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alygator77 · 6 months ago

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ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 4 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru) » 【note, this chapter contains extreme emotional manipulation from naoya, reader discretion advised】

ꨄ words: 9.3k

ꨄ a/n. okaaaay time for some angst ya'll. this series is taking a serious turn 🥲 also, as i said earlier, originally this chapter was 20k words buuuut i decided to split it up. i know ya'll said you wouldn't mind one long chapter but it's just, there are moments that i really want to give more time to breathe. you'll get ch 5 soon though, enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 4 // shadows of doubt

“…you sure you’re okay watching Haru?” you ask, hovering by the doorway, your fingers lightly brushing the doorframe as you steal one last glance into the living room.

The television screen casts a soft glow over Satoru and Haru, nestled together on the couch.

Satoru’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he fumbles with the TV remote, cycling through the menu. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his tongue peeking out slightly at the corner in a classic expression of someone deeply focused.

His usually tousled white hair is messier than usual, as if he’s run his hands through it a few too many times in frustration, and his sweater hangs loosely on his frame, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

It’s a stark contrast to the sharp, tailored suits you’re used to seeing him in.

But that’s because right now, he’s just Satoru—the guy who’s clearly struggling with something as simple as setting up a kid’s TV show, and yet, there’s something incredibly endearing about it.

Haru, oblivious to his difficulties, swings her tiny legs back and forth in a rhythm of excitement as she sits beside him.

It’s a picture of domesticity that feels almost too perfect to disrupt—a scene that brings warmth, but also a sharp pang of guilt.

Guilt—of what you are about to do.

“Yes, of course,” he replies without missing a beat, light yet reassuring. He glances up at you briefly, offering a warm smile. “Do what you need to do, it’s important to have time to yourself.”

Right now, it feels like you don’t deserve that smile.

The ache in your chest intensifies at the sincerity in his words, making the lie you’re carrying out feel even heavier.

Finally, after a few more clicks, the TV springs to life, and a triumphant grin spreads across Satoru’s face as the familiar Digimon theme song bursts through the speakers.

The sound seems to ignite a spark of joy in Haru, her face wide eyed as she turns her full attention to the screen.

“Besides, I promised her we’d watch Digimon together,” Satoru says, his voice laced with affection as he glances at Haru. “Now’s the perfect time. Right, Haru?”

Haru beams, her small body practically vibrating with excitement as she snuggles closer to him.

“Wow, look ‘toru, look!” she exclaims gleefully, her voice high-pitched with exhilaration as she points at the screen.

Her eyes sparkle with wonder, completely captivated by the vibrant colors and lively characters dancing across the television.

“Yay!” she claps her hands together.

A tender smile curls upon Satoru’s lips as he shifts his gaze from Haru to you. His blue eyes, always so vibrant and full of life, are soft and inviting, radiating a sense of calm—a calm that should put you at ease, but why does it fill you with more guilt?

“See? We’ve got it all under control. Go do what you need to do, and don’t worry about a thing.”

His words are spoken with such warmth and trust—it should comfort you, but instead your unease twists further in your gut.

You force a smile, trying to push away the shame that threatens to rise to the surface.

“Alright,” you murmur, “I won’t be long.”

But you linger for just a moment longer, unable to tear your eyes away from the heartwarming sight before you.

The way Satoru drapes an arm around Haru, pulling her closer as they both become engrossed in the show—you realize something profound.

It’s in the subtle details—the way he listens intently to her excited chatter, how he nods along, genuinely interested in every little thing she points out, even if it’s something as simple as a colorful character on the screen.

Satoru isn’t just watching Digimon with Haru; he’s immersing himself in her world.

He’s someone who takes the time to enjoy the things she loves, someone who listens to her with the patience and attentiveness she deserves. He’s supporting her curiosity, encouraging her to explore and express herself, making her feel valued in a way that is both gentle and profound.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted for Haru—a stable, loving figure in her life, someone she can depend on, someone who can always be there for her. Someone who makes her feel safe, cherished, and free to be her true self.

Someone Naoya never was.

But this relationship is a contract, a charade—a lie.

And now, this new lie you’re about to bring to the table, casts an even darker shadow over this picture of domestic bliss.

There is a storm cloud, threatening to break at any moment—to drench you in an unforgiving rain. And that storm cloud is your reality.

The reality that this relationship has always been a lie, hasn’t it?

So... is what you’re doing really any different?

As you turn to leave, your body feels heavy, burdened by the deception you’re carrying with you.

Closing the door behind you, the soft click echoes in your ears as you begin to walk down the hallway, away from the warmth of the living room and into the cold reality of the decision you’ve made.

ꨄ

A soft jingle rings above your head as you push open the glass door to the coffee shop—a sound almost too cheerful considering what’s to come. Once the door closes behind you with a muted thud, your fate is sealed.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee hits you first, rich and earthy, mingling with the sweet, buttery aroma of pastries that line the display case. It’s a combination that would normally invite comfort, a location for quiet relaxation.

Today, however, that feels entirely out of reach.

Only a few patrons are scattered about, each lost in their own world—reading books, typing away on laptops, or simply enjoying company. The soft murmur of conversation barely registers in your ears as your eyes sweep across the room.

Within moments you spot Naoya, seated at a corner table in the back, a place where the dimness nearly swallows him whole, casting long shadows that seem to cling to him like a second skin.

His chosen spot is strategic, offering both a sense of privacy and an air of intimidation.

It’s a stage he’s set perfectly.

The way he sits—one arm draped casually over the back of the booth, the other cradling a coffee cup—exudes an unsettling confidence, as if he’s already decided the outcome of this meeting.

His minacious eyes rake over you and he registers the trepidation in your step, causing a shiver to run down your spine as his lips slowly curl into a predatory smirk.

Setting down his cup of coffee with a practiced ease, the porcelain clinks softly against the saucer. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he waves you over, the gesture so casual it’s almost insulting, as if he were summoning a servant rather than inviting a conversation.

You lower yourself into the chair across from him with measured deliberation, desperately trying to project a façade of composure even as anxiety, anger, and guilt roil within you like a brewing storm.

Unfortunately, the table between you and Naoya feels woefully insufficient, a flimsy barrier against the man who once wielded a terrifying influence over your life—a man who now threatens to shatter the fragile peace you’ve painstakingly pieced together.

“y/n,” he begins, his voice smooth and slick, like oil spilling over water, spreading tendrils of unease. “I’m glad you decided to show up.”

You force a tight smile, though it feels more like a grimace.

“You didn’t exactly leave me much of a choice, did you?”

A low insidious chuckle leaves Naoya’s lips, the noise grating on your nerves. His cold calculating eyes hold your gaze as he tilts his head to the side, and for a moment, you feel like a mouse caught in a trap, every avenue of escape cut off, leaving you with nowhere to run.

“Tch. What else am I supposed to do?” his tone drips with mock innocence, as if he’s genuinely puzzled. “You don’t answer any of my calls. It’s almost like you’re trying to avoid me.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something dark and unreadable passing through them.

“You look well, though. I’ve missed you.”

The casual cruelty in his tone, the way he throws out those words—words that should carry weight—as if they mean nothing, as if he hasn’t been tormenting you.

It makes your skin crawl.

“I didn’t come here to chat, Naoya,” you say firmly. “What do you want?”

You catch a flash of his white teeth in the dim light of the coffee shop, but there’s a cruel twist to his lips, a smugness that makes your stomach churn with unease.

“Straight to the point, I see. I always loved that about you,” he drawls, his tone almost affectionate.

He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other in a posture of relaxed arrogance.

There is a beat of silence as he pauses, as if savoring each moment of your discomfort, drawing it out and relishing the control he has over the situation.

The control he has over you.

“I think you know what I want, y/n,” he continues, tone almost patronizing, as if speaking to a child who just doesn’t understand. “I want what’s best for Haru. I’m sure you do too.”

“You’re threatening to take her away from me. How is that what’s best for her?” you scoff, though the defiance in your voice barely masks the trembling fear underneath.

His gaze roams over you, assessing, calculating, and it takes everything in you not to shrink under the weight of his scrutiny.

When he speaks again, his voice is a low, dangerous whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, cold as ice and sharp as a blade.

“Because,” he hisses, the word dripping with venom, “you’re not thinking clearly. You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. Haru deserves stability, a future where she’s not dragged into whatever mess you and Satoru are involved in.”

The accusation cuts deep, and despite your best efforts, you flinch slightly at his words, the reaction small but not unnoticed.

Naoya’s eyes glint with satisfaction, feeding off the fear and uncertainty he’s managed to briefly instill within you.

Before you can muster a response, he leans in closer, his tone shifting, becoming smooth and insidious, like poison seeping through the cracks of your resolve.

“Oh y/n,” he sighs, voice dripping with false sympathy, “I know this thing with Satoru is just a charade. You may think you’re merely playing house, but what you’re actually doing is setting Haru up for confusion and heartache. What kind of future is that for her?”

It’s like he’s pulled the rug out from under your feet. The air around you seems to thicken, making it hard to breathe. Because deep down, a part of you has feared how this arrangement may affect Haru.

The doubt that Naoya is sowing isn’t new—it’s something you’ve deliberately tried to ignore.

The connection Haru is forming with Satoru, the bond that’s growing stronger every day—isn’t it built on a foundation of lies?

What happens when it all crumbles—what happens to Haru then?

What if you’re setting her up for a heartbreak that she’s too young to understand?

Ah…but that’s what Naoya is good at, isn’t it?

He thrives on stirring a visceral reaction within you, on playing your emotions like a finely tuned instrument. And you know better—you know better than to believe that his actions have anything to do with Haru’s well-being.

After all, Naoya has only ever used Haru as a tool to control you, to manipulate you into doing his bidding.

He doesn’t truly want Haru—he never has.

This is just a twisted game, another attempt to bend you to his will.

“Naoya,” you begin, voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “this isn’t about what’s best for Haru. Cut the crap,” you snap, the frustration seeping through your words, giving you a fleeting sense of strength. “Don’t play games with me. What are you really after?”

Naoya’s response is a soft, chilling chuckle, a sound so unnerving that it slithers around you, making your skin prickle with unease.

He tilts his head slightly, regarding you with a twisted sense of satisfaction, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk that’s as sharp as a knife’s edge.

“You’re not as naïve as you look,” he murmurs.

With a deliberate elegance, he runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back and straightening his posture as if ready to present himself for something significant. He then leans forward, fixing you with a gaze that feels like a vise tightening around your heart.

“I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

You swallow hard, forcing the question past the lump in your throat.

“What kind of deal?”

His eyes glisten with satisfaction, a spark of triumph lighting them up as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for all along.

“Do you remember the case that was quietly swept under the rug a few years back?” he begins, tone almost conversational. “The one that could have destroyed the Gojo family? Well of course, you don’t—because the Gojos made sure no one remembered.”

A cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach as the gravity of what he’s saying begins to sink in. You try to piece together what he could possibly mean, but the implications are too terrifying to fully grasp.

“…what are you saying?”

Naoya’s smirk widens, a cruel light flickering in his eyes as he watches your reaction.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, y/n. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The Gojo family isn’t as squeaky clean as they’d like everyone to believe. That closed case—it’s a time bomb waiting to go off, and I’m the one holding the detonator.”

With a casual elegance, Naoya places his elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I want you to help me reopen the case,” his voice now a silky, dangerous murmur. “I need inside information, something to poke holes in the Gojo family’s defense. Satoru trusts you, doesn’t he? He’s practically handed you the keys to the kingdom.”

Your blood runs cold as you grapple with the enormity of what he’s asking.

“You want me to spy on Satoru? To dig up dirt on his family?”

Naoya shrugs, the gesture so casual, so dismissive, as if the request is the most natural thing in the world.

“Spy is such an ugly word. Let’s call it… protecting your daughter’s future. You help me get the information I need, and I’ll make sure this custody battle disappears. You’ll never have to worry about losing Haru.”

You feel sick to your stomach as the full impact of his ultimatum crashes down on you.

Your skin crawls at the way he frames it—to him it’s as if he’s offering you a lifeline, a way out of an impossible situation. But the reality is, he’s trapping you, coercing you into betraying the one person who has given you a chance at a new life.

Betray Satoru?

The very thought twists like a knife in your gut.

Satoru—the man who has shown you nothing but kindness, who has gone out of his way to make you feel safe, to make you feel valued. The man who has opened his home to you and Haru, who has treated your daughter with a warmth and love that you never thought she would receive.

How could you possibly betray him? Be his downfall? The mere thought of it makes your chest tighten, your heart aching with the weight of the impossible decision that Naoya is forcing upon you.

But then, the other side of the coin looms large and terrifying: the risk of losing Haru forever. The thought of her being taken from you, of her being dragged into Naoya’s world, is a nightmare you can’t bear to even consider.

The two most important people in your life, and Naoya is forcing you to choose between them.

How can you possibly make such a choice?

“I…I can’t do that, Naoya. Satoru—he’s done nothing wrong,”

The words feel hollow, desperate, as if you’re grasping for some semblance of control in a situation where you have none.

Naoya’s expression darkens, the cold veneer of civility slipping as a more menacing presence takes over. He leans in closer, the air around him growing colder, heavier with the weight of his intentions.

“Satoru and his family deserve whatever’s coming to them,” he hisses. “You just have to decide whose side you’re on. Corporate malpractice, insider trading, possibly even a cover-up. The Gojo family has skeletons in their closet, and I intend to expose them. But to do that, I need information. Inside information.”

“No, Naoya,” you say more forcefully, your voice trembling slightly but growing steadier as your resolve hardens. “That would destroy Satoru.”

For a moment, there’s a flicker of something in Naoya’s eyes—frustration, perhaps, or irritation at your defiance. But it’s fleeting, quickly replaced by a darker, more calculating expression.

“You think this is a game, y/n?” his voice drips with disdain. “You think Satoru won’t throw you to the wolves the moment things get tough? He’s a Gojo, through and through. They protect their own, and you’re not one of them.”

A cold dread washes over you as his words echo in your mind, sinking into the darkest corners of your thoughts.

Wait…is he actually, right?

No—you push back against the rising tide of doubt. Satoru wouldn’t do that. He’s been nothing but kind, patient, and understanding. He’s given you no reason to believe he would ever abandon you, especially not in a moment of crisis.

But… then there’s the stipulation in your contract. The one that states any poor publicity to his name would result in being cut off from all financial support.

The words of the contract flash in your mind, stark and unforgiving.

You had brushed it off as a mere formality when you first signed it, a precautionary clause meant to protect his reputation. But now, under the weight of Naoya’s words, it feels like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off the moment anything goes wrong.

Doubt seeps into your veins, intertwining with the fear that Naoya’s threat might have more truth to it than you’d like to admit.

Could Satoru really turn his back on you if the situation spiraled out of control? Would he prioritize his family name, his legacy, over you and Haru?

Seeing the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, Naoya’s expression softens, adopting a mask of concern. His voice lowers, becoming almost gentle, as if he’s offering you a lifeline.

“But if you help me,” he continues, silky and persuasive, “you’ll have leverage—real power. You’ll be in control. Think about Haru. Think about what’s best for her.”

“I… I don’t think I can do it,” the words escape your lips in a trembling whisper.

Naoya’s eyes narrow, and his voice hardens.

“You don’t have much of a choice, y/n. You’re in this mess because of your own decisions. Instead of relying on me you chose him. But lucky for you, I’m offering you a way out—a way to keep Haru safe. But if you refuse, I will use every legal trick in the book to take her from you. And believe me, I will win. I always do.”

The finality in his words leaves no room for doubt—Naoya isn’t bluffing.

He’s a man who gets what he wants, no matter the cost, and the ruthless determination in his eyes tells you that he’s more than willing to destroy your life to achieve his goals.

“You’re a monster,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Naoya’s response is immediate, his smirk widening with satisfaction.

“I’m a lawyer,” he corrects, his tone dripping with smugness. “And I’m very good at what I do.”

You look down, unable to meet his gaze.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” you whisper.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with triumph as a victorious smirk curls upon his lips. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a slim envelope.

With a deliberate slowness, he slides it across the table, the paper making a soft, ominous rustle as it comes to a stop in front of you.

“Inside this is everything you need to help me. I want information, y/n. Information on Satoru. His business dealings, his vulnerabilities—anything I can use to gain leverage over him.”

The envelope sits there between you, a tangible representation of the impossible choice you’re being forced to make.

Your hands twitch at your sides, but you can’t bring yourself to reach for it—the burden of its contents is far too heavy.

Naoya leans back in his chair, watching intently for any sign of hesitation, his gaze unyielding. He presses you again, his voice a smooth, sinister whisper.

“You help me, and I’ll make sure this custody battle disappears. You’ll never have to worry about losing Haru.”

Your hand trembles as you extend it, hovering over the envelope. Naoya’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph, anticipating your surrender.

But just as your fingertips brush the envelope, you stop.

The smile slips from Naoya’s face, replaced by a flicker of surprise, then annoyance, as you push the envelope back across the table. The cold edge of the paper scrapes against your skin, the sound eerily loud in the tense silence between you.

“I’ll need some time,” you say finally, your voice quieter now, more controlled, though it takes everything in you to keep it steady. “This isn’t a decision I can make lightly.”

Naoya’s expression darkens, his patience clearly waning. With a swift, almost irritated motion, he snatches the envelope and tucks it back into his coat pocket.

“I’m not a patient man, y/n, you know this,” he warns, the threat clear in his tone. “You have one week. If I don’t get an answer by then, the custody battle begins. And trust me,” his tone drops to a menacing whisper, “you don’t want to fight me in court.”

“I’ll let you know,” you murmur, unable to meet his gaze as your eyes are fixed on the table between you.

Naoya’s smirk returns, a slow, victorious curve of his lips.

It’s a look that says he’s already won, that he’s confident you’ll bend to his will.

“Good girl. I know you’ll see reason. I’ll expect your call soon.”

He stands with a deliberate calmness, smoothing the front of his jacket before tossing a few bills onto the table as if this entire conversation has been nothing more than a routine business transaction.

The casualness of his movements, the ease with which he holds your fate in his hands, only serves to deepen the pit of dread forming in your stomach.

“Think it over, love. I’ll be in touch.”

With those final words, Naoya turns and strides out of the coffee shop, leaving you sitting there, feeling as though the walls are closing in around you.

You can’t shake the feeling that no matter what you decide, something precious will be lost.

ꨄ

It’s much later than you intended—a few hours past the time you told Satoru you’d be home. But after your meeting with Naoya, you simply couldn’t summon the strength to face him.

How could you possibly stand before him now?

The very thought of looking into his eyes feels like a betrayal in itself, as if the truth you’re hiding might spill out just from his gaze alone.

Naoya’s words continue to echo in your mind, twisting around your thoughts like a serpent coiling tighter with each passing moment.

You can almost hear the whispers of scandal creeping through the corridors of the Gojo Corporation.

Surely this custody battle would bring poor publicity to Satoru’s name… knowing Naoya, it would be a spectacle—a media circus designed to tarnish every aspect of Satoru’s life.

Your heart races as you picture the headlines splashed across every tabloid, the relentless swarm of reporters, cameras flashing like a thousand tiny daggers aimed at your very soul.

They’d dig into every corner of your lives, twisting facts and fabricating lies until the truth is buried beneath layers of sensationalism.

You’ve seen Satoru’s world—perfectly organized, meticulously maintained, a reflection of the man himself. But Naoya has the power to create cracks in that perfect image, to expose the vulnerabilities hidden beneath the surface.

He would ensure it—he’d savor every moment of watching Satoru’s pristine reputation crumble, brick by brick.

What would Satoru do if you told him Naoya’s intentions?

Would he support you, or would he choose to protect himself, his legacy, over you and Haru?

The very thought makes your heart ache, a sharp pang of fear twisting through your chest—fear of losing the delicate balance you’ve found with Satoru, of watching it all unravel because of Naoya’s malice.

What is the right choice to make?

The question loops endlessly in your mind, a never-ending cycle of doubt that gnaws at your resolve.

You don’t know what to believe any more.

You need time—something you don’t have an abundance of right now. After all, you can’t avoid Satoru forever—he’ll wonder where you’ve been, what’s kept you away for so long.

And so, reluctantly, with a heart heavy and unresolved emotions, you return home.

ꨄ

The faint ticking of the grand clock echoes in the house as you creak open the door and re-enter. The sound, which usually blends into the background of your day, now feels loud—almost deafening in the silence of the home.

Rounding your way to the living room, the dim glow of the television casts flickering shadows on the walls—the only thing that seems alive in the stillness.

But the sight you are met with is something entirely unexpected—something that pushes away the darkness inside of you, if only for a moment.

Satoru sits on the couch, his posture relaxed but his expression one of bemused helplessness, as though he’s found himself in a situation that he’s not quite sure how to navigate.

His long legs are stretched out in front of him, but there’s a tenderness in the way he holds his arms around the small figure resting against him.

Haru, curled up on his lap, is nestled against his chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each gentle breath as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seems to lull her deeper into sleep. One of her small hands clutches the fabric of his shirt, as if seeking comfort even in her dreams, while the other is tucked close to her body, holding her favorite plush toy—Pikachu.

The TV is on, but the volume is muted, playing some late-night rerun that neither of them are paying attention to as the soft flickering light illuminates against them.

Satoru glances up as you enter the room, eyes brightening as he spots you. A sheepish smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a mixture of relief and quiet joy at your return.

“Hey, welcome back,” he says softly, careful not to disturb Haru.

It’s moments like this, that make it impossible to doubt him. The warmth in his voice makes the knot of tension in your chest loosen, if only a little.

You manage a small smile in return.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

As you begin to set your things down—your bag, your coat—Satoru’s gaze follows you, soft and attentive.

“Did you enjoy your time to yourself?”

It’s such a simple question, yet it’s loaded with the weight of the lie you’re living.

You force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, and nod, trying to keep your voice steady and light.

“Yeah…it was nice to have a little break.”

A tender smile curls upon his lips, his relief evident as he nods back.

“Good. You deserve some time for yourself.”

The words are filled with such warmth and care that it almost breaks you. But you swallow down the guilt, knowing you can’t afford to let it show. Not now.

As you make your way towards him, your gaze softens, drawn irresistibly to the sight of Haru. You kneel down beside the couch, your eyes tracing the delicate lines of her face, so peaceful and content as she rests in Satoru's lap.

“She fell asleep?” your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, shifting slightly but careful not to wake her.

“Yeah. We were watching Digimon like I promised, but she conked out halfway through. I didn’t know what to do, so I’ve just been sitting here for the past two hours.”

Your heart swells at his words—the thought of Satoru sitting there, his world seemingly paused just to let her sleep undisturbed, truly that is real… right?

You reach out and gently brush a strand of hair from Haru’s face, your fingers lingering for a moment on her cheek.

Her skin warm and smooth, her breathing steady and calm, the gentle rise and fall of her chest—each element is a testament to the trust she’s placed in this space that Satoru has helped create.

She looks so at peace, so completely untroubled and…it’s all thanks to Satoru.

You can’t stop the words from slipping out, even though they’re laced with the bittersweet ache of everything that’s happened.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your eyes meeting his. “For everything.”

He smiles at you, that soft, understanding smile that always seems to reach his eyes.

“Of course. She’s a wonderful kid. It’s my pleasure.”

Leaning down, you gently scoop Haru into your arms, cradling her small body against you. She stirs slightly, her little face scrunching up in sleep, but she doesn’t wake, simply burrowing closer to you as you hold her, seeking the comfort of your warmth.

“I’ll put her to bed,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Satoru watches you with a fond smile, his eyes following you as you move towards the stairway.

“y/n,” he calls after you, his tone a little hesitant.

You turn back to face him, noticing the subtle way his expression has shifted—an unspoken concern lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I need to tell you…” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you’ve come to recognize as his way of showing uncertainty. “It’s kind of short notice, but we were invited to a big charity gala tomorrow night. It’s a pretty important event, and they’re expecting us to attend. And, well… we’re anticipated to do an interview this time.”

Ah—the discomfort returns in an instant, like a cold shiver racing down your spine.

The weight of his words settles heavily on your shoulders, adding yet another layer of complexity to the tangled web you find yourself ensnared in.

The thought of standing in front of cameras, of answering questions about a relationship that is already so fraught with secrets and lies, sends your mind spiraling into a storm of anxiety.

But you can’t let any of that show. Not now.

Not when Satoru is looking at you with such sincerity, his blue eyes filled with a quiet expectation, clearly relying on you to be by his side through this.

You force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

“Another gala, huh?”

He nods, his expression softening slightly, but the tension doesn’t leave his eyes.

“Yeah, this one’s for a good cause, and, well, appearances matter. It’s important that we present a united front.”

Appearances matter. A bitter reminder of Naoya’s taunting words.

Satoru is a Gojo after all—and for a Gojo, appearances are everything. The pristine image he maintains is not just for show; it’s a fundamental part of who he is, of the world he navigates with such ease.

But where does that leave you? What happens the moment you mess up?

You’ve always been terrible at public speaking, and now you’re expected to partake in an interview?

Will his soft expression turn cold the moment you fail to meet his expectations?

Your heart races, but you push the fear down, locking it away behind a carefully constructed mask of composure.

“Okay,” you swallow. “We’ll figure it out.”

Satoru’s expression softens with visible relief, and he stands up, stretching slightly after having sat in the same position for so long. As his arms extend above his head, the hem of his shirt lifts, revealing a fleeting glimpse of his toned abs.

“Thanks, y/n. I know this whole public thing isn’t easy, but… I really appreciate you doing this with me.”

“Of course,” you manage to say, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “…we’re in this together, right?”

“Yeah. Together.”

The words feel like a betrayal, a dagger of guilt twisting in your chest.

How can you say that when you know what you’re hiding?

How can you say that when you doubt the very man in front of you?

Pushing those thoughts away, you try to focus on the moment, on Satoru’s gentle, almost boyish grin. Despite it all, it’s the kind of smile that makes you want to believe everything will be okay, that makes you want to cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you will get through this.

There is a beat of silence as you shift Haru’s weight slightly in your arms.

You study his face—the subtle vulnerability there, the softness, it makes you think—maybe, just maybe, you can open up to him. Test the waters, gauge his understanding.

Let’s start small… what if you told him your fear of public speaking?

The words hover on the tip of your tongue, a confession that feels both terrifying and necessary.

Would he laugh? Would he brush it off with one of his easy, confident smiles?

Or would he understand, see the anxiety that lies beneath the surface, and offer the reassurance you so desperately need?

Your heart races as you weigh the options, the fear of rejection battling with the desire for connection.

Finally, you take a deep breath, deciding to take the plunge. It’s a small step, but it feels monumental in the moment.

“I’m… I’m not really good with public speaking,” you admit quietly, your gaze lowering to the floor. “Maybe we could practice a little? Just so I don’t mess up.”

For a moment, there’s silence.

When you finally dare to look up, you see Satoru’s expression softening even further, a gentle warmth radiating from his eyes as he gazes at you.

The way he looks at you, so full of understanding, so free of judgment—it makes your chest tighten.

“Of course, we can. I actually prepared a script earlier today, just in case you may need it. We can go over it together after you put Haru to bed.”

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“Thank you, Satoru… that would really help.”

Why did you doubt him?

Did Naoya instill that doubt? Or has it always been there, lurking in the shadows of your mind, waiting for the right moment to surface?

The question lingers, a quiet whisper that carries both regret and self-reproach.

He had anticipated your need, had prepared for it without you even asking.

On one hand you feel relief that he’s so understanding, but guilt practically consumes it because now his trust feels like a weight you can’t bear.

It seems at this point, there is no winning for you.

No matter which way you turn, you’re trapped—caught between the desire to commit to him completely and the fear that you’ll inevitably fall short of his expectations.

Your mind is at a constant battle.

“No problem,” he says, his voice pulling you back to the present. He reaches for the remote, turning off the TV, the screen fading to black as the room is cast into a quieter, more intimate atmosphere.

He glances back at you, his expression warm but focused.

“Meet you in the study after you put Haru down?”

Not trusting yourself to speak, you nod, and turn, heading up the stairs towards Haru’s bedroom.

In the quiet of Haru’s room, you smooth the covers around her small, peaceful form and press a soft kiss on her forehead.

You take a moment to just sit there, watching her sleep—a moment to collect yourself before you return to Satoru.

The soft rise and fall of her chest, the slight twitch of her fingers as she dreams, it all serves as a reminder of the innocence you’re trying so desperately to protect.

You can’t risk losing her. Haru is everything to you.

But how long can you maintain this lie, this pretense that everything is okay, when the truth threatens to tear it all apart?

The mere thought of Haru being taken away, of Naoya sinking his claws into her life, makes your blood run cold.

Right now, you want nothing more than to break down, to cry, to let the tears that have been welling up inside you finally fall.

But you can’t afford to do that. Not now.

Sometimes the difficult thing about being a parent is putting on a front that everything is okay... that everything will be okay, even when it feels like it will not be.

You have to be strong, not just for yourself, but for Haru. She needs you to be her rock, her anchor in the storm, even if you feel like you’re barely holding on.

You pull back, your hand lingering on the edge of her bed for just a moment longer, savoring the last bit of peace before you straighten up, steeling yourself for the next challenge that you must face.

ꨄ

As you enter the study, the door closes behind you with a soft click.

Satoru looks up, sitting at the large mahogany desk, papers spread out in front of him as he offers you a small, reassuring smile. He gestures to the chair beside him.

“Ready?”

You nod, pulling out the chair and sitting down, the leather cushion sinking slightly under your weight.

Leaning forward, Satoru props his elbow on the table as he studies you with soft, focused eyes.

“So, let’s start with the basics. They’ll probably ask how we met, what drew us together... you know, easy stuff.”

He slides the script over to you.

You take the paper, your eyes skimming over the questions—questions that are so casual on the surface.

They’re questions that, for most couples, would evoke warm memories and easy smiles. But the simplicity of these questions only highlights the complexity of the situation.

They should feel easy to answer—answers that would roll off the tongue naturally if your relationship was carved from normal circumstances.

But, that’s not the situation you find yourself in.

The reality of your arrangement makes each question feel like a test—a hurdle you need to clear without revealing too much.

If only it were different—if only the answers could come from a place of truth rather than a carefully constructed narrative.

But it’s not.

This relationship is a contract, a charade—a web of lies.

You nod again, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“Alright,” Satoru says, his tone encouraging. “Let’s give it a go. I’ll ask, you answer.”

He clears his throat and starts with the first question.

“So, y/n, how did you and Satoru first meet?”

You take a deep breath, the familiar answer already on the tip of your tongue.

This one is easy because it’s part of the story you’ve both been telling from the beginning. Still, your fingers fidget with the corner of the script, as if grounding yourself in the words.

“I was looking for a new job, and Satoru needed someone with my expertise. It was professional at first, but we just… clicked. Like it was meant to be.”

“Perfect,” he says, tone approving.

He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Now…what drew you to each other?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the script in your hands. The paper crinkles slightly under your fingers as you try to commit the answer to memory, but the words feel heavy, loaded with the pressure to say the right thing.

Satoru notices your pause and tilts his head, a gentle smile lingering on his lips.

“I was thinking we keep it simple,” he suggests, his eyes locking onto yours with a reassuring calm. “I’ll talk about how I admire how you always put Haru first. People eat that stuff up.”

“Right,” you nod, your voice a little lighter now. “Then how about I talk about how you’re always so supportive and how you’ve made Haru and me feel safe.”

Satoru��s grin broadens, the corners of his mouth curling into a familiar, playful expression. He lets out a contemplative hum, as if considering your words carefully, and then reaches over to tap the tip of your nose playfully.

The touch is light, almost teasing, but it carries with it a sense of warmth, of genuine affection.

“And you can say something about how I’m the most charming, good-looking guy you’ve ever met.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, the sound carrying with it a sense of relief you hadn’t realized you needed—like exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Your heaviness lifts, replaced by a lightness that feels almost foreign in the midst of all the pressure.

Satoru always seems to know how to break through your tension.

It’s one of the things you’ve come to appreciate about him during this arrangement—the way he can make you laugh, even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

“Of course, because modesty is your best trait,” you grin, and without thinking, you poke his side gently, eliciting a small chuckle from him. “If I say that, I’m certain it would only go straight to your head.”

“Hmm, what can I say? Confidence is key,” he grins, eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark you’ve come to recognize.

You lean back and fold your arms across your chest in a mock gesture of contemplation, your eyes narrowing slightly as you consider his words.

“Confidence? Or arrogance?” you retort, a smirk playing on your lips. “It’s a fine line, Satoru.”

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if you’ve struck a mortal blow.

“Arrogance? Me? I’m wounded, truly,” he declares, his voice dripping with exaggerated hurt, though the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrays the act.

“Right…I think I might have to bring you back down to earth,” your voice carries a note of a playful challenge.

“Glad to know I can count on you,” he replies, leaning back slightly as he comfortably puts his hands behind his neck in a relaxed confidence. “But let’s not forget—you’re the one who’s supposed to be singing my praises. Remember? Charming, good-looking…”

“And don’t forget humble,” you add, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Ah, yes, the humblest,” he agrees, nodding solemnly as if he’s just imparted some great wisdom.

But the solemnity only lasts a moment before he breaks into another grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’ve always been known for my humility.”

You can’t help but laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief at his antics. This fleeting sense of normalcy was everything you needed. It almost makes you forget the storm of emotions raging inside you.

“Wow. At this point, I think your ego has its own zip code,” you quip, rolling your eyes.

He grins, but then, with a small, exaggerated sigh, he drops his head down onto the table, resting it on his folded arms as he pouts dramatically.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try to keep my ego in check,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled.

Here is a man who commands boardrooms and makes decisions that influence entire industries, pouting like a child in front of you.

It’s kind of cute, actually, that the powerful CEO can be this… unguarded, this silly, this human.

In these moments, all the layers he wears—of strength, of authority, of responsibility—seem to peel away, leaving behind just… Satoru.

After a moment, he lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint.

“You know… people tell me I’m charming and good-looking all the time, but… I think it’d feel different coming from you. I wouldn’t mind hearing it… just once.”

Your breath catches for a fleeting moment as you observe a glimpse of something in his eyes, something deeper than the usual teasing.

The way he says it, with that mix of playfulness and sincerity, makes your heart flutter in a way you’re not entirely prepared for.

Would it be so bad to indulge him?

“You’re… easy on the eyes,” you say, your voice softer, almost shy.

It’s not quite the grand compliment he was fishing for, but it’s enough to make him smile—the kind of smile that lights up his entire face, making it impossible not to smile back.

“Well, I’ll take that,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, and for just a moment, everything else falls away.

But then, as if unable to resist, Satoru props his head up in the palm of his hand and leans in just a little closer, his smile turning slightly smug.

“You know, you could say it again if you really wanted to. I mean, I’m all ears.”

You raise an eyebrow, a grin tugging at your lips as you catch onto his game.

“Don’t push your luck, Satoru,” you warn, though your tone is more amused than serious. “Let’s get back to work.”

Satoru chuckles, leaning back with a mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Back to work it is.”

The world outside fades away—the complications, the secrets, the uncertainty of what tomorrow holds—all of it dissolves into the background as you share this brief moment of connection with Satoru.

It’s as if time itself has slowed, allowing you to bask in the warmth of this exchange, to let the comfort of Satoru’s presence ease the weight of your worries.

But the moment can’t last forever.

The reality of your situation looms just beyond the edges of this moment, reminding you of the stakes, of the careful balance you’re trying to maintain.

After all, there’s still work to be done, and as much as you’d like to linger here, in this bubble of lightheartedness, you know you need to keep moving forward.

ꨄ

The hours slip by, and you go over each possible scenario, each potential curveball the interviewers might throw your way.

The script between you becomes both a shield and a lifeline, something to cling to as you navigate the complexities of everything.

Satoru’s voice is steady and reassuring as he guides you through your responses. When you stumble—when the nerves threaten to get the better of you—he’s there with gentle corrections.

His words never harsh or critical, but rather encouraging, help you find your footing again. And whenever he senses the tension rising—the anxiety creeping into your expression—he cracks a joke, designed to draw you back from the edge of your worry.

You find yourself leaning on him more than you expected, his confidence bolstering your own, his belief in you seeping into the cracks of your self-doubt, and with each passing hour, the fear that had settled in your chest begins to ease, replaced by a cautious optimism that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to pull this off.

After running through the script for what feels like the hundredth time, Satoru leans back in his chair—the soft smile tugging at his lips telling you that he’s genuinely pleased with your progress.

“I think you’re ready,” his voice is filled with a quiet confidence. “You’ve got this. Now, you should probably get some rest... it's getting late.”

His words are a welcome relief, washing over you like a balm after the tension of the evening. You nod, feeling the exhaustion from the long day finally catching up to you—all you can think about is the comfort of your bed.

But as you begin to stand, you notice that Satoru remains seated. His posture, which had been so relaxed just moments before, now seems slightly more tense as he appears to be focused on something distant, something you can’t quite place.

The shift is subtle, but it’s enough to give you pause.

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask mid-step, your voice tentative, a hint of concern creeping in.

Satoru looks up at your question, the distant look in his eyes fading as his focus returns to you. His expression softens, the edges of his smile returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“No,” he replies, tone gentle but firm. “I’ve got some other business I need to take care of. But don’t worry about it,” he adds quickly, as if sensing your concern. “You should get some rest. You’ve done more than enough for tonight.”

There’s something about the way he says it, the way he brushes off your concern so easily, that makes you hesitate.

Is there something he’s not telling you? Or perhaps, choosing to handle on his own?

There’s a slight droop of his shoulders and his fingers absently drum against the armrest of his chair—a silent rhythm betraying the thoughts running through his mind.

You want to push, to ask him what’s really going on, but something holds you back.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes seem to plead with you to let it go, to trust him when he says it’s nothing you need to worry about.

Or maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s finally settling into your bones, making it harder to think clearly, to muster the energy for another round of questions.

So, instead, you nod again, offering him a small, understanding smile.

“Alright. Just… don’t stay up too late, okay?”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and though it eases some of your worry, it doesn’t completely dispel it.

“I’ll try not to,�� he promises, though you’re not entirely convinced. “Go on, get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Making your way down the hallway, the soft light of the bedroom is a welcoming beacon at the end.

The prospect of finally getting rest is almost too tempting to resist, but as you near the door, something tugs at you—a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that refuses to be ignored.

It’s not fair, you think to yourself—pausing just before the threshold of your bedroom.

Satoru stayed up late, helping you with the interview questions, guiding you through each potential challenge with patience and care...and now, he’s left alone to handle his own business needs while you get to sleep.

There was a weariness in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before, a quiet weight that he seemed determined to hide from you.

Why is he shouldering the responsibility when you agreed you would lead Gojo Corporation together?

The thought gnaws at you, making it hard to turn away.

You sigh, torn between the exhaustion weighing you down and the guilt pushing you forward.

Finally, you decide it’s only right to offer your help, even if just to make sure he’s not taking on too much by himself—and so, with renewed determination, you turn on your heel and quietly make your way back down the hall.

As you approach the door to the study, you’re about to knock when you hear his voice, low and serious, coming from inside. You pause, your hand hovering just inches from the wood, and listen.

“No. That’s not an option. We can’t afford any negative press right now, especially with everything that’s happening.”

Satoru’s voice is firm, almost biting, a tone you’re not used to hearing from him. The usual warmth that so often laces his words is gone, stripped away and replaced by something colder, more calculating.

There’s a pause, and you can faintly hear the murmur of someone on the other end of the line, though their words are indistinct through the phone.

Whatever they’re saying seems to only harden Satoru’s resolve.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Satoru continues, his voice dropping lower, the words coming out with an icy sharpness that feels almost like a threat. “Take care of it. Make sure this stays under wraps. My image can’t take a hit like that, not now.”

Your heart skips a beat, an uneasy feeling creeping up your spine—the warmth of the moment you shared earlier evaporating in an instant.

He sounds different—distant, devoid of the tenderness you’ve come to know… cold.

The man who just hours ago was patient and supportive, who made you feel safe and cared for, now seems like someone else entirely—replaced with this man who seems to care more about maintaining an image than anything else.

Whatever the voice on the other end of the phone says next makes Satoru sigh, a tired, almost frustrated sound.

You inch closer to the door, your breath shallow as you strain to hear more, but his voice drops lower, slipping into a tone that’s more guarded, more secretive.

“Yes, I know it’s not ideal, but it’s necessary,” Satoru says, his words clipped, as if he’s weighing each one carefully before letting it fall. “We have to protect the Gojo name at all costs. And that includes… well, you know what it includes. Just handle it.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

…what does that include? The vague words hang in the air and you feel a sharp stab of anxiety.

You feel a lump form in your throat as you back away from the door, the doubts you’d tried so hard to push aside earlier now crashing back with full force, overwhelming you.

What is he talking about? What could be so important that it needs to be kept under wraps at all costs?

Questions race through your mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

And what did he mean by “protecting the Gojo name”? Is that all this is to him—just a carefully crafted image that needs to be maintained, no matter the cost?

The thought stings, a sharp pain that cuts deeper the more you dwell on it.

You can’t help but wonder, as you stand there in the dimly lit hallway, if you’ll ever truly know where his priorities lie.

The man who once seemed so open, so transparent with you, now feels like a stranger—someone who might not be as trustworthy as you’d hoped.

Will he choose to protect you and Haru, or will he always put his image, his family name, first?

The doubt gnaws at you, growing with each passing second, until it feels like a weight you can barely carry.

You retreat further, your heart pounding in your chest, the sound of it almost drowning out the murmured conversation from the study.

The light at the end of the hallway seems so far away now, the warmth and safety you’d felt earlier slipping through your fingers like sand.

As you finally turn and make your way back to your bedroom, each step is heavier than the last—a shadow cast on everything you thought you knew.

The warmth of the bed offers you little comfort as you slip under the covers, and your mind replays the conversation over and over again.

As much as you want to believe in him, in the connection you share, the seeds of doubt have been planted.

You're uncertain if you're ready for what's to come—the interview, the public scrutiny, or the complicated feelings that have begun to tangle between you and Satoru.

But throughout all this uncertainty, there is one thing that is without a doubt evident.

You still have a decision to make.

poor y/n can't catch a break...girl is going through it. man i cannot tell you how much i enjoyed writing the coffee shop scene with naoya though, idk it was just so satisfying to write, i literally despise naoya so much lol. and satoru being so clueless with haru 🥲 he sat there for two hours 🤭 he's such a goof. anyways, i really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and i hope you're ready for what's to come! thanks so much for reading 🥺 seriously, your comments make my day. much love 🫶🏻 → onto the next chapterꨄ

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cinnbar-bun · 8 months ago

Text

Pony (Various SBR x Reader)

Characters: Diego Brando, Johnny Joestar, Mountain Tim, Gyro Zeppeli (separate)

Prompt: "My saddle's waitin' / Come and jump on it."

Summary: How ya'll get down and dirty together with your fave cowboys.

Rating: NSFW THERE IS NOTHING BUT SMUT HERE

Notes: Reader is GN!, no body parts mentioned for reader, implied to be during the SBR, no spoilers for Part 7, just pure smut hcs.

Word Count: ~2.3k

You can read on my AO3 here!

Taglist (if you'd like to be added, please fill out the form in my pinned): @bruabbina @adeadcreator

Diego Brando

The type to suggest a casual arrangement before he gets seriously involved with you. He says it’s just to relieve some stress during the race but before you know it, he wants you closer.

Tries to present himself as a dominating and forceful top, and that’s probably how many of your sessions will go at first. He refuses to give up power easily and especially not in a presumed ‘casual’ mutually beneficial arrangement.

In reality he can be quite the switch, something that will be explored the more you two get intimate. He relishes power struggles, and will goad you into trying to dominate him further or putting you deeper in your place.

A talker, Diego will almost never shut up. Whether it’s praising how your body squeezes him, degrading you smugly, coaxing you to ‘tame’ him, or begging for some pleasure- his mouth will be running.

He makes such beautiful noises <3

Prefers to have sex in more secluded areas, preferably your tents late at night. But if pushed to it, he will not be opposed to just taking you in an alley or in the woods out in the open.

“Since you acted so wanton earlier, it shouldn’t be an issue for you, should it? Now stop whining.”

He loves when suck him off while he’s sitting or standing. It makes him feel like a king. He’ll give you plenty of praise or condescending compliments while you do so.

His fingers are amazing. Calloused from holding the reins for so many years, but experienced at the best ways to give you pleasure.

Diego tends to admit his true feelings or get more possessive during sex. A lot of “mine” or “for me” and “I love you’s” are thrown out while he’s going at it (or you’re going at him).

Occasionally cannot hold back how feral he feels because of Scary Monsters. He will be rutting and grinding into you and telling you he needs you now.

Probably one of the few occasions he will not be talking beyond mindless grunts, groans, and growls.

Does like roleplay, not really anything elaborate (especially not during the race when time is limited), but he does like indulging in specific ‘roles’ for you both. He tends to like being called ‘master’ or ‘sir’ or even ‘my lord’. Don’t worry, he’s happy to do the same for you if you want it (sigh can you imagine him calling you master/mistress I’m-).

Has no preference for where he finishes, because he truthfully wants to cover himself all over you, whether you swallow, giving you a facial, or inside- he’s raring to go again to finish on a different spot and exert his place with you.

If under the influence of Scary Monsters, though, he will tend to want to finish inside you.

His aftercare is pretty crappy at first, especially when it’s meant to be ‘casual’, because he thinks he’s such hot shit that you should be grateful you even got to sleep with him. But as he gets closer to you, he will either grumble and tell you you’re so dirty while cleaning you, or just silently help you then hold you close.

He can be very clingy after sex, making him hold you close and bury his face into your shoulder/chest so he can inhale your scent and regain himself.

Johnny Joestar

Type to get caught trying to ‘relieve’ himself and weakly ask for your help. And really, how could you resist that flustered face?

Johnny isn’t inexperienced, absolutely not, but he hasn’t slept with another since his time as a pompous jockey who had people throwing themselves onto him left and right. The guilt and his injury left him rather rusty and self-conscious about his performance.

You’re gonna have to do a lot of the heavy lifting with him, but Johnny proves himself to be an eager lover.

Lots of foreplay between the two of you, with Johnny having a preference for face-sitting. He also will incorporate some of the Spin with you to act as a ‘vibrator’ of sorts to pleasure you more.

Self-conscious at first but slowly grows more comfortable and confident as you two continue together, making him relax. While at first he tries to stay silent or apologizes/mumbles under his breath a lot, he’ll slowly begin to crack some jokes and be more vocal.

This is when you’ll see Johnny shine more. He’ll offer more creative suggestions and kinks for the both of you to try out. He’s wonderful at adapting on the fly if he finds you enjoying/disliking something.

Besides his stated fetish for bug bites (which will seriously get him going if he sees you with some), he just really loves your ass. He straight up cannot get enough of it, and will be grabbing and holding it whenever he can.

Continuing with that logic, he loves reverse cowgirl because he loves seeing your ass bounce against him.

Johnny’s dirty talk tends to consist of him throwing expletives and saying what he feels. He’s not too good with roleplay because after a while the pleasure crashes his brain and he just starts talking mindlessly.

“Ah, shit, you feel so good… fuck, keep going.”

He can be a teasing bastard when he really feels like it. Often, he’ll employ the Spin on you, then pull it away just before you finish. He can get pretty cheeky, but that’s just how you know how comfortable he is with you.

His neck and collarbone are some of his more sensitive spots, and if you focus your attention there, he loses his mind. Leave him some hickeys and tug on his hair, and he’s positively gone. He will complain about the marks later, but secretly admire them and be happy he’s got them from you.

He likes finishing on your ass. Second favorite thing would be to have you swallow, but he finds it pretty attractive if some of it spills out of your lips.

His aftercare is good and he’ll do his best to care and comfort you. But majority of the time he’s just spent and exhausted and wants to snuggle with you. He gets rather soft and whispers a lot while you two bask in the afterglow.

Mountain Tim

The type of man to want to be romantically involved with you and take it slow, before he can’t contain himself and has to have you.

Tim is a gentleman, he really is. For a bounty hunter, the man takes great care to try and woo you and behave properly around you. Because, truthfully, this man is a romantic deep down.

He’ll never try and let his desires get the best of him for fear of taking advantage of you, so you’ll have to initiate. And the minute you initiate, he’s all for it and will jump at the opportunity.

A giving lover- so giving that the both of you, on occasion, were spent with only the foreplay.

He’s passionate. His actions can be overwhelming in the bedroom, but you can practically feel the love dripping out of him. He goes nuts for you.

Obviously, bondage is most likely occurring. His stand gives him a multitude of ways to tie you up and tease you with his body. He will take advantage of his powers to bring you the utmost pleasure.

However, his favorite kinks include cockwarming and overstimulation. He would love to be inside you forever if he could, and he often likes to tease you by having you sit on him for a while before he moves.

As for overstimulation… he’s gonna make you cum over and over. He always praises you for finishing and will try to urge another orgasm out of you. He loves seeing your face and hearing your breathless moans and whimpers.

“That’s it darling… that’s it. You’re doing so good for me… you can give me another one, can’t you? I know you can, darlin’. Just let me take care of you.”

Heavy on the praise. He’s never mean or degrading, because he loves you too damn much to do that. At worst he’d do some condescending praise, but majority of the time it is pure praise for how amazing you are and how good you feel.

While he can lean into some sub/dom dynamics with you, often sex is just an outlet for the both of you to express your affection and love.

He is often a service top for you, but leans more towards dom. That doesn’t mean he won’t sub for you, he absolutely will if you desire it. He’d love nothing more than to see you riding him.

He prefers positions where he can see your face. Tim will coo for you to look into his eyes and shake his head when you try and cover your face or look away. He just loves seeing your facial expressions.

Reverse cowgirl is a good treat once in a while for him, too. He loves being able to smack your ass and praise how you’re riding him.

Likes to finish inside. He believes it’s more proof that the two of you are bound together.

His aftercare is amazing. Probably the best guy around at it. Course, he’ll be a bit of a flirt and tease, but he always care for you just as any good cowboy should.

Gyro Zeppeli

Also the type to suggest a casual sexual relationship with you before he falls for you.

If you were to look up “wild” in the dictionary, you’d find Gyro’s picture right next to it because this man is an absolute loose cannon in the bedroom. Or tent. Or woods. Or alley. Or body of water. Or wherever the hell you two decide to have sex.

Gyro isn’t ashamed of his desires and will seek you out pretty often.

He’s experimental in bed. He is experienced from his many sexual escapades back then, but since the race, he’s been steady with you and likes trying whatever new wacky whim crosses through his mind.

His surgical and anatomical knowledge combined with his teasing nature makes him a menace. He knows almost every nerve and muscle on your body and how to manipulate it for your pleasure. Not to mention, his control over the Spin will have him working your body in overtime.

Gyro likes to tease you during inopportune times by using the Spin on you to act as a vibrator and get you excited, but he’ll act like nothing is going on around the others and make you wait. He’ll eventually have the two of you secluded and “take care” of the problem he caused, all while having that shit-eating grin on his face as he tells you you’re getting too desperate.

This man is getting goofy and silly with you during sex. Expect some bad puns or jokes while he’s ramming your insides.

An unfair and rough lover who gets pleasure from hearing your voice. He will never want you to be quiet, and he makes it his mission to have you screaming by the end of it. He might chide you and call you out for being too loud, but honestly he doesn’t care if everyone else is hearing it. He just loves how your voice sounds.

Roleplay is common between the two of you. Sometimes it’s ‘prisoner x jailer/executioner’, ‘surgeon x patient’, or ‘royal x dutiful, loyal executioner who is totally gonna be rewarded for being an awesome partner today in the race, right?’

Gyro surprisingly can stay in character and he will play his roles very well for you. He gets pretty into them when he wants to.

Likes doggy style a lot. Whether for you or him, he just wants someone being on all fours and their ass being grabbed.

Switch, leaning more towards top/dom. But he finds it hot if you take charge of him and put him in his place (and he’ll serve you like no other, baby). Will call you whatever you want him to call you, no questions asked.

Occasionally drops some Italian in the middle of banging you. This was especially prevalent when he started falling for you and would loudly proclaim “ti amo” over and over without addressing it in English.

Despite his playful attitude both in the bedroom and out, he can get pretty serious and emotional with you. Sometimes the rough horseplay just doesn’t cut it, and he’ll lay back and thrust slowly into you while gripping your hips to help you ride him. He’ll talk less in these moments and just enjoy hearing both of your gasps and quiet moans.

Doesn’t have a specific preference on where to finish. He just does it wherever he feels. He commonly does it on your back or stomach, depending on the position.

His aftercare is wonderful. Yeah, he can be a joker sometimes but the afterglow with you is nice and can get pretty romantic. He’ll glide his hands over you gently and trace over the marks he may have left on you or just to feel your skin underneath his fingers. He’ll clean you up and have you both rest. He did reveal he could relieve some of the soreness from your body with the Spin, so occasionally he’ll do it (admittedly, he does like seeing you limp or wobble after a tryst with him).

It’s where Gyro will be at his most tender with you, where he will cradle you and look at you with eyes full of love and desire for you. He speaks quietly in these moments and likes to ramble about nothing with you. And when he pulls a small laugh out of you, he thinks he could just die on the spot and be content.

#x reader #reader insert #jojo #jjba #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo steel ball run #diego brando #diego brando x reader #johnny joestar #johnny joestar x reader #mountain tim #mountain tim x reader #gyro zeppeli #gyro zeppeli x reader #jjba smut #jojo smut

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takes1 · 8 days ago

Note

ur blog is so pretty...

if you are okay with it, do you have any headcanons bout what type or p0rn the Karasuno boys would watch? 🌹

what type of p*rn would the karasuno team watch?

warnings. heavy nsfw under the cut. minors DNI

characters. suga. daichi. asahi. tsukki. kageyama. hinata. nishinoya. tanaka. yamaguchi. details. lots of kink discussion - just about anything you can think of

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.

suga९᠀ - likes a good storyline video. loves a bad one. shitty acting gets him laughing, and he needs every chance he can get to feel as though he isn't sinning. won't say no to an amateur flick, but he likes the structure of 4k videos, and is a suuuucker for the 'oiled up' aesthetic.

asahi९᠀ - buddy has a rampant size kink that doesn't get much of an outlet. downside: most videos that cater to this are not what he wants, because of the unavoidable infantilization in most of them. so he opts for amateur vids with bigger guys turning out their smaller girlfriends, wives; extra props if there's some real, organic dirty talk, or if it happens to be super low-quality.

daichi९᠀ - has no shame about his oral fixation. face fucking. deepthroat. he's got any video with some lucky dude getting good head memorized by the title and the preview. his favorites are either: when the guy stays hands-off and silent, or when she takes a load down her throat. not much in between.

tsukishima ९᠀ - is a filthy animal with a porn addiction. will watch/has watched just about everything under the sun. he had a bukkake faze, a gangbang faze, but is now proudly serving his bdsm faze with specific interest in femdoms. shiny, black heels get him hard in an instant. has done the tried-and-true bdsm questionnaire in his spare time and does heaps of research on the community, usually as a pregame to jerking off.

kageyama ९᠀ - no particular preferences. but if he's got a crush on somebody, he will strictly watch lookalikes. it wasn't a conscious habit at first, but after the third time it happened, he couldn't articulate any other reason to look up seven descriptors in the search bar and get 0 results. how well/quickly he gets off is based on how well the actor or subject looks his crush. it's a long endeavor, too. he edges for as long as he can, and almost always does it twice.

hinata ९᠀ - can't watch porn long enough to build any strong preferences. has sensitivity/premature ejaculation issues, so he tends to just listen to whatever video he landed on. this has opened more of a pipeline to nsfw audios, instead. loves the sound of two bodies coming together, especially all the little pants and huffs in a video that aren't faked. has gotten insanely good at being able to tell if it's fake, too.

nishinoya ९᠀ - doesn't watch videos; similar problem to hinata. instead, yuu buys physical hentai novels. big fan of monster-fucking. tentacle stuff is a staple in his readable porn. he guards his collection with his life and would sooner lose a limb than have anybody go near the shelf that he keeps them hidden behind. once, asahi stood too close during a sleepover and -naturally- yuu bit him as a distraction, just to get him away from the area.

tanaka ९᠀ - wlw videos. solo-girl vids. he can't stand to watch something with a guy in it. it's huge turn-off, especially when the dude is too loud, or in the way, too soft, or straight-up ugly. learned to love the slow, women-catered stuff that's 40 minutes long and has plot to follow. also picked up a lot of tongue tricks from these vids, too. (congrats, kiyoko!)

yamaguchi ९᠀ - mmf threesomes. i think ya'll know what i'm getting at, here. either he 1: is poly and doesn't know it, 2: is gay and doesn't know it, 3: is genuinely very enticed by the idea of overstimulating a gorgeous girl, OR 4: can't see himself as enough for a potential partner, and this might be a subconscious way of evading that insecurity.

notes. i'm very sorry to any who were looking for ennoshita, kinoshita, or narita. i tried, but genuinely couldn't get anything going for any of them. they all seem like nice guys, but there's no material that i can properly make nasty.

taglist. @integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

links. my masterlist. requests open.

401 notes · View notes

starwrighter · 1 year ago

Text

Dude, get a restraining order

(Masterpost) (Ao3 link) (previous)

(Chapter #5 Ya'll)

Just like he said he would, Damian walked Danny to his earth science classroom. Guiding him through labyrinth-like hallways with a firm grip on his sleeve. It’s as if he thought Danny would slip through his fingers and be swept away by the crowd of students. Embarrassingly enough, that’s an accurate assumption of both his luck and his situational awareness. If he dared to imagine the future, prison bars, sigils, and the outline of a body immediately came to mind.

Forever he’d be thanking the ancients for Damian expert skills in navigating. Without him, he’d probably be curled up at the bottom of a staircase by now. Or in a death cult keen on taking over the world. It might seem ridiculously pessimistic, but freaky escalations like that happened to him all the time! He’d gone from searching for a gift he’d accidentally knocked into the zone to staging a massive prison break! Needless to say, he appreciated the company.

“Since your map is half a century out-of-date; I’ll pick you up around lunchtime,” Damian declared, curtly waiting for his response.

”Sounds good,” Giving the other boy a small wave and a thankful smile Danny headed into the classroom.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he read the cheesy geology jokes scrawled onto the board. The jokes were stupid in a way only teachers or dads could make them. Puns that could do psychic damage if you dare read them aloud. It’s beautiful. Leagues above a certain English teacher who butchered slang so brutally the lingo died on the spot.

The typical classroom posters lined the walls. A clear bucket full of rocks just sitting on the teacher’s desk as she started taking attendance. He sat close to the front furthest from the door. His blindside faced the wall, nobody could sneak up on him and he wouldn’t be trampled when the bell rang. Nobody could gawk pityingly at his face this way. Yeah, you could pry this spot from his cold dead hands.

It might seem extreme but people were…Weird when it came down to his disability. Some people treated him like he was utterly useless, incapable of doing anything on his own. They tried to “help” without bothering to ask about his condition or if he even needed help. It was so much worse the first few months after the accident. He was wheelchair-bound for that. -1/10 wouldn’t recommend.

He could say with certainty nobody wanted to be paralyzed. It’s jarring how differently treated him back then. They’d point out the obvious like he’s completely blind. Annoying, but understandable considering how gnarled his facial injuries were before they healed. It looked like somebody shot him in the face with a firework. The fact that he didn’t lose an eye was a medical miracle backed by new ghostly powers.

What wasn’t understandable was the complete lack of boundaries strangers had with him and his wheelchair. No amount of warning could’ve prepared him for the first time someone grabbed his wheelchair and moved him. He thought it’d been a one-time thing but it happened again and again without fail. Somebody would move him out of the way or try to “Help” him get to where he’s going. Several times without so much of a “Hello! Do you need some help,” people he’d never spoken to would grab the handles of his chair and start pushing him.

It’s infuriatingly dehumanizing and their heartbroken faces when he called them out tugged at his heartstrings. So many times he’d guiltily stewed over his responses. Jazz killed that guilt without so much as a thought when she put things into perspective. Even though Jazz had a habit of psychoanalyzing him it felt good when she said his anger warranted.

Nothing would ever feel as good as taking those first shaky steps outside his wheelchair though. The wave of overwhelming emotion when a group of baffled doctors told him his paralysis wasn’t as permanent as they previously thought was unparalleled. He cried a lot that day. Tears of joy, he’s not ashamed to admit that.

Never in his life would he have thought he’d be grateful for Dash’s bullying. But after a full two months of extensive physical therapy and multiple surgeries, he now knew were unnecessary anyone treating him like they did before was a godsend. Dash believed in a twisted kind of equality when it came to bullying, he’d pick on anyone he deemed a loser. For him, it’d been verbal harassment, but regaining the ability to walk gave him confidence. He was extremely cocky, snapping back with sarcastic venom at every dig made at him.

Slowly but surely, people stopped babying him. It was harder to argue that someone was helpless when they were actively picking fights with the star football player. After all the shit he’d involved himself in people treated him like normal. Normal in the sense he was picked on for being a loser with crazy parents.

He’d take that kind of bullying over the underhanded insults drowned in infantilism. As the months passed it felt like everyone forgot about his accident. His classmates would get angry at him when he couldn’t keep up with them and go green with envy when he got extra time for his assignments. People acted like he was getting special treatment just for the sake of it.

Like full body electrocution was something he could just walk off. They didn’t understand how walking and running were easier than standing in place. He was accused of faking it whenever he stood up from his wheelchair. People were offended that he still considered his left side blind when he could still see light in his peripherals.

Everyone he talked to said he was lucky. Lucky to survive, lucky to walk again without aid, lucky to have all the sweet powers, lucky lucky lucky. He didn’t feel all that lucky when his joints locked or when reading gave him migraines so bad he questioned if being alive was worth it.

He knows it could be worse. Dear god does he know it could be so, so, much worse. He could be fully dead. Charred to a crisp without even a blast shadow as evidence of his death. He should’ve been paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of his life. Braindead, hooked up to a machine as his family mourned their loss. The consequences of walking into that portal chamber were so much lighter than anyone could’ve imagined. So he dealt with it.

Things could be worse. At least he wasn’t in Gotham directly after his accident. Slipping through solid objects around people 100x more fearful of their surroundings was a wonderful way to speedrun getting his spine shattered by a guy in a bat suit. Or trafficked. Danny winces as he scribbles on a sheet of lined paper.

Someone is staring at him. The boy beside him was shooting daggers into his very soul. Hadn’t even bothered to hide the way his face twisted in suspicion when Danny turned to look him in the eyes.

“You need something?” Danny probed, praying this was just him misreading facial expressions.

“What the hell happened to you?” The other boy whispered, his tone harsh and accusatory.

“A shocking experience,” His half-assed response earns him a sharp glare and a sneer.

“No really, what happened?”

“Got zapped,” He shrugs, hoping his classmate would take the hint and drop it.

“That’s not what I meant,” The other seethed. “How did you get electrocuted?”

”Electricity,”

“The fact you’re dodging my question makes you look more suspicious,”

“Not trauma dumping on a stranger makes me suspicious?”

“It’s Gotham! We don’t get transfer students outside major cities and we certainly don’t get ones willing to stay for months! What are you planning?” He hisses, voice cracking as he tried and failed to make it sound lower.

“Trust me, if I had a choice to stay home I would’ve,”

“I don’t think I do trust you,”

“That's not my problem,” Danny shrugged. This guy spoke with the delusional confidence only the stubbornest flat earther could rival. He’s not a gothamite by any means but wasn’t the key unspoken rule of the city “Mind your damn business unless you’re a bat,” It’s on par with Don’t dig straight down but this guy clearly hadn’t learned of the former.

“Why do you have fangs?”

”Genetics,” What kind of question was that? Plenty of people had fangs. It’s a common trait, almost every person in amity has it!

”I don’t believe you,”

Heh? What’s the point in asking if he wasn’t going to believe him when he answered? It reminded him of a certain annoyance back home.

“Why do you-“

”Leave me alone!” He snaps. It’s like his classmates doing his best impression of a toddler! “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” Desperately trying to catch Danny in a lie and refusing to believe any response that wasn’t a confession of guilt. World's greatest detective over here, interrogating him for having the audacity to show up to Gotham with “Gasp!” Scars! Oh, the humanity! What a delinquent!

Ancients’ weren’t these prissy private schools supposed to be better than public schools? He walked to school today expecting to be murdered and or indoctrinated into a weird death cult not interrogated by Walmart Batman over here!

What was this guy expecting to drag out of him anyway? Blueprints for a deathray? A secret plot to break everyone out of Arkham? Secret rogue plans? He just got here today! What could he possibly be planning when his apartment didn’t even have toilet paper yet? They hadn’t even hit the 24-hour mark and he already had a conspiracy theorist pestering him.

“Why are you-“ Copycat Wes starts.

”Leave him alone you fucking moron!” A female voice snaps behind them.

“ You don’t understand! He-,” Sputtering to defend himself the girl glowered at him.

“Has done nothing to warrant your harassment,” She finished the sentence for him.

”No! He’s up to something I swear! Just look at him,”

The girl looked him up and down, her hazel eyes shooting daggers into his soul. “He looks like he’s a strong breeze away from a heart attack,”

Ouch.

"There is something wrong with him, you're just too dim to see it," He spits.

“Listen here you toe-eyed spaz, I don’t want to have to deal with Lightning Rod over here frying people to death because you wouldn’t stop tormenting him!” She seethed, jabbing her finger into Offbrand’s chest.

“How do you know he’s not going to do that regardless?”

She turns her attention back to him. “Are you going to start doing rogue shit?” She speaks calmly as if she’s asking about the weather.

He pretends to ponder for a second, checking his phone for dramatic effect. “ Nah, My sister says I’m not allowed to be a criminal outside my hometown. It’ll affect her chances of getting into a good college,” To his surprise, that’s an acceptable response for her.

”See, he’s fine.”

“Did you not hear a word he said?” Copycat sputters. “He just admitted to being a criminal,”

“And?”

“What do you mean, and?” The boy is red in the face now.

”That’s not our problem,” She replied bluntly.

“How is it not our problem?”

“It just isn’t,”

“It clearly is “ He emphasizes.

“This is why you keep getting mugged,” She snaps. “You’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, how have not learned how to mind your damn business,”

“I know how to mind my business. This is my business. You’re the one who butted in,”

“I’m a nosy bitch too. But I’m not the one who’s pretending to be Batman.” She’s smirking now, tapping her fingernails on her desk.

“I’m not pretending to be Batman,” He defends, hands clenched into fists. “I’m just doing my civic duty!”

“You’re delusional,”

“Well- at least I’m not a criminal,” Offbrand Wes sneered, whipping around to glare at him.

Oh great, he’s directly involved again.

“What a scathing remark, I’ll be sure to cry about it while I build my deathray,” Maybe he shouldn’t keep antagonizing. Offbrand looked about ready to strangle him.

“Now you’re pissing him off on purpose,” The girl behind them deadpans.

“ I am, thanks for noticing,” He’s giddy, a shit-eating grin on his face that would immediately get him shanked if he were outside right now.

Their conversation continues. The three of them whisper-yelling at each other. Offbrand Wes fumed at every one of Danny’s sarcastic responses, doubling down on his suspicions. With every absurd accusation thrown his way, the girl defended him. But if you listened in for more than a few seconds you could see she didn’t step to his defense for the sake of being nice. She just really hated this kid. Who could blame her?

The argument devolved into the two gothamites insulting each other in a way only rich kids could. Family names Danny barely recognized as important were thrown around like dodgeballs. Maybe if Danny kept up with celebrity drama he’d be able to tell who’s winning?

“Daniel Fenton? ” He almost jumps at the sudden interruption. He’d been so awestruck watching these two go at each other's throats that he hadn’t noticed anyone approaching them. The teacher is staring down at him; he smiles politely. Better to garner goodwill now rather than later.

”I’d like to see you after class today,” Oh god, already? What had he done to peeve this teacher? Did she hear them arguing? Offbrand was grinning, vindicated as Danny stumbled over himself.

“Oh- uh, will it take long? A friend said he’d help me find my classes since my map is a little off.” He offered up the map as proof. A sacrifice in hopes of leniency for whatever crimes he’s about to be accused of.

The woman looked over the paper, her relaxed expression dropping with the growing confusion.

“Can I see your schedule?” Danny hands it over without a word. Slowly, she ran her fingers against the brail of his schedule. The slow shift in her stance as her face paled felt like it’d been ripped straight from the trailer of a horror movie. He’s heard a lot of crazy things in his life but nothing would ever shock him more than what his teacher said next.

“We’re going be sued into the fucking ground,” Her words were barely audible, whispered behind a closed fist. Danny’s stunned silence was a thousand times louder. Teachers could swear here?! Isn’t that illegal? He sits speechless for an agonizing minute, unsure if he’s in trouble.

Wordlessly, she drags him to the front of the classroom. It feels like he’s being walked to the gallows.

“Do you mind if I keep this?”

”Yeah? I need to know my schedule,” Was wandering around clueless detention for Gotham schools? He hadn’t even done anything. Sure, he was a tad bit tardy this morning. That’s the plane's fault, not his!

“You don’t have a school iPad?” She sounds utterly exasperated.

“No,” He’s supposed to have a school iPad?

“Did they at least give you a proper school I.D.?”

”I hope so ” He shows her the plastic card he’d been given alongside his schedule. She scrutinized the card, glaring intently at every word. It’d taken hours to get a decent photo for that stupid card.

“There’s something wrong with it isn’t there?” Screwed over straight from the get-go. He’ll be haunting the front desk for the foreseeable future.

“No, no it’s fine,” She waves him off. “Leave the map with me and drop your schedule off at the front desk when you leave for the day okay?” He nods, that’s all he can do at the moment.

When the bell finally rang their teacher practically shooed his classmates out the door. Students clogged the doorway, a glob of tangled backpacks that slowly oozed into halls separating with miffed expressions. The tile floor couldn’t be more appealing as he waited for the bomb to drop. In a fancy school like this, the punishment for tardiness could be public execution. You never know.

The punishment for seeing the school guidance counselor had been public humiliation with a side of attempted murder. So capital punishment being carried out in schools wasn’t something he’d be surprised about. They’d better have a guillotine, he’s gotten pretty sick of the electric chair.

“Is your friend coming to get you?” The woman asks, still studying the map with a furrowed brow. She squinted at the paper holding out in front of her face like the distance would change the image.

“I think so, he dropped me off here,” Danny pauses, fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

She shakes her head much to his relief “Somebody’s going to be in trouble but it certainly isn’t you,”

Patterned knocking at the classroom door draws his attention from the woman. Green eyes met blue as Damian quietly entered the room.

“That’s him!” Beaming, he turns back to the teacher. “Can I go now?” She nods wordlessly. With her approval, Danny doesn't hesitate for a second. He darts over to the other boy with a relieved grin on his face.

“How was class?” He asks as they step out of the classroom.

”Unnoteworthy,” Damian hummed.

”Same,” I mean, technically he did get into a fight. But it wasn’t exactly something to write home about. Blows hadn’t been exchanged and he wasn’t gut-punched with a month's worth of detention. Yet.

The walk to the lunch room is heavily crowded. The cafeteria echoed with the chattering of a sea of teenagers. Their navy blue uniform made clusters of students indistinguishable from one another. Sam would hate it here.

“Hey, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate lunch here?”

“Ten. I bring my food from home,” Damian responds quickly pausing afterward as if he’s contemplating a second answer.

“Fair,” He shrugs “nothing beats some home-cooked edible food,” Memories swirled through his brain like he’s a soldier fresh out of war. Reanimated turkeys, living mashed potatoes, gallons of milk that glowed bright enough to light an entire room.

“I reckon your parents’ aren’t the best chefs?” He can barely hold back a wince at the question.

”They try to be…” He sighs “Dad can make some killer fudge but everything else he cooks looks radioactive,”

“I suppose I can relate to that” Damian drawls, “Most of the family is barred from the kitchen without supervision,”

“That’s probably a good idea, learning to cook can be pretty messy,”

” I take it you’re the cook of your family?” Damian asks, eyebrows raised.

“Eh, kind of? I’m not the best but I can make edible food,”

“The bare minimum you know?” He laughs. “My parents are scientists so there wasn’t exactly time for cooking lessons while they were drilling us on safely handling their machinery,”

Damian looks him up and down, eyes locking on his face. “I don’t think those ‘drills’ did you well,”

“They did. I deliberately ignored what they taught me; fucked around and found out,” He shrugs. The past is the past and he’s learned not to change it for his own sake.

“I see…”

“Soooo…” Danny starts, the silence between the two of them awkward. “How would you rate the school-provided lunch?” He reiterated.

”I’ve only eaten the school-provided lunch once but I’d say it’s a four, maybe four point five if I’m being generous,”

”I’d settle for edible,” It’s a private school. Sure, it being in Gotham threw him off a little but what’s the worst that could happen? He dies? A bit too late for that.

“Your standards concern me,”

“Take that up with my school cafeteria; they gave me those standards,” To be fair, his parents contributed to that too. So had Nasty Burger. He had a love-hate relationship with food especially when it’s from a school cafeteria.

Call him paranoid but Casper High fed people dirt and grass plucked from the football field as a “Vegan option” Don’t even get him started on the rocks. Whole ass stones almost as big as his fist. They’d been expected to eat that?! Anyone who’d gotten nailed with one of those suckers when ‘food’ started flying, forever had his sympathy. Nobody was hospitalized but he’d seen the dents in the wall when they made him clean the cafeteria. Rocks were chucked in that food fight.

He’d gathered his lunch without much of an issue. The salad wasn’t sentient and his sandwich hadn’t screamed at him yet. He’d even managed to remember his lunch number at the end of it! Today’s a good day to be pleasantly surprised by the bare minimum. God knows he's gonna need the extra positivity.

Walking through the cafeteria, he spots Damian pretty quickly. The other somehow found himself one of the only empty tables in the whole cafeteria. When Damian waves him over it takes all his self-control to stifle a grin. For a split second, he’d thought he’d overstepped. Thought he’d missed the signs that Damian wanted him gone like Dad missed the signs that Vlad was a psycho.

“Are you really the chef of your family?” Damian questions.

“I am,” he grins, as Damian eyes him skeptically. “Does this-“ Danny gestures at himself. “Not look like the textbook example of a five-star chef to you?”

“Absolutely not,” Damian replied coldly without skipping a beat. “You look like you could burn a bowl of cereal,”

“I can cook, it just took a while to learn how,” You could only learn so fast when every ingredient is contaminated by a mystery cocktail of chemicals.

Even if he wasn’t a master chef he’s better than he was those first months after the accident. So many dishes shattered against the floor. He’d been scolded for each one. Anything he tried to hold slipped from his grasp before the ten-second mark.

“Could you give me any advice?” Damian asked.

“Try out some pasta recipes,” He comments between bites of his sandwich. “They’re hard to screw up and almost every cookbook has about a dozen you can practice,”

“Don’t go with overly complicated recipes straight off the bat. If you’re trying to make a three-course dinner when you can barely make a peanut butter jelly sandwich you’ll end up with a whole lot of wasted food and some scratched pans,” Danny warns, he’s lost count of the hours he’d spent scrubbing the charred food out of pots and pans.

“Alfred wouldn’t be happy about that,”

“Maybe you should ask ‘Alfred’ to teach you,” Danny comments, he wasn’t a tutor. That’s Jazz’s job. Sure, he’d like to be helpful but his journey in the kitchen involved resurrected coleslaw and radioactive dairy products. An experience few could relate to.

“I taught myself with YouTube tutorials, cookbooks, and spite; I’m sure you’d learn better with someone with someone there to give you feedback on what you’re doing.”

“Tch,” Damian glowered, shooting daggers down at his food.

“I’m serious!” He emphasizes, “Trying to wing it straight off the bat just isn’t a good idea,” He knew from experience. Food poisoning isn’t fun. Neither were the blisters you’d get from boiling oil.

“I’m sure many people ‘wing it’ in the kitchen,” Damian insists. “What if I’m a naturally born chef?”

”Didn’t you say you’re barred from the kitchen?” Damian’s cheeks turn a flustered red.

”I said most of my family is barred from the kitchen!” Damian defends like Danny’s ‘accusation’ is a slight against his character.

”Are you included in that ban?”

”…yes” The other boy whispers begrudgingly. He tries, he really does, but there’s no stopping the quiet giggle that erupts from his chest. Damian glares daggers at him cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

”I swear I’m not laughing at you,” He wheezes. It’s a lie and both of them know it.

”Go ahead and laugh, I’m not the one who fried myself,” Damian huffs.

Danny made jokes about his accident all the time. Much to everyone else's dismay his lab accident was his go-to event to joke about. No matter how many times he got scolded for “Making people uncomfortable” he kept it up. This wasn’t the first time someone had made a comment but there’s something about the way he said it. Something about the way he emphasized his words made Danny lose all composure. Collapsing into his folded arms, shoulder shaking with silent laughter.

”Hey…” The other boy’s voice is weaved with concern a guilty lift to his voice. Gently, he pokes Danny’s arm. Any worry drained from his features when Danny lifted his head to look at him.

”I thought I'd upset you!” Damian half shouts.

”Nah, I’ve got thicker skin than that,” He reassures.

”You're the first, Others tell me I come off rather… cold,”

“Really?” That’s a surprise. Danny couldn’t see it, then again he hasn’t known Damian for very long. After all that’s happened, he’d like to think he’s a better judge of character. The other boy didn’t give off Penelope spectra vibes. Nor did he act like a miniature Vlad. If anything, he reminded him of Sam.

“You’re a liar if you think I’m friendly,” He snaps scowling at Danny as if he’d just spat in his lunch or something.

”I’m not a liar, I just have a different definition of friendly than you do,”

“Does your definition of friendly happen to be rich?”

“Fuck no!” He snaps without thinking. Raising an eyebrow Damian stares at him green eyes scrutinizing his expression like there’s deeper meaning in his words. “Eat the rich,” He clarifies, as if that’s supposed to explain anything.

“Friendliness is compassion, a willingness to help, not sugar-sweet conversations with extroverted compassion,” It’s easy to put on a sweet voice while you screw someone over. Even easier to insult someone with a snidely worded ‘compliment’.

“You helped me without hesitation when you could have left me to fend for myself,”

“The situation was ridiculous, I had to help.” Damian defends

“ You didn’t have to,” he points out.

“Listen, I’m not trying to challenge your view of yourself; I’m just saying you’ve been nice to me so far,”

Damian relaxes, staring down at his lunch. “I pity you,”

“Pity me enough to give me a bite?” Danny asks, batting his eyes obnoxiously.

“Absolutely not,”

“Fuck.”

#dpxdc #deadserious #dp x dc fanfic #the boi's are getting along so well

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tinyfishtits · 9 months ago

Text

You Are Redeemed

Micah Bell / Female Reader

Summary: Reader convinces Micah to join her on a job robbing a homestead. Things do not go as planned... Rating: Mature; Graphic Depictions of Violence Word Count: 5,339 Tags: Light Angst, First Kiss

Authors Note: Contains minor spoilers for a special encounter in the game, if you care about that. This was SO FUN to write, hope ya'll ike it. ★ Read on AO3 ★ ☆ Masterlist ☆

I sat on the outskirts of camp, watching as the sun slowly sank behind the mountains, painting the landscape in shades of pink and lavender. Though my peace was short lived as someone walked toward where I rested on the cliff's edge. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Dutch’s bitch returns.” I said, taking a hit of my cig as Micahs heavy steps neared. “Shut up and give me one of those.” He demanded, taking a seat next to me. I pulled the pack from my pocket and chucked it into his lap.

“What, would you prefer the prodigal son? ” He just grunted in response and lit his cigarette. “Well aren’t you in a good ole’ mood.” I murmured under my breath.

“You wanna talk, sweetheart?” He drew a long puff and sank back onto his elbows, waving a dismissive hand at me “Go ahead.”

I crinkled my nose at the pet name. Flinging the butt of my cigarette off the cliff side and lighting another, I asked “Whatchu doin’ tomorrow?” He raised an eyebrow, glancing sidelong at me, “No .” Was all he said.

“You don’t even know what I’m about t-”

“Find somebody else.” His voice was flat and words final, “Camps full of idiots, I'm sure one of ‘em will go on whatever fools errand you got this time.”

“You’re not even the least bit curious?”

“ No .” He said, tone already laced in annoyance. I went quiet for a moment, thinking of a way to entice him.

“I’d split the take with you, fifty fifty.”

“ God woman! I’m not even back an hour and you’re already trying to get me killed?”

“Fine.” I spat back at him, “ I’ll just do it myself… Asshole.” I got up and stormed off back to camp, Micah's half hearted yell of my name his only response. I wasn’t sure the job could even be done alone, but to hell if I was gonna grovel with him over it. His ego was big enough.

I was already kicking myself for being so soft by the time I reached my tent. I knew we weren’t friends or nothin’... But I’d been planning this robbery all month, waiting for him to show his face at camp to tell him about it and he just couldn't have cared less. I didn’t want to admit how much it hurt, how much I stupidly yearned for that asshole's praise.

It wasn’t until late next morning that Micah appeared beside me as I readied my horse for the ride. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” He drawled, leaning against the hitching post as I mounted my horse.

“Don’t you got better things to do than babysit me?” I hissed, “Like sittin’ on your ass all day?” My voice still heavy with venom from our encounter last night.

I knew I really had no reason to be so mad, I had put us both in danger on jobs before. But so had he! For every job that went bad from my lack of experience, he completely blew out of proportion with his lack of self control. And it’d been months since our last robbery, I’d improved a lot since, not that he was around or cared to notice.

“Hey now,” he lifted his hands in surrender, “I come with a peace offering.” I just rolled my eyes. “Give me your hand.”

“What? No-” I started but he interjected, “Stop bein’ stubborn and give it here!” He yanked my hand from the horn of my saddle and placed a long leather sheath into it.

“A knife?” I whispered, turning it over in my hand. Unsheathing it I almost gasped. The black blade was decorated with the most intricate engraving of flowers and herons and inlaid with what looked to be gold.

“Why…?” Was all I could muster in response.

“Before you go gettin’ all sentimental, I stole it off someone while robbing a stagecoach a few days ago. Thought maybe you could use one.”

“But it's-” Beautiful, expensive, worth more than my rifle… “don’t you wanna sell it?”

“Well if you don’t like it give it back and I will.” His temper shot up a bit. I knew he wasn’t used to gifting people things, and hell, I wasn’t used to receiving them.

“Thank you.” I said finally, “I like it.”

“Okay then.” He grunted as he turned away and mounted Baylock. “Now, you gonna tell me about this job or what?”

I tried to hide my surprise and relief at his sudden willingness to accompany me on a job he knew nothing about. I truly had been preparing myself for the worst case scenario of going at it alone. Not wanting to delude myself into thinking that his change of heart could be at all for my sake, I shook the thought from my mind and the building blush from my cheeks. He was just in it for the money… I had promised him half the take in my desperation, after all.

“You spend much time out in Lemoyne?” I started, catching up with him as we trotted down the path out of camp. He nodded. “Some.”

“Well there’s a farm out there with this couple, been runnin’ a shine business out their house. Figure they got a good stash somewhere in there.”

“You figure? ” The skepticism in his tone made my brow furrow. He’d done more for less. Why he was so intent on giving me a hard time over the others in camp, I had no idea.

“Well if there aint a lot of cash, we could always steal the shine. I figure that's a pretty safe bet.”

He just hummed in acknowledgement. For Micah, any response not laced in mockery was a good one. “What do you want me to do?” He asked.

“The couple, well… They’re kinda odd.” I started, trying to piece together the best way to pitch my idea. Micah just raised a brow at me, waiting for the rest of the story. “Bill and Arthur both had run-ins with them. Said they gave ‘em a bad feeling. Seems they um… like invitin’ men in for dinner.”

“Well if they scared big ole Bill and Morgan they must be terrifying.” His words dripped with sarcasm. Hook, line, sinker. All it took for Micah to be in on a job was the chance to prove himself more capable than his fellow gang members, especially Arthur.

“So you’ll do it?” I prodded, “Distract them, I mean. While I loot the house?” “Sure sweetheart. If you ask nicely.”

It took every last bit of self control not to spit back at him. “ Please” I forced out through gritted teeth. He shot me a cocky smirk. “And don’t go shootin’ the place up neither. I’d like to do this clean and quiet for once.” I added.

“You got it boss.” He joked, but the smugness sank a bit from his expression. Always the trigger happy gunslinger.

Our ride through the Heartlands was quiet, neither of us being too keen on small talk. The weather over head was nice, cloudy but still warm and dry. That was more than I could say for what we were headed toward. A nasty lookin’ grey sky loomed in the distance.

By the time we reached Emerald Ranch it was pouring. I cursed myself for not bringing a jacket, my simple cotton button up was soaked after just a minute in the downpour. I wrapped myself up in the blanket I had stored on my saddle in an attempt to ward off the chill the storm brought with it, much to Micahs amusement.

He let out a howl of laughter, “You look like a washed up Nun! Should I start callin’ you sister?”

“Shutup!” I replied, having to yell over the noise of pounding rain and cracking thunder, “Take a right here, we’re almost there.”

The foliage grew denser the closer we got, an eerie feeling lingering in the darkness of the forest stretched out before us. I pushed it back, trying to clear my brain for the job ahead. I’d never been good with storms, that deep-seated childhood fear of thunder and lightning never having left me. It’ll help cover any noise you make, I tried to convince myself, wash away any tracks if things go sour and they come lookin’ for you .

Pulling off the road just shy of the path that rounded up the hill to the homestead, I hitched my horse and waved Micah over. “I’ll go on foot from here. Once you’re inside I’ll start lookin’.” He nodded, the water collecting on his hat cascaded off with every slight movement, I could barely make out his face through the mini waterfall it created.

“Alright.” He drawled, nudging Baylock up the path. His dark, leather-cloaked form shimmered with water even in the darkness below the tree’s dense canopy, and then he was gone.

I abandoned my makeshift cloak and trudged up the muddy hillside, Micah’s knife and my revolver the only weapons on my hip. By the time the house was visible through the trees, Micah was hitching Baylock and talking to someone on the porch. The closer I got to the treeline I could make out the forms in the darkness. A large man dressed in overalls was waving Micah in when someone else joined them on the porch. A woman by the looks of her large skirt.

I made my way to the side of the house with a crudely built add-on, which was really saying something, the whole place seemed like it could collapse at any moment. The small shed had no windows, no light spilled out from the door, it was the safest bet for where they’d stash the shine.

Running out from the cover of the trees I reached the shed door, fully expecting I’d have to break the lock. But when I got out my pick to start working on it the door creeped open from my touch alone. Either they were really stupid, or… The place was empty. My heart sank as I scanned the small room for anything of value, nothing. There were old shine brewing canisters in the corner but they looked like they hadn’t been used in a good decade. Fuck. I cursed myself, knowing Micah would never let me live this down. Though he would probably juice the story up just to rub it in Arthur's face.

I was rummaging through a tool box for any hidden valuables when a large THUMP sounded on the other side of the wall. Sighing, I readied myself for the ribbing I was about to get and rounded the house to the back door. “I thought we agreed to keep this one quiet-” I started as I entered the house, fully expecting to see the bodies of the couple on the floor. But instead found Micah, strewn out lifelessly still in the middle of the room.

“Micah?” I breathed, shock freezing me in place at the sight of him so… helpless.

“What do we have here honey pie?” A large man asked from across the room, looking my wet, trembling figure over with a sick kind of hunger. He was dressed in nothing but a wethered pair of overalls that could barely contain the skin spilling out from it. Seeing him up close set a new kind of fear coursing through me. He was so fucking big! There was no way I'd be able to fight my way out of this.

The woman he talked to was crouching over Micah’s body, hands greedily rifling through his pockets. It was when she touched his revolver that the adrenaline finally hit me and before I could even process that I'd grabbed my own gun, I was emptying my cylinder into the man’s chest. Six shots later and the mountain of a man was still barreling toward me, a guttural roar ripping through the house.

I stumbled back, practically falling out the door I’d come through as I tried to put as much distance between us as possible. Jumping over the stair railing I landed on a pile of chopped wood and saw it, an axe resting against the house. Gripping it just as the man came crashing out the back door, I pivoted on my heels, swinging the blade smack into the giant’s neck.

He floundered forward, a grotesque gurgling erupting from his mouth as blood sputtered from the gash on his neck and he fell to his knees at the foot of the stairs. I just watched as the fight slowly faded from his huge, convulsing form and he sunk to the mud with one final twitch. Pulling the axe from his neck, I made my way back up the stairs, rage bubbling in my veins at whatever these sick sons of bitches were trying to pull.

But all feeling drained out of me when I opened the door to the woman pointing Micahs revolver at his head.

“Put the axe down.” She demanded, her tone disconcertingly calm until she spotted the blood. “Bray? Honey?” Her voice cracked, yelling for him again. “Bray!?”

“He’s dead.” Was all I said, my voice flat and lifeless, I could barely recognize it as my own.

I could practically see the hysteria wash over her as she pointed the gun at me and started firing erratically, screaming at the top of her lungs. “YOU BITCH!”

I rushed her, sprinting through the gunfire and knocking her to the ground, the gun thrown from her hand at the impact. She thrashed beneath me, her hands clawing at every part of me she could reach. “Stop!” I yelled back, grabbing her wrists and pushing them to the ground. Even restrained she was trying to buck me off of her, her legs kicking wildly behind me. “STOP!” I repeated.

I didn’t want to kill her. But she was making mercy seem pretty damn distasteful the more she screamed and squirmed. “Where’s the money?” I demanded, my voice too breathless to sound as menacing as I’d hoped. She just spat in my face. Reflexively, I reached up to wipe the glob of mucus away and she took the opportunity to headbutt me.

I fell back with a gasp and when I looked up, she was coming at me with a knife. I tried getting to my feet but she was too fast. She jumped on me, slashing at my extended arms as I screamed. Lifting the knife above her head for a final deathly blow, I used all my strength to push myself up and wrap myself around her. Tackling her back to the ground we writhed around, a blur of clawing, slashing and screaming as we wrestled for the knife.

She dug a finger into one of the fresh slashes on my arm and I shot back like I'd been electrocuted. Rising to her feet, knife in hand, she screamed down at me, “YOU’RE GONNA PAY FOR-” I lunged at her, the hunting knife Micah had gifted me unsheathed, and drove it into her abdomen. Her scream sputtered off into incoherent murmurings as she fell to her knees, my blade still inside her.

“Tell me.” I pleaded between panting breaths, “Where’s the money?” Her wide eyes met mine, glossy but still so full of that manic rage. “Momma?” She whispered, her hands grasping at my forearms as she tried to stay upright. And then, with a single rasping breath, she collapsed at my feet with one last soft cry for her mother.

Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as I stood frozen, bloodied blade still stretched out before me. “Micah?” I called out, my voice barely a whisper. But the house stayed eerily silent. I fell to the floor beside him and frantically shook at his limp body. Nothing. “MICAH!” I yelled, taking his face in my hands and lowering my ear to his mouth, then his heart. I couldn’t tell if it was my own heart pounding in my ears or if he truly was alive, but for the moment it was enough to kick my scattered brain into action.

Grabbing him by the ankles I started to drag his body toward the front door. The blood from the slashes on my arm dripped down, coating my hands in sticky warmth as I struggled to keep my grip on the slick leather of his boots. “ Jesus,” I grunted, almost falling to my ass as I lost my grip on him, “You’re heavier than you look.” I mumbled. It was a jeer that would usually prompt one of his snarky remarks, making the silence that followed even more unsettling.

Making it to the door, I swung it open and whistled for Baylock. “Come here boy.” He huffed and reared as I dragged Micah out on the porch and tried maneuvering him more carefully down the steps. “Shhh.” I hushed as I reached out to comfort the horse, obviously just as distressed at the sight of Micah passed out as I was. “Hush now, I need you to help me out here.” I said, stroking his mane and guiding him to lay down so I could get Micah in the saddle.

It took a lot of coaxing both of Baylock and my own strength, to get Micah and all his dead weight in that saddle. But after a few sweaty, breathless minutes, it was done. With Micah securely slumped on the saddle I rushed back in the house to grab his revolver, and that's when I saw it.

In the chaos of it all I hadn’t stopped to really look around the house. It was just as dilapidated as the exterior, dirty and sparse. Though the one thing that really stood out was the large portrait of a woman right across from the front door, the only decoration in the whole house. “What are the chances…” I muttered to myself, reaching for the painting.

Concealed behind it was a hole in the wall filled with cash. A laugh of pure disbelief burst out of me as I took in the wads of bills and gold bars. Quickly fetching Micahs satchel I stuffed it full of the loot, all the while sobbing and laughing like a maniac at the pure absurdity of the whole thing.

Not wanting to linger in the house of horrors longer than need be, I quickly retrieved Micah's stolen possessions from the woman's corpse and got the hell out of there. Getting behind Micah on the saddle I held him with one arm and took the reins in the other, guiding Baylock down to where my horse still waited patiently at the end of the path.

“Come on girl, follow me.” I yelled to her. Her head shot up from where she grazed and she obediently trotted to my side as I led us away from the homestead. The downpour had mercifully subsided to a drizzle, though the land would be a mud pit for a good day at least. I considered riding all the way back to camp, but I wasn’t in good shape myself. There was no way I'd be able to hold Micah and keep myself upright for the cross-state trek back to Horseshoe Overlook.

With all the cash I had now, I debated going into Rhodes and getting a room. Though Micah’s unconscious state was sure to attract more questions than I cared to invite, especially with all the money I had on me. So I settled for a short jaunt up the road toward Emerald Ranch, leading the horses off the path a bit until I found a clearing suitable for a small make-shift camp.

I hadn’t anticipated being away from camp more than a few hours, but it seemed Micah always kept enough supplies on him to get him through the night if need be, so I began to set things up. Laying his bedroll out, I tried easing Micah off the saddle, only to have him crash into me and pin me in the mud. I coughed, rasping for breath as I tried wriggling out from beneath him. It was like being stuck under a cow, the man was deceptively dense.

I pushed at his shoulder, my arms burning with the strain, the wounds that had just started scabbing popping open and bleeding once more. After a few agonizing minutes I managed to roll him off of me enough to get myself free. We were both caked in mud from the fall, Micah's golden hair so dirty it was almost black now.

Everything else was easy, mindless work in comparison to the day i’d had. Building a fire, setting up the tent, cracking open a can of food for dinner. Hopeful he’d wake up before nightfall, I’d cooked him a can of beans as well… and when he didn’t, I scarfed those down too. I was exhausted. Every inch of my body was in some kind of pain. Slashed, bruised, sore. I tended to the knife wounds on my arms the best I could, nabbing a bit of a health cure Micah had in his satchel to fight off infection. And now I just, waited.

Crouching beside Micah in the tent, I carefully removed his jacket and shirt. I had no idea what they did to knock him out so heavily, but I wanted to at least make sure he hadn’t been stabbed or shot. Running my hands through his hair, I felt no bumps or blood, so I ruled out concussion. His chest, stomach, and what I could reach of his back was also unscathed. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was just sleeping. His chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths. His eyes even fluttered beneath his lashes every so often, like he was dreaming. Not knowing what more there was to do I just began washing the mud off him with my still soaked blanket, and prayed to god he wouldn’t choose this moment to wake up, he’d call me a bath maid for the rest of my goddamn life.

Once he was clean and my blanket sufficiently muddied, I threw it out of the tent and sank back on the bedroll beside him. Micah, being the human furnace he was, didn’t travel with a blanket of his own. And even though we were in the bayou, the storm had brought with it a ferocious wind that made the night painfully chill. Drifting off, I found myself edging closer and closer to Micah’s warm body, until halfway through the night I was completely wrapped around him. He still did not stir, and I figured I’d much rather take whatever possible teasing this would get me if he woke up now than shiver to death a few feet away.

Cuddled up to Micahs side, I fell into the most blissful sleep I’d had in years. I did not stir for the rest of the night, only beginning to wake when the sun shone down through the tree canopy and the chorus of birds and bugs filled the forest with their music. “Mornin’” a soft, gravely voice vibrated under my ear.

“Morning.” I yawned, my head still in a sleepy haze as I stretched and came to. A deep rumbling vibrated once more beneath me and I shot up. Micah's chuckles turned to shallow coughs as he gazed up at me, a smug smile on his lips. “You’re awake!” I practically yelled, throwing my arms around him. “Thank god you’re not dead” I mumbled into his bare chest, “you scared the shit out of me!”

“You sure I ain't dead darlin’?” He drawled, wrapping a large arm around my back, keeping me pressed against him. “Never thought in all my life I’d hear someone thank god I was alive.”

“What happened back there? The hell did they do to you?” I stretched my neck to look up at him, making no effort to leave his warmth just yet.

“They drugged me. Put somethin’ in the damn whiskey.” He looked around then, sitting up a bit to inspect the camp I put together. “How’d you get me outta there?”

“Well it wasn’t easy.” I said, finally unraveling myself from him and getting up propper. “You weigh twice as much as you look, I swear. It was like lugging around a ton of bricks.”

“Where you goin’?” He said with a smile, patting the space beside him I’d just occupied. “Come back here.”

“What? No- I- I’m gonna go get some food.”

“So you gonna act like you didn’t just spend all night wrapped around me?” The smug smile on his lips grew. When I didn’t move, he got up with a groan and walked toward me. Only stopping when he stood just a breath away.

“I’m only gonna say this once…” He said, his voice surprisingly soft for what his words implied. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Thank you.” His breath brushed over my face, warm and inviting, “For saving my life.”

Despite how much of a cocky, slimy asshole he could be. How more often than not I wanted to throttle him… I found myself leaning in, my hand coming up to caress the scar that ran from his lip down his chin. His eyes followed my movement, then in a flash he grabbed my wrist, lifting my arm to inspect the blood soaked cloth there.

“What happened?” He demanded, his brow furrowing as he noticed the bandages wrapped around my other arm as well.

“I- Um. Got stabbed… a little.” His touch was delicate as he carefully peeled back the cloth to expose the jagged red slashes that peppered my forearm. His face crinkled in anger.

“I’ll kill those crazy bastards-” He started, but I interjected. “They’re dead.” His eyes widened, looking me over more thoroughly now.

“Even the-”

“Dead.” I said once more, my voice flat as I tried not to remember their bloodied corpses. He squinted, cocking his head as he observed me. Looking me over as if he was seeing something in me he hadn’t noticed before.

“Okay.” Was all he replied before he turned toward the horses, “Come on.”

“Where are you-”

“ We’re going into town. You’re gonna see a doctor. Now mount up.” When I dug my heels in the ground he sighed, already exasperated, “I may weigh a ton, doll. But by the looks of it, you don’t. So unless you want me to pick you up and throw you on the back of this saddle-”

“ Fine.” I muttered, walking over and mounting my horse. “Oh, Micah?” He hummed in acknowledgment. “You might wanna look in your satchel.”

“ Shit.” He muttered, pulling out one of the gold bars, “All this for shine? ”

“There was no shine.” I said, starting off down the path, “My guess is those sick sons of bitches were druggin’ folk and robbin ‘em blind.” Micah fell silent.

“Anyway… Bet you twenty bucks I can beat you to Rhodes.” And before he could reply I kicked my horse into action and raced down the road. The only response I could hear from him was a holler as he reared Baylock and chased after me.

We raced along the Kamassa River, Micah on my tail the entire time. I knew he was a better rider than me, but he didn’t bother overtaking me until the town came into view. Then, like the cocky ass he was, he stopped Baylock completely. Giving me a good 30 seconds head start before he jolted into a gallop and flew past me just before I reached the fork in the road that led to Rhodes. By the time I got to the main street in town, Micah was already sitting outside the doctor's office.

“Twenty bucks, was it?” He said with a sly smirk as I hitched my horse. I just rolled my eyes, “Put it on my tab, cowboy.”

“Hey.” He grabbed my wrist as I went to open the office door, “You still got that knife I gave ya?”

I nodded, reaching for the leather sheath on my hip. “Can I borrow it?” My brow crinkled.

“Don’t you gotta knife?” He just stared at me, his hand still gripping my wrist. I sighed and handed it over.

“I’ll be out here. Go get patched up doll.” He said, sitting on the bench beside the door.

The doctor was an old, greying man whose voice was so gravely from decades of smoking it made Micahs sound like velvet in comparison. “Someone did a real number on you.” He croaked, his cold hands poking and prodding at my tender flesh as he rubbed my wounds with disinfectant and some kind of numbing cream.

It took about half an hour for him to stitch up the worst of my gashes, and wrap up the rest. By the time he was done I was covered in bandages from wrist to elbow on each arm, it looked a whole lot worse than it felt. Paying him for his time and grabbing a few bottles of tonic on my way out, I found Micah just as I’d left him.

“Good as new.” I announced, and Micah practically jumped out of his seat. He looked me over, his brows knitting as his eyes scanned the large bandages. Without a word, he patted the space beside him and I joined him on the bench. Taking one bandaged arm in his hand, he gingerly turned it around, inspecting it. Then placed my blade in my open palm.

I turned it over in my hand and found something carved into the wooden handle. Bringing it closer to my face, I squinted at the small lettering. You are redeemed. It read. I whispered the words, running a finger over the indentations in the wood. A reminder of the price paid and the bounty won, life. ‘Thank you for saving my life.’ his words echoed in my head.

I had the feeling Micah would no longer shrug off my jobs, that what I sacrificed to save us made me an equal in his eyes. Given the lone wolf he was… well, it meant a lot. I didn’t know what to say to that. The words thank you didn’t seem to hold the same weight any more. Micah stood then, holding a hand out to me.

“Breakfast?” He asked, jerking his head toward the saloon behind him. I sheathed the knife and took his hand. Pulling me up against him, we stood chest to chest in silence, eyes caught in each other's gazes.

My hands trailed up his arms, stopping at the scruffy hair on his face to run my fingers through it. His eyes dropped to my lips, and that was all the confirmation I needed to pull his face down to mine. His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me taut against him as his lips took mine.

He was surprisingly tender, the big gruff outlaw. His lips softly parting my own, tongue ever so slightly trailing over my bottom lip as our mouths moved together, as if this was our thousandth kiss and not our first. Our breath grew heavy, melding the longer we stayed pressed together. My hands tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened, keeping him close. It wasn’t until his warm hand snaked under the hem of my shirt that someone cleared their throat beside us and I broke away from him, realizing we were still in the middle of town in broad daylight.

“Mornin’.” An older woman said curtly as she stepped around us to enter the doctors office.

“Mornin’” Micah drawled, tipping his hat to her as she passed. He flashed her a large, genuine smile and turned back to me, face alight. “Hungry, are ya?” His tone only slightly teasing, the same hunger burning in his eyes.

I took his hand, my own stupid smile growing on my face. “ Starved. ”

#micah bell fan fiction #micah bell x you #micah bell fic #micah bell x reader #rdr2 fanfic #micah bell #my works #fish writes

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she-whatshername · 7 months ago

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Tyrrish men headcanons you didn't ask for, you didn't want, didn't need, but I give to you anyways.

Prompt: Love Confessions

I also use the term 'girl' in one of the prompts but feel free to strike that out and put your own self/pronouns/persona into it. These be for everyone, ya'll.

Xaden:

Xaden's hands skimmed the tops of your arms as he glided them up over your shoulders, collarbone and neck to finally rest at the base of your jaw. Each hand cradling the side of your head. You turned, unwilling to face him, but the strength of his fingers kept your head steady, and eyes locked on him. "I dont know what goes on in that beautiful, dangerous, lethal mind of yours that makes you think you're not worthy." He began, his voice pressing against your lips as he leaned in closer to you, "But I am going to kiss, and touch, and worship every inch of you so you'll never be convinced otherwise that there is any part of you I'm not utterly in love with."

Garrick:

"I will find you." He spoke it like a command, which brought you comfort in the chaos of the battle that surrounded the two of you. "Listen to me." He said again, taking both of your hands in his own, your left placed against his flight leathers directly over his heart, your right still tenderly held tight in his hand. "I have never lost hope when I was a locked up by my foster family, I never lost a challenge at Basgiath, hells I've never lost my patience being friends with Xaden of all people. And I will not lose you. You hear?" He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few moments before he pulled back, smiling, "I've got a perfect record to maintain, and I'm not going to break it. Now go, with the others and get to safety. I don't care how far away it is because I will always, always find you. You got that?"

You nodded at him, causing the man before you to smile as he muttered, "Yeah, that's my girl. Now lets go."

Liam:

"Liam this is..." you paused looking at the wooding carvings on his desk, "Is this me."

"Yeah." He nodded sheepishly, "I know, It could be better."

You let out a laugh, "It looks just like me."

"There isn't a medium in the world that could capture the softness of your skin, or the beauty of your hair, the warmth of your heart even."

You looked up at him into his eyes. He was still smiling. And somehow, you could see the same glow that bore from his lips in the oasis of his eyes, "Liam. They're beautiful, they both are."

"Then take it." He said passing the small wooden of your into his hand alongside the one that looked similar to his own figure.

"I get both? You don't want to keep the one of you?"

Another smile, gods, could he get anymore beautiful, "You already own every part of me, my love. And now, you have a reminder that I have always been, and will always be, yours."

Bodhi:

Oh, we got ourselves a Bodhi love confession, but I am saving it for 'Drifted'. I was weeping when I typed it and i'm so, so excited for it to make its way into the story. Its the best of the four in my opinion. So, if you're gnawing at your keyboard/mobile device for some Bodhi love, check out Drifted on Ao3.

#fourth wing #the empyrean #xaden riorson #bodhi durran #garrick tavis #liam mairi #tyrrish men headcanons you didn't ask for #love confessions

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floralcyanide · 1 year ago

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⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡.

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: your first full day with coriolanus snow doesn't go without a hitch somewhere along the way. ⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: mentions of poverty, mentions of alcohol, descriptions of alcohol, rough kissing (brief) ⊹ word count: 3223 ⊹ author’s note: so sorry for not being able to post this last week!! was high key withering away in the hospital like a frail victorian child lmao. but here's chapter two, I hope ya'll enjoy ♡

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

❝We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

“What shape do you want them?”

“Mickey Mouse!” “A heart!”

“Alrighty, then. One Mickey Mouse and a heart pancake are coming up, John John and Miss Caroline.”

John Jr. is perched atop the kitchen counter to your right, sitting patiently while Caroline sneakily dips a finger inside the pancake mix next to him. The three of you had worked to make the batter perfect, and you’re all fairly satisfied. You manage to make a decent Mickey Mouse shape in the pan, and a nearly flawless heart and the kids clap with delight. Coriolanus quietly watches you interact with Jack's children from behind the wall separating the kitchen and dining room. He’s initially shocked to see you so vulnerable and soft with other human beings, even if they’re small ones. Coriolanus didn’t expect you to be someone who interacts with children in general, given the snarky and stubborn personality you’ve shown him so far. But he shouldn’t be so quick to judge you yet- after all, there’s a lot to Coriolanus that isn’t as it seems, either.

Jackie, Jack, and the rest of the family present in the Compound had an obligation with their father later in the morning. So, you decided to get some food in John Jr. and Caroline beforehand. Hungry kids are cranky kids, after all. You were to stay behind with Coriolanus, as the two of you weren’t needed at the gathering. You don’t mind as you need to organize the notes you’ve taken so far, as well as finish reading Profiles in Courage. You had a lot of questions for Jack about it already, and it’d be better if you had every possible question ready as soon as possible to ask upfront. Not to mention, you need to work on your dissertation a little more briskly now, considering you’re going to assist Coriolanus in his presidential campaign.

John Jr. graciously accepts the Mickey Mouse pancake on his favorite Superman plate, and he scurries off toward the dining room. Caroline remains by you at the kitchen counter, dousing her heart with a disgusting amount of syrup. You almost say something about the sugar but decide against it quickly. Caroline seems to hold herself together better than her younger counterpart. Speaking of John Jr., he nearly runs into Coriolanus as he dashes down the hall to your dismay.

“Oh, good morning, Mister Coryo,” John Jr. beams up at the tall blonde man before continuing his path to the table.

“What did we agree on about walking, John?” you quirk an eyebrow after the boy, who is long out of earshot.

Coriolanus walks into the kitchen casually as if he wasn’t eavesdropping the entire time, opening the refrigerator and scouring the shelves for orange juice. When he doesn’t find it, he closes the door and walks over to you.

“If you’re looking for orange juice, John John drank the rest when he woke up. Chugged every drop,” you say without turning around from the sink where you��re doing dishes.

“Oh,” Coriolanus says, “Not surprised. The boy loves juice.”

You chuckle, “I learned that very quickly. He drank almost all of my peach juice the first night I was here.”

Caroline looks between you and Coriolanus, a knowing smile on her face as she chews her food. Without a word, she leaves the room.

Coriolanus cracks a smile but quickly brushes it off before you can see, “Need help with those?” he asks, motioning to the dishes.

You glance at him over your shoulder, “Oh, no, I’ve got it. Thanks, though.”

Coriolanus wordlessly picks up a dish and dries it off with a nearby dish towel, his neutral gaze on you. You sigh, looking at the man defeatedly as you begin rinsing your soaped-up dishes, “I said I didn’t need help.”

“I know,” Coriolanus shrugs, “But it’s the least I could do since you treat the children so well.”

You turn to him, hand on your hip, “I think every child should be treated with kindness. Besides, John John is a good boy despite his father, and Caroline is a gentle little thing anyway,” you say jokingly.

Coriolanus chuckles, “You’re absolutely right. Anyone tell you how rowdy Jack was at John Jr.’s age?”

“No,” you quirk an eyebrow, finishing up rinsing off the dishes, “Do tell.”

As you and Coriolanus dry off the pans and plates, he tells you stories of how Jack and his siblings would go buck wild around here at the Compound. You find yourselves openly cracking smiles with each other as Coriolanus describes the antics. When Joeseph Jr. is brought up, the room becomes solemn.

“Did you ever meet him?” you ask as you put away some of the dishes, Coriolanus doing the same.

“Only once. He was a man of few words,” he admits, folding the dish towel and neatly placing it back on the counter.

You hum, closing the cabinet, “Well, I’ll probably be working most of the day. If you need me, I won’t be far.”

Coriolanus nods, watching you carefully as you leave the kitchen. He decides you, too, are someone of few words. But you always know when to use them correctly. And he admires that a little.

You feel like a ghost roaming around the house throughout the day, reading your book as you aimlessly walk into rooms and halls. Occasionally, you stop to look at things in the various studies and unoccupied bedrooms. Despite the warm and welcoming hospitality of the Kennedy family, at times, you still feel sorely out of place. You didn’t grow up lavishly by any means- no one in your neighborhood did. The outskirts of Boston during the Great Depression weren’t much better than the city itself. Food, clean water, and bare necessities were hard to come by, even in the suburbs. You learned to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and be nifty with minuscule things. It’s one thing Coriolanus notices when you wander into the den, Profiles in Courage tucked under your left arm and your notes in your right hand. Every single available space on the paper you had current notes written on was taken up as if you’d run out of paper at some point. But you had an ample amount of pages left in your notebook- one that hadn’t already been filled like your others, at that. Coriolanus is sitting at the fireplace, puffing lightly at a pipe as he skims through a book he’s half-reading. He stops fully paying attention to it the moment you enter his presence, and he notices your notes.

“How much do you plan on writing about Jack?” he asks abruptly, breaking the dead silence in the room.

Coriolanus’ voice startles you from your trance, your lips letting go of the pencil you had between them, “A lot. I sort of have to. Why do you ask?”

The tall man’s eyes flicker between your face and your notebook folded in on itself in your hand, “You seem to be writing your notes like it’s going out of style.”

Your eyes fall to your endless scribbles of words, eyebrows scrunching up for a moment, “I don’t understand?”

Coriolanus carefully closes his book and sits his pipe down on the table, taking two long strides over to you. He cradles your notes in his large hands, tracing the delicate handwriting with his fingers. The scraping of every drop of the mixing bowl earlier, the tedious way you used dish soap and warm water, your early rising, and your short showers. The way you carry yourself and your words. Coriolanus knows and knows it well.

“I still have a few rationing stamps,” Coriolanus says, his looming figure dangerously close to completely blanketing yours, “They’re in an old tobacco box of my father’s. I can’t remember the day we stopped needing them.”

Your face falters as you peer up at him, his gaze glued to your notes in a focused and avoidant fashion. You gently take your journal from the blonde, closing it before placing Profiles in Courage on top of it and pulling away from the odd warmth from Coriolanus’ cold tallness.

“I think I’ve done enough writing today.”

You don’t like being seen, and as often as possible, you hide away. It’s something you dislike about yourself. And no matter how much you work on it, when your foundation is shaken, you tend to lose your grip. The Compound suddenly felt quite small, and you needed a moment to breathe. So you scurry away to your room to put away your books and grab a thick coat, as it had snowed overnight despite being warm yesterday. Said snow crunches under your feet loudly as you descend the steps toward the beach, wrapping your arms around yourself as the breeze nips your face. All that can be heard for a while is birds overhead and waves crashing to the sand banks. You breathe in the stale, salty air while you have flashbacks of hunger pains from childhood. It’s something you don’t let bother you anymore, but the memory is still very much there.

“Sorry if I overstepped,” Coriolanus suddenly says from behind you, his hands shoved into his coat pockets.

You physically jump, your hand flying over your heart in genuine surprise, “Jesus, Snow. And no, you didn’t overstep. I’m just too inside my head today, I guess.”

Blonde curls fly around Coriolanus’ face erratically as he stoically stares at you from behind, and you avoid him. He stands beside you now, looking down at you in a way that makes you feel odd.

“I think we both expected different things from each other, hmm?”

“How so?” you ask, your face slowly beginning to burn from the cold ocean air.

“Well,” Coriolanus says, staring out at the open sea, the grey spaciousness giving him a moment to ponder, “I didn’t think someone so outspoken could be so inside their head at times.”

You bite back a fiery retort but instead come back with a simple, “And I didn’t expect you to know humbleness, Mister Snow.”

Coriolanus doesn’t respond right away, so you follow with, “But it seems we both learn something new each day, correct?”

“Yes,” the blonde says, “And I think we’ve also both learned to always be honest with each other.”

“When have I not been honest?”

“I did overstep. I shouldn’t have assumed anything, but I did. And even though it’s only been a day of knowing you, I also know you’re the last person to spend too much time in their head. You have enough in the real world for you to care about.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll see through you, you’ll see through me.”

“Good.”

After quite some time bearing the unrelenting ocean air alongside Coriolanus, you decide to make use of yourself somewhere other than the Compound. Coriolanus retreats to his room, and you go into town. Maybe you’d find a little something for the kids or the family for Christmas while out. It isn’t absolutely freezing, so you opt for walking to the market not far from the main road leading out of Hyannis Port. It’s bustling with people despite the temperature. You pick up a basket and fill it with a few oranges for John Jr. and Coriolanus for juice in the morning. After paying for the fruit, you’re called over the aisle by a younger woman you don’t recognize.

“Are you by any chance the young lady researching Jack Kennedy?”

“Yes, I am,” you say.

“Oh, how wonderful! I’ve known the Kennedys since we were kids. I’m glad someone is going to make Jack’s work more known!”

“I am glad to be of help with that, then,” you smile at the woman, who couldn’t be too much older than you.

“Forgive me, I’m Candice. My father is the mayor of Barnstable,” she reaches a hand out for you to shake, which you take graciously.

“Lovely,” you say, glancing around at her various tables covered in small trinkets, “What are you out here bartering?”

“Just odds and ends I’ve found throughout my travels. I don’t have nearly enough room for it all, sadly. Take a look, you may find something!”

You skim the different buttons and brooches all varying in size and design, until you’re stopped by a particular gold brooch. It’s shimmering in the winter afternoon sun, the edges of the leaves and petals of the rose pendant sharp with precision. You gingerly pick it up, studying it closer.

“One of my favorites from Europe. Never could quite find anything worthy enough to pair it with,” Candice fawns, “It’s yours if you want it. No charge.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly-“

“It’s a gift, love. Take it.”

You slip it into your coat pocket with graciousness before continuing your brigade around the market. Some solid fiction books for Caroline and comics for John Jr. join the pile of oranges in your basket. Shopping for Christmas gifts for Jackie, Jack, Bobby, and Ted would be for a more dedicated day. Upon returning to The Compound, the house is bustling with the children and Bobby and Ted working on dinner. You hurry to put away the things you’ve bought in your room before washing up and making your way to the kitchen. Jack is leaning against the counter as he watches Bobby delicately season steaks, and Ted works on vegetables, his arms crossed across his chest. He stands up straight upon your arrival.

“Good evening, how was your day with some peace and quiet?”

“Ah, it was alright,” you shrug, a small smile on your face as you watch Jackie give Caroline and John Jr. her warning look as they circle the dining room table, “Too much peace and quiet is a little harmful, don’t you think?”

Bobby scoffs, “Not when you have children. Peace and quiet are rare. Be glad the other junior isn’t here to torture ya.”

“He has a point,” Jack grins, pointing at Bobby in agreement, “Bobby Jr. is worse.”

“Oh, come on, now. You know the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree with John John.”

Ted snorts, and you decide to leave the brothers to their banter. Before you completely leave the room, though, Jack pulls you aside.

“Do you mind going down to the cellar? Pick out a bottle of something. We can all have some downtime after the kids go to sleep,” he says.

“Sounds good. Anything in particular?”

“Like I said, your pick.”

You wordlessly nod and find yourself at the cellar door moments later, the door already unlocked. You curiously open it and walk down the steps quietly, the lights dimly revealing a few shelves of wine varying in flavor and age. In between two shelves, you see Coriolanus pacing with a book in his hands.

“It seems we always find each other somewhere around,” you say, being the one to startle him this time.

He snaps his head from his book, which appears to be the play Coriolanus by Shakespeare. Closing where he was reading, he disheveled looks at you off guardedly as he brushes himself off. You approach where he stands, your eyes scanning the shelves for any eye-popping bottle. A part of you feels heightened at being the one to unnerve him, and you feed on it as you stand dangerously close to Coriolanus on your tip toes to look at a wine more closely. You wonder why he’d be so nervous to be down here. Or what he had been doing to make him so uneasy of your presence.

“Which do you prefer?” you ask, pulling a bottle of rich red wine from by his head, “red or white?”

“Red,” Coriolanus says simply, his eyes shining with nerves, “I like the taste better.”

Your stare bores into his for a moment before you let yourself read the label, “A Nineteen Ten. Sounds nice,” you tilt your head at the man before asking, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Coriolanus blinks, “I just didn’t expect anyone to find me here.”

“Well, it is the cellar. Not much to hide here,” you encircle the bottle in your grasp, studying the rest of its details.

“Right.”

“Coriolanus, huh? By Shakespeare?”

Coriolanus scoffs through his nose, unbuttoning his sleeves and rebuttoning them to his elbows, “You’re familiar?”

“Not as familiar as I’d like,” you shrug, a hint behind your tone, “But maybe someday I’ll read more into it.”

The truth is, Coriolanus had been down there pacing and thinking of how to go about working with someone like you so closely. It’s been a day, and he already feels drawn to you in a way, and part of him feels disdain for it. But another feels so curious yet unnerved. Coriolanus usually reads the play when he feels he’s looking for something, and every time he is, he finds it within the play. It’s something new every time. No matter how many times the physical book has been deeply ingrained in his psyche. Your familiar and sarcastic tone from the night prior drinking similar wine makes his heart surge with something. And before Coriolanus realizes, his hand is grasping at the back of your head, bringing your face close to his.

“Maybe you should.”

Your hands are all but gripping the bottle of Cabernet, and your knuckles are white enough that you could press your fingertips into the bottle and break it if it were plastic. Coriolanus’ icy eyes are holding yours threateningly, and you don’t dare break the contact. It isn’t until Jack creaks the door of the cellar open to announce dinner is almost ready that the two of you think of separating. But you don’t. You feel bold and hungry and not like the type of hungry you were as a child, but rather bold and hungry for knowledge. A knowledge you won’t and can’t get from researching a man of power or holding a position of political power. But rather an energetic power you can’t quite explain unless you feel it. And you felt it the second you looked up to see Coriolanus standing in front of you by the fire the previous night. Again, when you walked into Jack’s office to see him standing there, and every time since.

Your cheeks are tingling with fire, and your eyes weigh heavily on Coriolanus, unblinking and wild, “And if I don’t?” you whisper.

“I don’t think I’d allow it.”

“Hmm,” you narrow your eyes, letting your hand that’s not wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle grip the back of Coriolanus’ neck, “Try me.”

It’s almost like a dramatic scene from an old black and white your mother used to watch during the daytime, Coriolanus’ other hand flying to your cheek to hold your head firm as he gives you a bruising kiss. And your willingness to kiss back is almost as dramatized. But the tension from the start has been palpable, and it was only a matter of time before your clashing yet molding personalities came together somehow. Whether physical or mental- or both. You have to pull away to gasp for air, reluctant to remove yourself from the embrace. But you know you had to at some point, and you realize this is a dangerous game you’re already playing. What you don’t know yet is there are worse games to play.

౨ৎ taglist:

@nilletellsstories @noyatv @moonlightstuffs @slytherinholland @dominqueeekk @allcheesemelts @coconut-dreamz @rosewine-5 @hsfallingsky @imasimptoowth @tatumrileyslover @murdocksdaughter @fauxraven @throughgoeshxmilton @thesullengrrrl @fanfictionismyromanempire @americanprometheuss @prettycove @ilikefictionalmen @etfrin @xyraphine @arzua10 @shadowolf993 @niki-is-a-thing @ashy-kit @snowsgames @impeterporker @randomgurl2326 @tspilled @tonixe @sammythecat7 @nowitsmissing @wearemadeofstardust0 @ebsmind @papasfreezeriastan

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elrielffs · 5 months ago

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Well, here it is. Part 2 of a Universe so Divine with Elain pov and this fic is complete! I don't think I'll be able to look ya'll in the eye on the timeline after you read this but I'm proud. I put everything into this and after writing it, I love Azriel and Elain even more. Please enjoy and leave a comment or send an ask if you want!

Tags/Warnings: Explicit Smut, Cunnilingus, Hand Job, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk (so much dirty talk), Pure Filth, Romantic and Horny

Part 1 - god is my help (Azriel pov)

(you don't have to read part 1 to read part 2)

link to ao3 if you perfer

A Universe so Divine Part 2 - my god has answered me

They kissed with abandon—with lips and tongue and teeth and all the emotion that they repressed when not cloistered in a hidden universe of their own design.

Elain thought she knew what kissing was, already knew everything there was to know about the act but she had since came to the understanding that she knew nothing.

Kissing Azriel was like coming up for air, like a thunderstorm after a drought, like she had existed in a world of dull colors that exploded into vivid hues she had never perceived.

Kissing Azriel—being with Azriel—made her feel alive.

The necessity for air was the only thing that broke them apart, chest heaving and eyes locked together keeping them tethered to each other. Elain forced herself to push against his chest and rose to sit on her haunches, if only for a moment to reclaim herself before she was utterly lost.

The way Azriel beheld her as he was sprawled under her made her feel like her heart would burst in her chest. They didn’t need words, they never had and through their silent language Azriel always made her feel so adored, so beloved that her cup runneth over and she didn’t know where to place the excess. Only that she would fight with teeth and nail and claw to keep it all for herself.

She was the only one who got to see the mighty Spymaster of the Night Court undone like this. Toppled by her diminutive frame, wings splayed out under him with tousled hair, a glaze of lust in his hazel eyes that he directed at her alone.

She didn't shy away from it but rather reveled that she was his complete and utter focus. She felt powerful, confident, and in control, a heady mixture that she could never get enough of after a lifetime of being in opposition of the potent blend of emotions.

“I know that look,” he chuckled up at her, eyes boring into her own, challenging her. He gripped her hips hard to buck up into the aching, clothed apex of her thighs, punctuating his thrust with, “You want more.”

She bit her lip and nodded. She hadn’t always allowed herself to want more, hadn’t given herself the freedom of even thinking of what more could look like. She had accepted whatever people were willing to give to her, whatever they thought she deserved.

Now, in this new life, she found that she had changed in more ways than just her body. She did want more.

And she wasn’t afraid to ask for it.

“I want you to kiss me,” she declared and she purred in satisfaction as he didn't hesitate to oblige her, propping himself up on his elbows to reach her but she pressed her hand firmly against his solid chest to halt his advance.

“Not there,” she said coyly, blinking coquettishly at him as the considerate press of her hand sent him onto his back again. He lifted his eyebrows at her inquisitively for only half a second before the corners of his mouth turned up in smug understanding.

A great beat of his powerful wings to adjust and he positioned himself more comfortably on the blanket, before eyeing her enticingly, "Then come here and left your dress pretty girl.”

The pit in her stomach clenched in anticipation as she caged his body in on all fours and crawled on hands and knees till her knees rested above his shoulders. She sat back up and with shuddering fingers, grasped the hem of her skirts and lifted, revealing her gossamer underwear already soaked through with her slick.

Azriel took a deep breath, the expanse of his chest rising and falling to lift her slightly, as his hands resituated themselves on her bare hips, thumbs rubbing circles along her skin.

His razor sharp eyes flicked from her lower body to her own, acute and full of desire.

“Show me Elain,” his voice came out husky and low and male seeing her wet and wanting” show me where you want me to kiss you.”

She inhaled and fisted the majority of her gown in one hand against her waist while the other shakily reached down and slipped the gusset of her panties to the side, displaying herself in full for him.

A deep moan came from the back of Azriel's throat as he took in her entirely exposed for his viewing pleasure, a puff of air escaping his lips to titillate her already sensitive core. “So wet for me” he murmured low, sight unblinking as he looked at her, all of her.

‘Everything about you is lovely Elain’ she recalled him declaring and she knew he also meant this secret part of her.

Azriel tilted his head up to place a kiss against her inner thigh, lips warm and plush, so near to where she wanted his mouth the most and she felt her walls clench in eagerness.

“Divine…” he breathed as he began kissing up, up, up. She braced herself for contact of his lips finally where she needed him to be and let out a keening whine when he skipped her aching core to place a chaste kiss on the top of her mound instead, eyes laughing at her impatience.

“Keep holding you dress up okay sweetie?” He kissed the spot again, and if his intent was to drive her mad, he was succeeding. Elain gave a curt bob of her head and couldn’t stop the tiny thrust of her hips, aching and restless. She was going to die if he didn’t put his mouth on her soon.

“Hold your dress up and don’t look away while I devour this,” a kiss to her mound again, eyes locked onto hers as she tracked his every move ”pretty” a kiss to her right thigh, "pink” to the left “pussy.”

She didn't even have time to appreciate his words before he moved in and planted a bruising kiss on her swollen, pounding clit and began to consume her.

Azriel loved to feast between her thighs like it was his official position at the Night Court. He tongued her clit and pressed his lips against her like he was a man starved.

And through it all his golden gaze never left hers, making sure she followed his demand, making sure she witnessed him worship at the alter of her.

Elain wanted to throw her head back, moan her pleasure to the sky, wanted to drop her gown and entwine her hands in his dark locks and adjust his head and mouth just so, but she also wanted to be good. She so wanted to be good for him.

He was the only one she wanted to be good for.

It didn’t take long with Azriel’s skilled, sinful mouth for the coil in her belly to contract tight, ready to spring and inundate her body with that glowing sensation of gratification. Little gasps broke loose from her lips as she began to sway her hips against his face, giving chase to the beginnings of her unraveling.

“I’m close,” she panted.

He blinked at her sensually like a cat in admission that he had heard her before sliding his hands from her hips to glide up and around her thighs. He gripped both of her buttocks in his hands and squeezed as he began to assist in the grind of her hips, to force her to move faster and faster against his mouth and tongue.

“Azriel don’t stop, don’t stop,” her little mews turned into deep throated moans as she panted in time with the wild rocking of her hips as she reached her peak.

He didn't-- a moment and then she came undone on his tongue, profound moans breaking out of her small quivering form into the night air, her body threatening to topple over if not for the firm grip he had on her thighs.

Elain fought to catch her breath as she surrendered the hold of her body to him, as she lived in the sea of pleasure he had created. He waited patiently in the moments it took for her to come down from her high, one final deep exhale of air and she melted backwards into his hands.

His grasp on her slackened but didn't completely leave as he assisted her with raising herself from his shoulders and guiding her down to rest her bottom on his chest, to let her recuperate if just for a moment.

“Did you enjoy it?” he smirked up at her knowing full well that she did. Immensely.

“Do you have to ask?” she smiled back after finding her voice as he puffed up with pride. She grabbed one of his hands from her waist and brought it to her lips. "I always enjoy it," she praised into his palm closing her eyes and placing a kiss at the center, adoring the familiar texture of his skin on her lips.

She continued to leave a trail of whispered kisses as she turned his hand over to reach his knuckles and ghost her lips over each one. She progressed down his fingers, sending out little flicks of her tongue along the damaged flesh before reaching his fingertips.

Here she faintly parted her lips and enveloped his pointer and middle finger into her hot mouth and gently sucked. She heard the sharp inhale of his breath, felt his body become rigid under her and when she opened her eyes she noticed Azriel's gaze had darkened and a delayed tremor spread through his body culminating in nervous flap of his wings.

Then she felt it, the delicate questioning of pressure on her tongue. She fulfilled his unspoken request by pushing her tongue slightly through her lips and flattening the appendage for him to press down on, for him to fuck his fingers in and out of her mouth.

Saliva quickly accumulated and began to dribble out the corners of her mouth wrapped around his fingers, coating his fingers in her drool as the went in and out.

“Beautiful,” he admired and before it became too much, before she gagged, he stilled his movement and released the pressure off her tongue. Elain bit down lightly on his fingers before pulling them from her mouth, dragging them against her lips and leaving a wet trail from his spit coated fingers down her chin, neck and clavicles before coming to the top of her dress.

There she guided his fingers to quickly undo the flimsy string that held the dress together and continued to pull his hand downward, bringing the top of her dress with it so her breast were revealed. She didn't stop till the clothing bunched around her waist and then brought his hand back up and placed it over one breast.

Azriel sighed as if to himself and muttered, “So very fucking beautiful." Warmth spread from the top of her head to her toes at his compliments. Many people called her beautiful but it only mattered when he said it.

He didn’t hesitate to have his other hand join the first to cup both of her breast. His burned hands, the texture, made her want to melt as he kneaded her soft flesh, digits rubbing roughly over her pebbled nipples.

She bit her lip, the stirrings of desire that had begun again immediately after being sated making itself known in the clench of her tummy, in her still dripping cunt that now began to soak the front of Azriel’s shirt.

“You’re so good to me,” she purred, covering his hands with her own and forcing him to squeeze her breast hard, the flesh overflowing between his fingers. “I want to be good to you too.”

She removed her hands from his and maneuvered her arms until they were free of the sleeves of her dress as he massaged her breast, leaving her upper half uncovered to the night air. She then scooted herself down, his hands reluctantly leaving her, to situate herself below his waist, his noticeable bulge in front of her.

“You’re always good to me Elain," he said, bending his knees so she could lean on the tops of his thighs for support. He was always so considerate of her comfort, so in tune with her and her needs before she even realized what she needed.

She smiled at him boldly and then palmed him through the leather of his pants. A hiss escaped him full of throbbing need and want at her touch and she felt a pang of compassion that he had suffered in silence with his aching cock. Azriel always thought first and foremost of her pleasure, of giving but his pleasure was also hers.

His cock cut an impressive outline visible in his pants, thick and long and stiff. She was the source of his current predicament and she would take care of him, she would be good to him, if only after being a little bad first.

“Is this for me?” She teased, observing the way his pupils dilated, the way his fist clenched as she scraped her nails against the leather, running her pointer finger down the length of him.

“Yes,” he moaned, breathless and aroused, ”all for you.”

She hummed and began to undo the buckle of his pants, the familiar sounds of metal clinking sending a thrill through her at what came next. “All? I don’t know if I can take all of you Shadowsinger,” she taunted as she kept undoing the fastenings. Finally, she reached into this pants and pulled his cock out, proud and hard and dripping with slick on the top.

“You’re so big,” she praised wrapping her fingers around the considerable girth of him and rubbing her thumb along the slit at the top of his cock, spreading it around the head.

“We’ll make it fit,” he said, a pleading tone lacing his voice as she began to caress lightly up and down his length. As if she would deny him, as if she wasn’t already craving the delicious stretch of his cock in her cunt.

He was right of course. They would come together flawlessly, like they were made only for each other, that only they could satisfy their this burning incessant need inside. Elain felt her lower half pound in desire, thinking of the way he filled her up so completely, so utterly, that she ever forgot what it was like to feel empty of him.

She stroked him harder now, working him into a frenzy of passion. He threw his head back to hit on the ground, gripping her so tight she would bruise, his hips thrusting up into her hand as little piteous moans escaped him. She loved seeing him like this, undone and needy and yearning for her.

“Elain you need to stop," he breathed, lifting his head and prying his hands of her hips to her wrist to stop her movement. She didn't heed him, intent on giving him the same pleasure he had her, to give him what he deserved. "Elain," he chided again through clenched teeth, torn between letting her finish him to completion, to revel in the pleasure of her hand or in the tightness of her cunt. With that thought, he made up his mind. She made to move, to position herself so that she could wrap his beautiful cock in her mouth when he grabbed her shoulders and flipped them effortlessly until it was her back against the blanket and him above her, wings open to cover her in shadow, to hide her from the stars.

"If you kept doing that," he growled through gritted teeth, eyes wild like a predator observing their prey ," I wouldn't be able to fuck you."

He lowered his body to drape across hers, careful as not to exert too much weight on her smaller frame. He leaned into her neck and inhaled her scent before nuzzling under her ear, "And I so badly want to fuck you Elain." She felt the heavy weight of his cock twitch against her thigh in proof of his statement and her heart quickened in her chest.

“Then what are you waiting for?” She challenged him angling her head so her lips could press against the set clench of his jaw. He snarled and attacked her mouth, the tang of her still on his lips mingling with her saliva as they fought with tongue and teeth.

He rutted against her mercilessly as they kissed, jerking her body upwards with powerful thrust of his bare cock against her soaked panties.

“Azriel,” she ruptured their kiss, a messy line of saliva trailing from her mouth to his and had to turn her head as he chased her lips with his own, trying to claim her again air be damned.

“I can’t wait anymore,” she whined, fisting his shirt so hard in frustration that the collar loosened, exposing the bronze of his skin chest and the edge of his dark tattoos. “Put it in,” she begged, "please put it in.” Her nails dug into his uncovered flesh, leaving angry lines to mark her need but Azriel either didn't feel or didn't care.

“You want my fat cock?” he retorted to her plight, reaching between them and bunching her underwear in his hand, yanking with ease to tear them in half as she yelped. He then took himself in hand and rubbed along her folds, coating his shaft in her gathered slick before slapping the head against her pudgy clit with a wet smack.

“Yes,” she mewed up at him straining, sparks of pleasure coursing through her body as he rubbed the head of his cock against her tender clit. "Yes!" she cried out, wanton and shameless and desperate for him.

“Then take it pretty girl,” he growled into her ear, but placing himself at her entrance and slowly bullying the blunt tip of his cock into her sopping pussy inch by torturous inch.

Elain's mind emptied of all reasoning becoming consumed with the hard length of him as he immersed himself inside her, as he stretched her pussy on his cock to the hilt.

He stilled, staying like that as he panted wicked and hot into her ear, as she adjusted to the great girth of him. His body trembled with the effort, with the urge to take, take, take, to make her his in every way but she knew he would wait until she was ready.

“Does it feel good Elain?” he raised himself on his arms above her head and looked down, eyes blazing with desire and shaking with restraint ”do you like being stuffed full of my cock?”

She tried and failed to form words so instead she nodded up at him and bucked her hips to prompt him to move but he wasn't satisfied yet. He sat all the way up and peered down at her with a narrowed gaze, every inch an Illyrian warrior. “Tell me,” he demanded as he skimmed his hands from the tops of her thighs to her calves, gripping and wrapping her legs around his waist in preparation. ”Tell me how much you like it.”

He began to thrust lazily, tormenting her as he waited for a response.

Elain hurried to gather her fissured thoughts, slipping in and out of focus as his cock brushed every hidden part of her, making her whimper. He wouldn’t go any faster until she answered and finally she cut through the haze of her cock drunk mind to give voice to thought.

“I love that can I feel you moving inside me,” she panted, placing her hand on her lower stomach so she could feel the presence of his girth as he moved inside, molding her flesh around him.

“I love the burn as you stretch me open," she resumed and she felt him thrust hard into her to give emphasis to her words, causing her to give a sharp cry of pleasure. He crushed her thighs in a vice like grip as his pace picked up with her admission.

"I l-lo-lo,” she stumbled over her words as he rammed his cock into her squelching pussy over and over causing her breast to bounce in tandem with his thrust. “I love that I’ll be sore the next day,” she finally bit out in a rush, followed by a husky moan from the back of her throat.

And she would. She would feel the ache of him in everything she did tomorrow, in every movement, every step and would be pleased and thankful of the reminder of their time together, not that she would--could--ever forget. Even after they were long gone and the memories they had together was the only thing left of her, the echoes of them, of their being, would continue to exist in the ether of time until even time itself ceased to be and she believed even after that.

He startled her when he paused and pulled out of her completely and she couldn't stop the wail of dismay at the sudden emptiness she now felt.

But Azriel wasn’t done and she was mollified when he gently coaxed her to roll over onto her stomach and rise on her hands and knees. She felt him situate himself against the back of her thighs, lifting her skirts to display her ample bottom. He caressed her buttocks before his fingers harshly pressed into her flesh and he gave no warning before he penetrated her again, this time plunging his cock in swiftly and with a more punishing momentum that left her clawing the blanket in her fist and sobbing into the soft surface.

He didn't stop as he leaned over her, chest to back to murmur to her low and unsteady, “I love that you take my cock so well." He punctuated his sentence by short, hard thrusts that left her gasping into the ground. “You were made for me," he said guttural and full of possessiveness.

She was. She was. She wanted to tell him, wanted to say she was made for him and he for her, that they completed each other and complimented each other’s lives so well that she couldn’t ever imagine them being apart, that there was no part of her that wasn't engraved with the essence of him and him alone.

“Az…Azriel,” she she choked out, trying to imbue her voice with all that she couldn't say but it took too much, her mind entirely on him pumping his cock in and out of her with brutal speed, leading her to her ruin.

She never wanted him to stop fucking her. She wanted him always inside her, always moving within her until they were bones and dust and their blended souls danced among the stars forever.

“I’m going to breed you Elain,” he growled with a primal urge, his hand coming up under her to lay his fingers splayed against her own still on her lower stomach in suggestion. Their hands met and intertwined, a promise for the future. “Is that what you want? Want me to shoot my load into your needy pussy?”

Elain was long gone now, having surrendered herself to his cock, but through her pleasure filled haze she managed to respond. “Yes,” she breathed deep, a cloud of her own breath warming her face as her forehead rested on the ground. “Please cum inside me, fill me up, breed me breed me breed me…” she begged, not caring that she sounded like a bitch in heat as she dissolved into incoherent babbling and moans as he bounced her on his cock.

“Fuck Elain,” Azriel hissed from behind her as he snapped his hips in earnest, his rhythm falling to frantic, wild abandon, desperate. “Elain Elain Elain my Elain” he chanted like a prayer, like he was begging for mercy as he impaled her again and again on his cock.

“I’m yours! Azriel I'm yours,” she cried to him over the wet noises of him pounding into her, feral and untamed as tears came to her eyes and fell down her cheeks to soak the blanket.

She felt the hot ropes of his cum shoot into her, coating her walls at the same she reached her own peak, cresting the summit of their joining, her sight going white and sound blanking out that she almost thought she was having a vision. She died a million little deaths as she was fractured into pieces and put back together again and again with 'azriel azriel azriel' reverberating in her heart.

A few more finishing thrust and he collapsed on top of her but before she could take the full brunt of his weight he wrapped his arms around her protectively and rolled to the side, bringing her with him to settle her into the crook of his body, back to chest in an embrace. One of his arms slid under her head for support and the other wrapped around her waist where their hands once again weaved themselves together between her breast, next to her heart. He tucked his chin between her shoulder and neck so he could breath her in, and unfurled his wings around them partially cocooning them from the world as they recovered.

Elain lay there basking in the afterglow, safe and content with a satisfied throb between her legs and relaxed, listening as their hearts beat in tandem, slowing down and their mingled breath evening out as the world started to make sense again.

Night had fully fallen and with it came a chill but even though the top of her body was still exposed she was warm and cozy in Azriel's arms and the shelter of his wings. She could see through a small gap tiny fae lights illuminating the glade with a soft glow that shown through the membranous parts of his wings.

She never wanted to leave, to lay entangled with him like this forever, and it pained her because she knew they could not. The dream had to eventually end. She felt him tense behind her and knew he had come to the same realization.

“We have to go soon,” he murmured close to her ear and she felt the stab of his chin as he said the words as if they were piercing her heart. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she could hold the thought, the already spoken words at bay.

They were expected at the family dinner tonight and she would have to bath beforehand, to remove his scent from her no matter how much it grieved her. She would have to sit across from him at the same table, to be around him and not touch him, to not stare at his breathtaking beauty, to make sure not to pay too much attention to him, to act cordial, like acquaintances or friends, like the world didn't begin or end with him.

“I know,” was all she could muster to say, small and low, fighting to keep the quiver out of her voice. Her fingers absentmindedly played with his, rolling over and under as she tried and failed to think of a way to stay, to selfishly keep them here away from the world in their own universe.

“Just…a bit longer," she conceded, not quite willing to give up completely. She felt the dip of his chin, a nod, and his arms pulled her even closer to him.

They lay there a few minutes more and when she finally found the courage to move, to leave the intimacy and his warmth behind for now, he gripped her tight to him and she felt the moisture of his breath along her cheek as he whispered to her.

”I’m yours too.”

Her Azriel.

my god has answered me

#elriel #azriel x elain #elriel fanfic #azriel x elain fanfic #elriel smut #elriel fanfiction #elain archeron #Azriel #acotar #pro elriel

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drewharrisonwriter · 1 year ago

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On the Mend - Ch 1: Not Today

No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader

Read this on AO3 | On the Mend Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: You were having a really, really bad day in the midst of the scorching Austin summer, and seeing your ex boyfriend, Joel Miller, is the last thing you need.

Word count: 829

A/N: (EDIT 09/17/2023) Okay so I heard ya'll! LMAO and decided to turn this into a mini-series. Not sure exactly how things will play out for these two, but I've written a part 2 and decided to call this mini-series On the Mend. LOL hope you like it. This is a one-shot for now, not sure if and how to continue this. I just got this idea recently and wanted to write it.

The merciless sun bore down as she parked her car. The Austin summer had been relentless, and today, it seemed as if even the universe was conspiring against her.

It had been a thoroughly miserable day. Work had been a disaster; she'd spent hours redoing half of a project her co-worker had botched because she was still hungover from the previous night.

The Texas summer heat, relentless and unforgiving, only added to her misery. As if fate had a personal grudge against her, she realized she'd left her house keys on her office desk when she was already halfway home.

She sighed in defeat and turned her car around to retrieve them. All of this was compounded by her lingering morning sickness, a term she found deceptive as it had resurfaced with a vengeance upon entering her third trimester. She had naively believed she had bid it farewell for good when she'd crossed into the second trimester.

"Whoever called it morning sickness should be shot for lying," she grumbled, attempting to quell the rising nausea that threatened to surface.

Dressed in biker shorts and an oversized t-shirt she kept in her car for emergencies, she got out and beelined to the frozen aisle for a popsicle stick and savored the brief respite offered by the melting ice cold treat.

She sighed in relief and grabbed a pushcart. Her only mission in the store was to grab some Oreos, pickles, and frozen pizza to satisfy her cravings that were so intense, she literally cried in the car on her way over.

As she rounded a corner in the store, she was suddenly face to face with the last person she wanted to see: Joel Miller.

Great. She thought to herself. Couldn't have been on a better day.

Ah, Joel fucking Miller.

The man who had once been the love of her life.

The same man who had taken her on the most memorable first date she'd ever experienced, and had filled the past five years of her life with the kind of joy she'd never known before.

But this was also the man who made it clear to her months ago, after five whole years of being together and living together for three, that he has no plans of marrying her and having a family with her.

She and Joel were arguing at the time when he said it.

In the midst of their emotional clash, she couldn't help but speak her mind, her frustration boiling over.

"Joel," she began, her voice trembling with pent-up feelings, "if you get mad at every damn little thing, what's going to happen if we were married? That's not the life I want, and it's not the husband I need."

Joel's eyes flashed with anger as he retorted, "Of course it’s not! And who told you I was going to marry you?" His words cut like a knife, and she felt her heart shatter into pieces.

"We never talked about it, what put the idea into your head?" he continued, his tone harsh and unyielding.

Her jaw went slack in shock, as tears welled up in her eyes as she choked back her emotions.

"But I thought we--," she whispered, her voice barely audible, she couldn't even continue her thoughts when Joel cut her off.

"No." He barked. "You knew from the start that Sarah is my priority. Always was and always will be. I'm not going through the whole marriage thing again." And have our hearts broken all over again when you realize that we're not what you want, he wanted to add. But instead he allowed the silence to linger.

Silent tears slipped from her eyes but she did not respond.

Instead she stood up and went into the closet and started packing. So be it, she told herself as she zipped the last of her bags before going into the bathroom to hastily shove her toiletries into another bag.

She stopped when she pulled one of the lower drawers open. The positive pregnancy test sticks under her box of tampons glared at her, and for a brief moment she contemplated telling Joel. But when she heard the front door slam shut, she pulled herself together and shoved the sticks in the bag as well.

That was seven months ago and she hasn't seen nor heard from Joel since.

Their eyes met for a moment before his gaze fell upon her very round baby bump. Acting on instinct, she hastily placed her handbag in the shopping cart, a futile attempt to hide it from him, though it didn't do much given the fact that she looked like she had tucked an entire watermelon under her shirt.

She grimaced, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she locked eyes with him once more, she began walking backwards, her eyes not leaving him and before he could say anything, she had rounded the corner and all he heard was, “Nope. Not today!”

Next Chapter 👉🏻

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takes1 · 2 months ago

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final part. one night stand aftermath with needy!tsukishima

sorry for the wait :0 this is a looong one. last installment! thanks for supporting ya'll. if you want more tsukki, just let me know

warnings. nsfw. minors DNI

details. fem!reader / rough sex / counter sex / porn with plot / flirting / one night stand aftermath / trust issues!reader / needy!tsukki / timeskip!tsukki / apartment setting / communication / a deal being made / 3.1k words

links. my masterlist. [part one, part two.] more haikyuu. my ao3. requests OPEN.

Your breath grew shallow under the weight of his hand on your upper thigh.

It was funny, your confident, split-second choice not to wear anything under your skirt this evening suddenly all you could think about.

Tiny glances. To and from the glint of his glasses in the sunset, the dashes on the road zipping by as he took you back to his place, the tendons working on the top of his hand as he squeezed your supple flesh, hungry- though his eyes gave no indication.

His car was not impressive, but it was exceptionally clean and maintained well. It helped more than anything else, more than any of his mannerisms in particular, to put you at ease.

The first and last words you had exchanged was about the music about six minutes ago. It was kept at a low enough volume to talk over, but no such conversation got off the ground. So, it was quiet and you sat alert, tummy in knots (some good, some bad) with clammy palms and a racing heart.

This state of uncertainty didn't get much better as you made your way upstairs into his apartment.

Where was the kind-of-sweet guy working part-time at the museum? Every time you met him again, it was like his personality had done a complete 180 and you needed to relearn how to talk to him.

You both stood a moment in the doorway, slipping off your shoes. He grew about four inches taller and immeasurably more imposing. You caught a tiny smirk on his jaw.

"Why wear heels?" He asked, toneless.

You squinted across the entryway, careful to not be accusatory nor provide any reference of height to boost his ego, "Because they're cute."

When you decided he was attractive that Friday night, his height was secondary.

Tsukishima lingered for a moment, a faint smile on his mouth, all wrapped up in something you said or how you said it. He shook his head and walked towards the kitchen without inviting you.

Yeah, his height was trivial compared to the complexity behind his eyes.

Again, you were left wondering what to do- you followed, of course. But it was out of hesitant assumption and not because he made it easy.

His head turned away when you entered.

You didn't have time to guess if he was waiting or not before he asked, "Would you like anything?"

It was vague, but since this was the kitchen, you settled on water.

The way he sank and slid, slow and tedious from his spot to grab you a glass made you hold yourself in doubt. But, he was smiling.

"What's so funny?" You had to ask.

Worry was apparent on your brow. He couldn't see it turned around.

"You still don't trust me, do you?"

You couldn't clean up the shock on your face before he saw it. It was exactly what he was looking for, apparently. He still thought that was funny.

You struggled to craft a response that was both articulate and true, "I guess I don't. I don't know you."

It lingered in the air for a few seconds. In fact, those seconds felt so long that you began to question your choice to come here. You thought to exactly where you put your shoes.

He looked contemplative. He crossed his arms, but not to close himself off. "But we still fucked."

You laughed at him, at the absurdity.

"I know."

You repeated, shaking your head, "I- I know. What, are you trying to guilt trip me over leaving? I know I hurt your feelings, but I don't owe you anything."

The island separating you felt bigger.

He blew a breath, brow raised. You regretted saying it that way. He just made you nervous.

But he laughed again, "Jesus, uh..." He picked up your glass and closed the distance, arm up as a little surrender to your words, "I guess you're not wrong."

He settled next to you, side flush against you when he handed you the glass.

You stared at it, tapping, and considered your options. You opened your mouth and took a breath to apologize.

"Don't say sorry," He stated. He met your eyes for a moment, then shook his head with a little smile, "I like that."

Heat crawled up your neck and inspired you to down all the water in your hands. You set the empty glass aside and wiped your mouth with your forearm. He thought it was cute, but kept it to himself.

The facts were as out there as they were going to get for you; he didn't do one night stands, he was convinced he had met a 'nice girl' and took you home, got his feelings hurt when you left, he probably thought it was fate that you met at the museum, but... now, what did he want?

"I don't trust you either," He admitted, moving slow to pin you between his arms, against the counter.

His eyes gave you no indication of what he meant by that. He looked mean. Like he could really hurt you, or your feelings at a minimum.

A flash of apprehension spread across your face. You looked to the left and right, then back at him, who found your little panic charming.

His indescribable intensity was why, when he closed the distance to kiss you, you paused.

He sighed against you for a second, then slowly straightened out. It took you a second because you were dumbfounded by how out of place his sudden affection felt, but thought it preferable to his ominous and vague nature.

At least when he was kissing you, you didn't have to guess.

Before he could take your hesitation to heart, you stretched up, hands clasped on his shoulders, in his hair, to return it tenfold.

His tongue was familiar and his lips were comforting. He leaned into you, trapping you against the counter, but it steadied you both.

God, why didn't he start out with this?

A soft moan shared between your lips sent him spiralling- his hand clutched your waist, under your flimsy little shirt, and his thumb rubbed against your tummy, rendering you a little weak in the knees.

His body felt perfect against yours. No room for second guessing.

He parted for a moment, and you caught the strangest look in his eyes. An intensity that making out shouldn't have warranted- a pain that was beyond an overdue erection.

"I...ah, I can't-," You gasped between his extra kisses, "Figure you out-!" Your hand flew to support yourself when he lifted you off of your feet from your hips.

You locked your legs around his waist, and nearly missed when you grabbed for his shoulders. It didn't matter much, but it startled you. In your panicked searching, you couldn't even find the brown in his eyes.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth at the feeling of you through his pants. That little no-underwear detail didn't go ignored earlier.

"Mmnyou don't have to," He muttered dismissively.

There was no chance to question further before he took your lips hostage once more, his hand firm against the back of your head.

Though logically, his evasiveness was concerning, it did nothing short of send an addictive current straight down your spine. Thinking grew tough, quickly.

His tongue was easier to deal with than your doubts. After all, you were always just a hook-up, anyway.

A squeak caught in your throat at the way he pushed you into the cold counter, the way he loomed over and blocked out the overhead light except for the tips of his golden hair, the way he made sure you didn't bump your head on the way down.

It was difficult returning his rough kisses. For the most part, you focused on just taking them instead, but that became nearly impossible when he started to roll his hips into yours.

Perfect, warm waves crashed over you and kept your legs heavy and weak. It was all you could do to keep up with him.

"F-uck," A choked sigh against the shell of your ear made you twitch, "I'm not gonna last for shit."

You giggled at his soft, disappointed admission. He put his face in the curve of your neck and wrapped his other arm around you. It was tight. Secure, as you rolled your hips over the outline of his cock.

"We'll go a few rounds tonight, yeah?" Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to sound.

A long inhale, taken from in your hair you couldn't help but notice, and he gave an approving hum against your neck in a long, tingly kiss.

He freed an arm to hold your wrists above your head, the other tracing up your shirt to tease your chest.

That little pout you gave him earned you a quick, rough kiss into more possessive ones all along the side of your neck- it paired well with the cruel pinching under your shirt and his heavy burden between your legs.

Soon, you were panting, dizzy and sweaty with just one thought in your head.

"You're-- ah-h, optimistic," He was just short of asking.

His little moan made your hips automatically buck- you couldn't wait around to take him again. His grip, once you expressed the desire to free yourself, was laughably light.

The metallic sounds of his belt coming undone and his zipper lowering percussed your sultry, sarcastic tone well, "Stop trying to figure me out."

Shuddery breath caught in his throat as you pulled him out. It hadn't been too long since the last time, objectively speaking, but the feeling of his warm cock in your hands was one you desperately missed.

It slowly started to feel more right after that.

You didn't have a grasp on who he was, what he wanted, what he was thinking- but when he pulls back to at least press a slow, longing kiss to your soaked pussy under your skirt, it feels right.

It feels simple. Something you were more comfortable with, more used to. Certainly an easier feeling to navigate than this serpentine man, holding you with devoted fingers, but staring you down like you had wronged him.

He got carried away, mouth sticky and hot around your aching clit, big hands shoved up your shirt to scour every inch of you he hadn't remembered well enough the first time. Now he'd never forget it.

"Mm-! Ok-ay, okay, please--," Your whine, your squirming, was tended to immediately.

His hand slid and covered so much of your neck, jaw- the whole side of your face, in fact, that you felt your skin burning underneath it. He smothered you in a wet, sloppy kiss.

When he pushed into you, you couldn't help but think of the first time.

"Oh-h," You seethed at his size, only finding that it made him grip you harder, like he was holding you together, scared you might break apart.

Your squeak at the sensation was higher, your eyes wider, as you found his gaze low and almost plaintive.

It was different from that night. You were both a little drunk, but still. He was excited, confident, more twitchy. Faster, in a lot of ways. It came across as rushed to you and it helped justify leaving when you did. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy the passion, or the absurdness of being carried up the stairs like that, but you figured he was a one-trick pony. Like most guys.

Now you felt like you were the one rushing things. He held you still by the fat of your hips when you tried to get some friction.

His kisses were softer. Deliberate and savored. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

He was perfect, beating slow and smooth between your thighs, your bodies intertwined like you wanted, but it left something to be desired. You wanted his expression to be that of lust, not whatever this was.

"What's- ah-h--, what's'wrong?" You whispered against his lips.

He pulled away to look at you, glancing around your features with that same pitiful look. Where was the passion? His charming, kinda mean, -but impressive, nonetheless- one liners?

"Do you want me?" Was a whisper right back, the mix of warmth and minty coolness in his breath a tingly shock across your face.

He didn't look in your eyes for very long once he realized the answer was not quite ready for him.

Scanning your body instead, he found many worthy things to distract himself with. Chief among them was in the form of making you take even longer to give him a response.

A gentle, slippery prodding around your clit made you gasp.

"Mm-! God," You whined, eyes rolled back as you fought to understand what he meant by that, "I want- ah-!..."

He was biting the inside of his lip with a quiet chuckle, memorizing your pretty frame twisting, writhing underneath him as you struggled to take him and get played with at the same time. Like a tired old art critic, waiting to understand the meaning of a masterpiece.

"I want you-," You sighed, luring his attention to your face again, "I- I want you to- tell me-,"

He finally laid off for a second, his hands instead grabbing at your hips to bring you further down on his cock. Your neck looked a little too plain, now that he was thinking about it. If you left, he wanted you to leave with something of his. He started working deep marks on your throat.

Your low, approving moan encouraged him.

You sighed, honest and plain, letting your nails scratch through his fluffy hair, "Tell me- you won't hurt me."

"I couldn't hurt'you," He quickly muttered against your bruising skin.

You were almost, not quite but almost, as fast. "Make me a deal, then."

He liked the sound of that. It was more practical than a promise. More real, something you could both risk for a perceived reward each. You didn't know it yet, but you really knew how to appeal to him.

His long fingers stretched over your thighs, lifting them to tease you a little from a different angle. Part of him wished he had waited to take you upstairs. You couldn't do much on the counter.

"I- ah, won't leave," You seethed as he stretched you out like that, brow furrowed at the addictive intensity, "As long as you don't hurt me."

The way he held your words in his head before he responded was unexpectedly attractive. Contemplative, he traded one of your thighs for your needy clit again and grinned at how you tightened around him.

"Deal," He leaned up to kiss you, like a handshake, of sorts.

If he kept this up, you wouldn't be able to last very long. You loved how he took care of you himself, and didn't leave you to figure out your own pleasure.

He clearly wanted to tick every box, make sure you noticed it, too, so that you could be grateful to him.

You were both smiling more after your little agreement.

Before you could get too lost in it, there was some low thudding just above you.

Everything stopped for a scary moment.

You instantly looked at him when you didn't understand the sound right away, for some sort of reassurance it was just the apartment settling, or a cat upstairs. His brow was still furrowed, concerned as he looked up, his eyes tracking the sound in the ceiling.

"What the hell is that?" You whispered, a little harsh, but justified.

His face fell seconds after your question was left hanging, unanswered. He looked defeated.

"My-," He sighed, grimacing as you adjusted under him, "My roommate, I... forgot he was here."

It seemed so stupid for a guy you pegged as so intelligent. The raw reaction in his eyes made it clear that fucking you right here wasn't deliberate.

Your body relaxed again. You were wholeheartedly glad it wasn't a criminal or a ghost. It made way for confusion as he started to explain that his roommate doesn't usually come out of his room at this time, but that you should both probably head upstairs anyway.

Though it pissed you off on the surface, it doubled down and validated the realization that he didn't have everything so figured out. Taking you on the counter wasn't something he sketched out and made a reality- he just wanted you that badly.

He tried to pull out, but you locked your legs around him so he couldn't move. His jaw worked, his eyes searching yours, his brows upturned. God, he looked like he'd fall apart like that.

Your chest tightened with shock and the raw, tingly pride that came with feeling special.

Your fingers laced around his neck; he didn't offer up any resistance as you pulled him in close.

Warm breath spilled across the side of his face. He couldn't help but lean into it.

"Well, don'tstop now," Egged him on; echoed in smaller, more desperate pleas the closer he fucked you to completion. When he was just beginning to think he could get any more obsessed with you.

His lids lowered at your words, his eyes rolling back in the sockets as he put the weight of his head in the nook of your collarbone.

Though he seemed to soften in the face, his thrusts got stronger. It felt like he was filling you up more and more, leaving you gasping and clawing at his wide shoulders.

"Mm-n-Ah! Fuck-!" You whined, with no regard for his roommate, while he shoved you off the edge.

Your orgasm was well-deserved- the delay, the conversation, made it that much more intense. You felt like you could actually start to trust this guy, so you let him have the best of you.

When he came, warm and sticky all over your tummy, you didn't even think about how your shirt and skirt were still half-on, meaning he had effectively ruined all the clothes you brought with you. Normally you'd be pissed off.

But you just wanted to watch him cum, too.

His little whiny noises he thought he had covered up were loud, his gasps and little curses flattering, leaving your head buzzing.

His body became heavier for a minute, now that he was tired, before he stood back up and pulled you with him.

Everything was quiet again, as you both looked to the ceiling, then at each other, and waited. No sound.

"Sorry," He mumbled, clumsy, reaching for his glasses so he could see how bad he ruined your outfit.

Now you took the time to notice the difference in how his glasses made him look; a little nerdier, a little cuter.

You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and put your forehead to his chin.

"I'll just steal some of your clothes, if that's okay with you."

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buggyboba · 6 months ago

Text

Within Your Heart I'll Place The Moon

Ao3 [x] The song that inspired this [ As The World Falls Down ] Missy takes you to a masquerade ball, and well it feels very final.

Notes:

AN| Once again no self-control, it popped into my head so now it's here. I decided not to be too angsty, I needed some kinda happy, but even then, doesn't really feel happy, but shh I tried. Pairing: Missy x Reader (Fem implied) Warnings: None I can think of, Missy calls Reader Nova, as a term of endearment. Word: 1600, It's a short one ya'll I figured out drabbles don't have to be 6000 words.

The music was slow and hazy; the floor was covered with dancers, some in simple lace coverings, some in full-blown masquerade masks. You wore a simple black lace thing, barely covering your features but it had amethyst jewel droplets sewn into it, it matched your black silk ballroom gown. Your eyes scanned the dancers, as you swayed to the music.

The ballroom was beautiful, the crystals were almost like bubbles above the dancers. The light hitting them from above created an ethereal feeling. A half smile took your lips, a masquerade was something you had always wanted to see, and your time lady delivered, she had slipped away to do something nefarious you were sure, but that didn't stop you from having a good time. After a few moments, your head felt too hazy, so you stepped out onto the balcony for air, the music seeped out into the once-quiet night air, and the cold air felt good against your skin. The heat of so many people dissipated out here, lessening the feeling of the overwhelming that the ballroom was.

The moon here cast a beautiful glow on everything, it was very romantic, too bad Missy wasn’t there. You imagined what it would be like to dance with her, she would probably get mad you didn’t know how to properly waltz, or something, chastise you for being uncultured, but it didn’t matter right now, not when the night was so beautiful. Not when the music was so perfect, and everything felt like a fairytale.

You leaned against the railing looking out at the courtyard, and that's when you felt a familiar hand on your lower back, you turned and there she was, the moonlight bathed her in such a way that you were sure she was a goddess. Her black and royal purple dress perfectly clung to her, her own deep purple mask covered the top of her face, but her light blue eyes were still piercing. The moonlight caught the gold and amethyst jewels worked into her hair, which was loose for once, not in its normal perfectly pinned-up updo, but slightly curled and draped over her shoulders.

She took your hand and pulled you closer, her hand stayed on your lower back as her fingers curled through yours, it wasn’t the proper waltzing stance, but she wanted to be as close as she could to you. She let her head rest close to your ear as she waltzed you around the large stone balcony. She murmured things to you, softer than you expected her to be, it worried you, she hadn’t been this affectionate before. Was affectionate the right word? It didn’t matter, her soft words and occasional kiss on your neck made your head even more hazy.

She kept you close to her, you could feel her hearts pounding against your chest, your own heart fluttering and drumming quickly against your ribs. Why were her hearts pounding? She was always collected, at least she seemed like it, like everything was under control, so why were her hearts racing? This was too perfect, everything was too perfect. Was this it, was Missy going to drop you off and take off, would you never see her again. She was being sweet, too sweet, you felt your grip on her tighten slightly, she noticed too. She kissed your neck softly as if to soothe the nervousness bubbling up in your stomach. She pulled back to look at you, her expression betrayed something akin to guilt before she masked whatever emotion she was feeling.

“You are a fool,” she said calmly, softly, so as to not break the spell of the music and beautiful night.

“How so?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“For loving me,” she whispered in your ear, as she chose to sway with you in slow circles.

“Am I? Why?” You asked softly, suddenly feeling very numb, yeah this was it, you had been through enough breakups.

“Well, I am a psychopath dear.” She said as if that was the only real reason you needed. “And given my history, I am more likely to use you and throw you away.” she sighed. “Or I’ll get bored and drop you into the time vortex for funsies.”

“Is that what you want from me?” you breathed weakly. “To use me and throw me away, I don’t think it is…or you would have already, you’ve had plenty of opportunities, and chances, and even when you want to kill me, you haven’t….I don’t think I am a fool for loving you Missy, I think you are scared to feel it.” You said in a murmur. “You are trying to sabotage yourself, and I don’t think you realize you are doing it…or if you do, you think this is the right choice, it’s not Missy…we have been traveling together for a while, I see the way you look when you think I’m not paying attention…the way you will smirk behind your hand when I say something you find entertaining but don’t want me to know….I don’t think you are going to use me and throw me away.” You said and let the hand that had rested on her arm slide up to the side of her neck. “I think you are just uncomfortable and don’t know how to handle it, because you haven’t let yourself be adored in a way that isn’t subservient.” You nodded letting your thumb rub her jawline, to which she seemed to press closer to you. “I know that I’m just a silly little human, but if you wanted to just throw me away, you wouldn’t have brought me here, even if there were ulterior motives, you would have just dragged me back to the tardis, and if you are doing this as a ‘last adventure’ thing, you wouldn’t have, you wouldn’t have cared enough to, you would have just dropped me off, so…I might be a fool, but it’s not for loving you,” you said moving to step back, but she pulled you tighter to her, not allowing you to leave.

Her arm wrapped around your waist and kept you pinned against her, she was quiet, clearly not used to having to face what you have said. “This is a last adventure,” she sighed. “They are closing in on me, and I can’t risk you.”

“No, don’t do that…don’t think you know better for me, I don’t know who you are running from, but run a little longer, for me, please.” You said weakly, clinging to her tighter, you felt the sting of tears, you didn’t want to leave yet, you wanted to stay, to be her companion. You didn’t want her to walk out of your life and you would never see her again, the way she was talking, you felt that whoever was after her it was a final sort of meeting. “You will get out of this, you are the goddamn Mistress, and if there is one thing I know about you, is death is for other people…not you….never you.” You said in a desperate but firm tone.

“My Nova, I wish it was that simple–” she started but you cut her off.

“You are also not responsible for my safety, I am, and it doesn’t matter I chose this, remember, I said yes. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want this to be the last adventure, not when….Not when I have these feelings, not when I look at you and feel so much….I don’t care if someone is after you, we can run, we are good at that, we can stay a step ahead, we can glide through the stars, we can stay lowkey for as long as it takes, please…don’t do this…not to me, not right now.” you said your breath picking up some as you clung to her burying your face in the crook of her neck as you both seemed to cling to each other not willing to let go.

“No it is that simple, you won’t let yourself be caught, and I won’t let you be caught, and we can continue our adventures, you showing me the stars.” You said, shaking your head. Missy let out a shaking sigh, she didn’t know how to get through to you that if she was caught, you weren’t going to be spared, they would see you as an accomplice, then again she could always say she hypnotized you, and since there was no real blood on your hand they might release you. What was that feeling, that she was feeling? Regret, remorse? It didn’t matter, not right now, because you were looking at her like that, with those tears, baring your heart to her, and she couldn’t let you go, not right now, not when there was so much to still show you, still do.

She sighed again and pulled your head back down to the crook of her neck. “Okay Nova, just a bit longer then,” she whispered into your ear. “Just one more adventure.” she kissed just below your ear. You could handle just one more, as long as it wasn’t true, you could keep trying ‘one more adventure’, for as long as it took. At least for tonight, you still had her, and you had a beautiful romantic setting, one more dance couldn’t hurt, not when it was this perfect, even if the thought of eminent death loomed, you couldn’t help but push it down, ignore it just a bit longer just so you could enjoy the time you had, this fleeting moment, that you were determined to stretch as long as you could.

-x-

Tag list:

@Theonetruepotato87 @neurodiverse-dumpingground @lena-kieran-luthor @marisacoulterswife @germansarechill @vivvision @skarrkiie @missyblr @toastvogel @what-bout-me @shipshroom @lilibrina @awritersometime @super-just-because

#missy x reader #gomez!master x reader #the master x reader #doctor who #doctor who x reader #missy x fem!reader #Hi I have no self control

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frogserotonin · 2 years ago

Note

Hiiii, I badly need more Anthony Lockwood x reader on this app so could you do one where reader joins the agency and there are immediate sparks between her and lockwood (he's always flirting with her, he always does small things for her and he always protects her first in a mission) and one day he gets really injured trying to save her during their missions and at home she's really worried when patching him up and they end up confessing to eachother after they have a mini argument. Then they kiss and make up or makeout 😘

god yeah anon, i get what you mean, the reason im writing is literally bc i need more fanfic 😭 i have read every fucking lockwood x reader on here and ao3 if ya'll want anything written just ask :D - lots of love, mars

everything - anthony lockwood x reader

warnings: violence, ooc, kissing, cursing

You weren’t exactly sure when it had started, this weird tension between you and Anthony Lockwood. It was an odd thing that the both of you left unspoken about, despite the numerous jokes, comments and questions from Lucy and George.

Maybe it had been when you’d first joined the agency. When he’d opened the door to see who was knocking and gone completely slack jawed at the sight of you, before collecting himself and adorning his prize-winning smirk.

“Well hello love, how may we help you?” he’d said, casually resting against the doorframe.

“Are you Lockwood of Lockwood and Co?” your cheeks had reddened from the cold and nothing else. Most definitely not because of the casual pet name he’d thrown in.

“That would indeed be me.” he nodded, easy smirk still resting on his lips. “I assume you’re here for an interview then, come on in and we’ll get you sorted.”

After you’d passed the interview with flying colours, he’d told you how much he looked forward to working with you with a wink and a charming toothy grin. Even now, your heart rate went up a considerable amount every time you saw that fucking smile.

Maybe it had been your first case, when you and Lockwood had had to hide from a very persistent Type Two and you’d dragged Lockwood into the nearest open room and shoved him into the wall. You’d pinned him there with one hand on his arm, pressing it to the wall, and the other over his mouth. Afterwards he’d tried to charm his way out of your teasing his red face.

You didn’t know when it’d started but far out, you knew that it was there and that if nothing happened soon you might just kiss him the next time he speaks.

~~~

“George, Luce, angel, we’ve got a new case.” Lockwood called from the hall, placing the phone down and smiling widely. (Damn that smile, it made your heart weak and your brain fuzzy) “We’re going as soon as possible so it’s best we get ready as fast as we can.”

And that was that. You all packed the necessities, like you always did. You all loaded into a taxi and waited patiently until you were at the clients house, like you always did. Lockwood checked with you to see if you had everything you needed, like he always did.

“George!” Lucy called from her place halfway up the stairs. “Come with me, we need to check out the drawing room you read about.” You almost missed the wink she directed your way.

Great, now you and Lockwood were alone. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Shall we?” he offered his hand and pulled you towards some of the creepier looking closed doors, not-so-discreetly pulling you behind him. Slowly he opens the furthest door, nothing happens. You open the second door, and suddenly you’re thrown against the wall.

“Y/N!” Lockwood cried, pulling his rapier out and swinging it at the ghost that’d materialised. For a bit he succeeded in pushing it back, allowing you time to reorient yourself, before he too was thrown away from the ghost, his rapier landing near his head. You groaned and hauled yourself up, grabbing your own rapier and stabbing at the ghost. It disappeared, then reappeared behind you, causing you to swing around wildly, accidentally putting yourself in the ghosts close vicinity. You felt your limbs start to lock up as you held eye contact with your doom, hoping and praying that Lucy and George had found the source and were covering it with the silver net. The ghost moved closer and closer to you, and you silently mourned all the things you never got to say.

And then, just as you’d accepted your fate, Anthony fucking Lockwood pushed you out of the way. You didn’t have time to dwell on that though, the both of you rolling in opposite directions so as to avoid the ghost swiping at you, before disappearing. You sat up and looked at Lockwood, catching his eye and sending a wobbly smile his way.

“You okay?” he asked, voice a bit strained. You nodded and asked him the same question.

“Yeah…I’m good.” he said, lying through his teeth.

“The fuck you are.” You forced your sore body to stand up so you could walk towards him and check him for injuries.

“Y/N! Lockwood!” Lucy ran towards you, halting your endeavour. “Are you two okay?”

~~~

The taxi drive home was awkward and tense. You fought a raging battle against the urge to call him out for being injured, to ask him what was wrong.

When you got home you dragged Anthony into the kitchen and sat him down on a chair.

“Tell me where the fuck you’re hurt right now or I swear I will find out what your worst fear is and make it real.” Lockwood chuckled.

“Love, I’m fine, really.”

“Don’t lie to me, Lockwood.”

Then silence and a slight guilt and still, somehow, that damned fucking tension. So you, do what any normal person would do and pull his jacket off, immediately spotting where he was injured due to the blood staining his white shirt. More silence and more guilt, that stays in the air while you wrap his cut.

“I’m sorry-” He starts but you’re quick to cut him off.

“If you were sorry you’d stop throwing yourself at danger at every given opportunity. You’re so fucking reckless, all the damn time!” You didn’t mean to start berating him but now you couldn’t stop, because he did need to hear this. “Do you know how much you worry us? Do you think George and Lucy and I like seeing you get injured? Goddamn it we care so much about you. Why do you pull these stunts?”

You only now realise how close your faces are. You could feel his breath on you face.

“I don’t think you realise how deeply I care for you.” he whispered, voice husky and low. “You are...everything. I can't breathe when you're not around me and I can't think when you're near me. I would set the entire world aflame if you asked me to. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I sleep. I love you so much it hurts my heart and my head and my entire being."

You didn't know what to say to respond to that. You were a mess. God maybe-

Fuck it.

His lips were soft against yours. His hair between your fingers, softer. His hands on the sides of your face, gentle. You were kissing him and he was kissing you and you were losing your mind.

"Darling, you drive me insane." he whispered against your lips, matching smiles painting both of your faces.

"I love you too, idiot."

"Of course you do."

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #george karim #mars's fanfiction stuffs ✨

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hegoeshardasfuck · 11 months ago

Text

dogs like praise too

wordcount: 0.9K

tags: sub Sebastian, dom reader/player, praise kink, outdoor sex, handjobs, whimpering for the win, gender neutral reader/player, no petplay

synopsis: Sebastian only figured out he wanted to be used and fucked after he married you, thankfullly 'making love' was a tenderness that didn't appeal to either of you

note: my beautiful swagless emoboy billiards player husband should get dominated and i wrote this in one hour after my friend mistook his wrench for handcuffs in the winter sprites. hope ya'll enjoyed and if ya did consider dropping a like or checking the Ao3 port.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54598753

You learned really fast that Sebastian would whimper in bed, unapolagetically so. He'd even say 'nya' if you wanted him to, which he was grateful wasn't that often. Not unless you really wanted to get to him at least, really wanted to get under his skin and force him closer to the edge with words and demands instead of touch.

It worked too, and maybe the fact he enjoyed it was what got to him the most. The fact that despite all odds he enjoyed being put in his place got to him when he'd never even considered it.

Sam always wanted to take it slow, never further than the simplest of sex between friends, he was scared of parts that he kept locked up. Abigail always wanted to be used in the same way he's learning to love, she liked it rough and so did he. But only now is he learning he likes it rough better when hands are tangled in his hair.

That he likes it fast and hard in the dead of night or broad daylight on the ground or on the bed. He likes gasping for words and choking on spit and holding on for dear life when he didn't know sex could whip him into such a state. It left his brain numb as you called him a good boy and he whimpered and moaned and just took it. He found a perverse pleasure in being used, whether it was his mouth you were monopolizing or his ass, he liked it. An unsteady gait or a sore jaw he'd willingly take both as consequence for being yours as long as you needed.

"You're such a good boy," You murmured against his ear, he was pressed up against a fence this time. Your breath was hot on his skin and waged war with the cooling autumn air.

Sebastian can only nod, eyes shut and lips sealed as to not be too loud so soon. You'd barely touched him yet. His grip tightens on the fence nearly to the point his knuckles turn white. He whines wantonly as you nip at the column of his throat, knees shaking as your hands dip past the hem of his boxers.

You give a humming sort of laugh, "You're so sensitive." He squirms as you tease him, words snaking through him and sinking into him. They feel good. He registers them as a sharp pleasure, prickling across the expanse of pale skin.

"I am?" Sebastian managed, voice cracking with a type of lust he'd ensnared a very long time ago. A type of lust he was never allowed to explore with his friends or his dates because they wanted him to do the work in sex. He feels a slight discomfort as you press him further against the bars of the fence.

"So sensitive, shocked you haven't already cum." One hand rests across his chest, slid up under his jacket and popping each individual button. The other keeps a steady pace that keeps his knees weak and his struggle for balance strong. "But despite that, even though you're trying to put on a show and impress me by being so quiet and having so much stamina, you're still such a good boy."

A wrecked and untrained semblance of his voice spills our with a desperate, "Oh god." He slumps against the fence, knees rested on a bar and your front flush to his back. He's panting, breaths catching and inconsistent as he still tries not to moan.

"Go on," You urge like you're the devil on his shoulder, devious and sinister with sadistic charms to your speech.

Sebastian whimpers and mewls and even moans, he bit his inner cheek until it nearly bled to be a show off. To prove he can dominate, to prove he can have control, to prove a lie that you can see through. He's seeing stars now, they crowd out the corners of his vision as he lurches to the edge with a blend of words and touches.

You grip at his shoulder from under his shirt, nails digging into flesh and fabric rising past his midriff. He shudders at the sharpness in his flesh as you speak, "Cum for me."

And he does exactly as told. You can feel his breath hitch the moment before and then he's breathing harsh and desperate. Your name filters out between moans and breaths as he crumbles a bit more in your grip. It'd be a pathetic display if he were anyone else, dropping the reigns and handing them over so easily.

But you like it, someone so sure of himself breaking apart for you. Defiant at moments and with the physical strength for mechanical work. Sharp and distant and attempting to be mysterious with a dart always on hand. A billiards player whose never heard of defeat and is no condition to learn the concept. Yet he comes undone in your fingers so easily, like frayed fabric.

"Good boy," You murmur.

"Yours, your good boy." It's all his frazzled mind can come up with at the moment as he nods and shakes. He presses against you as you raise your hand to rest at his hip for support, "Oh god, Y/N."

You step back and help him not sway and tumble with his steps, "Aftercare time." You say it lightly, almost teasingly, but more out of care for Sebastian. You can't have your husband walking around in such a state, you gotta take good care of him, especially after making it known who makes him feel the best. Who caters to his needs and keeps him satisfied romantically and sexually in ways no one else has yet.

Sebastian groans softly as he follows you precisely, "Okay." He wants to curl up against you but he knows you have farm duty firsthand. Knowing that won't make him turn down whatever aftercare you have planned for him.

#stardew valley #sebastian x reader #smutfic #smut fanfiction #lemon #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #please excuse me while i think about pegging him

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dewracle · 9 months ago

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Ignore Me

PAIRING - Sleep Token III x Vessel

SUMMARY - A little needy for III, Vessel takes it upon himself to seek out his cock.

WARNINGS - NSFW, Oral Sex, Face fucking, Sub! Vessel, Ignoring during sex, Slight denial, No orgasm for Vessel

AUTHOR'S NOTE - Helloo lovies! So If ya'll cannot tell I've recently been on a polyves kick! Blame discord!! All my recent work is being cross-posted on Ao3!

WORD COUNT - 646

Master List - Ao3

III is lazily playing video games with his thighs spread, dude is just relaxed as fuck not paying attention to anything. He’s so in the zone he doesn’t realize Vessel has slowly got off the couch and between his legs. He only flinches slightly when he feels Vessel’s hands on his thighs.

Does he mind as Vessel carefully undoes his pants? Nope. He just shifts down lower so he can pull his cock out. It’s all soft and not really interested since he’s super focused…

But that doesn’t stop Vessel from carefully taking him in his mouth, licking at the soft cock and sucking on it. He gives a small moan as he’s pleased he *finally* got something in his mouth.

III doesn’t really pay any attention to the man between his legs except for the middle of rounds. During those, he’s slowly grinding his now hard up into Vessel’s mouth. He has to mute his mic so he doesn’t moan openly when Vessel swallows around him.

“Fuck Ves, taking that cock so well. You like being ignored by me don’t you baby?”

Vessel looks up at III with teary eyes as he carefully deep throats him, tasting the Precum as it slides down his throat. III lets out a loud moan before putting his controller down, ignoring his teammates’ screams.

His attention was on the man between his legs, the man sucking on his cock like it was the sweetest candy. Fuck to Vessel it was, it was the only thing he craved throughout the day, III’s cock was his drug.

The bassist gently tapped Vessel’s face to tell him to pull off, he wanted to hear just how wrecked the other’s voice was.

“Can I face fuck you baby? Think you can handle it?” III was soft with his question, he could tell by the way Vessel’s eyes were glossed over he was entering sub-space.

The singer gave a soft nod before taking the tip of III’s cock back in his mouth, consenting. And fuck did III take it.

He gripped the sides of Vessel’s head, weaving his fingers in the other's hair, and pushed deep.

A groan ripped through his chest as he felt Vessel gag before swallowing around his cock. Vessel’s eyes welled with tears as he felt III’s cock in his mouth.

III chuckled softly before pulling Vessel up just fall enough for him to easily thrust into the other. “Oh baby~ Fucking look at that! Your throat is *bulging* with my cock!”

Vessel’s eyes roll back as the saliva and pre cum drip down his neck. He was a perfect mess for III’s cock. The taller couldn’t help but throw his head back and moan, his toes curling in his boots.

“Yeah yeah take it fuck! You slag!” The degrading words just slipped from III’s mouth. But fuck did they fuel Vessel’s need for him.

With the flick of Vessel’s tongue against the vein under his cock, the obscene amount of squash from his tongue, III couldn’t hold on much longer. He tried to warn Vessel to pull off, to give him a break.

Vessel made eye contact with III and purposely pushed his nose into III’s pubic hair, holding himself there as III shuddered. The orgasm raked through his body, cock oozing thick amounts of cum into Vessel’s throat.

“You fucking- shit you sucked my soul…” III panted softly, twitching when Vessel sucked the remaining cum up.

He opened his mouth, showing III he had been a good boy by swallowing all his send. “Did I do good..”

III cooed softly and tucked himself back into his pants before dragging Vessel into his lap. “So good baby, so good for me.”

Vessel hummed softly and buried his face into III’s neck, relaxing happily. He didn’t even care if he didn’t get to orgasm, III’s pleasure was enough for him.

Master List - Ao3

#sleep token #sleep token ii #sleep token iii #sleep token iv #sleep token vessel #headcanon #imagine #sleep token headcanons #sleep token iii x vessel #sleep token vessel x iii #sleep token band #sleep token smut

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isthemedia · 6 months ago

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Poolverine-Yoink! (2/2)

Part 2 is now done.

Here's Part 1. And here's the Ao3 link.

@manicpixxiedreambitch

@ineffablestardust

@saspas-corner

@angelbonezs

Since ya'll wanted to be tagged when part 2 was done.

=============================================

‘Not today…not tomorrow…not now,’ Wade’s groggy mind repeated. His joints ached. He could hear a ringing that wasn’t typical tinnitus. He grabbed at the back of his neck, the skin feeling too tight. ‘Really laying it on thick there ain’tcha madam/sir author? Is this whump? I feel like this can be classified as whump.’

(Whump is more hurt than comfort. So no, not really.)

‘Well I’m calling it whump, even if it’s not tagged that.’

(You can go ahead and do that, even though it’s wrong.)

Wade sighed as he curled up a bit tighter. Skin felt like it was prickling if exposed to air. That staticky feeling of just too many eyes watching. He could hear the door of Al’s room creak open. The shuffling of her feet…

“Yer too damn quiet right now,” Al complained. “An’ I know yer still here,” she added, her cane smacking alongside the bed. She stopped when she hit the pile of blankets. “Oh lord this again?”

She didn’t get an answer. No witty reply or snide retort. Heaving a sigh, Al continued on. “I’m headin’ ta bingo, and I’m gonna call Vanessa-she can explain this nonsense ta Logan.” It may have sounded like complaining, but the tone in her voice was clear. It was that ‘don’t worry, help is gonna be on the way deary’ tone.

And really? Bingo at what…this early in the morning?

‘What time is it even?’

(Early enough.)

‘Lazy establishing setup.’

Wade shifted somewhat, the bed frame of the pull-out creaking as he did. Right, how was Logan going to take this? He should handle this. Maybe?

Well, Vanessa should be able to handle it, she had no fear with the somewhat feral wolverine he brought home. She did tease him about how he went full ‘White Woman’ and took a wild animal home under the guise of ‘you’re mine now’. He guessed she wasn’t entirely wrong.

But he also wasn’t expecting Logan to stay as long as he did. He’s read the comics-and sure even though this Logan is from a different universe it almost seemed ingrained in all of them to just-leave some day.

It wasn’t a bad thing that he stayed. Hell no! If he could he would strap Logan down and make sure he’d never leave. He loved having him around. Al did too. And how could he deprive dearest little miss Mary-Puppins from her other papa?

The frame of the pull-out creaked again. Oh, speak of the devil. Wade could feel how the pull-out shifted, the weight of the other occupant being removed. But made sense when they’re-what 200-300 plus pounds thanks to a metal skeleton.

Really no logical way for a shitty pull-out to hold the both of them without collapsing or even warping the frame, yet it still stood.

He wondered if they could use that as sort of a marketing ploy, maybe convince Logan into some centerfold-esque poses just for added effect. Well, effect and future spank-bank material, but he wouldn’t need to know the latter.

“Come on!” Wade felt the kick given to the pull-out, it jostled the whole thing. Welp, good luck with the Peanut, cause he wasn’t moving. Threaten him with a good time all you want.

Snikt.

‘And out comes the steak knives. Would stabbing me reset this? Haven’t been stabbed during any of these moods.’

(Pretty sure stabbing would just make you feel worse.)

‘So gonna be a fic with no stabby-stab? And am I even gonna talk? How can you have a Deadpool fanfic where I don’t talk?’

(It’s character introspection.)

‘Sounds like you just don’t wanna come up with quips for me.’

The mattress creaked slightly. Oh, that’s Vanessa. Al really did call her. Such a sweet old blind bat she is.

Wade could hear them-somewhat over the ringing in his ears that changed to something more akin to the old dial-up sound of the internet. Logan sounded less growly now too.

Ah Vanessa, the one who can soothe the savage Logan.

It was weird what his ears would pick up when he was like this. Full conversations happening just outside his makeshift fort of blankets? Nah, that wasn’t important enough. The sound of something being slid across the sheets though? Yeah, could hear that.

‘And yoink!’ Wade snatched whatever Vanessa slid over to him. Hey! He didn’t have this one! Of course she’d know that. ‘And another for the collection. Ya know I don’t think anyone is gonna get the reference. You’re dating yourself.’

(At least someone is dating me.)

‘Ooof self burn. Ya sure you don’t need the hurt/comfort tag?’

Vanessa just knew what to get-she still remembered. Sure it didn’t work out between them. It stung for a long time. Longer than Wade wanted to admit, but it wasn’t like Vanessa wanted him out of her life. She had to drill it into his head that even if they weren’t romantically involved anymore, didn’t mean she didn’t love him. It was just a different love.

He sorta got that. He was feeling that too. Feeling it during the Time Ripper thing. During the time in the Void.

Felt it when he came across Logan. Oh, that was something he still needed to unpack…too bad he was a lazy asshole after a vacation. Eh, it’ll eventually get unpacked-granted, he’ll probably wait until the last minute…like always.

Vanessa was always going to be special. He would drop everything if she needed him, and vice versa it seemed. But Logan…Logan was something else. He wasn’t sure what he was yet. Sure, he knew what he wanted Logan to be-at least he was pretty sure what he wanted him to be. But that wasn’t gonna fly with Disney and Marvel-or the legion of dudebros who think he and Logan are total and complete masculine heterosexuals. They really need to pick up a comic.

Ah, something else was being pushed towards him. ‘And yoink again!’ Hey, weren't these things discontinued? Sheets were gonna need to be changed after this. At least this time around it would be a more common reason than needing to change them cause they tried to reenact the bed scene from ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’. Maybe they should just buy red sheets. Same logic should apply to them like his suit.

Almost on instinct, Wade felt something shift in the bed. ‘Yoink!’

Only this time, there came a high pitched, noticeable yelp. Oh! Oh sweet baby little angel Mary-Puppins!

“Shhh shhh. Oh baby girl I’m sorry,” he cooed as he cuddled the shaking pup. He could hear Logan laughing-the asshole! Some other papa he was! Frightening their little baby. His free hand sneaking out of the mess of blankets to flip him off.

OH! And THAT just made him laugh more? Asshole! When this whole mood thing is done he’s demanding a divorce and child support!

Everything was quiet in the apartment. Slowly Wade peaked out from the blankets. Logan was asleep. Al’s door was closed. Mary-Puppins was having little Dogpool dreams.

The apartment was dark, saved for the stray glow of the streetlights filtering in through the busted blinds.

Carefully, silently Wade slipped out from the mound. Not the worst start to this, though he was tempted to give Logan a smack for making him scare poor, sweet, little Mary-Puppins earlier. The prick-and he laughed the whole time! The super mega prick!

Wade sighed as he looked over. Logan looked peaceful, or well as peaceful as he could be. Brows were still furrowed, muscles twitching as if ready to go all fight-or-flight. But he wasn’t having a nightmare, so to Wade it meant it was peaceful.

He could save the smacking for another time. He’ll even drop the divorce threat. Cuddles and kisses from Mary were always a plus for him anyway-so it kinda worked out.

Right, he got up for a reason. Treading with light footsteps across the apartment, as to not make a single floorboard creak, he made his way to the bathroom. Hey maybe the merc with the mouth, but he knew how to move quietly . Kinda needed too in that line of work.

He brushed his teeth, and washed his face. “Ya know, the static feeling from being watched, doesn’t help when there’s like actual readers for this.”

(Semantics, se-mahn-tics. Sides, like you’d let me just keep you as an unmoving lump of blankets for another 3k words.)

“Eh true.”

Wade made his way back, trying to figure out what was the best way to climb back in without waking Logan. He didn’t need to wake him by accident. Even if he wasn’t having a nightmare, it was a bad idea ta just wake up a sleeping wolverine.

He didn’t wanna get a gut full of adamantium claws again, thank you very much. It wasn’t like Logan meant to do it on purpose. Logan’s mind is always somewhere else when he’s suddenly and rudely woken up like that. So Wade couldn’t blame the guy. Hell, he WOULDN’T blame the guy.

‘I’ll just blame you.’

(Again no stabbing is happening in this one.)

‘But you are making allusions to it happening before.’

(Oh just go back to your musings and pining.)

‘Fine, I will,’ Wade huffed before looking back over to the sleeping form taking up the other half of the pull-out.

Logan looked better these days-not that he didn’t look good ‘cause goddamn Hugh was still working it even after all this time. It was more of how relaxed he was now. Had a bit of weight put back on him too-‘happy weight’, that was the term right? Or something like that.

Urban dictionary would help him. Just needed to steer clear of the raunchy side of it. At least this time around.

Wade took it as a sign that Logan was happy here. Maybe if he stayed happy enough he wouldn’t want to leave. He really didn’t want Logan to leave.

Logan matched his crazy in a way Vanessa did and in ways she didn’t. In ways she just couldn’t.

Logan didn’t need to change anything about himself. Didn’t need to be a ‘good guy’-he was plenty good enough so shut up Jean.

Al loved him too. She might not have said it aloud, but Wade can tell she does.

Sure he was a little feral. Sure he would rather have booze than an actual meal some days. Sure there were times Wade would wake up with a set or two of claws in his chest. But that was fine. Normalcy was for losers anyway.

What was normal about two slightly fucked up mutants with regenerative powers, a coke addicted blind elderly woman, and the world’s ugliest yet sweetest dog? Who needed normal in a home like this?

Logan didn’t need to be tamed. All Wade wanted was for Logan to just, feel like he belonged. That Logan had his own little Logan-shaped hole carved out here, Junji Ito style but without the horrific implications.

He was certain if Logan did try to leave, he would follow him-funny sitcom stalker style, and drag him back home. Cause even though Logan wouldn’t want to admit it, this shitty little one bedroom apartment was his home now. Al, Mary-Puppins, and him were family now.

How Logan has his own toothbrush, coffee mug, he got a cupboard just for his booze, and everything.

There was definitely some codependency between them. Wade was pretty sure of that. That time in the Void-being almost torn apart by the Time Ripper-the fact that he turned around when Wade called him.

But hey, a little codependency never hurt anyone. Besides, that would just be another thing to add to the ever growing list of things wrong with one Wade W. Wilson.. He’s pretty sure Logan doesn’t mind it either.

The pull-out didn’t even creak as Wade climbed back in. Not a single sound when he settled back under the blankets.

‘That is some lazy writing there.’

(Hey, be thankful I decided to be nice and not wake the sleeping Logan.)

Wade peaked out again, just to make sure Logan was still sound asleep. Fingers itched to just trace down his sleeping face, through the coarse facial hair and sideburns. Though last time he tried that Logan literally bit off two fingers off. Really didn’t wanna go through that again either.

Hopefully Logan doesn’t get fed up with this whole thing. Just walk out and leave. To be fair it is kind of a golden opportunity for him if he decided too. Wade hoped this wasn’t going to last much longer.

So, Logan did leave. Well not leave-leave. Jerk decided to head out and restock since they managed to empty the bag Vanessa brought. Dammit, he could be a sweet guy. Why does nobody pay attention to that? Honestly.

Logan said Al was off to the laundromat-they both knew what that was code for. He also warned Wade that he was setting Mary by him so there wasn’t a repeat from yesterday. Alright, all is forgiven now.

He didn’t pull Mary under the blankets this time, but he did reach out to give her pets. She seemed content with the arrangement as well, licking all along his hand to his wrist. Seemed she forgave or just forgot the scare from before.

He slipped his hand back under the blankets. He was thinking-dangerous thing he knows-but he was trying to come up with an idea. A plan to convince Logan that there was no reason to leave. He had a few brewing, but was pretty sure he would end up skewered, or beaten down, or torn apart if he tried any of those.

So his new plan? Well it was a bit crazy. Crazy and yet so simple. Simply just tell Logan. It worked before. It worked quite a few times before.

So his chances were pretty high about it working again. Just a simple ‘you can stay here as long as you like’. Hmm but that made it seem like he could still leave.

Maybe a ‘hey, surprise I think I love you…so don’t leave.’ Nah that kinda sounded desperate.

‘You got everything you need right here, besides the housing market is shit right now.’ Eh, that made it sound like this thing was an obligation.

Wade’s thoughts were cut off when he heard the sound of something being slid across the sheets. ‘And yoink,’ he snatched the offering. ‘Awww Peanut went all the way to that corner store that sold the weird flavor chips. He spoils me.’

Another sound.

Oh…

Wade felt himself smile as he reached out again, and placed his hand over Logan’s. Damn the guy was hot. Well, not just hot like that, but like he was a furnace. Wade’s thumb rubbed small circles over Logan’s knuckles, feeling the lone scars his body had-where those claws would poke out from. He could feel a knot just behind those knuckles.

Maybe a good ole massage was in order for him. Would be the least Wade could do as a thanks for him.

“Yer gonna need to let go or I’m gonna need ta stop pettin’ Mary if you need somethin’ else,” Logan’s voice rumbled. Well, Wade couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let the attention Mary was getting from her other papa just stop. He gave Logan’s hand a pat before giving an ‘okay’ gesture, before slipping back under the blankets. “You get so damn spoiled,” he heard Logan say under his breath.

Yeah, maybe just telling him was the best plan. He just needed to find the right words now.

‘Captain’s log, Star date….I dunno the author didn’t give me one.’

(Dates are pointless for fanfics.)

‘It appears the author wishes to deflect from criticism of their laziness in doing a proper establishing setup.’

It’s been four days into this little funk of Wade’s. He was pretty sure he was ready for it to be over. The only issue was that once this was done, then he’d need to figure the next thing. The asking Logan to stay thing.

He wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that yet. That familiar sound broke his train of thoughts again. ‘Aaaaand yoink!’

“Jesus!”

Oh Laura came by too. Awww he didn’t mean to startle the baby wolverine. Logan and Vanessa were laughing-they could be real assholes sometimes. Loving assholes but still assholes all the same.

The creaking of the bed frame, the dip in the mattress. Logan was potentially putting himself into yoinking-range. If that happened, well, there would be no way Wade could resist if he did.

“You miss him talking, don’t you?” Wade could hear the smirk in Laura’s voice. She’s such a cheeky kid. He’ll take blame for that. Bad influence and all.

“Dunno what yer talkin’ about,” Logan grumbled.

“Suuuure you don’t.”

Logan huffed and shifted slightly. Oh? Just a bit more Wolvie. He felt the mattress dip a bit more-BINGO! “SHIT! I forgot!”

Both hands shot out and grabbed an arm. Logan absolutely let his guard down, cause there was no way Wade could have pulled this off if he didn’t.

And if Logan had his guard down, that meant he was truly relaxed here. More than that, he felt safe here. And why wouldn’t he? He had the one and only Deadpool here to keep an eye on him. Well okay, the one and only that mattered. None of those variants to worry about.

Man, that shocked look on his face was definitely doing things. Wondered if he could see it more. He felt himself smiling. He knew it was that dumb lovestruck smile he’d give Vanessa when they were together-only slightly different. Cause this one wasn’t for her, this smile was for Logan. “Got too close there Peanut.” Dear fuck was that his voice? ‘Hey next time, write something where I’m not nearly silent for four days. It’s murder on the vocal cords.’

“Yeah, figured,” Logan said softly. “Better?”

“Hmm…a bit,” Wade murmured. Fuck it, he’s in for it now. “Gonna talk your ear off, cause I had a lotta thoughts goin’ through my head during all this.” Wade dragged two fingers along Logan’s jaw, carding through the cause hair of his beard. This time without worrying about losing them this time.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Wade leaned down. Not exactly the Spider-man kiss, but it was close enough. He felt Logan’s breath hitch. ‘Please, stay here? Don’t feel like you need to run away. There’s space just for you.’

“...ready ta come out? Say hi ta Laura and Vanessa?” Logan asked as they pulled apart. Wade almost wanted to say no. He wanted to kiss him again.

But he’d be lying if said he didn’t want to see them. Four days of next to no social interaction was killer. He was gonna need to call Peter and Dopinder too. Maybe make Logan walk with him to the X-Mansion so he could see Yukio and bother Ellie. Maybe watch an episode or two of the Great British Bake-off with Colossus. “Yeah, ‘m pretty sure I’m good,” Wade nodded.

Logan shifted and pulled the blankets back and off of himself as he sat up right. Wade pulled them back just enough to uncover his head. He shifted and shimmied across the mattress till he could comfortably lean against Logan-and he wasn’t pushed off. Score!

“Hey,” Vanessa greeted softly.

“Hey,” Wade gave her a soft smile. Definitely a different smile than before. He could feel it, and she could definitely see it.

“Missed ya. Seems like Logan did a good job at taking care of ya.”

“Hmmm he did,” he laid his head on his shoulder. “Thanks Peanut, I owe ya.”

“Nah,” Logan shrugged slightly, jostling Wade slightly-almost like he was teasing him. Or maybe Wade was getting his hopes up. “ Deal enough with my shit, the least I can do.”

Wade hummed, then straightened up some when he felt something shift under the blankets. No way, was Logan…okay yeah-yeah maybe this was gonna work out. “yoink,” Wade said softly as he took Logan’s hand, threading their fingers together.

Logan had a perfect spot, right next to Wade.

#ooc #fanfic #deadpool #wolverine #poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool x wolverine #laura kinney #vanessa carlysle #Wade Wilson mercilessly bullies his author in this part #If Disney and Marvel won't give them domestic bliss then I guess I will #Ao3 link included so if you don't wanna read it on tumblr you can check it out there

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