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tj-dragonblade · 2 months

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[Fic] With Every Nerve Alive

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 4623 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, brief appearance by Matthew, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, sweat is sexy, so is automotive grease apparently, scent kink, detailed sexual fantasies, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, questionable lube choices, within a fantasy don't worry, no one's really getting fingered with engine grease, sugar daddy-sugar baby fantasies, glass sex toys

Notes: Prequel/bookend to Customer Service. I realized that Hot Mechanic Hob needed Dream's pov to get the full effect, so this happened. Also fills my @dreamlingbingo square C1, 'Sugar Baby', a couple thousand words in. Title taken from Turbo Lover by Judas Priest

Summary: Dream Atelíotes is merely seeking car repairs from a reputable shop; he was not expecting to get punched in the libido by the most beautiful mechanic he could have imagined.

On AO3

~ "Alright, and what're we lookin' at her for?"

"The clutch. Is not operating as expected; I fear I may have damaged it. Somehow."

Dream is grateful that the stout American behind the counter at Matthew's Motor Repairs does not pass any obvious judgement on this damning statement.

"Well, that definitely needs checking, then," he says instead, punching in notes on his computer terminal. "Hob'll be runnin' things for the next couple of weeks, lemme see when he can fit your girl in." He turns toward the half-open door that leads to the garage and yells.

"Hey Hob!"

"Yeah! Just a tic—"

"He'll definitely be able to find the problem and fix you up," the American is saying, but Dream pays him little mind, thinking ahead to schedules and obligations; the Porsche is not his primary means of transportation regardless. It had been a gift from Alex that he'd kept after the breakup, primarily out of spite. He will say, when asked, that he drives it for fun, but truthfully the manual transmission does not come easily to him and the car suffers for it. He is considering selling it, perhaps once the satisfaction of knowing how Alex seethes to see him with it has worn down—

"What's up?"

Dream spares a glance for the man who's just entered through the doorway to the garage, and promptly loses his breath.

—Exquisite—

The man is beautiful, average height and slim sturdy build, dressed in grimy coveralls that are split just enough at the zip to glimpse the collar of a plain white tee beneath. There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead and when he wipes at it, still with a wrench in hand, he leaves a faint smudge of black grease behind. His hair is dark, longish, tied up in a messy bun on the back of his head with wisps straying loose about his face attractively. His eyes and his smile are warm, strong nose and chin, a few days' worth of beard growth giving him a wonderfully soft-rugged cast that sets Dream's mouth to watering.

The coverall sleeves are rolled and twisted up to his elbows; the forearms exposed are liberally covered with dark hair, skin a warm sunkissed golden brown beneath, shapely and corded with the strength that comes of manual labor, of hefting tires and torquing wrenches. Dream considers, quite despite himself, how those hands might fit around his waist, his hips; how easily this man might lift or manhandle him about in bed, and the heat that has risen in his loins stirs approvingly.

"Mr. Atelíotes here's got clutch troubles with his Porsche," the American is saying. "Think you'll have time to check it out?"

"Not right away, I'm afraid. How soon would you be needing her back?" the mechanic asks, directly to Dream, and oh, the full focus of that gaze is divine.

"I am in no hurry," he manages to reply, voice only marginally dipping down toward sultry. He is here to see about car repairs, not to flirt with the hot mechanic in front of an audience. He is an adult. He is well-versed in exercising all manner of self control.

The mechanic smiles, like a ray of sunshine, and Dream's self-control is tested.

"Okay then, I can probably get you looked at and fixed up toward the end of next week, if that works for you? Thursday or Friday, let's say." He slips the wrench that he's still holding into a pocket on his coveralls, drawing Dream's attention to the lower half of his body, how the zipper on the coveralls goes all the way down underneath, and he firmly corrals and muzzles the thoughts that arise. Later. Let him finish his business here before he embarrasses himself.

"Next week is just fine," he agrees.

"Excellent," the mechanic says, beaming brightly, and Dream's mouth goes dry.

He is so unfairly beautiful.

The mechanic is talking now to the American who is entering Dream's work order and Dream drinks in the sight of him greedily, committing every detail to memory—the brush of silver at his temples, the crows' feet blooming at the corners of his eyes with every smile, the dimple in his chin just visible as a darkening of the scruff that adorns his jaw so beautifully. His arm flexes prettily as he points to the screen with a black-stained fingertip and his voice is strong yet soft and warm like honey; Dream sneaks a glance at his backside when he turns to the printer and finds the suggestion of shapeliness beneath the loose fit of the coveralls. Dream imagines, helplessly, buttocks and strong thighs covered in hair to match those exposed forearms, and barely stifles a whimper.

This man is absolutely exquisite, and Dream wants him.

Badly.

"Alright, Mr. Atelíotes, let me get your signature here," the mechanic says cheerfully, oblivious to the tempest he has stirred within Dream as he hands him the printed work order and a pen.

Dream makes certain that their fingers brush as he takes it, noting the smudge of fingerprints left on the paper by the other.

He glances at the mechanic's name on the form as he signs. Hob Gadling. He tucks the name safely into the vault of his mind, hoarding it for later use.

"Give me a call on Thursday next week, we'll see where we're at," Hob Gadling is saying, handing him a business card and leaving another grey-black thumbprint on the corner of the white cardstock. Dream immediately thinks of such fingerprints against the pristine paleness of his own skin and swallows thickly.

"Thursday," he repeats. "I will call then, thank you." It is Monday, currently; a week and a half is quite reasonable for routine car repairs in a reputable shop, he is given to understand, and Matthew's Motor Repairs is consistently rated with four and five stars online. He is confident that he has chosen well, especially when Hob Gadling smiles brightly while bidding him good day.

It is a good day indeed, for having met such a stunningly beautiful man.

He takes a cab home to Kensington, trying very hard to put his thoughts in order and focus on the week ahead, on his business meetings and the client proposal he's expecting on Friday. But his mind is full of brown eyes and warm smiles, hairy forearms and grease-stained hands, and his entire body finds these thoughts far more appealing than those of his day-to-day mundanities.

Hob Gadling lingers in his mind persistently, a siren call warming his blood and distracting him at the slightest provocation. Late afternoon finds him abandoning his office and retreating to his rooms, surrendering to the thoughts that have plagued him since his visit to Matthew's Motor Repairs this morning.

Hob Gadling—

He imagines how the smell of the shop might cling to the man, oils and gasoline and the sweat of his labor, intoxicating and inviting should Dream nuzzle in close. He imagines those hands with their black-stained fingertips, their work-roughened texture, sliding over his body. How might they feel against his skin, his chest, his thighs? On his tongue? He imagines the hungry light that might fill Hob Gadling's eyes, if Dream were to take those skilled fingers into his mouth and hold his gaze while sucking on them, tonguing lovingly at every crack and callous. He imagines those fingers dark all over with a thick layer of fresh grease, the mechanic holding them up with a smirk like a promise, turning Dream to lay on the bonnet of his car—or perhaps bending him over a stack of tires there in the garage, yes—and pushing those fingers inside him, deep and insistent and perfect while his other hand holds Dream down at the small of his back. Automotive lubricant is perhaps not sanitary or otherwise suitable for sexual use, but the heat-of-the-moment urgency of the idea appeals all the same.

He groans aloud at the thought of being fingered with the thick warm grease, the slide and drag and the way Hob Gadling's fingers would curve and press exactly right until Dream was shaking apart with pleasure, scrabbling at the rubber tread of the tires he's bent over. He imagines Hob Gadling murmuring complimentary filth above him—"You look so pretty with my fingers up your arse; bet you'd look even prettier speared on my prick"—as he comes and comes and comes.

Of course he wishes to have the mechanic's cock as well. He is certain it is full and glorious, a beautiful specimen that would fill him perfectly, touch every sweet spot within him and set him alight. He wants it in his hands, in his mouth, in his arse; he wants it any way he can have it.

He desperately wants to get fucked by Hob Gadling in his garage amongst his work, by Hob Gadling strong and sweaty and dirty in his element, vigorous and virile.

The car would perhaps be most comfortable for lying on his back, the better to see Hob Gadling's gorgeous face while taking his cock. He himself would be stark naked and the mechanic still in his coveralls, unzipped all the way to let his prick out. Dream imagines him naked beneath the grimy clothing; Dream envisions chest hair to match what was seen on his gorgeous arms. Dream imagines those arms sliding up along the bonnet beside him, bringing his legs with them until Dream is nearly folded double and breathless with the sweet pressure of the mechanic's dick inside him, pistoning deep and perfect.

Would Hob Gadling pick him up, like so much inventory to be moved about the shop? Would Hob Gadling fuck him standing upright, holding him as if he weighed nothing? He fantasizes about the strength in those forearms and biceps, of the way they would flex and hold, Dream's knees hooked in his elbows and those broad hands gripping his hips as the mechanic would bounce Dream up and down on his prick, Dream clinging around his neck and jack-knifed beautifully in his powerful arms.

He comes at the thought, face down on his knees in his bed with a toy vibrating steadily against his prostate as he strokes himself over the edge, and the orgasm is so intense that he loses all sense of space and time for a moment. The toy is still buzzing merrily when he comes back to himself and he fumbles for the remote beside him, turning it off without yet removing it. He rolls over, brings his messy hand to his face and licks. He wonders what difference he might taste between Hob Gadling and himself, imagines that he is licking Hob Gadling's spend from his hand instead of his own, imagines how those dark eyes and that lovely mouth would smile to see him do so, slow and lascivious.

He turns the toy back on.

His fantasies continue as the days progress. He imagines taking Hob Gadling into his mouth, tasting the sweat and the musk of him after working all day in the garage; he imagines lavishing his tongue all over the length of him, sucking and swallowing and milking him dry. He imagines Hob Gadling's work-roughened hands in his hair, combing through it, clenching tight as he spends into Dream's eager mouth.

He imagines Hob Gadling on his back on the low wheeled board that mechanics use for sliding beneath cars—he does not know its proper name, but he imagines opening Hob Gadling's coveralls while he is laid out on this board and riding him like a prize stallion there on the shop floor with the scent of his work and his sweat all around. He imagines the blackened smears Hob Gadling's hands might leave on him, on his hips, his waist, his arse.

He imagines Hob Gadling bending him over the bonnet of his Porsche, fucking him hard and fast and absolutely without mercy until he is screaming his pleasure, until he is so loud that the mechanic will cover his mouth to muffle the noise and simply fuck him harder still. He wants it, aches for it, imagines Hob Gadling's hands planted firm on his arse, squeezing, spreading him open for his pounding cock, leaving dirty smudges on both cheeks as they careen into orgasm together—

Dream comes under the warm cascade of his own rainfall shower, one hand braced against the sleek tiles while the other grips his pulsing cock tightly. He draws great gasping breaths of the humid air, mind barreling on even as his climax peaks and begins to subside. His mechanic in the shower with him after all of that, sudsy and slippery-wet beneath the spray, shedding the grease and grime of his workplace; his mechanic, pulling him in for a kiss, smelling now of soap more than sweat. The idea appeals, on more than one level, and will not be dislodged even as he dries and dresses for bed. He falls asleep at last to the thought of a scrubbed-clean Hob Gadling on his knees beneath the gently-pouring water, freshly-shampooed hair swept sleek and dripping back from his face and his smiling mouth wrapped around Dream's cock.

He wakes to the sun streaming in his window and lies alone in his spacious bed with drowsy thoughts of being kissed awake, of Hob Gadling's stubbled face and warm lips nuzzling against his cheek, of calloused hands with black-stained nailbeds petting down his sides and grasping his hips. Of Hob Gadling's strong shapely arms pulling him close, Hob Gadling's chest hair tickling his nose, Hob Gadling's heartbeat strong and steady beneath his ear.

He thinks of Hob Gadling following him about the kitchen as he fixes breakfast, imagines his mechanic in a borrowed robe that hits him mid-thigh and doesn't quite close over his chest. He does not currently own such a robe, but that does not matter to the fantasy. He imagines Hob Gadling draped warmly over his back in this too-small robe while he cooks, nuzzling kisses into the nape of his neck, purring about how he wants Dream for breakfast while dragging his calloused fingertips up the insides of Dream's bare thighs. Because of course Dream has merely thrown on a long shirt to cook for his lover, and of course his mechanic cannot keep his hands to himself, and of course Dream would like to be fucked over the kitchen worktop before breakfast.

It is a daring fantasy, this stranger in his home, infusing sex and affection into his daily routines, and Dream wants it with an intensity that is frightening.

He spins himself broader fantasies as the days become a week, of showing up to his mother's summer gala with Hob Gadling on his arm, a mere mechanic brought to an Atelíotes event. He dreams of engaging in increasingly indecent public displays with him where all the high society patrons would see, embarassing Mummy Dearest and igniting gossip that would haunt her for years. He would reward Hob Gadling handsomely for his part in the scandal, sexually, financially, both if he should like. Or perhaps he might offer Hob Gadling gifts and incentives without petty family business mixed in, lavish rewards simply for his affections and sexual attentions. The term 'sugar baby' is very much in line with his thoughts, if not entirely accurate; he is only forty himself and his mechanic had appeared to be in his mid-thirties at least. But that feeds into his story; Hob Gadling is well into adulthood and working in trade labor. Perhaps he never had the chance to go to university; perhaps he had grown up poor. Perhaps he might like to undertake a course of study now, if Dream were to offer to pay for such a thing, in thanks for how well-fucked his mechanic would keep him?

Perhaps he might gift Hob Gadling a luxury car like his Porsche, in return for the sexual services he should like to be provided. Perhaps he might buy him tailored suits, expensive clothes in the latest fashions. He is undeniably drawn to the grimy working-class vision that had been branded on his memory when dropping off his car, sweaty and grease-smeared and glowing with life, but he also imagines how stunning his mechanic might look cleaned up and dressed to the nines. Dream would like to wine and dine him at the finest restaurants in London, put him into a limousine after, open his perfectly-tailored trousers and sample his cock on the drive home. To Dream's home, of course, where he would take Hob Gadling to bed and offer up his body for his mechanic's use—which would be delightfully merciless, given how Dream had primed and teased and denied him with his mouth in the car.

Perhaps he might take Hob Gadling away with him on holiday, show him all manner of foreign destinations he would never have seen on his own; at each of them Hob Gadling would fuck him, in sumptuous hotel beds or private beach cabanas or the gleaming toilet stalls of michelin-starred restaurants, with every bit of skill and enthusiasm at his disposal—delighted to be Dream's kept man and eager to show his gratitude for all that Dream could provide.

Dream groans, dragging one hand down across his mouth and arched throat while the other works swiftly over his cock, writhing on his bed with his shirt undone and his trousers open. He is achingly hard, leaking steadily into every rapid stroke; he hasn't even bothered undressing, so caught up in the feverish fantasies of the money and favors he might lavish on this man who consumes his thoughts, of how thoroughly he could expect to be railed and ravished and seen to in return—

Orgasm overtakes him quite suddenly, leaves him gasping and breathless and wrecked, and still he craves more. His fantasies are delectable, but his appetite is insatiable.

He desperately wants the real thing.

It is Thursday of the next week at last and Dream, fueled by his fading ability to recall the precise brown of Hob Gadling's eyes or the way his cheeks crease up when he smiles, does not call Matthew's Motor Repairs to check on the status of his Porsche as instructed. Instead, he drives out, excusing the trip to himself by visiting a local bookseller first and picking up several selections to add to his personal library. He does not linger overlong among the shelves, however; today he is consumed with much more pressing distractions.

He must see Hob Gadling again, if only for a moment.

When he enters the shop, there is no one at the counter up front and the door to the garage is ajar, raucous music drifting faintly through. "Hello?" he calls, but receives no reply.

It is a warm day outside and quite warm inside as well; Dream imagines how sweaty Hob Gadling must be, to be performing physical labor under these conditions. Such thoughts do nothing to calm or cool him.

After only a moment's hesitation, he rounds the counter and passes through the doorway, at which point he can hear Hob Gadling's voice singing along—"You don't have a clue/If you did you'd find yourself/Doin' the same thing too!"—beneath the music, passably on-key no less.

Yet another appealing feature to this man; it is simply unfair. Dream draws himself up, heart beating harder, and ventures around the large sink and cleanup station until he can see his Porsche, up on ramps, and—

And legs sticking out from beneath the side of it on one of those rolling boards, Hob Gadling's legs no doubt, spread wide like an invitation.

Dream stops abruptly, heat pouring into his belly; he takes a deep breath of the warm stuffy air, the machine-and-metal smell of the garage doing nothing to calm his libido. He stares, helplessly, at the work boots and coveralls, at where they stretch across Hob Gadling's crotch, affording frustratingly little suggestion of what lies beneath. And just above that, he can see that the coveralls are unzipped, not quite far enough to expose underwear but enough that Dream is treated to a glimpse of warm golden-brown belly and the dip of his navel, the dark sweep of hair above and below it.

—Mouthwatering—

It is with tremendous effort that Dream corrals his thoughts, steps forward again, closes the space between them and clears his throat to announce his presence. He nudges one booted foot with his own, not entirely meaning to do so but somehow unable to resist.

"Bloody—" The mechanic scoots out from beneath the car and Dream's knees go weak; he is grateful they do not give out altogether.

Hob Gadling is indeed shirtless beneath his open coveralls, displaying a chest far more gloriously hairy than Dream had imagined, a pelt thick and dark and alluring. He wants to touch, to comb his fingers through and rub his face against it, to lick the trail of hair that leads down to where the parted zipper comes back together. There is a visible sheen of sweat on his skin and Dream would lick that off as well; Hob is smudged with grease in various smears across his torso and forearms and Dream can hardly think for the rushing of blood in his ears, the swelling of want in the pit of his stomach. He drags his eyes back up to Hob's face, trying to school the ravenous hunger from his own gaze; he does not think he is overly successful in that regard but there is discernible heat in the warm brown eyes that meet him, and it is difficult to care about dignity, propriety, with reality unfolding so near to the fantasies that have carried him through the last ten days.

He stutters through some explanation for his presence, barely aware of his own words, barely registering the rundown he is given in return, watching hungrily as Hob climbs to his feet. His car will be finished tomorrow. He will have reason to see Hob again tomorrow. But right now he is unraveling, his self control a tenuous and threadbare thing barely within his grasp. He is watching Hob's mouth as he speaks, captivated, obsessed with the warm color of it flashing among the dark scruff of Hob's beard, and Dream wants to taste. His mouth, his skin, his cock, which is surely as magnificent as the rest of him—Dream cannot bear the thought of leaving without confirming his certainties, but it is one thing to revel in fantasy alone in his bed and quite another to actually act on it when faced with the man before him—

"Is there something else I can do for you today, Mr. Atelíotes?"

Hob Gadling is looking at him, hip cocked and coveralls alluringly open, smile just this side of invitational; there is the strong suggestion of interest and an implied offer in that warm tone and Dream's resolve, such as it is, crumbles.

He reaches. He touches. He speaks his want and follows with a flirtatious tease to mitigate his intensity, is met by teasing agreement in return, but when his mechanic mentions cleaning up first he absolutely cannot agree.

"No. As you are now, please." He steps closer, directly into Hob's space, a week and a half of fantasies clamoring in his mind as the scent of the man wafts into his nose—oil and grease, warm metal, sweat and a faint trace of citrus and a hint of some pleasantly masculine deodorant; Dream's mouth waters, and his prick throbs.

His mechanic hesitates. "I'm kind of filthy though?"

There is a tinge of shame beneath the words, and Dream. Will not have it.

"I am aware, yes," he purrs, seizing the open lapels of the grimy coveralls, and kisses Hob Gadling with ten days' worth of anticipation and want.

Dream is coasting on an adrenaline and endorphin high as he drives home, afterwards. He acted. He spoke directly of what he wanted. And he got it. He had spent ten days nursing fantasy and now he has experienced a delightful sliver of the reality of Hob Gadling.

And tomorrow, he will experience more.

Sleep does not come easily that night, keyed up and aroused as he is, but he manages at last. He wakes later than usual the next morning; he eats a light brunch, the excitement in his stomach counterproductive to the task, and makes sure to drink more water than usual. Thoughts of Hob fill his mind, arousing, distracting, enticing; he recalls with a sharp thrill the taste of Hob's pleasure on his tongue, and he is eager to be on his way to their appointment.

But there are things he must do to prepare, first.

He takes an enema, then shaves and showers, lathering everywhere with his sweetest-smelling soap, determined to be the polar opposite of what he lusts for in Hob. He strives for the cleanest prettiest and freshest he can get, the better to be taken and sullied and dirtied by his mechanic; Hob had seemed quite pleased with that dynamic yesterday and Dream is eager to repeat it with Hob's cock in his arse this time.

To that end, he employs a favorite dildo once he is clean and dry, lubing himself carefully and working himself open on the toy, mind blazing with thoughts of Hob all the while. He knows, now, the size and the shape (and the taste!) of Hob's prick, and he is giddy with the anticipation of having it inside him. He is salivating over how Hob compares to the dildo, how Hob will fill him just that much better, what filthy things Hob might say while taking his time over long slow thrusts, how good it will feel when Hob finally rails him without mercy—

He must force himself to stop, hard and panting as he withdraws the toy from his body. He sorts through his glass plugs quickly, finding the one he wants and fitting it carefully inside himself. It's broad enough to stretch him just a little more, perfectly flared to fit just right inside and out, short enough that he can bend and sit without discomfort. It's a beautiful tease, as a matter of fact, keeping him keyed up and aroused as he dresses himself, making him squirm just a little with every step as he gathers his condoms and his pocket-sized bottle of lube and his phone wallet and water, and leaves the house.

He composes himself over the two blocks he walks to the busier streets where he can hail a cab, steeling himself to normalcy in both movement and appearance while pleasure sings in his veins with every subtle shift of the toy within him. He is half-hard, hidden well enough by the loose cut of his slacks, and works to keep his thoughts from heating any further until he has reached his destination.

The cab drops him outside of Matthew's Motor Repairs and he pays, distracted and breathless with anticipation. Hob is there, inside, and Dream is certain that Hob is just as eager as he is for their rendezvous.

He hopes that Hob is just as eager.

Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances, reads the hand-written sign taped to the glass of the shop door. Ring if you have an appointment.

Dream's heart plummets for half a second, until he remembers their parting conversation yesterday about appointments and showing up and fitting in. This sign is for him, surely, a blatant invitation.

He takes a breath to calm the excited pounding of his heart, squirms surreptitiously on the toy inside him, and rings the bell.

= Started: 5/15/24 Drafted: 7/27/24 Posted: 7/29/24

#Dreamling #Sandman #TJs Fics #wip: turbo lover

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fran-in-the-deep · 1 year

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Can you do my hair?

Hange x gn!Reader

~1k words | One-Shot

“Can you do my hair? Pleeease.”

Hange plopped their head onto your lap, having sprawled out on the couch beside you, looking up at you with the most adorable pleading look. You had been so focused on your book that you hadn’t noticed them leaving their desk. Now putting aside the book and instinctively moving to brush the mess of their hair from their face, you couldn’t help but notice how damp it was.

“Did you bathe?”

“Yup.”

A proud smile lit up Hanges expression even more. They went ahead to hand you a brush that you took without thinking, brain still in buffer mode. You had been there all evening. When did they pull this off without you noticing? On the other hand, it had been a long day, you were tired and your perception was dulled.

“But - why?”

You didn’t mean to be impolite or ask such stupid questions. Luckily Hange knew you well enough as not to assume any ill will, but still. This was so far off-skript that you weren’t sure about how to continue.

Hange tapped their chin with their finger as they always did when thinking really hard, small frown on their face. To be fair, it hadn’t been a good question.

Everyone knew that Hange had a hard time taking care of themselves, always too deep into their research and too practical in the -why clean up when I instantly get dirty again during the experiments?- way. Of course there was some truth to it, yet especially before larger meetings with the other section commanders and Erwin, as it was scheduled for tomorrow, Levi had taken it upon himself to use his near superhuman strength to force the scientist into taking a bath. He’d asked you to keep an eye on Hange for tonight so they wouldn’t run off again.

Usual procedure, as you were planning to spend the time at Hanges quarters anyway and had been part of Levi’s unofficial helper squad for a long time by now. Yet this was a first.

Their features softened again, quickly turning into another smile as they had seemingly found the answer.

“I just thought I’d try something new.”

Hange reached for your hand in their hair, taking it in theirs. You took a moment to marvel at how soft their hands could be after a bath, not better than usual, just different, before finally snapping back to reality, smile tugging at your lips.

“Alright. You should sit up for that though.”

Hanges head nearly hit yours when they quickly sat up, reluctantly letting go of your hand.

“I promise I tried my best, but there was some stuff I couldn’t get out. But I believe in you.”

Hange sounded guilty and the brush got stuck on your first attempt. It didn’t help that Hange naturally had thick hair and that even at a little more than shoulder length made it a lot to deal with. But you were here for all of it. Setting aside the brush, you carefully untangled whatever had gotten in your way. Turns out it was a damn pencil. Sharpened beyond oblivion so there was hardly any actual pencil left, but a pencil none the less.

“Was that the one you’ve looking for yesterday?”

You handed it to Hange over their shoulder who took it from you, letting out an incomprehensible yet joyous Oh sound.

“So that’s where I put it! I was worried that I’d lost it.”

“I don’t think it will be very useful after being drenched.”

“Well, there are several different techniques…”

During Hanges explanation about how they would be able to make good use of what was left of the poor pencil, you unearthed three tangled hair bands from their now moving head. You could just ask them to hold still, but you didn’t want to interrupt them and that little challenge was kinda fun. Even if it was over shortly after as you could finally start brushing their hair. Now, without obstacles, it went smooth. You could get used to that, really. It was relaxing, just listening to them talk while being so close. Whatever soap they had used, it smelled good.

Something very small dropped from the strands you had just brushed through, hitting the floor with a barely audible clack and bounced a little before coming to a rest. Hange stopped talking, you put the brush down to lean over to muster what had just fallen out of their hair.

Hair bands and the pencil at least made sense to have ended up there, but a small rock? And such an ordinary one at that? The both of you stared at the small rock, then looking at each other, before breaking into laughter. You leaned against their back in search of support, feeling their whole body shaking with laughter. How absolutely stupid and absurd and fun.

“I promise I have no idea where that’s from.”

Hange had regained the ability to talk first, now leaning against the back of the couch while you were still catching your breath.

The door sprung open, revealing an exasperated Levi leaning in the door frame, letting out a deep sigh before regaining his composure.

“Don’t even think about escaping through the windows, four-eyes. I have Moblit stationed out there.”

Only then he properly accessed the situation, spotting the two of you on the couch, Hange with their already washed and brushed hair falling to their shoulders.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Hange threw up their hands in defence, shielding you from Levis intense gaze.

“I just wanted to try something new and had a little help. But you have to admit, I look pretty good now.”

Levis expression didn’t change, he just reached for the door, wordlessly shutting it. His work had already been done after all. You heard his steps as he made his way down the hallway before fading out. Then you finally turned to Hange.

“I think you look pretty good.”

Your compliment was met by them enveloping you into a hug, making you nearly fall off the couch together.

“For you always.”

----------------------------

A/N: I hope I kept it fluffy and wholesome. I'm aware that taking care of oneself can be really hard for neurodivergent people (I fall under that umbrella and feel the struggle) and it shouldn't come off as "only being loveable when clean and showered", because that's a bad take, so I hope I got that across. Maybe I'm overthinking this. I just liked putting the little twist on the whole "Levi has to force Hange to bathe". Anyways, I hope you had fun reading!

#hange zoe x reader #hange x reader #hanji zoe x reader #hange zoe #hanji zoe #hange fluff #aot fluff #aot hanji #hanji zoë #fran-fiction writings

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lilyevanstan1325 · 7 months

Text

💎Forever mine,

forever yours💎

Chapter 1

“Vic, pizza at my place tonight?”

My best friend asks me while her gaze is focused on the PC in front of her eyes.

Her fingers move lightly and quickly over the keys.

Her glasses slide down her nose and with her usual little grimace she wrinkles her nose to put them back in their place.

I turn my attention away from the dozens of papers in my hands for a moment to shift my attention to the woman sitting in front of me on the other side of the desk.

As if she felt my gaze on her, she straightens her back, bringing her arms up over her head, stretching her tired limbs, smiling at me sweetly.

I shook my head with an apologetic smile on my lips.

She already knows what it means and an adorable pout automatically graces her lips.

“I know what you're about to say.Come on!You can't just ditch me.Again!It's already the second time this week” she snorts, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her gaze.

Her dark eyes, almost black and speculative, are giving me a silent reproach.

“I'm sorry Sam.Really!But I have to finish these reports by this evening.Plus tonight my father wants me to have dinner with him.Apparently Joel has returned from his trip to Italy and my father is keen to spend the evenings together”

Another feeling quickly makes room in her big eyes, totally opposite to disappointment.

A mischievous smile spreads across her face.

I roll my eyes, returning to focus on my work, clearly avoiding her string of questions and insinuations that are boiling in her head, sure that my friend won't take it badly.

Samantha and I have known each other since middle school, since our first day of school when she was alone and disoriented in a new place.

She shyly approached me during lunch.

I still remember her frightened look, her glasses too big for her thin face and her mop of curly hair the same color of chocolate.

She had just moved from Missouri to follow her parents, both lawyers, who had found a new and promising job in the hot state of Texas.

As far as I can remember, from that moment on we were never separated from each other.

After years of friendships limited only to the circle of children of my father's wealthy friends, I had finally found a true friend.

We went through the college and university years leaning on each other and for a year now we have even managed to find work in the same office.

Technically I had no choice, working in my father's accounting department had almost been an obligation, but after all I love this job.

Numbers have always fascinated me.

If then I add that my father had also hired my best friend, I don't think I can complain one bit.

Because being the boss's daughter isn't easy.

Surviving the constant stares of other employees is disheartening.

Hearing them whisper to each other about how I'm only here because I was recommended made me suffer at first but I was able to have my little revenge, I managed to demonstrate more than once that I know how to do my job.

That I'm here because I'm capable.

Damn, I'm good at what I do!

And Samantha's support has always been my strength.

I finish forwarding the latest emails and with a big sigh I throw my head back pressing my aching back, due to the hours spent sitting in the same position, against the back of the chair.

When I look up from my PC I find Sam in the same position I left her in a few minutes ago.

I raise an eyebrow curiously.

“What?” I ask when I see that my friend still isn't willing to answer me.

Sam shakes her head with a mischievous smile plastered on her beautiful face.

“When were you going to tell me about it?” she asks, getting up from her chair and approaching me.

I observe her carefully while with an innate grace she leans her hips wrapped in an elegant pair of black trousers against my side of the desk.

“Said what exactly?”

Sam laughs throwing her head back, a couple of unruly curls escape from her tight bun but she immediately puts them back in place by pushing them gently behind her ear.

“Oh c'mon!You will have dinner with mister Joel I'm too sexy Miller.What will you wear?Oh, wait!Why don't you wear your Versace red dress you bought last month?I'm sure he'll lose his mind”

I block out her flow of words by placing my hand on her knee.

“Sam!For God's sake, will you calm down?” I hiss through my teeth.

I don't even understand why I'm whispering since there's only the two of us left in the office but talking about Joel always makes me nervous.

I shake my head as if to reproach her.

“It's just a stupid dinner.And then you have to stop!There has never been anything between me and Joel and there never will be.He is my father's best friend and business partner.That man saw me with a diaper, God!”

I pinch my bottom lip between my teeth thinking about Joel.

I've known Joel Miller since I was born.

Him and my father are childhood friends, both born and raised in the same neighborhood.

Together they created their small construction company which over the years has grown dramatically to the point of making them two industrial magnates.

Their stock prices skyrocketed in the last fifteen years, making them the two richest men Wall Street has ever seen.

Earning them more and more covers on titles such as Forbes and the Wall Street Journal.

There is no one in America or Europe who is not aware of the empire they built from nothing.

But while my father met the woman of his life, my sweet mother, on the road to his success, Joel always remained alone.

He has rarely appeared publicly in the company of any woman although I suspect that in private he is full of women ready to die for his attention.

And I'm also among those women...

It's a shame that he never noticed me in that way even if I certainly can't blame him for that.

How could a fifty-year-old man who can count on having had beautiful women in his life, and in his bed, notice me?

I'm just the daughter of his best friend.

A girl of just twenty-five.

I look at my reflection in the turned off monitor of my PC, wondering what more I should have to please a man like Joel Miller.

Maybe I should be taller and definitely thinner.

Maybe the slightly more pronounced curve of my ass or my slightly too busty breasts don't fit into his beauty standards.

My long blonde hair and my blue eyes like the sea are not his type.

The few women I have seen him with have always been beautiful brunettes with golden skin.

Joel Miller will never look at me the way I want to be looked at.

To him I will always be a little girl, Andrew White's little daughter.

“Vic?Are you still with me?”

Sam's voice calls me softly.

I close my eyes burying all my insecurities into the darkest part of my heart.

I smile trying to reassure my friend who obviously doesn't buy it but doesn't push me any further.

She knows when it's time to let go of me especially when it comes to Joel.

She gives me an understanding smile and then moves away from my desk with a light push of her hips.

I watch her as she picks up her jacket from the chair and her bag.

Then she wishes me a good evening with another greeting, making me promise that in the morning we will have breakfast together.

I watch her back disappear through the large glass doors as her heels click on the polished dark marble floor.

With a trembling hand I grab my coat and after looking for the car keys in my bag I head towards the underground car park.

“I wish you a good evening, Miss White” Waylon, the night guard of the building, greets me with a slight bow, a greeting to which I respond distractedly, too stressed by the evening that awaits me.

Without knowing how I find myself in front of the large gates of the villa where my father and I live.

It's like my car knew the way home and brought me here on its own.

I have a vague memory of the road I traveled too intent on nervously chewing my scarlet nails.

The small red light at the top of the gate turns green within a few moments causing the gates to open so I can enter.

As I drive along the long tree-lined path that precedes the immense villa I notice a parked car.

Joel's car.

My heart rate skyrockets at the idea of seeing him again after such a long time.

My grip on the steering wheel slips due to the sweat that begins to wet my palms.

Once I pull over the car I try to dominate all the feelings that stir in my heart.

I can't let my father see me in this condition but above all I can't let his best friend see me like this.

I observe my reflection in the small rear-view mirror, smoothing my hair with my hands and retouching my makeup, brightening up my faded lipstick after a day at work.

I get out of the car looking at the sky, the sun is now setting, coloring it with beautiful red-orange shades, soft and graceful pink clouds adorn it.

I approach with a determined step towards the large mahogany door which opens as if it had sensed my presence.

Behind them appears the thin figure of the housekeeper who bows her head slightly as I pass, hurrying to pick up the coat and the bag which I hold in my hands.

“Good evening, Miss White.Your father is waiting for you at the kitchen on the patio”

“Thank you, Lucy”

I thank her promptly as I set off towards the direction she indicated.

The closer I get, the more I feel the anxiety rising from my stomach and up my throat, parched with anxiety.

And excitement.

As much as I try to deceive Sam and my own heart, I am aware of the fact that mine is not a simple crush.

There is much more inside me than a teenage crush.

A much hotter fire burns inside me for my father's best friend.

When I cross the threshold into the kitchen, Joel Miller is sitting at one of the chairs at the large dining table.

My heart literally skips a beat.

His muscular legs are stretched out in front of him, wrapped in a pair of jeans that hug his thick, powerful thighs like the sin wraps the devil.

One arm is resting casually on the back of the chair while in the other hand he holds a beer.

His long, strong fingers are wrapped languidly around the bottle neck.

The same fingers that in my daydreams wrap possessively around my neck.

I feel an embarrassing blush spread from my neck to my cheeks.

The sound of my heels clicks on the polished floor, immediately attracting the man's attention.

A sweet smile spreads across his relaxed face.

“Hey, sweetheart” he welcomes me getting up and after placing the beer on the table he reaches me with a few quick strides.

“Welcome back”

I greet him wrapping my arms around his neck at the same time his large arms wrap around my hips causing my feet to lose contact with the floor for a moment.

When he puts me down he doesn't let go of my hips as my hands rest delicately on his chest.

“Is Italy really as beautiful as they say, uncle Joel?”

God..

The words burn like poison on my tongue.

Uncle Joel.

I've always called him that for as long as I can remember.

But if before I was just a little girl who demonstrated her affection towards a person who she considered a member of her family, now it sounds completely wrong.

Wrong since in the darkness of my bedroom, with my fingers deep inside my heated slit, his name rolls out, curling around my tongue.

Joel, daddy.

Taking on a much more compromising meaning.

I am distracted from my thoughts when the man's warm hands cup my face gently.

“Yeah, Italy is beautiful but ain't like home” he whispers, letting me go.

In the fraction of a second his hand intertwines with mine and together we approach the table and sit down opposite each other.

Like a perfect gentleman, Joel grabs a beer from above the table, uncorks it and hands it to me.

I accept it without ever taking my eyes off his face.

His eyes are surrounded by many small wrinkles, his dark curls are crossed by several salt and pepper strands like his beard.

These are the only signs that could indicate the true age of this man.

For the rest, Joel Miller has nothing to envy compared to all the guys of my age that I know.

Broad shoulders, wide chest, a defined abdomen.

Not to mention his thighs.

God, his thighs.

If there is one part of his body that I could lose control of, it's his thick, muscular thighs.

The sinuous, power-packed muscles that bring only sinful thoughts to my mind right now are lightly contracting as he lifts one leg to rest his ankle on the opposite knee.

“Sweetheart?”

The sweet and saccharine voice of the man who is the protagonist of my most lustful dreams calls to me.

Embarrassed, I immediately look away from the part of his body capable of making me lose my mind, hoping that he hasn't noticed my insistent staring.

But obviously I'm wrong.

His dark eyes are serious, his gaze a hard frown.

For a moment, for just a moment, I think I see lust in them but what he seems to want to convey to me is only disapproval for having caught me staring at him like a bitch in heat.

Oh God!

If only he knew how I could be a bitch only for him...

I try to ease the tension by moving my gaze towards the patio door overlooking the immense garden.

“Where's dad?” I ask with feigned nonchalance, bringing my attention back to the man in front of me.

Joel watches me in silence and then nods towards the garden behind him.

His dark eyes are still serious.

I roll my eyes to ease the tension.

“Oh God!Barbecue?Again?” I ask disheartened.

If there's one thing that obsesses my father more than his money, it's that damn barbecue.

He never misses an opportunity to use it and his rounded belly is proof of this.

Even though only a handful of years separate them, there is a world of difference between my father and Joel.

Although my father is still a handsome man for his fifty-two years, with wavy blond hair and deep blue eyes, his physique is more softened.

He doesn't look like his best friend.

Oh, not a chance in hell.

Joel continues to observe me with a seriousness I've never seen from him, not directed towards me in the end.

Not knowing what to say, I take another sip of beer, hoping that the golden liquid will give me some confidence.

“The last time I asked him to cook me some vegetables he replied that nothing green and flaccid will ever be placed on his grill” I snort trying to shift Joel's attention to another topic.

Finally his features relax giving me an amused smile, even though I could swear I see a slight shadow of agitation behind his gaze.

He brings the bottle to his lips again and I watch in rapture as his Adam's apple bobs up and down.

I cross my legs trying to hide the sweet discomfort that tingles the center of my core.

I mentally curse myself.

It will be a very long evening.

Damn.

The man's gaze slides along my body, from head to toe, before returning his attention to my face.

It's like he's studying me, like he's seeing me for the first time.

As if he really see me.

We observe each other in silence until the door leading to the garden opens revealing my father, busy carrying a plate full of steaks inside the house.

“Hey, little one.You're finally home” he greets me, placing the plate on the table and approaching to leave a kiss on the top of my head.

My father is usually not so physical in his relationship with me but tonight he is in a particularly good mood, certainly due to Joel's return.

I clear my throat, attracting the attention of the two men already busy talking about business with each other.

“I'm going to wear something more comfortable” I announce trying to get up but my father's strong hand wraps around my wrist inviting me to stay seated.

“No need, little one” he admonishes me.

I snort and sit back down.

I hate when he calls me that.

I hate when he does it in front of Joel and constantly points out the age gap between us.

We begin to eat in silence, a silence that is interrupted only by a few questions about my work from Joel.

My father, for his part, is too silent and I don't miss the furtive glances that the two friends constantly exchange but I tend to ignore them.

It certainly concerns their work, matters in which they don't want me to interfere.

After a few minutes where the only noise in the room is the forks scraping against the plates, I hear a sigh full of tension from my father.

In reaction, I turn towards him, catching a strange stiffening of Joel's body out of the corner of my eye.

I observe the scene in bewilderment as the two men seem to silently communicate with each other.

A weird tension crackles in the air making me strangely anxious.

What happen?

Unable to hold back much longer, I place a hand on my father's forearm, squeezing it slightly.

His eyes immediately move to my hand and then to my face.

I know he can read all the worries I'm feeling.

“What's going on, dad?” I ask in a whisper.

The two men exchange one last long look.

My father runs a hand through his blond hair, pulling them slightly.

Joel gives me a look from his seat that seems to contain an apology.

His gaze doesn't leave me even when my father starts talking.

“Victoria Pamela”

He rarely uses my full name.

And when he does that it's never a good thing.

“What's going on, dad.You're sick?” I ask in panic.

The only thing that comes to my mind looking at their tense looks is that my father is sick.

What else could it possibly be?

My father pauses as if he is trying to muster up the strength to talk to me and I feel my heart beating furiously in my chest, the sound of it echoes in my ears, stunning me.

I rub my hand along his arm encouraging him to continue.

“Vic, honey, there's something you need to know” he exhales grabbing my hand anchored to his arm and squeezing it gently.

“You're scaring me” I chuckle nervously, fighting back the tears that threaten to show themselves.

“I had some problems at work.I made a wrong investment and I lost money.A lot of money”

Unconscious I let out a shaky breath that I didn't even realize I was holding.

My eyes immediately search for Joel but the man promptly avoids my gaze.

My father's grip tightens around my fingers and this makes me realize that perhaps the worst part of the story is yet to come.

“And?” I whisper unable to say anything else.

Thousands of thoughts are racing in my head trying to understand what's going on.

My father has a lot of money

Really...a lot.

Why would a bad investment worry him so much?

My father lets go of my hand so he can rest his elbows on the table and intertwine his fingers.

“I put almost all my money into a business that unfortunately went bad so I asked for a loan but now I can't pay it anymore”

I grind my lower lip between my teeth.

The situation seems to be worse than I thought.

I move my hands in an uncoordinated way in front of me.

“Can't you just talk to the bank?I'm sure you can find a solution.And then Joel can help you.Isn't it, uncle Joel?” I ask, moving my gaze from my father's sweetly resigned face to the man in front of me.

Joel shakes his head in response.

“Ain't that easy, sweetheart”

His southern drawl has a bitter edge.

“How much money are we talking about?”

“It doesn't matter, little one” my father interrupts, leaving me confused.

Joel takes another sip of his beer finally turning his entire frame towards my father.

“Andrew...she must know the truth if we want this to work”

In my father's gaze there seems to be a struggle between different feelings but then I see him nod.

“Now you have to listen to me without interrupting me Victoria, do you understand?”

I nod disoriented.

What are they talking about?

My heart hammers incessantly in my chest, tattooing itself against my ribs.

“Joel and I are not just contractors.We didn't build an empire just thanks to our investments.There is more.We have also invested in another trade”

I listen to his words with extreme attention, trying to understand where he wants to go with his words.

What other business is he talking about?

Even if an idea pops up in my mind I immediately set it aside.

I don't even want to think that both of them are involved in some sinister business.

I force myself to remain silent, waiting for my father to finally tell me the truth.

But he doesn't.

His mouth opens and closes several times as if he wants to speak but his words won't come out of his lips.

Feelings akin to shame and remorse darken his blue eyes.

“Weapons” Joel interjects, seeing the difficulty etched on the face of his best friend.

His words are like a punch to the chest.

My head snaps in his direction, eyes bulging.

“Weapons?I don't think I understand” I murmur breathlessly.

Joel smiles bitterly.

“Ya get it, sweetheart.Your father and I secretly finance some wealthy man to buy weapons from the black market, receiving generous favors in return”

In my head his words swirl like a swarm of crazy bees.

I try to place them in the exact order to make sense.

I nod trying to calm the tremor that runs through my hands.

I don't know much about this type of business but if there's one thing I know it's that these are people who don't joke.

“Let me understand, please.You invested money in a project that went wrong and you asked these men for money.The bank has nothing to do with it, right?”

My father nods, keeping his head down.

Okay.

We just have to find a solution.

“We could sell the house.I could help you.Could I... I don't know...I could sell my car?My jewels?”

As I speak fervently I feel the corners of my eyes tingle realizing that I have failed miserably in my attempt to remain calm.

“Honey, there's not much we can do.With each passing day the amount to be paid increases more and more.I will pay as long as I can but I can't risk bankrupting the company.Too many families depend on me, I can't risk leaving thousands of family men without a job”

I feel anger clouding every cell of my brain.

I clench my hands into two fists, the knuckles pressing ferociously against the skin, turning the flesh white.

How could he do something like that?

How?

Why didn't he think about me?

To my well-being, to our small, dysfunctional family.

“Why?”

My question sounds demanding.

My clouded gaze planted with hatred on the two men.

Joel doesn't answer.

After all, it's not his problem, right?

But I really can't understand how two such honest men fell into this shit.

“I did it for you, my little one”

I widen my eyes in disbelief.

How dare he?

“For me?I never asked you anything.Nothing!”

“I just tried to make sure you never lack anything” my father shouts back at me.

And his words mark the end of my self-control.

“Bullshit!” I reply, standing up forcefully, hitting my flat palm against the table and causing the chair behind me to crash onto the floor.

The deafening sound reverberates through the entire room, drawing the attention of a frightened Lucy who immediately runs towards the kitchen, placing her hand on her chest.

“Everything is fine?”

“Get out of here!” I bark in her direction before she can finish speaking.

Lucy, terrified by my reaction, blushes in embarrassment and with a few apologies on her lips she backs away until she disappears.

“I never asked you for anything!” I yell again, “Do you know what I wanted?I just wanted a father”

I accuse him, stopping any attempt to reply by silencing him with a sharp wave of my hand.

Now, that the dam that kept at bay the river of pain and sorrow suffered in my life because of him, has broken, I can no longer contain my frustration.

“When I was six you gave me a new bicycle while I just wanted you to be present at my school play.Do you know who was there instead of you?Joel was there.When I graduated you gave me a new car while I just wanted you to be in the crowd applauding but you weren't there!There was Joel in your place” I spit and don't caring about the growing pain in my father's eyes I go headed with spite.

“When I got my first salary I wanted to celebrate with you, talk to you about how I was respected at work for my skills but you weren't there and guess what?There was Joel who brought me a pizza and listened to me babble for hours.Him” I scream pointing to the man who has always been there for me, “He has always been there.Where were you?I never wanted your money.I just wanted your love” I sniff.

The explosion of anger left me emptied of all emotion.

I can't believe I was able to vomit out years and years of pain.

And even though I feel like a small part of my heart is dying tonight, I feel lighter.

Painfully empty but deliciously light.

I pick up the chair from the floor and collapse ungracefully onto it.

My chest rises and falls furiously as I try to bring my rapid breathing back to a humanly sustainable pace.

A tense silence surrounds us until my father breaks it.

“Since your mother left us I have always just tried to do my best”

I burst out into a derisive laugh, crossing my arms on the table and burying my head in them.

“Yeah...you know?You fucked up, man” I mumble against the skin of my arm, biting the flesh until the clear outline of my teeth is painfully printed on it.

And now?

What do we do, now?

God!

Right now their sinister business don't even seem like such a big deal to me anymore.

Does him have money's problems?

Let him manage it!

As far as I'm concerned, I'm even willing to go live in a studio apartment and get a job at Starbucks to get away from him.

From them.

Even though Joel muttered little more than a few words, I am aware that he too belongs to that shit.

“Victoria, please listen to me”

My father's plea reaches that little part of me that still craves for his attention and no matter how much I try to turn it off, that little part is always there ready to show that I am a good girl.

I look up and first thing I meet Joel's dark and serious eyes, his unreadable and dominant gaze makes the strings of my soul vibrate.

Too dazed by what just happened, I struggle to turn my head towards my father.

“For me there isn't much to do, I will pay as long as I can.But for you...I can still do something for you.These men are dangerous, very dangerous, and when they don't get what they ask for...before they get to me they will use who I love to make me suffer”

A shiver runs up my spine as the implicit meaning in his words takes root in my brain.

Perhaps, moved by the panic he sees in my eyes, Joel abandons his spot to sit next to me and wrap his arm around my shoulders and I take the opportunity to curl up against his side.

Taking a deep breath of his strong scent.

Joel's scent, the scent of his skin, has always had a calming effect on my nerves.

In his arms I always felt safe.

“Listen” he murmurs, kissing my forehead, “We just have to play smart with these men”

I nod at Joel's words, nuzzling my head against the crook of his neck.

“What should I do?” I murmur dejectedly, moving away from his grasp and looking at my father.

If tonight they decided it was the right time to talk to me this means that they have also already found some sort of solution to the problem.

And call it just a problem is an understatement.

“As I told you before, there is little I can do for myself but there is a way to keep you safe, a way that will ensure that those men don't get close to you”

My father and Joel exchange a look full of meaning that I still can't understand and then the latter just nods.

As if he was giving my father permission to finally expose his plan.

“Joel had nothing to do with this whole thing.I did everything on my own, I wanted to take a risk knowing that he didn't agree.I acted behind his back and I will never forgive myself for this.I'm sorry, brother”

My father's contrite gaze shifts to my side.

Joel shakes his head, a sad smile faintly lifting one corner of his plump lips.

“In the eyes of these people he is still a respectable and, above all, feared man.And this, my dear, will be the strength that we will exploit” my father continues, clearing his throat.

I frown in confusion.

I wrap my arms around my mid section to try to keep all my pieces together.

“You can help us, then” I say with a small spark of confidence in my heart turning my torso in Joel's direction.

“They fear you, they respect you.You can talk to them, ask them to give him more time.You can vouch for him, can't you uncle Joel?”

The man looks at me dejectedly shaking his head.

Annoyed, I straighten my back.

“Why don't you want to help us?” I breathe out in anguish.

My father stands up to his full height, every bit of his body exuding an aura of power.

“Victoria Pamela, you will marry Joel” he announces, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze serious.

For a moment I look at him without understanding.

You will marry Joel.

I feel my head spinning.

What does he mean with you will marry Joel?

I shake my head vigorously, shielding my ears with my hands.

“If this is a joke it's not funny” I spit through my teeth.

“Do you think I'm joking?” my father's furious look, as he spells out the words one by one, makes my skin crawl.

He can't be really serious.

My heart skyrockets.

Joel cannot agree.

I stand up too, facing my father with a hard face.

“Are you crazy?Oh my God!And you?” I ask angrily, turning my back to my dad and turning towards the man who, despite everything, remains stoic in his silence.

“Do you agree with this fucking bullshit?”

Joel maintains his composure by looking at me seriously, so seriously that it makes my skin shiver.

And this time no, them are not shivers of pleasure.

I cannot believe it.

They are playing with my life, with my feelings, as if nothing had happened.

“Vic, if you become his wife, those men won't even dare to look in your direction.You understand it?You will inherit all my assets, my company share and Joel will be able to protect you as he always has.As I wasn't able to do”

Ignoring my father's words, I continue to keep my gaze on Joel's face but he seems impassive.

I can't even detect a hint of his thoughts in his face.

In front of me I have a wall without emotions.

I turn my back on him, determined to ignore him.

“Dad you can't be serious.I-I-I- I'm already seeing someone!How...how do you expect me to give up my life like this!”

“Who?”

Joel's voice sounds like an animal growl behind me.

Caught off guard by his reaction, I turn my attention again towards him.

“What?”

“Who are ya dating?”

“It's none of your business, uncle Joel” I scoff, pressing on my last two words.

“Jackson's son” my father replies, getting a light, amused snort from Joel.

It's not really happening.

I repeat in my head while closing my eyes and vigorously rubbing the tips of my fingers against my temples I try to tame the headache that threatens to explode minute after minute.

I move back and forth for a few minutes unable to stop.

If I stop the thoughts will eat me alive.

“You can't force me.You can't force me to marry him” I declare firmly, stopping my constant back and forth.

With a trembling hand I bring a glass of water to my lips but after just a few sips I am forced to stop because the nausea arise in my throat.

I can't marry Joel.

I don't want to marry Joel.

Not like that.

I always fantasized about him, dreaming that one day he would notice me and that he might fall in love with me.

I always dreamed that he really loved me...

But not like that.

This is all wrong.

This will break my heart.

He cannot accept.

He can't humiliate and mortify me like this.

I feel the anger boiling under my skin again.

“What will happen to my reputation?I can't marry him.He's your best friend.What do people say?Joel is...Joel is old” I hiss, imprinting my words with spite.

I want him to feel as mortified as I feel.

But to my surprise Joel laughs.

I watch him as he throws his head back, putting a hand to his chest.

When he recovers from his fit of laughter he stands up, towering dangerously over me.

He is so tall that I have to tilt my head back to look him straight in the face.

“Are ya talking to me about reputation?I'm the one who has to marry a spoiled little girl who can't even understand that her life, her father's life, is at stake.Don't come talking to me about reputation, little one”

Every word he says is a slap in my face.

That's who I am to Joel Miller.

I'm just a little girl who he will never see as a woman.

With my heart pumping furiously in my chest and my eyes flooded with tears I turn away and run away to my room.

I can't afford to show how much his words hurt me.

With my heart gripped in a grip of pain and panic, I close my bedroom door behind me with a loud thud, collapsing against it.

I close my eyes, placing a hand on my chest and with my mind clouded by despair I drag myself towards the bed, changing my clothes and putting on shorts and an old white t-shirt.

I sit on the bed hugging my knees and crying all the tears I've managed to hold back so far.

Oh my Lord!

If you were here, mom, all this would never have happened.

I don't have many memories of her anymore.

Photos of her are the only thing that keeps the memory of her face alive in my head.

I don't even remember the sound of her voice anymore...

I was only four when a car accident took her away from me.

I only remember that that evening Joel rushed to our house and spent the whole night with me while my father went to the hospital to recognize the scarred body of the love of his life.

I shake my head, wiping my tears with the back of my hand.

Joel.

Joel has always been here for us.

For me.

He followed me on the path of life trying to fill the void left by my parents.

A light knock on the door brings me out of my thoughts.

“Go away, dad!I don't want to talk, right now!” I shout against the closed door sniffling.

The fine dark mahogany door opens slowly revealing Joel's tall figure.

The man crosses his arms over his chest, resting his shoulder against the doorframe.

Seeing my furious look he raises his hands in front of him giving me one of his most sincere smiles.

“I'm not here to argue, I swear.Can we just talk?”

I scrutinize his face but I no longer find the anger or mockery there as before.

In front of me is the usual Joel, the man who is always kind and thoughtful when it comes to me.

“Come in, uncle Joel”

“Could ya just stop calling me that?”

“Why?How should I call you?My husband is good?”

As he approaches, on his suddenly serious face, a muscle in his jaw twitches dangerously.

He only stops when his knees touch the edge of the bed and then he sits on it.

He stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.

The flat palms of his hands rest on the blanket as he throws his head back staring at the ceiling and sighing loudly.

His broad chest expands into full display right in front of my eyes.

“It's all so fucked up” I blurt out, drawing his attention again.

His body straightens and his deep brown eyes focus on my face.

Embarrassed by our prolonged exchange of glances, I lower my gaze, losing myself in observing the veins that run along his arms, going up along his strong and toned biceps left uncovered by the gray t-shirt he is wearing.

His tanned skin glistens in the dim light coming from the lamp placed on the bedside table.

I feel the pressure of two strong fingers pressing under my chin, forcing me to look up at his beautiful features again.

The curly hair that frames his face seems so soft that I have to dig my nails into the palms of my hands to stop myself from stroking and smoothing them with devotion.

Fuck!

I'm totally fucked up...

“I'm sorry if I disappointed ya.I'm sorry that ya discovered that in the end I'm not the good man ya thought but...but I'm still me, sweetheart.I'm Joel” he whispers softly, stroking my cheekbone with the pad of his thumb while the rest of his hand welcomes my face in a tender caress.

I pinch my lip between my teeth, suddenly struck by a wave of heat burning from the center of my legs.

Imperceptibly I squirm in embarrassment.

“Listen to me.If there was another way I would have found it.I swear.But...but there's not.And I have to protect ya.I have to protect ya, sweetheart.Ya and yer father are my whole family, ya are all I have”

His syrupy words are followed by his hand which, as light as the flapping of a butterfly's wings, rests on my bare ankle, wrapping it in his thick coullosed fingers, sending my mind into a tailspin.

Short-circuiting my brain and creating imbalances in my heart.

My skin is covered in shivers.

I hope he doesn't notice even though right now his eyes are watching his hand as he traces small circles on my heated skin with his thumb.

“How...how does it work?We can't get married overnight” I murmur softly trying to distract my attention from Joel's gentle caresses on my body.

He lets his hand slide up my leg stopping at the knee then his eyes are focused on mine again.

He shrugs.

“We'll show up together.Some dinner, some walking.Nothing compromising.The paparazzi will do the rest and we will let the newspapers talking for us.Your father will make some statement, he will say that at the beginning he was not happy about it but that in the end he accepted our love.Then we'll have an engagement party.Your father wants us to get married before the summer”

His words are cold, automatic.

He doesn't care about any of this.

For him it's a stupid farce to play.

Joel misreading the pain in my gaze, mistaking my broken heart for fear, slides his body towards mine, grabbing my face in his hands.

He wraps his fingers around my cheeks with a reverential delicacy, as if I were crystal in his hands.

“I will never touch ya.Never, Victoria.I would never do anything ya don't want.We just have to hold on, play our part and when things are settled we will divorce and ya will be free again” Joel whispers, his intoxicating breath flavored with the smell of beer gently crushing on my parted lips.

Divorce.

I don't know why but my eyes fill with tears.

I am aware that this marriage will all be a farce but the idea that he is totally sure that he doesn't want me shatters my heart.

And this is a pain I don't know if I could bear.

For the last ten years I have kept my infatuation for him at bay but now faced with the real prospect of living with him, of living Joel day after day, it complicates everything.

Deprived of all my willpower, I nod weakly.

I have no other choice.

But before the man in front of me lets go of my face I wrap my hands around his wrists.

“Promise me you'll do everything you can to get my father out of this fucking mess!”

Joel nods with conviction placing his warm lips against my forehead, his mustache and stabble tickling my skin, making my toes curl in pleasure.

After which, too quickly for my taste, he interrupts the contact and standing up.

“I will never stop”

He walks towards the door but before he can leave I whisper his name making him turn towards me again.

A stupid smile blossom on my lips.

“Do you remember when I was nine and I asked you to marry me?”

I laugh amused at the memory.

Joel's laughter echoes within the walls, warming my heart.

His eyes, surrounded by many small and delicious wrinkles, shine like onyx.

Still smiling, he takes his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small, crumpled piece of paper from it.

He comes closer and hands it to me and I already know what it is before my hand accepts it.

In front of me I have the paper where the me of the past had written her ramshackle vows of love for her beloved uncle Joel.

Shaking my head, I give it back to him, watching as he carefully puts it back in his wallet.

“Have you kept it with you since then?” I ask in disbelief and also excited.

I can't believe that that small, insignificant piece of paper remained in his wallet for sixteen years.

Joel reaches the door again and without turning towards me he whispers softly “This is my most precious treasure, sweetheart”

And in the blink of an eye Joel Miller disappears.

My heart pounding against my aching ribs and I let myself fall against the pillows.

I close my eyes and, accompanied by the sweet scent of Joel that still lingers in the room, I fall asleep, too tired and overwhelmed to dwell on the mess that will become my life.

Please comment, share and rate ❤️

🔥 Masterlist 🔥

Taglist ❤️

@deansapplepie

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seiya-starsniper · 1 year

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20 questions for fic writers!

TRIPLE TAG THREAT from my faves @arialerendeair @bazzybelle and @honeyteacakes, I love you guys so so so much!!!!! 💖💖💖

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 36 in total published, a whole bunch more in drafts!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

167,076 which is crazy when you consider 146,736 are just from THIS YEAR

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Sandman, currently! I have a couple of WIPs for other fandoms but I just haven't gotten around to them.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Dreams for a Dozen Cats - 527 kudos A Dream for a Viscount - 513 kudos and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - 504 kudos Wake Up & Smell The Flowers - 457 kudos Let's conspire to ignite - 397 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I've been bad about it lately, but I love responding because I absolutely adore the dynamic of being able to communicate with my readers. It's just a tiring exercise and I have to be really in the mood to do it! But I absolutely love and adore every comment I receive 💖💖💖

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

A sweet dream - it's the only one where I've used the tag Main Character Death! The ending is quite hopeful, but the death is in fact permanent, take care if you choose to read it!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hnnnnnnngh I have absolutely no fucking idea because they almost all have really happy endings! That's like asking me to pick a favorite child. Honestly though, if you want sappy and sexy romance throughout an entire fic with literally zero conflict, then my happiest ending is probably A Dream for a Viscount. If you want ANGST ANGST ANGST with a massive payoff and a lot of hurt/comfort leading up to a soft ending, my happiest ending is the one in and if I get burned, at least we were electrified

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not on AO3! In my ff.net days though, whew lordy the salt was strong whenever I wrote somebody's NOTP and dared to publish it. Those were some interesting days.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Well, seeing as I am a mod for @monsterfucktoberbingo....I think you can probably guess what type of smut I write LMAO. I do write quite a bit of omegaverse too just to spice things up 😄

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have! Back in my ff.net days, my teenage self LIVED on the high school fandom crossover fic. I shall never return to those days ever again, but I had a good time. I also recently wrote this Dreamling/SnowBaz crossover for my beloved @bazzybelle💖💖💖

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge! I never really participated in fandoms where fic stealing was common thankfully.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! I have absolutely no idea what site it ended up on, but I've had my fics translated into Russian and Chinese.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not in a really long time! When I was a teen, I used to RP characters with my friends as a writing exercise, and then that would turn into a fic! I also absolutely LOVED the round robin fic culture back in the old livejournal days. (can you tell I'm dating myself heavily lmao)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

00Q hands down. I'm still reading old favorites to this day. Although, I will admit Dreamling is a pretty damn close second considering *gestures vaguely(

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh lord, I have quite a few, published and unpublished. Most of my published unfinished WIPs are just rotting on ff.net and I've made my peace with them. Unpublished WIPs...I have quite a few SamBucky fics that never made it out of drafts and I'm really sad about that because I really loved that ship at one point :(

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have a few I'm pretty proud of: - Succinctness: I can tell a whole story in under 10k words. One-shots are my bread and butter. - Angst: Do you want to cry? I'll make you cry and wring your soul out with no regrets. - Fluff: On the opposite end of the spectrum, if you want to feel soft and like you're snuggling with a cloud, I can do that for you too. Fluff is such a delight to write, because I like to feel good, and I love making others feel good too 💖 - Dialogue: I love writing dialogue. It's such a delight to try and figure what a character would say when placed in ~situations~

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Whew lordy, here we goooooooooooo: - Longfic/Multichapter fics: I can and have written longer fics, but it's highly demotivating for me. I am struggling so hard to finish my multi-chapter fics right now, it's a nightmare. I'll get there, but... - Descriptions: I AM SO BAD AT MAKING SETTINGS AND DESCRIBING HOW PEOPLE LOOK. I'm sure some people will disagree with me, but I some days I truly hate my inability to describe things the way I want to, or the way I've seen other people be able to. It is a thing I am working on, for sure, I know it's just a matter of practice. - WIP hell: I start and stop things at the drop of a hat. Rest in pieces to all my ideas stuck in partially written states - Plot Summaries: I can write a whole thing and be utterly unable to give you a plot summary. Save me hahahahaha

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I LOVE IT. It's not for me since I only speak English, but I love coming across it in fic.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Yu-Gi-Oh!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

...heh. I thought this was gonna be harder but it's definitely and if I get burned, at least we were electrified. This fic dragged me out of lurking in fandom to full on writing and participating again. It's my most canon-adjacent fic. It's got angst and action and feelings. It has tentacle sex. It has the Corinthian being indulged within an inch of his life. This fic is a love letter to myself, it the reason I am here, in sandman fandom, writing as much as I am. Is it my best written story out of all my fics? No, it was my first fic after a long writing hiatus and while I consider it a well written piece, I also like to think my writing quality has increased since I first wrote it. But it is my favorite fic, for all the reasons above, and for the sheer joy it brought into my life then, and in the subsequent months after.

Tagging: @valiantstarlights @five-and-dimes @chaosheadspace @ironwoman359 @silver-dream89 @rosaren2498 @bruce-wayne-simp @acedragontype and whoever else wants to do it!

#seiya gets tagged #fanfic writer ask game

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friendofbats · 1 year

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Meet the Writer Tag Game

I’ve been tagged by both @emeraldhazeart and @durotoswrites! 🥰

Rules: Use this picrew to make yourself and answer the questions!

Three fun facts about me:

I’m a violinist and have been playing for most of my life. I used to dream of being a solo performer, but have found much more joy lately in playing in symphonies and quartets. (I still prefer to play first violin, though. 😉)

People are so fascinating to me. I love figuring out what makes people tick, their personalities, how they speak, their cultures, their life stories, their mannerisms, how they react to certain situations, why they do/act/say the things they do/act/say, etc.... I seriously can’t get enough of it. I like to take all these things into consideration when I write, too, which is why I focus most of my effort on character dialogue and personality in my stories and my game.

One of my other hobbies that I don’t talk about a lot here is weightlifting! I always like to say that if you told 20-year-old me I’d love weightlifting and strength training, I would have laughed at you until I was gasping for air. I’ll never be the strongest person in the world, but it makes me feel powerful and comfortable in my skin.

Favourite season: For the longest time, my favorite season was summer. I typically handle hot weather much better than cold weather, and the additional sunlight always puts me in a great mood. But it’s become so damn hot these days that it’s slowly shifted over into autumn. Plus, nothing beats the crisp autumn air and the beautiful colors. 😊

Continent where I live: North America.

How I spend my time: Most of my time is spent in front of a computer screen at work. Actually, that doesn’t just include work lmao -- it includes school, writing, and working on my game too. Unfortunately, because of how busy I am these days, I haven’t been able to dedicate much of my time to the latter two hobbies... but I don’t want to let my hectic life take those away from me entirely.

Are you published?: Nah. Maybe someday, but as of now, I write solely for fun.

Introvert or Extrovert: Shy introvert, to the extreme. It’s honestly a wonder I have any friends 🥰

Favourite Meal: I live for Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Chinese, Indian, Thai, and Mexican food and there are very few things from those cuisines that I will NOT eat. Having said that, the one food I have honestly never gotten tired of eating is sushi.

No pressure tags: If you see this, I tag you! I mean it when I say I genuinely want to read everyone’s answers.

#meet the writer tag #tag games #not my wordy ass never knowing when to shut the hell up #picrew

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crisispider · 1 year

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@oceansfirst the boys are being soft. [ cont. ]

GOD HE DOESN'T DESERVE HIM...

Peter knows it. Deep in his whole body and if he had any damn sense in his brain he would let Clint go.. let him go before he fucks this all up. (.. and his body ends up never found missing, never to see the light of day again. Was the black widow involved? WHO KNEW?? If it wasn't here it could be so many OTHER people who would come for vengeance.. rightfully so... what was he suppose to be doing again? RIGHT! CLINT! )

"m'sorry.." a muffled apology was really his only response to the ruining of book reading.

Today had been a HORRIBLE day, he was beyond exhausted.. every last muscle and bone ached in that EXCRUCIATING sort of way. (He was entirely sure he won't be able to move his back in a couple of hours, he's pretty sure it got fractured again.) Most of his smaller scrapes and bruises were starting to SLOWLY heal, and the rest would heal with time.. it was just the PROCESS that sucked.

Honestly if he really thought about it, his PAIN THRESHOLD at this point had to be something at least a little impressive, because he was entirely sure if he had been a squishy regular human.. he would have been DEAD. A fact that he... considers on whether or not he should tell Clint.

But before he really could even FULLY manage it, Clint was looking down at him with those BRIGHT BLUE EYES, and his thumb was running of his lips-

'hi pete'

Oh. Oh he can't breathe?? How the hell was he suppose to THINK if he couldn't even manage to BREATHE? He had been asked a question, and Clint was still talking, he was suppose to be paying attention. (He definitely wasn't.)

His mind was just CONSUMED with WHATEVER this feeling (It's love. he knows it is, he just can't say it.) that made his entire body ACHE in a way he had honestly never thought he would feel again. (and even then it was different then MJ, Clint is different... but it's that same INTENSE and TERRIFYING feeling that made him know he was in too deep all the same.)

FOCUS PARKER

What had felt like MINUTES had only been a matter of seconds, and the last bits he had missed finally REGISTERED in his tired brain. Peter was a little too eager to lift his head up (with Clint's aid) to kiss him, ignoring the EXCRUCIATING pain that shot out from his spine. (Had his small little intake of breath help to deepen the kiss that he was absolutely MELTING into? Possibly.)

There was only the smallest of whines when Clint finally pulled away, out of his reach. (His back was reaching the worst of it, his adrenaline all but gone and all that remained was the pain.. which should be more pressing but who could think about a FRACTURED spine when he had Clint?) He had just been getting ready to protest the loss of contact, but Clint had beaten him to it.

'How can I take care of you?'

There it is again. Shit. Oh he was definitely in way too deep, and there was no going back. But that was just the thing.. he didn't want to. Peter wanted to be here with Clint. He was at his most vulnerable and instead of going to his shitty little apartment to ride out the pain as it healed, but instead he had used the last bit of his strength to come HOME. (When had it become a PERSON again? why was he always the last to know?)

Peter was never good at being VULNERABLE.. but with Clint? oh it almost felt easy.. WEIRD. He was suppose to be answering the question, hew knew that but instead he found himself just staring up at Clint as if he was Peter's ENTIRE UNIVERSE, (Which arguably? He was half of it, the other belonging to Mayday.) and the urge to drag him down for another kiss had almost won out.

But Peter wanted to answer.. something told him that this was important. (they were often alike in so many ways.. and if he had been the one to ask.. well it would have been important to him.) So he managed a few breaths. (Mostly just trying to manage the pain that was REALLY determined to KILL the mood.)

"I.. um.. my spine, I think I fractured it and I just.. I was hoping I could lay with you here while it healed?" This was UNCHARTED TERRITORY for Peter, and he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it, but he was.. trying, god was he trying.

"You can keep reading if you want, I just.. wanna be with you.. if that's okay?" Okay, so maybe he couldn't fight off ALL of his insecurities, but he was making progress and that had to count for something right?

#oceansfirst #it's mel sobs about spiderhawk hours again #i have... not icons that are even remotely fitting the vibes so RIP #[ ◉¯] ✧˖° ♡ → There’s a little bit of loser in us. Being a loser with you doesn’t suck [ Clint || Oceansfirst ]

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

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I would love to hear more about clown reader's feral bodyguard, maybe this time it's at a fan meet but reader keeps going back to their bodyguard to give them water/ask if they're tired of standing/maybe even ask for a hug-

Also can i be 🦊 anon? It's not my first time (or last) sending an ask but I've never chosen an emoji before

When on the clock, your guard is like an brick wall. Glued to position behind you; towering over all the stray fans that swarm around you. It's how they were in their downtime as well, but you were able to get them to break a smile every once in a while. It was almost scary how dedicated to their job they were. They even moved into your neighborhood to be closer if you called. With little regard to their own well-being, you had to step up to take care of them yourself.

"Would you like some water?"

"No." Their lips barely move. You frown. "Ah, come on. We've been out here for like three hours. You have to tired from all that standing."

"I'm fine. My job to watch you, not lazy around." You roll your eyes. Subborn as ever, but you had a little trick to get them to bend to your wishes. "Hmmmm. Hug?"

You push yourself away from the table with your legs, holding your arms out to them and making a grabbing gesture. They finally glance your way.

"C'mon~ You know you wanna."

"God damn it." The guard drops their arms from over their chest and wraps them around you as they knee to your height. Careful to not use too much of their strength, they hold you as gently as possible. Their stiff muscles soften as you hug. As stone faced as they may be, your loyal guard was always a sucker for you at the end of the day.

You giggle to yourself"Such a pushover. Would you drink something if I gave it to you from mouth to mouth?"

".... You're not entitled to my answer for that question."

#Also hi welcome 🦊 anon happy to have ya #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #soft yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #🦊 anon

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supernovadragoncat · 2 years

Note

08. STRENGTH: COURAGE (What has been the hardest part of being a writer?)

10. WHEEL OF FORTUNE: A TURNING POINT (What was the turning point in your writing career?)

47. KNIGHT OF SWORDS: AMBITION (What is your loftiest, wildest goal?)

61. KNIGHT OF PENTACLES: ROUTINE (What is your writing routine?)

Hello love! Thank you so much for the ask. This was fun! ❤️

Tarot Writing Asks

08. STRENGTH: COURAGE (What has been the hardest part of being a writer?)

For me, it’s keeping a realistic perspective of my own writing abilities. In general, I think it’s hard to gauge one’s own writing. This is where critique partners and beta readers have been hugely helpful for me. As hard as it is to receive unvarnished--and sometimes brutally honest--feedback on your writing, I’ve grown tremendously as a writer because of it.

Now, it’s a matter of not lingering in the cycles of despair where I think, “I’m a talentless hack.” I don’t dwell in that headspace long, but I think everyone goes through those phases where you think your writing sucks. For me, it’s been helpful to step away from a project I’m working on long enough to get some perspective. I usually find that I'm not, in fact, a talentless hack.

10. WHEEL OF FORTUNE: A TURNING POINT (What was the turning point in your writing career?)

I think there’s been two major ones.

The first was when I realized that “Gods and Monsters” had moved from an epic fanfic to an original idea worth pursuing. That moment is immortalized in the work itself because there’s a chapter where the writing reflects that turning point. It was the point at which I decided to take writing that story seriously because I knew I’d eventually turn it into an original work.

The second turning point was when I stopped taking writing an original work seriously. This happened more recently, within the past year and a half or so. At that point, the Bloodlines manuscript was commercial but it lacked a soul. I’d focused so much of my effort on writing commercial fiction and positioning myself to “break into” the industry that the story lost its soul. I decided I wanted my story to have a soul. I stopped taking it all so seriously and spent a year and a half putting the soul back in. I don't care about the market anymore. I'll write how I want to write and people will either buy it or they won't. (ETA: by market I mean chasing trends and the mass market as an entity, not readers. I care very much about readers. The capitalist machine can fuck off though.)

47. KNIGHT OF SWORDS: AMBITION (What is your loftiest, wildest goal?)

Consistently writing novels for the rest of my life. I’ll never stop writing. I’ll also never write full-time (I know, never say never). I’ve found a nice balance between working a job I love by day and writing stories I love by night. I’m very, very fortunate to be able to do both. This is the sweet spot, so it’s perhaps not the loftiest of goals in terms of glamor but it’s lofty in terms of longevity.

61. KNIGHT OF PENTACLES: ROUTINE (What is your writing routine?)

I write consistently, pretty much every day. In doing so, I’ve disabused myself of the notion that the muse has to show up for me to write. She shows up whenever she damn-well pleases. The rest is up to me, so I write, edit, or plan every day. If I’m tired or not in the mood, I do at least thirty minutes. After thirty minutes, I can stop if I want to or keep going. I normally want to keep going.

Reading is a big part of the routine too. I firmly believe you can’t be a good writer if you’re not a reader too. My writing becomes stale and lifeless when my reading lags.

Thank you so much for the questions! ❤️

#on writing #ask away

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icherishyou · 10 months

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mon, 11 dec 2023

unbelievable!!! I haven't been journaling for 5 days.

I had to go to KDR on Friday and MDR-SBY on Sunday. somehow, I'm so tired right now. a lot to write but zero energy.

I have an interesting thing I found on Instagram this morning, related to my last question about why Allah put me in a condition where I have to deal with a guy who really wants me physically, mentally, and sexually (who calls me soft). on the other hand, my crush (who calls me weak) is in a relationship with someone else which still breaks my heart. then this certain post woke me up about how I was supposed to behave as a Muslimah.

I almost surrender towards #1 guy affection, but I'm falling into a condition where everything I see is a fine line where I don't get the edge between the good and bad ones. I really want to enjoy and explore everything while I'm young and free, as long as I don't break the core of the moral code I hold. but across to the side, my religious ass knows exactly that there is no such thing as 'not breaking moral code' while hanging out with a boy alone is already inappropriate in Islam. I have to choose, or sadly I wouldn't be able to choose because I'm just too naive.

sometimes I was just thinking maybe I'm just lonely, as what Hailey say in her song "we are not lover, we are just stranger, with the same damn hunger, to be touched, to be loved, to feel anything at all", which affects my ability to choose something that obviously wrong, and blur me towards something that perfectly a sin. then I realized, is this how Allah put me on the right track, by giving me a 'study case' and letting me conclude by myself? will I lose my sanity and give up all of my religious side if I'm dating too soon?

for many people out there, my post would sound so silly because how couldn't I recognize any compromising act of service from a guy who exactly likes me since the beginning? trust me, just thank Allah if you can see anything so easy between the light and dark. because even though my brain can, my heart will deny. sounds like I need purification oh Allah... and since I realize this, I insert a small phrase to my dua, asking Allah to always put me in His track only, and to give me strength for staying in my religious side.

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theramblinghockeydude · 1 year

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Quest to be the best me I can be

I have had a lot of time over the past few years to replay moments of life in my head where I could have done better. What areas in life do I need to be better and make a change to be a more well rounded human being. As a Christian I am not somebody who is going to force my beliefs and ways down your throat as I am a firm believer in letting your actions and life choices show that to others, and quite honestly I feel like more often than not I fail in that area. Do others see my faith through my actions and words? That is a question roaming around in my head a lot these days and in every instance of life the goal is to have that answer be a resounding...yes. Here are some things I do not like about myself that I am working on.

I have touched on this in other posts, so I won't go into detail much here other than to point out that it is something I don't like about myself and am working on. Being 100% honest and up front with people when I am struggling in life, whether that struggle is physical or mental in nature. I need to stop running away and hiding and just be honest with people. Something I really wish I had figured out much earlier in life, would have saved me a lot of grief and maybe even a couple of broken friendships that I would love to be able to mend.

Captain Obvious is now going to join this post as the next thing I am trying to work on more...well, really just continue to work on and maybe figure out how to make changes that stick, is this damn weight thing. It has been a struggle of mine for as long as I can remember in life. Growing up and all through High School and College it bothered me because I wasn't lazy and I wasn't somebody that ate a ton, not any more than others I knew who could stay slim. I was active in those years, couldn't really stand being still and not doing something. I get the weight gain after college as I was less active, not from being lazy (can you tell that I really got tired of hearing that?) as I was as active as I could be, but it was harder because the friends that kept you active had, for the most part, moved away and so finding ways to keep active became harder. I won't lie, when I got out on my own my eating habits were not the best in the sense that I didn't eat the best foods and there were a lot of late night pizza deliveries, so I got the weight gain at that point, didn't like it, but got it. This is about the time when my handy little way of dealing with stress and unhappiness became using food as a comfort. Horrible habit to develop and one that I wish I had seen back then and could have taken it head on before it came the default response. I did make some changes back in 2010/2011 that worked great and I had lost about 50-60 lbs in a years time. Eating better, no more late night pizza delivery, a lot less soda and getting out and enjoying photography and rock hounding. All was going so well until my knees started to give out on me and I got out less and less and started to rely on fast foods more. So, here I am not, at a point where I know that if I lost some weight it would help with my mobility, wouldn't solve my issues, but make things a bit easier for me. So, now I am trying to eat better and snack less and trying to find other ways to deal with anxiety and stress. Finding ways to be active with my current situation is quite a challenge, but we are trying a little day by day to get strength built up to hopefully make that easier as well. I often wonder to myself...what would life be like to not think every single day of your life about losing weight? I will probably never know that feeling as this has been a life long thing and I just don't see it going away, but I have to do what I can at this point to lessen the impact it has on me.

I am working on not having negative thoughts or saying bad things in situations where I am not in agreement with somebody or don't share their views or in situations where you just have those people that are not your cup of tea for whatever reason. What it really comes down to for me is, why? What do I gain in these situations? Nothing, I actually end up feeling bad later on and wishing I had just kept my mouth shut. There are so many instances in life where we could/should just walk away from a situation without comment, but for some reason simply don't. If somebody is not my cup of tea, oh well, that is life and just move on, no need to harbor bad thoughts about the person. Judgement is not mine. Follow the words of Elsa and just let it go, move on.

I am working on being there for others when they are in need. I feel like my current situation affords me a ton of time and energy to give to others, and I have always been somebody who likes to help others. I by no means have all the answers to life, but one thing I feel like I am good at is simply listening with a compassionate and empathetic heart. This world can definitely leave us feeling anxious, stressed, alone and unsure and I feel that we need to stick together and help one another through and be there for each other, no matter what. I feel like too often we are hesitant to reach out to somebody who may need help because 1) we feel like maybe they are just looking for attention and we don't want to be made a fool and 2) they may be somebody who we disagree with on certain things in life or they may not have the same views as we do. I don't want either of these to ever stop me from reaching out and helping a fellow human, because, at the end of the day, we are in this together whether we like it or not and we need each other to get by in this crazy world. The only true thing that should stop you from helping another is if they cheer for the Bizon, then all bets are off...run for the hills. Sorry, couldn't resist tossing that in there and it just felt like a good place. I still love all my Bizon lovers out there, just as I love those that think Trump is a good dude and actually cares about them. I can differ with somebody on that opinion, but still at the end of the day be there for them if they need, that is my point, don't let petty things keep you from one another.

The thing I probably like about myself least is that I easily get caught up in negative talk. I can be in a conversation and somebody might be talking poorly about somebody that I have absolutely no beef with or ill thoughts about at all, but suddenly I find myself joining in only to feel sick about it later and wish I had just kept my mouth shut and simply left the conversation. I will say that I have made great strides in this area once I realized that it was something I was susceptible to, but I every great now and again it creeps it's way back in.

A constant work in progress, that is what I am. The goal it to be a little bit better today than I was yesterday and to live life without judgement and ill feelings towards others. Those feelings take up too much valuable space in our minds, space that could be used for so many better things. I think for each of us, the hard part is doing the inventory of our thoughts and actions to see where improvement is needed as it is hard to admit when you are being a crappy human being, good news is that it is never too late to change.

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tntky · 2 years

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At the end of the day, we are only universe dust.

Yo !

It’s been a while, I know. And it is probably due to the fact that I am on my period and therefore my monthly mental breakdown guided by the masochism of this patriarchal society is scheduled for right now! Oh, oh, someone is one getting worse over the years...

Hi everyone from the little imaginary world inside my head, hello to the hidden camera audience watching my illusory daily life! What’s new? Well, we survived so far. Tomorrow, I have a shitty exam that I have as a resit and it’s driving me crazy because I’m already picturing the stupidly simple questions that requires logical answers with some technical terms that I could have handled perfectly last year if I didn’t miss the whole point of it back then due to lack of focus.

My unhealthy state of mind is still relevant to last year though, it is just that there are days when it gets the best of me and others when it is manageable. This feeling of seeing yourself from other's point of view like you’re just a failure to society is horrible. The glue stick, the nobody. And when you try to get your shit back together, you try to regain control of how you manage to spend your time, how to get better at expressing your emotions etc. That’s usually when the worst thing finds a way to come back into your life. Begging you to go through the unhealed trauma all other again.

This feels like you’re literally pealing yourself like a banana, except you’re tearing off your borderline skin, to get back on the right track. I need to learn to fix my fucking boundaries. I am so fucking tired of not being independent of my own self. Anyway, for now we will still have to hold on for a few more months in order to finish our damn exams... and then we will at least be free to no longer work in this same shitty society and stick to those awful school routines that are boring.

I have to learn to listen to myself, I have to learn to listen to my body, to do what makes me happy, even if it means to be ridiculous to others. I need to take back the control of my emotions, to release my thinking brain stuck in driving mode. I am not a machine, I am a human being with emotions, and I must not let things that could possibly harm me happen. I have to take care of little me and picture her with a smile on her lips and her four teeth who is still full of joy and innocence and ask myself, what would she think of you? And what about of all the dreams she had. There is nothing stupid about having ambitions such as just going for a run alone, being able to take the car and go for a ride, sit down in public and eat something near a waterfront while listening to music - without having sweating hands or shaking my whole body. I am not going to get stuck on the same speeches year after year, come on.

We are getting started. We’re going it, now. Whatever scares us, it’ll do and, we will do it when we decide to do it, you know, for it's useless to force yourself on days where you feel really low. But believe in you as your own safe place. You don’t need others to encourage you or give you the strength, to tell you it's going to be fine or that what you do is okay. Fuck that, you know your worth and if you want something, and your body feels right about it, then do it. At the end of the day, we are only universe dust.

You are not in competition with anyone but yourself. SO, TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND ACTION.

#mental health check in #getting better #healingjourney #self reflection

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passerine-writes · 1 year

Text

Silent Sparks - Volt 31

Warnings: Medical stuff and mentions of drug use Word count: 2712

Notes: Italics - Tsukare signing Bold italics - Family member/friend signing 'Italics with apostrophes' - Thoughts

Masterlist

Volt 30 | Volt 32

"I will have to ask that only the father comes into my office, per HIPAA regulations." We all glared at the doctor, unamused at her insinuation.

"We're married and he's our kid, so we'll both be in there, lady." The doctor stared at us in shock and slowly nodded, opening the door for all of us to go in and sit.

"Very well. Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Doctor Kurotani, I'm the one who performed your surgery yesterday." I nodded in acknowledgement, just wanting to be done with this hospital stay as soon as possible. "Yesterday, we had to performed emergency surgery upon your arrival. The throwing knife in your side punctured your stomach, it's a good thing you kept it in there or else you likely would have bled out. You also have some minor punctures and lacerations across your lower stomach and back from the Nomu picking you up. In total, we've given you over fifty stitches and have you on a slow drip of pain killers in your IV." I nodded, slowly absorbing the information. "I do have some questions for you, but do you have any questions for me first?" I picked at my fingertips nervously, not enjoying how close she was watching me.

How long am I on bed rest for?

"I'll leave that to Recovery Girl, I understand you are quite close with her so once you get home and see her I'll let her decide on that." I let out a breath and nodded, grateful that it wouldn't be a long time.

What pain killer do you have me on?

Her eyebrows furled together in curiosity.

"We've placed you on a slow drip of dilaudid." My parents and I sprung up at the news, Pops having to stop me from scrambling to get the IV out of my arm.

"We were told he was placed on high strength ibuprofen." I saw Dad say as he glowered at the doctor.

"Originally he was, yes. However after surgery, we saw that his body was still in distress, so we switched him to something stronger. I know there is some stigma with opioids, but I can assure you it's being safely administered and monitored." Dad used his quirk on Pops as he started yelling.

"You haven't even read his damn chart! He was born addicted to opioids! We've purposely never given him anything stronger than NSAID's or Acetaminophen!" The doctor paled at this and quickly rushed around to stop the IV.

"I am so sorry, I'll switch him back over to Naproxen immediately. Sometimes details get lost when files are switched from hospitals. Again, I am so sorry." I felt two seconds away from ripping the needle out of my arm.

Is there any special treatment or recovery plan after this? She raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting a child to ask her that.

"Yes but it's fairly simple, it mostly comes down to you eating... and now, withdrawal. Until Recovery Girl gives you the go ahead, I would like for you to only be eating soft foods and liquids." I sighed and slumped a bit. I hated liquid diets. "Anything else?" I shook my head, moving to prop my head up on my fist with the arm that didn't have the IV in it. "Alright then, as I mentioned, I do have a few questions for you as well. I noticed that you have quite the array of scars on your body, are any-"

You already know from reading my file, please don't even start with those questions. I've been asked them too many times. You know what the latest ones are from, you know what the ones on my arms are from and you know what the rest are from. All of the information is accurate, so please don't ask. I'm not trying to come off as rude, but you should be able to understand why I'm tired of receiving those questions.

Dad interpreted for me the entire time, my parents looking at me sympathetically. The doctor however, was looking at me appalled.

"Very well, uh Mr. Aizawa and Mr. Yamada, is it? I would like to set up and appointment with our-"

"Not happening." Dad cut her off this time. "I don't care if you advise that we do, you can give us an AMA to sign if you'd like. He is not speaking to your psychiatrist or going there." She sighed again and shook her head, still in disbelief.

"Alright. Anything else today?" I nodded my head and she bit back a sigh, gesturing for me to speak.

When can I go home? And do you know why my hearing has been getting worse?

What do you mean it's been getting worse? Pops asked me, Dad telling Doctor Kurotani to wait a moment before turning back to me.

I thought it was just a temporary thing after the car crash so I didn't even really notice it. But when we were talking to Tsuragamae it sounded kinda faded. Even now.

"Doctor, we'd like to have a consultation with your audiologist. His hearing is getting worse." She nodded quickly at Pops' rushed words and grabbed the phone. Few words were exchanged before she hung up and a few minutes later, a man who looked to be in his mid thirties walked through the door.

"Hi, it's a pleasure to meet you all, I'm the audiologist on call. I'm Doctor Rikuta, would you like to come to my office?" His words sounded distant, my ability to read lips saving my ass. All I could do was stare in shock.

'I saved his son three days ago.'

Dad pushed my wheelchair this time, Pops slowly becoming more nervous. I didn't fault him for his concerns, he's had the same scare himself.

We entered an office with a few small pieces of equipment and plenty of decoration. It was a lot warmed than Doctor Kurotani's office, comfortable and welcoming.

"I hope you three don't mind the abrupt change of scenery. What's seems to be the issue today?" The doctor quieted for a moment, looking at my file before looking back at me. "Tsukare, also known as Sonus?" I slowly nodded, not expecting him to put it together so quick. "You.. you saved my son several days ago." He stood up and bowed, my parents and I watching in disbelief. "Thank you." I nodded once, still in shock at how small of a world it is. "Back to the matter at hand, when did this start?"

Can one of you interpret for me again? My throat is still sore. Dad nodded, briefly explaining to Doctor Rikuta before gesturing for me to explain. It started after the crash, the explosion knocked out my hearing and it's just been dull, like putting pillows over your ears. I didn't think much of it because it was a loud explosion, temporary noise induced hearing loss and tinnitus is normal. But it started getting worse today, I can't hear as much. If I don't really focus, then it's like having the TV on low, you can tell it's on but it's background noise. The main thing helping me is reading lips and sign language.

Doctor Rikuta stood up abruptly and asked us to follow him, we went down one door to what looked to be an examination room. Plenty of equipment sat strewn around inside the four walls.

"Okay, we're going to do a basic hearing test like you would get in elementary school. Raise your left hand if you hear the beep on the left and your right if you hear it on the right." I nodded and put the headphones on, taking a deep breath to ready myself for the results.

About a minute and a half in, I finally heard a low pitched beep on my right side. Almost a minute after I heard it on my left. After those two, I could consistently hear tiny, distant pitches of noise but I couldn't tell which side they were on, so I raised both hands.

After five minutes, Pops reached over and took the headphones off of me. A solemn look on everyone's faces.

Not good, huh?

My parents shook their heads and I looked back to the doctor.

"Okay, just a few more things to find the cause. Is it alright if I look in your ears really quick?" I nodded and held onto Pops hand, trying to settle my nerves about someone being in my blind spot but knowing my parents were here relaxed me some. He slowly guided his otoscope into my ear, the speculum feeling weird and making me scrunch my eyes.

After a minute of him closely looking, he went to my left ear before coming back around to the front of us.

What's the verdict? Not good?

Doctor Rikuta solemnly chuckled and looked at me.

"Tsukare, this isn't going to be easy to digest. Mr. Aizawa, Mr. Yamada, it won't be easy for either of you as well. Tsukare, you have noise induced hearing loss, but it is not temporary. You have scarring on your eardrum and permanent damage to your cochlea. Right now, my estimate is you have about forty percent of your hearing remaining. I worry that if you are exposed to even one or two more grand scale, close proximity explosions, you'll become completely deaf." I took a deep breath and slowly nodded. "The most common and effective option is hearing aids if you and your parents are open for that option. I'll give you a few minutes to discuss what you would like to do." He stood and bowed before walking out the door. I sat there in shock for a minute, the reality of it still setting it.

Little listener, what do you want to do?

I don't know. I knew I would gradually lose my hearing because of my quirk but now it happened a lot faster then I was prepared for.

You don't have to decide right now, Onryo. If you'd like, you can take a few days and we can meet with someone back at home if you decide to chose hearing aids.

I nodded at my Dads suggestion, agreeing with him on it. I knew I would go with them in the long run but right now everything was too much.

After letting Doctor Rikuta know that we decided to wait, my parents wheeled me back to my room, Todoroki, Midoriya and Iida all laughing about something.

"Welcome back, Tsukare. Mr. Aizawa, Present Mic, hello." Iida greeted us and I sent him a weak smile.

Onryo, Pops and I are going to go back to the hotel for the night. We'll call your brother and fill him in on what happened, he's staying with Nemuri currently. Just so you know, Iida and Todoroki know about Sunshine being your other father. It's okay, we decided they could be trusted with it.

Okay, I love you both. I'll call you later to say goodnight.

We love you too.

My parents soon left and I got as comfortable as I could under the blankets.

"Is everything okay, Tsukare?" Midoriya asked me and I nodded, chugging some of my water to help sooth my throat.

"I got my test results after meeting with the audiologist." Midoriya's eyebrows shot up and he looked worried. "After the car incident a few days ago and what I'm assuming as other outside factors like the nature of my quirk, I've lost about sixty percent of my hearing." The room fell silent but I couldn't tell if that was just me or not until I didn't see any lips moving. "Best option is hearing aids. I might get fitted for them when we get back home."

"I'm sorry to hear that Tsukare." I waved him off and settled back into my pillows some more.

"Don't apologize, it was bound to happen. I just wasn't expecting it to be so soon." I felt Midoriya's eyes on me and I turned to him.

It's okay, really.

Still, I'm worried about you. You've been worried about this for a while.

Midoriya, I'm alright. It was bound to happen.

I gave him a small smile and looked back to see Todoroki talking.

"Sorry, what'd you say?" He blinked once before the realization dawned on him.

"I'm sorry, it's quite an adjustment already. I was telling you that your hospital phone has been ringing for a moment now." I couldn't stifle my laughter at the irony of getting a phone call.

"Iida, would you mind answering it for me?" I paused for a moment before laughing even harder. "I'm so sorry, I forgot about your arms." I laughed even harder, clenching my stomach in pain. "'Roki?" He nodded and walked over to my bed, answering the phone.

"Hello, this is Todoroki, you've reached Tsukare's phone." His eyebrows cinched together before he looked at me. "You have a visitor, her name is Tsukare Shiroka." I frantically shook my head and he nodded once. "Tsukare isn't accepting visitors at the moment." He nodded once more and hung up the phone. "Are you alright?" I nodded and took a deep breath.

Midoriya? Can you call my dad and tell him Shiroka's trying to come up here?

He mumbled something I couldn't catch and took my phone that I outstretched to him. He stepped out into the hall and Todoroki offered me a glass of water which I gratefully accepted. I looked up fearfully when Midoriya came back in and handed me my phone.

Your dads are on their way, do you need anything?

Can you get a doctor in here for my meds? I'm a few hours late to taking them and my drip has to get switched.

He nodded and left to grab a nurse, a small nurse who reminded me of his mother trailing behind him and into the room.

"-ukare, what seems to be the issue?" I scratched my neck as I contemplated on telling her I need her to fully look at me but thankfully Todoroki beat me to the punch.

"Miss, you have to look in his direction when you talk so he can read your lips." She paused for a moment but nodded and turned to fully face me, repeating her question.

"I was supposed to take my medication a few hours ago but I haven't yet. I was wondering if I could get them now. And if my drip could get changed out to Naproxen like the doctor ordered." She pulled out my chart and looked through the pages.

"Would you mind telling me what you're on so I can check with the chart?" I sighed and nodded, rattling off my cocktail of prescriptions. Her eyes widened in shock again but she nodded and told me she would be back with them soon, which thankfully she was. I swallowed all the colorful tablets in one go, trying to ignore the twisting and turning in my stomach from the lack of food but I ignored it. "I'll be right back for your IV dear, I'm getting paged to the front desk for you." I nodded and fiddled with my fingers anxiously. I hated this feeling of helplessness. It felt suffocating.

A cold hand gently touched my forearm and I looked up at Todoroki.

"Are you alright, Tsukare?" I nodded once and bit back any tears.

"Yeah, I'm okay." He gave me a look of disbelief but didn't push for answers.

The nurse came back in shortly after and started opening the wheelchair again.

"Tsukare, your parents are signing you out early to receive care back at home. We've already given them your belongings. Are you ready to go home?" I nodded and said my goodbyes to my friends, content with going home and being with my family. Todoroki helped me into the chair and the nurse wheeled me down the hall to my parents who stood anxiously at the desk. Thankfully, Shiroka was nowhere in sight and my parents were ready to hightail it out of here.

Let's go home, little listener.

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bemylord · 3 years

Text

being their girlfriend/dating them

or they're as your boyfriend

character: sukuna, itadori, nanami, satoru, megumi.

warnings: fluff to smut hdc, curse words, kinda rough and soft boys + sukuna.

note: or they're as your boyfriend/dating them

ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ

i don't think he'd call it relationship or love. just the bond that binding you're together. he also doesn't talkative a lot, he prefers to show you his feelings in actions.

as long as itadori is searching fingers, you'll exist in his domain, being the slave and queen in one time. he'd praising and teach you new techniques, but also may use your body as he wants it.

praising to the degradation - generally, nothing new. if you had been bad either you did something on purpose, there will be no mercy for your body and throat - the king knows the way to punish you.

the cute thing is when you are exhausted from the little practice sukuna does in his small domain: breath had been taken away and your body is sweating. all you want is a little break to catch your breath. despite his selfish and demolished nature, he gives you some time in his lap to debilitate your sluggish body. your arms are wrapping around sukuna's neck by accident - it may seem he doesn't give a damn about it, but he pulls you by the waist, put your head on his athletic chest, and have you in arms 'till you'll wake up.

'you are too weak, brat, more energy, put more fury on me, or did you forgotten that i'm the fucking king of this world?' he laughed, knocking off your attacks. he's got a god complex and perfection. 'i'm getting stronger each second, sukuna, don't make yourself as a god'

you are the one he lets talk like that. being tremendously gentle with you is hard for him - he still being rough and could inflict damage, although, after pain, the king will take affection aftercare. but don't think he would murmur some sweat stuff in your ears, just spooning you is enough.

ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ

master of the aftercare. sensei of the smooch and teacher of how to cuddle a person. he's good at those things. you never complain of how warm and strong satoru's arms wrapping your waist and his lips are kissing the back of your neck. after rough sex gojo would make an apology with soft kisses all over your figure.

cute fights in the kitchen while cooking. satoru is very needy and sometimes, he could be clingy for your attention, trying to get it whenever he wants to feel your body. even fight doesn't stop him - gojo would fight back and hitting on you.

show everyone that you're taken by him by marks he left on your soft skin last night. satoru would give you an order to dressing a shirt which will show his label on your body - wanna get a punishment? disobey the order; sure, later, you will regret it. however, it will be somewhere in the future, so you do mind disobey him?

whisper on his ear how long you've been craving for his fat dick in your dripping pussy and satoru would stop everything he did later, just to bury his cock deep into you, feeling the outlining of his member in your stomach. it's driving him insane when his fat dick rearranging your insides. no words could describe emotions in his soul when you're scratching his back whilst satoru is doing the pulsative movements inside you. 'does it feel good, kitten, doesn't it? feeling my cock in your little tummy, my god.. put your hand on the lower abs to perceive it' 'satoru~, i-i won't take any longer, give me that~' how could he disobey the order of his little angel?

gojo would degrade you only you've got the bad attitude. at other times - you may hear as he repeats the words 'you're so fucking amazing, kitten' he's hazing at the throbbing feeling in his cock you've been giving him.

ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ ʏᴜᴊɪ

he's so much loves to play games and dancing with you when he has the time to do that - you'll play all games he bought for those evenings when both of you are playing fools and being kids. he may act like a kid around you, but trust me, he isn't good while railing you.

there's no door named exit while he's eating your out. yuji will apologize for not being close when you want to cuddle him or smack your lips against his. his apologies are mostly his head between your legs and his fingers in your cunt, stretching your walls, preparing you for the night. he makes sure you're enough dripping for his throbbing cock. it gives me a vibe that he'll overstimulated your little clit only with his tongue.

having you in missionary position, leaving the half-moon on your hips, unquenchably fucking your overdose cunt filled up with your juices. but you know itadori adores when you're squirting on his dick, shuddering while giving the huge release. 'that's right, beautiful, give your daddy all juices you've got' his words make you squirt one more time when he's finishing on your chest. quick series of spanking on your cunt and you're melting definitively by him.

but most of the time, you're both doing silly stuff that bothering megumi a lot. actually, you've got a game 'who's bothered megumi first'. it's fun to watch how he's activating shikigami dogs. you're idiots, although happy idiots.

ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ

daddy issues. daddy vibes and daddy chill. you've got no choice but to obey every order he told you to do. no way to escape and no way not being fucked to him if you did have time to do his tasks. his big and strong hands pulling your hair back, so you arch your back, feeling his breath in your ear. scream as loud as you can, 'till you reach the high note you could - he won't stop it.

sweat aftercare in the shower where nanami is washing your hair for you, also massaging your shoulders and kissing your stomach sort of excuses for being too extremely rough with you. but you knew he won't be soft, the language of his sex life is rough and painful. but the aftercare is worth having bruises the next morning around your neck.

nanami is an obsessive and dominant lover, he would mark you as his baby girl, his property, and the woman he's seeing his future with. even if you've got powerful and strong abilities nanami still doesn't allow you to battle the curse. think whatever you want to - he doesn't like the thought of having your dead body in his arms. he doesn't like the thought his small girl would have injuries from the demon.

nanami will show his love in action rather than words. you've got an unspoken rule to kiss your partner when they're tired of the work or giving a good morning/goodnight kiss. even if you're sleeping, nanami kisses your forehead before going to work. nothing could stop him from the morning kiss. you baked warm goods before he returns from the office or battle tired and having no strength. he fucking loves your baked bun.

after work, you make a warm bath for him, where he can loosen his body, burying his face in your hair. 'sweetie, i love you so much, so-so-so much. with you i can enervate myself and get lost in your smell, wrapping arms around your waist, feeling like it's my private heaven'

ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ

i've got a feeling he'd be an overprotective boyfriend. doesn't leave you alone with itadori for the reason he's a vessel for sukuna - don't treat him weird, he trusts itadori, but not sukuna. doesn't like when you interrupting his battle using your abilities because it's making him think about implications.

doesn't show his affection among other students because doesn't like being called a clingy or needy puppy. nevertheless, pulling you closer by your waist to show everyone to fuck away from you. megumi would not hesitate to kiss you with a tongue in front of the students to show them you're taken and your man is crazy.

megumi is more like a homeboy. every time you're alone or having time to spend together, you'll be stuck in his arms 'till you both need to go back to the sorcerer-life. cuddling and smooching are his life - in the bathroom, while you're cooking, watching tv-shows, he's arms around your body, therefore megumi is telling sweet nothings in your ear.

sex life with megumi? complicated question. would be bad and good simultaneously. i still have a thought he'd tied you up and use a flogger on your booty for spanking and preparing your pussy for his dick - it was passed on by his genes [wtf his father omg]. makes you squirt a couple of times, also makes you beg for his fat cock before pull it inside unexpectedly. using a collar with a chain to arch your back 'till it crunches and you moaned because megumi literally choking you.

only god knows how much megumi has kinks for you. how much energy he has to rail you all night and be able to continue that after the sun is illumining the room. 'you're dirty little slut, the rays of the sun in our room, and you still have the energy to squirt' degrading you during coitus and praising you in his muscular arms after.

//~~//

fuck. i was planning to post kuroo x reader x kenma but i deleted my work [by fucking accident i hate myself] that i had been writing since morning. sooo, I'll post it tomorrow. so sorry for the grammar mistake i was writing it on my phone.

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