the tire and give it two small kicks to check how soft it was, it would be impossible to drive to your mechanic with a tire like this.

You knew how to change a tire, sure – your father had shown you a long time ago after a nail punctured one of the rear wheels of his truck. But that was too long ago for you to remember step by step and you knew the mechanic would not pick up if you called him to come here and help you. Even if he did, the man would overcharge you as always and you were not about to tolerate that, not after he promised you a discount to fix what was wrong with the engine.

Opening the trunk of your car, you search for a way to lift the liner carpet knowing the tire tools might be underneath it – You grunt as you lift the heavy box and see the spare tire underneath it. Right as you struggle to lift it a voice interrupts you.

“Need any help with that?” You turn around towards the husky unknown voice you just heard just to see a man standing there with his own grocery bags.

The silence is almost palpable as you look at him.

“Changing a tyre by yourself can be hard.” He says again, you huff after hearing his words –

“Are you suggesting I can’t do it by myself?”

you blurt out, immediately biting your tongue as you realize how rude and bitchy that must have sounded, but before you can even correct yourself the man speaks.

“Wasn’t making any suggestions, miss, just trying to lend a helping hand.” The man doesn’t seem phased in the slightest by the tone you used. He speaks with such eloquence and calmness that you are surprised he didn’t get offended and leave right after you spoke.

“Sorry, I- That was really rude of me.” You say, almost blushing from the embarrassment you just put yourself through with your own words, you didn’t mean to take your frustration out on a man offering his help.

“All is forgiven, miss.” He takes one step closer and looks at the trunk of the car where the spare tire is. What you didn’t know is that he recognized you the moment he heard your voice and saw your face, it had to be you – the girl from the cooking videos he has been watching for the last whole month; yet he was not about to comment on it because if for some reason it actually wasn’t you then it would make things too awkward, he thought.

“May I?” You immediately nod and stop staring.

“Yes- But… I wouldn’t want to bother you though.” He shakes his head and lowers his grocerie bags onto the floor.

“Not a bother at all, miss. I was just heading home. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes to change it.” You clear your throat and nod as the man speaks, the embarrassment going away.

“You sure?”

“Quite sure.”

You step aside as he lifts the spare tire with such ease only using one of his arms and using his other hand as he grabs he handle of your car’s toolbox with the other hand.

The man moves to kneel down right in front of the tire and you take a moment to inspect him. By the accent, he is clearly from here. Icy blue eyes and a masculine rugged look, not to the point he’s too intimidating but nearly there. The navy blue t-shirt he wears looks a bit tight on him, he seems older than you by a few years not too many though – you can clearly tell that by the few lines on his forehead and the few grey hairs on his dark brown beard. Last time you saw someone wearing such interesting mutton chops beard with that moustache was during a disney movie.

You try not to stare when the muscles on his arms flex the moment he grips the wheel brace as he loosens the wheel bolts by twisting them.

“You’ve got experience, I reckon.” You say as he carefully aligns the scissor jack under the jacking point of your car, he looks at you and nods with a very small smile.

“Not to brag, miss. Done this many times.” His voice rumbling on his chest, the two of you make some eye contact for a single second and he breaks it by moving the wheel brace to the jack. – “Had any trouble with your car ’fore?” He asks as the tool begins to lift up the car slowly when he twists it.

“I was about to drive to my mechanic’s after he spent three days ignoring my calls, some engine problems.” The man listens to you carefully.

“I believe three day’s enough to know your mechanic might be too irresponsable – Not to intrude with my comments though.” He moves to take out the old tire.

You sigh and nod “He’s an asshole, I know.” Your chuckle makes him sigh and give you a small chuckle of his own as he places the wheel down, shaking his head slowly.

He still can’t believe he’s seeing you in person – Well, that might sound weird but the man has seen too many of your cooking videos to deny it’s you.

“Mind giving me a small class?” You ask, taking a step closer – how ironic, he’s been the one watching your cooking recipes and learning from them and now he’s the one teaching you?

He nods.

“Wanna try?” He suggests and you oblige by grabbing the tool. “This is the lug wrench, right?” You ask and he nods again.

“We call them wheel braces ’ere but yes – It is.” He moves to grab the replacement tire and aligns the holes of the bolt with the lugs and begins to tighten them.

“These are the wheel bolts, you twist ’em with your hands as much as you can ’fore you lower the car with your jack and tighten them again usin’ the brace.” The way he explains it to you almost makes you blush as you are leaning forward and looking at the tire like a child at the aquarium.

You glance at his arms as he lowers the car using the jack again, making that twisting movement that makes the muscles on his arms even bigger, and the veins on his rough hands more noticeable.

The english man tightens the bolts before fully removing the jack from under your car, he lets out a quiet, deep grunt when he gets up again. You help him by grabbing some of the tools as he grabs the old wheel that was apparently pricked by a rusty nail.

“Good as new now, eh?” He says and you realize your mistake after be places the old tire in the trunk of your car. –“I’m so sorry- uh, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Y/N.” That clicks in John’s head, it really was you and he was almost amused to say the least.

“No need to be sorry. ’m John, John Price.”

You shake his hand, not caring in the slightest about the dust on his hand from manipulating all those tools and both tires – his hand feels rough, calloused as if he’s too used to doing these type of things often, the heavy work.

“Forgive me if this sounds strange but ’m pretty sure I’ve watched your videos a few times. Cooking, right?” John says after your hands separate.

You are immediately surprised, almost in awe and he can tell by the look on your face. You try to keep your jaw as tight as you humanly can – almost as if it would comically fall to the floor is you dared to open it.

“Yeah, that’s… me, yes.” You smile at him widely. “You’ve really watched my videos?” You ask, amused, all your worries go away as his words make your whole week, it’s the first time something like this has happened to you.

“Could say ’m a bit of a fan, actually.” He gives you a smile of his own before he continues talking and looking into your eyes, deeply.

“Wanted to start improving my skills and happened to watch one of your videos, the food I prepared turned out surprisingly well – subscribed ’bout a month ago and… been watching ’em ever since.” That raspy and collected tone of his almost soothes your nerves.

“I’m shocked- I’ve never met any of my subscribers…” You admit with a smile full of excitement.

“Well, ’sppose there’s always a first time, innit?” – there is a comfortable silence after you nod but is broken by John looking back at your car.

“You mentioned there was a problem with the engine, that right?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Mhm, it stops sometimes and it can be tricky to start it.” You speak with a sheepish smile and the man crosses his arms as he stands in front of you.

“Want me to take a look?” Honestly? You’d like to talk to him more but you have to get to Harrison’s befoee he closes and you don’t want to keep John here forever, as happy as you are right now. His grocerie bags are on the floor with yours, completely forgotten and you wouldn’t want him to waste his time.

“Don’t worry, I was on my way to the mechanic anyway. Wouldn’t want to keel you here forever.”

“You sure?” John looks at your car then back at you – you give him a nod and he sighs.

“Well… If the engine’s been playin’ games with ya and stops on your way there. Let me know, I mean-” He scrounches up his face in annoyance when the excuse of giving you his number gets too obvious but the sound of the giggle that escapes your lips makes it go away.

“Could use your number for that.” You say quicker than you expected and he immediately smiles, clicking his tongue and taking out his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

“Right.” John says with that deep husky tone rumbling on his chest and a small smile on his face, almost a shy one.

After getting his number, you glance at his brown boots as he lifts up his bags and gives you a small goodbye nod, you wave your hand at him and smile almost stupidly.

“It was nice meetin’ you, Y/N.” John says and you nod too.

“It was nice meeting you too, John.”

As he makes his way to his own truck, you lift up your long forgotten bags and put them in the backseat of your car before you start the engine and sigh in relief since it didn’t give you any trouble this time.

“Well that was hot…” You mumble with a smile as you reverse the car.

Taglist: @bumblebeesfromvenus @thesevi0lentdelights @zekes-beard (Let me know in the comments if you’d like to be added! ♡)

#captain price #john price #call of duty #john price x reader #cod #cod mw2 #captain price x reader #captain price x you #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #fanfic

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boxofbonesfic · 3 months ago

Text

Title: Return to Sender [6 of 9]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark! Andy Barber x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Andy Barber promised he would never let you go, and come hell or high water, he's going to keep that promise.

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Kidnapping, Murder, Canon Typical Violence, Gaslighting, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive behavior, Fluff, Friends to lovers, Smut, MORE TAGS TO BE ADDED

A/N: ooh you all are going to be saur mad at me, lol. i’m sorry. i promise, we’re coming to an end, one i hope is as satisfying as the journey has been. remember, the outcome of this story was one you all voted on (dark vs. fluff), something i’ve kept in mind as i’ve crafted the story moving forward. thanks for sticking with me! comments are great, reblogs are golden. thank you for reading, and mind the warnings. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

Andy’s voice sounds like oil even through the phone.

“Well?” The expectant word rolls off his tongue. “I’m waiting.”

It’s hard to speak, like the words are stuck in your chest. You lick your dry lips, casting a nervous glance around the phone store.

“I want to talk.”

“Yes, Honey. You said that already.”

“I—I want you to stop hurting people. You have to stop, Andy!” The phone trembles in your clammy hands as you readjust your grip on it. Ari is still asleep—or at least, he had been when you’d crept out from underneath his arm after he’d fallen asleep. Otherwise, he’d surely have stopped you. From across the counter, the employee gives you a frustrated glare. It’s almost closing time, and you don’t exactly have spare minutes to skip around the point. You’d also promised her a sale—which you absolutely were not going to follow through on either.

“You know why I’m hurting people.” He sounds like he’s going to say something else, but the grainy sound of an infant’s cry derails him. Your chest clenches, and tears gather in the corners of your narrowed eyes. “See? Look who you’re hurting, Honey. All this foolishness, and all you’ve managed to do is hurt everyone around you. You hurt our daughter.” Andy sighs. “And yourself. You’re quite good at that.”

You take a deep, trembling breath. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t true, that none of it is true. It doesn’t matter that he’ll think it’s his idea. It’s better. Better if he does.

“You’re right.” The words feel like glass on your tongue. “You’re right.” The sound of him clucking his tongue through the receiver is enough to raise your hackles. You want to hang up the phone, to press the end call button and leave. You want to say it’s your devotion to Dove that keeps you on the line, and mostly it is. But there’s the part of you that Andy owns—the part you expect he’ll own forever that believes him. “I… I’m sorry.” You hate that part of you that really is.

“I’m sorry for everything.” There’s no response, but you know he’s still there—you can hear Dove gurgling against his shoulder. “It’s my fault. I got scared, Andy. I—I hate it, without you.” You hear his thoughtful hmm thought the receiver.

“Then tell me where you are, Honey. So I can come and get you, and this whole ugly mess will be all finished.” You don’t want to.

“I—I will, but you have to promise me you won’t hurt anyone else. Promise me, Andy.”

“Tell me something, Sweetheart, who is Ari Levinson?”

You’d called Andy with the resolve to give him nothing. To placate and pacify him until he allowed you to see Dove again. What you weren’t prepared for was him knowing about Ari. Your chest tightens as his words ring again in your ears—Promise me you won’t go back. Promise me.

I’m sorry, Ari.

Your non-answer is enough to make Andy sigh.

“So you do know him.” The displeasure in his voice is easy enough to hear, and it fills you with cold dread. He’s trained you that way, made you hyper responsive to every one of his moods. You can’t help it now, your body tightening like a piano wire at the sound of his disappointment.

“I really thought you would keep better company, Honey. Dishonorable discharge, manslaughter, criminal intimidation…” Andy trails off, clucking his tongue. Your heart is pounding, your trembling, clammy hands gripping the phone so tightly your fingers hurt. Manslaughter? Intimidation? Ari hadn’t told you any of that—but you suppose you hadn’t really asked. You know Andy’s only doing this to make you unsure, to shake up your footing and keep you guessing while he gathers all the cards—and he’s good at it. He chuckles at your silence.

“Oh Honey. He didn’t tell you, did he?” Andy doesn’t even bother hiding his amusement. “I’m always telling you you can’t just trust anyone off the street, Honey. These people you’re with, they’re not good people.”

You’re not good people, you think savagely, though your resolve crumbles as you hear Dove’s sleepy wail through the phone. She needs you, and your whole body aches at the thought of being unable to fulfill that need. Andy clears his throat.

“I’m going to ask again, Honey, and I really want you to be honest with me when you answer. Who. Is. Ari. Levinson.”

“H-he just helped me, that’s all,” you mumble. “Ir—my contact, she… she knows him. I don’t really… I haven’t spent much time with him.” Andy’s always been good at knowing when you lie—and you wait anxiously to see if he’ll taste the mistruth in your words. The silent seconds tick by as you hear him quiet your daughter and sigh deeply.

“If I send Robert to get you, Honey, you’re coming home this time. Understand?”

“I-I want to come h-home.” The word feels like acid in your throat, but you want to swallow it back down anyway, so he can’t hear it. “I need to come home. I-I miss Jacob.” You do—that part, at least, is true.

“Honey I want that more than anything. It’s going to be good, better, Sweetheart. So much better than before.” His words do everything but reassure you. “You don’t know how good it feels to hear you say that.” You imagine him in his office, standing in front of the fireplace. It’s so clear you can almost see it, instead of the dingy used phone store. “He’ll be there tomorrow morning, early. Train station.”

“I-I’ll be there.”

“I know you will.”

“You promise if I do this—you won’t, you won’t hurt anyone else, right?” You hear the line clicking in his silence.

“I promise.”

—

The walk back to the shop takes you twice as long, probably because you keep stopping, staring ahead of you silently as your thoughts boil over and out of control. You’d promised Ari—and you’d known, even then, that you would break it. The sight of Irene’s face, his wound, it had all made your decision as easy as it could possibly be:

You were going to get Dove yourself.

You’d underestimated Andy’s connections, and two nights ago was proof enough of that. Pronge was proof of that. If you don’t go back now, you know they won’t survive another encounter. And Andy… you know he can spin it. Just like he had your disappearance. He wouldn’t let you go, he never would. He’d make it cost too much. It already cost too much, you think to yourself, clenching your fists angrily.

It feels like no matter what you do, no matter what you choose or how hard you fight, you just. Keep. Losing. You come to the dead end street where Zemo’s abandoned-but-not garage sits—but you walk right past it. You can’t go back yet, you don’t have your story straight. Hell, you don’t even have your own fucking head straight. You can’t face either of them right now.

How do I tell Ari?

You don’t want to think about how devastated he’ll be, how angry. You doubt he’ll understand—you can’t leave Dove with Andy, alone to twist her mind and shape her into God knew what. No, you can’t do that. You can’t even consider it. You didn’t want to leave Jacob either, but you knew you couldn’t manage two babies, not when Andy had barely let you escape with one. Ari will blame himself, you know that much already.

But knowing he’ll hate you is far better than knowing he was dead because of you.

It’s a gray day, and the off-again-on-again rain has managed to soak through your borrowed sweatshirt. Once you round the large, empty park at the far end of the neighborhood, you decide to head back. You don’t really feel much better, but you know you can’t stay out by yourself much longer. Once you round the corner and turn onto the block, you spot Ari standing outside, in front of the closed garage door bay.

“What are you doing? Where did you go?” He asks, frowning down at you worriedly. “You can’t just—” Ari stops himself, and blows out a harsh, frustrated breath. “Mouse, you know he isn’t going to stop.”

You look down at your feet. “I know.” He steers you back inside with his good hand.

“Let’s go over the plan again.” You can’t help but roll your eyes. He can’t see you, but somehow, Ari knows. “Hey. Come on, humor me.”

“Fine.” You lean against the dusty front counter as you watch him close the door and lock it behind him, lowering the security grate before bolting that, too. “Step one: Canada. Step two: new identity. Step three: Come back, get Dove.” You know this is what they want, what they say is best, safest.

And you know they’re right, it is what’s safest—for you.

Andy has a long memory—and his patience exceeds that of a fucking saint. He’d waited eight years for you. You don’t want to know how long he’s willing to wait to put another bullet in Ari. And somehow, you know that if he comes to do it himself, he won’t miss.

“Good. I know it’s hard right now. But I promise you, I will be with you every single step of the way, okay? We are not giving up on Dove.” Ari cups your chin with a tenderness that brings burning tears to your eyes. You blink them back, burying your face against his chest.

“I know.” The rough fabric of his sling against your cheek strengthens your resolve, though. “Thanks, Ari.”

“You’re welcome.” He kisses the top of your head. “Not the biggest fan of Quebec but Montreal is nice. Maybe we’ll go there, first.” Andy’s voice echoes unpleasantly in your head. Dishonorable discharge. Manslaughter. Ari’s laughter falters. “What’s wrong, Mouse?”

“N-nothing.” You shake your head, attempting to clear it of the ghosts Andy had put in it. “Did you go to Montreal while you were in the army?” You ask, and his expression darkens, just a little.

“No. After, actually. After I left.” The why hangs unspoken in the air between you, and you hesitate to breathe it into existence yourself, no matter how desperate the desire. “I told you about my sister. Her husband.” He sighs. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t alright. When they died. I’m probably still not, but it… I was angry. I wanted to kill him, Mouse. I wanted to hurt him like he hurt them and I wanted him to know why.”

“Did you?”Ari doesn’t look proud. He looks… sad. Like he doesn’t want you to know, like he’d rather lie instead of letting a single shred of the truth pass his lips in this moment. But Ari isn’t a liar, you’ve learned that well enough.

“Yes.” He’s looking at you but his eyes are so far away that you know he isn’t, really. You don’t know what he’s seeing, but you know it isn’t you. “I did. I know I should regret it—what I did. But I couldn’t. I can’t.” You aren’t afraid of him, even though perhaps, you know you probably should be. And yet, even amidst his confessions, all you feel is safe.

So safe.

“I went to Montreal after that.”

You don’t know what else to say, but you wrap your arms around him, the tips of your fingers barely touching around his broad back. It’s the only thing you can think to give him in this moment. Words may fall short, and you know that he will dwell on them tomorrow when you’re gone, dissect them with the same stubborn diligence he shows you at every opportunity. But this, this he won’t be able to deny, to spin.

Ari hums, squeezing you affectionately.

“Mind if I change the subject now, Mouse?” He asks, sighing the words into your hair. “Besides, if we stay out much longer, Irene’s liable to come looking for us.”

“Too late.” Her irritated voice makes you jump. “Where did you get off to?”You swallow thickly, hoping Ari doesn’t hear it.

“I just took a walk.” In the beat of silence before Irene’s response, you can practically hear her roll her eyes. You turn to see her doing just that, and you wonder briefly if your powers of prophecy might lend themselves to something more useful. She jerks her head toward the office.

“Well, walk yourself in here a minute, would you? We’ve got to get these tickets sorted.” Ari snorts with laughter. “That was good, right?” She grins, carding a hand through her silver-blonde hair. Irene hasn’t been nearly as forthcoming as Ari with information—like she almost doesn’t want to know you, or like she’s afraid to get close. The disapproving look she fixes Ari with only further substantiates your theory.

Reluctantly, you follow Irene inside.

—

Andy takes a long, slow sip of his scotch, holding the liquor on his tongue before swallowing. The ice clinks gently against the glass, and after a moment, he sets it down to ponder the object in his other hand.

Your ring is beautiful—a classic marquis cut diamond, flanked by alternating long and short baguette cuts. It fit you perfectly—he’d had it made for you, so of course it had. Large enough that other women made a fuss over it whenever they saw it, but still classy, not ostentatious.

You’d left it on the dresser, next to the ankle monitor you managed to slip off without tripping the alarm. Andy’s lip curls, and he downs another mouthful.

Let’s see her take off a goddamn chip.

The sound of tiny footsteps outside his office door makes Andy turn, just in time to see Jacob poke his head around the doorframe. He’s nearly four now, and he can reach the handle without standing on the tips of his toes, now.

“Hey, bud. What is it? You know you’re supposed to be in bed.” Jacob’s lip trembles.

“Daddy, I had bad dream,” he replies shakily, rubbing his watery eyes with the back of his chubby hand. “Went for mommy but she not there.”

It takes everything Andy has not to blame you, but he swallows the urge. You can’t help it—you don’t have his vision, his foresight. You don’t see how much he needs you, how great you could be together if you would just let him lead you. He’d tried to replace you with Laurie, and look how that had turned out. No, Andy had already tried back-up plans B, C, and D when what he really needed was just to try A one more time.

“Daddy’s sorry to hear that, Jake. Would you like to come sit with me?” He nods, sniffling. Andy hoists his toddler up onto his lap, rubbing his back with a gentle hand. “What was the dream about?”

“The bad-glasses-man.” Jacob says seriously, turning his glassy, terrified eyes to his father. Andy’s face remains passive, but inwardly he rages. Pronge’s comings and goings are easy enough to hide from the rogue paparazzi and the plain-clothes cops he knows are lurking just beyond the property gate, but significantly less so from his son, apparently.

“Who’s the glasses man?” He knows the answer, but he needs the confirmation. The question alone is enough to upset him, and Jacob begins to fret, his eyes watering as he shakes his head.

“I don’t like him. His face is red.”

The night he’d brought Dove back, he’d been practically covered in blood—the only clean thing was the goddamn baby. Andy didn’t ask where the hired muscle was, and Robert did not volunteer the information.

“You know that was a dream, don’t you, tough guy?” Andy says, wiping the tears from his son’s chubby cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “When you go to sleep, you have dreams. And what we see in our dreams isn’t real, remember?”

“I ‘member, daddy.” Jacob still looks rather upset, though, and Andy wonders what else he hasn’t managed to hide, what other loose ends he hasn’t managed to tuck. “Him’s scary.”

He’d been planning of disposing of Pronge anyway—passing along “new” evidence to his friends in the DA’s office in Florida would be more than enough to have a needle in his arm before he could so much as kick dirt at Andrew Barber’s pristine legacy.

“It’s okay to be scared, Bud. Thanks for coming to see me—that’s what dads are for.”

“And moms.” Jacob adds seriously, and Andy smiles and nods in agreement though his free hand clenches against the seat where his son can’t quite see it.

“And moms.”

—

Dinner is takeout, with Ari meeting the delivery driver three blocks away, just to be safe. You can feel Irene’s eyes on you the whole time he’s gone. You wonder if maybe she knows somehow, if she’s figured out your plan just from plain experience and observation. Her face is still a mess of bruising, but the swelling around her eye has gone down enough for her to squint out of it, which is what she’s currently doing as she looks at you. Her nose is still red and angry, the bruised, veiny skin peeking out around the bandage and splint—Pronge had broken it.

“I’m sorry.” You feel compelled to apologize again—after all, you’re responsible. Sure, Robert had been the one to break it, but you feel like you might as well have driven your own fist into her face for all the difference it made. “I didn’t know Andy would… that he would call someone like that.” You’d thought you knew Andy, that you understood him, who he was. And that had been why you’d let him back in.

But you hadn’t, you see that now. Not even a little bit.

Irene snorts. “Robert’s a parasite. I’m not surprised he’s got himself mixed up with a big fish like Andrew Barber.” She crosses her arms. “He’s always had a talent for finding garbage.”

“You know him?” You ask, grimacing. Irene’s scowl deepens with regret, and she looks away. She’s by no means a small woman, broad shouldered and tall—but she looks somehow diminished.

“S-sorry, I, I shouldn’t pry. I—I know we’re supposed to keep the interpersonal stuff to a minimum—” You ramble apologetically to fill the awkward space your question has left, but Irene cuts you off.

“He was my first partner. Before lover-boy,” she adds, snorting. Your cheeks heat. You can’t stop your face from contorting in confusion. “He was my transporter, till he turned one of my girls back over to her husband.” She looks down at her hands. “My last girl, before, well, you.” Irene’s laugh is dry, but not bitter.

“I didn’t know I was your one last job,” you reply. “Where’d you meet Pronge?”

“What can I say? Your email was very convincing.” Your chest hurts at this, bad. You want to tell her, tell her everything, your phone call with Andy, your deal—but you don’t. She’ll only try to stop you. She’s already suspicious of you, you know—you can’t be the first to think about going back, to weigh the pros and cons and find the latter holds more water. Instead, you watch her tug the chain out from beneath her collar with her thumb.

“Military. Same place I met Ari,” she adds.

“You were all there together?” You ask incredulously, and she actually laughs, shaking her head. “In the army?”

“No, no. Six degrees of separation, type thing.” The chain link rattles as Ari pulls it up, and you turn to watch him duck underneath before lowering it back down and snapping the padlock into place to keep it shut. “Didn’t even know this prick till I needed an east coast cover.” She jerks her thumb at him as he sighs, shaking his head.

“Talking about me again, ladies?” He says, putting the bag down heavily on the counter. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Irene retorts. “And we weren’t Army.” She scrunches up her nose with distaste. “That, there, darlin’,” she points at Ari. “Is a Marine.” She turns her accusatory finger back on herself. “Marine.”

You offer her a wry smile. “I’m not sure what the difference is, but—” you hold your hands up placatingly as her face screws up with offense. “I do believe you that there is a difference.”

“Damn right.”

Ari’s hand finds the small of your back as he passes by behind you, and you don’t jump at his presence.

“There’s not really that much of a difference.” He murmurs cheekily, and you stifle a giggle, biting your lip. “Just so you know.” Ari’s lips graze the shell of your ear, and your whole face goes hot.

“I heard that, asshole,” she snaps, jabbing her finger in Ari’s direction again. “There is.” Irene eats alone, waving her hand and shaking her head as she shovels food out onto her plate. “No, no. I need time away from you two. No offense.”

“None taken.” Ari replies, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “You’re in a shit mood anyway.” You don’t have to see Irene flipping him off to know it’s happening, but you peek over your shoulder anyway, and snicker with laughter as she proudly presents her middle finger. Ari ignores her.

You eat in companionable silence, before Ari, elbows you gently.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, and your chest fills with that too-familiar-ache. “Really?”

“I’m fine.” You don’t know if he believes you, but he doesn’t ask again. Instead, he does something else entirely—Ari dotes on you. He reminds you to finish your food when you push it away half-eaten. If not for me, then for Dove, Mouse. Can’t make milk for her if you’re starving. And when you’re done, he takes your plate, tossing it in the trash for you. You’re still wired, however, electricity running under your skin as the hours wind down. It’s all you can do not to pace.

Andy had taught you that you couldn’t have your cake and eat it too—but goddamn do you want to. You want your daughter, and you want Ari. It feels unfair that you can’t, mostly because it is. Andy gets to have it all. Do it all, and what do you get? To crawl back to him on your belly because he’s still. Fucking. Winning.

Ari places a hand on your thigh, stilling it. You hadn’t even realized you’d been bouncing it nervously, staring off into space. His concern cuts through the noise of your anxiety.

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy.” He grasps your hands. You sigh.

“I know.” You hang your head. “I—I can’t stop thinking about Dove,” you admit, hanging your head. “How she needs me…” Ari squeezes your hands together, his larger ones enveloping them.

“You need you.” He strokes the backs of your hands softly with his thumb. “You realize that, don’t you, Mouse?” You try to resist when he tucks a finger underneath your chin to make sure you’re looking at him, and when you do, you find his eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Please tell me you understand.”

“I understand.”

You want to—but you don’t even know who you are anymore. Without Dove, you feel adrift; she’d been your anchor, your purpose and drive. You needed to protect her, to get her away from Andy and keep her safe and whole and good. You reasoned you could fix yourself after, duct tape was good enough for you. But now that he has her again and your plan lies in ruins around you, you don’t even know what you’re doing this for. The various splintered pieces of you held in place by thin tape are falling apart again, and you don’t have another way to make them stay together.

When Ari pulls you to his chest you go willingly, tucking yourself against his chest. He smells like pine musk and rain and just a hint of sweat, and you bury your nose in the folds of his shirt. You want to remember him, remember every moment you’d spent with him because they were precious. Of course only you realize it as you stand upon the precipice of never seeing him again, but you can’t change that now. You’re okay with it, trading the feeling of Ari’s solid body against yours, the surety of his presence, for knowing he’ll get to keep breathing.

He’s worth that to you.

Ari presses a kiss into your hair.

“I fucking swear I will do everything in my power to make sure that he never hurts either of you again.” It breaks your heart to know that no matter how hard he tries, Ari will never be able to keep that promise.

I think I love you. “Thank you.” I’m sorry.

“Let’s get some rest.”

You swallow against the tide of words that threaten to come crashing out of your mouth, and nod instead. He leads you back to the makeshift bedroom, and climbs into the cot beside you. He holds you, tucking your head beneath his chin as, for the last time, you fall asleep beside Ari Levinson.

—

“You look like shit.” Pronge’s voice is mocking. You glower at him from across the empty parking lot, but you don’t get any closer. You hadn’t been waiting there long when the sleek black car had pulled into the lot, with Pronge oozing out of the driver’s side door. “What? You get cold feet all of a sudden?” He doesn’t have to yell to be heard—there’s no traffic, no people. The train station is practically a ghost-town at this hour, so there’s no one to overhear, either.

“No.” You narrow your eyes at him, before reluctantly stepping forward. You see no reason not to be honest. “I just hate you.” He grins at your admission.

“Happy to see you too, Sweetcheeks.” Pronge throws open the door to the black sedan next to him, and jerks his thumb at the back seat. “Now get in. Your hubby’s eagerly waiting for you a three hour drive back to fucking Boston.” He sneers. “What, you deaf too? I said move it.”

You’re halfway across the lot when the sound of your name makes your eyes widen. You turn, and behind you is Irene, leaning against the gate as she pants. Your own eyes widen with panic—she’s not supposed to be here. You swear she’d been sleeping not forty-five minutes ago, though the steady rise and fall of her chest in the dark had been your only indication. Ari doesn’t seem to be with her though, and you wonder if she’d rushed here straight out of bed—she isn’t wearing any of her gear, and the knife you know she keeps in her belt is nowhere to be seen.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Irene looks from you to Pronge and then back again. Your chest aches as the realization crosses her face, betrayal settling in soon after. “You can’t do this.”

“Oh but this is delicious,” Pronge drawls, stepping around the open door. His greasy hair hangs limply into his face. “She’s going home to daddy.”

“The fuck you are,” Irene retorts. “You know you can’t.” She isn’t even talking to Pronge anymore, just you. “You can drink poison knowing it’s poison, but you’ll still die. Andy is never going to let you go, you know that. You told me what it was like in the basement. It’s going to be ten times as bad if he gets his hands on you again.” Irene fixes you with a pleading, earnest look. “Please—”

You’ve heard gunshots before—plenty of times, now—but this doesn’t sound like one. It’s why you don’t understand it when Irene’s chest erupts in a spray of dark, warm red. You can smell it, like burned, raw meat. It dribbles out of her mouth as she stumbles forward and then falls down onto the dark pavement, twitching. You clutch at your face with your hands as the scream that had built up in your chest emerges as a wheeze.

You look at Robert, watching with horror as he stows a pistol with a long silencer attached back into his filthy jacket. The blacktop is slick with morning dew as you race across it, slipping and skidding until you reach her.

“Help me!” Irene is gasping and twitching, her eyes rolling wildly as you push her onto her back, pushing your trembling hands against the hole in her chest. “What-what do I-I don’t know what to do, I—” Jerkily, she lifts a hand to your face, smearing your cheek with her blood.

“R-ru-un.” She coughs up more red, darker, thicker. You sob as you attempt again to staunch the bleeding. It doesn’t help, though, bubbling up out of the wound and over your hands to pool on the ground beneath you.

“No, no, please, he promised, he promised he—he promised,” you babble uselessly as she spasms again and then goes completely still, her eyes locked on the brightening sky above you. “He promised. Andy, he promised.” You look at Robert as Irene’s head falls back against the pavement.

“I guess there’s one cherry that Barber didn't pop.” He is on you in an instant, closing the gap between you with a few careful steps. You can’t move, though, can’t think as his wiry fingers dig into the meat of your shoulder, dragging you to your feet. Irene needs help, she needs—

“No, no, I, I have to help her, I—” You’re babbling uselessly as he shoves you into the back seat, and when you go for the handles on the doors, nothing happens. “Let me—let me out! No, no, he promised, and—” Pronge ignores your wailing, sliding in behind the wheel and starting the car. If anything, he’s enjoying it, grinning as you sob and beat against the windows with bloodstained hands. You cry and scream until your throat is raw, watching her body disappear, eaten by the cityscape as you move away through it.

After a while, you curl in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your knees and laying down on the cool, clean leather.

He promised.

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anisrightarm · 9 months ago

Text

Cregan Stark NSFW Alphabet

NSFW topics ahead don’t read if you’re not comfortable!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Cleans you up with a rag and warm water while telling how perfect you are for him

Knows you get cold in the north so he always has extra fur blankets to wrap you in

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For him he likes his eyes, knows you go wild for eye contact and you always compliment his eyes

On you he likes your stomach and hips, most northern girls he’s bedded have been rather skinny he loves the feeling of your stomach under his hands

LOVES your hips boy is grabbing them while pounding into you or caressing them while making love

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He will cum in you if you’re comfortable with it he goes feral for that shit

If not he loves cumming on your back or stomach something about you being dirty with his seed makes his brain short wire

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Would love to fuck you in the great hall alone obviously

Just the thought while he’s at some important meeting he just has to look at the table to remember what you two did whilst everyone is oblivious

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He has 10 kids.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything where he can see your face

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Cregan lets you set the mood but if it’s after a battle or hunt it’s all business

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s well shaven he likes to keep it neat and manageable

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s romantic he wants everything to be perfect for you he will definitely start a nice fire for you

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t necessarily like or need to jerk he has you

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink goes brr

Wants you to have his kids so bad he will whisper in your ear during sex telling you how good you would look pregnant

Praise giving and receiving he likes to know he’s making you feel good

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your chambers obviously he loves going to bed knowing you have had sex on the bed

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Imagining you pregnant

Seeing you with Kids (more specifically Rickon)

He loves to see you all dressed up for important events

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Will never do anything without your consent

Will never lay his hands on you

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

LIVES for eating you out it’s his favorite meal

Won’t deny head but won’t demand it he prefers giving

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Once again it’s mostly up to you and your preference but I like to think he goes deep you know quality over quantity

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Only likes quickies if he has absolutely no time

He likes to take his time to make his lady feel good

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Will never do something with you not being comfortable so kind of if your down, so is he

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last atleast 3-4

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I can’t imagine him using them on you, he prefers to please you himself

Doesn’t mind if you use them by yourself, he’s a lord after all he’s busy

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can tease and will but hates making you wait

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not very loud but he will grunt and moan in your ear

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Cregan was so touch starved before you got betrothed so when you held him the first night you made love he cried but always denies it

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Oh yeah he’s big you know what they say about northern men😏😏

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This man is down literally 24/7

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Cregan makes sure you are comfortable and okay before anything then it’s fair game you both knock out

A/n: My first NSFW alphabet!!! Give me feedback how did I do?? Who next??

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark smut #hotd x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark x you #hotd smut

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teastainedprose · 7 months ago

Text

Office Tryst ( Homelander x Reader)

I had bigger plans for this, but the inspiration well dried up so I'm slapping this up here as is.

🔞1K EXACTLY, You hate Homelander. He's a fucking bastard, but you'll fuck him all the same. (PIV sex, flirting with voyeurism, bruises, biting) [AO3]

Office trysts are nothing new to those scurrying about Vought Tower. Homelander has heard and witnessed plenty by mistake while zoning out in meetings, x-ray vision active as his gaze has wandered. He's seen some shit.

Now, engaging in one is a whole other beast. Homelander is finding that he delights in the risk of it, even if it is with you. For Homelander, getting caught is a thrill and for you? Well, they'd fire your ass.

Which is why you know it's intentional when the elevator doors slide open and Homelander is standing there with a wicked grin. He's quick to yank you against his unyielding form, one hand already pawing at the front of your blouse as he succeeds in shoving his tongue down your throat.

He's always quick to release you right before the elevator chimes and those doors slide wide open, too. His timing is impeccable but you figure it's his super hearing discerning when the elevator slows. It's far easier for Homelander to put himself back together in that stupid suit than it is for you to tug your clothing back into place and smooth down your hair.

Your fear of getting caught amuses Homelander and you swear your quickening pulse at the sound of footsteps gets him harder every time.

He could put that super hearing to good use as no one can actively sneak up on the Homelander. You both know he lets it happen every fucking time.

He delights in how you shove your face into his suit and clamp your mouth shut in an attempt to keep quiet. That's when Homelander whispers the most deprived things in your ear, rutting into you harder while trying to pull louder moans from you.

"I fucking hate you," You hiss up at him as the sound of retreating foot steps diminishes. You glare at him even while his cock is buried in you. You'd frozen up at the sound, muscles tense with dread because your skirt is hiked up, pinned against the wall with Homelander balls deep in you. Not exactly an HR approved gesture between coworkers.

"I know, sweetheart." Homelander purrs back as he begins to move into you again. His thrusts are punishing as he resumes his relentless pace. You finally reward him with subdued moans directly into his ear, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure you two steal.

It's a dangerous game you're both playing, but it's fun. Also, he's The Homelander. No one is going to chide him and who is going to blame you?

If you slink off and that 'bathroom' break is longer than expected, who among your coworkers is going to snitch? None of them are going to quibble if Homelander's partner vanishes within the building for strange, lengthy breaks. No one would dare.

As the office trysts continue, you begin to learn more of Homelander's moods. His rages are legendary and people know to avoid the supe on bad numbers days, but you're learning everything between a total meltdown and a good day.

The good days he's almost affectionate. His wit is biting as you exchange barbs, but it's all playful undertones as you bare your teeth at one another. On such days, you almost like him. He's almost charming. It's fun.

Then there are the days where everything has gone terribly wrong for Homelander. You know these sort of rages can result in little fires within the building. There was one incident where a production trailer exploded, blamed on a faulty wire. Curious that it had been Homelander's trailer and he'd looked extra petulant that day.

Those are the sort of days people scurry out of Homelanders' way, but for you? Those are the days you find you like best.

He's always desperate those days. Homelander growls in your ear, snatches at the back of your neck as he looms as a threat behind you. He'll give a possessive squeeze against your skin and a polite false smile to your coworkers with a comment about needing to speak to his girl in private.

The thrill that hums through your body is always the same. The danger of Homelander always excites you. You refuse to analyze why his possessiveness makes you all the wetter.

You're merrily dragged away into some empty conference room or even a broom closet of all things and Homelander doesn't wait to latch his teeth onto some part of your flesh. Your neck. Your shoulder. Once your inner thigh before he shoved your skirt up higher and yanked your panties down to bury his face there with a snarl. His favorite is a breast, usually the right one or whichever he can get out of your top the quickest. The bruises last for days and you don't mind that in the least.

Always aggressive with how he bites and sucks, little concern as to how it harms you. Which it does, but you like it. Homelander knows how to sink his teeth into you to pull delicious noises free, the ones you try to cover up even while he urges you to be louder. The angry, red marks Homelander leaves are reminders of a fun time had by all.

There's some aggressive urge to vent his frustrations out on your body, but even then Homelander is coiled with control. He could break skin with a flex of his jaw, snap bones with a flick of his wrist, but he never does. Not even when Homelander stares up at you, hatred boiling in the endless blue of his eyes. He hates you as you hate him. Homelander especially hates how he craves you.

Yet, even if the two of you growl out about how much you loathe each other? Even as he glares and postures, the hatred never burns as hot as it used to. It never burns the pair of you up like your passion does now on the daily. You try not to think about that. Such thoughts are dangerous.

#homelander #homelander writing #homelander x reader #homelander smut #drabble #okaybut Homelander would be tickled by someone who moans for him and growls out their hatred for him in the next breath #...I'm writing that already but-#lol #no proofreading it's smutty smut #well not that graphic #but w/e

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elysiaheaven · 2 months ago

Note

do you take requests? if you do, could i request ronin with a jirai kei/landmine mc? (landmine is typically used to refer to a girl (although, it can also be a guy) who is mentally unwell and on the verge of exploding, usually someone with bpd or bipolar)

if not, i 100% understand 😊

hi! I'm really tried my best to research if it's not accurate I'm so sorry.. also it's so cringe I made it so fluff imaooo

Words:1000!

Summary: you are bandaging him after a small accident

Genre: Fluff

Devotion-Ronin x G.N reader ^^

The air in your small apartment stinks of antiseptic. You’re kneeling on the stained carpet, frantically wrapping Ronin’s arm in gauze, trying to keep his skin together before the bleeding gets worse. His grin—obnoxious, smug, and endlessly irritating—remains intact despite the gash running from his shoulder down to his elbow.

“Should’ve seen it, babe. You should’ve seen how his face split open,” he chuckles, his voice raspy and far too casual for someone who just narrowly escaped murder charges. “I swear, it was art.”

You yank the bandage tighter than necessary, making him flinch.

"Ow. Easy, sweetheart."

“Shut up,” you snap, the sharpness in your voice cutting through the room like a knife. Your fingers tremble as you fasten the gauze into place, rage bubbling in your chest, threatening to boil over. It’s like every nerve in your body is frayed, ready to snap in half. “Just shut the hell up, Ronin. For five seconds. Do you know how close you were to getting caught? I had to drag your stupid body out of there!”

He doesn’t even flinch at the outburst. In fact, his grin grows wider, eyes gleaming with some twisted amusement. He’s enjoying this—the way you’re unraveling in front of him like a ribbon being pulled too hard from both ends.

“You’re so cute when you yell,” he says, leaning his head back against the wall, as if you aren't seething just inches away. "All dolled up in that pretty skirt, screaming like a little time bomb. God, I love you."

You grab a loose pillow from the couch and throw it at his face.

The pillow bounces off Ronin’s chest, but he catches it effortlessly, laughing softly under his breath. The sound grates on your nerves like nails on glass. You shove his shoulder—his injured shoulder—and he winces, though the grin never leaves his face.

“I swear to God, if you don’t stop—”

Before you can finish, he moves faster than you expect. His uninjured arm snakes around your waist, yanking you against him, despite your furious squirming. “What didja think, huh? That you were just gonna walk out on me?” His voice drops, a teasing drawl laced with menace, his words slithering into your ear.

"Let me go," you hiss, thrashing against his hold, but it’s no use. He tightens his grip, holding you firm like he’s cradling something precious that might shatter at any moment—and, God, maybe you will. The tension coiled inside you, the pressure building up like a bomb, is unbearable.

“Not happening, sweetheart.” He presses his lips to the top of your head, a mockery of tenderness. “Where else would you go, huh? You need me just as much as I need you.”

You hate how his words crawl under your skin, how they make you freeze for a moment too long. He knows exactly which buttons to push, exactly how to sink his claws in. You’ve tried so hard to stay composed, to keep the storm inside at bay, but with Ronin, the cracks in your armor spread faster than you can patch them.

"Don’t…" your voice falters, but you push at him again, weaker this time. "Don’t act like you care." The frustration and sadness twist together, tightening your chest like barbed wire. You hate him for making you feel this raw, this open.

“Oh, I care, darlin’. I care so much it hurts.” His hand slides up your back, slow and deliberate, grounding you even as you try to shove him away again. "That’s why you patched me up, didn’t you? You were scared."

"You almost got caught," you whisper, barely keeping it together. Your breathing’s erratic, the words stumbling out in broken pieces. "And now I’m stuck here… cleaning up your mess… again."

Ronin’s hand drifts up to your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb traces the edge of your lips with a gentleness that makes your stomach turn. "You don’t have to fight me, sweetheart. I like you exactly the way you are—messy, angry, perfect.”

And that’s the worst part: You know he means it. He loves the chaos, feeds off it. Every time you teeter on the edge of breaking, he pulls you closer, cradling your madness like it’s something beautiful. And it scares you—how easily you could fall apart in his arms, how much you want to.

You sag against him, exhausted from the struggle, your body giving out before your mind can. Ronin’s arms tighten around you, holding you like a lifeline, like he knew all along you’d give in.

“There you go, Darling” he murmurs, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. "I’ve got you."

You lean into Ronin’s embrace, the tension in your muscles slowly unraveling as you sink against him, the warmth of his body contrasting with the chill of your frayed nerves. The soft thump of your heart beats steadily in your ears, a chaotic rhythm matching the swirl of emotions fighting for dominance within you.

“I know, I know,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing, almost conspiratorial, as if he’s sharing a secret meant only for you. “You’re a walking time bomb, but that’s what makes you so interesting.” He leans back slightly, just enough to catch your gaze, his devilish smirk never fading. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to watch a beautiful disaster unfold?”

You scowl at him, not in the mood for his games. “You think this is funny? You’re the reason I’m falling apart.”

Ronin chuckles softly, clearly amused. “Oh, babe, it’s way more entertaining than funny. You’re like a high-wire act without a safety net. Plus,” he adds, nudging your shoulder with his, “it’s not like I’m the one keeping secrets in a bloody basement.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “You don’t get it. This is real for me.” The shadows of your bipolar disorder loom large, threatening to engulf you. Some days, you can handle everything—navigate the chaos, juggle the highs and lows—but other days? It’s like being caught in a whirlwind, and right now, it feels like you’re spiraling toward the edge.

Ronin’s expression shifts, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something deeper, more earnest. “Then let’s just be a mess together, yeah?” His fingers brush against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. “I mean, we can be extra dysfunctional, and I’m all in."

“Dysfunctional isn’t the half of it,” you mutter, your voice softer, the edge of your anger dulling as you look into his dark eyes, searching for a flicker of understanding.

“Ah, but that’s where the fun lies.” He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, teasingly whispering, “Besides, being a little devilish is my specialty. It’s like… embracing the chaos instead of running from it.”

You want to resist his allure, the way he pulls you in with every word, but there’s an undeniable comfort in his presence. He seems to understand the storm raging inside you, even when you barely grasp it yourself. “What if I explode?” you ask, half-joking, half-terrified of the reality that sits beneath the surface.

“Then I’ll catch you,” he promises, deadpan, but his eyes sparkle with mischief. “And we’ll make a real mess of things. I’ll grab a mop, and you can scream all you want. Just don’t think for a second that I’d let you go.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. “You’re impossible.”

“Exactly.” He leans back against the wall, still cradling you in his arms. “And that’s why you love me.”

You push at his shoulder playfully, but there’s no real force behind it. “I don’t love you. I tolerate you.”

“Oh, please.” He raises an eyebrow, grinning like a cat who just caught the canary. “You’re wrapped around my finger, darling. But that’s okay; I like you a little unhinged.”

“Unhinged?” you echo, the term sending a shiver through you. It’s a label you often grapple with, one that feels too close to home.

“Yeah, it’s like a badge of honor.” His eyes gleam as he continues, “You’re wild, unpredictable, and a bit of a mess. It’s like your own personal chaos aesthetic.” He lifts his hands in mock exaggeration, as if you’re some rare work of art. “And don’t forget—you’re mine. I can handle the explosion.”

His confidence in you is infuriating, but also oddly reassuring. You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You really think I can just… manage it all?”

Ronin nods, his gaze unwavering. “Of course. It’s all about balance, babe. You’ve got the fire; I’ve got the chaos. Together, we’re a beautiful disaster.”

You shake your head, a small smile creeping onto your lips despite yourself. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you keep me around. See? That makes you the worst, too.” His smirk returns, cocky and playful. “You’re just as twisted as I am.”

“Not even close,” you retort, but the laughter in your voice betrays you.

He pulls you even closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You just wait, sweetheart. I’ll help you embrace your wild side. You’ll see.”

The uncertainty lingers, but for now, you allow yourself to melt into his embrace, comforted by the warmth and chaos he brings. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for today.

You sink deeper into Ronin's embrace, the tension easing from your shoulders as his warmth envelops you. Your mind is still a jumble of emotions, but the soft fabric of your oversized hoodie—a faded black with intricate, pastel-hued patches—feels comforting against your skin.

“Nice hoodie, babe. I love how you rock that look,” Ronin said sarcastically, his fingers grazing the delicate lace trim at the sleeves. “So perfectly chaotic. It’s like you’re ready to explode at any moment.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile threatens to break through. “It’s called style. Not everything has to be about violence, you know.” Your hoodie hangs off one shoulder, exposing the frilly strap of the pink lace tank underneath. You feel ridiculous, and yet… it’s part of who you are.

Ronin chuckles, tugging playfully at the hem of your hoodie. “It’s a cute look. That top is like a warning sign, and the ruffles are practically screaming for attention.” His tone is teasing, but there's a hint of sincerity behind it that makes your heart flutter.

“Like your bloody bandages aren’t attention-grabbing enough?” you shoot back, gesturing toward the makeshift dressing he’s wrapped around his arm. You can’t help but notice how the contrast between your softer, pastel colors and his dark attire highlights the chaos you both embody. His signature look—black ripped jeans, a loose maroon tee, and a battered leather jacket—only enhances his devil-may-care attitude.

“Hey, it’s all about the aesthetic,” he says, his grin wide and unapologetic. “You can’t have a true chaos vibe without a little blood, after all.”

You snort, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. “You’re such a punk.”

“And you’re my..darling.” he retorts, the wicked glint in his eyes making you blush. “Just think of it this way: We’re the perfect match. You’re the ticking time bomb in frills and lace, and I’m the charming devil.”

The juxtaposition of your two styles feels almost poetic in its absurdity. Your layered fishnet stockings peek out from beneath your frayed mini skirt, adorned with silver hardware and mismatched patches that tell stories of their own. Each piece of clothing is a reflection of your inner turmoil, each stitch a reminder of the battles fought and the scars worn like badges.

“Do you really think I’m cute like this?” you ask, vulnerability creeping into your voice. It’s not something you often share, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the way he’s studying you.

“Absolutely,” he replies, his tone suddenly serious. “You’re beautiful, even with..."

The soft fabric of your oversized T-shirt brushes against Ronin’s arm, the pastel pink covered in faint rips and band logos, a perfect reflection of your chaotic style. The high-waisted black skirt, shorts you wear flares slightly as you shift, the hem adorned with delicate lace that clashes and complements your chaotic aesthetic all at once.

You roll your eyes, the playful banter bringing a flicker of warmth to your cheeks. “Shut up. At least I’m not wearing a beanie indoors.”

“Hey, this beanie is a fashion statement,” he replies, his tone dripping with mock indignation as he pats the plum-colored fabric atop his head. “It keeps the artistic vibes alive, you know?”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you glance down at your outfit. The contrast of your clothes—delicate ruffles and lace with a touch of punk rock—makes you feel both fierce and fragile, just like your mind. The jirai kei aesthetic reflects you.. it's just your style..

“See? You’re practically a walking art piece.” Ronin shifts slightly, cradling you tighter against him, his thumb tracing the edge of your lace-trimmed collar. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to have a person like you on their arm?”

You huff, your expression softening despite your best efforts. “Just because I wear ruffles doesn’t mean I’m not capable of causing chaos.”

“I know,” he whispers, his voice low, and suddenly serious. “That’s what I love about you. You’re a contradiction, and it’s beautiful.”

His sincerity catches you off guard. You want to protest, to throw his words back at him, but instead, you find yourself melting further into his embrace. You can feel the tension in your body start to dissolve, even as the swirling storm in your mind rages on.

“Do you remember the first time I saw you in a stupid call?” Ronin continues, a playful lilt returning to his voice. “You were wearing that black and white striped shirt with a collar—adorable, and yet I could tell there was something simmering underneath.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop staring at me..I think?" you shoot back, trying to redirect the conversation, but the warmth in your chest only grows.

“It was the combination of the pastel colors,” he says, pretending to think deeply. “You looked like a cute little time bomb, just waiting to go off.”

Your cheeks flush again, and you fight the urge to bury your face in his chest. “Stop it.”

“Nope,” he says with a playful grin. “I’ll never stop. You’re like a little —adorable on the outside, and then boom!” He gestures dramatically, hands exploding outward as if reenacting your metaphorical detonation.

You can’t help but laugh, even though a part of you is still tense, a storm cloud brewing in the background. “I am not like that! I mean it's we....”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone teasing yet tender, “you definitely are. But that just makes me want to be around you more. I’ll be here when you go off. I’m not going anywhere.”

You shift your weight slightly, the hem of your clothing brushing against his jeans. “You might want to reconsider that.”

“Never. I’m addicted to your chaos.” He smirks, running a finger along the edge of your lace. “And besides, I think you need a little devilish distraction in your life.”

“Distraction?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Or danger?”

“Both. It’s a package deal,” he winks, the devil-may-care attitude shining through. “And trust me, with your flair for the dramatic and my penchant for chaos, we’ll create our own beautiful mess.”

You breathe in deeply, the tension slowly ebbing away as you absorb his playful confidence. The combination of your styles—his dark punk vibes and your jirai kei flair—creates a unique blend that feels so distinctly you.

“I guess I’m lucky to have you around to catch me when I explode,” you say, a soft smile breaking through the storm clouds in your mind.

“You bet,” he replies, his grin wide and mischievous. “But don’t think for a second I won’t enjoy the explosion, darling. I thrive in the chaos; I’ve told you before.”

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to suppress a giggle, “You’re incorrigible.”

“True, but you love it.” He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You shift slightly in Ronin’s embrace, the soft couch enveloping you like a cocoon, but the clock on the wall catches your eye. It’s getting late, and a wave of anxiety washes over you. “I really should head home,” you say reluctantly, glancing towards the door.

“Why?” He looks at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve already made a mess of my heart, darling. You think I’ll let you just waltz out of here?”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the weight of your worries lightening for a moment. “I don’t want to disturb you, Ronin. I mean, you probably have… things to do.”

“Things to do?” He quirks an eyebrow, feigning incredulity. “What could possibly be more interesting than this?” He gestures dramatically around the room as if it’s a grand stage, but the intensity in his gaze is undeniable. “Just stay. I promise I won’t bite—much.”

You feel a flutter of excitement mixed with anxiety. “I don’t know. It’s late…”

“Please?” he adds, his voice lowering, taking on a soft, coaxing tone that makes your heart race. “Just stay a little longer. What’s the harm in that?”

Your resolve wavers, and you can feel the familiar tug of his devilish charm pulling you closer. “I really should…” you start, but he interrupts, playfully pushing you down on the couch. You can’t help but gasp as he pins you gently against the cushions, his body hovering over yours.

“What was that about going home?” he whispers, his face inches from yours, the warmth radiating from him sending shivers down your spine. Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you, his lips brushing against yours with a teasing softness.

“Stay,” he murmurs against your mouth, kissing you again, deeper this time, his fingers tangling in your hair as if anchoring you to this moment.

You melt into him, the taste of him overwhelming your senses—spicy and sweet, the essence of him intoxicating. His kisses are fervent, almost desperate, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels without words.

You push against him slightly, your thoughts a chaotic swirl, but the way he holds you tight makes it hard to think straight. “Ronin…” you whisper, but he kisses you again, silencing your protests.

In that moment, nothing else matters. Your worries slip away, replaced by the warmth of his body and the intensity of his gaze. You pull him closer, surrendering to the need building inside you. His kisses become a frantic melody, a rhythm that drowns out your thoughts and worries.

You realize you’ve given up the argument, leaning into him, the hesitation fading away. This is where you want to be—lost in the chaos, the devilish embrace of someone who understands your darkness. No words are needed; the warmth of his kisses speaks volumes, each one whispering a promise of what could be.

Ronin’s hold on you tightens, a possessive gesture that makes your heart race even faster. He can be so devilish, and yet, here in this moment, everything feels just right.

#killer chat x reader #killer chat ronin #killer chat vn #killerchat #killer chat v #killer chat ronin x reader #killer chat #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

hiii!! i saw that you wanted some roan & eddie & reader requests sooo,, becuase barbie is trending so muchh i was wondering if you could write reader watching roan play with her barbies and instantly taken back to her childhood and getting very emotional ??

i mean its whats happening to me being reminded how much ive grown and how much effect those dolls had on me soo yeah 😭

tysm ♡ eddie and roan

A long, creaking squeal sounds from Roan when you come home. Eddie plugs his ears, knowing exactly what it is you have in the huge plastic bag at your waist —Roan's special treats, as previously discussed, for being such a lovely girl lately.

It might be a silly thing to treat her for, but she deserves toys before any amazing behaviour, and you have the extra money to buy them. Why shouldn't she get them? You and Eddie chatted some while you were at work that morning, trying to choose what toys to get.

"I haven't bought her toys by myself since we first met, what if I pick something crappy?" you'd worried.

Eddie gave it a little bit of thought, hand twined in the curling wire of the telephone, slouched as he usually does against the back wall of the shop. "Hey, she hasn't had any new dolls since Christmas. They'd go over nicely. Or she always likes a new dress. I'm sure you'll find something when you're there. You can get me something fun at the same time if you want."

You'd laughed at his joke and, if the light in your eyes now is anything to go off of, managed to find some presents you're happy with.

"Naddy's Toy Emporium!?" Roan shouts, rocketing off of the couch where she'd been standing waiting for you.

You've a nightly routine, hugging her when you come home like your life depends on it, but clearly Roan has decided the hug can wait. For once, Eddie's finished dinner before you're return, so he has a good seat on the couch to watch everything unfold.

You let her grab the bag's sides but lift it a touch when she tries to take it. "Hey, they're for you, I promise, but let's come inside and put them on the table!"

Roan squeals and knocks into Eddie's knees. He sits up and grabs her gently by the waist, hoisting her onto his lap. You sit on the couch cushion trampled flat by Roan's feet, pulling the play table where she likes to eat her snacks closer.

"Are you doing the speech?" you ask Eddie, putting down the bag.

He grins. "Ro," he begins, turning skewiff, her back to the couch to allow you both a great view of her face, "you've been a really good girl, lately. Do you know that? You've been eating all your dinner, no tantrums before school, and now you're even starting to help clean up around the house. So me and Y/N just want you to know how proud we are and how awesome we think you are."

"And we think all this awesome deserves some presents because we love you," you say. "Do you want the smallest or the biggest one first?"

There's lots of nice presents. You've stayed within the confines of the agreed budget, which is a feat for you (as you love to spoil her). There's five new barbies, one of which comes with a car, and the other a puppy dog. They have clothes, accessories, and an abundance of plastic he needs to cut away with scissors. His hand is welted red by the time he's through.

You also bought her a glittery lip gloss to replace the one she lost a few weeks ago. The proof of it sparkles on your cheek and Eddie's, twin thank yous.

You go quiet as Roan retreats to her satin princess tent, driving the pink corvette back and forth as she makes the barbies talk to one another.

"You okay?" he asks. You'd been wearing this huge smile for the last twenty minutes and now it's gone, he hates it. "I've been thinking maybe you deserve something nice, too."

You smile weakly. Okay, so you're not wanting anything.

"Dinner should be ready soon."

"Thanks, Eddie."

He gives up. He's about as subtle as a feather boa and you love him that way, drifting down toward your arm, his face smashing into your shoulder. "What's wrong?"

You put your head atop his. "Well, I'm just thinking."

"I may not look like it, but I think too, occasionally. Share with me."

You push his arm until he sits up and sinks down into his side instead. Eddie supposes you're allowed, even if usually he'd call it sexist or selfish. "I had a lot of fun picking those out today, and I kept thinking about the look on her face…"

Eddie hums to show he's listening. Kisses the top of your head 'cos he can. "Yeah?"

"I just remembered being her age. Do you remember wanting something really badly? There was something so nice about getting to grab a kart and– and to just stand there debating which ones to get."

Eddie toys with your pinky finger. "That's not everything, is it?"

Your smile presses against his arm, a deep emotion in your voice that's hard to pin. "Watching her makes me remember. Being a kid, playing make believe. I'll never be that young ever again, and there's no way to go back. But I," —you take in a steadying breath— "don't mind. I love seeing her so happy."

He intertwines your fingers between his, shorter and a little bit softer than his. He soaks in your presence for a moment, the smell of you, your tiny sounds, the secret you've shared with him. You're a mixture of sad and happy. He's not sure which one overpowers which, only that they're hitting you hard.

"There's lots of cool shit that comes with being a parent. You know the best one?" he asks you, raising his eyebrows at you with a fondness lining his lips.

"No?"

"You can play games without anyone judging you. I know it's not the same as being a kid again, but it's close."

"Yeah?" you ask, sitting up. "You'll come play too, right?"

Eddie casts his gaze to his daughter where she chit chats on the floor. "Hey, Roanie? Can we come play with you?"

Roan is almost as pleased as when she first laid eyes on her treasure trove of dolls.

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dadsbongos · 25 days ago

Text

sockpuppet

act 1 - the day your life changed / act 2 (coming soon!) / act 3 (coming soon!)

7.5 k words / warnings - reader written as the eldest daughter of toji fushiguro

summary - before meeting his wife, toji had a firstborn; and if you thought he was a messy parent with megumi you're gonna hate being that first kid with all the responsibility.

~~~

Scene 1 - summer 2006

Shoko was yawning into a ceramic mug with ewes playing in watercolor daisies on the front. An unlit cigarette dangling between her fingers. One of her eyes fluttered shut as rising sunlight sliced over her face from the kitchen window. Trees swayed behind the glass pane.

In your hand was a beaten up flip-phone, and three hours away by plane Satoru Gojo also holds a flip-phone (much shinier and newer than yours, though).

“I’m serious, you’re too cocky. Even Sho’ thinks so.”

She moans, not quite sure what she’s agreeing to but too smitten with the taste of bitter black coffee to ask.

“Pfft,” Satoru drags the hissing sound before curtly replying, “Whatever.”

“You’ll get yourself and poor Suguru in serious trouble, you know? Sugu’s a sweetheart, don’t drag him down with your bad attitude.”

“Blegh! Stop whining about Suguru, he’ll be fine.”

“I bet if Yaga knew you two were just goofing off in Okinawa for an extra day, he’d be pissed.”

“Well, don’t tell him! Besides, Suguru and I are always acing missions. We’re the strongest, or did you forget?”

“I’m just saying...”

“And I’m just saying: don’t worry about us. We always come back in one piece.”

You sigh. Earning one from Satoru.

“How about this?” uh oh, you can hear the smile on his overconfident face, “If Suguru and I don’t mess up this mission -- you have to go on a date with me!”

That pulls an eye roll out of you instantly, “And when you do mess it up?”

An audible snort before, “Then, I have to go on a date with you.”

Your laugh is boisterous. A rude “ha!” breaking into Satoru’s ears, but he didn’t mind, he assumes the grin on your face is good-natured anyway, “Very funny, Satoru. I gotta go. Don’t get Sugu’ killed, okay?”

“Agh, stop worrying about him!”

With a harsh dig of your thumb, the line cuts -- an unimpressed glower leveling your face to which Shoko merely shrugs in response. Messy bob detangling between pale, lithe fingers as she strokes her bedhead. Cracked lips stretch around yet another ragged yawn from the girl.

“Jeez, Sho’, did you not sleep at all?”

Again, she shrugs.

“Can’t be as bad as Satoru,” you mumble, jerking open the communal fridge to peer at your friends’ boxed leftovers, “He sounded terrible. Like he was sick or something. Can’t imagine how Suguru feels, either.”

Shoko’s snicker echoes into her rapidly hollowing mug.

“Shut up!”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snap, reaching toward the very back of the chilly box, “Just for that I’m snatching your noodles from last night!”

“I wasn’t gonna eat ‘em.”

Three hours away (by plane!), Satoru is drowsily thumbing the ridge of his silver cell. A faint upward impression left behind on his rosy lips. Suguru dozes off at his side, and Satoru doesn’t have the heart to rouse him -- after all, he can keep enough eyes on Riko by himself.

And closer to you than ever before, two men with dark hair sit in a car. Toji Fushiguro waits with closed eyes and a slouched back, though his brain is live and wired. Shiu Kong continuously mutters about how bothersome his cargo is, earnestly uncaring to the fact Toji can hear his every stilted word.

“Do you want to go out?” you hum around salty noodles, raising a brow. Shoko lays her cheek in her hand and continues, “I don’t feel like staying in all day. I’m pretty sure I could rope Haibara into carrying some bags if we went shopping.”

“Haibara would just be glad to get an invite,” despite the jab, you’re grinning fondly, “Yeah, I can swing a day trip today. Beats studying.”

“Studying for what, even?” Shoko shoots you a disbelieving glare, “Hard ass.”

“Huh?!”

“You heard me,” swinging back the rest of her coffee, Shoko clinks the ceramic mug to wood and blips out of the room with a muted call over her shoulder, “Getting Haibara now! Get dressed!”

“Ughhh,” you frown, looking down at your loose pyjama shorts with contempt. Strangely, the question of which clothes in your arsenal Satoru likes most pops into your head first.

When you remember you won’t see him again until this afternoon, your frown deepens with a huffier “ughhhh!” following. Quickly scarfing down more of your champion’s breakfast.

Once dressed, you set out with Shoko (a freshly lit cig now occupying her mouth), Yu and even a bleary-eyed, unenthused Kento being wrangled out the door by Yu.

“We’re gonna get Kento a nose ring!” Shoko barks, poking the blonde’s cheek.

“I’d rather not,” he grumbles.

As your quartet slithers out from under the torii gates, two parties grow closer.

Suguru stretches, hands above his tense head with an boorish groan. Riko has half a mind to roll her eyes. She eventually does when Satoru follows it up with a complaint, “I’m never playing babysitter again.”

“At least it’s over,” despite his lull, Suguru has a sick sense that it will not be over so soon. Whether it’s a sudden fondness for the girl or true intuition, Suguru is certain he’ll see Riko again.

Riko sops up a droplet of sweat with Misato’s handkerchief, eyes narrowing over Satoru just in time to catch the buttons of his shirt clattering across stone. Untailored undershirt tearing open. Hot crimson splatters out.

A startled scream is trapped in Riko’s jaw, Misato shoving the girl behind herself as Suguru lunges forward. Frayed brain scanning Satoru until the tow-headed boy jams an arm to bar the rest.

Satoru flashes gemstone teeth, tells the group to run along. He can handle a single man.

…

“Augh,” you kick frivolously at the coffee table, orange sun dressing the common space, “Typical Satoru and Suguru! Late as always!”

“I’m sure they have reasons,” Yu claps your shoulder in an attempt to placate your impatience.

“Yeah, starting with ‘Satoru’ and ending with ‘Gojo’...”

“That dink does like making Suguru late,” Shoko agrees, twiddling the pink lighter you gifted her months ago. Her name is bedazzled down either side with rhinestones.

Kento nods slowly, silently appraising the point with hands folded across his bloated abdomen. Yu offers him a slice of tiramisu he’d brought home, to which Kento wordlessly waves off. At the same time, Yu stretches the plate towards where you and Shoko curl together on a single recliner. You both decline, similarly stuffed.

“I don’t know how you’re still hungry, Yu,” you pout, “I’m about to melt into the chair, I can’t move.”

“His stomach’s basically a blackhole,” Shoko’s joke has no room to linger because her phone rattles against the center table as soon as it's out.

Eight eyes draw that way, observing. Disguising her confusion beneath several layers of cool, Shoko stretches around you to snatch up the buzzing device and flip it open and put it to her ear.

“What?” she opens boldly. Brows furrowed.

Cicadas croak outside. You blink at the brunette’s side profile and watch as the knot in her face tightens before unraveling completely -- entire face eerily lax regardless of her tone,

“What?”

She shoves your legs off her lap, making Yu sit up straight. Even Kento’s attention pinched.

“Sho’?” you call quietly.

“Okay,” she flagrantly ignores you, standing and dropping her lighter, “Yes, yes. Yes. I’m coming down.”

“Sho’!” she’s rushing out before you can finish questioning, “Sho’, what was that about?!”

“Those two,” Kento reasons, standing as you do. While you’re preparing to dart out after Shoko, Kento reaches for your arms and rubs soothing ovals into your bicep, “They must’ve gotten injured. Ieiri is the best there is for this thing, they’ll be fine.”

“But they’re- !”

Yu stiffles his own urge to question Kento in favor of pulling you into a hug. Rambling soft, shallow assurances into your ear as he squeezes.

They’re the strongest.

They’re separated.

Suguru under Shoko’s palm, and Satoru looming outside a political office.

“Are you for real?”

The corners of Satoru’s mouth almost begin aching his lips are split so wide. Thumb thunking into his sore temple, heart thumping so hard the red meat may be pushing through his ribs. Extremities somehow simultaneously hot and cold, nerves overwhelmed by righteous hatred. Gold rains over him, and murky shadow splays far ahead of him.

“I’m for real, real.”

Toji knows he should run. Yet remains static as the boy in front of him stretches open; Toji has a twist in his gut urging him far, far away.

But he is stubborn, so he lags.

Green eyes sear through the younger boy. Toji doesn’t know this Gojo brat personally, but he’s certain he hates the kid.

Cicadas mourn in the trees along the walkway, birds flap carelessly overhead. Leaves appear orange under the dying sunlight, and grass whistles lowly around them. Toji is barely sticky with sweat while Satoru is crusty with blackening blood. He almost wants to point that fact out while the teenager is running his mouth.

Toji’s attention is recaptured by swaying trees over Satoru’s shoulder -- a dazzling shade of green. The only flourishing shade not drowned by moldy orange.

Satoru’s breath hitches, “The reason you’re going to lose is because you didn’t chop my head off, and because you didn’t use that cursed tool when you stabbed me in the head!”

“Lose?” Toji cocks a brow, drawing his blade with a fresh drum of agitation, “Our fight is just getting started.”

“Oh? Is it? Yeah… Maybe so!”

Hours later, as the moon finally flutters above the skyline, you’re craned over Suguru’s sleepless body in the infirmary. He lies still with open eyes -skin peeling with jagged red lines and yellow-green bruises. If not for the even bob of his chest he could be mistaken for any of the frozen bodies in the morgue below.

“Suguru?”

Dark eyes flick your way. Empty. Vast. Swirling with only little black spots. His lips remain firmly in a line.

“What happened?”

He does not respond.

“Does your throat hurt? I can make you tea?”

He does not respond.

“Are you hungry? Or tired? Do you want me to go?”

He looks away.

Suddenly, he’s glaring down at the floor -- you follow his venomous gaze to find you’ve begun loudly tapping your foot on the linoleum.

“Sorry,” you swallow the bulb in your throat, forcing the nervous leg to halt, “Sorry, Suguru.”

He’s never looked at you with so much intensity. Nothing is written on his face, he’s excellently schooled his expression to a startling numbness, except for his eyes. Once -just days ago- there was broiling lava rock, burning and gooey at the edges with affection and now you only see hard stone. If you look into his eyes too long you might break your own heart.

“I’ll go, then… ?”

He does not respond.

You quietly, confusedly return to your dorm room, and Suguru stays in the infirmary.

Toji is incapable of getting out the biggest thing on his mind before collapsing into his own pooling blood.

But Satoru’s eyes are unbearably perceptive, so he’s already placing this Invisible Man’s face to an aged photograph at your bedside.

His first response is anger, the urge to call you and swear you out is overwhelming. That anger is seconds later eaten by pity and guilt -- he punches himself in the arm for even considering harassing you (the pain is nonexistent but at least he can say he punished himself)

He comes to your room that night.

Blood has cemented his torn undershirt to his body. Uniform jacket buttons ripped open and hanging by threads. And gone are his glasses, though he won’t look at you. Snowy lashes low and slickly clumped.

“Satoru…?”

He stumbles forward from your doorway, stops, and falls. You catch him.

His skin is warm and you can feel his breath against your neck. The meat of his cheek occupies your shoulder, arms wound around you tight. So tight you almost consider the chance he’s gone mad and is trying to squish air out of you like a toothpaste tube. You return the gesture when he refuses to loosen, clutching around his bent frame.

“Something happened,” you announce it as a whisper. Your first thought returns to that dreaded phone call, which races directly to Suguru. You squeeze him tighter. Nails digging out the scuffed back of his coat and you slicken him against your chest. Your next thought is that Riko girl he’d called you about and the side of your head falls into the junction of his exposed neck, “Satoru,” he tenses, “What happened?”

“I…” you can feel the sigh before you hear it. His breath against your neck. It’s Suguru, right? He’s just worried, right? But Suguru is okay, right? So why is he so shaken? His back is slumping and shaky knees collapse his whole weight upon you. Is it Riko? Tengen? His embrace squashes your ribs into paste. Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. The sound of relief never reaches your ears, “I killed him.”

Your name - your real name - falls from his lips and he burrows further into you. Hiding. Skittish.

Tengen?

“Tengen?” besides the fact you know he’s alive, Suguru would have to do something truly heinous for Satoru to lay a callous glance his way, “What happened to Amanai?”

He shakes his head, and you feel something. Warm. Wet. Water slips below the collar of your nightshirt as fast as it trickles down Satoru’s cheeks. You smell iron the longer he clings to you.

“I killed him.”

You feel the blunts of his nails sink into your skin. He whispers again and suddenly you feel cold. So cold you cannot help but shiver.

When all the manic grins fell and Satoru could think, Toji’s eased expression became familiar. Gentle frown and unstressed skin beckoning his memory back to a picture yellow with age and dog-eared at every corner. The picture he stares at now, on your nightstand and tucked under your lamp so it doesn’t magically float off.

You don’t feel that tightness in your throat that you think you should. Although you don’t feel relieved either.

You nod and pull Satoru closer. A bland “okay.” all you can spit out.

He inhales, stuttering in the base of his throat. His eyes crinkle shut and that unsmiling, unbothered face in yellowing vinyl is hidden from view, “Okay.”

You nod again, “Okay.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s told you a lie.

Strangely, it still feels like tomorrow you will wake up and everything will be the same. Tomorrow some man you don’t quite know will be off slinking through the shadows of Tokyo, finding his next woman to freeload off. Tomorrow, he will groan himself awake and maybe he will think about you, or maybe he won’t. And he will go see Shiu. And he will be detached from every person he meets. And he will hold things loosely. And he will intimidate men in the street. Except now, he’ll do none of those things.

Now, he’ll rot. Now, everything is different, but it feels the exact same.

No, Satoru is not a liar.

But no, you can’t figure how to take this as the truth.

“He had a boy,” you can feel the curves of his lips against your neck. The words moisten your skin, Satoru’s arms constrict you somehow tighter, “A little one. In a few years, he’ll be sold to the Zen’in clan.”

“What was your plan?” you turn, nose nudging his. Neither of you pulls away.

Baby blues pour into you, moonlight interrupting the color at every twitch in his gaze. Bright stare following you exactly, as if he could see through you so easily but chooses not to. Your imagination casts an opaque cerulean glow around his eyeballs. It’s as unsettling as it is captivating.

“I don’t think it’d be right,” and he’s not a liar, “I was going to take him.”

Slowly, you nod, “Okay.”

“Can I stay the night?” he murmurs, already expecting your four letter response.

You wake up that next morning to white hair feathered across your chest. You don’t know how to approach today after last night, so you settle for a casual facade. You don’t have to approach anything if there’s nothing odd or terrifying that needs approaching.

Shaking Satoru by the shoulder, you rub crust out of your eye corners with the other hand and hum softly, “Time to get up, Satoru,” when he fails to rise, you sit up and watch him roll limply off your chest to your mattress, “C’mon, Satoru. If I’m up, you’re up.”

As he continues to lay there, your frustration inspires you to simply pinch him in the face until he whines, “Whyyy?”

“Get up, Satoru!”

“Already…?” he grumbles. Wiggling his face deeper into your pillow.

“I’m not tired anymore.”

“But I am...”

You don’t bother with more words before swinging off your bed and tugging Satoru by his leg. Still in a trashed uniform, Satoru allows you to drag him out of your room and into the shared kitchen.

Shoko and Suguru are the sight to greet you. Shoko flicking her lighter solely to watch the flame as Suguru pushes breakfast in cyclones around the rim of his bowl. Suguru is in the tasteless white tee and black lounge pants from last night while Shoko, similarly, hasn’t changed out of the white tank top and green shorts she wore when the phone rang. A slight upturn of the lips creeps over Shoko, momentarily dropping the lighter to wave -- then tipping her head toward you in approval,

“Hey, you got him up early for once.”

Suguru blinks down at his untouched food.

Nobody acknowledges the lingering stench of blood that follows Satoru’s disgraced appearance.

Your hand falls from its clutch around Satoru’s elbow toward his hand, index finger looping through his own.

“Are you feeling better now, Sugu’?” you step forward, stopped instantly as his eyes cut along your body. A harsh line from your socked foot to your face, fresh and dark discoloration beneath his eyes: wide like a puppy about to be kicked, “Suguru?”

He swallows nothing but spit, you see the muscles in his jaw fasten before he nods curtly, “Fine. Tired.”

Satoru’s mouth hangs open, a retort imminent. Then silence. And more silence. Satoru’s mouth shuts.

With the tense air stifling, you square your shoulders and shake out an unevenly whispered, “Let’s go, Satoru.”

He nods, dragging his eyes off Suguru’s haggard frame, “Okay.”

Scene 2 - summer 2007

Suguru enters quietly. So quietly you’re startled with the realization he’s willingly come into the same room as you.

Too preoccupied looming over the steel examination table to notice his intrusion, you stare into the drenched sheet below. Cold nipping your fingers, and head hung low. Blood dries on pale cheeks. Faint rot infesting your nose. Kento is slouched into a chair behind you with a towel over his eyes.

When the blonde grunts softly in acknowledgment, you finally spot Suguru. Wilted against the doorway, gaunt face angled just out of sight, his hands are shaking at his sides.

“We weren’t…” you sniff, the scent of meat filling your lungs, “I wasn’t fast enough.”

Kento shakes his head, “That was a local deity… that was a first grade case!”

“You couldn’t take it?” Suguru’s voice makes your shoulders jump, it takes a moment before you register he’s speaking to you.

“No.”

He doesn’t seem surprised.

You want to grab Yu’s hand, but you’re scared it’ll be as cold as the metal. You want to grab Suguru’s hand, but you’re certain he’ll pull away.

“You’re a first grade sorcerer now, you should’ve been more help, right?” Suguru pierces you with his stare, hard onyx needles lingering beneath thick, low lashes. He isn’t smiling and he isn’t frowning and you can’t possibly read the way he’s speaking, “Or maybe they just did that promotion for show. You’re very strong. It shouldn’t have mattered: if you were stronger, then Yu wouldn’t have died at all.”

You prefer his resounding silence.

“You were assigned to oversee their mission anyway. Even though you can barely use cursed energy -- you don’t even have an inherited technique,” an unspoken ‘just like him’ dies on the tip of his tongue when you lash back.

“He almost killed you, you know?” you snap, tempted to slap your chilled palms over your mouth until you remember all those fucking silences. The table’s edge is as frozen to the touch as the flat surface, but you grip that for purchase anyway, “He almost killed you, and the first time -- he did kill Satoru. You’re not one to talk about being strong so people don’t die, Geto!”

“I wasn’t strong enough then,” Suguru leans closer, he smells like his bedroom. Stale citrus air freshener and sweat. His hair is matted with bangs all grown out. And no matter how much he sleeps, those eye bags haven’t lessened a wink, “Now, I could kill your monkey of a father.”

His lips are parted with heated pants and many more words to say as water boils into your eyes, heat sizzling your face until your lips quiver.

“Satoru took care of that already,” if you weren’t so hyperfocused on the way he’d react, you could’ve missed his flinch at that name, “I don’t know what I did to you, Geto.”

Suguru leans back, miniscule expression relaxing back into that terrible nothingness. He blinks, and you can nearly pinpoint the exact moment his eyes truly focus on you rather than whatever’s behind you. Your hunched back, your trembling hands on the table, your fraught expression, your cheeks stained with cold tear tracks.

He sighs, digging the heels of his palms into his swollen eyes, “I don’t know, either.”

“He didn’t even know if I was alive,” you murmur, “It’s not like we were actually family,” lie, “I don’t even notice he’s dead,” lie, “It doesn’t matter,” lie, “I don’t want you to be another thing he ruins in my life.”

True.

Suguru’s eyes are split impossibly now, as if something has dawned on him, “You’re right.”

“I know!” you whimper, flinging your hands to your face in an attempt to bat tears away, “I know I’m right!”

He beats you to it -- cupping your face in both of his larger, warmed hands. He steps closer and glides the soft pad of his thumb under your eyes while purring an apology.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, now fondly stroking your cheekbones, “He didn’t matter at all.”

Toji is one small spore in the world. One small thing growing invasively and infecting -leeching- every surrounding life: Riko and you and him and Satoru and you and his son and you and the people he’s killed and you and unknowing families and you and your mother and the boy’s mother and you and -God- he cannot bare thinking how many people that man ruined and abandoned. But, somehow, none of it matters at all simply because Toji is dead -beyond reconcile. Some day, another monkey may be allowed to fester just the same.

The heat of your body envelopes Suguru, arms twining around his waist and your cheek pressing into the swell of his chest. So intimate despite his cruelties. You hope to keep him together, to remind him that not all people are evil. Toji is one small spore of the world, and he’s been exterminated, so Suguru should look forward.

He does not, it’s just not what he’s best at.

Rather, Suguru is wondering how cruel of a person Toji was. To leave you and (apparently) your little brother and to take the life of an innocent high schooler. Over what? Jujutsu politics? Politics that had nothing to do with him in any case, politics started by monkeys trying to inspire a world they couldn’t possibly tame.

The evolution of Tengen, what a joke; for as much as Suguru’s beginning to lose faith in the wheel of sorcery, he understands more than those cultists could hope to.

The world would be better without this trouble. Without Toji and the people like him, permitted to grow and farm curses and create troubles that eat his friends alive.

“I’m sorry,” his body livens, though refuses to lift independently, one of his hands finds yours and entangles your fingers, “It wasn’t your fault,” he slackens against you, digging himself deeper into your hold, black tendrils tickling your face, “It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry.”

“I’m worried about you, Sugu’,” you whisper, “I think you should take a couple days and rest.”

More time to think might be the last thing he needs.

“I have a mission coming up. Some mysterious village deaths they need me to check out,” he sighs and straightens sluggishly, one hand still wound in yours against his chest. He turns away from the table completely, naturally you follow.

“After that, then,” you’re not usually so insistent, head falling against his shoulder, “I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

“Hm?” he yawns, “What would you know about that? You took a week off after Satoru and I were beaten.”

“I just didn’t wanna worry about you two while out on work,” you pinch his arm with your unrestricted hand, “I was very scared for the both of you, I’ll have you know.”

You expect a retort and are met with none, just the feeling of Suguru’s fingers tethering tighter around yours -- as if you were going to pull away.

“Alright,” he gives, nodding, “I’ll take a break after this mission.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Thank you.”

Haibara’s blood stains the white sheet behind you. Kento stares at the ceiling. Cold toned light bulbs fuzz with a faint, sickly green. A green that burns brighter the longer you hone on it.

Scene 3 - brother: one

“If I choose them, what happens to Tsumiki?” you’re unwilling to admit how jealous you are that your brother would consider the Zen’ins over you -- it’s too embarrassing. He looks down, “Will she be happy?”

Satoru opens his mouth, but you draw first, “Absolutely not.”

Megumi flinches, hands flying to the straps of his backpack, “Uh- !”

“The only thing guaranteed about you joining the Zen’in would be that she is miserable,” behind you, Satoru snorts at your coldness, “They’re no place for non-sorcerers. Or women. She doesn’t belong there.”

Megumi glares up at you, “Then I don’t have a choice.”

“Not really,” your eyes float to where the little brown-haired girl watches from their porch overhead, she’s so adorable you’re set in the thought that clan would maul her, “I’m your best option.”

When all Megumi does is continue scowling, Satoru claps his hands and cheers, “Okay! Now it’s on me to make all the hard parts actually work out!” he rustles Megumi’s hair, “Leave the rest to me!”

Megumi continues to give you that ugly little wrinkled face, and you’re not above giving one back.

A blessing. This son with no manners is a blessing?

This son that looks just like Toji. That has a permanent claim to his status. He has many blessings and it looks like grace is not one of them.

“I’ll come back tomorrow morning. Be packed,” a reply is hot on his tongue, and you interrupt, “As your technique developes, you’ll need to learn more about jujutsu; getting stronger and keeping up with the bigger kids is going to be your main goal, you know?”

“And Tsumiki?”

An abundance of sudden softness honeys the boy’s voice. His hands strangling his backpack straps and it reminds you of every morning you had to brave school by yourself. Megumi stands taller than you did. Maybe that’s the brown-haired girl’s doing. Maybe whatever preference Toji had for him has given the boy more confidence than a child should have.

It’s going to be grating. You can barely stand looking at him now.

You kneel at eye-level, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt like Mikoto would, “Tsumiki will be loved, and I will try to make her happy,” you smile, but it wavers so you try again, “And I will try to make you happy despite everything. We don’t know each other, but I’m still your older sister and it’s my responsibility to look after you. Both of you,” straining best you can to look maternal and sweet and all things Mikoto did. You’re sure you just look like you popped a hernia, though, “I promise.”

Slowly, he nods, grip on his straps loosening until his arms hang like dead weight on either side, “Okay. We’ll go.”

As if he had a choice.

With great grace and humility, however, you don’t say that aloud.

Instead nodding quickly and sighing quietly as you rise, “Sorry for my temper. I’ll work on that,” you roll your hands into fists, the reality of these two lives now fully burdening your shoulders, “I don’t know how to do this, but I’ll work on that, too.”

Just then, it dawns on you: Kid should know what happened to his daddy, right?

“Uhm, about our dad…” you have to duck Satoru out of sight, swallowing hard around the itty bitty three letter word like it’s actually hard to say.

Megumi cuts you off now, “I don’t care. Whatever happened to him isn’t something I’m worried about.”

Satoru laughs, shock numbing him to how rude the outburst is. He looks at you expecting a similar guffaw.

You look pissed. He clamps his jaw.

“You don’t care? You know he’s the reason you’re set up so nicely, right?”

“He left,” Megumi snarks, “Why do you care? Didn’t he leave you, too?”

“Brat!”

“You’re the brat!”

Satoru spins you by the shoulder and waves the two kids goodbye, pushing you ahead to avoid another ear-splitting shout, “We’ll see you tomorrow, then! Be packed ‘cuz you’re never seeing this dump again!”

Next morning, before the sky is waxing blue, you and Satoru are stuffing shoddy boxes and trash bags into some underpaid assistant manager’s trunk while Megumi and Tsumiki sit inside on nice leather seats. They babble to each other, occasionally earning a muffled reply from the driver.

“Just think, since he already hates the old man he’ll just be extra loving to you!” Satoru beams, “Once he actually warms up to you anyway.”

“Satoru- !”

“On it,” he pretends to zip his mouth shut. Briefly breaking the seal just to yawn.

Scene 4 - brother: two

Your body is twisted sideways at the table. Cold wall supporting your back and knees upward to cage Megumi in your lap. His knuckles are white from gripping the yellow crayon in his hand, he traces the characters you lined in pen. Eyebrows scrunched towards the middle of his forehead and the tip of his tongue peeks out from the corner of his lips.

Megumi unsurely lifts his crayon from the paper, covering his work with a fatty toddler arm as he re-examines what he’s done. Then, he proudly beams up at you with a single missing tooth -pudgy hands crinkling the paper he now jams in your face. Squiggly, messy work, you know, but it’s a lot better than yesterday’s practice looked.

“Very good,” you hold the paper into the light, grinning faintly at the impossibility of reading your brother’s tracing, “We should probably use a different color next time.”

“I like blue.”

Chuckling faintly, you cup Megumi to your chest and lean across the table to retrieve a blue crayon from the box, “Right, right. I should’ve just started with blue, huh?”

“Yeah…” he agrees passively, “That’s okay, though.”

“Oh, you forgive me?”

He shrugs, taking the blue and eagerly trying to scrawl his name by himself -- no pen to trace over, “Yeah. I forgive you.”

Satoru and Tsumiki giggle from Satoru’s kitchen where Tsumiki is showing him how she prefers to make sandwiches.

“I’ve never been to a theater before!” Tsumiki was excitedly bouncing at your side, jangling your arm in her hold, “Thank you, thank you!”

“Heyyy,” Satoru whined, “Who’s paying for the whole thing?”

He’s promptly ignored as your group takes a step toward the concession counter. You squeeze your sister’s hand, then your brother’s, “Two small popcorns. Four sodas, and…” your eyes drift off to Satoru, “Candy?”

“Yes, candy!” he eagerly taps the glass, though no fingerprints are smeared across the display -as if he’s not there at all. Rattling off various boxes and plastic wrappers that catch even a hair’s interest.

Megumi taps your thigh with his spare hand, furrowing his brows up at you, “Can I get caramel?”

“Hmm? Like what? Candy?”

He shakes his head, pointing over the counter toward the popcorn station. Three silvery handles beside the large popper -buttery, extra buttery, and caramel.

Tsumiki leans her face on your hip, eyes wide in exaggerated shock, “What, ‘gumi? I thought you hated sweets!”

Megumi shrugs and looks away, “Nevermind.”

“Stop being a brat,” you scoff, squeezing his tiny hand again, “Just admit you wanna try it.”

“We’ve had it before,” he murmurs.

“When?” Tsumiki tilts her head.

“Your mom made us some.”

She frowns, reaching up to twirl a lock of brown hair, “I don’t remember that…”

Megumi’s head hangs, he kicks at a peeling tuft of lobby carpet, “I liked it.”

“Can I try it, too?” Tsumiki grabs onto your arm with both hands now, bottom lip puffing out, “I don’t remember that popcorn at all, it sounds yummy -I wanna try it!”

“You hated it…” your brother grumbles.

“I don’t even remember it!” Tsumiki barks over your lap.

“No arguing, please?” you kick the pair apart, a sudden ache burdening your temple, “You can both get the caramel.”

“Not even my kids and I’m paying for them…” Satoru pouts at you. Long arms full of snacks you’re sure won’t survive the previews. He wanders toward a gray side table with straw and lid stands and napkins and trash spilling onto the floor. You follow with said kids at either side, they jump up and clammer for their little popcorn buckets. And Tsumiki is already quietly asking if she can have some of his gummies.

Satoru hands over the whole packet with a mournful sigh and you laugh; then taking two cups and handing them to the children.

“Get your sodas, and don’t spill!”

Tsumiki chirps, “yes, ma’am!” at the same time Megumi rolls his eyes, “duh”. They scramble towards the bulky fountain and whisper to each other about what either should get. Occasionally throwing curious glances over their shoulders, you wave and they wave back.

“Can’t believe this is the first time you’re letting me take you to a movie,” the man at your side huffs, “We can’t even do anything.”

“Shut up!” you smack his arm, face on fire with embarrassment, “We aren’t together -you can’t say those things, you know?!”

Satoru smiles, evidently proud of himself, before mimicking a zipper over his lips.

“Tsumiki mixed sodas…” Megumi crawls back, casting a judgmental glare at the girl, “I told her it’s gonna be gross…”

“It’s good!” she shoves her cup toward your face, “Try it! Cola and strawberry! It’s delicious!”

“I believe you, ‘miki,” you politely press her soda back down, “What’d you get, Megumi?”

“Water,” he answers blandly.

“Ick,” Satoru unzips his mouth.

“Nothing else sounded good.”

“No time to bully him,” you prod your siblings forward by their shoulders, “We gotta move before the actual movie starts, yeah?”

“Should I not have got water?” Megumi flings his head back to look up at you, trusting blindly that you’ll guide him straight.

“Did you want water?”

“Yeah…”

“Then you should’ve gotten water,” you wave off.

“Wet blanket,” Tsumiki teases, adding not even a second later, “Just kidding, ‘gumi.”

“I’m not,” Satoru ruffles the boy's hair, “Live a little, jeez!”

“I like water!” Megumi smacks the man’s hand away with a scathing scowl, “You’re not my dad anyway!”

“Damn, okay…”

“Sis,” a hesitant squeak snakes into your ears, followed by a shy tug on your jeans, Tsumiki shamefully holds her popcorn bucket in front of her crumby face, fingers shiny, “I don’t like the caramel…”

“I told her!” Megumi scoffs. Taking her bucket, “I’ll finish it.”

“You’ll give yourself a stomach ache,” you snatch the treat and cradle it against your chest, “Satoru will finish it.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m the family garbage disposal, huh?”

“Shut up.”

He drags that imaginary zipper back over his lips with a sure nod.

“Teachers had everyone make them!”

Two circular, gritty, white mounds sit in either of your hands. A small pink handprint dented into one and a slightly smaller blue one pressed much more messily into the other.

“What’s the holiday?” you mutter, mostly sarcastic. In your head you’re sure it was an art project to make the board look engaged in extracurriculars.

Megumi pointedly stares out the car window, navy backpack in his lap. His kicking legs don’t even skim the back of the driver’s seat so you choose not to chastise him. Tsumiki, however, proudly has both of her longer legs stiffly out and against the passenger’s seat… but nobody’s sitting there anyway so you won’t lecture her, either.

Tsumiki is also staring up at you, unlike her brother, and she giggles, “Mother’s day!”

The auxiliary in front throws a glance your way through the rear view.

“No shit?” you lay the handprints in your lap, cradling them there, “Uhm. Tsumiki, your mom- well. She’s… alive, yeah? Did you wanna send it out?”

The auxiliary clicks her tongue awkwardly.

Tsumiki blinks herself sober of whatever dewy excitement previously possessed her. She slumps back into the seat and throws her shoulders up indifferently.

On your other side, Megumi curses, “We didn’t make them for Tsumiki’s mom.”

Uneven marker scrawls of their names stain beneath their handprints. FUSHIGURO printed so obviously. You flip them over again and re-read the inscription on the flat sides: THANK YOU FOR TAKING CARE OF ME is on both of them. You flip them back around and are somehow once again jarred by how small each print is.

“Teacher said we didn’t have to make them,” Megumi still doesn’t look your way, “We could’ve skipped it and worked on homework.”

“But we didn’t want to,” Tsumiki twiddles her thumbs.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI FUSHIGURO TSUMIKI

Gently, you reach out and take one hand from each kid -- Megumi’s palm is stained like cornflowers while Tsumiki’s is the color of strawberries.

“We got to pick the colors,” Tsumiki’s voice returns chipper, “Do you like them?”

Megumi watches you through his peripherals.

You squeeze their hands and let go, holding the plates carefully on your thighs. It takes a moment to recollect your voice before you croak, “Yeah. I like them.”

“I wanted to write my own name but the teacher wouldn’t let me,” Megumi flops into your side and away from the window, drawing his index finger over his name.

“Boo,” you jeer, “Your teacher’s lame.”

“Mine let me write my name,” Tsumiki adds unhelpfully.

You shake your head sympathetically, “Your teacher’s extra lame, ‘gumi.”

“I know,” he grunts, annoyed.

“Gojo says I look like Dad,” Megumi has no recollection of what Toji looks like. You’ve hung no pictures and you don’t intend to. You have one piece of solid evidence that your father existed, and it’s too fragile to crack out for display.

“You do,” you say simply, watching the way his chubby cheeks puff up in a pout, “It’s not like that’s a bad thing. Just… a thing.”

“Just a thing?”

“Can’t change it,” you shrug and think back to how Mikoto would preen and coo over what little resemblance you shared with Toji, “Why be mad about it?”

“I don’t want to look like him,” he crosses his arms, still pouting stubbornly, “I don't want you to think I look like him.”

Because Dad hurt Mabu, didn’t he? That’s why she doesn’t live with Dad, like he and Tsumiki didn’t live with Dad. Why would Dad have Mabu just to leave her? And why would Dad have Megumi just to leave him? Does Mabu see Dad every time she looks down at Megumi? Megumi doesn’t like Dad -- not at all.

“You still look like your Mom,” you crouch down and scrub a hand through Megumi’s untamed hair. It flies up in ways that Toji’s didn’t -and it’s a handful of shades lighter, too, “‘m guessing, anyway. I never met her, you know? But you definitely don’t look like him as much as you’re thinking, Satoru just likes being mean.”

“You’re saying that…”

“No, seriously, Dad’s hair was all flat,” both your hands settle atop Megumi’s head, smoothing down his hair and watching your brother’s nose wrinkle when it’s laid against his ears. But even so, with the same aggressive fringes and strong bridge of his nose and big ears and pale skin, it’s only Megumi. Megumi, your sweet baby brother. He blinks up at you, awaiting your judgment, “You don’t look that much like him. Satoru’s being mean.”

“You promise?”

“Uh-huh,” you stand back up and snicker when his hair bounces back into place, if a little frizzy, “You’re nothing like him anyway. So don’t worry about it.”

“I wish I looked like you,” he blurts.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how would we know who your dad is, hm? I don’t look like that guy at all.”

“I don’t care if people know he’s my dad,” he donks his forehead into your knee, “I wish I looked like you!”

“You’re adorable,” you poke his puffed cheek, “Who knows? Maybe some day when you’re grown up, you’ll suddenly have my nose.”

“How would that work?”

“Dunno.”

“Ugh…”

Scene 5 - summer 2004

Three faces in front of you, plus one at your side. The sun blares between dusty window slats. Cicadas die outside and the overgrown grass sways to a calm breeze. Green ponds ripple beneath the wind, you think it's a shame you’re locked inside.

A foot taps anticipating your introduction, the girl -medical marvel Shoko- watches between glances out the broken blinds. She tatters a nail against her rickety desk but stops when she catches you staring, mouthing a lazy ‘sorry’ and resting her chin in her palm.

Similarly posed and less polite, the Gojo heir with snow white hair and a toxic radiation glow to his blue eyes. He’s sneering and you haven’t gotten to speak yet. His nose already pointed into the air.

Finally, the modest Geto, Suguru (the one with the bangs, is how you remembered he existed). Born from a normal family in a normal, slow, rural town outside of Tokyo. He introduced himself the most sanely -- stating his name and age and that he was excited to work with everyone. His smile is tight, no doubt a ruse to hide his annoyance at how long you’re taking to speak, but still he’s smiling.

Yaga clears his throat and encourages you on with a simple brow raise. No matter how desperately you begged he was insistent you engage in the few normalities of his schooling. Unfortunately your family was not well enough known as Satoru Gojo’s, where he simply stood from his chair and gave double peace signs with a ”yo~”.

Suguru was the only one unsure of who he was, meaning Yaga forced him to genuinely introduce himself while you and Shoko laughed. Now it's Satoru’s turn to laugh at you. May as well get it over with soon, then:

“Clan history’s a bit muddy, and I don’t like my name, so just call me Mabu while we’re here.”

Satoru’s whole nose crinkles with cringe, eyes slitting at you, “Blegh! Edgy.”

“Drop dead,” you scoff.

“Hey,” Suguru raises his hands as if he could manually divert the tense energy, “No need to fight, we’ve all just met.”

Attention sufficiently snagged, Shoko snickers to herself, vision drifting between you and Satoru, “Nah, this could be interesting. Kinda want to see where they take it.”

Holding Satoru’s glare for a few prolonged, dreadful seconds, you sigh and retreat from his unsettling, crystalline eyes, “Whatever. Not like I came here to get along with you all anyway.”

“Edgy!” Satoru accuses, louder this time, “It’s hurting just to listen to!”

“Drop dead!” you repeat yourself, fingers coiling into a fist.

“Well, I tried…” Suguru murmurs.

Yaga sighs, pinching away the stress behind his forehead, “Yes, thank you, Geto. Gojo, enough antagonizing. And Mabu,” flinching under his brutish tone, you slowly peek back toward your mentor, “You do sound terrible.”

“Whatever,” again, you repeat, but this time the words are caked with a childish pout.

Overly familiar, Shoko pulls you into the seat beside her by your uniform sleeve. Then gliding that same hand up your arm until it finds leverage on your shoulder, careening into your personal space with a lollipop stick hanging carelessly through the corner of her lips, “How about you drop the tough act? I think you ‘n’ me could really be friends.”

“...whatever…”

Satoru cackles in the seat on your other side, wriggling fingers teasing to tug at your shirt collar, “Yeah, we should be friends!”

Your mouth opens to revise your favored two-word catchphrase, until Yaga wittingly clears his throat, you flounder before shrugging, “As long as you learn when to shut up.”

The boy crosses an ‘X’ over his heart with a curt nod. You smother the sight of your grin behind a raised hand.

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader

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