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celestie0 · 3 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch4. in a mother’s eyes

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 4/x

ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)

a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((

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“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”

You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue.

Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.

“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders.

The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.

You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.

But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.

It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.

“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”

You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”

“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”

You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”

She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”

You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”

“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”

You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.

Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.

“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.

You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.

The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.

Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.

When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.

The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”

“Card.”

Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”

The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”

The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.

“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.

You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.

“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.

“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.

And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”

Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”

“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”

She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”

You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them.

“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.

She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.

You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.

When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.

The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied.

The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.

It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.

With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you.

Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?

The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.

Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come.

You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed.

But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?

By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.

Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too.

There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.

i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D

A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.

The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that.

The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.

You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.

On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.

Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes.

You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict.

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—

A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.

You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day.

You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.

“I—” you stutter.

He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”

“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly.

“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”

He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.”

You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them.

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute.

You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together.

You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”

“Huh. I see,” he says.

Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.

“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”

You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.

“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”

You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”

He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path.

“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy.

“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”

He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side.

“Just answer me.”

He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”

You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.

“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds.

You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place.

“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”

A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.

“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”

You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.

He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”

You blink up at him with no commentary to add.

He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one.

He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.

You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight.

He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.

The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You’re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.

“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.

His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”

Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too.

“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.

“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”

“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.

He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”

Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.

You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his.

“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”

You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too.

You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it.

“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.

Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.

The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.

The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.

“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around.

Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.

“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”

“Huh?”

“What’s her room number?” he asks you.

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”

You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”

“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”

You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.

“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight.

“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.

Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason.

Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion.

“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.

Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now.

“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.

“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt.

Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”

The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”

Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm.

Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face.

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.”

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat.

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you.

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days.

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world.

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore.

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet.

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry.

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

➸ take me to chapter five!

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tbaluver · 3 months ago

Note

Can I request how would each of the L&DS men roleplay for spicy times with the reader pretty please? 🙏🏼 Like, would they go for a Hero/Damsel in distress scenario, a Bandit/Captured princess thing or any other fun trope you can come up with?

Roleplay With Them- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre/ tags/ warnings: MDNI, 18+, suggestive content, all will be tagged below, with each small fic a/n: hihi anonnie ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ sorry this took a while and i'm so srry in advance for what ur about to read idk if i did this justice, some is giving roleplay while some is not. most of these are teasers for my upcoming fics but i do NOT promise you all that these will be good so lmk if you want to be tagged or if you want them to be published on any one of these or all (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ i hope you enjoy reading! any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Rescuer! Xavier x Damsel in distress! Reader

He saves you after a dangerous mission and you must repay him back.

tags: xavier receiving

“No. I must repay you, my hero.” Your hand snakes down to unbutton and unzip his pants before you’re helping him remove his shirt.

“And how do you intend on doing that?” He tilts his head, curiosity sparkling in his eyes while a sly smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.

You kiss down lower and lower, making sure to leave marks of your trail. You take your sweet time on his lower abdomen, your tongue tracing the lines of his abs while your hands work on slowly pulling his boxers off.

His cock springs up, begging to be finally freed with a bit of precum leaking from it. You lean in, kissing his tip softly, earning a twitch from his cock. His breath hitches, closing his eyes when your tongue traces along the underside of his cock.

────୨ৎ────

Prince! Xavier x Princess! Reader

After your question about his life in the kingdom, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He’s thought of the idea of you being his queen by his side, in the kingdom he was supposed to rule. So he decides to show you what it was like to treat and fuck you like the royalty like you deserve.

tags: aphrodisiac used

You can’t quite wrap your head around how he managed to acquire this drink or drug after his long journey to finally find you. But that thought fades away as he gently tilts your head, letting a drop of the liquid linger on your tongue before dropping the same dose of the liquid on his.

“They’ve told me that when you find someone you love, you try this with them. I’m glad to finally experience this with you, my princess.” He sets the dropper down on the nightstand, leaning in to kiss your knuckles gently. He grins softly, slowly getting drunk from the liquid.

It didn’t take long for both of your senses to sharpen and the aphrodisiac washed over your system. Your bodies were aching and yearning for each other’s touch, tearing and feeling each other up.

With quick haste, he clumsily unwraps his robe and helps you remove your slip dress. His mouth finds you again as you whine against his lips. Wet sounds of your lips crushing on his as your tongues melted in this heated exchange.

None of you break contact as he tugs his boxers down his legs, the sight of his cock throbbing in full view. His girth looks desperate and in pain and you’re taking it in your before guiding it into your crying cunt.

────୨ৎ────

Lumiere! Xavier x Reader

This will only be a one time thing between you two.

tags: Rough, jealous sex, Lumiere mask on Xavier beefing with himself

He remembers the way you look at Lumiere. The way your eyes lit up and your mouth curled up over just the thought of him. He hated it. But now with you naked beneath him as he thrusts into you deeper and deeper with his Lumiere mask on, he has to know who you wanted more. Lumiere or Xavier?

Your cunt clenches down tightly and your hands grips his shirt as you squeeze your eyes shut. The bed frame creaks. The sound of his skin slapping with yours bounced off the walls with each merciless thrust makes you see stars dance across your vision. Xavier panted heavily on top of you while the slap of wet skin to skin and the shameful squelch of your cunt accepted him, only him, Xavier.

“x-xavier...!”

He wasn't making it very easy for you. His hands find solitude on the wooden frame for support, his knuckles turning white as he grips it as his hips rock with more depth. His cock hits against your cervix, kissing and caressing the spongy walls.

“Y-You were so happy to see Lumiere, yet you call out my name.” He stammered, struggling to regain his composure, whatever was left of it. His mask hid most of his expression, yet you can see it all through his eyes and his parted lips.

“Who do you like more,” He clenches his jaw, shooting you a sharp look at your disheveled state. “Me or Lumiere?”

────୨ৎ────

Food Play

The only time one of you don't blow up the kitchen but he blows his seed in you.

tags: use of whip cream, xavier sucking ur tits

“Xavier, do you want some?” Tilting your head back while your finger pressing down on the nozzle to spray cream into your mouth.

You sit down beside him, adjusting his head on your lap. He opens his mouth as you press your finger on the nozzle to spray cream into your mouth, some of it excessively dripping down his chin.

“You did that on purpose,” He pouts, using his thumb to swipe away the excess whip cream and licking it off. You giggle, offering a playful apology. “My turn,” He says, sitting up, a mischievous glint plays in his eyes.

You tilt your head slightly, letting him spray the whip cream into your mouth. And of course he got pay back as he excessively sprays it down, the whip cream dripping to your chin and lower to your chest.

You giggle, licking it off your lips. “You’ve got some here.” He says softly, swiping the whip cream with his thumb and placing it on your lips. He watches you take his thumb in, your tongue purposely swirling and sucking in the remains of it, not breaking eye contact with him.

His breath hitches when he watches you swallow. “You’ve also got some here too.” He leans in lower to your chest, licking off the remains of the whip cream but he has other plans. He purposely glides his tongue lower and lower while pushing you down gently on the couch.

Zayne:

Doctor! Zayne x patient! Reader

Zayne always remains professional when working with his patients, however when it comes to you he tries, key word try, to keep it professional when his lover visits for a checkup or just a visit in general. Yet each visit is always tempting as the last and escalates to something more unethical in his office.

This type of roleplay can happen in your home. Using this type of roleplay to get your occasional personal checkup with your lover in your shared bedroom.

tags: p in v

“Hi Doc-tor,” You say, knocking lightly on the door while leaning against the door frame. Zayne glances up from his patient report, his attention instantly drawn to that familiar voice. A small smile curls at the corners of his lips as he takes in the sight of you. You step inside, making sure to close and lock the door behind you.

“What brings you here?” He asks, setting his pen down and rising from his seat to greet you properly.

“I miss you and,” you reply, pouting playfully as you step into his embrace. He wraps his arms around you, the scent of your lover flooding your nostrils.

“And?” His brow arches, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Doctor Zayne, I’m not feeling well,” You sounded so innocent, so much worry laced in your words that he knew something was up the moment he heard you by his door. He plays along after missing you during these past few hours. The night before still lingering from his mind.

“And what seems to be the issue?” he asks, attempting to maintain a serious tone but you both know that his composure will soon crumble from just a simple touch from you.

“I need some vitamin U,” You say with a sheepish grin yet your mischievous fingers say otherwise as you toy with the lapel of his white coat. He chuckles, leaning in closer, “If that’s the case, I’ll make sure to give you a daily dose.”

The top of your blouse unbuttoned to expose your breasts, peeking under your bra that had been pushed up. Your skirt pulled up to your hips to have your lower half completely exposed as you bounced on the lap of your lover.

Incoherent whimpers escape from your lips as you feel your climax rapidly approaching you. You both knew it wasn’t appropriate to leave the hospital to get fucked in the chief surgeon’s office, yet here you both were.

“Z-Zayne-!” You cried as his cock hit a special spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling back. His large palms grip your ass, guiding you up and down on his length. He hushes you, his breath warm against your neck, “We wouldn’t want the others overhearing you getting this special treatment, now would we?”

“Are you close, my love?” He whispers, adding pressure to your nipples to stimulate your orgasm to come faster and harder. You whimper, arching your back as he continues to pound into your cunt, eager to meet his own release with yours.

────୨ৎ────

Patient! Zayne x Doctor! Reader

It was a long and exhausting shift for him. what’s a better way to come home to his lovely partner to come take care of him and his needs?

He's practically melting in your touch the moment he gets home, letting you do whatever you want too him, just please don't tease him.

tags: zayne receiving

“Luckily for you, I have the perfect medicine for that,” You grin mischievously, removing yourself from his lap while his hands instinctively reach for you, sliding away as if he already missed your touch.

He quirked a brow, eyeing your movement. “And what do you plan to do, doc-tor?” Drawing out the last word with a teasing whisper.

“Just sit back,” You slip between his legs, his legs opening to welcome you. You reached for his belt, unbuckling them before unbuttoning his pants. He lets out a breathy chuckle, lifting his hips to allow you to pull them down. “and let me take care of you.”

You looked so pretty kneeling in front of him, your hand pumping the base of his cock while you tried your best to fit the rest of his length inside of your mouth. His tip hits the back of your throat, earning an embarrassing whine escaping his lips.

Your hand starts stroking his cock faster, and he could feel you switch from darting your tongue across his leaking slit to closing your lips around his tip and sucking to your heart’s content. Your pacing was quickening and his knuckles were turning white as he fists onto the cushions of the couch for his dear life.

────୨ৎ────

Cooking/ Baking Role Play

Your lover, the sweet tooth, would stay extra late to help you clean up the kitchen but he can't help but get a quick taste before doing so.

tags: slight food play ? zayne a feen for ur boobs

He joins your lips and wraps his arms around your waist to help pull you up on the kitchen table. His tongue dances in sync with yours while his hands travel up and up under your shirt before fully taking it off. He lets out a lowly breath at the sight of your hardened nipples, pinching them and receiving a filthy moan from you. Pushing you down gently on the table, he hovers over you, thinking about all the things he could do.

With a quick swipe of his finger, he scoops up the leftover whipped cream and places the cold substance on your neck. His tongue traces and tastes the curve of your neck, making you arch your back, begging to feel more of him.

He continues placing more of the cream down further your neck to your collarbone and down to the valley of your breasts. His tongue follows the trail he makes and places a couple needy kisses further down.

Reaching towards your breaths, he grabs them gently while his thumbs rub against your hardened nipples and are replaced by his lips.

────୨ৎ────

Tutor! Zayne x Med Student! Reader

credit for this concept!: @deusfoundry ᯓᡣ𐭩

Nothing seemed to help you grasp this topic, so he knew he needed to come up with a different approach to make it stick.

tags: reader receiving, p in v, fingering

He grips waist, marking you, using you as stability to thrust into you just a bit more deeper. You’re both covered in sweat and saliva and you feel hot. Your head is spinning while your heart pounds in your chest. You don’t know how many rounds it has been and you don’t know how many questions he’ll keep up.

He reaches under you, brushing your sensitive clit with his fingers, rubbing and working you up as he plows right into you. “And what is this?”

“C-Clit-” His warm breath fans against the skin of your neck, holding your bare sticky back to his chest. “That’s it,” He coos, reaching his free hand to your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index.

“And this?”

“M-mammary papilla...” You stammer as he groans into your ear, “Good girl,”

Rafayel:

Art Teacher! Rafayel x Student! Reader

watching your boyfriend teach little kids how to paint was an adorable site to watch. After they’ve all gone home, it was just the two of you alone in the art room where it becomes a private lesson between the two of you. You're his student and he’s your teacher, teaching you things like ceramics to sketches to painting your face white.

tags: fingering, p in v

“And this is called a wet on wet brush stroke.” A soft tone yet a mischievous glint plays in his eyes. Of course he chooses this stroke for this next topic.

He hums, resting his chin on your shoulder while watching you struggle to paint. His free hand slips down your skirt to massage your clit, preparing you for his entrance. A quiet whimper escapes your lips, trying your best to focus but you knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t make this so easy for you.

He licks his fingers and inserts them into you again, gently stretching you out while you instinctively lean back into him.

“Something on your mind, cutie?” His hot breath fans against your neck as he leans in closer, tilting his head on your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your reaction, clearly amused on how you’re trying so hard to keep yourself composed.

“R-Raf....” He feels your hands tremble against his as he gently guides yours across the canvas. A playful smirk spreads across his lips at the sound of your stutter.

His free hand that was previously on your clit slips up to your sweater, gently kneading your breasts before giving your nipple a light squeeze. He’s slowly pushing into you, burning slightly but disappears into complete pleasure.

He clicks his tongue, watching you fumble the brushstroke. “It seems my pupil is distracted again. Should I remind you what happens when you don’t pay attention?”

────୨ৎ────

Artist! Rafayel x Muse! Reader

You always try to help Raf with his paintings. Whether it was helping him take art supplies to the beach or coming alone with him to travel to new places to get inspiration or being his nude model

Rafayel steps closer to you, his height towering over you. He reaches out with his free hand to trace your jawline, ever so delicately and longing. He murmurs sweet praises, memorizing the angles of your face and how he could possibly recreate it on a canvas.

“Beautiful.” He whispers, his thumb swiping your lips to the corner of your mouth. “Art needs to be messy to truly spark creativity. Are you willing to dive into that with me?” You nod, while his other hand pumps his cock, glossing it over with his precum.

“Go ahead,”

He lets his eyelids flutter shut as he focuses on the movements you made. The way your tongue rubs the underside of his cock, and how your lips wrapped perfectly around his girth.

────୨ৎ────

Servant! Rafayel x Royalty! Reader

tags: reader receiving

“I serve you, master” He draws out the last words with a low tone, each syllable dripping with the intention of arousal. He gently grasped your hand, bringing it to rest against his cheek.

“I only serve you.” He nuzzles against your hand, keeping his gaze locked on you.

“Show me,” You whisper, your hands tightening on him while your eyes are filled with desire and curiosity. “Prove it to me that I’m the only one.” He smirks, giving your knuckles one last kiss before sliding off your lap, never removing his gaze on yours.

A smirk plays at the corners of his lips as he kisses your knuckles one last time before sliding off your lap. “If that’s your wish.” His nebula eyes locked onto yours as he settled between your legs.

He places a soft kiss on your clothed core, the dampness clearly evident. His lips travel down your thighs, peppering small kisses and small licks while fluttering his long lashes at you before moving back up to where you wanted him the most.

“Please Raf...” You whine, your fingers tangling with his soft locks. “Please what, master? What is it that you need?” He toys with the waistband of your panty, amused when you lift your hips up, practically asking to fully remove them off of you.

“I only listen when you use your words, master.” He peers up at you from underneath, a cunning grin stretching across his lips, waiting for your command.

“I need you Raf”

His fingers slid beneath your panties. “Here?” He pulls them down, slowly peeling the thin material from your pussy down to your legs. “Or is this better?” He lifts his gaze from your crying core, mouth just inches away from you. Your eyes clenched shut as you nod.

Dragging along a maddening lick across your pussy, hitting each and every nerve you possess, earning cries of desired pleasure flooded your system.

────୨ৎ────

Bandit! Rafayel x Princess! Reader

It has been hours days since you both have spent time together and he misses you dearly. With a mischievous plan, he dresses up and sneaks into your home to take you away.

tags: slight knife play but no gore or blood is drawn, only used for anticipation

The candles flicker to life, casting a warm glow through your entire room. You catch sight of your lover, sitting by the bay window where he playfully flips a familiar dagger in his hand.

“I’ve been waiting for you, your highness,” His voice teases and with a swift motion, he removes his mask, revealing a smirk. He tucks the dagger away, approaching you slowly.

“Raf?...I-What are you doing here?” You stammer in surprise as he gently cups your face, his gaze lowering to meet yours. “I’ve come to take what belongs to me.”

“And how do you intend on doing that?” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he pulls out his dagger, causing you to swallow nervously.

He gently glides the tip of the dagger along your shirt, tearing the fabric open and making sure that it doesn’t come in contact with your skin.

Sylus:

Boss! Sylus x Subordinate! Reader

Your lover has been busy with work in your own shared home and yet you miss him and his touch so much.

You knock gently on his office door in your shared home, hearing a muffled ‘come in’ from your lover on the other side of the room. As you enter, he looks up with a warm smile before returning his attention to the paperwork scattered before him on his desk. “Sweetie, do you need something?”

You step into the room, wearing one of his long sleeves that was way oversized on you. You were there to remind him about something but seeing him like this makes you lose your train of that thought entirely. Replacing your original intentions with a new wave of something else in mind.

“You’ve been busy lately, boss,” you purred. “I’ve barely seen you....” You trailed off, biting your bottom lip as you settled yourself on his lap.

He lets out a huff of a chuckle, looking up at you and placing a hand on your back. “Ah, is my subordinate looking for trouble again?”

His office was filled with faint echoes of your lips smacking and shuffling of bodies on his office chair. His kisses were slow and passionate, something you’ve missed while he was busy. He pulls away to admire your disheveled state he made of you. Your hair messed up, your clothes wrinkled and a couple purple marks that he left on your neck to your chest.

────୨ৎ────

Interrogator! Sylus x Suspect! Reader

You have been taking things from Sylus to gain his attention but it seems like your plan worked a little too well for you.

tags: reader receiving, fingering

“I see my kitten has learned how to swipe things from me lately. He says, leaning casually against the doorframe of your shared bedroom, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I would never take anything from you Sy.” You reply, avoiding his gaze. He lets out a soft, breathy chuckle and pushes himself away from the door, approaching you. Before you can even think to escape, he uses his evol to pin you in place on the bed, his frame hovering over you.

“I’m giving you one last chance to confess, sweetie.”

You squirm against his evol, even though it’s no use. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You protest, earning a scoff from him. Crimson swirls around your body, making you sit up against the headboard and in one swift motion, he cuffs both of your hands to the frame.

“Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I do an inspection?”

“Sy-Sylus...!” You beg, your voice now hoarse.

“Nothing seems to be in here...” He pumps his fingers harder, earning an eye-roll of pleasure from you that he finds pleasure in. Your thighs are spread out on the bed, while he’s knuckle deep. Curling his slender fingers up into a gummy spot that only he knows that makes you shudder.

He’s so much bigger than you, in any way. His fingers reach so much deeper than yours and so much more harder.

────୨ৎ────

Masseuse! Sylus x Massage Client! Reader

one way or another you'll lose stress

tags: reader receiving, fingering

Gently he removes the towel and pulls it down just above your ass. You can feel the tips of his fingers dance across the canvas of your bare back as if he’s mapping you out. “You’re still tense, sweetie.”

Your eyes roll back the moment you feel him working on the knotted muscles of your neck. He makes his way down your back, curving his hand as you become putty on the bed, earning a deflated moan from you.

“Am I that good?” He chuckles, his fingers tracing down a line to your waist and hips. “That’s what I like to hear anyway.” If you’re lucky, he might not even notice the wet patch of arousal on your panties.

His hands glide over to the curve of your ass, the towel completely pulled down. Spoke too soon. Slowly, his palm feels the roundness of your cheeks, constantly swapping between each cheek.

With a wicked grin, he eyes the wet patch but he keeps you anticipating. His eyes never leave your crying cunt, licking his lips hungrily as he travels up your legs. Sylus murmurs sweet nothings as he caresses each swipe, threatening to creep closer and closer to your cunt.

With one swift motion, he removes your panty down your legs. “You’re so wet,” He groans, two fingers slipping up and down your slit and shifting his attention between your sensitive bud. His touch remains soft yet stimulating. Your back arches while your ass lifts higher to feel more of his hand.

────୨ৎ────

Master! Sylus x Maid! Reader

You knew you shouldn’t have made such a bold bet against Sylus after pathetically losing so many times at Kitty Cards. Now here you are meeting your own consequences, wearing a maid costume and cat ears?

tags: reader receiving, fingering, p in v eventually but i tease that hehe

“My, don’t you look adorable,” He stands behind you, his height towering over your reflection in the mirror. You catch his gaze through the glass, a teasing smirk playing on his lips that makes it clear he’s enjoying this

He loves how the short skirt compliments your figure. It was small enough that if you bent over, he would get a full view of your lace panties. His eyes lowered to the frills and the lace that sat on your chest, smirking on how the kitty ears are placed on the top of your head.

-----

“Look at yourself.” His hand cups your cheek, gently pushing it to where the mirror was standing. Your face becomes flushed at seeing your disheveled state. “Naughty girl. Don’t look away.” A playful smirk curls on his slips as you writhe against his hold, slightly tossing your head aside to give him an easier opportunity to leave more wet kisses on your neck.

“You’re doing so well for me, did you know that sweetie?” Sylus proceeds to slowly rub your clit, waiting for a pleasant reaction. He continues, stroking and rubbing at your clit in such delicious patterns, preparing you for his lengthy entrance.

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kodapi · 27 days ago

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‹ Her reactions of enthusiasm only seemed to mirror into Shuuji's own smile which had grown wider upon seeing just how elated she had become. It was little moments like this that made what he did feel all the more worth it; those little smiles, those little moments of joy. Tarokki was allowed to ramble on until she seemed to settle on actually offering it up, which caused the detective to take a glance over at one of the two lion-dog statues that sat upon a couple pillars at the entrance — almost as if silently asking for their approval. ›

❝ I think the kami of this shrine is intrigued by the notion, ❞ ‹ came Shuuji's relaxed reply as he returned his gentle gaze to her. › ❝ There is a table nearby, in a secluded and beautiful spot. I think that would be a wonderful place to do the reading. ❞

‹ Broom still in hand, the detective would gesture with his free one for Tarokki to follow. The shrine itself was small, but there towards the back corner opposite of the entrance was a thin path beneath a torii gate that seemed to be how one would enter the otherwise walled-off garden. Hedges would open up to reveal a couple of small wooden tables set up along the pathways surrounding a gorgeous pond, large koi seen flitting about lazily in the waters. Beneath one of the sakura trees Shuuji would gesture to one such table though he seemed to wait for Tarokki to claim her own chair before he followed suit. ›

❝ As an aside, if you ever feel weary from the world, I'd recommend you come here with some tea, ❞ ‹ he would say as he rest his arms on his legs, respectful of the small space atop the table. › ❝ So long as you give the kami a friendly hello on your way in, she won't mind you resting here. ❞

‹ After he spoke he would gesture an open palm to Tarokki's deck, his eyes now a bit rounder with his growing excitement. The broom was left to lean upon the nearby tree trunk with due care, a respect given to it as if it too were a person. ›

❝ Now then, let's see what the Sisters of Fate have in store for me, hm? ❞

“Oh, really??”

[ Just the fact that he’s curious about tarot is enough to make Tarokki’s smile grow into an excited grin. It’s a subject that is near and dear to her heart, she could only light up whenever anyone asked about it. When Shuuji mentions compensation, however, her smile falls, and her expression turns bashful as she waves her hands around dismissively.]

“Oh, no no, don’t worry about compensation! It’s best for you to see or experience a reading beforehand, I wouldn’t feel comfortable receiving compensation if you’re getting introduced to the medium!”

[ There’s a slight pause as she calms down, it was unlike her to get flustered so easily, but this morning’s anxiety had crept its way back and made her more reactive than she was usually. She sighs, trying to focus on the surrounding energies of the shrine, and not whatever is gnawing at her. ]

“Oh, do you mean now?” [ It had taken her a moment to register he was hinting at a potential reading on the spot, and while Tarokki mostly did scheduled readings… She looks around for a bit, taking in the calm surroundings. Maybe providing a service - reading for someone else - this was exactly what she needed to get out of her own head. She smiles again.]

“ I do have everything I need for a reading with me. If performing a reading at a shrine isn’t frowned upon, then I would happily show how it works, Mr. Koda!”

[It was clear she wasn’t aware of the customs of visiting shrines. She had a feeling, if the broom in Shuuji’s hand was any indication, that he might know far more than she did.]

#♔ // «MAIN» ;; 「 King Of The Crime Scene 」#Tarokki Halia ›› Tarot-tastic Artist #grandepretresse #[ I'm glad you like the tagging system! :D ];#[ I use it both to distinguish threads and to link them in my tags page ];#[ That way people can filter just by character for any given blog ];#[ ESPECIALLY handy for multimuses! And it's a cute little way to integrate characterization like you pointed out :> ];#[ Im also loving this scene because it's a subtle way for them to exchange beliefs ];#[ Part of why I chose a shrine! ];

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marq-lynch · 3 months ago

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I've only been a wrestling fan for a few months but I have to say with the nervous flutter about wrestlers lurking on Tumblr and fic sites and other traditionally closed-off fandomy spaces? I get it. On both sides.

But if I was a wrestler with the natural inclinations and curiosity to poke my nose into what people are saying in my industry outside of the dirtsheets, I would get really, really tired of the same six talking points regurgitated over and over on Twitter and Reddit threads arguing about ratings, whether X is washed up, the same fucking wank over and over floating to the top. I say this because I have tried to stick my nose into the wrestling Twitter and Reddit communities a few times as a new fan and it exhausts me already.

So yeah, I can see the appeal as a lurking wrestler on Tumblr for the exact same things we do.

Look at that! HD Gifsets of the matches! Showing off the moments that really made people pop and the moves that were incredible in more than just YouTube clips, filled with tagged commentary.

Oh fun, longer form commentary on where matches might go, pulling together histories of feuds and reigns, lighter hearted debates and shitposts all around.

A tagging system that actually allows some muting once in a while that people sometimes use?

And yes, fic, art, and objectification. Cheers, I have been working very hard on my pecs, my tits did look amazing tonight, thank you for noticing my costume details change.

Yes, we're horny, we're ravenous, we're transing your genders, foaming at the mouth, etc etc. But we've been here doing this for a while. I was doing this shit with a community on LiveJournal for Kayfabe Jon Stewart & "Stephen" Colbert back in 2009 and they knew and played it up for us too.

The weird pervert who is harmless but a good friend trope has gone way down lately, which makes sense given the current climate post #MeToo, but Kenny Omega on Being The Elite was a great example: in a sea of other dick jokes he was the ulti-perv they all still chose to hang out with. We on Tumblr are for the most part not bashing, harassing, haranguing, or spreading misinformation. We're just making art, noticing details, supporting work, and throwing out lewd jokes.

It's entirely up to the wrestling community if they want to hang out with us while we do those things, but it seems pretty clear that that is a vibe a lot of them are comfortable with, and some are happy to dig deeper into the weird shit we're making.

I just see a lot of people getting self-loathing about what they've been posting and I wanted to offer a different perspective. I've seen actors lose their minds being delighted at body pillows of themselves or mousepads of their supple tits. Adults are all different and none of this should be forced on anyone at conventions or tagged at them etc, but if they seek it out and like it? Well then, welcome to the Devil's Sacrament. Have fun, and personally I'm glad Tumblr is also your happy escape space.

#monty mouths off #wrestling fandom #aew #wwe #wrestling #rasslin'#wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fanart

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wifeyoozi · 8 months ago

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Lee Jihoon ✶ 𓂃 She got the Ruby

w.c : 3.0 k ┊ synopsis : Lee jihoon accidentally rizzed up a rich woman and successfully gets pegged by her┊ content warning : smut , sub jihoon, pegging , face sitting/oral sex , lowkey sugar mommy dynamic , uji and his ruby red kink (red lips + red heels + red strap)

a/n : thank you for 1k followers !! Also please remember reblogs are more helpful for the blog than just likes so please reblog! Add tags and comments to lemme know how you liked the fic!

The first time Jihoon meets you it's at a bar. He doesn’t drink often, much less goes to a bar, but he’d been having a creative block in his studio for too long and it had got him feeling weary of his own studio and his shitty studio was that last place he wanted to be.

You were sitting alone, and he’d thought he could flirt with you. Not that he really thought he had a chance at all, you looked so gorgeous, dressed up a little too formally for a bar, but gorgeous nonetheless, and all while he was wearing an old stretched tee over ripped jeans, his impulsively bleached hair long and messy. But his pockets were light and a whiskey hit harder than local beer and he wouldn't mind using a stranger to vent.

“Hey, buy me a drink?” He tried, sliding by you. In all honesty Jihoon doesn't know a thing about flirting and picking up (only if he had listened to a bit of Mingyu's bizarre flirting lessons). He was stiff and awkward, his smile tight.

“No, why would I?” You were colder on the inside than what appeared on the surface.

Jihoon held his hand up, “shit, sorry. I just had to try flirting once, y'know,” he said awkwardly, trying to retreat back.

“Oh,” you say, stopping him in his steps, “I didn't realise you were flirting.”

“You didn’t?” jihoon chuckles, “doesn’t it happen a lot to you? I'd find it hard to believe it if doesn't.”

“It doesn't,” you say, pulling the chair beside you to make space for him to sit. He raises his eyebrows at his own luck and slides into the seat, “what will you drink, then?”

“A whiskey sounds good,” Jihoon smiles, feeling a bit more confident now that you set the bar so low for him. You simply nod at the bartender who pours a neat glass of some expensive looking whiskey. He glances between you and the bartender, and feels the urge to stop you, “hey, that looks expensive, you don’t really have to-”

“Don’t bother the price,” you say, passing the glass to him, “you can continue flirting with me now.”

Jihoon doesn’t, infact, flirt. After just one glass of whiskey, he’s tipsy enough to spill every detail of his miserable life, from his sloppy job as a music artist and producer, to his shitty apartment at the outskirts of the city to his music block and absolute need for new inspiration.

When Jihoon got a little too drunk, you ordered a cab for him to drop him home.

He wasn't much of a talker usually, but alcohol in his system always made him a little weird. You had ended up knowing everything about your life. And he knew nothing but your name and the phone number you gave him.

The next morning he woke up with a hangover, still remembering last night. He tried to look up for you, in hopes of finding some social media so he knew a little more of you before he could think of contacting you.

Of everything else, he didn't expect the first thing to pop up would be a Wikipedia of your name. Oh.

Holy shit, did he just flirt with one of the richest business women in all of Korea!

He doesn't contact you after that knowledge, having read everything about you (especially your net worth). The number you gave him was probably fake too. Ugh, he'd probably embarrassed himself in front of you.

He met you again. And again. And again.

He'd learnt that you didn't go to bars often, you were just waiting for a business partner who was supposed to meet you there, only to have cancelled last minute due to his sick wife.

“I'm glad I waited to finish my drink.” You'd told him, making his ears and neck heat up.

You two were at a musical exhibit, where Jihoon had performed a few of his songs as the opening guest, dressed in the expensive tailored suit you bought him as you yourself dressed in a black bodycon formal dress finished with a blazer, your sleeves rolled up.

You'd bought him a rare expensive vinyl CD of his favourite Bruno Mars album.

“I can't take that, it's too costly,” he said. He didn't want you to think that he was friends with you just for your money, because he really wasn't. “Besides, I don't have a vinyl player.”

“I do,” You say nonchalantly, “you can come over and listen to it whenever you like.”

That isn't the only thing you buy for him. Every time he tries to nod you off for it being too expensive or too big for his place, you'd take it to yours. So he had naturally ended up spending a lot of time at your penthouse. It was big and spacious and you'd told him there was enough space to fit in all his musical accessories that he couldn't keep at his own apartment.

He'd come there often after finishing his work at studio. He'd been inspired lately, writing different songs and making new beats every now and then. He'd even send you a few samples for you to review.

“It sounds amazing,” you'd said as you pulled off his headphones, “what's the title?”

“Haven't thought of it yet. The chorus is still kinda funky. Once I get it the lyrics right, I'll have a title,” he said.

He often thought his hoodies and electric guitars and the drum set and all the vinyls and vintage albums you bought him didn't fit your house aesthetic. But you never said anything about it.

He's eating dinner with you now at yet another expensive and fancy restaurant you took him to. He thinks you look gorgeous. Really gorgeous. Just out-of-his-league gorgeous. Your silky slip red dress and red lipstick and matching red heals did things to his heart (and dick) he couldn't explain.

He just wants to bed you so bad. He wants you to fuck him so bad.

He watches as you order another bottle of champagne for the two of you. He should feel more guilty, he thinks, for taking so much from you. Instead, he feels comfortable and pleased. He's always been the provider and the protector in any of his previous relationships – not that he minded to be the same with you, but it felt good to be taken care of once instead. He feels safe around you, and happy as well, and he's not an easy talk, but you hear him talk whenever he talks too. And he doesn't know what he must have done to get someone as perfect as you in his life.

“Hey, why do you like me,” he'd said impulsively, “why me?”

You could have had anyone you want in this world. Jihoon firmly believed that, with not only your wealth but for how beautiful you were, inside and out. He thinks you don't realise that, but he knows it.

You look up at him, lips opening and closing slightly, before speaking, “would you… like to come home with me tonight?”

Jihoon's back hit the wall as soon as you two reached the bedroom of your penthouse, his lips feverishly kissing yours. You were strong – not stronger than him, but you also made him feel weak. You pinned him against the wall, your one hand holding two of his above his head as the other reached to hold a handful of his hair.

He'd moan in your mouth every time you'd tug a little too hard. He loved it. He loves how you tower over him in your 4-inches red high heels. He's usually very dominant in bed, but you make him feel so submissive.

He feels dumbbed out by the kiss when you pull away, panting as you place butterfly kisses over his jaw and neck. “Shit, y/n, I want you so bad,” he whispered against your hair.

“Will you strip for me, baby?”

Jihoon would do anything for you if you call him baby in your sweet, seductive voice. You leave his hands so he can help himself, unbuttoning the silk black shirt (that you bought for him), carelessly pulling them off his shoulders and yanking them off to the floor. He undid his trousers and pulled them down to his thighs, letting gravity do the rest of the work, all while you nibbled over the skin of his neck.

“These too, baby boy,” you said, tapping on his black CK boxer briefs. Shyly, but surely, Jihoon let go of those too, now completely bare in front of you. You looked down at him, your hand ghosting over the curves of his body, making Jihoon shiver. He could feels your stare over his dick, which had gotten half hard already. You rest your hand over his abs, meeting his eyes again, “Shit, you're so pretty, hoon.”

He wanted to say you were prettier, but his voice was stuck in his throat. You pressed another kiss on his lips before taking his hand and bringing him to your bed, making him sit on the edge. You stripped for him next, giving him a full show as you slipped off your dress, your matching black lace lingerie a sight to his eyes. He immediately put his hand to the back of your knee to pull you on the bed on top of him, but you pullled back, chuckling at him.

“Patience, my baby boy.”

Jihoon let out a shaky breath, pulling his hand back to himself as he watched you undo your bra and let it slip down your shoulders and onto the floor. His mouth watered at sight of your breasts, soft and heavy and perfectly shaped. He held himself back from touching you, even as his cock was completely hard against his torso by now. Your panties came down next, and when you bent down to take off your heels, he stopped you by your wrists, “c-can you not take them off yet?” he asked you, then added in a sweeter voice, “please?”

There was a smile on your face. “Of course, anything for my baby.”

Jihoon’s cheeks grew red a little again, and he looked up at you expectantly.

“What do you want, hoonie?” you cooed softly, cupping his cheek in your right hand, brushing a thumb on it slowly.

“I-i want you,” jihoon said shyly, embarrassed at stuttering the way he did.

You laugh at him. “You want me? You are gonna have to earn it baby.”

You gently guided his face to your crotch, lifting your one leg up on the bed to give him access. For jihoon, it was nothing short of a dream come true, to have his face smushed over the paradise of your pussy. He held your juicy thighs for support, as he licked a stripe between your folds. In return, he felt your grip on his hair tightening, pulling against his scalp. He was lapping you up like a dog after that. You were wet. So wet. And he wanted to drink all of your juices.

You were moaning softly above him as pushed you by your thighs closer to his face, sliding a tongue into your heat as his nose pressed against your clit. He couldnt help but want more. It wasn’t his fault, you had conditioned him to want the best of everything by spoiling him like that.

“Baby, can you sit on my face?” he asked, looking up at you with hooded eyes, and you nodded in a yes immediately. He let his body fall back on the bed and you scooted over to his head. You were still holding yourself up, trying not to squish his face. But jihoon wanted exactly for you to squish his face down, to be pressed against your pussy till he couldn’t breathe. So he pulled your thighs down so you were sitting on his face like it was a fucking stool.

He heard you gasp a little when his tongue was right back at action. He suckled on your clit a little, not enough to drive you over the edge, but just enough to make you moan above him. He put his tongue back in its place inside your vagina and he suddenly wished he had two tongues so he could simultaneously fuck you with one and play with your clit with the other. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that choice, so he simply settled on performing the best oral he ever has eith only one tongue.

His pace wasn’t too fast, so to make your experience last longer and better, but not so slow it would be annoying for you. It was the perfect pace to get you moaning. When he felt your thighs start to shake a little, he knew you were close. He put his mouth over your clit once again, sucking harder to ride you to your high, until you were wetting his face with your cum. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he made you squirt for his first time.

You scooted back to sit on his chest now, stabilizing yourself after the amazing orgasm jihoon gave you. He rubbed comforting small and warm circles on your thighs, until you were down from you high, looking down at him with a satisfied smile.

“was I good?”

“So good, baby,” you say, leaning down to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips. “Gon’ make you feel s’good,” you say against his lips.

You both reposistion so that jihoon was lying down straight on the bed,his head supported by your pillows as you hovered on top of him, your knees encaging either sides of his hips. You kissed him again, your tongue finding it's way in his mouth, making him gasp, his hands gripping your shoulders with need.

“Are you sure you want me to fuck you?” You ask gently.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Mh,” Jihoon nods. He usually dominates his way in bed. He's good at it, doing all the work add giving his partners complete pleasure. But he's taken it before, and he can take it now too. He wants to take it. He wants to take you. “I want you so bad, y/n.”

He doesn't know how you do it, make him feel all weak and submissive for you. He waits patiently as you climb off him to get your strap-on. His palms are sweating and his cock is as hard as it can be as he watched you put on the harness. He didn't think someone could look as elegant and beautiful as you did while putting on a strap on.

The silicon end of the strap was a hot angry red, and matched with the red heels you still wore and your red lips intact from the smudge-proof lipstick makes Jihoon want to moan just looking at you. It's impossible for any being to look as sexy as you did at that moment. When you climbed back on the bed, pulling a lube bottle from the night table, his mouth almost watered at the sight of you.

You got between his legs, pulling his knees to either side of your hips so his ass was raised just enough for you to slip a hand under. You coated your fingers with an adequate amount of lube before circling his puckering hole, slipping in a digit. It made Jihoon arch his back with a moan muffled by his arm covering his mouth.

He'd cleaned himself before meeting you, but he was still tight. Your fingers were gentle, easing him at a comfortable pace. You leaned back down to his neck, nipping over the skin to mark your territory. You pushed his arm from his mouth, “let me hear you, beautiful.”

Jihoon was very vocal in bed, more so when he was submissive. Your fingers felt amazing on him. When he eased around one, you pushed another finger in, your hand caressing his thighs comfortingly.

Your fingers curled inside him, close enough to his prostate, making him whimper your name. You move up again, hungry for his lips, kissing him messily and sloppily as he moans against your mouth.

“Baby, do you think you're ready yet?” You ask him and he nods positively. Your silicone cock is big, bigger than him probably, but he thinks he could take you now. Besides, he'd like a little stretch of it too.

You smile against his lips, taking out your fingers and coating your cock with more lube. You enter the tip first, watching the man under you press his face into the pillow beside him, his drool sticking out as he moaned, taking the rest of it too. He relaxed around it, giving you a go to move.

You slam your hips against his, earning another loud sound from him. You couldn't care less about making noise, you lived in a penthouse with thick walls. You wanted to hear Jihoon moan and whimper your name, drink in his sweet noises.

As you accelerated the pace, Jihoon arched his back, whimpering little ah-ah-ah’s, clutching the bedsheets under him you held his thighs up, hosting his right knee on your shoulder to get the perfect angle to get to his prostate every time.

You loved the way Jihoon fell apart under you. You could tell he was close already, so you take hold of his leaking cock, giving it attention it needed finally. Not long after Jihoon is shooting white ropes all over his stomach, breathing heavily.

You bend down and kiss the satisfied smile on his lips, slowly exiting him as he relaxed down there. You took a few tissues from the night table and cleaned up Jihoon and yourself lazily before taking off your strap and heels. You lied down beside him, pulling a blanket over the two of you. You didn't need to be told that Jihoon wanted to cuddle, so you slipped on top of him yourself, resting your cheek against his shoulder and wrapping a hand around his waist.

“Felt good, baby?”

“Mm, s’good,” Jihoon sighed, hugging you tighter. Tonight was indeed productive. Not only did Jihoon get fucked up so good after so long, but he was also inspired by you(r red cock) and finally had a name for the track he'd been working on lately: Ruby.

#svt #seventeen #svt smut #svt x reader #woozi #woozi x reader #woozi smut #lee jihoon #jihoon x reader #jihoon smut #woozi x you #woozi imagines #jihoon imagines #jihoon #seventeen smut #svt imagines

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stormz369 · 23 days ago

Text

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 34

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: fluff, some light medical stuff, and some slightly possessive behaviors

wc: 3.1k

Chapter Selection

I got my license that week, and Jason promptly took me to a dealership to get my motorcycle. I didn't know much about bikes, so decided to just trust his opinions. We found one we both thought was perfect, he paid in cash and pushed the paperwork toward me.

“You want me to sign?” I tilted my head a bit.

“It's your bike, princess, it's going to be in your name.” He smiled softly. I chuckled softly, ignoring the tightly controlled expression on the salesman's face, and signed the paperwork.

I kissed his cheek, grinning, and the salesman passed us the keys. “Can we swing by Damian's school to pick him up?”

Jason chuckled, kissing my knuckles. “Anything baby girl wants~”

Jason bought a helmet for Damian while I texted Bruce, Alfred, and Damian to let them know the plan. During the ride to the school I felt so free; like everything was slotting into place. Jason led the way, and we parked out front as the last bell rang.

Damian eventually approached, followed by a girl. I pulled my helmet off, smiling brightly. “Hey Damian! Who's your friend?”

He cleared his throat; “this is Emma. She wanted to see your bike.”

Emma grinned, stepping closer. She babbled off something about the bike, but it all flew over my head. Jason chuckled, answering her questions, and I offered Damian his helmet. He took it, smiling slightly.

Jason answered the girl's questions about the bikes, and Damian hopped on behind me. Emma eventually turned to Damian grinning; “see you tomorrow, Damian~”

He nodded once, gripping my waist. I chuckled softly; “it was very nice to meet you, Emma.”

She grinned, waving, and we drove off.

“So, she seems nice?” Jason's smirk was audible in our helmets.

“Tt. Shut up, Todd.” Damian growled softly.

I chuckled softly. “So, straight to the manor, or?”

He thought for a moment. “... Yes, Father will want me home. And Alfred was talking about your training, he'll want to speak to you before he starts on dinner.”

“Oh, alright then.” I smiled softly, gently squeezing his hand on my waist, and we flew down the streets toward Wayne Manor.

The gate swung open as we approached, and Jason led us to the garage. Duke grinned as he got out of a car. “Hey! You got your license then?”

Damian hopped down, and I took his helmet for him. “Yeah! Jason and I just left the dealership!”

We all headed inside, Alfred the cat immediately jumped up to rest on Damian's shoulders, and Jason and I headed for the kitchen to look for Alfred the human.

He smiled warmly when he saw us coming; “Ah, I'm glad you're here Miss. I had a proposition for you regarding your training.”

I grinned, leaning over the kitchen island. “Hey Alfred! What'cha got for me?”

“Well, we have nearly a month before the spring semester, and nothing in your educational background leads directly to medical school, so I was thinking we could do a … sort of a crash course?”

I nodded; “something to help get me up to speed?”

“Exactly. I was a field medic myself, back in the day, and I still have my old anatomy books. We could get some preliminary training in before your proper education starts.”

“I'd really appreciate that, thanks!”

He nodded, clearly pleased. “Excellent. I'll get you those books before you leave, and you can join me for lessons twice a week? I was thinking before your combat training on Thursdays, and at the same time on Tuesdays.”

“Sounds great! It really won't be too much of an imposition?”

“Not at all, my dear. Miss Barbara may also use some of the time to get you familiar with Bat-tech. I believe she gifted you a Wayne-phone?” I nodded. “She'll want to go over your access to the Oracle system with you.”

Jason wrapped his arms around my waist, gently squeezing. I rested a hand on his, squeezing back. His arms felt so tense around me, but I smiled reassuringly up at him. He sighed, resting his forehead against my shoulder. “Sounds good, thanks!”

Alfred nodded. “Wonderful. And you two are staying for dinner, aren't you?”

“I dunno, Al-” Jason started.

Alfred cut in, a knowing smile on his face; “I'm making pot roast.”

Jason froze, frowning a bit. “... Yeah?”

I chuckled, leaning back against him. “We've got nowhere to be, right Jay?”

“... Yeah, alright. … Thanks, Alfred.”

He nodded, chuckling softly. “Very good.”

My training with Alfred started that week. As promised, he gave me several books, as well as some medical journals. I read everything he gave me, and we started going over anatomy.

Babs showed up during the next Bat training day, and gave me the rundown on the Oracle app. It was disguised as a news app, but once I logged in I was given access to view her system. I could track active Bats, send and receive messages, and even access the comms.

Babs took my phone and went back to the home page. “Now, if you get in any kind of trouble, click and hold the icon for three seconds, and…”

Dick and Tim both shouted; “turn it off!”

I jumped and laughed. “What was that???”

She giggled, releasing it and opening the app. “I sent a distress call through the system. Dick and Tim are in uniform, so they got the SOS. You turn it off by opening the app and clicking here.”

“... Does the SOS hurt them or something?”

“No, it's just annoying when you're so close!” Tim frowned, looking over at us; “it’s kinda like echolocation, so the closer we are to you the faster the pings come in.”

“... Why?”

“In case you're unable to respond to us after sending the distress call, for whatever reason.” Dick spoke in a carefully neutral tone. Jason growled softly at the idea, and Dick threw his hands up; “not that that's ever gonna happen. Just a little extra security.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. But what if someone takes the phone?”

Babs popped a piece of the phone case off and slipped an ear piece out of the case. “If you ever get called to pick up an injured Bat, or if you think you're being followed at any time, just pop this in and I'll be able to track you.”

I slid it into my ear, there was a soft beep, and a red plus in a black circle joined the Red Robin and Nightwing icons on the map. I put it back in the phone case and my symbol disappeared. Babs showed me all the icons, so I knew what everyone showed up as, and gave me a clear sheet of plexiglass with a metal bar at the top.

“Jason can install this on your bike later - if you're ever called to pick someone up, just turn it on. It will cover your plates so they can't be read, and when the cops try to scan them their system will tell them you're operating on behalf of the Bats. They won't stop you.”

“Not that you will ever have to do that. We will come to you. Right?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

Babs nodded; “yes, Jason. The plan is that they will go to her. But it's always better to be prepared for the plan to fall apart.”

I nodded, putting it with my gym bag. “Yeah, plans A through Y: you come to me. Plan Z: I pick you up.”

Jason nodded once. “... I still don't like this.”

“Would you like it more if we pretended it was impossible that I'll ever have to ask her to grab someone who passed out on the way to the clinic?” Babs sighed.

“Or that I wouldn't insist on going to get them anyway?” I raised an eyebrow, and Jay growled softly, pulling me close.

“... Just don't go out unarmed, and don't wander directly into a fight, ok? Our enemies don't abide by the Geneva Convention, they relish in attacking first responders.”

I grinned, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, and kissed him gently. “No fighting, promise.”

Jason nodded, kissing my forehead. “... I wanna get you licensed to carry a gun too. … Just in case.”

I sighed softly, but nodded. “If it'll make you more comfortable.”

“It will.”

“... You have got to be kidding me.” Jason growled into his phone. I looked over, frowning a bit. “... Fuck. … Fine. Yeah, yeah, I will. … Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

He hung up, tossing his phone aside, and rubbed his face. I raised an eyebrow; “... What?”

He looked over at me slowly. “... That was Roy. … He's got a lead on some unfinished business.”

I nodded. “You sound more upset about this than I'd expect?”

“... I'm probably gonna be out of town all week.”

I nodded, frowning a bit. “That sucks … will you be home in time for the Christmas Gala? Cause I'm not going alone, and Bruce was insistent that we go…’’

“... Last time I left town, I came back to see some jackass trying to hurt you …” he whispered, staring up at me.

I turned the stove off, moving my pan off the heat, and came over to sit next to him. “That was a fluke. I don't have that job anymore, I won't be out alone at night, and I've got the Oracle app if something does go wrong.”

He sighed, gripping my hand. “I … I know … but it did happen. … If I had been two minutes later …’’

I cupped his cheek, making him look in my eyes; “we're not gonna go down that road. You saved me, and since then I've been trained to defend myself better, and I have more resources for if something does happen. You can't be with me every minute of every day, baby. You're not supposed to be; you've gotta live your life too.”

He squeezed my hands, leaning in to kiss me gently. “... I still don't like it … if something happens, I won't be able to help.”

“... Yeah, but do you really think Dick or Tim will allow anyone to hurt me while you're away?”

He frowned. “Huh?”

“I predict that when you leave town your brothers will start checking on me daily. Because if anything happens to me while you're away, they'll never hear the end of it. Will they?”

He stared at me for a moment before chuckling softly, holding me close. “Yeah, I guess not … but …”

“... But that doesn't silence the voice telling you it's not safe, does it?” He shook his head, pulling me closer. I was nearly in his lap, and I stroked his hair gently. “... Is there anything that will make you feel ok about this?”

“... I … maybe, but …”

“What is it?”

“... This is going to sound really bad …”

“That's fine. What can we do?”

“... Can I …. CanIputatrackeronyou?” He mumbled into my shoulder.

“... Baby, you speak so fast when you're anxious. A little slower?”

“... I … I want to put a tracker on you…”

I chuckled softly, holding up my phone. “Oracle already did?”

He looked up at me, unamused, and in an instant he ripped the phone out of my hand, tossing it across the room. “And now you don't have it anymore. See how easy that was? You didn't have time to trigger the SOS, or grab the ear piece. It's just gone.”

I blinked a bit at the dark look in his eyes, stroking down his chest gently. “O- ok, I see your point. … Deep breath, Jay. It's ok.”

He sighed, shutting his eyes tightly as he pressed his face against my shoulder again. “Sorry, I … sorry. … I just … can't lose you, ma.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing the top of his head. “It's ok, baby~ … what kind of tracker are we talking about here?”

“... Something no one will think to take off you. … Like … earrings, maybe? Simple ones, nothing flashy that'd get stolen.”

I nodded. “Like basic studs? Ok. Just as something I can wear while you're away?”

“J- just so I know you're safe … not to be weird, promise, just … gotta know you're safe.”

“Ok, Jace. I'll wear it.”

He looked up at me slowly. “Really? … It's not creepy?”

“If you were literally anyone else it probably would be, but I get why you want it, and I trust you. If it will give you peace of mind, I'll wear a tracker while you're out of town on missions.”

He hugged me tighter, almost knocking the air out of my lungs as he muttered his thanks. I chuckled, stroking his hair gently. “... Don't know where you're gonna get tracker earrings at this time of night, but …’’

“I've got some at a safehouse. I can pick them up tonight.”

“... Why am I not surprised?”

Beep. Beep. Beep. My eyes opened slowly and I looked over at my phone. The green Oracle mask was flashing on the screen as I grabbed it. I tapped on the icon, grabbing my pants.

“Oracle? What's going on?”

“Hey Medic, can you get to the cave? Red Hood has been shot. He's stable, but-”

“Refusing medical care?” I was pulling clothes on, grabbing my wallet and keys.

“Yeah. Penny-One said it would be a good opportunity to teach you how to administer stitches.”

“I'll be there as fast as I can. … What kind of 'shot' are we talking about here?”

“Arm wound. He's ok, just needs the stitches. I'm clearing your route to the cave.”

I grinned, stepping into my boots. “You're amazing, Oracle.”

I locked my door and ran down to the parking lot. I clicked a button on the plexiglass license plate cover, secured my helmet, and took off. As promised, I had green lights all through the city. I drove as fast as I felt was safe, or safe enough, and made it to the cave in record time. Red Hood was sitting at the long table, with Arsenal and Nightwing leaning over him.

Batman looked over as I parked and threw myself off my bike, running over to Jason.

“Move.” Roy jumped a bit as I pushed into him, awkwardly stumbling out of the way.

“Jesus, girly, breath. Jay's alright.” He offered me an encouraging smile, but I just waved him off.

“Jason?” I carefully took his hand, examining the wound. His upper arm was a mess of wet red, but he still smiled brightly for me.

“Hey princess~ I'm ok, it was a clean shot. Just grazed me, promise.”

“He lost a lot of blood. Almost passed out on the way back into town.” Dick helpfully piped up; “Roy called me in to get him back to base.”

Jason growled at him; “just need a couple stitches. It’s fine.”

Alfred shooed the boys away, setting a first aid kit on the table. I sighed, kissing Jason's forehead, and stroked his hair gently. “You are an idiot, you know that?”

He chuckled, leaning against my hand. “Yes dear~”

Alfred and I got Jason cleaned up. He gave me a tube of medicated gel to spread around the wound - a local anesthetic. After giving it a few minutes to start working, the Brit walked me through the process to give Jason stitches. He smiled the whole time, mumbling how well I was doing. I flushed, quietly shushing him periodically.

“Let me focus…”

“Sure, sure …” he sighed, watching me work.

When I was finally done, Alfred and I bandaged his arm. I kissed the top of his shoulder, smiling gently, and stroked his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Just fine, baby. You did good.” He gently squeezed my hand.

I chuckled. “I'm glad. Think we can get you up to your room?”

“Let's just go home, baby.” He frowned a bit.

“I want you here overnight, in case any of your stitches pop or unravel or something.”

“They're not gonna-”

“Please, Jay? Just in case?” I frowned, chewing on my lip. He sighed and nodded.

“Ok, doll. Anything you want …” I kissed his forehead and coaxed him to his feet. He let me guide him to the elevator, upstairs, and to his room where he carefully sat on his bed. I helped him out of his shirt and Alfred brought us a couple sets of pajamas.

“Thanks Alfred.” I smiled brightly.

He nodded, smiling a little. “You did very well down there, Miss. Congratulations.”

“Oh … thank you.” I grinned. “I’m just glad he's ok…”

He nodded, “ah, I believe young Master Damian was hoping to see you before bed as well.”

I smiled brightly. “I'll go say hi when Jason's settled. He's just in his room?” Alfred nodded. “Great. Thanks.”

“Sleep well, Miss.” He continued down the hallway, and I turned to give Jason his pj's.

Jay smiled softly, looking up at me. “... I missed you, doll.”

I chuckled, kissing him gently. “Missed you too, Jay~”

He cupped my cheek; “... Go ahead and check on the demon brat. I'll be fine.”

“Ok, thanks baby.” I kissed him again and pulled on my pj's before going to knock on Damian's door.

“Enter.” His voice called out softly. I opened the door, slipping inside. His bedside lamp was on, and he sat up more in his large bed, setting aside his book. “Good evening, sister.”

I smiled softly, sitting on the side of his bed; “good evening, baby brother~” I held a hand out, and he slowly leaned in, letting me push some hair out of his face. “getting ready for bed?”

He nodded, smiling softly as his eyes fluttered shut. “It is a school night …”

“You want me to sing to you?” He nodded again, shifting to lay back.

Damian got comfortable, letting me tuck him in as I sang softly. Once his soft snores filled the room I kissed his forehead, turned the lamp off, and left the room. In the hall I almost ran straight into a tall, looming figure.

“Oh! Sorry, Bruce.”

He stared at me, a sad look in his eyes. “... It's alright. … Damian asked for you?”

I nodded. “Yeah?”

“... That's … nice.”

“... Something wrong?”

“... I sang for him, that time. … He never asked again…”

“Ok?”

“... He still asks for you though.”

“... It's what our relationship has been the whole time. Your relationship is different, that’s allowed. It's good, actually, for him to have different relationships with different people.”

“... I just … I hoped he'd ask again.”

I shrugged. “I understand, but ... You have your things with him, and I have mine. But if you want to spend more time with your children, there's a really easy way to start.”

He sighed. “What's that?”

“Ask.”

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Divider by: @saradika-graphics Fanart in the header by: @crowkip

Taglist (open):

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm @v1ckycheesue @roastyyytoastyyy @sarakmec @thestarcatcher7297 @stupidlyunhinged @mishkapi @mermaidgirl-11 @bunniboo0015 @bibibusinessman @iimichie

#fanfic #fanfiction #jason todd #dc fanfic #jason todd x reader #dc #red hood x reader #first person pov #wayne family adventures #no y/n #multichapter fic #Can I Get Your Number?#chubby reader

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