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theorist-fox · 3 months ago

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Never had a thing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

I never posted on Tumblr. Is this okay? Anyways, Simon Riley brain rot. That's it. That's the post. Also, you can find this on AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2

Summary: Simon has to lie low and go dark for an undefined period of time. While trudging along the unbearably long, dark alley that's his life, he finds the light at the end of tunnel, and it's shaped like you. 18+

Word count: 10k CW: smutty!!! jealous Simon Riley BECAUSE I honestly crave that. Soft Simon Riley because I crave that as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon had groaned like a battered dog when Price gave him the news that he needed to lie low. “Someone in Konni’s got your name” he’d said. “We don’t wanna take any risks. Just for a few weeks.”

He was sure those few weeks would turn into a few bloody months if he didn’t get a move on. For that, he’d hastily packed his things from the poor excuse of a flat the army had granted him, and started looking for a place to stay that wasn’t in Manchester.

Initially, Simon almost fantasized about buying his own flat. Maybe a piece of land and fulfill the wishes of the outcast that he was – living away from people, giving them the same treatment they’ve always given him.

Too bad he was legally dead. He had nothing to his name if not a grave that didn’t even exist, all his possessions were cursed memories and metaphorical things – a rank he didn’t hold, a flat that wasn’t his. Even his name barely pertained to him anymore.

The SAS wasn’t offering any accommodation, the tightwads. He couldn't buy a house, or rent one. He couldn't lean on any of his teammates, or he'd put them in danger – he wouldn't do it, not to them. Taint their lives with his name and the death it inevitably brings.

Price had helped him settle in a glorified motorway hotel. But he wasn’t picky – after all, he only had to stay for a few weeks.

A few days into his exile, he’d entered a Tesco with his head bowed and his hood on, a surgical mask on his face. A pack of Marlboro was all he wanted since the dodgy motel he was staying at (hiding) didn’t care if he smoked within the room. Plus, he reckoned that the smell of nicotine and combustion was a much better alternative to the rancid stench of mold.

However, as he plucked ten quid from his wallet, his eyes absently fell on a bulletin board behind the store clerk. There were tons of leaflets there: missing cats or dogs, people looking for a job or offering one. And then, a bright yellow paper caught his eye. Whoever printed it lacked taste but sure as hell knew how to catch one’s attention. He’d stopped in his tracks, a tenner between two fingers.

DESPERATE!!! PhD STUDENT LOOKING FOR A FLATMATE. NO SPECIFIC GENDER OR AGE AS LONG AS YOU CAN PAY RENT ON TIME. Two-bedroom flat, third floor, no elevator. If interested, please contact this number.

At the end of the flyer, the paper was cut into tear-off strips, so that interested individuals could rip the section with the phone number.

He liked that first word: desperate. He wondered if this person was as desperate as he was. Would they accept a man who wore a balaclava and looked proper sketchy? How desperate were they, really, if he asked to rent on verbal agreement – no contracts, no signatures whatsoever?

He decided he wanted to test that before he died of mold poisoning.

Nevertheless, when he dialed the number on his burner phone a few hours later, he wasn’t expecting the voice coming through the line. A shriek. A goddamn banshee. Chirpy and cheery, sounding like those damn advertisements on the telly for children’s toys. Whoever was on the other side of the phone was trying to sell.

The obnoxiously happy voice he’d heard through the receiver surely did match the person he found at the door of the flat a few days later - and the apartment itself.

It was a splash of colors Simon wasn’t even sure matched, from oranges and greens in the living room to yellows and blues in the kitchen. Walls of the same room were painted differently, and a brown leather couch lay on a round and fluffy turquoise carpet. A glass coffee table stood in the middle of it, hosting a clay vase with orange tulips.

You were a splash of colors yourself. Bright clothes, vibrant smile, and matching eyes.

Notwithstanding the loud energy that came with your presence, he could see you were tense as you guided him through the apartment. Simon didn’t blame you – he wasn’t the most trustworthy-looking lad. While he’d ditched the balaclava and had decided to go for a surgical mask, even hewould walk on eggshells around himself.

“Only a few weeks.” He’d said, deciding that he could withstand the eyesore that was the decor of that flat. “I’ll cover the rent while you find someone more permanent.”

And to his utter surprise, you’d accepted. He thought it was much too naïve of you, to let him rent without a lease. Without a document, without anything to prove that he'd pay as he'd promised in that listless fashion of his. Maybe you were as desperate as your tasteless leaflet said, in that dive of a Tesco.

He moved in in the span of a few days. You helped him with the boxes, although it was clear he didn't need a hand – especially not from a tiny thing like you. Not that you were small, he was just built like a brick house and you – well, you were made of wood, like in those cautionary tales mums tell their children. Pigs and wolves and shite.

You didn’t question why he wore the balaclava, nor why he never left his room, but sometimes you’d knock on his door to ask if he wanted pizza too, since you were ordering. He’d eat it (and any of his other meals really) in the cramped space he'd managed to rent, hosting only a bed, a poor excuse of a closet, and a desk.

Until one day he heard booming noises coming from the telly in the living room, so he peeked from the door he’d left ajar only to be greeted by Tom Cruise’s mug – Top Gun.

Silently, he joined you on the sofa and he started correcting the way Maverick held the gun or grunting about how an aircraft couldn't make that maneuver. You never asked how he knew, but it had been a few weeks since he’d moved in and he’d already gathered how brilliant you were. You didn’t need to ask questions to connect the dots.

Simon wasn't keen on giving you his phone number, even the one on his burner phone. The paranoid that he was, and with a bit of experience to back it up, he didn't want to leave you with anything that could connect you to him.

So, you started leaving post-it notes on the fridge.

Dinner leftovers on the second rack. He’d tick off the sentence to let you know he’d read it, whether he ate them or not. Simon had this inborn ability to ghost people even without the use of phones.

Tried a new recipe. Tupperware with the blue lid. He’d write a score out of ten on the corner of the note.

I used your milk for breakfast!!! Sorry!!! He had huffed and grumbled when he’d headed out for groceries afterwards, but ever since that day, he started buying two cartons instead of one.

And he'd leave post-it notes for you, too.

Out for a few days. That’s how he would vaguely tell you he was being deployed. You would always draw a sad emoji next to it.

Watered your plants. Bloody things were more dead than alive. You’d mark down a very happy emoji, going as far as to add two poorly drawn thumbs up.

He barely noticed when his meals started happening on the kitchen table instead of his desk. Similarly, he couldn’t recall when he’d stopped taking pains to ensure your mealtimes wouldn’t coincide.

Friday night pizzas were always shared; it was a silent house rule you’d both agreed on. The both of you on the settee with the carton boxes on your thighs, two cold beers on the glass coffee table, and the telly playing a movie.

Your cheeky arse often chose a war film, and Simon had to refrain from rolling his eyes at how obvious you were being – trying to get to know him.

Zero Dark Thirty.

“Is it true you use callsigns?”

“Yes.”

“You have one?”

“Yes.”

“What is it, then?”

“Classified.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Negative.”

The hurt locker.

“You ever defused a bomb?”

“Yes.”

“No shit – oh my God. How was it?”

“Dangerous.”

“Why thank you for the chat.”

“No problem.”

“When did it happen? Like, what was the situa-”

“Classified.”

You made a face and mocked his accent. “Classified.”

Apocalypse now.

“You are a bit like Kurtz.”

He gave you a look. “Mental?”

You huffed. “No. I meant the things he says, not the whole insanity bit.”

Simon scoffed but otherwise stayed silent. The film rolled in the background.

He murmured, then. “The horror, the horror.”

And you laughed.

He found it inexplicably easy to strip down for you, until he stood metaphorically naked in front of your eyes. Until he told you his full name and gave you his personal phone number. Until he showed his face.

Until he noticed you'd stopped looking for a flatmate, and his weeks of rent turned into months like he’d initially foreseen, but for another reason entirely. Months turned into years, but he could’ve never predicted anything in his life to last this long.

Until two summers later, while sporting a mundane black surgical mask and casual clothing, he took a photo with you in your doctoral gown, in front of your Uni. The same picture that now hung next to the entryway of your flat.

Until two years became three, and then four.

Until he just kind of… stayed.

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon’s day has worn him to the bone. The only thing he wants now is to go home, down a beer in two gulps, and knock himself out on any flat surface available.

He’s risked his fair share of speeding fines on the motorway, parked the car in the building's garage, and trudged up the three flights of stairs that led to his apartment. When he unlocks the door, he finds a sight that melts his frustration into a puddle at his feet.

You’re lying on the sofa, absolutely unbothered, looking lovely and homely. A lousy romcom plays on the telly. One hand is hiding in the crinkling shell of a packet of Walkers, and your other one is curled around the neck of a Stella Artois. Simon gathers that your workday must've finished a little earlier than normal because you’re already in your loungewear: a pair of loose sleeping shorts and a t-shirt he knows all too well.

All too well, because it’s his.

And he could give you the benefit of the doubt; after all, you often wear oversized clothes. It could’ve been a laundry mishap; you could’ve absently taken it out of the dryer without a second glance, thinking it was yours. But the blatant British Army patch on the sleeve and his surname written in white block letters on the back give him very little to work with to excuse you. He doesn’t even remember he still owned that tee, probably because, factually, he doesn’t anymore.

It's clearly yours, now.

He drops the house keys in the tray lying on the floating shelf next to the doorway, before closing the door behind him. The sound must’ve alerted you, because your head drops backwards, rolling against the armrest of the sofa.

"Evenin'." You beam, looking at his downward image. Your head lolls and your mouth looks busy chewing on a handful of crisps.

Ever the vigilant bastard, he wants to flick your forehead and remind you that chewing upside down could lead to choking, but you aren’t a child. Although, with the crumbs of what smells like salt and vinegar crisps littering the corners of your lips and the baffling, chaotic way your hair is tied in a bun, you sort of look like one.

You curl your legs to leave a free spot for him, patting your foot on the sofa’s cushions. "Wanna join me?"

Simon hums quietly; his eyes flicker over to the TV for just a glance. He isn’t in the mood for a romcom, not at all. But he does want company. He sighs and shrugs off his jacket before toeing off his boots. His balaclava is snatched off by a tired hand, and dropped somewhere he doesn’t care to check. Only two wide steps with his annoyingly long legs and he’s already by the sofa, flopping onto it like a wet rag slapped on the leather cushions.

He eyes the bag of crisps in your hand and raises a questioning eyebrow.

You’ve learned how silent communication works with him because most of the time (especially after particularly hellish days or long deployments) he wanders around the flat like a haunting specter more than a living being.

You mockingly raise your own questioning brow, but alas, you hand him the pack of crisps he’d wordlessly asked for. And just because you can, and because he’s never said anything when you did it, you stretch your legs to rest over his thighs.

That earns you a grumpy side-eye that softens just as quickly when he spots the checkered pink and green socks he gifted you for your graduation.

Simon doesn’t know much about things like that. He isn’t daft, he knows how big it is to earn a PhD. But presents aren’t his thing, nor are the pleasantries built around big achievements.

At the time, he was just tired of seeing you walk barefoot around the flat and thought you needed those more than anything since, apparently, slippers weren’t all the rage in your book. Surely, before his life-changing present, Simon was used to you asking if he’d seen your other slipper while you stumbled about the flat only wearing one on your feet. He’d find them everywhere: under the sofa when vacuuming the carpet, hidden in a groove between the floor and the kitchen counter, forgotten on the washing machine or in the washing machine.

He’d figured that the only way to ensure you’d avoid knocking your pinky toe on the corner of some furniture was to make sure you couldn’t simply drop the footwear. Socks were it, apparently.

He remembers how your eyes had shone like the bleeding sun when he’d given them to you, how you’d clutched them to your chest as if he’d just gifted you a pot of gold. It had been a lovely sight, one he carefully keeps tucked in the almost empty corner of his mind, the one reserved for happy memories.

Nevertheless, Simon has rarely minded your habit of lounging with your calves across his thighs. The opposite, actually. Your friendly sentiments make him feel like, for once, he isn’t about to get stabbed in the back. Moreover, the fact that he is letting you invade his personal space like that, when he never allows anyone else to so much as touch him, truly is a testament to the monumental trust he’s placed in you.

You take a sip from your beer. "Alright?"

“Peachy.” He grumbles dryly.

Your lips purse to conceal a smirk, but hell is it hard. His dry humor never fails to rob a halfhearted smile from you. He has subconsciously started using it more often than socially acceptable just because of that.

You wiggle your toes against his abdomen, trying to steal a smile of his own from him – even if those tend to appear once in a blue moon.

What you are given, however, is only a slap on the ankle.

Catching on his mood, you down one last sip from your Stella and then you wiggle the bottle at him.

"There," you offer. "Seems like you need it more than I do."

He tosses the bag of crisps on the coffee table and accepts the beer from you, taking a rather large gulp from it. He isn’t a light drinker by any means. In his defense, it takes a whole lot of alcohol to knock him out. He has the metabolism of a properly trained soldier and his liver has processed much worse things than a bloody Stella Artois.

“Why are you being particularly friendly today?” He asks with thinly veiled sarcasm.

He isn’t complaining, per se. But he is a pessimist, one who can’t seem to grasp the notion that people can act accommodating without asking anything in return. Even if that has been your only behavior for the past four years.

Therefore, Simon understands why you narrow your eyes at his question, all offended and a tiny bit sour, as if he’s just asked something outrageous. However, he also knows you’ll brush off his comment because it is true, what he said.

You are particularly cheery.

"I'm back in the game." You state, sounding as if you've achieved some great thing. "I have a date next Friday."

That.

That is what Simon needs to hear in order to give you a genuine reaction.

He raises a single blond eyebrow and glances away from the TV to look at you with that signature hooded gaze of his – the kind that could cut through steel.

“A date?” He grumbles. “Who’s the bloke?”

In response, you squirm a little on the couch to lazily reach for your phone on the coffee table. One of your legs swings to keep your balance, and if Simon didn’t have the reflexes of a sniper, you’d have heeled his face. He automatically grabs your ankle to both prevent your fall and save the integrity of his nose, releasing a sigh – bloody used to it.

You're absolutely unaffected by whatever's happening at the other end of you, awfully concentrated on your task at hand. Fingertips graze the phone enough to slide it closer until you finally manage to have it in your grasp. It’s painfully clear how you can’t be bothered to stand.

You lie back down on the sofa with a sigh, as if that has been an exhausting endeavor.

Simon scoffs.

Your legs return to his lap with apt nonchalance. Then, you swipe through your screen. Simon can only see the phone covering your face from that angle, how the screen light illuminates your features – brows furrowed and the tip of your tongue peeking between your teeth, all focused on finding something on it.

After painstakingly long seconds, you turn your phone to him. Simon squints at the screen and then focuses on the picture you’re showing.

The man is… somewhat handsome, he has to admit. Brown hair, blue eyes, charming smile with possibly fake teeth. Definitely older. Probably a boring, pretentious tosser. Probably wouldn’t appreciate your carefree nature. He wouldn’t return your lost slippers at your door. He wouldn’t buy you socks so you’d stop whining about being on the verge of breaking your toes. He definitely wouldn’t let you paint only one wall of the living room orange, because, in your opinion, having all four would be “too flashy” - as if one on its own isn’t obnoxious enough.

He has to admit, however, that you look beyond excited, and maybe a little enamored. It’s an adorable view, really, and he hates himself for being unable to rejoice about it with you.

"Adam." You tell him his name, even if he never asked. "Thirty-nine. Associate professor of Linguistics at the Uni where I graduated. Found him on Bumble.”

Simon has to physically stop himself from giving a scoff in response to that.

“Looks like a knob.” He takes yet another large gulp of beer, finishing the last drop. You frown, and before you can interject, he adds. “Looks old. Tory, probably.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his thigh with the tips of your toes.

"He ain't a Tory." You scoff. That little frown still lingers on your features, carving a small line between your brows, as if he'd personally offended you.

His comment prompts you to turn your phone to yourself and look at the picture of this Adam lad you found on Bumble of all places.

You look back at Simon and his deadpan stare. Then back at Adam and his million-dollar smile.

Your eyes swivel back to Simon again, and you tentatively ask, "You think he's a Tory?"

Simon places the empty beer bottle on the glass coffee table. The sound somehow makes you take a metaphorical step back. "Nah. He can't be."

You purse your lips, concentrated and slightly, just slightly amused.

Eyes back to Adam. Then to Simon. "Right?"

Simon looks that ounce of smug enough to be considered annoying once he notices how you’re about to go cross-eyed in changing your focus, all hesitant and that bit concerned. He already knows how you have zero faith in your own judgment of character even if you refuse to make peace with it.

A little too naïve for this world. A tad too innocent. When the topic would come up, you’d get all riled up and primitive in your frustration, muttering indiscernible words and expletives that sound like grunts. Brows all furrowed and pretty lips scowling. He'd remind you how you let him in your flat without a single proof that he wasn't a serial killing sociopath, and your mouth would lock in place.

His hand lands on the curve of your foot, smoothing down towards your ankle; the warmth of his palm bleeds through the fuzzy fabric of your socks. He sighs, a little overdramatic as if he were about to tell you some sad, sad news. "Definitely a Tory.”

You want to reprimand his lack of faith in your choice of men. But his hand on your ankle feels so nice and you’re a sucker for physical contact. Begrudgingly, you settle that your bruised ego and your wounded pride are worth the gentle giant’s warmth.

However, the lingering touch does nothing to discourage your fire, so you glower. The least believable thing he's ever seen.

It takes much more to upset a special forces operator with a series of achievements as long as Simon Riley’s. A doctor with a mop of hair lazily tied in a bun, checkered socks in his lap, and residues of crisps around her lips surely isn’t it.

"Well." You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'll ask him on Friday when we’ll have dinner."

He scoffs.

“You’re gonna bring up politics at dinner on a first date, yeah?” A condescending pat on your ankle. “Sounds really romantic.”

His dry humor again. It wins in its intent to steal a chuckle from you.

The fight leaves as quickly as it entered your bloodstream, and you flop on the couch with a sigh, your phone falling somewhere on the turquoise carpet.

"Gotta make sure I ain't dating a conservative." You quip.

Simon watches you clasp your hands over your belly as it ripples with the first waves of a breathy laugh. You crane your neck forwards, eyes squinting in mirth clocking his own.

"He looks like he’d vote Tory." You concede with a laugh and pinch the air in front of your face. "A tiny bit - just a tiny bit."

“A tiny bit?” He snorts. “Lad probably has a framed photo of Margaret Thatcher in his bedroom.”

You laugh again, rubbing an idle hand over your eyes as you shake your head, utterly defeated. He can see in the way your shoulders sag that he’s shattered the careful castle of hopes and dreams you'd built brick by brick around the man.

"God no." Equally as exasperated as entertained, you sigh. "Can't imagine shagging him with the ol' Iron Lady staring at my tits."

He scoffs again at the mental image you have just provided him with. He doubts he’ll ever forget the picture, to his dismay. “Christ. Didn’t need that in my mind.”

In the afterglow of that belly laugh, you don’t notice how he’s somewhat tightened his grip around your ankle. Simon knows you aren’t one to pay attention to those subtleties. Too focused on other people's well-being to realize when yours is being put first. He can already imagine how your heart is unraveling with the knowledge that you’ve managed to make him quirk a smile, however small, even if his day had been a proper shitshow.

The selfless angel that you are.

You turn your eyes to the ceiling, looking for something that clearly isn’t written on the colorful paint of the walls.

"All jokes aside," you murmur. "I hope it goes well."

Your eyes touch his. There’s a melancholy in yours you only allowed him to see. Thinly veiled vulnerability, heart bare just for his eyes.

"Really need a confidence boost," you say with a wistful smile. "And some love on the side."

He mutters under his breath. “Right.”

Simon tries not to wince at your words and what they imply. He thinks you’re too good to rely on other people (men, above anything) to boost your confidence. As if what he thinks are mouthwatering looks, a striking sense of humor and a brilliant mind aren’t enough to make you feel a peg above everyone else.

He hates that you don’t seem to understand it. Hates that you require other people’s approval even when you have a brain that could put most to shame and a series of achievements to boot.

He hates that despite how sharp you are, you’re slow when it comes to emotional intelligence. And it’s Simon fucking Riley who’s saying it, the most emotionally unavailable man he himself knows. It isn’t that you can’t discern signs and tells, you aren’t stupid by any means, but it’s painfully obvious how you just can’t fathom why people would be attracted to you that way. Thus, you’d always dismiss compliments and advances with annoying levity.

In four years, Simon has witnessed all your relationships wither because your lack of self-confidence made you question everything.

Seemingly aware of the tense air your comment has caused, your cheeky grin makes a comeback just to lift his spirits. You wriggle your foot under his grip to get his attention. "You think he'll like my socks?"

Simon has to admit (finally, at least true to himself) that your tireless search for reassurance about your date isn’t exactly doing wonders for his heart or his sanity.

“He’ll love them, you muppet.” He deadpans.

You chuckle at the comment, and then you relax, thinking the conversation over. Comfortable with your eyes on the telly and your hands clasped over your stomach, that gentle feeling of home and familiarity lulls you into a soft rest.

Simon on the other hand, is anything but relaxed. His jaw clenches involuntarily as if he despises even the mere idea of another man getting to see you like this: lying down, all soft and sweet and sleepy in the fuzzy socks he’s bought you. With his surname plastered on your back, of all things.

His eyes flick to the hand on your ankle. He wants to keep holding on tighter and stop you from leaving altogether. Keep you tethered to that couch without ever needing to stand up.

He could tell you to drop it. He could.

But you’re a grown woman, in her prime, with her doctorate and her big girl job that gives her enough money to start a war of her own but for some reason has never decided to pick up her things and leave that shabby flat she shares with him.

And he is poor with words. Communication is a skill he’s never learned, unless it involves extracting precious intel from skin-trading bastards or bloodthirsty pricks. He surely isn’t going to communicate with you that way, even if it's the only one he knows. The realization makes his lips dip into a scowl of self-hatred for being seemingly unable to keep you.

Simon’s eyes rake over your body – your silhouette concealed by his shirt, softly draped over you like finely carved marble. With natural flow, his hand follows the path traced by his pupils, and very deliberately slides up your leg, towards your knee.

Initially, the movement only prompts you to steal a glance from him. But when your eyes land on that frown, as if he were deep in thought, it feels natural, instinctive, to give him your undivided attention again.

Softly, you ask for the second time that day, "Alright?"

He nearly lets out a huff of laughter. Such a simple question yet so goddamn loaded he’s on the verge of blowing a gasket – his patience wearing thin.

He locks his eyes with yours, only to snark once more. “Peachy.”

His humor this time isn’t successful in the effort of stealing a smile. In Simon’s defense, he hasn’t used it to make you crack one at all.

You frown, a tiny fracture between your brows. A little confused, mostly concerned. He can see it in your doe eyes, how you’re already miles away – overthinking every minute detail you might have missed during the conversation. You always thought so much Simon had joked, once or twice, that your skull was too small to host all that.

Your eyes shift from his face to his hand. Simon dares to be bolder and slides his palm a little higher. His fingers curl around the plush of your thigh.

"Peachy, eh?" You inquire, clearly suspicious of his antics. "You look far from peachy.”

A low scoff slips past his lips.

He is anything but peachy, he’d give you that. He is anything but sweet, far from it. Bitter, would fit better. Jealous, would fit best. He is downright pissed, but not at you. Never at you. He wishes he were a gifted conversationalist, so he could put into words what the idea of you shoving your tits in the face of some twat is making his hackles rise. He barely entertains the thought of you talking and laughing with him, never mind brushing with the concept of you riding the life out of that bastard. God forbid you brought him over and did all that in your flat – his flat.

He swallows in a piss poor attempt at juggling his feelings. His eyes shift to the TV to further conceal them.

“Just thinkin’ about work is all.” He mutters. Simon can almost hear Soap’s Scottish lilt calling him a “pining sod.”

Oh, but you’re an insistent little thing, aren’t you? Simon can hear the sheer doubt in your tone when you hum in response. The slight changes in the vibration against your frowning lips, the curves in the intonation of that simple, but so very telling sound. He catches each and every one of those details like the guard dog that he is.

In his peripherals, he sees the shifting of your eyes, from his hand to his profile. He sees you take in the crook of his nose, broken a few times (a tough job and a harsh childhood did that to him). His furrowing brows, light honey, like his hair – all ruffled and staticky from removing his balaclava when he got home.

"Work." You deadpan, but it comes out softer than intended.

His fingers aren’t as sneaky as before when they slide further up your thigh. Simon knows you feel that same electric spark because your quadriceps stiffen under his palm.

“Work,” he affirms, his jaw tight as his hand journeys farther to reach the hem of your shorts. His thumb rubs from side to side over the skin at the edge of the fabric, and Christ, he’s fighting the growing itch to just pull them down.

While the two of you have watched plenty of films on this same sofa, in this same position, Simon has never touched you.

As in, touched you, touched you.

He’s averse to that, to anything that isn’t a noncommittal gesture. This one, however, obviously isn’t.

His hand is so big against your thigh, that plush skin underneath his callouses almost makes him feel guilty. The hardened palm used to disperse death shouldn’t touch such soft things. He feels the peachy fuzz brush against the pads of his fingers, he sees how they leave divots in the meat.

It makes his heart beat a little faster, blood pumping in all the wrong places but his head.

His expression is blank, dull eyes staring straight at the television. However, his mind is not as quelled as he portrays. It’s leading him to a very unholy place, where he wonders if your skin is as soft on your belly as it is on your thigh. Whether you’d whimper or groan if he were to flick his tongue over your breasts. If your eyes would roll back, were he to plunge his fingers deep into your core.

So many ifs he wants to put to the test.

He gently skims where your thigh meets your hip, and Simon swears he hears you gulp. He can tell you’re absolutely blindsided. You've been living with him as your flatmate for four years. Four fucking years, and if he ever tried to give you anything more than his usual snark, he might have been a little too subtle about it.

Simon glances at you, before returning his focus to the telly. One look is all he needs to hear your thoughts as if they were his own – the self-deprecation, the anxiety, that tormenting feeling of not being enough.

How torn you look. Stiff fingers curl around air only to release it right afterwards, fighting an invisible enemy. Let him do what he wants, let his hand slide up your shorts, and find the cotton lace of your panties. Or, pull away and retreat into your safe bubble, where no one can hurt you.

As if he’d ever lay an ill hand on you. All you have to say is “Stop” and he’ll take back his arm – cut it off for good measure.

Your eyes are hooded as they turn to look back at the malleable flesh of your thigh in his hold. His fingers disappear under your shorts until the first knuckle. He brushes along the hem of nice lace undies, feeling the rough fabric under the pads of his fingers.

Your voice is deliciously breathy. "Wha' about work, then?"

Avoidance. Normally, he'd let you. If it were any other situation, he'd brush it off with you. He'd keep up with the chat, coddling you in that safe place you seem too keen on spending time in.

Not now.

His head turns back to you; hungry eyes fixed on the way your mouth parts to yield that soft whisper. It makes his eye twitch, a splinter in his veneer.

“Reckon work can wait,” he rasps.

Simon is hyper-aware of how close he is to your core – a knuckle away from the throbbing heat between your legs. He sees your bowed head, eyes lidded with that primal desire he is instilling in you.

You look as if your brain has turned into soup; the ingredients a mix of shared memories and touches – even the most indifferent, neutral ones. To his utter joy, for the first time in your life, it almost looks like you’ve finally turned off your thoughts.

Your jaw clenches in a desperate attempt to get a grip on yourself. He knows you’re confused; he is too. Because it’s wrong to indulge in intimacy when more than just a friendship is at stake. Money's involved, a roof over your heads, a bed to kip, and food in your bellies – four years of shared everything is involved.

But you agree. You nod your head a little dumbly, and suddenly work can wait. To Simon, the fucking world can.

Your voice is a mumble. "Yeah, guess it can."

“Mhm.”

His gaze flicks up to your eyes, depriving your lips of the attention they were given, and he is delighted to see that you’re just as affected as he is.

Simon's fingers get squished between your thighs when you clench them together. He squeezes, feeling how the flesh rolls between his fingers, how it folds where the stretch marks crinkle.

“Lift your leg up for me,” he rasps.

Breath is stuck in your throat in utter anticipation. Simon knows it's been a long time since you've been touched in any way, shape, or form. You could've gone out and found a man willing to have a shag, it wouldn't have been hard to find someone who needed it too – someone as desperate as you look right now.

After all, that single word is the one that led him to you in the first place.

Yet you never did it. Simon has never seen you bring a man, or a woman, back to the flat. Sometimes you’d disappear with a text, saying you’d be sleeping out, but you never brought anyone home. And he never asked why – mostly, because he thought it wasn’t his business. Another part of him, however, was afraid that if he did, you’d take it as an invitation to do so. Obviously, he wasn’t too keen on the idea.

After giving it little thought, you part your thighs for him. One still rests in his lap while the other dangles off the sofa.

There's very little resolve left in you, Simon can tell by the way your eyes are so focused on his disappearing hand, and by the way you shatter when he experimentally glides one finger over the damp line on your panties.

“Fuck.” You hiss, tilting your head back.

You must want him dead, he thinks, as he gawks at the way your throat curves.

“Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He pushes the pad of his thumb down the cotton, feeling how it sticks to your slit. “Barely touched you.”

He wants to take his sweet time. He does. Wants to take it slow, reduce you to a mess of please and more before he finally gives you what you want. But he’s just as desperate as you are, isn’t he? He’s craving, clawing at the walls, to feel you clamp around him. Feel you drip down his hand until his callouses are coated, slick flowing down the crevices of his palm.

He’s no better than you are, currently.

So, his fingers slip under your panties just enough to touch your folds.

You can't help but tilt your head forwards again, only to look down at the bulge under your shorts created by his hand.

But when your eyes flit back to his, he stops.

Maybe he’s gone too far, he thinks. Maybe you’re realizing this is one hell of a mistake that can only end with you going your separate ways, something he will never forgive himself for.

However, it’s then, that you nod. That worry line between your brows, ever-present, seems gone. Smooth skin between your beautiful, beautiful eyes. And Simon feels whole again, feels wanted. The battered hound dog that he is, only useful for one thing and one thing only – sowing the seeds of death, and reaping them afterwards – is wanted.

Not tolerated. Not required, or needed. Wanted.

He knows your brain is turning its cogs, fighting against the fog of a kind of hunger that can’t be extinguished, one that only wants to be sated – by him, and him only.

Why is he doing this.

What does it mean.

Is it because of the date you should have the next Friday.

Is it because he's frustrated at work and you’re simply there, lying on a silver platter.

So many fucking questions it irritates him that, somehow, while his middle finger is tracing lazy patterns to part your folds, you’re still thinking.

He doesn’t allow a single one to leave your lips, because he plunges one finger inside your cunt.

His first if is answered, then. Your eyes don’t roll back like he’d expected.

Your brows flutter to your forehead, and your mouth parts to form a pretty oval. Your chest swells as if you've just taken the first breath in your entire life. Your eyes, hazy and blurred, hold his own. And somehow, that is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Your leg on his lap is taut and stiff, toes curling under those loud socks you’re wearing.

Simon takes in the sight of you – all flushed and panting. The only sound in the air is the quiet drone of the telly in the background and your sharp inhales.

He can only describe himself in that moment as wrecked. Maybe even more so than you are right now, all rigid in anticipation of his first movements.

“Keep your eyes on me," he growls out, and when you nod, he curls his pad inside of you.

Your fingers seem to mimic his own, but they grip the edge of the sofa’s cushions instead. Your nails scratch at the leather with such voracity they leave beige lines against the dark brown.

He struggles against the double layer of fabric entrapping his hand to your cunt – the lace scratches the knuckle on his thumb, the cotton of your shorts is a manacle on his wrist. But fuck if he cares about all that when your hips twitch to encourage his movements.

You look ruined. And he loves that – the effect he has on you, the fact that he’s the one to have you like this.

He moves his finger in slow, long strokes. He doesn’t do it to torture you, no. He observes, because for once his constant vigilance is not only useful to quell his paranoia, but also to feed your desires. He tests movements, tries different spots, looking for that one within your walls that will make you scream.

And he finds it, then – to his utmost delight. Here you are: your breathy moans, soft and honeyed, turn into a stuttering and almost pained "Oh." And he knows he has you under his thumb, all perfect and yearning, unraveling with just one of his fingers. He’s looking straight at your face, not wanting to miss a single twitch of an eyebrow. Your pretty lips are all slick with your spit and they part to release the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

His strokes intensify, drawing back as much as he can with the limited movements he has, only to push in and hit ever so slightly that rougher patch of nerves he’s located. He doesn’t want to make you squirm, but he has something tickling his brain – questions. Or better, one question.

He places his thumb over your pearl, unsheathing it from the fleshy hood with a glide. He drinks the way it makes your breath hitch and stutter in sudden hypersensitivity. He rolls his pad tentatively, only to see you grit your teeth and groan – muscles and sinews all tensed up in your neck. It's like molten lava in your belly. It's syrupy hot and gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his finger, down to the knuckle.

“D’you think you’ll need to go on that date on Friday?” he rasps and rolls his thumb again.

His question doesn't seem to make you falter; your hips are unrelenting in their chase for release, as you push against his hand, grinding like your life depends on it. However, he can tell that it irked you. That blissed-out look pinches in frustration.

You're breathless, on a feverish hunt for that taste of heaven his finger’s promising, and Simon has the gall to bring up another man? One he's been mocking for the past half hour? He's surprised by himself as well.

You whine. "Does this look like the bloody time?"

“No,” he concedes, sounding a little patronizing.

He has the upper hand, quite literally, and to give you a friendly reminder of the power he holds, he slides another finger in.

You're absolute putty in his hands now. Your fingers grip at the sofa, your cheeks all flushed and warm. Your back arches, and he knows he just gave you that fullness you've been chasing. The sensation that causes the right amount of pleasure and pain of the stretch. He’s knuckle deep inside of you, his fingers trapped by your velvety walls as he strokes harder, lingering a little longer where you like it, but not faster. He keeps that steady pace that takes your breath away, not forgetting to lavish your clit with attention, and leaves you with just enough air for you to free those clipped and breathless moans.

He’s shameless as his other hand clamps your shin on his lap and pushes it down onto the painful tent on his jeans. He shifts his hip upwards to grind against your calf and hisses when it causes the zipper to graze his cock.

“Gonna cancel it, then?”

It’s bliss. You look like an angel.

"Yeah," you breathe out, a little incoherent. "Cancel it, 'course."

Your voice is more of an unintelligible mumble than anything else – two fingers in and his thumb on your nub drawing idle circles. Perfect pressure. Perfect fit.

He’s never seen you look this beautiful, all abandoned and relaxed, with your big brain he loves so much shut off completely. Synapses only working to generate a wish for release, so sweet and simple, and nothing else. And who is he to deny such a plain request, you sweet thing.

Simon would give you the moon if you asked.

He’s powerless in your presence, undecided if to focus on your face, or to stare at your hardened nipples. They brush against the black training t-shirt he once owned – right below the two crossing swords painted under the royal crown. It should be blasphemous. Should be bloody illegal to sully the name of the monarchy that way.

That is, if he gave a fuck about it. And even if he did, he’d see no wrong in it – because what can you taint when you’re the purest thing he’s ever touched.

Your hips move in tandem with his fingers, your face scrunched in that desperate look of someone who has a piece of heaven just out of reach. He watches you as you fall apart under his fingers and keeps your leg down so he can grind against it. If the situation were different, he’d feel like a wild animal in that regard, but there isn’t a spot on you he doesn’t wish to worship.

Especially now, when you look like this. With your hair sticking to your forehead and loose locks escaping your low bun.

He can’t take his eyes away from you – you have him absolutely entranced.

“s too much.” He hears you whine amongst the mist in his brain

“It ain’t.” He manages to grunt as if it's an order.

And you’re a little insubordinate, because you try and squirm away. But your shorts are his shackles as much as they’re yours – they fasten his hand to your cunt, while locking you against his unwavering fingers.

“Simon,” your voice is so wrecked when you beg. “Please - fuck.”

And how he finds the strength to snark is beyond him. His voice is thick and heavy. “’m tryin’.”

He drags his fingers deep down where yours can’t reach, where he’s found that patch of nerves that reduces you into a puddle of yourself. His thumb on your clit is steadfast, rubbing just above the hood where you’re not as sensitive, only to drag down again and make you see stars.

And the way that string of “Yes” leaves your lips, in that euphoric wheeze that tugs at the corners of your lips, makes his cock ache to be anywhere but in the confines of his jeans.

Your eyes are all glossy when you prop yourself on your elbows to fuel his resolve. Petal lips red and shiny, catching your teeth in an attempt to muffle your moans – bone-deep ingrained insecurity you can’t seem to get rid of. He doesn’t force you, though – he wants to hear you, sure, but most of all he wants to see you crumble to shreds. And if hiding your voice is what you need, then feel free to be his bloody guest.

Your hips stutter and your belly ripples under his large tee draped over it, and he’d recognize those signs anywhere.

“Cum f’ me,” he orders. “C’mon, love. Give it to me.”

It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and Simon feels it before he sees it. You clench around his fingers in rippling waves, thrumming rhythmically. Your cunt deliciously threatens to cut them off just above the knuckle.

And fuck, aren’t you a goddamn sight.

Simon thinks it's almost cathartic to simply watch you. How your head tilts back to hit the armrest of the sofa, the way your toes curl in his lap and your foot on the floor rigidly lifts. The sway of your hips as they undulate to meet his thrusts and the liberating groan that leaves your lips, touching the sky with your fingers.

He unconsciously guides you through it, but truthfully, he has absolutely no idea what to do with himself – not with you looking straight out of one of his most unhinged dreams. His fingers slow down but keep moving relentlessly.

However, it would be a lie for him to say he knows what he’s doing.

You come down from it and your eyes are blinky and unfocused, staring at the ceiling. Your body deflates on the couch, limp and sated. Syrupy and warm. With your chest free to move now that the heavy weight on it has finally been lifted. He allows you this moment of privacy as you recollect yourself, although he truly wants you to look back at him again. He doesn’t want to miss a beat of this, yet he sort of understands.

Your breath comes out in puffs. He’s not faring any better on that note.

"Simon," you breathe, his name exquisite from your lips. "Christ."

He’s gawking. Watching your face for a moment more, he meets your eyes as they flick back to him down the slope of your nose.

Thumb still on your clit, the movements are gentler and featherlight. His voice is hoarse and rough as he speaks. “Alrigh’?”

You chuckle, breathless and a little nervous now that the appetite has been sated – much more self-aware than before.

His fingers are still inside of you and you’re already overthinking this. He knows it. He just hopes, deep down, that you’re not regretting it – because he sure as hell isn’t.

"Peachy.” Is your reply.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Joke’s on him, he’s fed you enough sarcasm for you to start throwing it back at him. Simon feels too weak to even smirk. However, his eyes do narrow, in a similar manner to how yours would at his snarky comebacks.

He gently slides his fingers out of you, mindful of your current sensitivity. He brings the hand up, seeing the gleam of your slick shamelessly coating their lengths down to the knuckles.

“Fuckin’ look at that.” He murmurs, unable to discern whether he’s talking to you or to himself, “Messy girl.”

He thumbs his middle finger and rolls the juice between the pads, thinking; tongue out to lick his lips like the voracious beast he is.

Simon reaches over and brings his hand towards your mouth. A jerky nod of his jaw, “Open.”

He knows he’s already crossed a line the two of you never even dared to toe before. And if he’s going to lose you after this, if you’re going to turn your back on him and leave the flat (leave his life) then he’s going to make the most of it.

Your brows are pinched in sudden uncertainty. A contradicting spectacle, if mixed with the way your chest is still heaving and how your cunt is still wet.

But tonight, you seem eager to catch him off guard, because you oblige. Your lips part and you offer your tongue, never breaking eye contact.

Each time he thinks you can’t look more beautiful you prove him fucking wrong.

He hums lowly in approval, and there’s something dark in that sound. He gently runs his fingers across your tongue, coating it with your taste. Fingertips slide and follow its curve. He stares at you with such an intensity, like he could consume you if he had a mind to. You devour him first, wrapping your lips around his knuckles.

When your tongue delves around his fore and middle fingers, he has to close his eyes. He has to roll his head, releasing the tension in his jaw. He has to, or he’ll cum in his goddamn jeans. The sharp inhale he takes almost burns his nostrils; his sigh heavy and anguished when his lips surrender to it.

“How d’you taste, dove?” he asks, blinking his eyes open.

The way his voice rasps out that pet name, rough like sandpaper, makes a shiver run down your neck. He sees it, the tremor of your shoulders, the goosebumps on your arms.

Simon reluctantly pulls his fingers away only so you can answer. His wasn’t a rhetorical question, and by that blush on your cheeks and the embarrassed hint of a smile on your face, you’ve guessed it already.

"Not as sweet as I thought."

His lips twitch.

“No?” he asks, his voice much too broken for his liking. He brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks, tasting your spit and your cum. A low rumble of a chuckle escapes him �� must be a blue moon tonight. “I think you taste pretty sweet.”

This can go two ways: a fairy tale ending, like those romcoms you like to watch, or an absolutely dreadful one – in which you leave. And truly, Simon doesn’t believe in a higher power; God has abandoned him more times than he cares to count. However, he hopes that whoever’s up there realizes that he's owed big time for all the crap he’s been put through.

And he asks for nothing, but you.

His face is hot, and he gathers his cheeks might be a little pink. The rare sight must give you some comfort, the fact that he’s just as overwhelmed as you are, because he feels your leg relax in his lap.

You purse your lips to hide a bashful smile - as if you have any right to be coy right now. "Flatterer."

He hums, seemingly wanting to bite back at you but unable to find the spirit for it. His eyes rake over your body, from your flushed face to your chest covered by his tee, until they land on your quivering thighs, still splayed open for him.

For him.

His hand travels up your leg, following the same route that has led to this. When his palm finally cups your hip, his fingers curl at the waistband of your shorts and tug.

“C’mere.”

You do.

He sees you bend your knees and shift on the sofa so you can crawl to him on shaky legs. As the gentleman he never thought he’d be, he helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap with your knees on either side of his hips.

Afraid you might say something hinting at regret, he selfishly grabs your jaw and pulls you down, finally tasting you the way he’s always wanted. His lips mold with yours, and they’re so soft he has no business claiming them as his own. His fingers tilt your head so he can deepen the kiss, and only when he sees your eyes flutter closed through the slit of his eyelids, he allows himself to surrender to you.

Your lips peck the thin scar on his cupid’s bow, but before you can run away from him (as you should), he captures you once more. He never wants to let you go, so his tongue slides across the seam of your mouth, and you, so pliantly, oblige him.

Your hands are resting on his shoulders when the kiss starts tentatively, while his slender fingers follow the curve of your waist.

But then your nails dig at the fabric of his t-shirt, as if eager to rip it, and his palms journey to your rear. He grips at the flesh through your shorts, before shoving out of the way their distressed hem and directly groping the plump meat of your ass.

The two of you never part. If anything, everything gets more heated.

He doesn’t recall when it is exactly that you start grinding your hips, nor does he remember when his shirt was removed – whether you did it, or if he’s taken the matter into his own hands.

However, he does snap out of it when he feels your palms leave his shoulders to grasp at the hem of your tee. While he wants to feel his skin on yours as much as you do, what’s separating your chest from his is not a mere layer of cotton.

He pulls away and – to his pleasure – he sees you lean in to have more. His hand lands on yours, stopping you.

“No.”

He sees you blink, dazed. A myriad of emotions travel through that pinched expression you wear, thinking like usual that you’ve done something wrong.

He quells your fears in seconds, when his other palm skims over your arm. It journeys unhurriedly, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, until it lands at the base of your throat. His thumb brushes over its column, forcing your neck to tilt backwards and your back to arch, presenting your chest.

Simon models you like clay under his warm fingers, and he takes his time to drink you in and sculpt you as he wishes. Because you seem so docile now that his intents are less covert, clearer.

He brings his mouth to your throat, and his nose scrunches when he presses it against your neck, keeping you still with one thick arm around your waist. With sluggish movements, he tastes the salt of your skin and the tang left by your perfume.

Simon pulls back only to run his tongue from the hollow between your collarbones up to your jaw, feeling right under the muscle how your throat bobs when your breath lodges in between. He curves his head and digs his teeth into the plumper flesh on the side of your neck, enough to get a taste but not enough (never enough) to cause pain.

“Keep the shirt on.” He breathes against your skin, “I wanna fuck my name into you.”

And he does just that.

It’s effortless how he lifts you in his arms, guiding your ankles to lock at his tailbone. Clothes, both yours and his, freckle the floors in a trail that leads to his bedroom. He’s famished; there isn’t a single surface along the path he follows where he hasn’t placed you – if only to savor every piece of you for a little longer.

Until he has you on that bed, the one he should’ve gotten only for a few weeks and instead became his own alcove.

You look wonderful on it.

But you’re even more gorgeous when he sits at the edge of the mattress, facing the full-length mirror in his room, and places you on his thighs to straddle his lap – your back facing the reflection.

He runs his hands over your chest, riding up the t-shirt to your neck only so he can feast on your tits. Grabbing greedy handfuls of fat and muttering unintelligible praises when his mouth all but devours every inch – sucking on your puffy nipples and grazing his teeth around each peak.

Another if is answered by the whimper that escapes your kiss-bitten lips.

You look like an angel, when your soft hand goes to grab the base of his cock and, without much ceremony, you guide it inside of you – sinking on it easy and slow.

You feel like heaven, too, impaled on him. Perfect fit, always made for him, and him only.

Simon’s not sure what he did to deserve you, now riding his cock like you’d been deprived of it your whole life. Unbridled, free. You moan and groan without a care in the world, the hesitation he saw before vanished into thin air – and oh, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

His hands curl at the hem of your (his, his, his) shirt, lifting it up slightly at your waist, only so he can see in the reflection how your ass slaps against his thighs each time you drop. Or, how your glutes clench when instead of trying to pleasure him, you please yourself – rolling your hips to grind your clit against his happy trail.

Simon’s hands leave the shirt only to grab more of you, kneading at your hips to guide your cunt down his cock until he has you filled to the brim. Your eyes roll back, breath stuck in that pretty throat of yours. He bites at it - laps at the skin like a starved dog.

Simon shattered his chains the moment you came undone on his fingers, and now he knows no restraint – not when he has you like this.

“Look at you,” he growls, slapping your ass only to watch how the fat ripples in recoil in your mirror image.

He grabs the back of your neck and tilts your head downwards. Your foreheads touch as he guides your eyes to look at where your bodies join. The foamy ring at the base of his cock, how the folds of your vulva hug around his shaft and tip at your unhooded clit, all puffy and red.

He tugs at your mound with his thumb, stretching the flesh to expose more. With a deliberate roll of his hips, he makes a show of how effortlessly his cock slides into you, how your cunt greedily stretches to welcome him whole.

“Look at that.” His voice is equally as raspy as it’s enraptured. “Perfect.”

Using his hand on your nape, he angles your face to kiss you again. He thrusts into you only to have you part your lips in a stuttering moan, and he drinks it dry.

When you resume grinding your hips, he whispers in your open mouth, “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Simon sees how your thighs quiver under the strain of the effort, hamstrings taut and probably burning in the attempt to wrap around his hips. He won’t keep you like that for long, don’t worry. He’ll take good care of you, like he always has.

But now, he indulges in a selfish moment.

Spare seconds in which he watches your reflection bounce on him, and you’re too lost in the feeling to notice how his hooded eyes take in the view.

The profile of your face in the mirror (his little cherub), with your mouth parted and brushing against his temple as he nuzzles your shoulder through the fabric of the shirt. One hand ecloses his nape and your other palm is on his cheek, keeping his head close to your breathless lips. Your eyes are closed in bliss – lashes shy against your flushed cheekbones.

In the scantly lit room, the reflection in the mirror of you two is as dark as everything else, but the stark white writing on the back of your tee has never looked brighter. Your hair sways with your movements, and that RILEY that peeks through your locks has him impossibly enamored of you.

And you’re so smart, he thinks. So clever, because you know, even when your senses are clouded by euphoria and your eyes are closed. You know he’s never had a thing. You know that whatever he’s held, no matter for how long, has always slipped through his fingers before he could even get a taste of it.

“I’m yours,” you whisper in his ear.

And so, Simon surrenders. He’s at your mercy, you have his trust and whatever’s left of his heart – and he knows you won’t break either.

He helps you out of his t-shirt only to hold you bare against his chest. He brings you down with him, lavishes your skin with his palms and his lips. Nose buried in your hair, Simon breathes you in. The smell of sex and the smell of you and how it has him drunk when it whirlpools with his own – a new fragrance, one that burns itself into his brain with the threat (sweet promise) of never letting go.

Because he’s never had a thing, his name barely pertains to him anymore. But the moment he saw it on you, he finally realized where Simon Riley belongs.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #jealous simon riley #ghost x reader

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queenendless · 1 year ago

Text

❤️‍🩹Tough Love (Adult!SatoSugu x Adult!Fem!Reader)❤️‍🩹

A/N: This is a paid commission I wrote, requested by @anime-lover1234

Content warning: JJK AU with lots of angst, hurt/comfort, short injured teacher/sorcerer reader with lots of boo boos, overprotective!upset!SatoSugu hubbies yall.

Haibara alive in this AU, Nanako and Mimiko are first years here with Yuji Megumi and Nobara and they're your students too. Plus Gojo can heal others in this AU.

AND NEARLY 7K LONG SO THERE!

*Please DON'T plagarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC content. Reblog, like and follow instead.

You wanted to impress them.

You wanted to prove your worth in battle.

But things went far off the deep end.

It all began that one sunset evening.

As a Grade 1 Jujutsu Sorcerer, you were a perfect match for the Grade 1 curse spirit lurking in the forest near an abandoned school rumored to be haunted after closing down due to allegations of murderous cover ups.

As you pulled down the Curtain, the cool winds blew at your hair, swaying along with your black attire, as the sun was setting for you exorcized the curse at last.

You were turning, ready to return to Haibara-kun who was waiting by the car parked out front, when you felt a stir in the air.

You sensed it further deep in the thicket.

Another cursed spirit.

Small … but on the highest level.

Curiosity and cockiness came in, seeping into your being, compulsively drawn towards your next – spontaneous – assignment.

It was a tall skinny humanoid one, blood painting its skin, eating one of the few mangled teen corpses strewn about the splattered wrecked tents of the makeshift campsite.

"Forgive me. I couldn't save you all." You muttered, cursed energy pulsing through your legs. “I'll avenge you by exorcizing that curse.”

Then you chanted quietly.

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure."

With the barrier now placed; this one designed to keep curses in, you moved in.

With its eyes slowly turning to spot you bouncing off the branches, a swift blur dashing through the air, you warped right behind it, readying a blow right to its head.

But going toe to toe with a special grade cursed spirit on your own … you know it's not the same as it was before. But you were willing to take this golden opportunity.

Your fist blazing with cursed energy, ready to strike, even as —

The spike in its cursed energy went through the roof in that split second.

The atmosphere now pricked with that rotten flesh smog coming off its figure.

One that sprouted up to 10 ft tall.

Your cursed punch missed its mark.

Its sharpened hand going right into your side.

It was all a trap.

And you fell for it.

Hook line and sinker.

Your banshee cry startled the birds as you warped out of its grip, blood spraying out from the forced movement, skidding back on shaky limbs, its toxic touch seeping into your gash wound.

Flashes of white exploded in your mind.

The screams of your two mighty husband sorcerers were blowing out your eardrums.

Your vision was spotty but you felt the shift in its cursed presence spring forward through the air, barely dodging its swipe but feeling the tips of its claws scrape your stomach.

Deciding to draw it away, you became the injured bait, running for your life, warping out of its grab, ready to slam a kick down from above —

The sight of Satoru and Suguru bleeding and crumpled before you took its place. A twinge of fear stabbed your nerves — you were socked hard from the side, paralyzing your cranium, warping in your dazed state right before slamming into a tree.

Covering your ears in futility at the intrusive fake voices invading your eardrums, you squeezed your eyes over your unwillingness to see their gutted crimson painted selves.

"Don't leave us here!"

Toru.

"How could you leave us behind!?"

Sugu.

"It's not real. They're not here. They can hold their own. Even against bastards like you." You growled under your breath, keeping your eyes shut. "Don't see. Don't hear. Just feel."

Sniffing the air as cursed energy heightened your nostrils, you followed its putrid stench and nothing else. Trusting your sense of smell by amplifying it to near max — your limit.

Yet the debilitating toxins were slowing you down. You were getting lightheaded as blood trailed down your side and leg from that open wound. The punches and kicks you managed to land on it were barely making a dent on this creep.

This curse was sapping you of your strength, your swiftness, and your stability at an alarming rate. All you could do was dodge and weave. But didn't stop the onslaught of punches, kicks and slashes littering your body.

Those normal – now dead – teens were just fodder to it.

Now that you; a sorcerer, was in its domain, you became its toy. It would kill you. But first, it would take its time and play with you, prolonging its enjoyment as long as possible, wearing you down until you broke …

Down at the nearby rural town, outside a combini, a bespectacled man just stepped out, throwing away the wrappings of his just finished sandwich, turning to where the foul energies were resonating, seeing the barrier among the thicket of trees …

Curled into the ground, gashes, bruises and blood painted your now immobile body, keeping your head to the ground when you suddenly sensed a trusting presence slipping inside the veil, looming above you, followed by the anguished roars of the special grade collapsing.

"Don't let it hit you … its toxins can make you hallucinate … and can mimic voices." You rasped out the warnings, coughing out blood in the process, when his folded work jacket was pressed into your hands then against your crimson dripping side.

"Understood. Keep pressure on that wound. You've lost enough blood already." You choked out a sob of relief at that low rumbling voice.

Kento Nanami.

A fellow Grade 1 sorcerer. A dependable comrade and a close friend. One of incredible proficiency. Extremely precise aim. Evades with clever maneuvers. Reinforced body with cursed energy.

Tying his spotted tie around his fist, he went into Overtime. With his now stained clothed blunted sword in hand, Nanami struck in as many weak spots as he could create on that titan.

The red and black sparks of Black Flash streaking right off him to chop off its enormous arm.

His words were ringing in your ears as he revealed his hand intentionally to raise his power levels.

Slashing weak points in the surrounding pine trees, he follows it off with diving in to cleave off its legs by the knee.

Bringing it face down to ground level just to cleave its head in two horizontally.

Releasing both his binding vows to enact that single blow, Nanami's extension technique Collapse activated, causing those pine trees to come tumbling down to bury it for good measure.

Scooping you up at breakneck speed, you two got clear of the fallen debris, slipped through the decaying barrier.

Neither of you sensed it any more.

Nanami's eyes bore great disappointment down upon you from on high. "And here I thought you were better than to emulate those two's recklessness."

You felt your pride crack, your ego bruise, and your shame boosted over Nanami-san's disapproval when you felt yourself blacking out and your form became limp too quick for his liking.

Nanami's exasperated, panicking face getting all up in yours, his shouting going mute in your ringing ears, occurred before it all went dark.

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Hastily calling Nitta-san to send the proper authorities to handle post cleanup in those woods, Nanami kept pressure on your wound in your stead as he situated you two carefully in the backseat as Haibara stepped on it; his wary eyes peeking in the rearview mirror now and then just so he wouldn't crash the car.

Watching in dismay as the only signs of you still alive was your little shifts of discomfort paired with frail mumbling, calling out for your loves, as fear worked its way to the front of your mind.

Hurriedly calling Shoko immediately after to meet them at the foothills of Mount Mushiro where the screeching halts of the car's tires skidded to an almost collision at the first torii gate.

The backseat was tainted red as Nanami tossed his stained business jacket aside then undid the buttons of your uniform jacket then tugged up your undershirt enough to show your biggest wound, allowing Shoko to lean over and work.

“What a way to spend my night." She huffed, concentrating as pure white light emanated off her hands and over your wound.

"She's lost a lot of blood already on top of fractured broken bones. And hallucinogenic, auditory ailments are still in effect even when curse has been exorcized." Nanami added, brooding from the added severity of the situation.

"What the hell, L/n?” Shoko heaved heavily, shedding sweat. "That curse's toxins are still in her system. It's making it difficult to fully heal her.” She was able to seal up your side wound though. “That will have to do for now. We need to move her."

"I'll join you all once I park the car." Haibara informed them, quickly leaning over from the driver's seat to kiss Nanami.

Nanami's tender gaze came Haibara's way before he got out of the car, carrying you, carefully treading up the steps, Shoko shutting the car door and hurrying behind him, with Haibara driving off and Nanami's bloody business jacket left discarded on the back seat.

Shoko spent the late night hours repairing your damaged self, collapsing over the metal surgical table from the overtime stress, panting from her energy spent. Blood pumped into a vein on your arm via the cannula connected to the drip. And your shallow breathing toppled with a cold sweat only made her push herself further as she squeezed your hand to keep you as grounded as possible and you continued murmuring the guys names in raspy, pleading whispers.

A harried Nanami patted Shoko's forehead with a clean spare rag lying on a counter while Haibara gave her a water bottle to hydrate.

Coming in and out of consciousness, tugged between horrish illusions and bleak reality, your once weakened pulse grew stronger as Shoko's RCT filled you, pushing the toxins out of your system.

So when you finally awoke, faded scars and bruises dotted your skin, front and back, leaving you groaning weakly as you clutched your pounding head. You felt like a truck had run you over.

"About time you woke up. Those fear toxins should be leaving your system now. But it did make healing you quite taxing for me. We can continue your checkup in the afternoon when we've both rested. But I could really use a drink right now.” Shoko apathetically griped as she carefully pulled the IV out of your arm just to place a cotton ball sticking to a bandage over the small leaking prick.

“Sorry about that, Shoko.” Feeling her gloved hand holding your still sore one, you barely squeezed back. "I failed to exorcize that special grade … I'm sorry I made you all overwork because of my screw-up." Your guilt stricken face struck their hearts.

"Nitta-san made sure the bodies were collected … what was left of them. Just count yourself fortunate that the curse was just dragging it out when I arrived. Never underestimate them." Nanami chastised you at the end, his goggles currently off, sternness laced in his eyes.

"Please … don't tell the guys. It's bad enough I couldn't exorcize it by myself. If they find out, they'll never let me live this down. Satoru especially." You weakly pleaded, struggling to sit up but able to get up on your bum as Haibara pulled you up.

"They'll find out sooner or later. And there'll be hell to pay if you choose to omit it from them. I will not partake in that sort of nonsense." Nanami griped, dreading the world flipped on its axis once your husbands found out.

"They'll never want to leave my side after this! They're already dealing with workloads of missions as is! Adding this to their pillars of stressful shit … I just need to be right as rain ASAP."

"No such thing as stress free in our line of work." Shoko bluntly stated.

"Gojo-san and Geto-san would be heartbroken if you kept this from them." Haibara frowned, personally wounded.

"They'd be even more wrecked that this happened and they weren't there to stop it …" Anxious guilt raked your bones.

A hand plopped into your hair, brushing it gingerly. “Your foolish pride as a sorcerer better be worth it if you're prepared for what will come of this endeavor." Nanami's foreboding didn't stop you from embracing him around his waist, pressing your face in his stomach, humming as Haibara gently hugged you from behind, and Shoko smiled nonetheless at the cute scene, especially at Nanami's sternness lessening and patting your head some more.

Still too out of it to walk on your own, you were pushed out in a wheelchair by Haibara, straight back to the dorms, stating he would stay in the room beside yours in case you needed any aid for the night, needing to head out in the morning alongside Nanami.

Carrying your ruined uniform clothes in the recyclable bag Shoko kept them in, you set them aside as you limped about to change into familiar comfier PJs you kept on hand in your old dorm room closet whenever you had to crash at the school grounds.

Pulling your phone out of the zip lock bag it was kept in thanks to Shoko too, you had seen it was still on.

They had been messaging you all night. Notifications of your group chat popping up on your lock screen.

But you just … felt too ashamed and embarrassed to reply back.

So you turned it off.

Without them smushing you between them tonight, there was no comforting warmth keeping you safe and sound.

And the aftermath of those horrific illusions and their copycats speaking during and post battle still lingered in your memory. Tittering between life and death, you were trapped within your worst nightmare yet.

Their disapproving glares.

Their cold voices.

Turning their backs on you as they walked into the foggy embrace of bloodshed against your voiceless cries and your wavering hand fruitlessly reached out into nothingness.

So going back to sleep was the last thing you wanted.

But even so, being in your old single dorm bed, your quiet sobs swarmed the room, your pent up agony painting your pillow in tears, stewing internally over wanting to suffer your follies alone versus wishing more than anything to have Toru and Sugu embracing you to chase all those bad dreams and fears away like they have always done.

Your phone stayed isolated on the small wooden bedside table, plugged in and charging. In silence.

Meanwhile, in a hotel, nestled in the Saitama prefecture that lies above Tokyo…

"Well, the twins are sleeping. Their mission definitely exhausted them both." Suguru softly informed, returning to his partner's side after checking on the girls in the room across from theirs.

A pouty Satoru groaned miserably, splayed out like a moody pancake across the bed, puppy eyes trained on his phone. "Suguru~! She's not answering me~!”

Now splayed out beside him on their shared hotel bed, Suguru ruffled Satoru's poofy hair. "Perhaps she's sleeping."

"She always answers me though! She didn't even send me a cute kitty gif~! The injustice!" Satoru cried, shoving his phone screen right in his best friend's face.

Suguru pushed Satoru's phone aside, pulled out his own from his sweatpants and sent a heart your way. And yet, it was not even read on your end. His forehead creased with worry. "No response for me either … I do hope nothing bad has happened.”

Satoru slung an arm around Suguru's neck, pulling himself snug against him, frowning vividly. "I miss her."

Suguru plopped his cheek atop Satoru's noggin. "So do I. The sooner we finish here with our own cases, the sooner we can have her in our arms again. Until then," Suguru brushed aside Satoru's snowy bangs to smooch his velvety forehead, tenderly grinning. "We'll just have to keep each other company~"

Now that piqued Satoru's intrigue, cheekily giggling as he rolled them over so the raven head could straddle him. “Nothing wrong with that~”

Suguru quickly turned the side table lamp off before engaging in a long, sensual make out with his smirking mate, whisking the night away.

Your new strategy going forward?

Keep your phone off.

Give off the illusion of still being out in the field, doing assignments far off in the distance.

Stay locked up in your old room except for Shoko's treatments and bathroom breaks.

Until you were all patched up; no visually alarming marks blemishing your skin, you wouldn't let any aside from those that already knew find out.

Not your students.

NOT your men.

By the time you had awoken, Haibara had already left as informed. His sticky note he left on your bedside table with morning greetings and hopes to see you soon followed by a scribbled smiley face did turn your frown upside down.

But it meant you were the only one left in the dorm as your throbbing self painstakingly grabbed some long sleeved apparel outta the closet and changed before putting on some slippers. It was fall now, slowly transitioning to winter, so it was the perfect cover up to be snugly dressed.

You had just gotten outside when you noticed the trio heading to the torii gate exit.

Yuji sniffing the air was what alerted you; skidding to a halt as he was literally across from you on the other side of the long stone pathway, turning to eye you with an unpleasant awkwardness. Running over, his nose dove in closer to get a deep long whiff of you to your jitteriness.

He was your best student in terms of enhancing his senses to their peak with cursed energy. And one you cherished like your own pride and joy. Your pure son.

“L/n-sensei … you're injured. And you look restless. Did something happen?” His eyes became glassy saucers.

Your game plan was on the rocks now. Super human senses at work!

“Hey! The sooner we finish our mission from that blindfolded madman, the sooner I can get to shopping! So move it! No offense, sensei!” Nobara snapped out loud, waiting by the gate, curious what was occurring but impatient to wrap things up for her own reasons.

“Cone on Itadori! We're burning daylight!” Megumi coaxed.

“Alright alright, I'm coming!” Yuji's voice then softened for just you two to hear. “Sensei, whatever’s going on, just … take it easy, okay?”

Your heart swelled at his considerate caring nature like the precious boy he is, smiling thankfully. “I will. Thanks.”

“Welcome back.” That genuine smile of relief and joy of Yuji's almost made you tear up; your swelling up heart touched by his words, doing your best to smile through the soreness as you waved at the boy, saluting back to you, joining his friends, and heading off.

You started uncomfortably limping on your way the moment you students were out of eyesight. Shoko met you halfway, presenting a new wheelchair for you to make traversing more easier. “Sorry but Nanami-kun wanted me to remind you to work on your report about last night. We can head to the faculty office first. Besides, you look ready to topple over.”

You internally groaned at the stingy procedures, expected to recount your near death experience down to the last detail; literally occurring just last night, sending a grateful look her way. “What would I do without you, Shoko?”

“Let's just say I'm better off with you in my life … and I know I'm not the only one.” Apathy gave way to relieving passion in her gaze that you looked away to brush your wet eyes. And you both left it at that as she wheeled you the rest of the way.

Flash forward to some time later …

“I can't believe you going gung ho back there cost me my chance to hit up that sale at my new favorite boutique, you boneheaded idiot!” Nobara bit out.

“Okay okay, I get it! Go easy on my shoulder, Kugisaki!” Yuji yelped in pain at how much she was fussing as she and Megumi helped him walk since he took the brunt of the hits in their latest mission.

“Always ready to put yourself on the line for us … we can handle ourselves, you know, doofus.” Megumi was less harsh, making sure not to hit his shin against Yuji's stabbed one; wrapped in the torn sleeve of Yuji's uniform to stop the bleeding.

Yuji noticed the tender gaze his spiky haired friend gave him, smiling in recognition, chuckling sheepishly. “Protective instincts, I guess.”

“Serves you right, idiot.” Though Nobara and Megumi spoke such mocking words, they were softly spoken, still irked but also grateful they're all still standing.

The moment the trio splurged through the morgue door, spotting your bare back littered with bumps and wide slash marks had them faltering as their short beloved teacher and practically mother figure was in this state.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Their unified exclaims startled Shoko enough to press too hard on a red welt on your forearm, causing your excruciating shout.

You slapped your palms over your mouth, mortified at legit blowing your cover out loud.

Due to the fact that Shoko at the moment got a sudden phone call while examining you.

From THEM.

“Shoko, what was that?” Suguru demanded.

“Sounds like a wounded animal!” Satoru exclaimed.

“Takes one to know one. I have work to get back to. Bye bye~” Shoko's false perky jab reverts back to her usual demeanor after hanging up on them. “I would say stay hidden until everything settles down but I'd be lying. I know 25 mins away means those two lunatics will floor it by the end of the day. I wish you the best of luck, my dear.” Her sympathetic pat on your shoulder did not calm down those anxious belly butterflies.

“I knew you were hurt but … OKASAN WHO DID THIS TO YOU!?” Yuji's own wounds were forgotten as he scrambled over to you, blubbering out waterfalls, throwing off everyone by legit calling you mom out loud but too overwhelmed to notice right away.

You pulled your shirt back down, flushed in shame. “Special grade got the upper hand on me. Nanami-san saved me. Sorry to have you three see me like this. So please … keep this between us? Please?” You literally prayed for it.

“For my favorite sensei, my lips are sealed.” Nobara assured.

“Geto-sensei may be less hysterical … Gojo-sensei not so much … but those two together … oh God.” Megumi paled up at the reality.

“The calm …” Nobara ominously started.

“Before the shit storm.” Megumi drearily ended.

“Uh, while I'm not a big fan of keeping things from Gojo-sensei, if it's what you want, then I'll do it.” Yuji, skeptical but willing to make you happy, blushed pink as you embraced him loosely due to you still not being at full strength yet.

“Thank you.” You weeped.

Megumi, Nobara and even Shoko joined in on that hug.

Meanwhile, back in Saitama, again, nestled outdoors in front of a patisserie.

“That was suss as hell.” Gojo lowly rumbled, sitting under the umbrella covered table on one end, stuffing his last – now smooshed – Maneki Usagi Manju from his hands straight to his mouth.

“We know that shout all too well …” Geto's eyes teemed with cynicism, sitting across from him, sipping Sayama tea in one hand, his phone in the other.

Their mentality synced, restlessness in their bones, their six senses flaring up with red alerts.

Something did happen to you.

Something big.

Something bad.

With their cases long since finished; not surprising, their leisure time was spent sightseeing, tasting the treats the places they visited had to offer. Meaning more sweets for Gojo to savor. However, his gut along with Geto's twisted at the thought of you in trouble.

“Girls, gather your things. We're heading back now.” Geto firmly spoke while speed dialing Ijichi-san to come pick them up.

The twins, sitting at the table beside theirs, stopped taking selfies of themselves with their cutely decorated drinks at his announcement. “Yes, Papa~!”

Throughout the ride back to the school; Ijichi-san fidgeting and sweating bullets at his seniors stewing in silence, panicked thoughts raced through the duo's minds.

The one constant that kept coming up?

Whatever was going on with you …

They were getting to the bottom of it.

The sky changed from blue and calm to orange and warm.

Getting healed by Shoko before being ushered out to continue healing you, the trio crashed in the common room slash longue when the sight of Nanako and Mimiko waving and smiling as they entered with bags of gifts and snacks to share and give had the trio beaming at the twins safe return.

However, the sight of their teachers coming round the corner into view, radiating such potent agitated auras, sent the trio's hearts racing in dread.

It spelled the first sign of doom.

Gojo zipped up right to them, a wide ass smile on his face, waving with bags of souvenirs on the other arm, cheerfully greeting them all.

“Oh my precious students~! Your esteemed adoring sensei has returned! And I come bearing gifts for you all! As thanks for a job well done! But on the condition that you answer me truthfully! Do you happen to know what our dear Y/n has been up to as of late~?”

“Nope.” Megumi kept a straight face.

“Nada.” Nobara is the same.

“We know nothing.” Yuji as well.

Their calm blunt responses had Geto narrow his eyes at their stoic behavior, the twins shuffling to him in nervousness at the tense situation, and Gojo's fake smile fell, becoming so straight faced. “Hmm … okay then. Hold these, please and thanks.”

Dropping their bagged gifts into their arms, Gojo warping away was the second sign.

Appearing again before them, with a squirming distressed you in his arms, was the final nail in the coffin.

Gojo hastily set you down, firmly grabbed your sweater sleeve covered hand, and tugged that sleeve up to your shoulder. Even with the blindfold on, you could picture his Six Eyes shrinking to dots at the colorful splotches and littering your once unblemished skin.

“What the hell?” Gojo's shaky raw voice had you gulping.

“How did … when did … Y/n explain yourself!” Geto's perturbed face turned to aggravation.

Keeping your head ducked, you could picture their eyes bearing those same cold, disappointing glazes those curse's nightmares forced you to bear. Your state of panic got triggered!

You wince in pain, trying in vain to tug your hand free of Gojo's iron hold. Warping into the morgue, literally sweeping you off your feet, greeting Shoko, then warping out of the morgue all meant your recovery got cut short.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going!?" Gojo jested, pulling your back against his front, caging you in his hold, knowing to restrain himself on the pressure, gritting his canines at seeing those same colorful marks on the back of your neck. “You better start talking.”

"You mustn't strain yourself any more, either! You can barely walk as is!" Geto irritatedly griped, wrapping his arms around your other one, leaving you wobbling, therefore needing either of them as counterbalance.

"I'll be fine! I'll get better! I'm innocent!" You babbled desperately, wiggling like a worm, to your utter dismay and their annoyance.

Geto narrowed his eyes, downtrodden. "Have you no shame, Y/n? And you three knew about this, didn't you?!” His eyes flared up with scorn as his face whipped to the trio, having all three flinch back at the irritated sight.

“And after all the trouble I went through to get you all gifts!” Gojo dramatically complained.

“Unnecessary to be honest.” Megumi dryly rebuttal.

“My tastes far exceed yours, anyway.” Nobara throwing shade.

“I'll take them all, thank you very much! I felt like telling you Gojo-sensei, I swear! But L/n-sensei was in pain and I just wanted to help her!” Yuji blabbed.

“Softie.” Mimiko and Nanako teased smugly.

“Yuji~!” Gojo weeped.

“I told them to keep quiet. Shoko and Haibara too. Nanami wanted no part in it. It was all my fault!”

Your pleas only riled them up more. Their eyes returned to you, burning intensely, straight into your soul as they cushioned you between their built bodies just like a mating press.

You gasped as Geto's hand slid under your top, his calloused touch sending anxious tingles through you, feeling that tender scar left on your side, lips trembling and eyes wavering. “Honestly believing you could pull the wool over our eyes, dearest? Ridiculous.” Geto belittled.

Gojo scoffed, suddenly frightening as he towered behind you, alarming everyone besides Geto as he pulled down his blindfold to stare down at you now with those glaring Six Eyes. "Screw that. This isn't panning out well for you, darling. Not at all.”

Your weak whines of protest made the teens cringe with pity. Your short self was literally trapped between giants. The atmosphere was so thick with tension that trying to cut it with a knife would mean getting obliterated. GoGe might as well be a bomb.

But to see tears swell up in your e/c eyes and trail down your cheeks, glistening from the guilt, embarrassment and pain, everyone in that room froze in paling realization.

You were the actual bomb.

And you just got set off.

"DON'T HATE ME!"

Your heartbroken scream had the strongest duo become the weakest. Their grips laxing, their tunnel vision eroding, their resolve dusting, as you pulled away freely, tugging your sleeve back down to cover the damage, sat down on the couch to your buckling knees relief, and cried in your tarnished hands, becoming a mess for them all to see.

"L/n-sensei no!!! Please don't cry!!!" Yuji went into a panicked frenzy, squatting down before you, frazzled as you bowed your head against his jacketed shoulder, rubbing your shoulders in an attempt to soothe you, sweating bullets at the sight of his once mighty teachers now becoming statues at this turn of events. "None of us hate you! It's okay! Everything's gonna be okay! R–Right guys?!”

"You two are the scum of the Earth, you are! Harassing an injured emotional woman!" Nobara yelled abhorrently in their stunned paled faces, pulling out tissues from her small flowered package she kept in her belt pack along with her cursed tools to offer you. “Here sensei. Take these.”

"I won't blame her if she files for divorce." Megumi gripes under his breath, sitting down beside you, timidly rubbing your back in comforting circles. "L/n-sensei, you need to calm down and rest."

“Geto-sama, do something about this! Mama is a wreck now!” Nanako was willing to put her foot down at this insolence.

“This is depressing.” Mimiko patted your head from behind the couch.

Your desperate need to melt into a puddle and just die from utter disgrace was dashed when you felt Gojo approaching.

His serious blazing eyes spoke for themselves to let him handle you himself, but those kids hesitated letting this slide when the gentle shushing of their usually obnoxious teacher threw them for a loop. Sitting down in the free space on your other side, gently brushing your hair, he leaned in to your ear to confess —

"I'm sorry." You stiffened at his words as they rumbled against your ear. While you were partly miffed and scared due to his attitude, his gentleness returning made you drawn to him all over again, recollecting how much you did miss him — miss them both actually cause OF COURSE YOU DO!!!

Weaving his hand through your hair, he carefully pulled your head to rest against his chest instead, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, a shaky vulnerability leaking into his voice. “I'm so sorry.” You dare set down your hands to see his eyes as glittery blue glass. "I shouldn't have snapped like that. I hate seeing you cry like this.” His wandering hand had his fingertips weave through yours to squeeze your hand benignly. “Especially when you're all banged up. I just …”

“I'm deeply sorry as well.” The moment Suguru sat down in Megumi's spot, the kids had already stood back and watched with anticipation as his arms gently hugged your waist from behind, kissing your blotchy cheek, regret radiating on his face. “We both shouldn't have approached you so harshly. We were out of line. We just …”

They were both at a loss for words.

Taking a chance, a risk, a leap of faith, you decide to tell them the truth, rather preferring for them to hear it from you than read it from a document.

“The other night … a special grade curse popped up just when I finished my case … I wanted to prove myself … I thought I could take it on … but Nanami saved me in the end. I was … ashamed … anxious … afraid. It showed me … illusions … nightmares … of you both suffering and abandoning me … and I panicked when you both got upset earlier … I just – !”

“You haven't properly rested at all.” Geto delicately gripped your chin and turned your face to see the dark circles under your now red eyes. “Beloved, you of all people should know that keeping your troubles bottled up inside does no one any good! Least of all hiding your pain from us when we can help!”

“You can't always be there for me … I can't keep weighing you down … but I can't hold my own when it really counts … I'm never gonna be at your level … even as a Grade 1 … by myself … I'm not good enough.” Your eyes squeezed shut, deep seated in this emotional turmoil.

“Yes you are!” The sharp conviction Satoru had made your eyes snap back open. It got your attention attentively. “We still think of them … Kuroi … Amanai … what we could have done differently or better … had we not failed them. If anything happened to you … and if we weren't there to stop it … and it already has … then what the hell’s the point in being the strongest when we can't protect those that matter to us the most?!” You shook as his tears hit your nose, rubbing his wet nose against yours with those beautiful blue eyes now red with compassion looking into yours, for even his watery smile is breathtaking. “You've never been weak. Not to any of us. You kept us together through all the shit thrown our way since that day. I don't need Six Eyes to tell me this truth … that you are the most beautiful, genuine, strongest soul I know you are inside and out.”

“You're the very reason I gathered the courage to reach out to everyone when my resolve wavered … when I lost my way … it's difficult to wear a heartfelt smile in this world …” Sugu's voice slipped for a moment, his almond eyes twinkling as his wet cheek nuzzled yours, pressing a timid kiss to the corner of your lips, another breathtaking smile amiss the waterfalls. “But you brought back my smile. You helped me find a better way … I'm no longer alone. So you don't get to be either. Not anymore.”

Unified, their cracked voices caved.

“We can't lose you too.”

You breathed in their natural scents, submerged in their warmth, coveted in their supportive treasuring embrace, their crying faces resting against either side of your neck, just to be as close to you as possible without hurting you more so than that curse and themselves already have.

In this moment of vulnerability, the strongest duo put down their guards just to show you how immensely you've always mattered to them. Your pain, your sadness, your doubts … they're theirs too.

Your hand that was still being held by Satoru weaved down to rub against Suguru's knuckles, drawing him in to lay his hand atop both yours. “I feel the same way.”

“But damn Y/n, you scared us shitless." Gojo sighed exasperated, now chewing and suckling hungrily on your red cheek just to hear your raspy squeals for their amusement.

"Immensely." Geto hummed conspiratory like, chewing and tugging on your other cheek for good measure, your squeaking making them smirk.

“I'm sorry!” You garbled out, mewling.

Suguru popped off your cheek, pecking it several times apologetically. “We're sorry too. We're just relieved that you're alive.”

Satoru popped off your cheek as well, smooching the welt left in his wake. “Still injured though, but I'll finish healing you myself.”

Catharsis finally came as your waterworks were one of relief. “I missed you both so much~!!!”

"Yosh, yosh~” Satoru doting on you, petting your head like the cutie you will always be in their eyes. “We missed our cutie patootie too~” Now that got you to smile at last, shedding tears of joy, as your chortled laughs made them smile as well.

The kids left you three a while ago when the mushiness kicked in. The twins giggled as Megumi summoned his wolf Shinigami for them to ride on so they could stop pestering him, right before he buried his bashfully blushing face in the crook of Yuji's neck who carried him and Nobara with ease from her own pestering, heading off to do whatever.

Now drained from the mental and emotional trip you went through, all you wanted now was sleep.

And to be honest?

So did the guys.

Your old dorm bed would make do just this once. For old times sake. Warping you three there was easier on an already wiped Gojo, anyway.

Their uniforms, boots, and socks along with your slippers littered the floor.

The AC hummed in the background.

And the drawls of moonlight slipped through the curtains.

Tepid flustered gasps left your parted lips as Satoru sensually trailed his smooth sly hand across every inch of your backside under your top, healing you from that point as you relaxed.

You smothered your face in Satoru's snug black tee covered pecs as he ran his fingers through your hair, languidly brushing it to further soothe you, pecking your forehead. “It wasn't the same without you.”

Suguru carefully splayed on top of you from behind, warmth seeping through his snug white tee and into your cloth covered back, heatedly breathing down your flushed nape as his veiny giant hand caressed your bare tummy underneath your top as well as stroking your thighs with his other hand. “Having you to cuddle again, all snug in between us, truly feels like heaven.”

“No angel to sleep with … oh how did we cope without you~?" Satoru ranted quietly as he could for your sleepy sake.

Suguru gave him a sly smirk. “Satoru~”

Satoru chuckled, ruffling Suguru's loosely free hair, before resting that hand on Suguru's lower back. “Okay, it wasn't bad at all. Even so… can I please just keep us in this moment and never let each other go ever again?” Satoru gently begged.

“As long as I can get some shut eye. And new uniform garbs.” Your cheek nuzzled his chest, consenting in a yawn.

“Deal.” With Six Eyes now switched off, Satoru became heavy-eyed at the sight of his two favorite people in bed with him. Back together again.

“No more bad thoughts for us tonight.” Suguru languorously rumbled in your ear.

“Plus those nightmares will get a kick in the balls if they come back.” Satoru grumbled drowsily.

“If it's a curse, sure. Dreams, not so much.” You mumbled softly.

Satoru could feel your body start to reach the end of its recovery from his healing touch, trailing his hand from your back to cover your hand that rested on the front of his shirt where his heart lay.

Suguru's own hand traversed, resting atop Satoru's, all three splayed on his chest in the same exact spot.

You sagged as you felt the weight of all that battle damage lift right off you, for all the pain got replaced with fuzzy tingling warmth.

Shivering with delight, you felt those two curling in on you from both sides, their legs tangling with yours, as you all smushed in the middle, with Suguru's face against your shoulder and Satoru's in your hair.

“Toru … Sugu … I love you guys.”

Satoru breathed in your scent, smiling drowsily. “We love you too … so damn much.”

"Truly. We'd be lost forever if we never knew you.” Suguru mused languidly.

A tiny smile formed as you succumbed to your long awaited dreamland. “I … feel … the same.”

And the kiddies, poking their heads through the crack in the slide doorway, eyed you snug between those two in just their tees and boxers, your entangled limbed cocoon, the bed comforter halfway touching the floor, as gentle snores and breathing made up your guys personal symphony.

Taking some snapshots for potential blackmail material; basically on Nobara and Megumi's part, they left you three to rest.

Of course, knowing you three, you'll stay in bed all day tomorrow. Whether to sleep, talk, cuddle, make out, do the devil's tango — nah it's all of the above! Meaning no classes.

The weekend is free.

To unwind and reflect.

Your old room feels more homely now that they're there with you.

That night, you’re gifted with cathartic, stress relieving dreams where those two awaited you with smothering embraces and enriching laughter.

Through their tough, imposing, and fierce exteriors …

There lay the true blessings that are their empathy, passion and humanity.

Your chaotically lovestruck sorcerers.

And you, their heaven sent wife, will feel their love till the very end.

And even beyond.

For Infinity.

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blondephil · 8 months ago

Text

hello (one of the) resident phannie data analyst(s) here with some parasocial stats on dnp’s movie tastes! following: distribution of dan and phil's ratings overall, movies they each rated 5 stars, their lowest-rated movies, and the similarities + differences in their tastes

(lore moment: yes i am a data analyst in my real job. yes i surprised myself with wanting to do this in my spare time. but then i remembered when we read dracula in college (yes i was an english major) and i graphed like, how many times dracula was referred to as vampire versus monster or something. so i shouldn’t be surprised.

first up, their overall rating patterns and by ~special status~ (i.e., wall-e, kill bill, avatar, lmao, plus big hero 6 for the fun of it)

dan’s rated 304 movies and phil’s rated 305. both of them have mean and median ratings of 4 with min 1 and max 5.

both rated kill bill vols. 1 and 2 a 5. wall-e got a 4.5 from dan and a 4 from phil (phake phans). both gave avatar a 3.5. and big hero 6 3.5 (dan) and 4.5 (phil)

rating distribution:

i did analyses here by genre but i need to fix the output (i’m writing all of these based on the markdown document from my phone on the subway, but i need to fix the outputs and i don’t have my computer. so those are pending but there are other genre analyses that i could do & haven’t yet!)

while i was sorting through the data i got the impression that dan overall rated movies higher than phil. so, among movies that they've both rated, here's some information

number of movies dan rated higher than phil: 65

Empire Strikes Back, Blade Runner, Return of the Jedi, My Neighbor Totoro, Back to the Future II, Nightmare Before Christmas, Toy Story, Phantom Mence, Donnie Darko, Attack of the Clones, Finding Nemo, Oldboy, The Notebook, Batman Begins, Brokeback Mountain, WALL-E, (500) Days of Summer, Up, The Hangover, Drive, The Cabin in the Woods, The Avengers, The Dark Knight Rises, Life of Pi, Skyfall, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, Whiplash, The Amazing Spider-Man 2, Room, The Hateful Eight, The Force Awakens, Manchester by the Sea, Deadpool, La La Land, Moonlight, Rogue One, Call Me By Your Name, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2., Wonder Woman, Spider-Man: Homecoming, I, Tonya, Thor: Ragnorak, Phantom Thread, Roma, The Favourite, The Lighthouse, Toy Story 4, Midsommar, Ad Astra, Knives Out, Soul, The Green Knight, No Time to Die, Don't Look Up, Spider-Man: No Way Home, Turning Red, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, Thor: Love and Thunder, The Banshees of Inisherin, The Fabelmans, Glass Onion, Beau is Afraid, Barbie, Oppenheimer, Poor Things

number of movies phil rated higher than dan: 55

Star Wars (New Hope), Blair Witch Project, Requiem for a Dream, Memento, Ocean's Eleven, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America: The First Avenger, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Moonrise Kingdom, Iron Man 3, Gravity, Prisoners, The Wolf of Wall Street, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, The Imitation Game, Nightcrawler, John Wick, Gone Girl, Big Hero 6, Jurassic World, The Martian, The Revenant, Nocturnal Animals, Split, Get Out, Baby Driver, The Disaster Artist, Dunkirk, The Shape of Water, The Greatest Showman, The Last Jedi, Ready Player One, Crazy Rich Asians, A Star is Born, Rocketman, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood, Joker, The Rise of Skywalker, The Invisible Man, A Quiet Place Part II, Greenland, Tenet, Malignant, Eternals, The Matrix Resurrections, Scream (2022), Nope, Prey, Talk to Me, Avatar: The Way of the Water, The Super Mario Bros. Movie, Mission Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One

number of movies they rated the same: 99!

Alien, ET, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Se7en, Scream, The Fifth Element, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Magnolia, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Spider-Man, Lost in Translation, Kill Bill, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Mean Girls, Howl's Moving Castle, Children of Men, The Dark Knight, Pontypool, Inglourious Basterds, Avatar, Toy Story 3, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, Black Swan, The Social Network, 21 Jump Street, The Hunger Games, Silver Linings Playbook, The Conjuring, Snowpiercer, Her, Thor: The Dark World, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, Boyhood, It Follows, Guardians of the Galaxy, Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), Interstellar, Ex Machina, The Witch, Avengers: The Age of Ultron, Mad Max: Fury Road, Inside Out, Ant-Man, Captain America: Civil War, Your Name., Arrival, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, mother!, It, Blade Runner 2049, Hereditary, Black Panther, Annihilation, A Quiet Place, Avengers: Infinity War, Captain Marvel, Us, Avengers: Endgame, Parasite, It Chapter Two, Marriage Story, Uncut Gems, 1917, Black Widow, The Suicide Squad, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, Dune, Last Night in Soho, The Batman (2022), Everything Everywhere All at Once, X, The Northman, Top Gun: Maverick, Bullet Train, Barbarian, Pearl, M3GAN, Dungeons and Dragongs: Honor Among Thieves, Evil Dead Rise, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3., No Hard Feelings, Saltburn, Priscilla, Society of the Snow, Saw X, Leave the World Behind

i didn't analyse this by genre or anything, but i could -- so if you're interested lmk!

the 5 movies with the most different ratings between dan and phil

- Iron Man 2 (dan: 2, phil 3.5)

- The Greatest Showman (d: 2.5, p: 4)

- Malignant (d: 3, p: 4.5)

- Scream (2022) (d: 2.5, p: 4)

- Beau is Afraid (d: 3, p: 1.5)

Interesting that even though dan has more higher rated movies, 4/5 of these ones phil rated higher.

next, their 5-star movies

dan's five stars: 80

Alien, Empire Strikes Back, ET, Blade Runner, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Stand by Me, The Grave of the Fireflies, My Neighbor Totoro, Back to the Future II, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Jurassic Park, Nightmare Before Christmas, Schindler's List, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Toy Story, Fargo, Scream, The Fifth Element, Hercules, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Fight Club, Magnolia, The Emperor's New Groove, Donnie Darko, Moulin Rouge, Shrek, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Finding Nemo, Kill Bill, Oldboy, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Shaun of the Dead, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Howl's Moving Castle, Revenge of the Sith, Brokeback Mountain, No Country for Old Men, The Dark Knight, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, The Tree of Life, 21 Jump Street, The Avengers, Life of Pi, Skyfall, Under the Skin, Whiplash, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, Sicario, The Hateful Eight, La La Land, Arrival, mother!, Blade Runner 2049, Avengers: Infinity War, First Man, The Favourite, The Lighthouse, Parasite, Midsommar, Uncut Gems, 1917, Dune, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick, Oppenheimer, Poor Things

phil's five stars:

Star Wars (New Hope), Alien, ET, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Scream, The Fifth Element, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Magnolia, Requiem for a Dream, Memento, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Kill Bill, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Howl's Moving Castle, The Dark Knight, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, 21 Jump Street, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, The Revenant, Arrival, Dunkirk, mother!, Blade Runner 2049, Avengers: Infinity War, Parasite, Uncut Gems, 1917, Dune, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, The Shawshank Redemption, Gladiator, Little Miss Sunshine

overlap: 39

Alien, ET, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Scream, The Fifth Element, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Magnolia, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Kill Bill, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Howl's Moving Castle, The Dark Knight, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, 21 Jump Street, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, Arrival, mother!, Blade Runner 2049, Avengers: Infinity War, Parasite, Uncut Gems, 1917, Dune, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick

& their lowest rated movies...

dan: matrix resurrections (1) , thor: the dark world (1.5), the rise of skywalker (1.5)

phil: crimes of the future (1), attack of the clones (1.5), thor: the dark world (1.5), don’t look up (1.5), the matrix resurrections (1.5), doctor strange in the multiverse of madness (1.5), beau is afraid (1.5), black bear (1.5)

not even chris hemsworth could save thor the dark world, i guess (kat dennings, though…)

movies they logged on the same date:

note that this is like, non-exhaustive, because this is only based on their diaries that list the date. i think in reality they've watched most of these movies together. frequently dan logged a couple days after phil which aren’t shown here. procrastination queen

Pontypool, Eternals, The Northman, Nope, Barbarian, The Banshees of Inisherin, Glass Onion, The Super Mario Bros. Movie, Beau is Afraid, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3., Mission Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One, Saltburn, Poor Things, Priscilla, Saw X, Leave the World Behind

movies that one logged and not the other:

dan but not phil: 85

The Exorcist, Stand by Me, The Grave of the Fireflies, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Home Alone 2, Schindler's List, Fargo, Romeo & Juliet, Hercules, Men in Black, Neon Genesis Evangelion, The Mummy, The 13th Warrior, Fight Club, The Emperor's New Groove, Moulin Rouge, Shrek, Legally Blonde, Monsters, Inc, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Scooby-Doo, 28 Days Later, Matrix Reloaded, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, School of Rock, Matrix Revolutions, Saw, Shaun of the Dead, Shrek 2, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Revenge of the Sith, The Devil Wears Prada, Borat, Casino Royale, No Country for Old Men, Death Proof, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, There Will Be Blood, Tropic Thunder, Slumdog Millionaire, Moon, District 9, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The King's Speech, We Need to Talk About Kevin, The Tree of Life, X-Men: First Class, Prometheus, Argo, Les Miserables, Django Unchained, World War Z, Pacific Rim, Under the Skin, 12 Years a Slave, American Hustle, The Babadook, The Lego Movie, x-Men: Days of Future Past, 22 Jump Street, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, The Theory of Everything, Green Room, Sicario, Spotlight, The Big Short, 10 Cloverfield Lane, The Conjuring 2, Train to Busan, Hacksaw Ridge, Doctor Strange, Hidden Figures, Logan, You Were Never Really Here, Game Night, Isle of Dogs, First Man, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, Suspiria, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, Glass, Hustlers, Pig, Violent Night

phil but not dan: 86

Jaws, The Terminator, Beetlejuice, Die Hard, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, Groundhog Day, The Shawshank Redemption, Leon: The Professional, The Usual Suspects, The Frighteners, The Sixth Sense, Being John Malkovich, American Beauty, The Green Mile, Gladiator, Catch Me if You Can, Elf, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Little Miss Sunshine, Pan's Labyrinth, The Prestige, Zodiac, Spider-Man 3, Iron Man, Juno, Lake Mungo, Twilight, Zombieland, Kick-Ass, Brave, Evil Dead, The Great Gatsby, Now You See Me, Monsters University, Man of Steel, About Time, Dallas Buyers Club, Edge of Tomorrow, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 2, The Boy, Raw, Finding Dory, Suicide Squad, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, John Wick: Chapter 2, Lady Bird, The Ritual, Happy Death Day, Deadpool 2, Ocean's 8, Ant-Man and The Wasp, Bird Box, Booksmart, Crawl, Spider-Man: Far From Home, The Platform, Black Bear, Palm Springs, The Empty Man, The Innocents, Titane, Old, Free Guy, The Black Phone, Fresh, Watcher, Bodies Bodies Bodies, Ambulance, Aftersun, Crimes of the Future, Fall, Bones and All, The Menu, Sanctuary, Do Revenge, Smile, Hellraiser (2022), Mr. Harrigan's Phone, Plane, Missing, Infinity Pool, Past Lives, Knock at the Cabin, Scream VI

i’m interested to see how this varies by genre!

miscellaneous non-statistical things that made me parasocially emotional and/or laugh during this process:

they watched nope together on christmas eve 2022 <3

dan rated moulin rouge a 5 <3 nature boy <3

he also rated shrek a 5. of course. (valid).

4.5 from dan and 4 from phil from the notebook

5 from danny for brokeback mountain <3 and a 4.5 from philly

cmbyn, yes, has its issues, but dan rated 4.5 and phil 4

the shape of water got a 4.5 from monsterfucker phil lester (dan gave it a 4)

surprisingly phil rated rocketman higher than dan! surprising because dan liked so many musicals

dan gave hustlers a 3.5. i don't know why i think this is funny, but i do. phil doesn't have it logged or rated, lmao.

a 4 (d) and a 3.5 (p) for barbie!

phil gave twilight a 3. lol.

phil also gave do revenge only a 3.5. tragique.

phil watched a LOT of horror alone in october 2022 (aka while dan was on tour). anyway he's just like me <3

#dan and phil #dnp #phan #dan howell #phil lester #twitter says letterboxd should have been gatekept i say 1) know your phannie history! 2) this is nothing their usernames are so obvious you #think they didn’t know this would be found? be fr!

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romavoid · 5 months ago

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Nullity can’t remember when she started humming the tune. It was small snippets of a bigger song, that she did know. But what song is also lost to her. Was it before the sky kingdom, with her biological parents? Or was it after that, during her unsteady days adapting to the higher, less nocturnal climate? She was too young to really remember either way.

Still, it's a nice melody to sing to, especially when baking.

“What’re you trying out this time, Nul?”

The nightwing squeaked loudly, whipping her whole body around in surprise. In the doorway to the kitchen loomed a large, redwood-coloured skywing, clearly trying to hide his mirth.

“Dad!!! You can’t do that to me!” Nullity yelled past his now booming laughter. She felt blood rush to her face, flush with embarrassment.

“Aw darl, that was an amazing reaction!” Her father replied, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

“Yeah well, I'm making banana bread, and it’s gonna be way better than yours, so ha!”

Despite his frankly annoying tallness, Nullity’s adoptive father was a baker, and a good one at that. Hired among the higher circles of the sky kingdom - both in altitude and class - he would prepare pastries, breads, cakes, and other sweet and savoury foods for other dragons to snack on. But for a long, long while, his family and creations were a one dragon job, until he found Nullity.

“Oh banana bread? That’s a good one, what’s your flour to banana ratio, though?”

“Oh 1 to 2, obviously, but I’m adding some walnuts to it as well.”

Nullity’s father smiled fondly. “Attagirl.”

Yeah, he was a great dad. Silly and often times oblivious, but great. But of course it wasn't just him that found Nullity in the woods…

“Morning Nully, morning Finch!” a voice boomed through the entrance of the house.

It was her mother too.

Their story goes a little like this:

It was one of those restless nights for Finch, when his mind was too loud to get any decent sleep, that he found his little garden. Nestled in between some brambles of the kingdom’s outer wood, Finch had started growing his own food. It was embarrassing, honestly, not trusting his own kingdom's community gardens, but wild fruits and vegetables had always tasted better! Plus, it was a good reprieve from work, too.

On a completely unordinary night, Finch felt like digging up some carrots. “They should be grown by now,” he had thought, “Just in time for carrot-cake season.” So he flew over to his super secret spot, to dig up his super secret carrots, for his super amazing deserts when-

“What are you doing here, citizen?”

A skywing guard found him… with his claws about 1 foot in the ground, and mud splattered all over his scales. The shriek that left his mouth bordered on banshee.

To say he overreacted would be a lie, he had been coming to the garden for almost a year, and no one had found it, or him. He was scared okay? But the way the pink-red guard yelled back in surprise, meant he wasn't the only one.

“Whoa, hey, hey! Calm down!” She squawked at him. “What on earth are you crying about!?”

“You!-” She then whacked him in the face. With her whole wing. OW-

“What is your problem!” he muffled, trying to shove the wing back.

But he stopped, and saw what the guard saw.

The brambles were rustling, he noticed, different from any animal Finch had heard before. Then, out of the thorny bush, slung a black-grey and bleeding tail. A dragonet tail.

The two skywings were frozen with shock.

It was only when a small, scared squeak, left the toddler’s mouth did they finally move.

“Oh gods” The guard breathed. Finch shoved her wing away and rushed over.

He peeled back the branches as delicately as he could, both him, the child, and the guard flinching at every snap of twig. His heart hung heavy in his chest.

“Did you know of this?” The guard - who Finch still didn't know the name of - whispered loudly.

“N-no… nobody comes here.” Finch replied, just as startled. “Why a kid? Why a kid?”

Finch’s hands were shaking, his mind reeling. There’s a child, abandoned, stuck in the thorns in the middle of the night, scared, hurt, and alone. It kept squeaking as well, too young to form words yet. Something needed to be done.

“You…” He hesitated towards the guard.

“Xantus”

“Xantus, thank you, could you search around the area? T-They must have parents, right?”

The guard nodded gravely, taking off into the upper trees.

Finch turned back to the bramble, picking thorns off the child's delicate scales. Their legs were now free, but that was about it. Finch cooed at them, whispering small reassurances, as he painstakingly untied vines and thorns around them. It took a long time, long enough for the guard, Xantus, to come back with no news. The legs were free, then the wings, the chest, the arms and then finally the neck, then face.

Finch noted that, when the sunrise shone through the branches, and the child’s light-burgundy eyes locked on to his, he wanted to be a father.

—

Of course, Nullity wasn't adopted by them until about 10 months after she was found. In that time, Finch and X had to go back to work, giving the child over to the sky-mud joint orphanage. But during that time, both skywings couldn't stop thinking about her. The situation was strange, but above all else, heartbreaking. Her description, age, or location, wasn’t on any census. No kingdom could vouch for her birth, not even the nightwings. Legally speaking, she was a nullity. (ha)

So call it impulsive or parental, but Finch needed to give that child a home. After some consideration, he flew over to X’s, and explained the situation. He knew that, on that completely unordinary day, his whole life had changed. It was to Finch’s surprise, however, that Xantus felt the same. “I couldn’t think, I couldn't eat, I couldn’t sleep, without knowing if she was alright.” She had stated at the time, offering to help the new dad any way that she could.

So they adopted her together, and raised her together.

—

Back in the present, Nullity noted she was still humming that unknown tune, her claws mindlessly stirring her banana bread mixture. Through the doorway, she could hear Finch and X bicker, their loud skywing laughs ringing in her ears.

She loves her parents so much.

#it’s done oouyggh #wings of fire #dragon #oc #digital art #writing #artists on tumblr #voiddraws

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captain039 · 4 months ago

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Part 2 He’s Grumpy, I’m sunshine

Alpha!Logan x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB, age gap (legal), light swearing, grumpy/sunshine, anxiety, mental health issues, intimacy, violence, torture, plus size reader, medication usage for anxiety, depression and sleeping, heat pills, scent blockers

Set at Charles school

Your mutation: fire creation and control

Previous part <-

It was the weekend thankfully, and you have majority of the school to yourself seeing as most kids go home for the weekends. You haven’t been in contact with your parents since the accident, you begged Charles to wipe their memory of ever having you but he said no. You weren’t in the right place mentally when you first got here, you’ve burnt down a total of five rooms before Professor Hank managed to make you a fire proof room. You almost begged to sleep outside so at least then Storm could rain away your fire and Charles could calm your mind. More than once Professor Charles was forced to calm you, other kids were scared of you when they saw you in the middle of the burning room wailing like a Banshee and not the mutant kind. More than once you locked yourself in the training room used for mutants like Havoc, at least that was fireproof. You laid on the cold floor with nothing but the suit Professor Hank made for you, curled up in the corner when your fire would be out of control.

Footsteps make you snap back to reality your spoon burning hot and melting in your hand. You panic rush to the sink ignoring whoever walked in and running it under cold water. You sigh in relief glancing at the table and seeing no damage apart from this half melted spoon.

“You alright kid?” You jump forgetting the other person and apologising before you see him, Logan, the Wolverine.

“Yeah, fine” you say and he nods an unamused look on his face. You get a new spoon quickly and go back to your cereal frowning when he lets out an annoyed grunt and huffs. He picks up a soda and pops it open an unhappy look on his face.

“Are you ok?” You ask the alpha who frowns and looks to you, you gulp thinking you’ve done something wrong.

“They haven’t got beer” he says and now you frown.

“This is a school, filled with underage children? You know that right?” You say and he grumbles finishing his drink quickly and leaving. Well then.

Seems every time you see Logan he’s wearing a frown or a scowl and you swear the alpha is just pissed at the world constantly. You’ve seen him in training, the stern look he wears while barking words, hell the other kids look terrified. You figure he’s just a grumpy old bastard who smelt like heaven on earth for five seconds. You’re thankful for your scent blockers, you don’t know if you could handle that scent in the hallway every second day for the last month. Your position here is weird, not many older students are here that are your age, you sit in on classes, sometimes you help teach classes or help the other teachers with whatever they need, a in the middle man. Students are still weary of you when they approach due to your past time here, but the newer ones don’t seem to mind you.

As of late though you feel extra tired, your muscles hurt and you feel like the school rests on your shoulder. You blame stress and anxiety and whatever else you can think of at night when you’re so tired you can’t sleep. Your nightmares have been worse lately too, flickers of images taunting your usually normal dreams. You don’t wake in flames though, just an overly warm bed and sweat. It’s strange your mutation though you can literally stand within flames and fire doesn’t hurt, you feel the heat of it though and still sweat when not fully engulfed in flames, Jean says it’s because of the medications your taking, you don’t care though, rather be on them and sweat than not be on them and be on fire all the time. You’re walking down the hall when you hear arguing, you frown and glance seeing Jean and Logan in a classroom. His shoulders are tense and Jean looks ready to through him through a wall. You figure you should let them figure it out but something stops you.

“I can be better than him!” Logan growls and you frown, better than who.

“Scott is an amazing man, an amazing partner I don’t need or want you Logan!” Jean says back more calm than Logan. Oh. You hear Logan growl and heavy steps.

“You know we are good together” his voice is lower, hinting seductiveness that makes your stomach clench.

“No we weren’t” Jean says back voice low but dangerous. You scurry off heart pounding feeling like something punched you in the face, of course Logan was interested in someone else Jesus you barely knew the grumpy alpha. Why did it hurt then?

You hurry back to your room heart still racing as your body begins to heat up. You throw your books on the ground gripping your hair as you breathe heavily. Your window fogs and small flames flicker over your skin as you sit in the corner and try to breathe. You were having a panic attack, your ears rang, your stomach churned and flames danced along your arms, your clothes began to burn off leaving the suit underneath as you let out a cry and your body engulfed in flames. You panted loudly, clenched and unclenched your fists, your eyes unfocused and focused, your room spun. You forced your eyes shut a knocking at the door making you cry. You locked the door you’d be safe, well they would be safe from you. You shook your head slowly rocking your body back and forth as your flames crawled towards your carpet and caught it. You cried no tears but sobbed as your bed was next in the flames and the bedside tables, your books and lamp, your phone. The door broke down and panic shot through you as you stared at whoever was stupid enough. You heard your name being shouted but you shook your head hugged your knees.

“GET OUT!” Your flames roared with you as you sobbed. The figure moved through the fire though and you frowned seeing Logan, the grumpy alpha with a determined look on his face.

“Hey, hey! I need you to look at me!” He knelt close the hair in his arms singeing, his clothes next.

“Get out!” You snapped flames flaring as the alpha winced.

“You can’t hurt me” he says and you scoff seeing his skin blister and peel. A new panic sets in, one that has you reeling back your power in a hurry, the flames stop, your body goes back to normal as you stare in horror at the alpha in front of you. You hold his arms tears rolling down your face.

“No, no! You stupid-“ your words stop his skin heals, the blisters and red marks leave leaving untarnished skin. You look to his face seeing the blisters heal and you cup his face.

“What-“ you mutter checking him over besides his charred clothes he’s fine. Your names are called, Professor Charles, Jean and Storm appearing outside the door.

“She’s alright” Logan calls not breaking eye contact as you check him over some more. You grip his arms in slight confusion.

“What?, why did-?” You speak quietly looking at his healed body again. You sniff as you realise you’re touching him.

“I’m sorry” you let his arms go, hands and body shaking as you wipe your tears.

“I’m sorry I-“ you gulp a little looking to the Professor.

“It’s alright” he says smiling softly as you shudder and look back to the alpha in front of you.

It was stupid, fighting with Jean for no reason, he was on edge, like a caged animal craving food. He took it out on a few kitchen cupboards and a fridge before Jean confronted him and then he broke loose. God help him. Jean took it, strong and calm like the alpha she was while he turned into some hot headed dick head alpha you always see in the news. He knew why though, you. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, that sweet scent that attacked every fibre in his body when you first saw him. You went into some kind of shock staring at him, glancing a Jean occasionally trying to get your words to work, he found it cute as your cheeks went red and you silently battled with yourself. He’d smelt you on Jean before, wondering why the hell she smelt like sweet omega before he met you and our scent to face. Too young to be a professor too old to be a student. Walking past you when he left he resisted the urge to press his nose into your hair and breathe deeply. Then your scent went dull, every time he passed you, you were unaffected and he was finding himself more and more annoyed he couldn’t catch your scent. He’d watch you when you were going about your day, how you blended in with everything yet all he say was you like a ray of sunshine. He didn’t know your power, found it too weird to ask one of his fellow teachers or the professor. He’s unsure when you arrived, during the mission he last went on when took a few months more than he wanted. He never saw you in training and wondering what your mutation was, he could smell it in your scent you were a mutant, what it was though he couldn’t tell.

He was fighting with Jean for no reason again, it had been a month and he was restless more than ever. He’d gone to Charles to beg for a mission, but there was nothing to be done no mutant to save and he was always controlling his claws. He heard someone outside this time though and they didn’t go making him frown before a shot went through him and whoever it was went away. He left quickly then, following the dull scent he wish wasn’t so dull, he heard your sobbing felt it almost, felt the heat too and frowned. Something snapped and he needed to be near you, by you, help you with whatever the hell is going on. Your cry spurred him on and he broke down the door. Your room wasn’t what he expected, all the other kids rooms were nicely wooden and furnished with whatever decorations they had yours though, yours was metal, metal floor, wall and ceiling, metal sealed door to what he assumed was the bathroom. A single bed now in flames alone with the bedside tables and their contents. You were panicking, no scent blocker could hide the sour scent that tingled his nose in an unnatural way. He forced through those flames hearing you sob, he needed to be by you now. It was hot, hotter than a normal fire as he approached. He knelt in front of you ignoring your protest, he gritted his teeth in pain at the flames in his skin, charring his clothes, blistering his skin. Something snapped inside you and the flames reeled in and a new panic settled over. He heard the others before you as you cried, shaky hands hovering over his wounds as he stared. You froze though, seeing his wounds healing as he let out a small sigh. Your shaky hands held his hands, checked his wounds, his body, watching his face heal before cupping it in your hand. You were calmer now, still shaken but you weren’t engulfed in fire and neither was he. Your apologies made his heart break in ways he’d forgotten, the tears in your eyes as you kept your hands on him, grounding yourself with him. You realised soon you’d been touching him, cheeks redder than before as you retract, his head tilting slightly. Before your eyes were back on his again. A single word running through his mind. Mine.

Next part ->

#x reader #aob #xmen #Wolverine #alpha logan #Logan x reader #Wolverine x reader

171 notes · View notes

huramuna · 8 months ago

Text

new valyria - one shot.

aemond x shera stark, modern. 18+, minors do not interact or you will be smited. a banshee's lament au.

new valyria, the hottest club in town, is owned by the Targaryen family. it is themed in the style of Valyria of old with towering pillars of ivory and gold. the dress code is strictly red and black and their signature drink, a fruity and spicy blended brandy, is called 'the Balerion'.

i might do more one shots in this au heehee.

word count: 5.5k

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, shera being a mess, aemond = whore?, aegon has rabies, helaena x shera agenda

ain't it fun - paramore • hard times - paramore

warnings: thigh riding, oral (f receiving), shera has a praise kink, aemond targaryen has a tongue piercing, semi public sex (they're in an alley)

“Sher, please don’t be a buzzkill, it's one night— just one!” Cregan exasperated, hands held out in a pleading fashion. He was pacing back and forth in front of his sister, perplexed.

“It’s seriously not my scene, Cregan. I mean… loud music, flashing lights and intoxicated individuals everywhere? You really think that’s a good place for me to be?” Shera retorted, lazed back in her fluffy couch, glancing at her phone every once in a while.

“It’s really classy, trust me. There are tables to the side where you can sit away from the action.”

“Why am I even going if I’m going to be ‘away from the action’?” she punctuated air quotes in his face.

“When was the last time you left the house except to go to the post office? When was the last time you socialized with anyone who wasn’t me, Moongeist or Helaena?”

Shera went silent, brow knitting together. She folded her arms over her chest defensively. “Low blow, make fun of the girl with an anxiety disorder and agoraphobia.”

“I’m… I just want you to experience life! You’re young and spry— you should be out in the world trying everything while you still can! But instead, you insist on staying at home, wearing glasses that make you look like a librarian, and making soap. You already act the part of a grandma.”

“It’s… I just don’t want anyone to see me, I don’t want to be perceived, Cregan. I don’t want people to look at me, to… to,” she gestured fervently to her eye, hands shaking slightly. She had a scar that ran the length of half of her face, bisecting her one eye into a milky-blue blindness. It was from a childhood accident, which was more or less a hazy nightmare to her now. “Y’know.”

“No one will see you, Shera. It’s… dark and low lit, that’s part of the experience.”

“Thirty minutes. I will stay approximately thirty minutes before I call an uber and go home. And… you have to do my laundry for… a month. No, two months!” Shera exclaimed, pointing out two fingers at him. Moongeist whined on the couch, giving a low warbling noise.

–

Two hours later, she was dressed. She opted for a lacy baby-blue lolita style dress at first, but Cregan had protested immediately.

“You look like a scary Victorian doll. Pick something from this era, please. Plus, there is a dress code of black and red.”

Shoving a rude gesture in his face, she begrudgingly changed. She opted for a red satin dress. It had a scoop halter neckline which was certainly not her usual style. Glancing in the mirror, she wholly considered bailing out of the situation entirely. The snug fabric hugged her curves, her thighs rubbing together as she walked. She felt… exposed, all of the little dips and divots of her body on display— she wasn’t sure if it was even flattering.

A small frown tugged at her lips as she fiddled with the plunging front of the dress, trying to get it to stay at a point where her breasts didn’t look like they were about to burst out and start kicking ass and taking names. Isn’t there tape made for this sort of thing? As self conscious as she was about the whole situation, there was something… liberating about getting dressed up with (almost) the sole purpose of being ogled at. While her face was something of a sore point, she would hope that at least one person in the club could find her body desirable. She was a ‘short-stack’ as Helaena called her, who worshiped her curves and soft spots like they were the second coming of a messiah. Shera squeezed her thighs together at the thought– if she didn’t get a hookup tonight, she would need to call Helaena. Some itches could only be scratched on your own for so long.

Pressing double-sided adhesive tape, that she used for her soap orders, to her chest, she somewhat successfully kept the satin in place. Giving another look and not quite on board with what she saw, she hid herself in an oversized puffy faux furred jacket.

Just thirty minutes. It’s just thirty minutes, Shera. You can do this… just… chill out.

Despite her lackluster words of affirmation and the subsequent panic bubbling in her stomach, she grabbed her purse. Her breathing was uneven and she took a hit from her emergency inhaler, hoping to the Gods at play that she wouldn’t have an asthma attack in the middle of the club.

Shera imagined, somehow, dancing with some attractive number and getting hot and heavy (as if!) and then having to pull out her inhaler. Lung health is not cute. Oh, yeah, my airways get blocked sometimes by mucus and I can’t breathe. What do you mean you don’t want to stick your tongue down my throat?

Myriad of issues aside, she pushed out of her room, head held not quite high, but just enough so she could see.

Cregan nodded in approval (as if he was some sort of fashion expert) and they were off. The drive was quiet and Shera realized he never told her the club name. He always referred to it as ‘the club’. She somewhat understood the need for a dress code at an establishment like a lounge, but color coded? How pretentious. Shera and Cregan didn’t even really look good in red— they were more akin to monochromatic and cool toned blues rather than red.

Red and black reminded her of… something. She couldn’t quite place it.

They pulled up to the building, which didn’t have a sign or anything. It was wedged in between two other buildings, but its architecture was vastly different. While the adjoining facilities were modern, the club looked like it was from ancient Greece. It had towering ivory pillars, etched in the simplistic but still somewhat complex design of corinthian filigree, the individual chips of the sculptor’s chisel still apparent— they were handmade, hand carved. The inside of the building emanated a foreboding and very deep red.

Shera suddenly wondered if she was about to enter Mount Olympus— or maybe the underworld, as the sickly maroon color reminded her of the River Styx.

The bouncer, a burly man who could easily bench press Cregan (an impressive feat, considering her brother was a hockey player built like a brick shit house) stood at the door.

“Name.” the makeshift Charon grunted. Shera half expected him to start brandishing a wooden paddle.

“Stark.” Cregan replied, hands in his pockets.

Not-Charon looked at his list, then at the pair of Stark siblings, back and forth for at least thirty seconds.

“S-T-A…” Cregan began to spell out their last name in irritation before the ferryman held up his hand in pause.

“You’re on, go in.”

Entering the club, to which Shera still didn’t know the name of, was certainly like entering the gates of Hell. She felt like Dante, entering the first circle, guided by Virgil. It was dark, the low boom of bass ringing in her ears. They were guided by a path of red floor lights. What is this? An amusement park? It was a weird mix of trepidation of entering the unknown— which to Shera, could either be the actual entrance to Hell, or the entrance to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney world. All she was sure of is that she wanted a turkey leg and to go home.

And yet, some part of her brain, as small and withered as it may be, pressed on for adventure and excitement. They approached the end of the path and it gave way to a large room, still painted in that deep saccharine hue. The roof was high-vaulted and curved inward– it was like stepping into the Pantheon, the coffered, domed ceiling seeming to go on forever. The club was set up in a circular manner, as the room curved around. The bar itself was in the middle, hugging a large stage platform. On the stage was a singular grand piano and a DJ station. All surfaces were decorated in ivory, accented by red velvet.

The music playing was a mix of the piano and the DJ, working together to create a surprisingly exuberant melody that made Shera’s skin rise in goosebumps.

“Let’s get drinks, Sher,” Cregan steered her to the wrapping bar quickly, his sights set on something or someone in particular.

Shera didn’t feel much like drinking– she had no taste for alcohol, only trying it a few times in her life and never enough to even get a buzz. She didn’t find the point in choking down liquid that tasted like poison only to feel like living death the next morning. She slipped into one of the velvet bar stools, her feet dangling under her.

“Just cranberry juice, please,” she murmured to the barkeep, who returned her request with an eyebrow raise.

Cregan began whooping and hollering behind her and she turned to see someone she hadn’t seen in a long time: Jacaerys Velaryon.

Once upon a time, Shera and Cregan had been extremely close to the Velaryon and Targaryen kids, growing up in the same social circles, they were all an unstoppable and very tight knit little group of hellions.

But that was years ago– she didn’t talk to any of them anymore, except for Helaena, who she had stayed best friends with throughout the years, and may or may not be in a casual on and off situationship with.

She tried not to remember the fact that, at some point, she had been attached at the hip to Helaena’s brother, Aemond. They were like peanut butter and jelly, like cookies and cream, like macaroni and cheese, and any other iconic food (or maybe not, she was just hungry) related duo. Thick as thieves, they were. Until… the ever creeping monster of puberty and hormones and all the things related to growing up split them apart. Shera developed her terrible anxiety disorder, while Aemond flourished in academics and moved through the social ranks at school. They hadn’t spoken since they were sixteen, when Shera inevitably withdrew from physical school in favor of at-home, online school.

Shera approached him warily, seeing him laughing and joking with his friends that were just… so out of her atmosphere, she couldn’t even imagine having a conversation with.

They hadn’t been close in a few years but… it wouldn’t feel right just up and disappearing from school without telling him, right?

Some stupid, childish part of her thought he might ask her to stay, ask her what’s wrong, ask her anything, really.

But as she got closer, she felt all of their eyes on her, their lips pulled into sneers. It's irrational, it's irrational, it's irrational, she tried to reason with herself and her bubbling anxiety in her stomach. They aren’t laughing at you, they aren’t, they aren’t.

But it… it feels like they were. Aemond’s blue eyes zeroed in on her, one slightly off-color than the other. They had both been involved in a childhood accident, leaving them both blinded. But, looking at the two of them, one would only be able to notice Shera’s glaring scar.

Aemond’s eye and subsequent scar had been mostly covered up with extensive cosmetic surgery and other procedures, at his mother’s behest, and on his father’s dime, which was seemingly an endless well. His eye, which he lost, was replaced by a near perfect replica. No one who didn’t know him closely would ever notice.

At the time of the incident, Shera’s family was going through a transitional period– namely, her and Cregan’s father passing away while they were both underage, the following legal battle over inheritance with their uncle and just things that no kids should go through. It was the catalyst of Shera’s subsequent anxiety and myriad of following issues.

She didn’t even approach him further that day in the hall. She said nothing to him, merely turning on a heel and leaving.

That was eight years ago.

“Jace, my god,” Shera gaped, eyes wide. He certainly wasn’t a kid anymore and had put on some muscle mass– she assumed from playing hockey with Cregan (even if he was still dwarfed by the absolute unit of her brother). He had those unruly chocolate colored curls, oh-so reminiscent of his rumored father, Harwin Strong. But that was a touchy issue within itself and best left unsaid.

“Shera!” Jace went in for the hug right away, squeezing the poor girl tight. “You look fantastic.” It felt like an obligated lie.

“Thank you… um, what are you doing here?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Oh, I’m always around this place most times or another. I DJ on the side when I’m not on the ice. Mom made a spot for me.”

Mom? What did Rhaenyra have to do with this?

She must have looked visibly confused. “You know this… is my family’s place, right? New Valyria?”

It hit her like a train– a freight train that smacked into her and kept on going until there was nothing left of her but Shera-shaped dust. “Oh.”

“Cregan didn’t tell you?”

Her brother scratched a hand behind his head, looking somewhat sheepish. It was a weird look on him. “I… may have not. I wasn’t lying per say–”

Shera opened her mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by a cup being slid her way by the bartender. Without looking, she lifted it to her lips and took a deep gulp. It was, in fact, her cranberry juice– but it had been mixed with vodka. Heavily. She suppressed the urge to spit it out and looked back up. “I asked for just juice.”

“It was sent from the gentleman over there,” the bartender pointed to a small alcove adjacent to them where none other than Aegon fucking Targaryen was sitting, legs splayed out like he owned the place (well, he did in some capacity, she supposed) and a lady on each arm. He had the biggest shit-eating grin she’d ever seen, staring right at her.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she put a hand on her forehead. “I’m leaving, Cregan. I don’t give a shit about the deal anymore.”

“Shera, we’ve been here for five minutes–”

“Five minutes. It took five minutes for someone to somehow recognize me in this stupid red lighting– and not just someone, no, one of my childhood friends who hasn’t spoken to me in eons and is looking at me like I’m his next meal. Not to mention, my shithead brother didn’t mention that the club he is forcing me to go to is owned by said childhood friend’s family. I should’ve fucking guessed it with the red and black dress code, fucking pretentious. No offense, Jace,” she murmured, taking a breath. “I’m done.” she gathered her purse, slipping off of the seat. That vodka must’ve gone straight to her head, as she’d never been so adamant about something. Fuck it. She threw back the remainder of the glass of vodka cranberry (regretting it immediately) and flipped her brother another rude gesture.

She was so blinded by red– not just the color scheme, but the rage she felt bubbling as she rushed to the exit. The rage and anxiety was a more powerful cocktail than anything they served at the bar as she pulled out her phone with trembling hands, trying to call an uber. She didn’t look up the whole time, somehow managing to almost reach the gate to salvation– before she ran head first into a very hard body. A very hard body with a pointy fucking necklace on that stabbed her in the forehead. The force of her stumble was catastrophic, for her, as she fell to the ground on her ass. The hard body stayed upright, only shaken a little.

A heavily tattooed and, ahem, large calloused hand reached in front of her. She took it, half expecting to pull her own weight up, but was easily lifted to her feet. The hand was warm. Unnaturally warm. The smell of cigarette smoke and… sandalwood blew out her senses. She could feel his breath on her face as she swayed slightly into him– he was looking down at her directly, pupils boring holes into her. The heat of the situation rose into a fever pitch as they were practically pressed together, his hand straying to the small of her back so she wouldn’t fall over again. It felt terribly intimate.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry— I… the… I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to get out some sort of explanation to why she’d accidentally used this person as a springboard, but it just came out in a string of unintelligible ramblings. Her heels clicked on the floor, stumbling back and forth.

“It’s fine,” he replied. The voice sounded familiar, but still somewhat faraway in her mind. “Are you alright? You seem… unsteady.”

She wouldn’t be surprised if she had given herself a concussion from face planting into… she glanced up, eyes trailing the body before her. He was tall with expensive Italian leather shoes and impeccably pressed slacks. His shirt was red and only half buttoned, leaving a small patch of sheer white-blondish chest hair. His hands, which dwarfed hers, were inked in tattoos that seemingly stretched his body, peeking out on his exposed torso.

The offending pointy necklace revealed itself; a golden pendant of a Seven-Pointed star. Her stomach dropped into her feet as she realized exactly who it was.

Fuckfuckfuck. Meeting his gaze, it was none other than Aemond Targaryen. Her former best friend, companion, partner in crime. She expected his face to twist into a sneer like it had before at school and she wanted to vomit. I have to get out of here.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed to her forehead where she had consecrated herself with his pendant. A bit of blood was trickling from her skin.

That is what he has to say? You’re bleeding? No hello Shera, hi Shera, I recognize you Shera? A frown made home on her face as she realized he might not even remember her.

“Um, it’s… it’s fine,” she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand, feeling it being replaced with new droplets. “Sorry for running into you, sir.” Sir? What the fuck is wrong with you, Shera?

“At least let me help you get cleaned up, yeah?” Aemond pressed, tilting up her head to most likely observe her wound– but it also felt like he was sizing her up, checking her out. “Only if you call me sir again.”

She made a garbled noise of surprise at his last comment, her mouth opening to try and spew out some half-assed cheeky reply. “I… I guess,” she murmured. She really just wanted to go home and cry and never leave the house again— but that stupid and childish part of her brain that hadn’t resurfaced itself since leaving school was nagging her. It felt sickly euphoric to her to see him again. She hated to be objectifying, but he had grown up to be, quite frankly, gorgeous. “S-... sir,” she squeaked out lastly, finally thankful for the gaudy lighting– without it, Aemond would’ve seen her face lit up like a tomato.

He nodded with a ‘hm’ noise, leading her down a hallway to the far side of the Pantheon. It was lit up normally with sconces on the wall giving clear white light. It was obviously a staff-only path.

Okay, Shera. Breathe. You can get through this. Let him put a bandaid on your head and hopefully not recognize or remember you and you can be on your way. You always wondered what he grew up to look like and now you know! Here is your little Aemond fix to mend the Aemond sized hole in your heart. Then you can move on and totally not wallow over this for weeks.

The office was nice– it was his, she knew instantly. It had tall bookshelves filled with different philosophers and big named authors, no doubt some of them first or second editions worth thousands. Shera felt like she was intruding, like she didn’t belong. She didn’t, really. Swaying side to side, she awaited further instruction.

“Come,” he said, not so much asking. He seemed to lack some manners these days– Alicent must be aghast.

She shuffled and took a seat in one of the chaise velvet seats in front of the desk. She fluffed into her coat, wanting to just hide, her muddled mind replaying the way he spoke. Come, come, come. Christ, I need to get laid– maybe I should call Helaena. The lights, still a bit low, weren’t a scathing fluorescent color like on the club floor. He could most certainly see the scar running down her face– and the fear she held in her eyes.

Even though it was plain as day, he didn’t say anything. He opened a first aid kit, dabbing her forehead with peroxide soaked gauze, his expression watching her every movement. His gaze was almost snake-like, unblinking as he observed.

She hissed at the sting of it, gritting her teeth slightly. He only gave an answer of a slightly knit brow.

It was silent— save for Shera’s quiet and slightly wheezy, squeaky breathing. Her hands were clenched on her knees, her dress riding up her skin, which she was constantly tugging downward. As he shuffled closer, one knee knocked between her two shaking ones. Was that an accident? The creeping heat only seemed to grow.

The soft beat of the music from the club coupled with the blood rushing in Shera’s ears made her want to scream. Everything seemed in slow motion as Aemond, still apparently a painstakingly asinine perfectionist, took his sweet time to patch her up. This gave her time to watch him in turn, focusing mostly on the way his lips were upturned, cupid’s bow taut. Flicking back up to his eyes, they were looking back and forth from her lips to her own gaze. The air around them seemed to go stagnant. Holy fuck, does he want to kiss me or do I have something on my face?

Her eyes must’ve read confusion, panic, elation and all the things in between that go with wanting to kiss an almost stranger in a club– but he wasn’t exactly a stranger to her. But, she supposed she was to him. His fingers tilted her chin upward and his lips curled into a smug grin, auto completing her thoughts.

He pressed a bandage to her forehead, mouth open to say something, like he was going to do something, but he was caught off guard by the door to his office slamming open. Shera didn’t even look to see who it was— she was more focused on the fact that Aemond goddamn Targaryen had a tongue piercing. She felt like she was going to melt.

“Hey Aem, that fuckin’ slag bit me— do you think I should go get a rabies shot or something?” a slightly slurred voice drawed. “Ohhh, shit.” Aegon stumbled into the room, leaning on the doorframe. He was, in fact, bleeding from his neck, some very prominent bite marks marring his skin, coupled with vicious looking hickies.

“Busy,” Aemond grunted, focusing his gaze back on tending to Shera.

“Like busy or… busy? I don’t see your hand up her skirt or anything, so you can’t be that busy.”

“Fuck off, Aeg,” he continued, gritting his teeth in annoyance. “Seriously.”

“Well, Criston wants to talk to you ‘bout throwing that girl out— since it is your management night, eh?”

The smallest breath of annoyance slipped from the younger brother’s lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Aegon still loomed in the doorway after he left, staring at Shera. “You didn’t like my drink?”

“I don’t really drink.”

“And yet… you’re at a bar where they serve alcohol.”

“I’m trying to leave,” she sniffed.

“Not hard enough apparently,” Aegon flicked open a lighter, taking a drag from a suddenly lit cigarette. “You look like a lost pup, Shera.”

“You remembered me.”

“I may have the IQ of a golden retriever but I’m not that stupid. I couldn’t exactly forget your bird’s nest of red hair or himbo of a brother. Seriously, all those body slams from hockey must’ve damaged his brain.”

Shera snorted a little laugh. “Aemond doesn’t even seem to recognize me— or, he hasn’t said anything.”

“He’s got his head too far up his own ass to recognize anything other than cunt. He’s more of a whore than I am these days,” he took a deep drag, puffing smoke out into the hall. “Don’t be surprised if he fingers you before he even asks for your name.”

An unfamiliar feeling churned in Shera’s stomach. “I… I gotta go.” she huffed, grabbing her purse and walking past Aegon. She was biting down so hard on her lip that it started to bleed, the metallic taste savoring like lead on her tongue.

She makes her way through the throngs of people, everything around her a blur. It seemed that Aemond didn’t remember or recognize her– fine, that was fine. She didn’t expect him to– who would, really? Her eye unwillingly caught a glance of his figure again on the outskirts of the club. He was talking to a woman dressed in a sparkling red dress, looking like Jessica fucking Rabbit. His hands eclipsed the woman’s hips as they were leaned close together, clearly in some sort of heated conversation.

Her throat felt slightly constricted as she pushed out of the exit door into the alley. Has she misread his signals? They were totally about to kiss before Aegon came in, right?

He’s a bigger whore than me these days.

Fat tears rolled down her face unwillingly as she leaned on the brick wall of the alley, fumbling for her phone again. Why did it hurt? It was stupid, she was stupid– they hadn’t seen each other in eight years and he didn’t even recognize her– so why did it sting to see… that?

She texts for an uber rather than calling as her emotions are in no place to talk to someone. She drops her phone on the concrete several times by how much she’s shaking– she doesn’t even hear the door of the club close with a creak behind her.

“You left. I wasn’t done patching you up,” Aemond slunk around into her line of sight, head bowed low to try to look at her face.

She swiveled to the side to hide her expression and distress in her phone. “... had to go, sorry,” she whispers, trying her best to sound like she wasn’t crying.

“I didn’t mean for him to interrupt us– my brother’s an idiot,” he was chasing her face. “Let me see.” he put his hand on her cheek and turned her face to him again. She let him, forever putty in his hands. If only he knew. If only he really cared.

His thumb wiped away some of the tears. “It doesn’t hurt that bad, does it?” he whispered, getting close to her once more like they were in the office. “I can always kiss it better, hm?”

It felt like an invitation, the opening of a letter of acceptance to some grandiose college she could never afford, never fit into– but for one moment, she decided to bask in it. Let the hurt come later; it always comes later. He had been interested in some capacity. Not in her, not really her, but for some anonymous club fling.

Fine.

“Why don’t you, then?” she returned, eyes half lidded under his heavy gaze.

It was all the consent he needed– their lips melded together, all tongues and teeth. It was borderline obscene, like they were attacking each other. His hand threaded through her hair, tongue tracing the outline of her cupid’s bow before tangling into her mouth. She felt the ball of his tongue piercing meld against her. He tasted like coffee and cigarettes– on anyone else, Shera would find it unpleasant, but she was so intoxicated on the idea that Aemond’s tongue was in her mouth, she didn’t care. She even would say she liked it.

Heat kindled between the two of them, coming to a roaring flame as he slotted his leg between her legs again– before must have just been a prelude, as he didn’t give any indication that his knee pressed against her clothed core was an accident. No, it was pure intention. He lofted some of her weight onto his leg, encouraging her to chase her pleasure, hand riding up her dress to grip her bottom firmly.

She gave an experimental roll of her hips, finding her arousal and ever growing wetness to only increase, whimpering a small moan into his mouth. He, apparently liking that, pulled her back from his face by her hair, staring down at her like he wanted to commit her expression to memory.

“Come on,” he growled, voice husky against the shell of her ear. “Ride my fucking leg.” Aemond’s lips connected with her skin again on her neck.

It felt like a lightning bolt struck her right in her core, making her toes curl and tingle. Her mouth was open as she pleasured herself on him, using him– she was approaching her end almost embarrassingly fast as he angled his leg a bit more upward, pinpointing all the pressure onto her clit, which at this point, was barely even guarded behind her panties. Aemond’s hand on her bottom slinked the elastic of her underwear until he reached the front, two fingers swiping down her soaked folds.

“Soaked for me, are you?” he asked, parting her underwear to the side to rest against her thigh, her bare cunt now in direct contact with his clothed leg. She was surely making a mess on his expensive slacks, she didn’t even have to look. He quirked a brow and laved his tongue over one of the fingers that had just slid through her wetness, testing the taste.

Her brow furrowed and the building heat, the harp’s string right in her core, came undone with that. She wanted to moan his name– she almost said it. “A–,” she cried, burying her face in his shoulder as she rode out her orgasm on his leg.

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond praised, his words of affirmation going straight to her core. She did, unfortunately, have a praise kink. “Can you stand?”

“Mmh– y-... yes,” she replied as he took away his leg– but not before sending her into slight overstimulation with a cheeky bump to her clit.

“Good, stay there, love,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead (which felt strangely familiar out of this supposed random club hookup). “Wanna taste you now. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

Her legs wobbled as he got down on his knees in the back alley on his no doubt designer pants (now painted with a souvenir from her) to eat her out. She could barely speak, just nodding.

“That’s right,” he hummed, squeezing into her thigh as he spread her legs. She was dripping right into his mouth as his warm lips made contact with her– he teased her slightly by blowing on her bare skin, chuckling as she squirmed and whimpered. “You’re too cute.” his tongue flattened and laved over her cunt, not letting a drop of her arousal go to waste as he went to town. He continued his teasing by edging just around her clit, making her chase his mouth slightly as he moved to suckle just outside of that spot.

It was torture. Sweet, sweet torture as he edged her for a good two minutes while she was already on the edge again. The coolness of his tongue piercing sent chills up her spine as he finally, finally began to zero in on her pearl, the ball of the piercing dancing around it, stimulating her to a delicious peak.

“P-Please, please, please,” she whined, fisting his hair.

He had the audacity to look up at her, face first in her thighs, and wink at her. All remnants of teasing were gone as he began to feast, focusing solely on pulling out her second orgasm. It didn’t even register to her, as she was clenching around nothing, tears welling in her eyes from the sheer intensity of her peak, that he hadn’t gotten off yet– she had hardly touched him. He was focusing all on her.

She went boneless for a moment as she came down from her high, almost moaning his name again. He held her until she came back down to earth.

Her hands fiddled to his belt, she desperately wanted to return the favor–

“Your uber’s here, love,” he murmured, helping her out of the alley to the car awaiting. She looked down, realizing her phone had been unlocked on the uber ETA screen.

She was spinning still, reeling from the entire interaction. Next thing she knew, she was sitting in the back of her uber as Aemond stood, door in hand.

“Bye, Shera.” he grinned, closing the door.

He knew the whole time.

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond #hotd fic #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #modern aemond smut #modern aemond #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond angst #my writing #aemond targaryen x oc #banshees lament #banshees lament au #shera #shera and aemond

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bokutosmochi · 1 year ago

Text

kinktober day six: cybersex!

I WANNA GET FREAKY ON CAMERA ♡ GOJO SATORU

fem!reader x gojo satoru

ingredients: what's a girl gonna do when she misses her boyfriend who's a continent away?

what's it: smut

allergen warning/s: satoru talks to your pussy, fingering, mutual masturbation, cybersex

sugar level: 2.9k

regulars: @ventdavi154 @deobiforever @sugusshi @angelshub

parlor's note: inspired by this fanart by the amazing @/3aem

p.s: the guitar solo referenced at the end is in the song i don't wanna be me by the band type o negative. i recommend checking out that song, or at least that solo. it's so good and definitely one of my favorites.

bon appetit!

the only reason why you're here is because you were peer pressured to go.

most of the time, you would totally be down to attend parties your friends hosted, but you haven't been feeling like yourself lately. gojo was assigned to a three month long mission overseas and you were missing him dearly. funnily enough, that was also the reason why you were forced to go.

"c'mon, it's halloween." shoko rolled her eyes at you. "you can't not go just because gojo isn't here. besides, you clearly need a pick me up. you can't just lay around your bed, eating ice cream and sniffing his shirts that you wear forever." she gave you a pointed look. in defiance, you rolled your eyes, crossed your arms against your chest and gazed elsewhere, not caring about how childish it may have seemed.

you had no idea how she found out your daily activities since satoru has been gone. perhaps searching around your house for secret cameras that she planted would be a good idea. regardless, you sounded pretty pathetic when she put it like that, but still. were you not allowed to miss your boyfriend?

if that wasn't enough, shoko still had more to add. "plus, didn't you already buy a costume?"

and that's how you ended up in your current situation.

you could see how much effort shoko put into the party. her house, usually decorated with a minimalistic and classy aesthetic in mind, was home to countless realistic cobwebs and fake spiders all over the little items she had, like her clock and picture frames. there was also something dripping down the walls, though you couldn't tell whether it was supposed to be blood or some form of slime because of the red lighting that came from the few jack o'lanterns scattered around the house. the lack of proper lighting gave the room an eerie feel, and the scented candle that smells of burning leaves did not help. it was expertly made, including the songs that played. the playlist included songs from bands like bauhaus, siouxsie and the banshees, and lebanon hanover, then halloween classics like thriller and monster mash.

you're dressed in a less than appropriate black dress with red details which satoru chose. it's a bit plain by itself, but you added a corset that pushed your tits together nicely. the outfit's paired with black red bottom heels, gothic necklaces, and a makeup look that tied everything together.

"you're supposed to be here having fun, not moping around the snack table." shoko nudged you with her hip making you huff at her. "i'm allowed to miss my boyfriend." you said stubbornly. "he's been gone for almost three months now, we haven't spent that much time apart until, well, now." you looked at her with a sad look in your eyes that conveyed everything that you were feeling.

thankfully, it made her sigh in defeat, seemingly understanding what you're currently feeling. "ugh, fine, fine whatever." she waved it off. "just stop looking at me like a kicked puppy and try to have fun or something." she walked away.

a part of you felt guilty. after all, she was trying to make you feel better when you obviously aren't doing the best, but at the same time, she's been tugging you along to do different activities to keep your mind off of gojo's absence for so long now.

you're tired and you really just wanna be whiney and act like a lovestruck teenage girl.

thankfully for you, you didn't have much time to dwell on the feelings of guilt because you got a new notification on your phone -- satoru sent you a photo.

you really couldn't open it fast enough. with how you're missing him, you'd be thankful for anything he sends you, be it a photo of what he's having for dinner, a puppy he saw in the streets, a restaurant that piqued his interest, or a photo of him.

you cannot lie, you did heavily prefer the message being a picture of him. nothing could have prepared you for what you saw when you opened it.

nothing could compare to the sight before you. not a photo of the finest michelin star dish, not a photo of a puppy that's your favorite breed, not a unique looking restaurant, because it's satoru.

his face is turned from the camera, but it's definitely satoru. his soft white hair is the most obvious reason why you think so, plus why would he send you a sexy photo of another man. aside from that, you've spend hours tracing over the muscles of his back, his biceps, and even more hours grasping at the flesh, digging your nails into it as he fucked you.

you wonder if he knows you miss him, or if he misses you and the reason why he sent that wasn't to tease you and show off what you can't have, but to get a reaction out of you so you can set up a video call with him.

a gut feeling tells you that it's probably both. he knows what kind of reaction he can get out of you from flexing those muscles.

whatever the answer may be, the truth remains: you can feel the slick forming between your folds and there's a familiar ache between your thighs.

you quickly run to one of shoko's guest bedrooms. thankfully, because of your training as a jujutsu sorcerer, you're able to get there in record time without bumping into anyone in the process.

you look at yourself in the mirror there, fixing strands of hair that has been messed up in your haste as well as straightening out your clothing before setting yourself down on the available bed and clicking on the video call button on your phone.

and like you've expected, satoru accepts it without a second to spare, as if he's waited by the phone after spending the photo, waiting for your flustered call. he has a knowing smirk on his face, one you know all too well.

"hey there, baby." he drawls. "wasn't expecting to see you here this late."

"satoru," it comes out as a breathless gasp that was not caused by the running. "i've missed you so much." you wriggle on the bed, getting comfortable.

his answering smile was cocky, but you spot the hint of warmth in his eyes and longing in the way his smile is bigger than it usually is. he doesn't have to say it verbally, he's missed you too.

"aww, did you, pretty girl? 'm sorry for leaving you alone for so long." he coos at you. "i promise i'll be there in a week, kay?"

he transfers the phone from one hand to the other, but while doing so, he lowers the camera view a bit, giving you a heart-stopping peek of his abs, something he definitely meant to do to rile you up some more, as if your brain wasn't going a hundred miles an hour right this second.

you rub your thighs together to give you that friction that you so desperately need. "that's not enough though." your voice comes out painfully needy and you know satoru isn't going to let you live that down anytime soon. the moment he gets home and gets his fill of you - even before that, maybe - he'll hold it over your head for the coming months -- and knowing satoru, it's not a long shot to say the coming years. he'll keep on blabbering something or other about "remember that time i had to go on a really long mission and you were whining to me on the phone about how much you needed me?" but you couldn't care less right now. he would be right, you need him so bad.

"aw, does my sweet angel need me? 'm sorry, baby, but i just can't be there right now." he explains like you didn't know that already. "tell you what though, if you ask me politely, maybe i'll find a way to help you out a bit, then make it up to you when i get home, yeah?"

"please 'toru?" you pout at the camera and flash him your puppy eyes. you know that those will work already, but wanted to do more so that's what you did. you subtly pushed your boobs together, internally thanking shoko for forcing you to go to this party because if not, you wouldn't be wearing this dress satoru loved so much. "i need you so bad. can you please help me out?"

"that's a sweet girl." you see him look down and hiss. the camera moves a bit too and you wonder if it's caused by him freeing his dick from his gray sweatpants.

"i want you to play with yourself for me." he states. "start with pulling the neckline of that dress down and letting me see those tits." he breathed. you hear wet sounds from his side and now you know he's already jerking off to you.

you changed your position, getting on your knees and using the pillow you were using so you'd have something to rest your phone on. when that was stable, you did what he asked of you.

you let yourself get into the moment first, caressing the skin around your neck, your collarbones first, humming at the sensual feeling, louder than usual so satoru would hear you clearly before your hands moved to the straps of your dress and pulled it down.

the clothing was quite tight so you still had to pull it down to expose your lacey bra, but satoru didn't mind. as much as he wanted to see your body, he did love that tight dress on you, cursing whoever assigned this mission to him because he wasn't able to be with you right this moment. he adored seeing the quality fabric hug the shape of your body, adored seeing your silhouette.

next to come off what your bra, and you made a show of that too, albeit a short one because satoru was so loud through the speaker of your phone. to say your neediness increased tenfold would be an understatement.

"there you go," gojo said as he watched your boobs bounce out of the shed undergarment. his gaze was fixed on your body. the lust was pouring out of his intense blue eyes. "play with them for me, baby."

you took your hands and squished your boobs together once more, gave them a final squeeze, then paid more attention to your nipples, erect from your arousal. you rolled them between your fingers, noticing that every time your eyes fluttered shut while you pinched them, satoru would let a particularly loud whimper.

but "it's not enough, toru, wan' more." you whispered. it was something he agreed with, murmuring a small "yeah," under his breath.

"i want you to spread your legs for me, baby." he waited for you to adjust before saying anything else.

you could feel the beads of sweat forming on your forehead, but couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. you changed the way you sat, now sitting on your ass, planting your feet firmly on the bed while your knees were raised so satoru would have an unobscured view of your pussy when your legs are spread.

you lifted the skirt of the dress up and over your legs until it's bunched up at your waist, letting satoru see your crotch and the patch of wetness on your panties.

the view made him curse under his breath.

"touch your thighs, yeah, just like that." even the simplest touch had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. it's been such a long time since you've been touched like this, and that fact paired with satoru's breathy voice and the slick sound of him tugging on his dick was a combination that could make you come untouched.

your hips started to move back and forth though there was nothing there that could ease the ache between your thighs. his praises of good girl, and you're doing so well for me, baby had your cunt pulsing against the cloth of your underwear. "'toru, more, please." your not want, but need was palpable through the way your voice cracked at the last words. "need it 'toru, please, fuck."

"write my name over those pretty little panties, baby."

little did you know, he was so close to coming. even closer than you were. he knew he couldn't come though, not yet. he'll bring you to the brink of pleasure first so you can do it together. it's the least he can do after leaving you along for so long, so he slows down his movements.

he didn't plan to start touching himself so early on. he wanted to start doing it at the same time you sank your fingers into your pussy, but he couldn't help himself after seeing you in that pretty dress he picked out. upon seeing that dress on the rack for the first time, he already knew you would look gorgeous in it. he thinks that you can wear a garbage bag and he'd still be itching to put his hands all over you, but god, did you look absolutely irresistible in that versace dress. and to think that you discouraged him from buying it at first because of the price.

it's worth every single yen.

it took everything in him to not speed the motions of his hands up when he saw you spell out g-o-j-o s-a-t-o-r-u along with a couple of hearts on the crotch of your already wet panties. he constantly had to repeat "slow down, slow down, slow down," in his head before he completely loses focus.

he decides that it's enough teasing, at least for today when you're both so desperate for one another.

to you, his next words are like a life line.

"take your panties off, baby. show me that pussy i love so much."

you breathe out a sigh of relief and delight and it seems like you can't take the lacey undergarment fast enough. you toss it somewhere in the room, too intoxicated by satoru's presence to care where it lands or if you'll still be able to find it later.

"there she is." he moans, gazing at your cunt. "missed my girl so much. look at how wet she is, bet she missed me too, huh?" his eyes flash to your face for a second, before returning to your pussy.

"missed you so much." you replied, touching yourself without needing instructions from satoru.

you started with your clit, drawing gentle circles on it with your index finger, then slowly pushing your middle and ring finger inside you.

you and satoru moaned each other's names at the same time for the first time in what feels like forever.

your digits moved fast inside you, pushing in and out of your gummy walls at such a pace where you could hear the wetness and feel little splatters of the sticky liquid coating your thighs.

"fuck, you're so wet." satoru hisses, and you don't hesitate to tell him the truth. "it's all for you 'toru," you whine, throwing your head back with your back arched. you imagine that it's his fingers inside of you instead of yours despite the way he can stretch you out in a way that your fingers never could.

"satoru," he was addicted with the way you said his name; like it's the sweetest prayer that could cleanse you of all your sins.

the coil in your belly winds and winds, continues to get tighter with every stroke of your finger. it clouds your brain, letting you forget about every single thought you could ever have, like how there's a party right outside the door and shoko, armed with the key, can walk in at any moment. the only thing on your mind is the way that satoru sounds as he fucks his fist, pretending that it was you, and the way your fingers feel as they pleasure you.

it's so overwhelming, the way you feel. you can't even hold yourself up anymore, having to scoot up the bed so you can lay against the headrest while one of your hands stroke your clit and the other thrusts in and out of you.

you're shaking now, as you address satoru once more. "'toru, 'm close. s' fuckin' close. can i come? please. fuck! ah-need it so, so bad." you're almost at the brink of tears as you plead at him.

"go ahead sweetheart, i'm right behind you."

thankfully for you, the sound of an electric guitar solo drowns out the sound of you screaming satoru's name, and you make no noise other than pants as you struggle to catch your breath.

satoru recovers a few seconds before you do.

"fuck," he runs a hand through his sweat slicked hair. "we need to do that again."

"no," you disagree with him, but too tired to glare. "i don't wanna go three months without you again."

"this was so hot though, baby. i'd pay good money to hear you beg like that again."

i get: reblog

you get: a personalized gojo selfie

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cursed-peanut · 3 months ago

Note

About the reunited au (tw suicide)

What if after realising how bad sukuna is reader ends her life instead of moving someplace very far and starting a new life. I mean she finds herself in a completely different era and the man who she loved for so long isn't who she thought he was. Plus the guilt from sharing stuff about gojo, i could imagine she would have a very hard time and it would be interesting to see how sukuna would react if she ended the turmoil for herself in this way. Would he destroy everything in a fit of rage or feel responsible and guilty for her death and stop? Idk i think this could be interesting but i do realise its a quite heavy topic so no worries :)

TW// SUICIDE

This is definitely something that could happen.

Reader was last in the real world 1,000 years ago, the world has changed hugely since then. Sure, they know some things about the new world (curtesy to the students at Jujutsu High and Gojo) but everything’s so new and overwhelming. So starting anew in a world Reader doesn’t know would be daunting and terrifying.

The only consistent person in Reader’s life was Sukuna, but after finding out who he truly is, Reader would become even more lost in this new world. With the realisation and guilt that Sukuna was exploiting Reader’s love to get information about Gojo and then Gojo’s death, everything would shatter.

In every version of the ending, Gojo’s death will always be the tipping point for Reader. He’s helped them so much and was a great guy who only wanted the best for Reader.

I can 100% see Reader being so devastated and overwhelmed that they would end it all.

Sukuna would be absolutely destroyed by Reader’s death, and even more so because they took it themself. He would blame himself for Reader’s death (which it is), and then it would go one of many ways.

Sukuna would become so depressed and ashamed, he would end it all as well.

Sukuna would become so angry about Reader’s death, he would destroy the world, kill everyone and then himself.

Sukuna would carry on with his plan for the perfect future in the name of Reader’s legacy and memory. However, he would never truly be happy as they are not there but he continues to live his life anyway as punishment for pushing Reader towards their demise.

Sukuna would stop all the killing, make amends with everyone and try to become a better being for the sake of Reader. However, he still would be unhappy as his one true love is gone and he will never see them again thanks to his blindness and stupidity.

There are many more possibilities where he lives, but if he does, he would never be truly happy. Reader is the only person he actually cares about and to have them dead is effectively killing Sukuna.

————————————

Taglist: @makuzume @spicyhyunn @pearlescentwonderland @namjooningera @six-eyed-samurai @natriae @domainofmarie @lixern @fluttershyfangs @girlyuuta @anabort @yu-87 @sukunaglazer4ever @madison777x @nothankyew @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @dervngedgf @calisnewworld @ilybbg @the-banshee @mostnormalsukunastan2024real @williamafton26 @alinacore @mythoswarrior-23 @megantheefann @mindless-rock @kimsunoo2003 @anayesha1 @lelelenlenn @shyshybabyy @unlikelystay @shigemis0ra @iloveboysinred @eresel4mordemivid4 @meo66 @frozen-waffles @awispywillow @youngghostpeachslime @mrsslytherin00 @lazyperfectioniste @whosmarjj @princess-peachys @itawifeyy @sugurubabe @lalalandincraz @hanniebanggi @mrs-monkey-d-luffy @sukunadckrider @shadowlover321 @mwtsxri @lysaray @kakashi-addict @blindbabycadder @qmsvpx @bakedpotato12 @poisnhoneyy @wooasecret

Please don’t copy or take as your own. Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Like what you read? Here are all my other works and consider following me! If you’re interested in this AU, here is the masterlist for all works in this AU so far.

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna x reader #reunited jjk au #reunited #jjk au #peanut! asks

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astaroth1357 · 1 year ago

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We Gotta Talk About Barbatos (And Kinda Solomon But This Ain't About Him)

SPOILERS for up to Chapter 16 of NB

These recent chapters have been giving us breadcrumbs about the pasts of both Barbatos and Solomon, the two of which seem to be deeply entwined. I have yet to make a post about Solomon's past (which gets twistier and twistier by the minute btw), but right now I just want to touch on my questions about Barbatos and... well. The hell is he up to?? I have one question that has been eating away at me the longer NB goes on and I think its answer could solve everything:

Is there only one Barbatos?

What I mean by this question is something along the lines of my Timeless!Barbatos idea from a while ago. Is there only Barbatos, i.e. is Barbatos a being that exists outside of the constraints of time? Is he like the controller/arbiter of time, but not subject to things like continuity himself? When he exists in a certain timeline, is that mirrored through every other timeline (i.e. multiple Barbatos that are spread throughout multiple branches) or is there ever only ONE. Just him. And he selects which timeline to inhabit?

I have this question because there are things about the Barbatos we interact with and hints dropped by others that Barbatos is, potentially, far, far older and far more powerful than I think we can actually grasp.

Thirteen's last point is the one that really makes me wonder, because if Barbatos really has such a broad ability to transcend time and space, then it would be a bit of a nightmare if there were a billion of him running around. Any random change makes a new timeline that makes a new Barbatos with those same godlike abilities until you're completely swamped in the man. Plus, Barbatos never gives us any indication that he speaks to or witnesses his past or future selves, even when he's manipulating things from sidelines...

If there is only one Barbatos, then 1. Little Dia managed to convince, like, the singularly most powerful being in the universe to play House with him, which is such a power move. And 2. That also means any interactions we have with Barbatos in this (or any) timeline cannot be replicated elsewhere. No matter how funky our time adventures get, that Barbatos remains a constant. Thus, NB Barbatos IS OM Barbatos. Probably just hijacked by Solomon to go to past. A past he was no longer present in, because he exists in a continuous state of "present" (his presence is instantly erased from past and he doesn't appear in the future).

And for a being THAT powerful, you really have to wonder...

How much has he changed...?

In Chapter 16, we learn why Beel went berserk and destroyed the Castle. He was triggered by Lucifer explaining a banshee's scream. In OM canon, two kinds of people can hear these screams: those who will die or have a loved one who will die soon and those who have heard it before.

Beel heard a banshee scream in the human world before the War and internalized it as the warning that Lilith was going to die. Naturally, he thinks that if he had told Lucifer then he may have changed his mind but Satan drops this bombshell on us.

A baneshee's warning is supposed to predetermine time. According to Satan, Lilith was alway going to die. But we have a problem here...

Lilith just. Is not dead. Like. Canonically in both the OG title and in NB, Lilith survives the War. So... what gives??

Beel can hear a banshee scream and nobody else can. There's no question that someone was supposed to die. Which only leaves three options:

1. Lilith is dead. Even as a human, she perished.

2. Lilith was never made human... Someone lied to Lucifer and she's actually dead.

3. Barbatos fucked with time to save Lilith.

Option 1 would be pretty lackluster, all things considered. Though it would be a little darkly humorous if Lilith fought and survived in a Celestial War, then got hit by a car one year later or something.

Option 2 would be... so fucked up. But could also shed some light onto Diavolo's guilt about taking in the brothers. Like, imagine if he knew that nothing could be done for Lilith and still tricked Lucifer into eternal service anyway knowing that he could never check his bluff. That would be downright diabolical... and out of character, so I don't think that's the case. (Though, I could see Barbatos lying about it if it gave Diavolo Lucifer's loyalty in the end.)

But Option 3... I think that's actually spine-chilling. Imagine if Diavolo ordered Barbatos to find some way to twist time to save Lilith. And not just spare her life, but to somehow turn her human. That means that we're already playing the events of an altered timeline.

Now combine this idea with our Singular Barbatos theory. If there is one Barbatos, then this is the only timeline where he currently resides. If Barbatos wasn't in THIS timeline, Lilith would be dead. In every other timeline, Lilith is dead. And if OM keeps the detail about MC's lineage, then MC NEVER GETS TO EXIST. They can only be alive in THIS BRANCH OF TIME. There are no other MCs. Just the one (and the corpse that got phased out of being, but we don't talk about them). And this could explain why MC's very existence would be so important to a time-travel being like Nightbringer. There's only one MC to use.

Now, since MC is so powerful (possibly as being that is an aberration in time) it makes me wonder a whole lot more about where someone as powerful Solomon actually came from... How much meddling as Barbatos really done here? If... it was even Barbatos at all. 👀 (Speculation for another day)

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me nightbringer spoilers #obey me nightbringer theories #obey me nightbringer #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me thirteen #omn spoilers #omnb spoilers #omnb barbatos #omn barbatos

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666writingcafe · 4 months ago

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Banshee

Hearing faint noise coming from within the House of Lamentation as I approach the front door is nothing new. At least one of the brothers is in the middle of doing something loudly whenever I arrive, and depending on what it is, I either help them out or stop them before they go too far.

That, however, doesn't prepare me for the continuous high-pitched wailing that assaults my ears the minute I open the door. If it weren't for Beel running outside and slamming the door behind him seconds later, I'm sure my eardrums would have burst and began bleeding. Whatever it is, it's that loud.

He puts his back against the door, trying to catch his breath. Once he's composed, I ask him,

"What the hell is going on in there? Why is someone yelling at the top of their lungs?" The shock is evident in his eyes as he glances over at me.

"You can hear it too?" Well, this isn't good. Either we've both gone completely mad, or the thing in question is specifically targeting the two of us.

"Of course I can. My ears are still ringing from all the screaming." Beel sighs in relief.

"Thank Father...I thought I was going crazy. The others certainly look at me that way. I'm sure once they figure out that I'm no longer inside, they're going to start freaking out and worrying that I'm on another rampage, but that honestly isn't my intention. I just was going to run as far away from it as I could."

"Would a long walk be enough? I'm not nearly as fast as you are, plus it'll give us a chance to talk more about what happened, if that's something you feel like doing." Beel nods his head, and I extend my hand out to him as we walk away from the House.

~~~

We end up sitting on a park bench in a secluded corner of one of my favorite parks in the Devildom. It's relatively unknown, so not many people frequent it, and this particular area is partially hidden by some thick foliage. All in all, a near perfect place to have a private conversation without someone eavesdropping.

"So, let's start from the beginning," I instruct Beel. "What events led to someone shrieking like that?" He sighs.

"My brothers were coming up with ideas to prank Lucifer. He's spending the afternoon at the castle, you see, and they figured they could do something before you were supposed to arrive."

"So, basically take advantage of the lack of adult supervision." He snorts in amusement.

"Pretty much, yeah. You and Lucifer are the two responsible ones. The rest of us give in to temptation far too easily." Lucifer does too, but Beel doesn't need to know that. The shenanigans his brother gets up to when he thinks no one is watching him aren't exactly pertinent to this conversation.

"Anyway, Satan suggested summoning a Hellfire Salamander in Lucifer's room, and I knew I wanted no part of it," Beel continues. "Those things make dragons look tame in comparison. If one set something of Lucifer's on fire..."

"You didn't want to be on the hook for it," I reply.

"Exactly. So, as everyone else ventured to his room, I decided to head towards the kitchen. I was feeling a bit peckish anyway, but also I knew I wouldn't get in nearly as much trouble if I got caught rummaging through the fridge."

"Makes sense."

"Unfortunately, right when I figured out something to eat, I heard this awful scream. Instead of summoning a Hellfire Salamander, they accidentally brought a banshee inside the House." Beel pauses. "That's what set me off the first time, when you found me in the colosseum. Diavolo had gifted Lucifer a record of a banshee's song, and he asked if he could have it played during dinner. Most people would only hear melodic wailing. I heard and felt its pain, and it overwhelmed me, especially since it reminded me of..." He trails off as he closes his eyes and begins taking deep breaths, tears threatening to spill.

There are two types of people that can hear a banshee scream: those about to die, and those close to individuals on the brink of death. If you remain alive afterwards, you're forced to listen to their every wail and shriek for the rest of your life. To say that it's unpleasant would be quite the understatement.

It doesn't explain how I can hear it, though. Perhaps getting Beel to talk about his experience will help me figure that out.

"Reminded you of what?" I gently prompt. Understandably, he takes a while to respond. For one, it must have been a pretty traumatic event if it's making Beel this upset, but also he and I aren't as close here as we are in my timeline. In fact, I think this is the most he's ever spoken to me since I've arrived.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me--"

"It's not that," Beel interrupts, opening his eyes again. "If anyone could understand, it's you, and I'm sure talking about it will help me feel a bit better. It's just...I haven't shared this before, not even to my brothers."

"I can keep a secret." He softly smiles.

"I know." Another deep breath, then,

"The first time I heard a banshee's cry was in the human world. Michael had sent me there to complete a task. I forget what it was, but at this point it really doesn't matter. All I know is that on my way back to the portal, the banshee began screaming. It scared me so much that I ran in the opposite direction of the portal and ended up getting lost, causing me to return to the Celestial Realm much later than I was supposed to. I wasn't even allowed to explain myself; both Michael and Raphael took turns reprimanding me. I think that might have been the last straw for Lucifer, because the next day marked the start of the war." Momentary silence.

"There should be eight of us down here, not seven," Beel quietly adds. "We lost our sister in the fray. She and Belphie were both in a precarious position, and I only had time to save one of them." A couple tears fall from his eyes.

"I know that by the time I heard the scream that it was too late to change her future, but there's a part of me that feels like I could have prevented her from dying. I miss her dearly. I can't even sleep some nights because the memory plays in my head over and over again, and I...I..." I hug Beel as he begins sobbing uncontrollably.

I wonder...

Of course. It makes sense. If Lilith's memory of her death rests somewhere in my subconscious, then it's possible that other memories of hers do, too.

Like one of a banshee's scream.

I'm sure that if I ask nicely enough, I can get Lucifer to destroy that record. If he wants to hear it that badly, I'm sure there's audio of it on the internet that he can listen to with headphones. But I don't want Beel to suffer unnecessarily, and I don't think Lucifer does, either.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @interconnectedmatrix

#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me mc #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me lilith #so this is actually the second time i'm typing this out #my laptop died the first time before i was able to save the draft #so i had to start from scratch

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cyren-myadd · 4 months ago

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Let's talk about the first look at Avatar 3 (pt 2)

🚨SPOILER WARNING FOR AVATAR 3!🚨

Next up, I want to talk about the next two images I saw from D23: Neytiri riding on her ikran, and the sky ship.

You can read my post discussing Varang and the Ash People here.

In the first image, we see Neytiri flying at night on her banshee, with what appears to be several large flying ships behind her, and in the second image, we have a clearer shot of the "sky ship" in daylight.

The ships are clearly Na'vi-made, since we see the natural weaving pattern and no metal. They have a large sail-like structure on top, and behind Neytiri we see a flying stingray-like creature that appears to be harnessed to the sky ship and pulling it along.

This was really exciting for me to see because I never imagined we'd see the Na'vi creating actual flying vehicles rather than just riding on the backs of flying animals. Most interestingly, even though these sky ships are more complex technology than anything we've seen from the Na'vi before, they appear not to break any of the laws of Eywa. They don't appear to be made of stone or metal, and they don't use wheels. I really like seeing this because I hate that one theory that Eywa intentionally keeps the Na'vi from technologically advancing out of some malevolent goal. Eywa doesn't have any problem with technological advancements, she only prohibits things that would harm the balance of nature, like mining metal and tearing down the forest to build roads for wheeled vehicles.

I believe that these sky ships belong to the Windtrader clan James Cameron has hinted at. These ships look pretty different from anything we've seen from the Ash People, plus Neytiri is flying alongside them like they're allies. It would also make sense based on the name for people called "windtraders" to fly through the sky using the wind and also have large ships capable of carrying material to trade with other clans. I can't wait to see what a windtrader Na'vi looks like and if they have unique adaptations to set them apart from other clans! Perhaps they would be smaller in order to be lighter on the ships and have bigger lungs to process oxygen at such high altitudes.

Now to talk about the sky ship itself, it appears to have three main components: the cabin, the steed, and the sail. The cabin is the woven part of it that is the actual ship where the Na'vi would ride and store their goods. The steed is that stingray looking creature behind Neytiri that looks like it's harnessed to the cabin and pulling it through the air. I would really like an in-universe explanation for how in that giant stingray thing is flying. It looks HUGE, maybe a little over half as long as tulkun. I know Pandora has lower gravity and a thicker atmosphere, so the physics are different, but come on that things has to weigh a hundred tons! They better have a sci-fi explanation for how that big thing flies. And if you look closely, there seems to be a na'vi riding on it's back, implying it has kurus to plug into up there. From what I can see of its back, it looks blue with white spots, kind of like a whale shark.

The last part of the ship is the large sail-like structure that appears to be keeping the whole contraption buoyant. I saw folks on the r/Avatar subreddit speculating about what it is, and I believe they had the right idea when they guessed it was a Medusa.

The medusa is a giant, flying jellyfish-like creature that James Cameron dreamed up many years ago. Here are some old concept arts for it, and as you can see, they look quite different. Cameron never settled on a final design for this creature, just that it was a flying carnivorous jellyfish. He wanted to include it in the Avatar universe, but never had the chance to. He recently said in an interview a few months ago that Avatar 3 would finally include his alien creation, but he didn't say how. Since the Na'vi would lack the ability to create hot air balloons or zeppelins like humans, I believe the windtraders are using a creature from their environment to lift their ships, and that creature is the medusa, given a final design by James Cameron and his creative team. The sails are a pale purplish membrane like in the concept art, and if you look directly behind Neytiri's head, there seem to be tentacles hanging down from the ship, implying it is a medusa.

So it seems to me like the windtraders weave their boats out of the same material that maruis (Na'vi homes) are made from, then they attach it to a medusa to lift it into the air, and then they harness it to a flyinf stingray to pulls the boat where they want to go. The windtraders must be super smart to come up with all this! I cannot wait to see it in action!

And the way Neytiri is flying with them gives me the vibe that she and Jake have been reaching out to other clans to join the fight against the RDA and the windtraders agreed to team up with them and now they're flying off on a mission together!

What do you guys think of all this? Did I miss anything?

#avatar #avatar 3 #avatar fire and ash #windtraders #neytiri sully #neytiri #cyren myadd theorizes #avatar spoilers #spoilers

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sgiandubh · 5 months ago

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Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

This is the second nasty Anon reaching these serene shores, ever since Kissgate started, last Wednesday:

The form of life sending it is now blocked. Not that she hasn't a choice to make several other sock accounts - of which I have been blocking an inordinate amount, these last weeks, by the way. And since she probably will do so, here is my answer:

What else have I got? Evidence of your desperate fear, Pumpkin. I mean, how bad things must look now, for you folks to shamelessly write that C was a 'clearly intoxicated woman'? Is it me, or your stupidity showed itself ready to throw The Goddess Herself under the bus, just in order to save face?

You are so desperate and shaken, that you don't even bother to disguise the particular corner where WHY is the Operative Word of the Day, for lack of any other sort of arguments. This is ALL the Screeching Banshees have to offer you in terms of a debate and it was always both funny and arresting to read. This and endlessly discussing OLD, FUCKING OLD marathon pictures nobody gives a supersonic fuck about, anymore. I thought you berated shippers for doing the same and yet...? Oooh. Oooh. It's not embarrassing if it happens in your corner. Gotcha. #Silly me. Won't happen again.

The same corner where these surreal comments have been posted, by the way:

I have no idea who that woman is, but (based on what she writes above) she is a tragic piece of work. I mean, you eat and drink with people you consider your friends, then you suddenly decide, one fine day, to bullshit them all over the dashboard. Frankly, now: what did you expect? Sunshine, lollipops and roses? Are you for real, even? And now you victimize yourself, surely a mature woman & a community pillar on your own right (your choice of words is very informative), that you are 'unable to read their blogs'? Oh, FFS, such a cheap eyeroll, right there. Just where are we? In a Uni dorm, trading gossip? Sweet Lord on a motorbike, get a grip, lady!

The thought of educated women collectively sharing some beliefs didn't even give her pause. It should have. At this point in time, this is cognitive dissonance, at its finest. Plus hey, weren't we STUPID, STUPID, STUPID? Huh? I find it extraordinary we suddenly aren't, anymore.

Back to you, Anon. I can feel the anger and see those trembling fingers on the screen of your phone. What a nice Freudian slip, right here: '5 years IF legal marriage'. Besides a sheet of paper, root canal smiles and pulse grabbing, what else ya got?

#anon #fandom #shitshow #TS Edinburgh 2024

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rei-ismyname · 2 days ago

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Magneto's very specific revenge

After Mags is resurrected by Eric the Red (long story,) he is fuming about the X-Men and has plans for them. They're busy being overpowered by Mesmero, however, so he tracks them down.

Swole Magneto

Mags strolls in and defeats Mesmero off panel, because he's a chump and Magneto is not. He wipes the floor with the X-Men, including full power Phoenix, then laughs maniacally. Classic Mags. Notably, he looks far more physically capable and intimidating than he has before. He's ripped, he's confident, and in seconds he solo'd a foe the entire team was struggling with. Silver Age Magneto was cowardly and relied on abused lackeys to carry out his schemes, often fleeing as soon as he was in danger. That guy is gone and in his place is an antagonist who's brave, extremely intelligent, capable, and a almost insurmountable threat. He's still fantastically dramatic, but his histrionics owe more to Shakespeare than Snidely Whiplash.

Turns out he's really not happy about Chuck and Moira's baby tampering, nor his previous defeats at the X-Men's hands (or the Alpha thing backfiring.) He takes them all to one of his volcano bases, restrains and depowers them. He Then Magneto explains the specific revenge he has in mind for the perennial thorn in his side that is the X-Men. It's complicated and cruel but utterly terrifying.

They're to remain without powers, restrained and regressed to the physicality of 6 month olds. He constructed a saccharine-sweet Nanny robot to be their carer and their jailer. 'An eye for an eye' he ominously decrees. I kinda wish he did this to Chuck instead, but he's off banging the bird queen in Greece.

His immediate thirst for vengeance quenched, Mags leaves them to it and flies into space - to the nearly complete base known as Asteroid M. Where old Magneto hung out in a depressing lair with his terrified underlings, this Magneto has the power to reach space without technology, and the skills/resources to establish an asteroid base - a throne above the Earth.

Making the robot look like Moira is so funny

The X-Men are utterly in his power, with a creepy robot assigned to keep them alive and miserable. They fucking hate it, understandably. Unable to move, completely dependent on this awful automaton for their basic needs. Wolverine starts to crack. Cyclops maybe likes it a little - I don't see anyone else getting a bath and massage.

The extent of Wolverine's pain is visceral and existetially horrifying - he gets desperate quite quickly, his usual bravado shattered. Banshee and Nightcrawler seem to be doing a bit better, but Logan is not used to being helpless (plus his years of medical trauma haunt him.)

Days pass, and Ororo has a plan to escape this hell. Drawing on her upbringing as a thief (and the dubious claim of having the physicality of a child at 6 months old,) she finally gets her lockpicks out of her hair and attempts the near impossible.

After a short flashback to Achmed and the Houdini tests he put Ororo through, there's a brief hope spot where it looks like she'll succeed. Unfortunately Nanny returns, notices, and Storm is undone. She does not take it well. Of course, this is particularly sadistic torture, so who would?

Meanwhile, on Asteroid M, Mags thinks about how much of a rich genius he is (and to be fair his accomplishments are impressive, especially for a once-broke self taught evil scientist.) Magneto's interest in learning, especially science, is highlighted. His thoughts also drift to his beloved Magda, his former wife and mother to Pietro, Wanda, and Anya. He's not doing great, and torturing the X-Men isn't making him as happy as he expected. Despite his shitty actions, the seeds of Well-intentioned extremist with pathos Magneto are being sown.

Mags notices some aberrant readings on one of his many machines, and thinks that Nanny should have sorted that out. Better safe than sorry. The escaped X-Men unleash on him but while they're doing better than last time, the best they can achieve is forcing a stalemate of sorts but Magneto takes their best again and does not fall.

Continuing the theme of Phoenix power being a double edged sword, she inadvertently destroys a control panel during the fight. As everyone knows, a destroyed control panel is the Achilles Heel of any evil base and it starts crumbling/blowing up. Magneto manages to escape in the nick of time and learns the value of redundancy in data storage. After a dramatic speech he bounces to do more Magneto shit, figuring on balance he came out ahead. His volcano base and the data/gadgets within are no more, but so are the X-Men. Nobody remains to foil his plans, or do they?

Obviously they survived, but they're split up for nearly a year. Cyclops and Marvel Girl each think the other is dead, a dynamic that powered so much of the drama all the way to the Dark Phoenix saga. Magneto is back, better than ever, and he's here to stay. His actions will change how the entire world behaves while he starts a journey of his own. I believe this is the first time we see him shirtless too, setting up that he's attractive and loves being naked.

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elthecreator · 1 year ago

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Club Banshee

Ellie Williams x black! Reader

a/n: First fanfic I hope you enjoy it my loves<3. Also if you are not black you can still read it too lmfao. This is just for my black girls. In the future I will do more poc so everyone can feel included.

I also recommend you listen to the song above as you read this cause 😮‍💨. This shit took me 4 days and 4 nights. The word count is too damn many.

Warnings: SMUT! Very Rough and aggressive sex, Oral, Slight spanking, Mean ellie!, dom ellie, bottom r!, submissive r!, begging, praising "good girl", intense teasing, build up. joel and ellie fluff. r! and ellie fluff WLW.

It was one of those nights again. Those nights where you would just so do anything to get some shit off your mind. For ellie it was one of those nights, her and joel had a huge fight earlier. Once again the two fighting because they both loved each other. But tonight.. Ellie said some things she shouldn’t have. She ended up storming out of the house, not really having a ‘plan’ of where to go in that moment. But the guilt was eating her up. No amount of alcohol could get her mind away from their fight. So after about a concerning amount of beers, she stumbles into a strip club.

“Club Banshee” it was titled in bright purple neon strobe lights, at the top of the building. As soon as she walked in she saw a bunch of people. Although, It was 1 am on a Thursday night so of course there were a bunch of people. Female and Male. 99% of those males are married of course. The creep looking types, type of dudes with a wife and three kids. Not surprised though. A bunch of neon green and purple lights surrounded the area.

Making Ellie feel even more tipsy.

Girls danced up on the silver poles on the stage. Revealing outfits, heels and the smell of perfume and alcohol mixed. The dudes tipping the girls on the stage. Ellie sat at a bar nearby, unzipping her jacket. She wore a navy dark blue hoodie underneath her grey jacket, and her classic rough fabric jeans. Letting out a frustrated sigh before ordering more beer. While waiting she glanced at the stage.

Sleek bodies dancing scandalously on the stage. Such seductive creatures....it made between her legs start to throb. Trying to ignore her urges her beer finally came. A girl with short maroon fluffy hair and sharp winged eyeliner served her the beer.

"So why are you here tonight?" She asked curiously to the drunken ellie. Trying to make conversation as she wiped the bar island down.

"Actually, let me guess. Your husband is not pleasing you? Oh! divorcing? Or an alcoholic?" She said immediately trying to estimate why she was here.

Ellie chuckled lightly as she took a sip of her beer bottle. Now sarcastically questioning. "Do I look like I have a husband?" She said looking back at the waitress, one of her eyebrows raised slightly.

"..No not at all" She said chuckling a little back. "My apologies, that's all we get around here. It makes it a guessing game now you know? Plus..I may have had too many to drink." She said snickering

"So, why are you here then? I can't think of any other reason?"

She asked again curiously.

Ellie took a sip of her beer before replying. "Sometimes you want to take shit off your mind."

"Oh..yeah I know what you mean." She said nodding her head looking and listening to her.

Ellie nodded her head back at her. Letting out another frustrated sigh. The waitress now spoke again as she noticed Ellies frustration.

"You know, their having a show tonight? One of the solos. You should stay.. relax. Sometimes if your lucky enough some of the girls will let you take them home." She said winking at Ellie. Now walking away to go wash some glasses.

The drunken Ellie sat there reasoning about what the lady said.

Taking another sip of her beer, getting up from the stool. Leaving a twenty dollar tip for how generous the waitress was. Approaching a seat to watch the stage. Beer bottle in hand. Sitting down on the velvet seat man spreading in front of the stage, brushing a piece of her brown hair behind her ear. It had came out her half up half down usual style. The lights started to get a little dim as the two girls on the stage made way for another. One on each side as another one came from behind the curtain filled the middle of the stage.

There you were. Your curly afro that sat up perfectly. Silk soft dark brown curls. You reeked of oils and incense. Sweet scents.. the type of scent you smell once and never smell again. Pretty and polished. Your natural curves..your slender arms. Your tiny waist and wide hips. Eye candy to all around you. Putting everyone in a trance as you walked on stage. In your black corset with silk red ribbons. Your tiny black skirt stopping mid thigh. Red platformed heels with more red silk ribbon that wrapped around both your ankles matching your corset. Your boobs perfectly popped out your corset. Your mocha brown skin shimmering in the strobe light. Starting to now swerve and sway around the sleek silver pole. So carefully..so slow you turned. Mysterious and alluring you were on that stage. There was just.. something about you. You were different than all the other girls on those poles. You didn't give it all away. You didn't immediately throw yourself at these women and men. You weren't so desperate. Thats what made you so seductive. Alluring..everyone wandered about you. Not being able to keep their eyes away. You took your time on that pole. Curves all in the right place..arching your back perfectly when needed. Everyone was under your spell. All. Eyes. On. You.

Ellie was fucking bricked. Watching you as you made your entrance. Arching your back on the pole. Dropping down to your ankles slowly..swaying around the pole. All so slowly. The sound of your heels clicking after each sway made her throb. The song in the background playing as you trapped everyone in. Bathroom by Montell Fish. She couldn't keep her damn eyes off you. Manspreading in the seat as she took a sip from her beer bottle. Feel the heat between her legs get intense. Everyone around the room watched you. You weren't even seen as just sex appeal or a sexual object. Everyone was admiring your beauty. Your long legs..your silk curls. Admiring your presence. Especially Ellie. Her eyes continued to trail on you throughout your whole solo. Eventually the other girls on the side of the stage had left. It was just you. All eyes on you. She was arroused and mesmerized by your performance. Every so often you would glance back at her too. The tension in the room getting hotter.

Your performance had now ended. The lights starting to come back on. Everyone around you clapping and whistling loudly. Ellie was clapping too. Ellie went back to the bar for now, unable to get you off her mind. Drinking yet another beer. When you came out from backstage heading over to the bar. Sitting right beside her on one of the stools at the bar island. Wearing a big coat over your scandalously revealing outfit.

“Can I get two margaritas? Please?” You say in your sweet sounding tone. A little raspy and a little pitched. Perfect. Ellie glanced over at you over a split second, surprised to see you here.

You and the waitress talked a little bit, the waitress obviously knowing most of the strippers here. But Ellie could tell you two were a little closer. Ellie stayed quiet, sipping her beer. Until when you and the waitresses were done with your conversation. You looked over at Ellie with a bright welcoming smile.

“Hey, you were watching my show right?” You said looking over at Ellie.

Ellie looked back at her. “Oh, yeah I was. Your pretty good.” She said a little froze up. Caught off guard you would speak to her.

“Thanks.” You replied smiling.

“Why are you here tonight?” You said trying to maintain conversation. Taking a sip of your margarita.

“I’m here because I’m a dick.” She exclaimed frustratingly.

“..you’re not a dick.” You said looking over at her with a concern look on your face.

She chuckled a little before looking over to you. “Baby you don’t even know me.” She responded.

“I know that we all make mistakes. We all say things we don’t mean in the moment.” You said looking back at her. Taking another sip of your margarita.

“I guess. It’s just irritating …fighting with someone because you love them so much.”

She expressed breathing out.

Taking a few seconds to respond before asking. “Girlfriend?” You asked curiously. But also knowing what you were doing.

Ellie snickered at the question. “That obvious?” She was referring to herself looking so much like a lesbian.

“A little.” You said laughing with her.

Ellie smiled slightly. “No, not a girl. My dad.”

You were nodding trying to relate.

Your boobs sat up perfectly in your corset. All pushed up and shimmery looking from the glitter.

Ellie couldn’t help but stare at them. Wondering what they would look like without that stupid corset. This is when the tension started to rise. Your voice brought her back into reality, she’s was trapped in her dirty thoughts.

“Doesn’t mean..it’s a bad thing.” You said referring to the girlfriend comment you made earlier. Quick to look away.

“Oh?. Care to elaborate?” She said said with a slight smirk on her face as she took another sip from her beer. Intrigued, in what you meant.

“You know what I mean.” You said chuckling lightly. Flustered even. Starting to obviously flirt with her. Seeing if she would do the same.

“If you think I’m attractive just say that.” She said halfway joking like she usually does. That smug smirk still on her face.

“Don’t get too cocky miss.” You said teasing her.

“I’m not cocky if it’s the truth. You aren’t bad looking yourself.” She expressed as she looked at you. Couldn’t stop staring at your boobs pushed up against your corset. Feeling herself began to have that ‘throbbing’ feeling she had when watching you on that pole again.

You grinned. Mocking her. “Care to elaborate?”

You said proudly.

She laughed. From there on the two of you talked and flirted all night. Talked about sentimental topics, Ellie even told you about Joel. You told her about you and your journeys as she did the same. The both of you clicked, she got to know you as a person a little bit not just seeing you for your body. The waitress poured the two of you drinks all night long. Only making Ellie wanna talk to you more.

The club started to close and so did the bar. You were putting on your coat getting ready to go suddenly when Ellie stopped you.

“Hey I uh..forgot to give this to you earlier.”

She muttered as she stopped you. Handing you twenty dollars.

“You were pretty good up there. That’s all I brought right now I was extremely drunk.” She complained, face palming herself gently.

You smiled brightly in Awe. “Thank you miss?”

You questioned realizing you hadn’t got her name.

“Ellie.” She replied smiling. “And you are?” She questioned back at you.

“Y/N”

The both of you talked so much and we’re wrapped so much in conversation you forgot to get one another’s name.

“Hey um. You know you could come to my place? Just to.. ‘talk’.. I’m pretty sure Joel’s asleep.” She nervously asked.

"I would love to." You replied. Trying not to seem too excited.

Soon enough the both of you arrived at Ellie’s house. Joel was in fact asleep, Ellie stood in the doorway of his bedroom watching him for a moment. Still feeling a little guilt. Walking over to his bed tucking him in comfortably as he slept. Walking out of the room quietly closing the door. Going back to meet you in her room. She had band posters all over her walls. AC DC, Nirvana, Korn, Slipknot, Paramore, and Rob Zombie. You name it and it was there. She had a guitar in the corner with a huge bean bag. She closed the door behind her when coming back in, approaching you taking off your big coat. You stood there in your black corset with red ribbons. Sitting down in the bean bag. Looking around the room curiously with your eyes.

"You have good taste in music." You said smirking at her from across the room.

"Thanks. Rocks my favorite genre." Ellie added to your comment, smiling back at you as she made her bed. "You want anything? Thirsty? Hungry?" She said glancing over to you. Wanting to make sure you were alright.

"I'm alright, thanks for asking." You expressed. Liking how she cared.

From this point forward, Ellie couldn't stop her disgusting thoughts. Your skirt was too short. Stopping at your mid-thigh, she swore she could see your black laced panties from across the room. Your breast kept pushing up further against your corset. Driving her fucking insane. All of it was driving her insane. Your scent in the air of her bedroom, smelling like fresh Lavendar or baby oil. She could feel herself throbbing. Wanting to just devour you right there on that damn bean bag while Joel was asleep.

She wasn't the only one aching in that moment, you kept crossing your legs while sitting down. Hoping to stop your ache between your legs. Fuck, her hands. Her fucking hands. The tattoo that went down her arm. The muscles in her fingers, how she looked like she could pick you up with one hand. The constant serious look in her face like she has killed 100 men.

Her stupid hair that drove you nuts. Or her musk. Smelling like fresh rain and alcohol. Or her stance, that damn stance she would sit in. Man spreading every time she sat down. The way she drank that beer. She was driving you to the edge. The both of you yearning for one another hungrily. Ellie sat on the bed on the other side of the room. Attempting her best not to look at you, scrolling on her phone.

You made up your mind. Abruptly walking over to her. Immediately straddling yourself on her lap instantly starting to kiss her aggressively. With no warning whatsoever. She reacted just as quick as you did, throwing her phone to the side of the bed instantly. Grabbing your hips as she kissed you back. You grinded yourself roughly against her crotch. The rough fabric of her jeans rubbing on your thighs. Ellie was completely caught off guard, but boy did she follow your lead. She grinded up into you as the two of you continued to suck faces. Dry humping each other on her bed. Her tongue exploring your mouth as she started to grab your fat ass. She groaned feeling your ass against her crotch. She started to go for your neck, aggressively pecking at it. It was like she couldn’t wait to get her fucking grimy hands on you. Leaving marks all down your neck, trails of them down to your breast. You whimpered trembling as she cupped your breast. Immediately kissing them in your corset. Your fingers twirled around her hair as she continued to leave marks on you. You breathed out into her ear. Groaning quietly. She held you up on her lap with her hands on your hips for support.

“Take this shit off.” Ellie demanded. Hungrily attempting to take it off of you. You helped her take it off. Your breasts now exposed to the cool air. She stared at them for a moment, her face an inch away from your brown nipples.

“Your fucking beautiful.” She exclaimed looking up at you. Her words caressed your heart, making you feel like the most perfect woman on planet earth right now. After her encouraging words, like a shot she started going on an absolute rampage on your boobs. Burying her face in them, sucking hard. The sounds of her slurping and sucking filled the room. So did your soft moans. “..fuck..Ellie..”’ A chorus of those exact words. She was so aggressive with it. Your nipples were already hard she just made them grow harder in her mouth. Your clit throbbed inside your panties. Sleek liquids began to slip out your pussy. Ellie groaned as she sucked on your breasts. She had waited all night to do this. Clearly. She came back up to kiss you deeply. Aggressively. Like she couldn't get enough. You were intoxicating, and she was going to make sure you knew that. Hostilely tearing your skirt off you. Lying flat on your back on the bed, she crawled on top of you. Spreading your legs wide for her. Slithering her hand down your stomach between your legs. Rubbing your swollen clit.

"Fuck. Right there." You expressed, your lips pressed against her ear.

She pushed one finger inside of you while rubbing your clit.

"Fuck your so wet for me.." She groaned during the process of pleasuring you. Your soft moans filled the room, the both of you trying to do all of this without waking Joel who was just down the hall. Ellie leaned on the side of you, her face buried in your neck while she stretches you out. "Such a pretty pussy." She whispered against your neck. "..mmmm....fuuckkk." You groaned.

"You think you can take two fingers baby?" She said exiting her finger out of you. You agreed obediently, she was being so gentle with you. For now. She slowly pushed both her fingers inside of you. You winced a little in pain. "Shh...I'm right here." She mumbled against your cheek. Slowly moving both her fingers in and out of your glistening pussy. As time passed she began to go faster. Thrusting her fingers in an ‘in out’ motion. You clutched on to the sleeve of her hoodie on her arm as time had go on. Throwing your head back and rolling your eyes in the back of your head from pleasure. She was stretching you out, perfectly. Making sure you were nice and ready for her cock. “Look at you taking my fingers so well. Good girl.” She purred looking at you beneath her. “Your legs spread open for me like a fucking slut.” She said bluntly in your ear as she continued to fuck you faster with her fingers.

“..fuck…” You whimpered in her ear.

She put an end to stretching you out, pinning you to to the bed before standing up.

“Don’t move.” She said glaring down at you on the bed. She was walking over to her dresser, clearly scouring for something. Meanwhile she was doing that, you quietly got up from the bed coming from behind her. After she specifically told you not to move your ass. She turned around feeling you behind her. “What did I say?” She spoke bluntly. You dropped to your knees starting to unbuckle her leather belt around her rough fabric jeans. Looking up at her from the ground.

“Let me make it up to you.” You said unbuckling her pants. Slowly pulling down her panties. She watched you from above looking down on you on your knees. She was aching hard. Your face inches away from her bare pussy. You started with a gently teasing lick on her outer lips. All while staring up at her. Ellie spreaded her legs more for you, giving you better access. That’s when you buried your face in her pussy. Sucking her clit and slurping her folds. A chorus of “mm..” sounds came from you as you ate her out. She held up your curly Afro for you so your hair didn’t get in the way. Throwing her head back grunting. “Fuck.” Ellie moaned bluntly. She was DRENCHED. So wet her juices were dripping down your chin. She had been soaked for you all night long. Your tongue swayed around her entrance. She was moaning more than she thought she would. Trying to cover her own mouth so she wouldn’t wake up Joel who happened to be down the hall.

“That’s right..fuck…make it up to me you filthy slut.” She groaned, pushing your head farther into her pussy. You could barely breathe, but you didn’t care and Ellie sure as hell didn’t.

She eventually let you up to breathe a little bit. You panted, your head against her leg breathing. “Now, go get on the bed.” She demanded watching you follow. Ellie found what she had been scouring for in the drawers. A pink strap on. 7.5 inches, 1.5 width. She walked over to the bed you were lying on. Taking off her shirt, now only in her sports bra. God. You watched her peel every piece of fabric off her body. Her toned stomach and thighs. Her muscular body. Fuck.

“Get on all fours.” She demanded watching you comply. You were in a doggy stance but held yourself up with your hands.

“Ah ah, no. Hands behind your back.” She demanded again. Such an uncomfortable position for you. But she didn’t seem to care. The pleasure was too much for you to even care. She started to put on the strap on. Ready to fuck your brains out. Using her knees to open your legs wider for her. “Arch your back some more for me baby.” Ellie whispered, you obeyed once again. Her sleek long cock started to enter you. You felt full already. Setting herself up behind you, her hands gripping your wide hips. She was starting to move. You let out breaths of relief feeling her start her rhythm. She held your hands in place behind your back. With the other hand she gripped your hip. “You have to stay quiet, we cannot wake up Joel.” She said kissing down your back, continuing her rhythmic movement behind your ass. “I make no promises.” You said teasingly grinning into the mattress. She grinded into your pussy. Your dark pinkish clit swelled up as she fucked you from behind. She kissed your neck a few times before coming back up to her stance. Warning you. “This is the last time im being gentle with you y/n.” You gulped quietly. “Do whatever you want with me.” You groaned. She grinned, her abdomen getting closer to your ass. Her nails digging in your hips, starting to fuck you hard. With no count down, no warning. She slammed into you repeatedly. The bed began to creak loudly. You could hear her grunt behind you.

"Fuck. Just like that..just like that. You whimpered into the mattress. She tightened her grip on your wrists. Continuously slamming into you. Your pussy swallowed her cock repeatedly. Your pussy growing wetter than earlier, Ellie being just as wet. Every time she slammed into you the strap on would grind into her pussy making her grunt each time. Wet sounds echoed in the room. A creaking bed moving every time Ellie did so. Your toned ass cheeks slapping against her abdomen. The sounds of your whimpering began to fill the room.

All you did was fuss. You wouldn’t shut up. Your face was buried so far into that fucking mattress you swear the patterns on it made indents on your cheek. “Face down, ass up.” Ellie ordered. You were starting to come out of your position because of how hard she was ramming into you. She held you in place with one hand. The other still on your hip. Her muscles flexing as she held you into place. “Please. I c-can’t. It’s too fucking much.” You muffledly whined with your head buried into the bed. “Thats too fucking bad isn’t it?” She said smirking, forcing you to take it. Take her cock. Take it all in. You started to come out of your position again. Noticing that she slapped your ass hostilely. So harsh you had a red hand mark on your ass. “Hold. Fucking. Still. What did I just say?.” She said slapping you again. Making you yelp in pain but pleasure. With no response from you she slapped you again. “What did I fucking say?!” She yelled trying not to wake up Joel. “..hold still.” You panted out. She continued to slam into you only harder this time. Wanting to teach you a lesson. You stayed in place, not daring to move anymore. The tension rose between you two. The bed creaking, the sweat, the uncomfortable position that also gave you so much pleasure. How rough she was with you. How the both of you still had to remain silent or you were going to wake up her dad. The adrenaline rush. All of it added to your pleasure. High off of sex. Your current mood.

“..gonna..cum soon.” You said nearly above a whisper. Your words broke into syllables due to her ramming behind you making you vibrate. “Mm..you cum when I do.” She whispered. Her voice raspy and low. She stopped for a moment. “..why did you stop…?” You said disappointed. “Shh.” She whispered, now leaning closer to your back. Grabbing on one of your boobs with one hand. The other keeping your wrists locked behind your back. “Don’t make a sound.” She breathed against your ear. Darting into you the fastest she could go. Too fast. Making you take the whole thing. She squeezed your boob as she continued to fuck you harder than she did before. It was like she was challenging you. Testing you to see how much you could take. How long you could stay quiet. She was trying to break you. It was like Ellie found pure joy in this. “Fuck!!” You cried out loudly. Loud enough your moans echoed Into the hall. After she specifically told you not to make a sound. You couldn’t help it, she unexpectedly darted into you with no warning whatsoever. She quickly covered your mouth, tightly. “You have to be quiet! Your going to wake up Joel.” She whispered in your ear as she fucked you. You couldn’t help but make sounds. Muffled cries filled the air. You could hear her grunting harder behind you. “Fuck.” She groaned. Your juices and cum slithered onto her strap. You were tearing up, the pleasure was too much. It was all too much for you. Ellie didn’t give a fuck. She was going to make you take it. She shoved her fingers in your mouth. Making you suck. You deep throated her fingers, sucking them. Tasting her flesh. Starting to choke she took them out. You were attempting to speak. Trying to tell her to stop. But all your words came out in whimpers and syllables. Not being able to form sentences. “I know baby I know.” She cooed softly in your ear. “Your being so good for me. Such a good girl.” She praised you. Ellie groaned in your ear. Starting to feel her climax reach it’s end. Your pussy was so slippery on her cock. Both of you throbbing to cum. “m’gonna cum.” She moaned softly against your neck. “God..you feel so fucking good y/n.” She said whining. The praise felt good. The both of you starting to go over the edge. Your highs going too far. “I’m gonna cum!” You cried into the mattress. “I’m right here baby. I’m right here.” She groaned still holding onto your right boob. Heaved breaths filled both of your ears. Feeding off of one another’s high. “Oh fuck!” She cried, reaching her climax as you did so too. Cumming into one another. Your cries were choked up. Eyes rolling into the back of your head. Her hand remaining over your mouth. Gasping for air as you came. Orgasming both of you together. Her strap was absolutely soaked. Your cum all over it her cum all over it. Sticky and warm. Ellie heaved in her breathing. Trying to catch her breath. She had let go of your wrist. Still laying on top of you. You panted heavily. Both of you coming down from your high. She flipped off of you to the other side of the bed. Taking off the strap throwing it on the floor. You remained beside her. Both of you heavily breathing, exhausted.

Heavily breathing in silence for a moment. Just staring up at the ceiling before she says.

“No man at that club has fucked you that good before, huh?.” She said chuckling. Cracking jokes after sex.

“Cocky.” You said chuckling. You were a little far from her. She patted a spot close beside her. You crawled over. Laying your head on her chest. You could hear her heavy breathing slowly come down. Her arm over your shoulder. Both of you naked. “That was amazing.” You said closing your eyes. Ellie smirked a little. “We should do it again some time.” She said looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah.” You agreed, starting to get up off the bed. About to put your shirt on before she stopped you. “Hey, where are you going?” She questioned you, sitting up. Watching you getting ready to leave. “I’m a stripper baby. I’m guessing that you want me to leave now.”

You said in a disappointed tone as you started to put your panties on. “I don’t want you to leave.” She said bluntly. You turned around to look at her surprised. “You don’t..?” You said stopping in your tracks. “No.” She voiced. Patting the same spot you had been in once before. You hesitatingly crawled up on the bed. Lying beside her with your head on her chest. Ellie tucked you in with her and the white/sage green mixed covers. She looked at you for a minute, analyzing your features. “May I touch your hair?.” She blurted out. Asking for permission before she touched your Afro. “Yes” you said with a smile. Butterflies in your stomach. It’s always good to ask to touch a black girls hair. She placed her slender fingers in your delicate dark curls. Your hair was thick. Smelling like rosemary oil and lavender. Your curls were a good inch down your back. Twirling her fingers around your strands. You spoke. “..usually everyone wants me to leave after….you know.” You said in a sour tone. “Well everyone should know your a human being with feelings too.” She expressed, still playing with your hair. You could feel your heart flutter. For once you felt like not just a ‘one night stand’. “How long have you and Joel been together..?” You said after some silence. Ellie chuckled a little. “Too long.” She said jokingly. The both of you snuggled up to one another’s warmth. In the covers. “That’s how me and my mom were.” You said closing your eyes.

“You two don’t talk anymore..?.” Ellie asked carefully. Not wanting to push your buttons or anything. “No. Not really. I miss her though. A lot.” You mumbled. Ellie stopped playing with your hair, pulling you closer to her. Both your nude bodies pressed together. Her chin on the top of your head. “You should call her. Trust me. I have my regrets.” She expressed. Staring into space. You nodded. Taking Ellie’s advice. The two of you laid there quietly. Worn out from your earlier events. “Ellie.” You called out. “..hm..?” she replied. Coming up to her eye level you pressed your lips on hers. Kissing her softly. Not out of sexual intention. Just wanted to kiss her. Affectionately. She kissed you back. Not expecting that. You cupped her face gently. The two of you kissing for quite some time before Ellie broke the kiss. “Hey, I was thinking. Maybe you and me..could get some coffee one day.” She said hesitantly. Clearly nervous about what you would say. You smiled warmly. Thinking her nervousness was adorable. “Are you asking me on a date?” You said teasing her. “Um..yea. Yes yes I suppose.” She said stammering her words. You chuckled. “I would love to.” You assured her. Kissing her face. She kissed you back smiling into your skin. Soon after, both of you fell asleep in each others arms.

The morning after. You remained asleep on her chest. Quietly breathing. Ellie slowly arose. The sun shining through the blinds brightly on the other side of her room. She watched you for a moment in ‘awe’. Before gently moving trying not to awake you. Making sure you laid your head comfortably on the bed. Tucking you in. She put on one of her hoodies from her drawer. Trying to clean up a little after last night. Leaving her room quietly closing the door behind her. Joel’s door was cracked, he wasn’t in the room. Ellie could smell breakfast. Sunny side up and orange juice. Quietly walking down the hall. Scratching the back of her neck nervously. Seeing Joel in the kitchen cooking. His back turned to Ellie, he was at the stove. “Morning.” He spoke broadly. “Morning.” Ellie replied. Silence filled the room. Joel broke the silence. “Where’d you go last night?” He asked curious. Now setting out plates on the counter. “Um, nowhere really. I was just walking in circles.” She said trying not to let him sense her lies. He nodded at that. The both of them didn’t say much. I don’t think the pair even knew exactly what to say. “Hey um Joel.” Ellie said slowly approaching him. “I wanted to apologize. ..for last night. I was being fucking selfish. I should have never said everything I had said. I didn’t mean any of-“ Joel cut her off. “I know kiddo.” He said turning to her. Smiling. Ellie looked hopeful. Looking up at Joel. Kinda of teary. Joel pulled Ellie into a hug. Rubbing her back gently. Ellie hugged him back tightly. The feeling of forgiveness and love was mutual. Joel broke the hug. “Now help me set out plates.” Ellie nodded at that. “She was setting out plates, but there were three?. Joel turned his back around again to finish the food before announcing.

“Oh, go wake up your girlfriend too before the food gets cold.” He hinted. Sounding like he was grinning while saying that sentence. Ellie was absolutely speechless. Just staring at Joel’s back with her mouth open. Before she could say anything he turned around saying. “Well we don’t have all day do we? Hurry the food is getting cold as we speak.”

Joel was truly the water to Ellie’s fire.

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