#the ground is level at the foot of the cross
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If it's alright, can I ask why you like the Golden Deer house more than the Blue Lions or Black Eagle houses? Like, what caught your eye about them over everyone else?
So I actually got into FE3H through a friend of mine, @dar-draws, who I already knew through mutual good taste (Dickkory), and fanarts like this one, this one, and this one plus the way she talked about Claude and Claudeleth caught my attention. I watched a couple playthroughs of the Golden Deer route on YouTube and absolutely fell in love (before finally getting a switch just to play it myself, for which I was violently bullied here). So like, I was already going into the game biased, which is part of why when I got it I went ahead and played through Golden Deer before doing all the other routes in turn; it was genuinely important to me to personally see all sides of the story. But even as I've played the other routes and replayed SS and AM and gained even more of an appreciation for them, I'm still always sort of drawn back to VW and the Deer.
I think it's ultimately vibes-based, but I'll try to articulate it. I'm not really a big fan of "cozy" sorts of games—I've played and enjoyed ACNH, but the things I most enjoyed about that game were finding things to do and goals to complete, like completing the main quest line or filling up the museum. So it's not so much that I find the Golden Deer to be cozy so much as adventurous. They're not inherently personally invested in the conflicts of White Clouds (they don't know Lord Lonato or Miklan, and their house leader isn't [gestures generally]), but they're also not just ping-ponging through the story. They go through the same events as the other two houses, but they're coming at it from more of an outsider's perspective, and their choice to get involved and react and respond feels more active.
The Deer also don't have any real reason to follow Claude, either, and in the early game they make sure he knows it; none of them are really all that concerned that they're speaking to the future Grand Duke of their country. Lysithea snaps at him, Leonie shoots the breeze with him, Raphael is jovial with him, Lorenz undercuts him, Hilda is blase with him, Marianne tries not to talk to him, and Ignatz gets into theological debates with him. Over the course of the game, they develop the same loyalty to Claude that the other house members already have for their leaders almost by default, and it feels a lot more earned because we see it happen. And that in turn makes scenes like the one at Myrddin, where Claude reveals his true goal of opening the border with Almyra and embracing foreign cultures and the other Deer are surprised but trust Claude and follow his lead, that much more satisfying.
I was a little surprised, when I played through the other three routes, that aside from the designated talking-with-the-cast scenes every route gets, the characters who aren't house leaders or retainers don't really have all that much to do in the story. On Verdant Wind, you pretty consistently have members of the Golden Deer appearing in other cutscenes and giving their two cents; there's even a unique scene where Lysithea realizes there's something up with the Empire's mages because of her backstory and approaches Claude and Byleth about it. It's nothing too obtrusive—they do still have to accommodate the potential for character death—but it's those small details that make a difference to me. Every house has a particular dynamic with odd silly quirks, but the Deer being just that little bit more integrated into the story really helps sell the idea that they belong here and they're making this story their own.
There's also the matter of where specifically their adventure takes them. I respect the choice to focus on Dimitri in Azure Moon, because it does handle his character and arc very well and I think also does the other Lions justice (with the exception of Dedue), but it's also focused largely on Dimitri's personal arc and the Tragedy of Duscur and doesn't really follow through on a lot of the events of White Clouds. (Which some Blue Lions stans have been okay with because they think the Agarthans are bad villains, which...that's valid, but stories still have to like, address plot elements they set up.) Verdant Wind, by contrast, does actually pull back and try to figure out the real impetus behind the whole conflict, and it ends with them beginning to properly lay Fodlan's true problems to rest.
So while the route isn't flawless and I do think there are issues with how characters are written that are part of larger trends within the game and the series as a whole, there's a very specific kind of fantasy adventure energy with the Golden Deer that I enjoy. I think the stories I'm most drawn to are the ones that keep their eyes on a specific goal but still make you feel like the characters would bring that same energy to goofing around with each other, and I think that's something Verdant Wind does very well.
#fe3h#golden deer#fe3h meta#asks#that reminds me i should really replay cindered shadows idk why i haven't#also reminds me. dar followed up that post a year later bc we both got a 3ds to play awakening to romance chrom#the ground is level at the foot of the cross
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we're dating? ♡
logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader
One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader
You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off.
The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you.
Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now.
You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day.
“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back.
Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore.
You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”
He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container.
“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”
Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile.
“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore.
“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself.
You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water.
“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches.
You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have.
“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now.
Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him.
You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you.
But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go.
You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him.
You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions.
You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction.
You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones.
You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”
I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode.
You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter.
He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional.
“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”
Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out.
You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control.
But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look.
“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”
You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”
Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”
“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”
His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you.
You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”
Only an idiot would say no.
You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up.
“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open.
“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others.
You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.
“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?”
“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him.
He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”
You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding.
He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike.
The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying.
By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd.
You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids.
Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you.
Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”
You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”
Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character.
Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”
“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button.
You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.
Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases.
You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff.
He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand.
“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest.
The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place.
Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out.
Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves.
You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”
He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper.
He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life.
His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.
He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”
“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths.
You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you.
You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around.
Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long.
It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon.
There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach.
You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love.
When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face.
“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on.
There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was.
You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated.
“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”
You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”
His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”
He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows.
Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.”
You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”
You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front.
There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention.
You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you.
It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks.
“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.”
You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”
He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out.
You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times.
He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?
You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”
“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”
You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up.
“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you.
You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.
He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself.
You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name.
He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain.
You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do.
He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours.
It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you.
You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other.
You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before.
You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped.
Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless.
You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”
He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”
Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”
Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”
You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”
He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”
You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long.
“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”
He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”
There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
dividers by @/thecutestgrotto
#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett#logan howlett imagine#x men#x men x you#deadpool and wolverine
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HURRICANE HELENE RELIEF
Since I'm incredibly anxious and very much annoyed, I'm compiling this post as a sort of master list of relief organizations and individual fundraisers for those in the path of Hurricane Helene.
Many of the links I post on this won't be individuals, but I encourage those within the path to add their links to this post in reblogs! Likewise, if you have any organizations / volunteer / grassroots efforts y'all would like to share, please do so!
LAST EDITED: 9/29/2024 - MAKE SURE TO CHECK REBLOGS FOR UPDATES!
My list is particularly focused on widely accessible resources, as well as Florida specific resources since... I'm from Florida.
(INTER)NATIONAL ORGANIZATIONS
American Red Cross - The American Red Cross is on the ground helping people as Hurricane Helene approaches land as a very dangerous storm. Helene may produce winds over 150 mph, a massive 20-foot-high storm surge and as much as a foot of rain. Prolonged power outages and tornadoes may occur. The effects will be felt hundreds of miles inland including in Georgia and the Carolinas.
FEMA Disaster Assistance Improvement Program - The Disaster Assistance Improvement Program’s (DAIP) mission is to provide disaster survivors with information, support, services, and a means to access and apply for disaster assistance through joint data-sharing efforts between federal, tribal, state, local, and private sector partners.
Roll Mobility - An application that equips wheelchair users with reliable information about the accessibility of restaurants, public spaces, businesses, trails, and parking areas. Good information to have on hand, especially for those evacuating from their home areas.
Warmline Directory - Providing extensive yet accessible resources that empower individuals to find the mental health and wellness resources they need through a directory containing accurate and in-depth information. For those unfamiliar: Unlike a crisis line, a warm line operator is unlikely to call the police or have someone locked up if they talk about suicidal or self-harming thoughts or behaviors. A good resource for individuals in mental distress due to natural disaster circumstances.
Food Not Bombs - Recovers food that would have been discarded and share it as a way of protesting war and poverty. They also reduce food waste and meet the direct need of communities by collecting discarded food, preparing vegan meals that they share with the hungry while providing literature about the need to change our society. Food Not Bombs also provides food to protesters and striking workers and organizes food relief after natural and political crisis.
Partnership for Inclusive Disaster Strategies - The Partnership for Inclusive Disaster Strategies (The Partnership) is the only U.S. disability-led, 501(c)(3) organization that prioritizes equity, access, disability rights, disability justice, and full inclusion of people with disabilities, older adults, and people with access and functional needs before, during and after disasters and emergencies.
FLORIDA
Volunteer Florida Disaster Fund - The Florida Disaster Fund is the State of Florida’s official private fund established to assist Florida’s communities as they respond to and recover during times of emergency or disaster. In partnership with the public sector, private sector and other non-governmental organizations, the Florida Disaster Fund supports response and recovery activities.
State and Local Level Referrals - When a disaster occurs, local governments often work together with community leaders and organizations to provide on-the-ground emergency management. Curated by FEMA. (Has 52 Organizations Listed)
GEORGIA
State and Local Level Referrals - When a disaster occurs, local governments often work together with community leaders and organizations to provide on-the-ground emergency management. Curated by FEMA. (Has 60 Organizations Listed)
TENNESSEE
State and Local Level Referrals - When a disaster occurs, local governments often work together with community leaders and organizations to provide on-the-ground emergency management. Curated by FEMA. (Has 49 Organizations Listed)
NORTH CAROLINA
State and Local Level Referrals - When a disaster occurs, local governments often work together with community leaders and organizations to provide on-the-ground emergency management. Curated by FEMA. (Has 45 Organizations Listed)
Beloved Asheville - A community-led coalition dedicated to providing home, healthy, equity, and opportunity for all.
Triangle NC - This links to another post I've made, but Triangle Mutual Aid is organizing supply drop offs as well as financial support.
SOUTH CAROLINA
State and Local Level Referrals - When a disaster occurs, local governments often work together with community leaders and organizations to provide on-the-ground emergency management. Curated by FEMA. (Has 44 Organizations Listed)
INDIVIDUAL FUNDRAISERS
Support a Resilient Family Seeking a New Home - LINK ; Tumblr @junpei-iori-ace-defective (Close Friend of the Affected) | Fundraiser Text Below:
My name is Adam. I'm not the best at this; I never thought I'd have to do this, but my family and I lost our home on September 26th due to the hurricane Helene here in Florida. No one in our area thought it would get bad, but we didn't have any rain. All of a sudden, the water rose, and by midnight, our home was flooded with three feet of water. I had to carry our pets to the neighbors and my disabled wife through five feet of water. Then, my elderly disabled mother and grandmother through the water. We lost all of our clothes and many of our belongings, and our landlord will be having us move out. We have nowhere to go, so today I'm asking for help from the kindness of the world. Anything can help. If I can get enough to get us into a new home, it would be a blessing. Thank you all, and God bless.
Help Rebuild Lives After Devastating Flash Flood - LINK ; Tumblr @undeadnecromancer (Close Friend of the Affected) | Fundraiser Text Below:
On September 27, after being trapped in a flash flood for 5 hours, my father, Jeffrey Fuller, and sister, Kayla Fuller, left with their lives ❤️ but lost everything else. My father had set his life up to be simple and enjoyable. He didn't have a lot extra, but he had everything he needed, and now all of that is gone. Unfortunately, he did not have flood insurance, and the older you get, the harder it is to bounce back from something like this. For a man who has always shown up for everyone he loves, he needs us to show up now. Please help my father rebuild.
If you have seen the video circulating around from Jeffrey Fuller where it looks like a river is going through his house and he ends it with a “Love you all,” you have seen what has brought on this devastation.
Hurricane Helene Aftermath Help - LINK ; Tumblr @moonenjoyer (Affected Individual) | Fundraiser Text Below:
Man I hate to do this but I'm in Valdosta, one of the cities hit the worse by Hurricane Helene. It's BAD here. In particular, there's no estimate of when we'll get power back. Word on the street is it could be a week or longer.
I work from home and going without power that long, I won't be making any money. Meanwhile my groceries are all spoiled in a fridge with no power and my car is on E. All the gas stations are down atm and when they're back up I KNOW gas prices are going to be crazy high because of all of this. In fact, EVERYTHING is going to be more expensive for a while because of this.
If you have anything to spare to help me with gas and groceries and just surviving this, I'd really appreciate it. If not, a reblog/share would mean a lot. Thank you ❤️
Save Nate and Amanda's First Home - Urgent Hurricane Needs - LINK ; Tumblr @luckyfirerabbit (Affected Individual) | Fundraiser Text Below:
Hi. I'm Porter Henderson. This isn't about me, though. You’re going to see a lot of fundraisers with Hurricane Helene. This might be a little different.
You see, I’m writing this on behalf of my landlords and friends, Nate and Amanda. The home we share with an additional disabled man in Lithonia, Georgia had some repairs that they couldn't afford, made much worse by the hurricane. They'd been limping along like everyone dealing with inflation and underemployment, but the situation has become urgent, and they need and deserve help.
Nate and Amanda have been my friends for over a decade, and when they heard I was no longer able to work and in a bad situation, they offered me a place in their first home. I told them I wasn’t sure what or when I would be able to pay. They told me that if I ever won my disability case I could start paying rent then.
You see, I'm trying so hard to save this home because they’ve tried so hard to save me.
I was so grateful to move in, and they treated me like family. When I lost the ability to drive, they made sure I got to my doctor’s appointments, and still do. When I can’t afford food, they take me to food banks, and what I can’t find there they’ll help me get at the store. They meet all the needs they could reasonably meet, and then a couple more.
I’ve lived here for three years now, and they’ve never stopped assuring me that I am wanted, even if I can’t contribute to the household on a daily basis. They have never let me go without if there was any other way. They have helped friends and strangers every time they have seen a need. They are unfailingly honest, incredibly trustworthy, and extremely hardworking people.
They've never had much, but they've shared everything they have.
Now, though, the hurricane turned a seem in our roof into a gushing waterfall, and finally into a large hole in Nate and Amanda's bedroom ceiling.
We tarped the leaking roof from the inside to channel out as much water as we could, but with a literal hurricane outside, there’s only so much that you can do.
The three of us who couldn’t get into the attic pushed our chronically ill bodies past their limits, dragging furniture away from walls, hauling totes as fast as we could with our canes, shoving empty containers into the corner as we kicked the debris out, and researching strategies for how to deal with the nightmare. Later we would wade through flooding water to dump out rain and tie down loose trash cans, shine lights and relay directions from the attic to outside, as we all attempted to get the water venting outside the house.
To make matters worse, the HVAC needs to be replaced. It’s a seventeen year old system, with a huge crack in the (inaccessible) drain pan and a bad motherboard. Some friends pooled money with Nate and Amanda to get a couple of window air conditioners for the summer. With medications that make three of us sensitive to heat, it’s been a rough summer, but we got through.
Unfortunately, winter is a few weeks away, and it’s going to be a little less than seventeen thousand for a new system to be installed.
What makes it an emergency however, is that without the drying and air movement of the AC, trying to dehumidify everything is going to be even harder, giving us a greater chance of mold. If mold takes hold, I'm not sure if we can save the house.
This fundraiser is for the $2,500 hurricane deductible that we're almost certainly going to be charged by the homeowner's policy and the $17,000 for the HVAC, plus estimated fees for the platform.
Not included in the total are any cleaning supplies, or a tiny storage unit and rental truck if we need one to store all of their bedroom furniture while the roof is redone. (We won't know about any of that until we get the estimate from insurance/roofing.) The claim has already been filed.
The air conditioning is a pre-existing problem, and I've found no way for it to be covered by any charity, government program, or private programs in the state. The ones that my social worker knew about didn't apply (I applied anyway) and I let her know about two more that I found. The religious groups I've reached out to in my area don't work in anything but clothing, children's furniture, and durable medical goods.
If additional costs emerge, or anything ends up being less expensive, I will update and adjust the goal accordingly as soon as I find out.
Please help these genuinely good people. The smallest donation helps. So does sharing.
Thank you in advance.
#txt#important#hurricane helene#mutual aid#florida#georgia#north carolina#south carolina#tennessee#long post
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nuisance | sylus
summary: sylus doesn't get drunk...does he? warning(s): mentions of alcohol, pet names, cunnilingus, somno, language, oocness, blue balls of the female kind music inspo: i wanna know - joe notes: @muvaginger i'm sorry.
Sleep won’t find you tonight.
So you’re not at all upset when you’re shaken out of bed by the ruckus in the hallway. And as you pad closer to the front door, you hear what reminds you of a hit dog hollering.
Or someone trying to sing.
The beginnings of a migraine throb in your temples. You throw your door open, and isn’t he just a sight for sore eyes?
There’s a familiar shock of white hair. Drooping, sunset eyes fixed on you, and he’s singing his heart out—or so he thinks.
“I want to know what turns you on,” Sylus croons, a hand on his chest and a finger pointed at you. “So I can be all that and mooore.”
You sigh at his impromptu dance routine. It’s cute. Really, it is. But he sounds like a metal pipe being dragged across the sidewalk. Regardless, you don’t discourage him. Just cross your arms with a quiet smile, leaning against your doorframe to take in the show.
His voice crescendos after the second ‘I’d like to know,’ and you wince, waving your hands frantically to get your boyfriend to keep it down. The last time he pulled a stunt like this, you received a discrepancy letter for the noise from the front office. One more incident, and you’re sure you’ll wake up to an eviction notice.
A sweat-drop beading on your temple, you grab Sylus’s arm and snatch him inside, all the while hissing for him to shut the hell up. He laughs like the inebriated, lovesick idiot he is, and you lock the door behind him.
“Hey, sugar,” Sylus slurs, propped up against your entrance. He tugs on your wrists, luring you in for a sloppy kiss just shy of your lips.
The door thumps when you shove him back against it. Wanna run your fingers through his tousled hair, stroke his reddened cheeks, and unfasten the last few buttons of his shirt. Instead, you raise a curious brow, hands on hips, foot tapping.
“Sugar?” Of all the pet names, you’ve never heard that one come out of his mouth. Either he’s spent some time down south, or someone’s replaced your Sylus with a doppelganger. “Oh, you’re drunk drunk.”
No, you didn’t stutter.
“Honey,” he drawls, all silk and satin. There he goes again, talking like your mama. He folds his arms over his chest, mirroring your haughtiness. “I don’t get drunk.”
On cue, his knees buckle, and the oaky scent of whisky on his breath fills your nostrils. He nearly crumbles to the ground, catching himself at the last moment. Your hands perch on his hips, helping steady him.
“Drunk. You’re drunk, Sy,” you chastise, your voice strained, and brows knit with the effort of helping his heavy ass stumble to your couch.
He falls unceremoniously onto the cushions, wearing a stupid, smug grin. You’re breathing hard and trying to quell your heart when he makes grabby hands at you. And, of course, you fall for them, snatched down to his level until his breath fans over your lashes. And you’re slowly wondering who, exactly, is drunk at this moment.
Sylus studies your hands propped on his quads for leverage before peering into your eyes, straight into your damn soul.
“Bet this drunken fool could still make you feel good.” His voice bleeds sex as he runs a languid knuckle down your neck towards the divot between your clavicles, driving his point home.
You shiver. Won’t deny how your stomach hiccups from the thought of it. From the prospect of his voice all muffled between your legs, and the lewd sounds of him eating you out staining the air.
You swallow down your fantasy, hauling yourself back to reality. Swat his hand away, fixing your nightgown.
“Sylus, baby, need I remind you you’re drunk off your ass? I don’t get down like that.”
He leans back in an easygoing slouch. Gives you a look that borders predatory, blinking slowly with furled lashes like the cat who caught the canary. You feel the low gravel of his voice pooling between your legs, and you hate yourself for growing all hot like this.
“What,” he purrs, tone coy as he disrobes you with his eyes. “We’re two perfectly consenting adults, right? Nothing wrong with having a little fun.”
You heave a sigh. Reluctantly back away from him, ignoring how the frown on his lips makes your chest pinch. You tear through the thick haze of desire that inhabits the air to pinch your nose.
“We can be two perfectly consenting adults in the morning when you’ve slept this shit off, Sy.”
Tonight is one of those rare nights you’ve seen him visibly pout.
“Boring,” your boyfriend whines, hugging one of your decorative pillows to his chest, and collapsing onto his side amongst your couch cushions in the fetal position. You contemplate fighting him for not taking his shoes off.
Instead, you roll your eyes, fishing a throw blanket from your lift-top coffee table. Toss it over his curled-up body, and he kicks it down to his feet like a haughty child.
You bend down to kiss his forehead, to which he flinches away like he’s been burned by cinders. Can’t act like that didn’t hurt a bit, but—
“You’ll love me again in the morning,” you say over your shoulder on your way to your room. Shut the door behind you, slipping beneath your sheets.
You feel a pang of regret for leaving him out there by himself. Despite your body thrumming and your head spinning, you did the right thing. You’d kick yourself if you took advantage of him like that, whether he thought he wanted it or not.
On your back, you scrutinize the textured ceiling through the dusk of your bedroom. He probably won’t even remember this, you muse, turning onto your side to watch the door.
You’ve never moved quicker when a sudden spark hits you, and you comically wrestle out of the sheets to dart towards your bedroom door.
It clicks soundly when you lock it, and you’re unsure if it’s Sylus you don’t trust or yourself.
—
Of course, why the hell did you expect a locked door to stop him?
A gasp is torn from betwixt your lips, sticky in the haze of your room as dawn breaks over the horizon. Your back arches involuntarily, and you scramble for purchase of your sheets, mouth curved around a whimper.
There’s a hot pressure between your legs. Flat, textured, and wet, easing up the span of your pussy, pushing your lips apart in search of the pulsating treasure between.
You bite back a sound, drawing the sheets back to meet a set of carmine eyes glowing in the dimness. You thread your fingers in his hair, unconsciously pulling him closer, and he chuckles huskily, nuzzling against the fat of your inner thigh.
“Mmmm, told you I could make you feel good.”
Your lips work around a response, but he swoops in between your thighs again to lick you good, silencing any objections, and making your body convulse.
TBC on AO3.
international | masterlist | off the grid
#sylus x reader#sylus x you#love and deepspace sylus#sylus smut#lnds smut#l&ds smut#lnds sylus#sylus qin#lads sylus#sylus#l&ds sylus
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hooola!! absolutely love the baby alonso series and i’d love to see her playing with penelope maybe?? or one of lando’s nieces!!
hope u have a great day 🫶🫶
Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!
-xoxo babygirl 💕
@piastappies
Best friends forever
The bustling paddock was alive with the hum of race car engines, chatter from teams, and fans eagerly seeking autographs. Amidst the energy of the Formula 1 weekend, two tiny figures stood out—Yn and Penelope.
Yn, with her sparkling pink bike that had streamers hanging off the handlebars, was busy adjusting her helmet. Penelope, on her equally dazzling sparkling purple bike, was already riding in circles, her giggles carrying through the air.
"Come on, Yn!" Penelope called, a teasing grin on her face. "You're so slow!"
Yn puffed up her cheeks in mock frustration, tightening the strap on her helmet. "I'm not slow! I just wanna make sure my helmet is perfect! Safety first, P!"
Penelope stopped her bike and crossed her arms dramatically. "We’re in the paddock, silly. No cars are gonna hit us!"
Yn finally climbed onto her bike, wobbling for a moment before finding her balance. "Fine! But you're not gonna win the race!" she said with determination, pedaling furiously to catch up.
The two girls zipped past team garages, their bikes glittering under the sun, leaving a trail of laughter behind them. Engineers paused to watch, some waving and smiling, others snapping quick photos of the adorable sight.
"Careful, girls!" Charles called out, leaning against a garage wall with a cup of coffee.
"We’re being careful!" Penelope yelled back, her voice high-pitched and confident.
"Yeah!" Yn chimed in. "We’re super fast, like Max and Fernando!"
Charles chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, just don’t beat them in qualifying, okay?"
The girls burst into laughter, though neither truly understood what qualifying was.
---
Later, Yn and Penelope decided to ditch their bikes and explore on foot. Hand-in-hand, they skipped down the paddock, their little sneakers slapping against the ground in perfect rhythm.
"We should go see the snacks table!" Penelope suggested, her eyes sparkling.
"Snacks!" Yn cheered. "I hope they have gummy bears. And cookies!"
As they approached the Red Bull hospitality, Max was leaning on a railing, chatting with Sergio. He spotted the duo and immediately straightened up, his tough demeanor softening into a wide grin.
"Hey, what are you two up to now?" Max asked, crouching down to their level.
"Snacks!" Penelope declared with a triumphant fist in the air.
Yn nodded eagerly. "Gummy bears!"
Max laughed. "Ah, I see. Well, the snacks are this way, but no eating too much, okay? I need Penelope to cheer for me later, not fall asleep!"
"I’m gonna cheer for Yn’s dad too!" Penelope said proudly, looking at Yn.
"Me too!" Yn added, squeezing Penelope’s hand.
Max ruffled Penelope's hair, a rare, tender smile on his face. "Good girls. Now go on, and don’t cause too much trouble."
---
The next stop on their grand paddock adventure was Fernando’s garage. The two girls peeked in cautiously before scampering inside. Fernando was sitting on a stool, studying data on a screen, but the moment he saw the two tiny intruders, his face lit up.
"Ah, mis pequeñas amigas!" Fernando exclaimed, opening his arms wide.
Yn ran straight to him, throwing her arms around his leg. "Papa! We’re having the best day ever!"
Fernando chuckled, scooping Yn up onto his lap. "I can see that. And Penelope, are you taking good care of my little one?"
Penelope nodded solemnly. "Of course. We’re best friends!"
"Bestest friends!" Yn echoed, reaching out to hold Penelope’s hand again.
Fernando looked at them with soft eyes. "You know, seeing you two like this reminds me of why we do all this. It’s not just about winning—it’s about family and having fun."
"Does that mean you’ll let us ride your car next time?" Penelope asked, her face completely serious.
Fernando laughed heartily. "Not quite, pequeña, but maybe one day."
---
As the day wore on, Yn and Penelope found new ways to entertain themselves. They drew with chalk on the pavement, leaving colorful hearts and stars for everyone to see. They played hide-and-seek around the motorhomes, with Lando and George willingly pretending not to see their bright clothes sticking out from behind crates.
At one point, the two girls sat on a patch of grass, sharing a juice box they had "borrowed" from the hospitality.
"Do you think we’ll ever drive like our dads?" Yn asked, her face thoughtful.
Penelope tilted her head. "I think so. But only if the cars are purple and pink."
Yn nodded solemnly. "Definitely."
---
By the time the sun began to set, the paddock had grown quieter, but the two girls were still full of energy. They convinced Max and Fernando to sit down with them for one last activity: a tea party.
Fernando looked hilariously out of place, holding a tiny plastic teacup between his large fingers, while Max did his best to balance a tiara Penelope had insisted he wear.
"More tea, sir?" Yn asked in an exaggerated posh accent, holding out an empty teapot.
"Why, thank you, madam," Fernando replied, playing along with a dramatic bow of his head.
Max sighed, though he couldn’t hide his grin. "This tea is excellent, Penelope. Did you make it yourself?"
Penelope giggled. "It’s pretend, Papa!"
"Ah, of course," Max said, nodding seriously.
---
As the day came to an end, Yn and Penelope finally started to tire, their eyes drooping as they sat on a bench together, wrapped in a shared blanket.
Fernando and Max watched from a distance, their competitive natures completely set aside as they admired their daughters.
"They really are something, aren’t they?" Fernando said quietly.
Max nodded, a rare softness in his gaze. "Yeah. Makes you realize what really matters."
The two girls held hands even in their sleep, their innocent friendship a bright light in the often chaotic world of Formula 1.
#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#xoxo babygirl 💋#fernando alonso x alonso!reader#fernando alonso x daughter!reader#fernando alonso x reader#max verstappen x reader#lando norris x reader#george russell x reader#dad!fernando alonso#alonso!reader#little alonso
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Finding Batboy
First| Previous | Next
Phantom
King
Fenton
Apprentice
Batboy
He just wanted to be Danny. Just Danny, nothing else.
But who was Danny anymore?
Danny was a 14-year-old boy who died in a tragic accident. Danny had a decent life with friends and a sister who he loved. Danny wanted to be an astronaut and loved the stars. Danny had an astrology phase that made him so annoying to everyone but Sam. Danny liked dogs and cats hated him for no reason no matter how much he loved them. Danny wanted to join the robotics club with Tucker. Danny still snuck into his sister's room when he was scared to sleep in her bed.
But Danny is dead. Danny has been dead for years now.
He missed being Danny.
Now he was Phantom.
No past.
No home.
No family.
But if that was true, what did that make Dick?
Just another person that he would have to leave behind. It wouldn't be long. History doesn't repeat but it rhymes. It can't last. It won't.
Danny flew to some abandoned factory located somewhere in Gotham. He hadn't really paid much attention. He just needed a desolate place to land. Somewhere even the ghosts have long abandoned.
Truthfully Danny didn't want to be alone. A part of him felt the urge to find that revenant that he had met. Something that felt familiar to him, someone that could understand.
But right now Danny wanted to rest and he wasn't picky about where. He wrapped his wings in a tight cocoon and plopped on the ground. His sleep was deep, more than he ever remembered having before, except once.
Danny walked through the halls of a spiraling tower that overlooked the Ghost Zone. The tower was decorated with stars and moons. Mist hovered just above the floor creating a icy blue carpet. Ghost sheep napped in corners. The scent of poppy and pine filled the air.
As Danny ascended to the top he met with a familiar face. Nocturne the ghost of dreams. The ghost's thick bridged nose reminded Danny of that of a sheep that matched his curled ramhorns. His red eyes with horizontal pupils reminded him of a demonic ram he had seen in a horror movie once. Danny could practically hear that line again: "Would thou like to live deliciously?"
It still gave Danny chills.
"Please refrain from making such comparisons." Nocturne said, his voice deep but soft at the same time.
Danny had gotten to know Nocturne some time ago. Apparently, he and Clockwork were close. They shared a high rank among ghosts as they were abstract manifestations rather then being that were once living like some. The hierarchy of ghosts was complex, and Nocturne was not someone to look down on.
"Nox, why am I here?" Danny said standing before the seven-foot frame of the amorphous ghost.
"You are spending too much time in the material realm. If you don't get time back in the realm to which you belong you'll go mad. It's already starting to happen. I stole your mind away for a bit to give you a mental break but your body is already starting to break down." Nocturne said waving a finger at him.
"My body and brain are fine Nox." Danny said crossing his arms.
Nocturne picked the boy up with one hand and held him at eye level.
"You are having trouble shifting are you not? Its not coming as easily as it should. The more attached you get to a form without the energy from our world to break it up the worse it will be. The Ghost of Time has already told me of the problem. You must stay here for the time being and recover. It is what's best. Mental weakness is the worst one can suffer and the remedy is sleep." Nocturne's breath smelled like warm milk and cinnamon. It calmed Danny's nerves and made his eyes heavy.
Clockwork had put him up to this. That old man...really was....annoying....Zzzz.
Back in the world of the living and awake mass panic has broken out.
Batboy is currently missing and Nightwing is not handling it well. The entirety of the Gotham Vigilantes team has been notified and is searching the cities of Gotham and Bludhaven.
"Have you searched the docks?" Nightwing asked frantically as he searched every rooftop in the city.
"I'm working on it. Do you really think he's here?" Red Robin said scanning every unit on the lot.
Red Hood didn't know what the BatBoy kid looked like other than the whole wings thing. If his little buddy Phantom could help it would help.
Although they had a slight resemblance Jason could see too many differences when looking at the pictures. Phantom had round ears, and silver hair that moved like fire and looked like a human. Batboy had long sharp ears, claws, pointy teeth, blueish-green skin, wings, and a white fluff around his neck. Clearly, they were different.
Batman searched the dark allies of Gotham as Signal and Orphan split up to cover as much ground as possible. Oracle searched every camera from the past few hours for the boy.
The good news was that Batboy was found. The bad news was who found him.
"Poor little Bluebird lost his fledgling and Batsy is looking for the lost pup. I should let them know that the little guy has been found! Ahahahaha!"
#dc x dp#dpxdc#dc x dp prompt#dp x dc prompt#danny fenton#danny phantom#batman#nightwing#dick grayson#jason todd#red hood#red robin#tim drake#bruce wayne#dc joker
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DPxDC - Subtle Signs
also on AO3
Danny slipped through the shadows quickly, trusting the alarms to cover the noise of his footsteps. He still wasn’t fully used to having his wakizashi hooked to his back again after all this time. It was throwing off his balance. Subtly, but enough to matter. He had considered leaving it behind when he had to run (again). But seeing as he couldn’t exactly get rid of the...gift...his time with the Fentons had given him, he might as well keep the one from his time with the League of Assassins, too. Who would have guessed a sword from a literal death cult would end up being one of his least death-touched possessions.
He reached what remained of the entrance to the now fully crippled GIW facility and paused. There was something wrong. The smallest pressure in his ears, the faintest blur through the sky, the slightest feeling that someone – multiple someones – had entered his space. He crouched further into the shadows and mentally mapped out several escape routes.
What he wasn’t expecting was for one of those someones to drop from the sky. Nor for them to be dressed in bright colors, nor for them to be masked, nor for them to –
“Damian?”
The name was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Directly between two blares of the alarm. Clearly loud enough for that someone to have heard, judging by the way they jerked into a fighting stance and stared directly at his hiding place. They drew a katana that Danny would recognize anywhere and leveled it at him aggressively.
“Show yourself!”
Two green slits appeared from the darkness next to the collapsed entryway. Damian tensed, shifting into a more agile stance and subtly tapping his wrist comm for backup. The glowing eyes shifted, as if the head they were attached to was moving. They inched forward toward the light but didn’t cross the threshold. A single hand extended from the darkness, clenching a long, thin sheathed blade. A wakizashi, judging by the length and curve, with minimal decoration on the mounting save for...
“Danyal?”
Damian dropped his guard, katana dipping to point at the ground in front of him. A figure crept into the light, taking up their own relaxed stance, sheathed blade still held in their off hand. Their eyes were bright Lazarus green, and their hair was subtly glowing white, barely visible under a hood. Their foot was slightly out of position, arm just barely low of where it should be, all still ingrained in muscle memory to perfectly complement their mismatched heights and Damian’s own style while fighting at his side. There was no doubt. That face was etched into his memory, his very being. He would recognize it anywhere. This was Danyal.
Then the wakizashi was drawn. Danyal’s green eyes flicked to Damian’s right in panic just as he heard the smallest crunch of dirt. He tilted his katana up in front of his face and raised his other hand to his side firmly, signaling Father and Grayson to stay back.
They did. But they spread out to better form a perimeter around this unknown (to them) armed (more than he seemed) potential threat (if he wanted to be). And they watched intently, ready to pick up on even the smallest detail. He would have to be cautious. His subtle head shift let the others know he knew Cain and Brown just landed on his other side. Danyal’s eye flick meant he saw them, too.
“How are you here, Danyal? You died.”
“You should know better than most, Damian. Death is not always final.”
Damian was off. Cass noticed it immediately. His stance was different. He was tense in a way she’d never seen him before. His words were hesitant, and when he did speak, his fingers twitched around his katana’s grip. He gave them a small flick with his hand, signaling for them to stay back, then took a step forward. The other boy – Danyal, she presumed – followed his lead step for step, never dropping his guard, even if his stance was slightly imperfect. His hands twitched even more than Damian’s.
Then he flinched and took a step back, eyes snapping to where Batman had taken a step forward. Damian scowled angrily.
“Stay back, Father!”
Cass hadn’t heard that much venom in his voice for many years. Nor had he ever broken codename protocol while they were in costume. Nor had he ever fidgeted or been this nervous. His emotions were strong, barely restrained, confused and angry and somehow eager. He wanted to charge forward, but for what she didn’t know. He was barely holding himself back.
The other boy was unfamiliar, so she had no reference. She couldn’t even see his full face. But he had to be even more nervous than Damian with the way his whole body squirmed minutely when his hands twitched. His anger was colder, deeper, an undercurrent compared to Damian’s storm. There was no confusion, not even at ‘Father’, but there was fear, a suffocating amount of it. He was unsure of himself. Wanting to charge like Damian, but wanting to run perhaps even more. The indecision left him rooted to the spot.
“Why are you here, Danyal?”
“Tying up some loose ends. You?”
“Investigating the destruction of government facilities on behalf of the League.”
Danyal tensed at that.
“The Justice League,” Damian was quick to clarify.
Danyal took that even worse. He curled into himself, the fear overwhelming all his other emotions, his eyes going narrow and glowing a brighter, somehow harsher green. Cass spared a glance back to Damian, whose twitching had spread to his non-sword hand now. Worry was breaking through both his anger and confusion. Movement out of the corner of her eye made her look back to Danyal, who had begun to slide back towards the shadows.
“Danyal, wait!” Damian stepped forward, and to her surprise Danyal did in fact stop moving. “Why are you running?”
He stopped twitching entirely and stared Damian down.
“I will not be taken by either of your Leagues.”
That was confirmation that he was familiar with the League of Assassins, perhaps a former member like Damian.
“The League of Assassins has been dismantled. I can guarantee the Justice League will not harm you.”
“Yet you are here on their behalf.”
“I do not understand, Danyal.”
He wasn’t alone in that. Cass risked a glance to the others. Steph was firmly at her side, waiting for a signal to get involved. Bruce was tense, confused but calculating, processing the apparent familiarity not just with the League, but with Damian and his identity. Dick was clearly confused too, but the concerned for his little brother was even clearer.
“There is much you don’t understand, Damian.”
“Then tell me.”
Damian’s hand gave the smallest of twitches before he charged forward at Danyal, who charged back as if he were expecting it. But this wasn’t one of his normal attack patterns. He was slower and more rigid. This wasn’t right. She raised her arm to Spoiler’s chest, stopping her from joining the battle, her fist clenched to signal the others to hold. Spoiler glanced at her, confused, but stayed at her side. Batman and Nightwing heeded her signal as well after taking a few steps forward.
Their blades clashed as they pressed together, faces nearly touching. Cass swore she saw Danyal’s lips move briefly before they pushed each other back, both already angling for their next attack. What followed was a set of perfect strikes and parries, one for one, back and forth, all much below what she knew Damian’s speed and strength to be. All telegraphed well in advance. Until Danyal pivoted unexpectedly, twisting directly into the path of Damian’s katana.
She saw Damian’s shock, his fear, saw him try to pull back his strike, but it was too late. Danyal raised an arm to shield himself from the blow that was about to cleave into his flesh, but he wasn’t worried. Wasn’t surprised or scared, just...sad?
The katana didn’t hit. A bright green armor plate flashed into existence on Danyal’s arm, and Damian’s blade bounced off it with a clang, vibrating through his arm and tipping him off balance. Danyal dropped his weight and kicked forward, hitting Damian in the chest and knocking him backwards much farther than expected.
Damian twisted in the air and rolled as he hit the ground, leaping back into a defensive stance. Cass saw no anger, just surprise and worry and more confusion. She stomped her foot and shook her fist, insisting that everyone keep holding back. This brought Danyal’s attention to her.
His eyes flicked over to pierce into her. She felt seen, and she couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her spine. He didn’t look at her with any emotion she expected, merely annoyance. He flicked his eyes back to Damian after sparing her a second at most, and then he was empty. No emotion at all. Nothing. Cass gasped. She felt Steph press against her arm gently, a question. She pressed back in response, still holding her fist. Steph placed a hand on her back, silently grounding her.
With Danyal not giving her anything, she shifted her focus back to Damian. He tilted his katana to look at the blade, which she could tell even from a distance had been greatly dulled where it had made contact with the phantom armor. When he pulled his hand away from his ribs, she could see small drops of frost fall to the ground.
“Danyal...when did –”
“I have never set foot in the Lazarus Pits.”
Damian dropped his arms to his side. Cass could see more shock on him now than any emotion she’d read on him ever before. He’d never left himself so open and unguarded at any time she could remember. Despite all that – or perhaps because of it – his hands kept twitching.
“How…”
“I told you, Damian. You don’t even understand just how little you don’t understand.”
Despite not reading any nervousness from Danyal – no emotions at all – his hands kept twitching.
“Then tell me.”
Damian’s voice was soft, more vulnerable than it had ever been. His off hand kept twitching in the same pattern, over and over.
“I can’t.”
Danyal took a step backwards toward the shadows. Damian stepped forward and yelled.
“Danyal, please! I want to understand!”
But he took another step backward, his own off hand twitching in the same pattern as Damian’s.
“Goodbye, Damian.”
Damian took another step forward and raised his hands to his side in a peaceful gesture.
“I will understand, Danyal.”
He switched to his first language, the one he had spoken as a child, and pleaded.
“I swear it on the first star’s light, on the first bird’s song.”
Danyal flinched mid-step. And his facade shattered. Emotions burst through stronger than before. Scared and exhausted and angry, but the tiniest sliver of hope pushing past the wariness. His head tilted up, letting the light pierce the shadow of his hood to reveal bright white hair that somehow shifted under its cloth covering. And his face looked nearly identical to Damian’s.
His flurry of emotions slowly, excruciatingly slowly, steadied as the tension in his body loosened. She watched him take a deep breath and let it out, emotions shifting into pure determination. His off hand twitched again and – no, not a twitch!
They had been signaling to each other.
And then they were charging again. Cass dropped her arm and wrapped it around Steph’s, who tensed at the two boys’ movement, but relaxed as Cass leaned against her. Batman and Nightwing did charge. It was clear they wouldn’t make it in time, even if Danyal’s speed weren’t obviously enhanced.
The boys flipped their swords to hold them backhand and twisted them such that the dull end faced forward. They collided harshly, sword arms clasping around each others shoulders. Danyal knocked Damian back a step, but they held each other tightly, neither allowing the other to fall. Batman and Nightwing stuttered to a stop several feet away and stared in surprised confusion as the boys raised their off hands to cradle each others necks and press their foreheads together.
“I missed you, Brother.”
#dp x dc#dpxdc#my writing#demon twins#or siblings#its not specified#a lot of this is based around lore i built up in my head#for this fic only#so feel free to make up your own#if anything doesnt quite make sense
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Marry me? Nah. Marry me? Yeah.
4 times Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you refuse. 1 time Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you accept.
A/N: I have been working on this for the last day, so enjoy. HOWEVER, I wrote it on my phone and refuse to proof it. Warning(s): Some canon level violence, swearing. Note: I do not own Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.
You do not have permission to steal or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.
—
Proposal 1
The first time Bucky Barnes proposes to you, you aren’t even dating. The two of you are paired on a mission to dismantle a HYDRA base hidden deep in the Appalachian Mountains in Kentucky. You had met before but never shared more than polite conversation. Steve had assured Bucky you weren’t scared of him, but that you wouldn’t push him to speak with you. Bucky never quite believed him, so he never attempted to converse with you either.
However, when you’re paired on this mission, you take that as the go-ahead to finally speak to him.
“So, Barnes,” you say, nudging his shoulder with your own, “guess we’ve got to come up with more conversation topics than the weather.”
“Guess so,” he replies.
It is during the mission he proposes. There are more HYDRA agents active than expected, and they come at the two of you guns blazing while you’re distracted setting up an explosive at a structural point of the complex.
“Y/L/N,” Bucky says to grab your attention, “we’ve got company.”
You bite your lip, finishing your task before standing and pulling your rifle from your back, preparing yourself for a fight.
“Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got this one,” you tease, shooting him a wink before unleashing precise kill shots before Bucky even thinks to pull his own trigger. After taking out a dozen soldiers, a few manage to get close to you, and you hit one in the head with the butt of your gun and then quickly pull a knife from a thigh holster while pivoting on your foot to slit another’s throat. You shoot the unconscious soldier in the head for good measure before wiping your knife on your pants.
With your knife returned to its home on your thigh, you look up at Bucky who is staring at you with a dumbfounded, albeit impressed, look on his face. You had taken out 14 men on your own. He was in love.
The words “marry me” slipped past his lips before he could stop them, and you laugh.
“Maybe buy me dinner first, Sarge.”
Proposal 2
The second time Bucky Barnes proposes to you, you’re comforting him after a nightmare. It is late at night, at the point it was really morning, and you happen to hear his screams through his bedroom door.
You stop at his door, letting a frown set on your face before reaching out for his doorknob. You hesitate before opening it, wondering if he’ll appreciate you barging in on him in such a vulnerable state. Then, he screams again—louder—and you turn the doorknob, letting yourself in.
The sight you’re met with is heartbreaking. Bucky is tossing and turning, his sheets bunched at his feet, comforter on the ground. He’s sweating buckets and whimpering what sounds like, “Please, no. Not the chair. Please!” over and over again. You choke back a sob before crossing over to him, gently lying a comforting hand on his shoulder and calling out his name.
“Bucky, honey, wake up. It’s just a dream, hun.”
The touch and sudden sound wake him up from what is truly a light sleep. Bucky shoots up into a sitting position, right hand shooting out to grab the hand touching him, and eyes darting around the room until they land on you.
“Shh,” you coo, “you’re okay, Bucky. It’s me, Y/N. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”
Bucky’s heart rate slows to a normal pace, and he lets out a shaky breath.
“Y/N?” He asks hesitantly. “W-what are you doing here?” His voice is small, like a terrified child’s, and you can’t help but frown at the thought.
You let your hand move to cup his face, noting that he relaxes at the gentle touch, leaning his face ever so slightly into your touch.
“I was headed to the kitchen and I heard you scream. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”
He nods, eyes searching yours for some sort of anger or resentment for bothering you. He doesn’t find any.
“Can I do anything to make you feel better?” You ask kindly.
“Um,” Bucky says, voice shaky. “Would you mind—you don’t have to—but would you mind staying with me? Only if you want.”
You smile kindly, pressing a comforting kiss to his cheek before climbing into his bed with him, pulling his head close to your chest.
“When I was little, I lived in a house in the woods for a while,” you say randomly, catching Bucky’s attention. His eyebrows scrunch together in some sort of confusion, but he says nothing. “At dinner one night, I look out the glass door onto the porch. Wanna know what I saw?”
Bucky hums his agreement as your hand works it’s way into his hair and your fingers begin to massage his scalp.
“4 raccoons!” You exclaim. “3 babies and a mama. We had a toddler slide on the porch at the time,” you continue, “and the baby raccoons kept climbing the little ladder and sliding down. The mama just sat a little bit away and watched and stole cat food occasionally.”
Bucky chuckles, finding your story cute but also recognizing your attempt to distract and soothe him after his nightmare. He appreciates it more than he himself understands; he is comforted by your voice more than he feels he should be. He lets the proposal slip a second time: “Marry me?”
You grin and press a kiss to his head.
“Not yet, hun.”
Proposal 3
The third proposal comes after the two of you begin dating.
Bucky takes you out on a date to a little coffee shop in Brooklyn you both had become fond of. You’re standing to the side of the café, out of the way, waiting on your order. Bucky has his right arm around your shoulders while you lean into him; his left hand stuck in his jacket pocket.
“So Natasha’s screaming at Clint to show himself so that she can kill him, right? Like, she was so fucking pissed at him. And Clint is in the fucking air vents—like those big ones people crawl through in action movies—hiding from her. Over a remote, Bucky!” You excitedly recount one of the most ridiculous encounters you’ve ever had with the Avengers to your boyfriend who is quietly listening with a fond smile.
“Like, ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ my ass,” you scoff. You’re about to add another thought to the discussion when you hear someone else’s conversation from a few feet away.
Bucky tenses. You tense.
“Personally, I think they should’ve carted him off to the South, or somethin’, and put him in the chair,” a younger man—college age—says. “The death penalty, y’know? An eye for an eye, and all that. I mean, the guy killed a lot of people.”
“Fuck, man,” his companion, another college aged man, says. “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? I mean, he’s also like a war hero and a prisoner of war.”
“He killed innocent people, man. Like, people’s kids and shit.”
“I guess.”
Bucky clenches his jaw, and he also tightens his grip on your waist when he feels you start to move away from him.
“It’s fine, doll,” he assures you, but he doesn’t seem fine to you.
The barista calls out “Barnes” and Bucky kisses the top of your head before moving to grab your drinks. You, however, take the opportunity to address the disrespectful boys while your boyfriend isn’t holding you back.
“Excuse me,” you say, walking up to them.
“Fuck!” One says, jumping a little. “You’re an Avenger.”
“Mhmm,” you agree. “So is Sergeant Barnes who you so innocently suggested deserves the chair.” You jam a finger into his chest.
“You have absolutely no fucking right to talk about him that way. He gave his life for this fucking country; fought alongside your grandparents. The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. Shit. It’s not like my opinion is gonna change anything.”
Before you can say anything else, you feel Bucky’s hand wrap around your bicep, pulling you away from the college kids and into his side. He leans close to your ear to whisper, “Doll, it’s fine. Come on.”
He pulls you out of the coffee shop before you have time to protest.
Walking down the street, you’re ranting, letting your arms flail around angrily.
“What the actual fuck is their problem?! You can have your obviously wrong opinions, but why would you express them so loudly in front of the person you’re talking about? You’re a fucking Avenger. You’re a good man. Why would they pardon you if you weren’t? Why would the Avengers adopt you as one of our own if you weren’t? Pieces of shit! Hateful, fascist, brain dead, ungrateful, military-hating, assholes!”
Bucky can’t help but laugh at your insults, and he can’t help but feel flattered that you care enough to defend him.
“Sweetheart, it’s really fine. I’m used to it,” he assures you, finally handing you your coffee he’d been balancing in his hand.
You take it, but shoot him an incredulous look.
“Like hell it’s okay! You deserve better than that bullshit, Bucky. You deserve to go out on a date with your girlfriend without being fucking harassed.”
Bucky pulls you into his side, kissing your head like he had earlier, and murmurs into your hair his third proposal.
“Marry me.”
You smile softly.
“Nah,” you say, leaning into his hold. He laughs.
Proposal 4
The fourth time Bucky proposes to you, it’s less direct.
In fact, you’re in the field, lying on your back in Bucky’s arms while he frantically puts pressure on a bullet wound in your gut.
“Steve,” he says into the coms, “Y/N’s down. She got shot. I’ve got to get her back to the jet.”
“Go,” Steve responds quickly, “I’ll cover you.”
Bucky’s attention falls to you, grimacing at the blood covering his hands.
“Hold on, baby. I’ve got you,” he says, lifting you into his arms as gently as you can.
“I’m fiiinnneee,” you slur, unsteadily and awkwardly reaching to pat his face. Your action, meant to be comforting, only adds to your boyfriend’s anxiety.
“Doll, you’ve been shot, and it isn’t a clean wound.”
“That’s nothin’!”
Bucky grunts indignantly in response.
Finally, he gets you back to the jet, moving through the aircraft quickly to get you to a stretcher to triage you best he can. When there is nothing more he can do, he holds your hand, doing his best not to cry or show how scared he is.
“Y/N, stay awake for me, alright?” He pleads, squeezing your hand.
Your eyes flutter open and you smile goofily.
“No worries, Doll,” you giggle as you call him by the pet name he reserves for you. “I’m A-Okay.”
Bucky scoffs.
“You’re bleeding out.”
“You fixed me.”
“Not fully; I put a bandaid on you really.”
“Silly. Bandaids fix you!” You try to comfort, but you fall into a laughing fit.
“Doll, I need you to take this seriously so you make it. You’ve gotta marry me.”
“You didn’t ask me to!” You say, narrowing your eyes and pointing accusingly.
Bucky smiles at your antics.
“Marry me, Doll?”
You smile fondly as you stare up at Bucky.
“Ask me again when I’m not bleeding out.”
Proposal 5
The fifth time Bucky Barnes proposes to you is the last time.
You convince the super soldier to go hiking with you; you argue he deserves to sit and watch a waterfall with his girlfriend. He gives in easily because you’re not easy for him to say no to.
The two of you find a local hiking trail that leads to a decent sized waterfall, and you’re pleased to find the trail is mostly deserted. You only run into a few stray hikers along the trail.
Bucky smiles as you hike, watching as you excitedly stop to watch centipedes cross the path, or point out woodpeckers, or smell flowers. Finally, the two of you reach the waterfall and you squeal in excitement, running a few paces ahead of Bucky and jumping to let out some excited energy.
“Buck, look! It’s gorgeous!”
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, slowing to a stop behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin in the crook of your neck.
The two of you stand like that, in each other’s embrace, for a few minutes, watching the waterfall, listening to nature around you.
“Thank you for coming up here with with me,” you say, turning around to place a grateful kiss on Bucky’s lips. He gently returns the kiss before pulling away.
“Anything for you, sweetheart.”
You peck his lips again before turning back to the waterfall.
“Look!” You say upon turning around. “Bucky, a rainbow!” The spray of the water and the beams of sunlight meet to display a rainbow in front of you.
When Bucky doesn’t respond, you curiously turn around.
“Bucky? Oh!”
Bucky is on one knee, a ring box open in his hands, held out to you.
“Y/N, will you marry me?”
There is no speech, there is no absurd gesture. There is just Bucky, and there is just a question.
It’s perfect.
“Yes.”
“Finally.”
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#marvel x reader#bucky barnes#bucky x you#bucky barnes x reader fluff#marvel fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x you#bucky x g!n reader
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Sitting on the soft, fluffy rug, Emma absentmindedly colored with a bright green crayon, humming around the pacifier in her mouth. She was lost in her little world of scribbles and doodles, her face adorably scrunched in concentration. But as she shifted her weight, something felt... off. Her nose wrinkled, and a faint look of confusion crossed her face as she wiggled her bottom a bit, feeling the unexpected heaviness beneath her.
Emma’s eyes widened, a look of realization dawning. “Daddy!” she whined around her paci, looking over her shoulder at him with an accusatory glare. As if somehow, he was responsible for the sudden mushy feeling in her diaper.
Daddy, who was sitting nearby with a soft smile, raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, stifling a chuckle at her pouty expression. “Well, well, princess,” he said, slowly standing up and walking over. “What’s that face for, hmm?”
Emma just huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, her bottom lip jutting out. “This is your fault!” she declared, kicking one foot out petulantly.
He crouched down to her level, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “Oh, it’s my fault, is it?” he asked gently, as though entertaining a very serious accusation. “You’re saying Daddy made you go potty in your diaper?”
She wriggled again, clearly uncomfortable yet too stubborn to admit it. “Mhm! You… you did something, Daddy!” Her cheeks turned a bit pink, but she held her ground, shooting him an indignant look.
Daddy chuckled softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart. Do you remember when Daddy signed you up for that ‘special’ potty training class?” he asked, his voice soothing yet a little playful.
Emma’s pout softened slightly as she thought back, her brow furrowing in confusion. “The… the one where they told me I didn’t have to worry about the potty anymore?” she asked, tilting her head.
He nodded, brushing his fingers through her hair. “That’s the one. They helped you feel comfortable letting go whenever you needed to. No more big girl worries about potty breaks.” He smiled, watching as the realization started to sink in.
Emma’s eyes grew wide again, but this time with a bit of embarrassment. “S-So… that’s why I can’t… hold it?” Her tone shifted, a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
“That’s right, princess. Daddy wanted you to be free to play and have fun without having to worry about grown-up things,” he explained softly. “Now, you don’t have to think about it at all. Just like a real little girl.”
Her cheeks turned even redder, though a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “So… I’m really little, huh?” she murmured, glancing down shyly.
“Very little,” he agreed with a warm smile, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “And that’s why Daddy’s here to make sure you’re always comfy. Even if that means cleaning up some messy surprises.”
Emma finally cracked a smile, her bratty demeanor melting away as she reached out for a hug. “Thank you, Daddy… even if it’s still kinda your fault,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, giggling as he wrapped her up in his arms.
Daddy just chuckled, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Always, princess. Now, let’s get you fresh and clean, alright?”
#diaper stories#ab/dl stories#diaper captions#regression school#ab/dl caption#ab/dl girl#ab/dl diaper#wetting diaper#diaper bulge#ab/dl
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Pollito / barca team ," why are you hiding in the closet" training room/ ground
in the pollito universe with stuck, tiny silver flash, the one where the kids go bowling barça femeni II in hiding
"mierda!" you mumbled under your breath, thumbs flying with gentle taps against your screen as you tried relentlessly to beat the level of candy crush you'd been stuck on all week.
you let out a small scream of surprise as the door to the equipment closet you were hiding out in swung open, flooding the dark with light and causing you to squint and rub at your eyes.
"aye pollito. why are you hiding in the closet?" patri sighed, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow and hands on hips. "i'm not. i have been out of the closet for a year now!" you grinned up at the older girl who snickered and offered you a hand up.
"no i can't, i'm having...quiet time." you faltered trying to think of an excuse which clearly didn't work on the older spaniard. "what did you do now?" pina chimed in, causing you to jump again from your spot on the floor not even having noticed her there as well.
"nothing! ale told me i'm supposed to channel my energy into resting." you rolled your eyes, this lie falling off your tongue a little smoother as both girls gave you a look, shared a look and then decided to leave you to it.
the problems started when a half an hour later you were hungry, currently skipping lunch for your little hide out as you huffed and mulled over your options.
you texted the one person who you knew would come through for you right now without question, perking up a few minutes later when there was a knock on the door and you knocked back, vicky opening it with a tray of food.
"this was so hard to sneak out." the girl sighed shaking her head, sitting down beside you where you scooted across. "compañero i owe you." you exhaled happily, the girl humming and watching in slight disgust as you shoveled in food like it could disappear at a moments notice.
"still haven't beat it?" the forward chuckled pointing to your phone on the floor where candy crush was loaded. "no!" you huffed with a glare, nodding as the girl reached for it with a raised eyebrow. "por favor be my guest!" you mumbled out between bites.
"boo!" you choked on a piece of chicken as the door swung open again, vicky smacking you on the back as it came sailing out of your mouth and landed on jana's shoe. "ew pollito!" the older girl groaned, kicking her foot and sending it flying away as bruna snickered.
"you can't hide in here forever amiga." bruna warned as you motioned for them to go away or close the door, the tiny closet suddenly becoming very cramped as they shuffled inside and sat down, knees tucked to their chest.
"not forever! i have a plan." you smacked away jana's hand where she reached for your jelly cup. "like the same plan you had not to get caught in the first place?" vicky chimed in as you frowned and shoved her, kicking bruna who tried to hide her laugh.
"that was not my fault."
"nothing is ever your fault!" jana rolled her eyes. "this really wasn't! i had a fool proof plan until that burro decided today of all days she was going to arrive early." you grumbled unhappily, all of your hard work and planning having been for nothing.
"so its her fault for ruining the plan you had to mess with her anyway? oye pollito, take some responsibility for once!" bruna sighed with a shake of her head, all four of you jumping in shock as again the door swung open and flooded with light.
"dios mío now i find you all! you left me at the table all alone pendejos." cata swore with a huff, arms crossed over her chest. "and for a secret meeting? for shame!" the goalkeeper tutted as all four of you groaned and complained there wasn't room when she closed the door and flopped down right in the middle.
"so what are we discussing?" cata asked, her knees digging into your sides as you shuffled around unable to find a reprise. "how nothing is ever pollitos fault." jana rolled her eyes again as you mocked her and tossed a carrot stick at her head, cata's hand shooting up to catch it mid air.
"not nothing! just this mornings...incident." you huffed, wincing at the obnoxious crunch of cata chomping down on the carrot right by your ear. "oh that? sí i will admit i am shocked you are still alive." cata mused with another obnoxious crunch.
"she's got the alexia shield." three voices sung out in unison as you pulled a face.
"first. thats super creepy do not all talk at the same two. second; sí she won't touch me when ale is around. but she has captains meetings all afternoon now until media which is why-"
"-you're hiding." "what did i say about all speaking at once!"
"i just have to survive another..." you paused to tap cata's watch. "...twenty minutes. then we have media and she's not going to kill me with witnesses around!" you beamed happily at your newfound plan, not missing the looks of uncertainty flashed around by your friends.
"what!" "nothing nothing, i'm sure that will work. and then tomorrow?" jana questioned as you faltered. "i pray she gets amnesia and forgets all about it?" you smiled hopefully as vicky shook her head and patted your shoulder.
"i will miss you amiga...can i have your nintendo switch?" "vicky!"
"well well well." you all jumped again as the door swung open, the face you'd been avoiding glaring down at you. "the rest of you have five seconds to haul culo out of this closet or you suffer as well." the girl warned.
"traitors!" you yelled after the four girls who fell over one another trying to run away, bruna and cata picking up vicky who tripped, carrying her away by the arms in a hurry unable to get away fast enough.
"hola mapi, did you do something new with your hair? looks very good today." you smiled as sweetly as you could manage, the defenders jaw clenching.
"purple is your colour?" you tried again with a nervous laugh, having been caught red handed with purple dye on your hands this morning after dumping it in mapi's shampoo, the girl having arrived early and caught you, but not having put two and two together until she showered after training.
"look we can talk about this we can-" you started to beg as the girl stepped inside and started to close the door. "oh sí sí sí we're going to talk pollito...but after i shave one of your eyebrows off." she grinned wickedly holding up a razor as your eyes widened.
"ALEXIA!"
#woso#woso community#mapi leon x reader#barcelona femini#barca femeni#barcelona femeni x reader#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso blurbs#pollito
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[[and then I met you || ch. 17]]
Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit
Summary:
A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.
pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Words: 4.3k
ao3 link
banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen
“No.”
Minnie plants her little feet firmly on the sidewalk and pulls her hands out of your and Matt’s grips so she can make her point by crossing her arms over her chest. A pout starts forming on her face and you have the feeling this is as far as your daughter will be going.
Across the street looms Clinton Church and you can understand why your daughter does not want to go anywhere near it. The building is as imposing as it is grand with its traditional architecture half shadowed in the morning sun. There is light reflecting off the many windows, casting little glares that you are sure Minnie can interpret in multiple ways - including eyes looking down at her.
Try as you might, you can’t imagine what else your little one must be picking up from the building. Is there someone praying inside? Or chanting? What sort of terrifying noises is the building making? How many rats are scurrying around the grounds, hissing and eeking and becoming unseen monsters?
How many real monsters are there?
Right now, the only monster you know of is the one in your chest named Anxiety. It is roaring inside you and causing all sorts of ruckus.
You know Minnie can pick up on your upset, and it is probably influencing her, but no amount of breathing exercises or chamomile tea is going to relax you.
Meeting someone’s parents is always going to be nerve wracking under any circumstance - but meeting the mother of the man who fathered your child? Who already has a unique and slightly estranged relationship with her son?
Frankly, you’d rather give birth again.
To make matters worse for your over analyzing, Matt's mother is a nun.
You have never interacted with a nun before, and your mind has been nonstop screaming that you are going to make an absolute fool of yourself. You are convinced you are going to say something dumb - like Jesus is stupid or some other blasphemous thing.
You don't even know what counts as blasphemy, but you know your mouth will find a way to make you want to sink into the floor and disappear forever.
You are on the same page as Minnie and don't want to take another step toward the Church.
“No?” Matt questions, tilting his head down towards his daughter. He looks a bit baffled, like he can’t understand why she’s taken such a stance. You know he is nervous about the meeting as well, having told you such earlier, but you don’t think he realizes how much his nerves, on top of your own, are affecting Mouse and her fear of the new big building.
“No.” Your daughter repeats, giving a tiny stomp of one foot to emphasize her point.
“No, what, sweetheart?” He kneels down to be on the same level as her, but you have a feeling that isn't going to help much. Minnie has made her decision and trying to sway a determined, upset toddler is a near impossible task.
“I don't wanna,” she tells him, her voice starting to get whiny. She turns away from him to press herself into your leg, her pout growing even bigger.
Matt knits his brows together, confusion clear, “You don't want to go to the park?”
Technically, you are supposed to meet Matt's mother in the Church park that is between the main building and the orphanage but as far as you are concerned, all of the grounds are Church. Apparently, your daughter feels the same.
“No. I don't wanna,” she declares, which quickly turns into the chant of, “I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't wanna!”
You can feel the tantrum coming and intervene, scooping Minnie up and hugging her to you. She instantly clings to you, burying her face against your neck with an additional almost screech of, “I don't wanna!”
You start to gently rock her from side to side and rub at her back to try and soothe her. You kiss her hair and promise, “We don’t have to go, baby. It is okay.”
As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like a grade A asshole.
Matt’s face crumbles into heartbreak and you totally deserve to walk into traffic. He had opened up to you about his mother - about how she had left him as a baby only to end up raising him after his father had been killed - but not telling him who she was. He told you how he only recently learned the truth - less than a year ago - and how hard it was for him.
But now he had you and Minnie and maybe, just maybe, you could all learn to be a family together.
Anxiety overdrive kicks in and a potential solution tumbles out of your mouth, “What if we go somewhere else instead? Somewhere we’ve been before?”
Matt lifts his head up at you, so you see yourself in his glasses, and for a second you think he's going to argue - insist you go to the Church playground - but then he tilts it towards where you don't want to go. You don't know what he is listening for, but after a moment, he stands again. He steps closer, a hand going to sit on your waist and trapping Minnie between the two of you. She stays nestled against you, little fist tight on your shirt, but you find yourself breathing a little easier at his touch.
“Would the office be okay? Foggy is out meeting clients and Karen is at the Bulletin today, it will just be us.” He offers quietly. Relief washes through you at the suggestion - you think the office would be a much easier meeting place.
But it is not your decision to make. You gently bounce Mouse to get her attention and ask, “Do you want to go to Daddy’s work?”
She doesn’t respond right away, but you feel her twist your shirt in her hands. You can tell she is thinking over her answer, so you wait, trying to focus on your daughter instead on how firm Matt’s hand is on your waist. It takes about twenty seconds, but Minnie finally nods into your shoulder.
“Okay, We’ll go to Daddy's work.”
To reward her for being so brave, you press a kiss to your daughter’s hair and Matt quickly mimics you. Minnie clings tighter to you at the affection and you think she is going to remain tense and upset until you are far away from the Church.
“Okay. Wait here, I'll go tell Sister Maggie about the change in plans,” Matt tells you and you wonder if it is really okay with him.
You know you and Minnie meeting her is important to Matt, but is the location important as well or is it just convenient? You are too wound up to ask and fearing you won't like the answer, you keep your mouth shut and focus on rocking Mouse.
Matt gives Minnie another kiss as he tightens his grip on you just slightly. It isn’t painful, but you get the impression he does not want to let go. You want to lean into the touch, your overactive mind telling you it might be nice if he never let you go, but before you can process those feelings, he is pulling away and crossing the street.
You step to the side, so you don’t impede foot traffic, and watch as he navigates past the cars and disappears around the side of the large building. Once he is out of sight, you look down to your daughter.
You want to ask her why she doesn’t want to go to the park at the Church, so you can better understand how she sees the world, but you also don’t want to put too much pressure on her. She’s already clearly upset, and you think trying to get her to answer your questions will just make things worse.
So, you focus on making things better for her.
“Would you like your headphones, Minnie?”
That gets her to lift her head up to look at you, squinting like she’s trying to determine if this is some sort of trap. Eventually she gives you one curt nod before hiding her face again.
You are a pro at being able to maneuver to get into your purse while carrying a toddler and soon enough you are handing over neon blue headphones. She needs no help in unfolding them and situating them over her ears, and once they are on, she snuggles herself back into your arms. You have no issues or complaints with the action - you simply begin to rock her again and hope this mood subsides once you are at Matt’s office.
You think about ways to get Minnie to interact with Matt’s mother as you wait for Matt to reappear. You think this might be the perfect time for parallel play - you’ve got a few coloring books stuffed in your purse, along with some small toys. You think it may be best to let her do her own thing while the adults talk, and that she comes over when she’s ready.
You hope that Sister Maggie understands that would be ideal - you know she helps to raise children, so she must understand that some kids are shyer than others. Pushing Minnie to interact when she’s fussy will only result in tears.
Possibly your own.
A few more minutes pass before Matt returns to the sidewalk followed by who you assume to be his mother. She's dressed in a gray and blue smock dress and matching habit, which is far less intimidating than the all black look you were expecting. She has an air of authority about her, holding herself tall as she walks, and you have the feeling she is a no-nonsense person.
You pray to a God you don’t really believe in that this meeting goes better than you fear it will.
You move to meet the pair as they cross the street to you and offer what you hope to be a warm smile. The smile, though not as overtly friendly as yours, is returned and Matt does the honor of introducing you. You adjust your hold on your daughter so you can shake the woman's hand.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Matthew has told me wonderful things about you,” Sister Maggie says before directing her attention to her granddaughter. “And who might this little one be?”
To no surprise to you, Minnie attempts to burrow into you more at the question, smushing her face hard into your neck. You rub her back, trying to let her know everything is okay.
“This is Minnie, she's a little shy right now.”
Sister Maggie gives a knowing nod, “New places can be intimidating.” She drops her voice just slightly, in what you guess is an attempt to be comforting, and addresses Minnie, “Did your father tell you this is where he grew up?”
He did - you and Matt explained the outing to your daughter, but you don’t know how much she understood. You do know no amount of sweet talk will change her mind, even if it is about her new favorite subject - her Daddy.
“I don't wanna go,” Mouse mumbles against you defiantly. You aren't sure if Sister Maggie can hear her, but you know Matt can. He steps forward, once again boxing in Minnie between the two of you and leans down to kiss the back of her head.
“We're not going there, princess. We're going to Daddy's office, remember? You've been there before,” he whispers into her hair. She shifts around in your arms a bit before giving another nod. You can feel her jutting out her bottom lip against your neck and part of you thinks you should call this all off and reschedule - but you aren’t going to do that to Matt.
Sister Maggie is watching your little family’s interaction, and you can’t bear to look in her direction to see what her reaction is, if she has one. Your anxiety has only prepared you for the worst.
“Perhaps we should start heading that way instead of saying where we are not going,” the nun advises after a moment and instinct and rational has you agreeing with her.
“I think that would be best.”
Matt pulls away from you and Minnie and you watch with downcast eyes as Sister Maggie offers her son her arm. He seems hesitant to take it, but he does, and your little group starts moving away from the Church and towards Nelson, Page, and Murdock.
The walk is quiet and you use the time to try and desperately calm your nerves, if only for the sake of your daughter.
You think about Matt and what kind of person he is - he is full of love and care. He got those traits somewhere, and whether you argue Nature or Nurture, Sister Maggie has certainly influenced that. Did she encourage his Goodness? She must have had some sort of positive influence if he is not only wanting her to be in his life, but his daughter’s life, as well.
You know some people believe family comes before anything, even if they treat you horribly, but you also know that if Sister Maggie was not a Good person, Matt would not allow her near Minnie.
He wouldn’t risk losing his relationship with his daughter.
That is something you have no doubts about.
As you arrive at Matt’s office building, Minnie lifts her head up off your shoulder. She wrinkles up her nose like she’s thinking hard before pointing to the plaque that state’s the firm’s name. You give her a warm smile, proud of her for recognizing it, but that only makes her squirrel away again.
This is the behavior you are used to seeing from your daughter in public - overly shy and not wanting to interact. You aren’t sure if the nerves and uncomfortableness from the church still linger, but you hope that once you are upstairs, she will start warming up a little. You won’t push her to do something she doesn’t want to do, but for Matt’s sake, you would like her to at least try talking to her grandmother.
Matt leads you all into the building and up the stairs. Sister Maggie runs a finger over the banister as you climb the stairs, giving a pleased hum, “Franklin did an amazing job cleaning this place up. Tell me that nose of yours helped in getting rid of all the mold.”
Matt huffs at the comment, “The property manager hired someone to come do that.”
“And did they get it all?”
Matt’s mouth presses into a thin line and you already know the answer.
“No, we spent a weekend getting the rest of it.”
You stop in front of the Nelson, Page, and Murdock office, and as Matt fishes out the key, you look up and down the hallway, mulling over what is implied.
“You cleaned the whole building?”
“Oh no, we couldn’t get permission from the other businesses to do that, but we did what we could to the public space and our offices. People feel comfortable here now.”
The door is opened and as you all file in, Matt suggests hanging out in the conference room. It has a nice window and plenty of space to sprawl out, so you have no objections.
You set Minnie down as Sister Maggie and Matt head into the other room. She instantly clings to your leg, practically hiding behind it. You pet her hair a few times before pulling her away just enough so you can kneel down to talk with her. As soon as you are at her level, she is trying to get into your arms again.
You let her hug onto you as you let her know what is going on, “Hey Mouse, do you remember earlier when I told you we were going to meet Daddy’s Mommy?” She nods but says nothing, so you continue on. “That is her. She wants to talk to me and Daddy and you and get to know us so she can be part of our family, too. But you don’t need to talk if you don’t want to, okay? I have your coloring books and you can color while we talk.”
That gets her to pull back just a hair and peek up at you with big brown eyes, “What are you gonna talk abouts?”
You smile at the question and gently run your hands over her back, “All sorts of things, but we’re going to end up talking about you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. If you don’t want us to talk about you, you can tell me, okay? We’ll talk about something else.”
“But I don’ gotta talk?”
You nod, and let your bag fall off your shoulder. Minnie’s new zoo themed coloring book and crayons are easy to pull out and you offer them to your daughter. She lets go of you to greedily take her toys and hug them to her chest.
“You don’t need to talk,” you confirm. “Do you want to sit at the table, or do you want to sit on the floor?”
Minnie considers the question, and you take advantage of no longer being hugged onto to stand up. Your little one peeks towards the conference room, then back up to you, and declares, “I wanna sit on Daddy’s lap.”
You feel so much pride over your daughter making such a bold decision.
“Okay, let’s go ask Daddy if you can sit in his lap.” You know Matt would never deny her, but you do want to drill in making sure Minnie asks permission first.
She waits for you to lead the way before following you into the conference room. Matt and Sister Maggie are sitting opposite each other, and Matt has already scooted his chair out and is holding his hands out to help Minnie into his lap.
“Daddy!”
She hurries to him and gets scooped up and crushed into a hug. She hugs back best she can while holding her coloring book.
You take the chair beside Matt and finally allow yourself to look at the nun across from you. She’s watching Matt and Minnie with an almost unreadable expression, but there is something soft behind her eyes - like she’s been keeping it repressed for years.
But then she catches you looking, and the softness is gone, replaced by that All-Knowing Nun look you’ve seen in movies before.
“How old is she?” Sister Maggie asks, and you can’t help but flush at her directness.
“Almost four, her birthday is on the 28th,” you reply, forcing yourself to not completely avert your gaze and hideaway.
She raises her brows before turning her sharp gaze to Matt, accusing him with, “You did not mention her birthday was coming up.”
He has the decency to look a little bit ashamed, “There were a few other things to cover, first.”
The older woman shakes her head, “Priorities, Matthew. I may be new to being a grandmother, but you know well I have raised plenty of children and we have never skimped on birthdays. We may not always have the money to spoil someone, but we do well to make sure they know they are loved.” She looks back to you, “Do you have plans for the day?”
“Oh, um, the zoo. We’re going to go to the zoo,” you tell her.
Beside you, Minnie has slipped down into Matt’s lap, so she is sitting. She has started to flip through her coloring book, examining each picture before making her decision about what to color. At the mention of the zoo, she quietly mimics you, “Going to the zoo.”
Matt breaks into a smile at the words, looking proud as can be that Minnie spoke around his mother. He wraps his arms around her middle and you have the feeling he wants to crush her to his chest again but is resisting.
Sister Maggie seems to know Minnie isn’t speaking to her, but just in general, and keeps the conversation to you, “That sounds like a lovely birthday. Zoo trips are always a delight with the kids.” She tilts her head slightly to the left before continuing on, “Matthew said you do not have a support network.”
“That isn’t what I said!” Matt quickly says, before turning his head towards you, “That isn’t what I said.”
Sister Maggie scoffs, “It is what you meant, and it is not a bad thing. You more than anyone know what it means to have a support network. Now,” she says your name gently and offers you a somewhat kind smile, “You are welcome to come to the Church and use any of the services we offer, and you may come by anytime you need, day or night. We will always have our doors open for you.”
You stare across the table as you process the words she has said. Shame and embarrassment course through you at the idea of Matt talking about you. You know you’ve never really had anyone to turn to, but the thought of others discussing such matters makes you want to crawl into a hole and cry. Yet, on the other hand, the mere offer of being welcomed at the Church has you spiraling in all sorts of good and overwhelming ways.
But of course, instead of being thankful, the words that tumble out of your mouth are, “I’m not religious.”
“That changes nothing,” she says simply and somehow, sits up straighter, “I have been given a second chance to know my son and through this a blessing of a granddaughter. I will not run from these responsibilities again and -”
“Daddy,” Minnie suddenly says, cutting Sister Maggie off while pouring all her crayons out on the table, “Pick a color!”
Matt’s cheeks turn pink at the interruption, and you try to not slide down in your seat. You know you can’t expect your daughter to sit there quietly, even if she’s being a little fussy, especially if Matt is around. She’s a toddler.
Matt clears his throat and asks, “What colors are there, sweetheart?”
“There’s green, and blue, and purple, and red, and orange, and yellow,” she lists off, holding up each crayon as she does.
“Let’s go with red.”
“Okay!” Minnie picks up the chosen crayon and begins to carefully start coloring in a gorilla.
Since she spoke up on her own, you try to engage with your daughter to bring her out of her shell, “Can you tell Daddy what animal you’re coloring?”
You expect her to answer happily - after all she loves explaining things to Matt and she’s been learning all her zoo animals.
So of course, she does not do that. She whips her head around to look at you, and with the sternest little voice you have ever heard, barks out, “I don’t gotta talk!”
Your first instinct is to laugh at the outburst, but you bite down on your lip to control yourself. The urge passes quickly, and you decide you should praise your daughter for setting her boundaries, “That is right, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’m sorry.”
She narrows her eyes at you for a moment, clearly judging you, before turning back to her artwork.
Only then do you allow yourself a chuckle.
To your surprise, Sister Maggie laughs as well. “Well, she is certainly a Murdock.”
That gets your attention and you and Matt both let out a curious, “Oh?”
“That little glare was all Murdock. I have seen it so many times from Matthew, who got it from his father,” she says and there is almost a fondness in her voice. “I expect the hands on the hips pose is genetic as well.”
Your eyes go wide at that. Matt’s father has never been brought up in depth before - you read the news article about his death in an online archive, and he was almost brushed over when Matt told you about his mother. You assumed, like your own parents, it was a sensitive topic.
“I..didn’t know that,” Matt starts slowly, and you can practically feel the emotion bubbling inside him. Without considering it, you reach across the small gap between your chairs and take his hand, squeezing it. He instantly squeezes back. “I don’t remember him ever doing that.”
“I suspect he tried to not let his frustrations show around you, but it is something I remember clear as day - Jack with his hands on his hips, glaring at the refrigerator because it dared to lose power during a blackout,” Sister Maggie tell him, before she motions to her eyes, “They may not be the same color, but that look is the identical.”
The room goes quiet, save the noise of Minnie scribbling. You keep your hand around Matt’s, trying to communicate you are there for him in his love language. He starts to roll his bottom lip between his teeth, and you wait for him to react before you do.
“You…,” Matt starts after a few more moments, voice almost warbling, “don’t talk about him. You don’t talk about him like that - what he was like.”
“Yes, well, I’ve never had reason to,” Sister Maggie says. She places her hands on the table in front of her, clasping them together, and she looks like she is about to give an interview. “But that has changed, clearly.” She looks from Matt to you, “Matthew said you were looking for family history. I do not have much from Jack’s side, but I can tell you what I do know, and I keep my own meticulous records. I believe reviewing these things, medical and non-medical, together, will…help us heal.”
You look to for his reaction. His mouth is parted, and he looks like he is going through his own emotional rollercoaster. You know how important family is to him and how dear this information must be to him, so you make a decision.
You lace your fingers with his and smile at Sister Maggie and ask, “How did you meet Jack?”
“Ah, yes, now that is a colorful story…”
a/n: maggie is v hard to write
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KNUCKLE VELVET
description:
“. . .Nothing hurts like you do. Like the way you say I love you.”
Following VI’s ‘betrayal’, the heartbreak, and cruelty that rests in her heart, she begins to embark on a path of full of physical and mental depravities that threaten to kill her tenfold.
That is, until you find her again.
⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄
read part two here!
pairings: vi x reader, caitlyn x violet
word count: 1.4k
content warnings: angst, violence, denial of feelings, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, 3 parts series.
authors note: sorry for being gone for a little while !! I did not have any motivation to write but now it’s Christmas break so I’m hopeful I’ll write a little more <3 I hope you guys enjoy this have a good holidays 🌀 also my inspirations were knuckle velvet and the carpet ep by ethel cain - hence the chapter title and wip name :P ( also cross posted on ao3!! my user is joannasprose if u wanna read it there! It’s also linked in my navigation :) )
⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄
Her knuckles are aching—swollen and bloody from her fights. Fights that were, at first to make money for herself, yet now has turned itself into something formally depraved. Perhaps another form of self-deprecation, of hurt and of the brutality in which she finds herself subjectedto.
Everything begins to hurt—the throbbing in her head, the pain of childhood melancholy, and most recently, a rebirthed heartbreak. The memory of Caitlyn's cruelty is wedged between her ribs, along with her fingers and in the wounds that won’t heal.
So maybe that’s what it is, her reasoning for putting herself on display: for digging her nails deep into her skin as her fists meet her next unfortunate opponent.
But as she lays half awake in her bed, reminding herself that she cannot help anyone if she won’t help herself, a prolonged breath leaves her mouth.
⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄
YOU FIND YOURSELF sat in the stands, hands in your lap as the crowd's cheers begin at a simmer and slowly shape into a boil. The hairs on your skin have created goosebumps in anticipation, waiting unnervingly as you wait for her to enter the stage.
In all honesty, you feel a bit stalkerish. You had never found yourself trying to formally talk to her—in your defense, it had been seven years since then. Since everything went wrong and since everyone had changed. Yourself included.
And perhaps, if she had truly wanted to see you again, why hadn’t she come to find you. To scrape up the pieces of a broken love and pull you in her arms again? You try desperately to pull yourself out of your thoughts as you see her, finally, stepping out of the archway and in the attire you always saw her in.
To anyone else who might not have known her as well as you did, they might have brushed her off as just another Zaunite. One who raved in the spotlight and indulged in the delights Zaun had to offer. But you knew better.
You could see it in the indents of her skin—and though you had never come too close to her, your vision along with where you sat had been enough for you to recognize her anywhere. There were rumors that she had come back; rumors of her being in acquaintance with a piltie, others speaking of the havoc she’d caused around the streets of Zaun, sometimes even Piltover.
When you had first acknowledged them, your heart ached. For her, and then for Jinx, for Ekko. And sometimes, even for yourself.
The roars of the crowd hadn’t died down, in fact, they had grown louder when her opponent had finally come on stage. He was five times bigger than Vi in size, and usually, you hadn’t wondered whether or not she would win. Vi was a skilled fighter, fast on her feet, and level headed.
But now, as you watch her bring her balled fists up to her face, her eyes shuddering, her stance becoming wobbly as she puts her left foot in front of the other—you shamefully begin to wonder if she could truly win it, with the way she looks now.
In the first round, and even half of the second, she had the high ground. Blood was split, from his face and from her knuckles. But slowly, her movements had begun to deter, the sways becoming a more prominent factor in it all. And in the split of a second, one dipped in blood and in alcohol—his fist met her face and she’d hit the ground.
You couldn’t help but bring a hand to your mouth as a gasp left your throat. She didn’t get up, not this time. But her limp body laid there, unmoving on the ground as the crowd counted. All you could do was there, all you could do was watch as someone unknown to you, lifted her off the ground, and carried her out of the ring.
For whatever reason, seeing her like this pained you more than anything. In truth, you didn’t like the fact that she was doing this to herself. Nothing good had come out of it. In your eyes, she didn’t look happy or grateful from the outcome.
Just tired and hurt.
And so there you found yourself, standing from your spot and sifting through the crowd. Some cursed at you for blocking the view as the man below gloated his victory—but you didn’t care for it. Desperate to find her.
But you stop at your tracks at your realization. Find her and say what? You think to yourself.
You’d been gone, she’d been gone. She’s moved on so what is there left to say? But you push your hurt and questions aside, resuming your hair and leaving out the doors the brawling scene.
When times had become unbearable, much like this one, you found yourself thinking of the past.
⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄
THE NIGHT IS how it should be. Your body pressed up against hers as the wind whistles, as those grueling goosebumps come around as they always have, and as Vi speaks, “Are you even listening?” She asks, looking down to your face resting on her shoulder, a crooked smile on her lips.
“Of course I am,” you say, smiling as she rolls her eyes.
“Oh sure,” she begins, trailing off before resuming, “what was I talking about then?” An even wider smile finds itself on your face—recalling the moments prior to this one.
“Um…the intricacies of…structures?” It’s silent until a laugh pulls itself from Vi’s throat, the pearls in her gums taking their place on stage as she speaks, “seriously? Did you even try?”
You pull yourself away from her, slapping her shoulder playfully as you bite your lip, “Dude! Can you blame me? It's freezing cold out here. My skin might freeze and fall off my bones.”
Vi hums in response, turning her attention to the city—the buildings that stand oh so firmly, all beautifully made in their own ways.
The silence is evident. Apparent enough to make you anxious as you take it all in.
Giving into the silence, you speak, “Vi? What’s wrong?” You follow the path that her eyes lead to. But to no avail, all you find are scattered lights and people who look like ants compared to the both of you.
“Nothing I just…” she says, beginning to bring a hand to ear to her, a sheepish smile on her lips now as you look at her. “I just don’t want this to end,” she says and then she looks at you. With a look of endearment and love and anything you’ve found yourself dreaming of.
“Promise me you won’t change. Promise me you’ll always be with me.” A smile finds itself on your lips as you lift a hand to her cheek, watching as she closes her eyes and grabs your wrist, gently.
“I promise. I won’t change. Not now, not ever.”
You say, genuinity laced across your lips.
Because it was true. It was, you’d truly meant it.
———
It hadn’t been that hard to find her.
A turn down an alleyway and you saw her.
Alone and slumped against the bottom of the stairs. For a long moment, you just stared. Unsure of how to approach her and what to do. Even now, would she have remembered you? Even after all those years, thinking of her and wondering where she could have ended up, had she thought of you?
Or were you just simply another thing abandoned and forgotten.
Undermining that fact, you stalk towards her anyways, gently and with precaution.
Finally, as you’ve set closed, watching her heaving on the sets of stairs, you see her for what she is now: a raw, gaping wound.
Hesitantly, you lift your hand to her shoulder, desperately wanting to push her into a sitting position. But the moment your hand falls close to her skin, she reaches out her own to grab your wrist. Not gentle like it used to be, but harsh.
A startled breath leaves your throat, wanting to pull away but she still holds on to you.
Her vision is squirming, her eyes are looking in every direction before befalling you.
Before her hand loosens and is gentle once again, like you’ve always known.
But she’s let go of you now as she speaks, “y/n?”
to be continued. . .
⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄
KNUCKLE VELVET
CHAPTER ONE: MISUSE OH
#vi x y/n#vi x you#vi arcane#vi x reader#vi#arcane season 2 act 2#arcane#fix it of sorts#arcane x reader#arcane x you
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FLAVOR PROFILE—afab+gn!reader, angst and comfort??? smoking, alcohol, established friendship, feelings, f!masturbation, loss of virginity, body worship, biting, scratching, tiniest hint of corruption (there should've been more I’m sorry) and possessive aku, praise, fingering, penetration, creampie
ABV—6.1k
BAR OSAMUCIDE IS STRICTLY AN 18+ ESTABLISHMENT. FAILURE TO PROVIDE VALID ID/AGE IN BIO UPON INTERACTING WILL RESULT IN REMOVAL FROM THE PREMISES. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.
"Really?"
He can't believe you're laughing at him. You swear you're not—you've sworn twice now. He just sighs and snatches your cigarette from you.
"I just kind of can't believe it, Ryuu," you rationalize, pressing your shoulder against his. "I'm not, I promise. I'm not laughing because it's funny. Just surprised, that's all."
Surprised, sure, alright. Look at me, he wants to spit at you, but he's hacking from holding the smoke in his lungs just a moment too long and so you work the dart from his fingers and tuck it back between your lips as he rights himself.
Akutagawa crosses his arms, not unlike a pouting child, and fixes his eyes on the brick wall across from you both and the one you lean back on as you're sat atop some wooden crate, one long discarded after a weapons shipment or whatever else. He can't help but feel a little small beneath your reaction, but you resume issuing soft kicks to the gravel beneath your feet like it was nothing—like you hadn't just drawn probably one of the most humiliating confessions out of him. He never really gave a second thought to all that before you came around, but now that he's beside you, elbows crossed over his knees as he draws them closer to himself, he suddenly feels like he should've before.
You finish your cigarette in silence, pointedly not moving away from him.
"I'm sorry," you say softly, sincerely as you chuck the butt to the ground in front of you. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"I'm not uncomfortable." But he still doesn't look at you. Akutagawa's dealing with more than one predicament at the present moment and he needs to sort them before he can turn his attention back to you.
One—he doesn't know if it would've been more or less attractive, or maybe repulsive, if he could've said, yeah, I've fucked plenty of people before, or at least I've fucked someone, and Akutagawa's aware he's a lot of filthy things, but apparently he's neither a liar nor a whore, and it leads him right to his second predicament, which is this: why does he care whether you find him attractive or repulsive?
How long has he care what you think of him at all? And last: what does it mean, that he does?
It's that last one that his thoughts get snagged on.
You tap your foot beneath you. This alleyway is where you always drag him off to when you feel like getting away from work. He can hardly remember the last time he said no to you when it came to escaping Mori's iron rule for an hour or so. But he wishes he would've today, kind of like he wishes he would've skipped the only other time he can recall wishing to have skipped—the day you let him smoke one of your cigarettes.
It's funny how your conversation from that day parallels the exchange from minutes ago. It sticks in his mind right now. You, at least two years younger and having known him on a much more superficial level than you do now, had laughed a little; it makes him feel only marginally better about you laughing now. Even then you were reassuring him, not because it's funny, but just because—I don't know, that's what I do when I’m surprised, I guess. He's always envied your ability to find joy in small things like that, after all.
You didn't make him feel small just now. He finds ways to do that all on his own; he knows that. He must've been weak back then because he'd inhaled less tar than you, and he hated that, so he did it when you offered. But now, here he was. You know he's never even kissed anyone, let alone fucked. The sensical pattern, thinking back to that day when you tapped a cigarette out of your pack for him, lit it off your own, good-naturedly patted his back as the coughs raged out of him because he inhaled it all down way too fast for someone with clean lungs—
Where exactly would that lead now, logically?
It's not like he's never thought about it. But you don't need to know that.
Akutagawa turns his his head away from you, chin on his arms. He can feel his face burn. He won't let you see.
But he knows you now, and you know him. And he knows you'll offer anyway.
You sit in silence, maybe ten minutes more, kicking the ground and letting your eyes flutter open and shut, before you pull another smoke out of your pack and stick it in your mouth.
“Well,” you mumble as your lighter flicks, “If you wanna change that…”
He doesn’t move. He can still feel the crate trembling from how you tap your foot, which is good, because he’s a little restless himself. You draw off your cigarette; he sees the smoke dissipate in his peripheral as your head falls back to rest on the brick. What he doesn’t see is your little half-smirk, but he knows it’s there.
It’s not that Akutagawa doesn’t like you. Anyone that knows him well can probably see he likes you, or at least tolerates you—he lets you drag him here week after week, shift after shift, after all. He gives you grace, even if it’s small, when you fuck up on jobs—something he never gives to anyone else, hardly even Chuuya. He doesn’t flinch or swat you away when you absentmindedly pull him in some direction by his elbow or his wrist; he doesn’t scoff at you when you lean up against him, like you are right now, and shift away from you or push you off like he might even with Gin. To someone who doesn’t know him, he probably looks indifferent to you at worst, and indifference and tolerance, and maybe even liking, tend to go hand-in-hand when it comes to the wielder of Rashoumon. He’s not outright evil to you, and that’s enough—if for no one else, for you. But you know him by now.
And because you know him, you know what he’ll say next.
“No.”
And it’s not because he doesn’t like you, which is why you’ll do what you do next, and he knows you will because he knows you, too, by now—enough to maybe like you—you’ll press him.
“Aw, why not?” It drawls out of you lightheartedly, almost jokingly.
It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve never looked at him with fear, disgust, or hatred in your eyes—not even before you knew one another so well and he would regularly, in response to your antics, threaten to beat you to a pulp with his black beast. It might have something to do with how you seem to look right through him like that, and then inadvertently boost his ego by telling him you think he totally has the capacity to be cool, or even normal, doing things like fucking and smoking cigarettes. He wants to laugh at how silly it all sounds to him. Akutagawa’s never been good at letting himself understand why you make him feel the way you do. Why he deserves your kindness or companionship. Why you can’t see him for what he is: a war machine, configured from birth, far beyond—or maybe beneath—any sort of semblance of a normal destiny that includes indulgence. Love. It would make him respect you less, hate you, maybe, if it wasn’t so secretly pleasant, the fact that you don’t look at him like that. The fact that you seem to think he does deserve something more than misery.
I have a feeling this is gonna be a long partnership, so it’d be a lot more fun if you smoked! You said that the day you were assigned to each other, before you knew about his lung condition, and he knew he shouldn’t have ever accepted your offer that day in this very alleyway because he ended up liking the head high cigarettes gave him, even if it was horrible for him.
The same way he likes you, and it makes him unbearably soft. The same way he’d probably like kissing you. Fucking you. Another thing that’ll kill him one day, one way or another. He knows if he gets any closer than he is, and then for some reason you leave—die, run away, decide your relationship is awkward now and he’s horrible and you hate him, whatever—it’d kill him, undoubtedly. Better not to smoke the cigarette. Better not to fuck the only real friend he thinks he’s had since he was watching his back every moment he lived in the slums. Anything that felt good was almost certainly a trap laid to hurt him.
“Because,” he huffs.
If for sole annoyance or disgust, he would’ve bitched you out. But he doesn’t. You note this. So, you let it go. Because you know him.
“Alright,” you sigh. Not disappointed, not dismissive. Just affirming and understanding. It blows his mind all over again. He doesn't move, doesn't look at you. "Well, I suppose we should get back." Your eyes flick to your wristwatch. "Kouyou wanted us for something in about a half hour."
Some silly meeting in some bar. Chuuya's not there to keep her from getting off topic, so Akutagawa sits beneath the low light (on the edge of the booth, thank god), you next to him, while your superior's ordering another round of whisky sodas for the table.
When Kouyou distributes the drinks, Akutagawa slides his toward you, which you then slide to the man on your other side. His name's Shota—one of Chuuya's subordinates—and he takes it off your hands happily. You nestle your own between your hands on the tabletop.
"But as I was saying," the scarlet-haired woman continues, "it's going to have to happen over the weekend. I don't think it's wise to do anything until Nakahara's back from Tokyo, which will be Friday at the earliest, and the tracking number for the Makarov shipment on its way in got thrown in the trash so Hirotsu's going to have to..."
Akutagawa's gaze trains steadily on your hands; his own are busy, one propping his chin up, the other circling rings over the rim of his first and only glass, now empty. It's not out of the ordinary for him to tune out of Kouyou's tipsy ramblings, especially when Chuuya will be back in a few days to explain the game plan concisely and soberly. What is out of the ordinary is that he's still stiff, thinking about your conversation from the alleyway and the tone in which you so nonchalantly cooed aw, why not? Almost as if you'd been a little disappointed when he said no, he wouldn't take you up on your offer. Were you? He has to doubt it. You've always been a little too eager to get him fucked up on Chuuya's wine, drag him out of work, pull him out of his comfort zone—he'd seen the unmistakable excitement on your face the first time you'd jammed a cigarette between his lips. But that is way too far out of his wheelhouse, and he's pretty sure you both know it.
Even if he does keep thinking about it.
You, well—you sip your second whisky and take note of his fidgeting. Although your drink’s only half gone, you tap your foot against his, glancing between him and the door; he looks at you, then back down at his empty glass, clears his throat and nods ever so subtly. Code exhcange for I'm bored, wanna leave? Of course. So when the conversation lulls, you both stand.
"Kazuha has us at eight-thirty," you explain, bidding everyone good evening and seeing yourselves out the door before anyone has the chance to ask what for.
"Kazuha? That was the best lie you could come up with?"
"Are we still sitting in there or not?" you refute, cigarette dangling from your mouth as you walk with your hands behind your head in the direction of headquarters. "Can't wait to get home."
"Yeah, after your hard day," Akutagawa mutters.
"Hey, watch it," you poke. "I moved shit all morning. Need a shower bad."
Which is exactly what you do after you depart from your partner and scamper up to your apartment. But first you take the liberty of lighting a few candles, cracking your bathroom window for a breeze, dancing around to a little music as a bath full of lavender salts warms, and rubbing out your sore knees with that pain relief oil Higuchi recommended to you. It's true, you did spend all morning getting shipments from the port; the less luxurious side of the life and work of a mafioso moving their way up the ladder isn't something you're unfamiliar with, although you do it less now.
You settle in, sighing. Maybe it's wrong to still be thinking about it, but you had sort of hoped Akutagawa would take to your little quip earlier with at least a hint of curiosity, or bring it up on your walk home even if just to tell you how absurd it was that you'd even think such a thing; perhaps you should've been more deliberate, you think. Or maybe it's a good thing that you weren't. He's one of the last people you'd want to make things weird with—outside of being the (rather oblivious) object of your affection, he's still your coworker and, as of recent years, very best friend. Somewhat of a literal partner in crime. You snicker at that as your shoulders dip below the water. You momentarily debate trying to dismiss your little feelings for the night, and you will, for the most part—but while you're relieving physical tension under the soft flicker of your candles and the hum of the city below you, you figure you might as well dispel your disappointment, too, and you trace your fingers down the curve of your hip to find yourself wet in a way that has nothing to do with the water.
Meanwhile, Akutagawa is pacing his living quarters. He's already taken a cold shower to stave off what has only become more difficult not to think about now that you're gone—he doesn't have to hold it together for you or anyone, and he finds himself trying to sit still on the edge of his bed as his phone sits a few feet away on the nightstand. Should he text you about it? Call you? Fuck that—you do a fine job of flustering him when you're barely trying, but if he let you know—god, if he let you know, he'd never hear the end of it. Text or call you to talk about anything else, even if just to hear your voice and have your presence? No, he has a feeling that would drive him even further up the tree he's chased himself up; he's sitting, tapping his foot like you were earlier when he should've been able to answer you normally, his apartment is dead silent, his dick's half-hard in his sweatpants and he doesn't know what to do.
You probably weren't even serious. If he was smart, he would've jacked off in the shower and called it a night.
But he likes you. More than you realize—more than you can realize, because he's always stone-faced, no-bullshit, hard-ass Akutagawa and he doesn't know how to be anything else, even when you're around and ecouraging him to loosen up. You can't possibly realize how much you've done for him in terms of easing his anxiety over always being good enough, in terms of helping him understand his humanity, in terms of making him feel like a real person.
He suddenly feels like he's on a tightrope of keeping you close and messing it all up, and whichever way he decides to fall will inevitably bring unending frustration that he could've done something different, something better.
And maybe this is an opening. Or a pinnacle that his relationship with you was doomed to come to. Either way, he can't sit in his apartment. Marching forward, like he always does—no matter how hesitantly—he slips his jacket on and shoves his keys in his pocket before he's heading for the elevator.
It's not until he's staring at the interface of buttons that he decides between launching himself to the ground for a long walk along the port or punching in your floor.
And you're so close—your back's arching, your jaw hangs slack, you're spilling water down the side of the tub that pools on the floor, but you'll worry about it later—when you hear manic pounding coming from your hallway. Maybe it's not yours, you think, screwing your eyes shut and working your fingers back and forth in tight circles around your clit because you want it, damn it, but your apartment's so damn big that it's almost impossible to conceive of it being for anyone else.
"One minute!" you shout, rising out of the water with grumbling breath to wrap yourself in a towel and blow all your candles out in one swipe. But whoever it is doesn't hear you, or doesn't care—the harsh knocking pattern booms again, and you almost trip over your pile of discarded work clothes as you fumble out of the bathroom wondering what could possibly be so important, and on account of who, that they had to interrupt your first hour of alone time all day, not to mention when you were so deliciously close to an orgasm you'd been working yourself up to with painstaking care. You'd even edged yourself a little, just because you figured you had time; you would've gotten it over with if you'd have known you were on call, but here you are, unsatisfied and stomping to your door, about to crack it open and take whatever orders were about to be unloaded onto you with a smile and can-do attitude.
You fling the door open.
“What?”
Akutagawa’s fist is still raised to knock. You watch his eyes behind his sunglasses as they flit down to you—you in nothing but a towel—and his face breaks out in a blush you’ve never seen on him before.
If you were any less annoyed, you would’ve smirked.
“Ryuu, what?” you snap again as his hand falls to his side. Whatever it is, if someone needs backup, if it’s urgent, you wish he’d tell you already—it’s so unlike him to stand speechless that you almost want to ask if something else is going on. “Can you spit it out so I know if I should get dressed, please?”
No, he wants to croak out, but you’ll just keep barraging him with questions—all he does is fumble his way inside your apartment with please don’t get dressed on the back of his tongue and that really strange, dazed look behind his glasses. He can't even blame the alcohol from earlier—he only had one, and it's had ample time to wear off.
“Ryuunosuke—”
He freezes where he is, steely eyes locking onto yours, and his voice leaves him, hoarse. “Say that again, please.”
You look at him incredulously, scrunching your towel up beneath your fist that holds it up. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Akutagawa feels small again. This was the wrong decision. He should’ve gone for that walk. He should’ve jerked off in the shower and then went to bed and tossed and turned until he finally fell into an erratic sleep and he should not be here, he should wake up tomorrow morning, sleep-deprived and full of regret but knowing he’s safe because he didn’t go to your apartment to find you in nothing but a towel and he spared your relationship, he didn’t make it weird, and he’d look at you longingly for the rest of however long, only when you weren’t looking just so you’d never know how much agony your stupid little joke from earlier today put him in.
But you’re expecting an answer, and out of all the filthy things Akutagawa is convinced he is, he is not a liar.
His eyes fly to the ground. Your legs, knocking together from the chill of the water droplets that still cling to them.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about earlier,” he forces out. “What you said.”
You hesitate. “What I said…?” Had you said something wrong?
Great, he thinks, mouth falling open. So you weren’t serious.
“You know what, nevermind.” He shouldn’t be here. He goes to push past you, toward your still-open door, but you stop him, shutting the door and pushing a palm against his chest.
“Tell me,” you mean to say, but it sounds more like a question; his pale face flushes again, and you search him with your gaze. He seems to shrink a little more before he sighs and looks to you once more.
“If I wanted to change that I’ve never…”
You wait.
“Kissed.”
You blink, cock your head.
“Or fucked anyone.”
Your hand lets up on his chest, and you find yourself taking a step back—little, but it sends your partner reeling into self-doubt all over again.
“You want…” You speak, quietly, with less urgency than you have thus far. “You wanna fuck me?”
And Akutagawa’s nodding, more frantically than his pride would prefer. But he’s nodding. Not looking at you. Waiting for you to laugh and clap him on the shoulder with a yeah, as if and tell him to go home.
But your fingers slide up to curl along the side of his neck. When his eyes are still downcast, you cup his jaw in your palm.
“Ryuu, look at me.”
Here it comes. The big rejection. He’s ready. He’ll go home and punch a hole in his wall, but he’s ready to hold it together right now.
His eyes drift to yours again, still cold and nervous, like a dog’s when it’s about to bite.
But you smile, trace your thumb along his bottom lip, and whisper.
He has no idea how much you mean what you're saying next.
“I wish you would’ve just led with that.”
It’s like bombs are about to detonate in his brain. He knows what he should do next—he should kiss you, he should throw himself at you and let your tongue between his lips, but part of the reason why he’s here is because he never has, and he trusts you to show him—just what kind of weak has he become, trusting someone with their teeth so close to his throat? It doesn’t matter because he wants it, he just wants you to—
“Show me, please.”
To his displeasure, you don't latch onto him like a hungry animal. Instead, your fingers drift down to his and wind between them; you lead him past the couch to your bedroom, sit him down, and pull your towel a little tighter around you. He wants it off, he wants to see you—even if the thought of sitting naked himself, in front of you, makes his stomach flip, he wants nothing more than to tear the towel away, get to exploring the ways you like to be touched, hear sounds from you he's never heard before.
"Ryuu," you say, one hand on his shoulder. "Be sure you want this."
"I do," he squeaks out, hardly ever having heard his own voice so meek.
"Tell me. Say it."
"I want it," his words follow yours seamlessly, without another thought. He's already established in his mind that he trusts you. But he's still sort of waiting for you to start chuckling and tell him this is a big joke; his hands tremble as you stare, digging for uncertainty, but you don't find any. So as you hold your towel against you, you crawl carefully onto his lap, astride his waist.
And now, he has you. Between his fingers. They find the curve of your waist as you curl an arm around the back of his neck after you work the jacket off from around his shoulders, tear his glasses off, push his soft bangs from his face. Akutagawa looks at you with so much wonder, so much need; you set your weight on him, and you feel him, and his nails grip your ass through the towel.
"Please, don't be gentle," he whispers when your lips hover immediately over his. He can feel your breath, warm and inviting, as the tip of your nose brushes past his.
You smile into his mouth and wrap your other arm around him.
You let the towel fall as you kiss him.
Hot, slow.
And the bombs go off all at once. Before the towel can pool over his hands he's batting it to the floor, scooting back onto your mattress to accomodate you; he wants to shut his eyes but you grind down against him through his pants as your lips mold against his and he’s probably never felt so alert in his life. Akutagawa gasps in a certain way, another sound he's never heard himself make; when your fingers tangle into the hair at the back of his head, he groans, grips your waist, and his eyes melt shut, finally.
You kiss him until he's putty, and he follows your lead; you grab his wrists and guide his hands to your chest, which has his eyes flying open all over again as he feels his fingerpads twitch over your nipples. You work him onto his back, easing him down with your tongue against his, so warm, so wet; your teeth, harsh in his bottom lip, where your thumb stroked so tenderly before, force his hips in a circle, and, oh, god, you have him losing it already, completely helpless, completely breathless.
You pull back, grinning, before grabbing for the buttons on his shirt.
"This okay?"
It's not okay, it's insane. His pants are too tight. He's never needed someone like this. And you look so angelic above him waiting for him to nod, give you a small yes, before you work him out of his shirt next, taking care to trace every ridge and valley of his ribs and abdomen as you do. He shivers when it's gone, discarded with his jacket and glasses; his arms come to cover himself but you trace those, too, the dips in his lean muscle and severities of his shoulders, collarbones, elbows, wrists. Just as he thinks he might feel too vulnerable, you start mapping him out with a softness he's never felt before; he wants to sink into it, keep it forever. If he wasn't so painfully hard, he might not even need to fuck you; just laying, relaxing into the sheets beneath him as you look at him like he's beautiful, is a heaven of its own.
"You're so pretty, Ryuu," you mutter. You hunch to bite the juncture of his throat and shoulder, then soothe it with a kiss. "So, so fucking pretty. You know that?"
Akutagawa shudders again. "I told you not to be gentle."
You bite him once more, grinding your bare cunt along his clothed cock, and a groan throttles from his chest. After doing the same to the opposite side of his neck, your lips meet his again, and he forgets about shielding himself in favor of letting his hands rock you back and forth against him.
You feel him twitch below you as you work him into nothing but impatient breath and swollen lips; your irritation from not reaching your climax earlier doubles back on you in a wave of arousal, and you’re guiding him out of his pants and boxers at the same time, and thank god that’s all that’s left and that you’re so turned on already because when the tip of his pale cock hits his abs, all you can think about is sinking down onto it, feeling it fill you up and pulse inside you.
But you wait, looking at him low-lidded and asking him, “You want me on top, or you?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he curses, twisting a leg into the bend of your knee at his side; you’re not weak by any means, but in one smooth movement he’s got you on your back, pinned down by your wrists. “If you’re going to be gentle, then I won’t.”
Wasting no time. You almost giggle but you’re gasping, his eagerness streamlining into a searing kiss to your mouth and one of his rough hands snaking down to collect the wetness pooling between your thighs.
He knows he should touch you. He knows that much. He wants to know—
“Where? Tell me where,” he growls into your mouth, and you guide him by his wrist and fingers once again to draw tight circles over your clit—ones that make you arch, and after feeling how you do it he burns it into his brain, the movement you’re guiding him through that sends your head lolling onto the pillow. Akutagawa’s eyes widen. He could watch your expression replay for hours.
“That’s it,” you encourage him, breathy, letting him go as he memorizes your rhythm. “Feels so good.”
You bring your two wet fingers up to his mouth, which he accepts without hesitance; his tongue swirls around them and you realize how serious he is—he doesn’t want it slow and you’re losing your resolve against him and you think you need him in you, right now.
He stills when you reach for his cock, dark hair swaying as his gaze trails your hand; he sits back, heaving, as he rubs you, as you stroke him and smear a pathetically large bead of precum across his tip and down his length. Trying desperately not to stop, to keep making you feel good, he throws his head back when you squeeze just beneath the head of his cock and pull him back toward you by his shoulder.
“Wan’ you to fuck me, Ryuu,” you whine, lining him up with your weeping hole. He’s pushing in with hardly a second thought, and, oh—he’s groaning in yet another way he’s never heard before, watching himself disappear into you, bracing himself on your forearms until he fills you up to hilt. So wet, so warm. He hardly realizes how ragged his breath is until he hears your own.
You squirm, and after he presses another series of messy kisses to your lips to stifle the noises of pleasure leaving him that would be so humiliating if he wasn’t so drunk on you, you hold him by his chin and look so deeply into his eyes that he’s afraid for a second you’re doing that thing where you look right through him into his very soul, but your mouth is forming around words that he must hear, he must hang onto, you have to tell him what to do, and you do—
“Don’t be gentle.”
So he isn’t. He moves, on nothing but your words and intuition and the way you clench around him; there’s virtually no resistance when he pulls out, slams back in, pulls out, slams back in—and he loses himself in it so quickly, so noisily.
“Unh—fuck—” Your name leaves his lips like a song that has you linking your ankles behind his back as he writhes, pounds into you—and you understand all over again, he wasn’t kidding. He doesn’t want it slow. And neither do you, you realize, now that he’s dragging his perfect cock along your insides so deliciously.
He realizes something too, as he falls to his elbows and buries his open mouth into your neck; that he never wants anyone else to hear the sounds either of you are making ever again. He doesn't care that you're more experienced than him, or that your relationship is irrevocably changed now that this is happening; you're going to be the first and last person that ever hears him moaning like this, that ever has him blushing from face to chest at the lewd sounds that your bodies emit where they meet and then part each time he pistons in and out of you. You’re clawing at him, raking tracks down his back and biceps that spur him to a pace he didn’t know he was capable of—he can’t wait to see them in the mirror tomorrow when the rawness has left and they’re angry red, a testament to how quickly he’s learning you, how quickly you’re both falling apart, how much he thinks he loves you.
Yeah, he thinks he loves you—it’s muffled by your skin, but he’s saying it, he can’t help it, he can’t keep it in his lungs if he’s going to keep this pace up.
“Love you, Ryuu,” you echo, and he echoes you right back like he didn’t start it.
“Love you.” Thrust. “Love you.” Thrust. “Love you—mmh!”
"My good boy," you croon when he reaches down to touch you, to feel you squeezing him down on him. Your good boy. You could turn him into a whore if you kept saying that.
"My name, please," he breathes, high-pitched, almost wheezing; you hold him as close to your body as you can, shortening his unstoppable thrusts against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl, pushes rhythmic moans from your throat, and his hands are all over you, begging for it in his rough grips that undulate into soft caresses back to harsh nails back to gentle strokes.
"Ryuunosuke—" you choke out, "Don't—" Gasp. "—fucking—" Gasp. "—stop!"
The most gorgeous strand of strained moans, gasps, and growls leave him as his head batters insatiably against your cervix; he’s falling off that tightrope, and you’re catching him, all his shaking fingers and trembling thighs that still momentarily before he can warn you, before he can tell you—
"Cum in me," you sigh as you feel him, feel yourself breaking, coming undone as he forces his sounds down your throat; you swallow them all, crying out against his lips as he bites you, furrows his brow, pulls back to bore into your clouded gaze—he's sure he looks the same if not worse, more unraveled, mouth open, lips wet, when you arch back and pull him flush against you and he's cumming, taking you for every last bit you'll give him until you're hypersensitive, fluttering around him, helping him make a sticky mess beneath the both of you as his head falls forward again, into your shoulder, restless, groaning with aftershock, until his lips meet yours and he kisses you, kisses you, kisses you, neither of you ready to come down yet.
But soon enough you're reduced to exhausted writhing, slow bites, fingers through his hair and he's spent—pleasantly so. Weak, not in the way he feels after he's been brought to his knees by a formidable foe but in a way he will not be content to part with; a comfortable resignation that he could make a home in.
Akutagawa wraps himself around you, and you kick the blanket at your feet up until you can pull it over his shoulders and tuck your nose into his forehead.
"Still kind of don't believe you've never done that before," you think out loud, voice a little absent from how you’ve been sobbing for him.
And Akutagawa finds himself smiling into your skin. He sounds just as much of a wreck. "Never. Not until now."
It was good. Not only was it good, but you can feel him softening inside you, and you want him to stay.
"Meant it, by the way."
Then he looks up at you, quizzically. That strange, dazed look is in his eyes again.
But you just look back at him. Push his bangs back, mirror his tired smile. Wipe the drying sheen of sweat from across his brow.
When it clicks, he's buried in your neck again. Grumbling. "I meant it, too."
You hug yourself impossibly tighter around him, muttering his name, rolling you both to your sides where you cup his face once more, pressing smooches all over him, less heated and more playful, and Akutagawa scrunches his nose as you pepper him and start mumbling in between—
"Love you. Love you. Love you."
He catches you in your tirade and kisses you like you first kissed him—slow, deep. His own love you whispered, almost imperceptible. He'll stay. "Thank you. Love you."
Like he never knew he was capable of loving. He’s not uncomfortable. For once. For real. You caught him when he was falling. He hopes you’ll keep doing it.
But right now, he only has one more question.
"Do you have any cigarettes?"
You reach across him, over to your nightstand. “Who do you think I am?”
My angel, he thinks in response as you nudge the filter between his lips to light it. You, in control, let him puff before you steal it for yourself.
And he’s yours. The Port Mafia’s ferocious Hellhound is your good boy, your angel.
You’ll love him until he believes it.
#csm reference#kinktober? you thought.#vanillatober.#couldn’t help it with him i need to love him til he loves himself#i should’ve picked someone else if i wanted it to be nasty that’s my b you guys#akutagawa smut#akutagawa x reader#bsd smut#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs smut#bungou stray dogs x reader#nnnsfw.ᐟ#kinktober 2024#with love—reid#mdni
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Jschlatt. But Y/N is being a brat. Thank you for your time. Have a good day.
okok you sweet thing thank you for your patience here we go
CW: killing bugs, aggressive facefucking, he smacks you once but its chill i swear
you had only agreed to a camping trip because you thought you would get to eat s'mores. but you were thoroughly disappointed when tucker forgot the marshmallows, crossing your arms and leaning back on the log you were sitting on with a harrumph, shrieking when you spilled backwards onto the rough pine needles behind you. schlatt helped you up as you giggled, chuckling softly himself.
"i texted you five separate times about the damn marshmallows, tucker," ted spoke through gritted teeth, eyeing his childhood best friend angrily.
"oh, you mean the marshmallows that were your job in the first place? you got everything else for 'em, ted, chocolate, graham crackers, but somehow you forgot the marshmallows for s'mores and I'M the one at fault!" tucker responded, chucking the pinecone he was playing with down at the ground in front of him.
"sshhhh!!" ted glanced at you, deep in a conversation with schlatt, and glared back at the man. "get up, let's walk down the trail to the general store and get some so we can have dessert," he grumbled, standing up and extending down his hand to help steady tucker as he followed suit.
the two men let you and schlatt know where they were going before heading a few dozen yards away to the rv where tucker and emma were sleeping to invite her along. she agreed and they set off, the couple holding hands and listening intently while ted made theatrical hand gestures and explained whatever tangent he was on.
it was quiet for a bit after ted's voice faded away, only the crackling fire punctuating the comfortable silence between you two, and schlatt tended to it solemnly, occasionally adding more wood to keep it big enough to last until they would return. he figured they'd be gone an hour and flicked his eyes to look at you about five minutes in.
you were still on your back, legs draped over the log you fell off, staring up at the brightest stars beginning to appear in the sky as dusk began to fall. he thought you looked angelic, and he startled you when he cleared his throat to speak.
"sorry," he started, shifting to face you more from his seat above you at the picnic table.
"you're good," you mumbled as you shook your head slightly, training your eyes back on the moon high above you.
"do you know if ted was kidding when he said we only have one tent?"
you laughed, remembering the sleeping arrangements, and shook your head. "do you see another one besides the one we have up?" you gestured broadly behind you somewhere, and, sure enough, schlatt saw a rather large rounded tent a small distance away.
he groaned and squashed a beetle on the ground with his boot, grinding the toe into the earth and smearing the bug beneath him. "i shouldn't have agreed to this," he complained. "two dudes above 6 foot in a tent plus you? no offense, toots, but we're not gonna all fit."
you sat up in shock, not at what he said, but at your clear view of his cruelty towards the feeble creature whose home he was invading. "why would you do that??" you shouted at him, weakly grabbing at his ankle and trying to move his foot by force. he picked his foot up and swiftly yet relatively gently shoved you in the chest with it, planting you on the ground once again.
"the fuck are you doin'?" he laughed mockingly. "it was just a bug, y/n, relax." he said it with a cruel smile and turned away to tend the fire pit. you growled quietly in frustration and sat up again, climbing to sit on the surface of the picnic table so you were almost eye-level with the tall man when he turned back to face you. you were quiet, apparently, and he hadn't heard you moving, so when he saw you there, he let out an embarrassing noise at the jumpscare and immediately began pretending it was something in the woods.
"no, i think that was actually a, um. a creature in the wilderness or something," he fumbled when you asked, sniffing his mustache a few times.
you continued to make fun of him, laughing at his stupid jokes and handing him small sticks to add to the burning pile. when he asked you to hand him his drink, just a few feet to your left, though, you said, "no."
he turned around slowly to look at you after adjusting the fire, as if giving you one final chance to pass it to him. "not askin' for much, toots," he warned.
"i don't feel like not killing bugs is asking for much, but here we are," you yawned. it was getting darker now, maybe 20 minutes had gone by since the rest of your friends had left. "reach for it yourself."
he sighed and grabbed the drink, taking a long sip of whatever he and tucker had concocted while ted, emma, and you worked on dinner. it was quiet for what you thought was almost too long before he spoke.
"are you gonna keep givin' me trouble all night?" it sounded more like a threat than a question. he was still facing the fire, watching the smoke, and you couldn't help but flush at his words.
"i dunno, depends what my prize would be," you teased as you slowly walked two fingers up his back. he shivered and whipped around, grabbing your hand so tight it hurt.
"don't do that, you don't get to pull that cutesy shit after bein' a bitch earlier," he chided down at you. "and i know you'll enjoy hearing what i'd do to you, you stupid whore, so i'm not gonna say anything. but i also know you're just gonna keep pushin' til you find out."
you moaned and bit your lip unknowingly, blinking up at him. he groaned in a mixture of disgust and attraction as he dropped your wrist and turned away.
after minutes of schlatt just tending to the fire, ignoring your increasingly desperate attempts to capture his attention again, you saw a beetle similar to the one he killed earlier crawling on the table an arm's reach from you. a wicked smile spread across your face before you composed yourself and reached down to coax it onto your finger.
quickly and quietly, you guided the little creature onto his shoulder and tapped him, stifling a laugh. he turned, huffing, an annoyed expression adorning his face, and jumped slightly when he saw the bug. for the second time that night, he shrieked, and he swatted frantically at his shoulder blade as you cackled at him.
"you stupid bitch!" he laughed incredulously when he was sure it was gone, turning around fully to tower over you. he put his arms on either side of you and leaned in, breath reeking of whiskey hot on your face as he spat his words at you through gritted teeth. "i'm gonna give you one last warning before i fucking ruin you."
he usually wasn't this patient! you smiled coyly at him and ran your hand across the top of his thigh featherlight, mimicking a skittering spider. his leg twitched and he looked at you, dumbfounded by your blatant desire to piss him off. your smile only got bigger after a moment when he rolled his eyes and smacked you playfully before turning to check the fire was still safe. he didn't know how long he had before your friends got back anymore, and he was going to have to take the risk of being caught if he was to punish you like he wanted.
he gestured for you to get off the table and sat down himself, facing outwards and gesturing for you to kneel between his legs. he looked like a god from this angle, chops framing his face perfectly; the firelight cast a glow on him that just called for you to worship at his feet. you shifted your legs underneath you on the cold ground in an attempt to get some friction at the sight of him undoing his pants and pulling out his cock, but he quickly snapped his fingers and pointed at his crotch before saying, "now. choke on it, doll."
you smiled slightly, shaking your head. unfortunately for you, schlatt was done with your little game. "not fuckin' playin' anymore, you stupid hole, i can be mean if that's what you really want. last chance," he almost pleaded. he was really scared of going too hard with you in the middle of the woods and not being able to get you help if needed.
you stuck your tongue out at him and he grunted, shaking his head as he grabbed you by your hair and shoved your head down his entire length. he used your head like a fleshlight, guiltily reveling in the sloppy noises your lips were making, along with the occasional whimper and moan— and don't get him started on the tears that fell from your eyes as you blinked up at him, those would be something he pictured every time he was by himself for years to come.
"god, toots, i should really plug your mouth up with my cock more often, huh?" schlatt let his head fall back and gripped your hair tighter when he felt you nod with him still in your mouth. he scoffed and peeked at the fire again. "yeah, you love this shit. you lil' whore," he mumbled.
in addition to slamming your mouth up and down on his shaft, he began fucking up into your throat, grunting rhythmically with every thrust after a bit. your throat was incredibly sore, but you were the one that asked for this, so you couldn't complain.
schlatt's groans echoed off the trees, and the nightlife of the forest sang in symphony with him as the dark settled over the campsite. "god, y/n, fuck," he panted, staring up at the universe above him. he wasn't sure if the stars were real or from how good you were making him feel.
but, since all good things must come to an end, schlatt froze when he heard ted's voice coming back from what he thought was a good distance away. "fuck," he muttered. he tried to pull you off but you continued to lick and suck his tip. "fuckin' stop that, y/n! i'm serious, they're almost here," he scolded.
"dude, we already saw! you're the only light source for like several hundred yards! it's cool though, take your time!" tucker called from the rv.
a faint, "dude!" and a smack was heard, followed by laughter. you grinned up at schlatt, who looked mortified, and stood up while he put himself back in his pants.
"come over here with my marshmallows, guys! i was promised s'mores!"
ilyyy thank you for your patience part two should be up sometime in the next few days mwahhhh
#chuckle sandwich#x reader#jschlatt#jschlatt x reader#schlatt#jschlatt smut#schlatt x reader#jschlatt x you#schlatt x you#ted nivison#ted nivison x y/n#jschlatt x y/n#ted nivison x you#ted nivision smut#ted nivision x reader
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Increased circulation
Gyomei x y/n (AFAB)
MDNI – Minor do not interact
Word count: 1300+
" " is dialogue
' ' is thoughts
Warning: involuntary erection, nudity, vaginal intercourse, internal ejaculation, size kink, embarrassing moments ,hook up
Ahem ahem pls be kind to me this is my first smut Did you know onsen weren't separated by gender in old jp?
"Ding dong ding dong"
The sound of the bell
The signal that the end of today has come
"Hhphew..." you nearly lay your tired body on the training grounds
After a long day of training, you decided to treat yourself to an onsen
You missed the group onsen yesterday because you were on your last day of periods
"Hm..."
You couldn't resist humming as you submerge yourself in the water, it's one of the most comfortable feelings in the world, along with the texture of freshly made mochi in your mouth
Your journey to dreamland were interrupted as you noticed the toned foot by the corner of your eye
a deep calm voice replied
"Hello"
"... ... ..!!!" it took you a while to recognize that voice
You sit up straight and bashfully make space for his size
"Ah... thank you"
You swear the pool level raised a little when he sits in it
"Ah, hm..."
- An uncomfortable moment of silence -
Your mind were racing a mile per minute
Nervous, due to your limited experience as a demon slayer
Frail, Weak, Ordinary and way too unskilled to find topics to talk about
Yet, you do want to become stronger
"Eh... Gyomei-sama?"
"Yes?"
"Can you tell me how do I get stronger?"
His stoic face breaks into a warm smile
"Sure thing, but why do you ask me? Aren't you under some Cultivator for your breathing style?"
"Because.... I want to look like you, I want to have the muscles that you have"
he could vaguely feel the shape of you from the ripples that reflects on the surface of the water from even your most subtle movements
"Hm... do you really want that? You're cute as you are, I think- "
"I think your body is reflective of your strength Gyomei-sama! I wish I could get stronger, like you do!"
And poor him, it's getting more vivid as you crawl closer to inspect and admire his features. You nearly touched his skin.
...............................................
'Is that supposed to be standing up?'
"Oh" you exhaled shakily softly when you noticed it and turned your face the other way
'It could be normal...' you thought as you draw circles in the water to calm your racing heart
You can tell without looking that Gyomei is bashfully crossing his legs to try to hide it somehow
'It's so big... maybe it's a sign of strength- BAHHH! what am I thinking! Stop right now!'
*splash splash*
You tried to hit any sort of sense back into yourself, with the onsen water, slapping your face, anything
'I bet I would choke on it- STOP! STOP IT'
"Uh- don't- don't drown yourself in the onsen, please..."
*gurgle bubbling noises*
He clap his hands together and chant "Name Amida Butsu..." as tears flows freely from his sightless eyes
…..
You eventually calmed down and sit beside him quietly
At a comfortable distance
But his- um
His erection is not coming down
“So… Is this like… uhhhhh…..”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to offend you”
“Is this part of the result of your training”
“What???”
“No? Oh… ok”
………...
You can’t help the way your eyes linger
It’s throbbing, it’s veiny, it’s moving to the currents created by the waterfall in this onsen
Your head was turned to the side but your pupils are glue to that trunk
You hoped it wasn’t too obvious- Himejima-sama is quite a gentle person, after all, from the way he speak so softly to everyone
But he can feel it, he was ‘staring’ at you too
“Himejima-sama…
Can I help you with that?”
His entire face was heated up with a fever blush down to his neck
“You’re so forward…!”
“Is that a yes or no, Gyomei-sama…”
*gulp*
“Yes” He nods
You scooted to sit closer to him, touching his skin, and hold his face
“May I…?”
He doesn’t reply, only squeezely shut his eyes tight, and lean in to start kissing you
His tongue lightly dabs on your bottom lip, and grazing your teeth
Which is met by your own tongue, receiving his techniques and ministrations
As your kiss stays connected, he lifted you by the hips, under the thighs, to straddle him
“Are you ready?”
“Ready? Ready for- oh… ready for that”
He bit his lip slightly it as it touches the inner your two thighs
“yes” He whimpered out desperately
He gasped as you grabbed his cock and instinctively get a hold of your hips
*gulp*
“Ah…” His mouth wobbles as you start to take him in, slowy
He feels so much but it was so good, he’s gritting his teeth and popping veins on his forehead and neck trying to hold back from setting his own pace
He’s even tearing up a little waiting for you
“Tight…” He hissed out under his breath
He lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding when you finally managed to let him sink into you as deep as you can
Your gasps and warmth eatting away at his restraint
He gently moved strands of hair out of your forehead, and held you close as you ground yourself for his size, caressing your arms and your sides, thoughtfully
“Ah…!” winds knocked out of his lungs when you started.
He tried his best to withstand it, his fists clench and release on to the decoration stone he was leaning on for support
It felt so good he wanted to thrust back with his own fervor
But Gyomei don’t want to hurt you, so he just sighs and blow air out of his mouth frequently in his best attempt to let you set the pace, but he hyperventilates so much people might think he’s about to pass out.
He bit his lips, pinch his thighs, flex his abs, anything to make sure he doesn’t start making decisions subconciusly
“Oh…Ah…” He almost congratulates his prayers that you finally starts to move faster
The water starts to spill out of the onsen from the impact you both were making
He grabbed your hips and move it to the pace you’ve set
It felt almost unreal-
Your hips in both of his hands- and that his member disappears in and out of you
Just fast enough to make his dick feel the tingles and goosebumps
“Can we go faster? Please…y/n?” He sniffled out, tears almost fall from the corner of his eyes
He’s so cute! You just want to give everything to this man
You put your hand over his, and say:
“Yes, please guide me”
Feeling your arms draped over his shoulders, he sits up and starts to bounce you off his hips
The water splashed out of the pool so much it’s flooding the surrounding floor
But he has stopped caring about that
Your skins met and clapped together the walls and doors counldn’t hide what you two were doing anymore
Not to mention the both of your faint moans that follows, in sync with each slap
Gyomei was salivating and losing his composure, with his half-lidded eyes and arch in his torso
“Ngh…gah-ah…” That was a raspy grunt of effort, and groan of pleasure,
But his speed is not faltering
In fact, it feels like it’s sped up 3 times more
“Y/n are- are you close too? I don’t think I can hold on much longer”
He’s biting his lower lips, eyes wide, blushing and sweating all over his face
Goddamn
that’s the sexiest face you’ve ever seen
He starts to jack-hammering as soon as you nod- bulging his arms and wheezing through his teeth
You start to pant and gasps as he nails that G-spot inside you over and over while grazing all the other spots just from his girth alone
It took a few more strokes, before you finally-
“Ah…!”
You feel your pelvic floor tensing and squeezing on him hard in waves of tensing and relaxing
Then it was not long before you feel a surge of fluids busted and filled you on the inside
He pulled you to kiss softly before letting you rest on his body
As you ponder how your relationship with the stone hashira have changed
#gyomei smut#gyomei x reader#gyomei x y/n#gyomei x you#gyomei headcanons#gyomei himejima#himejima gyomei#demon slayer gyomei#kny gyomei#kimetsu gyomei
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Some fluff w Koushi maybe?🫶
koushi realizing barista!reader is pretty cute
thanks for the request! this was a cute and refreshing prompt for me <3 much love!!
warnings. none info. sfw / fluff / college!au / coffeeshop!au / simple but cute / suga wears cardigans / timeskip!suga / like imagine english teacher suga pulling a stretchy cardigan over himself ugh so cute / 630 words links. haikyuu collection. masterlist. requests open. my ao3
"Good morning!" A gentle voice blessed your ears.
You smiled without looking up from the register.
Mr. Cardigan's ritual began. Glance over the menu, top-right to the espresso drinks, consider getting a decaf-- of course he won't go with the decaf, it was 7:40 and he was already tapping his foot to get to his 8 a.m class. Then he would decide on his tried and true as if it were a brand new idea:
"Double espresso, steamed milk, sweetened with honey."
He was wearing a face of mild shock, a touch of embarrassment, when you looked up from the order you already input.
"Oh, shit--," You laughed, warm at your slip-up, "I'm so sorry."
"Nono, it's- it's fine," He sported a similar color.
After a moment's hesitation, he chuckled and gave you his card.
Your Monday, Wednesday, Friday shift lined up with everyone who had a MWF 8 a.m (+9, 9:30, 10:00, and 10:30, regrettably). He was one of the few you cared to remember since he was such a cutie and he usually tipped you well.
"It's been a long morning, I get it," He graced you with a smooth forgiveness.
You sighed, relieved, and agreed wholeheartedly.
Spring semester was right at the close. Most were coming in to the Business building's little ground-level cafe early or late to cram for finals. He stayed consistent throughout the past few months, though, with his 7:40 sharp arrival.
7:44 if there was a line, but that was Mondays. Fridays weren't as busy because so many people skipped. But reliable Mr. Cardigan never missed a class.
"Almost done, though," You handed him his card back and spun the tip screen around for him, expecting nothing this time.
"Thank god," He tapped for No Receipt and closed his wallet.
He stood at the counter with his hands crossed in front of him to wait for his drink.
He never noticed how pretty your hands were before today. He looked down at his own kinda stumpy fingers. Then he watched -careful not to come across as creepy- at how gingerly you held the mug to the steam wand while screwing the filter in place.
The urge to talk to you nudged at the back of his throat, but he fell silent when you flipped the switch on.
The espresso machine was always a little too loud to talk over.
It was a graceful background noise to those who studied in this lobby, and a good backdrop to stay quiet to.
This time, he didn't feel as though your usual exchange was natural anymore. He wanted to talk, but didn't know quite how. The usual 4-minute wait felt like ages, but today he wasn't keen on leaving until he spoke to you again.
Your eyes flitted over his when you turned towards the lobby side for the honey.
His broad shoulders tensed and he turned his head to take false interest in some of the artwork on the walls. He didn't realize he was staring so hard.
He wondered how long you had been paying attention to him. If was just habit, or maybe a fondness had been growing and he was always too tired to notice anything other than how well you made his drink.
Now it was impossible not to overthink your friendly customer-service smile, or the smiley face you always put on the side of his cup.
Say something!
He repeated it so many times that his mind had been made unintentionally blank when you held the cup up for him to take over the counter.
"Good luck with finals," You said softly.
When he reached for his latte, your fingertips brushed for the tiniest moment. An intense heat crept up the back of his neck.
A shaky, "You, too," was all he could manage.
masterlist.
requests open.
#x reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#haikyu x reader#takesone#haikyu fluff#hq x reader#suga x reader#suga haikyuu#koushi sugawara#sugawara x reader#sugawara koushi#sugawara kōshi#sugawara fluff#sugawara x reader fluff#suga x reader fluff#koushi x reader fluff#koshi sugawara#koshi sugawara x reader#koshi sugawara x reader fluff#x reader fluff#fluff#haikyuu x reader fluff#coffeshop au#college au
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