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soxcietyy · 11 months ago

Text

Racer Yuta Au

Yuta x fem reader

Part 2

Your dragged to a car meet up by your uncle and you have a wonderful time. Though you and your babysitter keep getting under each others skin.

˚₊‧꒰𓆩 ♱ 𓆪꒱ ‧₊˚ forbidden love, brat, 5 year age gap. Illegal activity’s,

"Uncle Gojo, are you sure it’s okay for me to tag along? Isnt my dad going to get mad?" You yell as he turns on his loud car. The exhaust roared loudly in the garage making it echo. Gojo was a illegal street racer, number one to be exact. He would drag race anywhere anytime. He used to work under his dad but having so much money made him pick up an expensive hobby like this. Your dad was currently in a buisness trip trying to recover lost data from the company. He might of agreed to let you explore the underground racing world when he was younger but now he retired from that. Ever since then you were to not go anywhere near such thing and he made that clear.

"Geto isnt here, plus it’s not a race it’s a car meet up. You’ll just be my plus one for the night. Cant really afforded to miss it." He says as he opens the door to his dark blue Supra.

You mumble that it’s going to be his fault if your dad found out about this as you got in. He rolls his eyes and closes the door as you got comfortable. When he got in you tightly grip the seat knowing this wasn’t going to be a smooth ride. You’ve seen your uncle drive and it did not look safe nor fun at all. Your dad would always talk about how many tickets Gojo has gotten and the cars he’s wreaked. All you could do was hope for your safety and not complain. As he drove out the garage you held your breath and with a hard step on the gas you guys were on your way.

When you arrived you reached inside your black purse and popped a mint into your mouth hoping it would relieve your anxiety. You weren’t sure if it was due to the terrifying drive or the amount of people starting to surround the car. You look at Gojo to see him smiling wide. This probably fuled his already exploding ego. You know he loved the attention and loved being the best at everything. He loved the girls, the money, but most importantly he loved crushing peoples hearts. That dream of destroying Gojo in a race might never come true for some people.

"Relax, don’t be scared nothing is going to happen to you. Nobody will lay a finger nor look at you dirty once they know your with me. Just make sure to stay clear from a few folks around here." He said before stepping out. You watch as people cheered and were asking him to rev his engine. He said a few words before coming to your door and opening it. When he did the noises from the crowed silenced. They’re probably not used to seeing him come with a plus one. From what you hear at get togethers was that his relationships are not allowed near his hobbies at all. So who knows what could be run in through these peoples minds.

When you appeared you saw that everyone had their eyes on you. Scanning you up and down to see what was good about you. Your clammy hand grabbed your other arm as you stood there shyly. Maybe you should have stayed home. Why did your dad think it was a bright idea to let Gojo babysit you. You were 18 for crying out loud.

Before you could ask Gojo if you can go back inside the car you saw someone emerging from the crowed. You watched how a tall guy with black hair and dark eyes approached your uncle and gave him a hug.

"Gojo, I didn’t think you were coming today. You told me you had business to attend to." He said as he backed up and looked at you. "Oh" was the only thing he said at you.

"Yuuta this is my niece, y/n this is Yuuta. He’s also a street racer and I guess you could say my pupil. Not trying to brag but I don’t think he would be the second best racer without my guidance." Gojo said all smug.

You’ve heard of this guy before, Gojo talked about him here and there. He’s 23 years old, one of the best drag racers, your uncles pupil, calm, friendly, but had a scary aura around him. He was in your dad’s last race, Yuuta ended up coming second meaning he beat your dad. Then your dad simply retired, not because he lost but because he knew it was time to look for something new.

You give him a small wave as you stepped behind Gojo a bit. This guy was pretty scary looking, not only because of his hight but you could feel something off.

"So is she also a far distant relative to me?" Yuta asks bringing his attention back to Gojo.

Ah that’s right they were related in someway now that you remember.

Gojo laughed and shook his head. He leaned towards Yutas ear and whispered something only you could hear. "She’s Geto’s daughter."

Yuuta looked at him shocked before looking at you again to see if he could spot the similarities. You glare at Gojo knowing that your dad wouldn’t want these kinds of people knowing about his daughter.

"Hey now that you’re here, I kind of have to talk to Sukuna for a bit as much as I hate the thought of it but it’s about the next race. Can’t have y/n around or Geto will kill me if people know who she is. Can you watch her for me? She’s a good kid and won’t be a bother." Gojo said as he pushed you towards him.

"Oh yea that’s fine." Yuta said as he looked down at you to make sure you were okay with it too.

Not like you had much of a say since Gojo smiled and gave you a thumbs up as he left. You both stood there for a minute until Yuuta spoke up.

"There about to start doing doughnuts want to go look?" He asks.

You give him a nod and follow him to where a crowed was forming. Pushing your way through to the front you could see a large space in the middle. You could see burnt tire marks from past meets on the road. You were so excited when you saw a mustang come out from the crowed. It was bright orange with black streaks. It had custom rims and such cool details on it. The crowed started cheering as the show started. The car started going in circles leaving skids on the floor. You could hear how it screeched at sharp turns and how the rubber burned. This was way better than seeing it through social media. You look behind you to see Yuuta smiling but he wasn’t looking at the car. He was looking at you.

After that finished he took you around the lot to look at other cars. So many different models, so many different body kits. No car looked the same and some were exotic. You met so many new people and had great conversations about how they managed to get there car to look at that. Yuuta also spoke to people but you didn’t pay much attention nor did he pay much attention to yours or so you thought. A guy came up to you and started to flirt with you. Saying how he would love to take you on a date and talk more. He said he loved your energy and style. He then proceeded to ask for your number but Yuuta stepped in and put a stop to that. You were kind of irritated by it seeing that he just cock blocked you.

"Let’s head to my car, I need to make sure nobody is messing with it. We have to be more careful and make sure nothing is tampered with now that Sukuna is here." Yuuta says as he leads you through the crowed. It was a bit hard for you to keep up seeing how he took long fast strides. You were wearing heels didn’t help the situation either. People looked shocked seeing Yuuta with a girl. Did these men lack in women or is their a rule to not bring a female to such gathering? Though when you took a good look in the crowed there was a good mix of everyone.

Eventually you made it to a white Nissan GTR. It actually quite suited him but you also took him for a Subaru type of guy.

People surrounded his car too, taking pictures of it and while looking at the details. "Alright I’m going to chat with these guys for a while so just do whatever 16 year olds do. Also don’t accept anything that isn’t from me, understand?" He says,

You looked at him in disbelief that he thought you were younger. "I’m actually 18 sir, we’re not that far apart according to Gojo. Five years to be exact." You say as you walk to the back of his car. He stood there shocked, probably trying to figure out how old your dad was when you were born. Spoiler alert it was when he was 15! Usually people think you’re joking when you say he’s your dad.

Suddenly a girl grabbed his arm taking his attention from you. She was tall and had short hair, almost like a greenish black hue. They seem to be fond of each other if they’re smiling and hugging. Maybe that was his girlfriend.

You sigh as you lean on his car while you scroll through social media. The car meet was going great but you didn’t appreciate being passed around to be babysat when you were a grown adult. The breeze blew making you shiver. Maybe it was a bad idea to wear a tight skirt with a small top. While you cursed under your breath everytime the wind blew someone was getting closer.

"Got bored of watching your boyfriend flirt with another girl?" You hear someone say. You turn to see a guy with blue hair and Heterochromia eyes.

"He’s not my boyfriend but I am bored. Came to entertain me?"

You lift up a brow curious to know why he came up to you. He makes up a small conversation that had you actually happy to engage in. Finally someone who didn’t belittle you nor treat you as a kid. He was somewhat surprised that you knew more about car than he initially thought. All those hours of watching your dad nerd out about cars payed off. He offered to give you a free ride around the block but you declined knowing Yuuta would freak out about it. Though you were interest what ride he had. Could it be a classic? Or a newer car that was modified.

"Hey don’t you think wearing something like that is too scandalous? Such a short skirt for this cold weather too." He says looking at your body.

Your hand touched the tiny goosebumps on your leg.

"Yea I was kinda rushed out the house so I didn’t really plan this outfit out. Are you trying to say you don’t like it?"

He held his hands up in defense, "no no I quite love it. It suites your body so well and- oh it seems we might be in some trouble. Seems your guard dog has finally payed attention to you." He says nodding his head to the person walking behind you. "Glad we could exchange contact information. Here just in case you get parched. Seems like you’re not being well taken care of right." He says as he hands you a water bottle.

You happily accept it as you watch him walk away. He was right about not being taken care of right. You have yet to eat dinner and would have loved if someone handed you a jacket. Bringing the bottle to your lips you take a sip. The cold water made you shiver a bit. You suddenly felt your body be pulled by the arm. Then shoved to the side of the car. You look up surprised to see a not so happy Yuuta over you. You back pressed hard against the car as he looked at you with thoes dark eyes. He ripped the bottle out of your hand and poured it onto the floor.

"Did I not say to not accept anything that isn’t from me?" He says.

You let out a sigh as you cross your arms and look away. "I’m thirsty, at least someone cared for me. Your busy chatting with a girl and left me alone."

"And what the do you know about being treated right? This place isn't safe for innocent gullible girls like you." He sighs as he runs his hand through his hair. "Get in the car, clearly you can’t be trusted to follow directions." He says as he opens the door next to you.

You couldn’t believe Gojo said this man was calm and friendly. That was an absolute lie, he was such an ass and so much more.

You stood in your spot refusing to do what he says. He looked at you with such a demanding look but that wasn’t going to make you break. Your dad taught you to be strong. No man was going to tell you what to do. You both stood there for a minute before he slammed the door closed and grabbed you. In a quick second he lifted you up and sat you on the hood of the car. You gasp as he spread your legs open causing your skirt to slowly lift up. He then proceeded to put his body in between you.

"Didn’t think Gojos niece was such a brat, listen I’m in charge of you and your going to do exactly as I say even if you don’t like it, it’s not because I hate you but this is for your safety." He said as he placed his hands on both of your sides.

He was so close that you could see the turtle neck under his black leather jacket. The veins in his neck that pulsed as he grew more irritated. You could smell the cologne that he was wearing and feel his warmth. You couldn’t help but notice how good looking he looked like this as much as you hated him right now.

Okay maybe he was a little bit too good looking right now. All of a sudden you felt too shy to meet his gaze. "I don’t want to go in, I want to stay out here with you." You say as he sighed sounding unconvinced.

He looked down as his watch before responding to you. "Fine, but you better be on your best behavior. I don’t like girls who don’t listen." He says as he takes of his leather jacket and wraps it around you. You have no idea why but those words did something to you. For the rest of the night you stood next to him listening to him talk. You looked at the way he spoke, the way he laughed, how his Adam’s Apple would move up and down, how the veins in his arms showed when he opened his hood and showed the inside work. You were almost like a dumbfounded little puppy looking at its owner. Sometimes he would smile when he caught you looking at him.

you weren't embarrassed to admit to yourself that you've grew a crush on him just in the few hours that youve spent with him. It was normal for a girl to fall for a guy this fast right?

You end up falling asleep in his car by the time Gojo decided to appear. He lazy strolled towards Yuta who was getting ready to go for the night.

"Sorry I took so long, kind of got into an altercation. Hes not so easy to talk too." He says as he points at his busted lip. "Oh I see she fell asleep, tired the little brat out huh?" Gojo says as he looks at you snooze from the open window.

"So you knew she was a brat but painted her as an Angel huh?" Yuuta smirked.

"She’s my niece, obviously I’m going maker her seem like that. Hey you didn’t do anything funny right? She has a tendency of somehow getting what she wants." He said looking at him serious for a minute. Yuuta knew what he meant by that and simply shook his head.

"I respect you too much to lay hands on her." Yuuta spoke as he walked to the door and opened it.

"Good, I’ll take her from here then, also the next race i-" a crowed of running people caught Gojos eye before he could finish. Both of the men watched in silence waiting to see what was the cause of chaos. The second they saw red and blue lights they looked at each other.

"On second thought you keep her for now. She’s going to slow me down if I take her right now. Meet up at your house." Gojo said as he started running to his car that was across the parking lot.

Yuuta quickly ran to his car as people began to yell that 12 was in the area. Cars began to turn on to escape causing the place to light up. Yuuta reached for your belt and tightened it on you, soon after he pressed on the gas and left the area speeding. This wasn’t his first run in with the police so he was confident in not being caught. That was until he reached sudden traffic causing him to break hard, both of your body’s lurch foward and then back. This waking you up with a panicked expression.

"What’s going on?!" You say looking at him.

"Just going out for a ride.” He says trying not to freak you out.

"Oh that’s really lovely did the police department also decide to tag along? You have four of them a few cars behind us by the looks of it." You say.

The second the light turned green he accelerated, weaving through the slow traffic. You squeezed the door handle as he easily went over the speed limit. You were too young to already have a criminal record. You may not get charged as bad as he does but they will still charge you as an accomplice. How would this affect you college application? The car swerved every sharp turn he made until he made it to a dark neighborhood. In one go he turned the wheel completely to the right and drove up to drive way. He quickly turned the car off and unbuckled his belt.

"We need to get off now." He says as he opens his door. You proceed to do the same but by the time you get out you could see the cops patrolling the area, shinning there flashlights to every car. Yuuta quickly grabbed you and pushed you on the floor behind some bushes. His body laying low on top of yours. Both of you are breathing heavily as you could hear someone approach the car. Shinning the light inside the car to see if he could find anyone. Those few minutes felt like eternity and while you should have been worried about being caught all you could think about was the body over you. You look up at him to see his serious face looking around. Trying to figure out if the coast was clear. His face was dam from all of this. Sweat slowly rolling down his face even if it was a cold night.

You wanted him so bad, you wanted to pull him in and kiss him, you wanted to make him yours. You could just imagine being with someone like him. So mature, so tall, so protecting. His chest rose up and down quickly as he tried to catch his breath. He looks at you once again and leans into you.

"What are you looking at like that?" He whispers into your ear making you burn up.

"Nothing! Im just scared, this is a first for me." You say sitting up as he backs up.

When you guys tried to look for the officer you noticed he was now gone. You flatten your skirt down and brush off the dirt from yourself. He proceeded to stand and helps you up by grabbing your soft hand.

Walking to his car he reaches inside to grab something out of it. You follow behind intrigued by his actions. When he gets back to you he’s holding your purse in his hand that you must’ve left. Seeing a big guy like him holding your tiny hand purse made you feel like he was your boyfriend. You could just imagine how that would be like. You shyly thank him as he hands it to you.

You ponder weather you should drop a hint of you being interested in him or just dropping the bomb. You debate until you decided not to drag things around. "Have you ever wanted something bad but knew you had no chance?" You ask him.

He stood there for a second. Hands in his pockets as he thought about the answer. You guessed he did have something like. It made you wonder if he was able to achieve it. "What has you feeling that way? From what I heard you have a tendency of getting anything you want. So I really wouldn’t be worried about it."

You laugh as you lean onto his car. Looking at him in the eyes as you smile. "If I tell you want I want, will tell me if I’m capable of achieving it?"

He gives you a nod signaling for you to continue. You put your purse on top of the car as you approached him. Wrapping your arms around his neck and getting onto the tips of your toes, you whisper three simple words.

"I want you."

You say as you pull back to look at him. You could see the tips of his ears turning red from the dim light his house provided. His cheeks than began to flush. You were astonished seeing him act this way, you’ve seen him interact with girls today but he didn’t act like this. Did this mean he also had some interest in you?

"You don’t want me y/n, I’m not the type of guy you think I am, you don’t know me." He grabbed your arms from around his neck and put them down. "Well I’m going to get to know you." You intertwined your fingers with his.

"I’m a very jealous, serious, and aggressive guy. I wouldn’t want to ruin your innocence and take advantage of a girl like you. To top it all off your Gojos niece, and your dad wouldn’t want to see you with a guy involved with illegal things."

"I have a feeling that it’s because of our age gap." You cross your arms. You were disappointed in being turned down like this.

"Listen Angel I could give less fuck’s about being five years apart. I just don’t think I’m capable of maintaining something so pure and innocent. It’s like giving a tiger a bunny. He’s just going to eat her alive." He said holding your chin up so you could look at him. "So run while you can and find someone better."

You push his hand away "and what if I don’t run? What if I keep crawling back to you? You have no idea what you’ve done to me Yuuta. I’ve never felt so desperate for someone before." You say as you hug him.

"I need you so bad Yu." You bury your face in his chest.

"Y/n we can’t, I- what about Gojo? If he finds out he’s going to kill me." He says trying to fight off the urge to embrace you back.

You let go of him and look at him with your puppy eyes. You were begging him at this point to give you a chance. You just needed him to see that you were worth his time. He slowly runs his hands through his hair stressed.

"Fine but don’t make me regret this."

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toxicanonymity · 11 months ago

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the narrative.

4.7k, darkish!Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

"Control the narrative. You probably say that when you cum." - Roman Roy, Succession, s1 e1. PREMISE: Javi is in the middle of a publicity disaster due to his illegal activities and big mouth. Enter you (and he will). Penthouse vibe and attire inspired by Justified City Primeval. WARNINGS: I8+ ONE SHOT, dark(ish?) Javi, canon-typical lack of realism, drug references, gratuitous bulge, alcohol, praise, mention of someone sucking Javi's dick in the past, unprofessional behavior, power dynamics, pressure, DUBCON unsafe p in v (etc.), mild gun play, romance. A/N: Dedicated to @noxturnalpascal 🖤 Never thought I'd start the year with this guy, but thots happened. I only have one other Javi G. fic.

When you show up to Javi's home in the Hollywood hills, you're mildly surprised the car is stopping. It looks like any other skyrise. It's not his main residence, but he has the whole top floor to himself. You’ve refreshed yourself on the task during the ride – Javi Gutierrez is a PR nightmare lately, and he needs to be reminded how to handle press, especially questions about his recent run-ins with the law and ties to his family business. You'll run through a few practice questions with him, refresh him on the way to his event, and say goodbye. It should be simple.

On your way into Javi’s building, the concierge greets you, then makes polite conversation as he escorts you to the penthouse.

"Mr. Gutierrez already has company," he mentions as he uses a key card then holds the door open for you.

You step into Javi’s apartment and the door closes behind you. It feels intrusive, just showing up in his personal space without someone to introduce you. It's quiet for a moment, and you take in the opulence -- the sky high ceilings, the glittery floor sparkling under your modest wedge heels. You adjust your little black dress and fix your hair, then stand and wait with your bag.

You take a deep, calming breath. At least this isn’t a celebrity you have a crush on. He isn’t necessarily your type. He seems like such a teddy bear. He’ll be cool. He’s down to earth, you tell yourself, but can’t think of any evidence to support that claim. What kind of company does he have, you wonder. Is it a woman?

"One more, one more," Javi begs out of view, and your breath hitches at his voice. It's not the pitch or measured cadence you hear in the movies or even interviews. It's deep, gruff, and unpolished. "One more, Nick."

Your heart jumps at the name.

Nick sighs. "Alright, what are we drinking to?"

"Balas y drogas," Javi booms. (Bullets and drugs). "Brindemos" (cheers).

"As always," Nick monotones, and you hear their glasses clink. A few seconds later, boots begin to click and echo, and they're coming in your direction.

Entranced by the sparkle of the floor, you see a pair of snakeskin boots cross in front of you first. The boots pause, and your gaze pans up over his unexpectedly bare legs, which are muscular and only slightly hairy. Your eyes continue up over the swell of his thighs, and then–by the time you see it, it’s too late not to look right at it--a generous bulge under a blue striped swimsuit. You yank your eyes upward so fast, you almost don't see the gold pistol he’s holding at his side. Javi raises an empty highball glass, gestures it toward you, and you're studying the rings his hand when he complains, "You are early." He taps a ring on the glass and looks around behind you. “They sent you alone?”

“Yes, Mr. Gutierrez.” You introduce yourself. When you speak, he holds surprisingly warm eye contact, given his opening line. It feels like he’s really seeing you, maybe even connecting with you.

“Please, call me Javi.” He walks around the counter and makes no effort to close his silk robe, trailing behind him. "Make yourself a drink," he nods toward a wet bar behind him as he puts his glass in the sink. His curls are a mess, but he doesn't look bad. His strong chest glistens under his gold chain. "Make Nick something, too. NICK--"

"I'm right here, Javi. I really have to go." Nick greets you with an unenthused nod, "Hi,” then his phone rings and he quickly bids farewell to Javi: "I'll see ya later bud." Nick slowly staggers toward the door as he answers the phone.

As the door closes behind Nick, Javi watches your face. "He has a key, you know. He'll be back," then he again urges you toward the wet bar, slightly more politely this time. "Please, help yourself. Why did they send you so early?"

"I'm an hour late," you tell him. His security team stalled you because he wasn’t ready.

He looks at his gold watch. "Mierda" (Shit). He meets your gaze again with apologetic eyes. "An hour late. . . maybe I do like you. . ." The third time he refers you to the bar, you go around the counter and at least browse his liquor selection.

A few minutes later, you're mindlessly reading the liquor bottles when you see a reflection in a bottle of mezcal. Something moves behind you.

"Tequila," Javi murmurs a few inches from your ear. “If you cannot decide.” You stiffen but manage not to jump, or so you think. "Relax, mamacita.” A large, warm hand comes to your bare shoulder, making your chest get hot. Javi’s lips brush the shell of your ear. “Relax,” he repeats. “It is only Javi.” He smells faintly of pipe or hookah smoke.

He lingers for a moment, smells your hair, then his hand trails down your bicep, and butterflies rush through your body so fast you have to step away. He looks only slightly bemused. He checks you out even more obviously this time, then silently walks backwards through the kitchen, and you forget not to stare. You follow the way the light highlights his little belly. His happy trail leads you right to the slight swing and jiggle of the massive lump precariously contained by that swimsuit. How much of it is balls, you wonder. And at that moment, he reaches down to adjust himself before turning around and heading to his bedroom.

Your face is on fire, and you’re tingling down South. You pour yourself a drink. You need one. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer quite a view of the city. It feels like Javi is taking a long time. In the distance, he begins to sing. You didn’t expect to be attracted to him, but now you have this feeling in your chest, like you’re waiting for a date with someone you like. Someone you’re still getting to know. You try to brush it off and not read too much into the look in his eyes. He’s an actor. He probably knows how to make people feel special, you remind yourself, but you can’t help but feel a little giddy as you wait.

You take a seat on his velvet sectional. You sip your drink and begin to feel more confident. When you go to put your drink down on the nearest coffee table, there isn't much space amid the array of empty bottles and glasses, and a hookah. You set your drink on a silver tray, and only then do you realize you've disrupted the geometric residue of tiny white lines. “Shit,” you whisper.

While Javi gets ready, you read some of his past quotes to the press. It messes with your head. Sure, he was rude to you at first, but then so warm. There’s one particular quote you’re stuck on. It isn’t too hard to imagine him saying something like this. You catch yourself feeling sad about it, not because it was so rude of him, but because of the insinuation of him with another woman. In your mind, you know this feeling is irrational after having only interacted with Javi for only a moment. You have to compose yourself into professional mode again.

—-

Javi returns freshly showered, wearing slacks and a patterned, long-sleeve, button-up shirt that hugs his biceps. He checks you out as he fastens his last cuff link. Then he sucks in his stomach and tucks in his shirt by shoving his hands all the way into his pants. He keeps eye contact with you as he tucks in the front, and finishes it off with a subtle cup of his balls. Then he stands normally again, and the curve of his little belly presses against the shirt above his pants. He doesn't put on a belt. He gestures for you to walk in front of him.

Javi stays close on the way downstairs. On the elevator, you can feel his breath on your cheek. When the doors open, his hand on your back ushers you out. The soft padding of his stomach grazes your arm.

—-

Back outside Javi’s apartment, the car you arrived in – the one that picked you up at the Dobis PR office – is gone. You’ll ride in Javi’s car. His security team wants to accompany the two of you in the vehicle, and it’s clear they normally ride with Javi. But Javi convinces them to follow in another car this time. Just this once. You get into a black Mercedes sprinter outfitted with a raised roof, big leather bench seat, and a bar.

As you settle into the van, Javi is making sure you’re comfortable, making small talk, and you just want to chat with him, but you do have a job to do. He’s sitting in the corner of the bench in the very back of the van, and you’re next to him, with your body mostly facing him. You begin to broach the topic at hand, distracted by his closeness and the aftershave molecules wafting into your nostrils. “Okay Javi, so, I’m familiar with your, uh, difficulties with law enforcement recently, and my role here is to kinda help you help yourself with that in the press.”

He nods.

“So let’s start where we are. Do you remember what you said when Page Six asked for a comment?”

He briefly leans in the opposite direction from you to open the minifridge. He pulls out a bottle of champagne. “Page Six, remind me which one is that.”

Is he going to make you say it? Fine. “You don't remember telling the writer her lips were made to suck your dick?”

“That was out of context,” he mutters. You search his face for whether it‘s a joke, but he’s not laughing, and he’s not meeting your eyes.

You ask, “Is there a context where that’s a good comment to make?” And you hope it lands softer than it sounds to your own ears.

“Yes,” Javi nods and brushes a curl out of his forehead. He shifts in the seat and wrings his hand around the neck of the champagne bottle in his lap. “With a cock in her mouth.” Hearing the word cock in his voice gives you a zing of arousal.

You’re at a loss for words. “Are you saying you weren't answering a question when you said that?”

“The conversation was over,” Javi nods.

“--And she had your–”

“My cock, yes,” he confirms. “In her mouth.” He reads your face, then shrugs. “She wanted a taste of Javi, and I am afraid I could not resist.” Your mind is going places - How did that happen, you wonder. Did she just drop to her knees? Does it happen all the time? Could you have a taste of Javi? Do you want one? No, you don’t want to be just another girl.

You and Javi look at each other for a moment, neither of you completely focused, then you say the only thing you can think to say, “Fair enough,” as you close your folio. Then you can’t help but add, “Optimally, it's not the best idea to sleep with. . . certain people . . .who can make you look bad.” The thought falls apart as you watch his face, and you wonder if you're overstepping.

“It was only a mouth,” Javi clarifies, then lowers his voice. “I would never make the love to her.”

Now his eyes are fixed on your lips. His mind is going places. You watch him salivate over the shape of your mouth and don’t dare to interrupt his filthy train of thought. But that bulge in his swim trunks is seared in your mind. The subtle way it moved with each step. You have to stare at anything else to keep your eyes off his pants. You look at the bits of silver in his beard and the sparkle in his eyes

“Hm?” he asks and you snap out of your trance.

“We need to control the narrative,” you mumble, as if you're thinking about work.

“I don’t have a narrative, I have the truth. And the truth is too dangerous, mami.” He extends an arm behind you.

The intrigue shakes you from your dirty thoughts. You shouldn’t pry, so you try not to, but having heard his explanation for the Page Six comment, you’re wondering if there really is a good explanation for how he got caught riding dirty with both narcotics and unregistered weapons.

He scoots closer, so he’s mostly on your bench rather than in the corner, and he extends an arm behind you. “I have to say, you are a smart girl.” He brushes your shoulder with his thumb. “Very pretty, too,” he adds quietly. “And very smart not to ask.”

“Thanks,” you mumble. What else can you say?

He looks you over, and his face hardens in an instant. “You should fire them,” he says. “They put a pretty girl like you in a van with me.” He scoffs. “They don’t respect you, I’m sorry to say.”

What is that supposed to mean? You stare at him blankly, then say, “I can’t fire them, I work for them.”

“Well then you should fire your job. Quit it, the job.” You suppose he’s that out of touch. He probably doesn’t even know how much rent is in LA. Increasingly incredulous, he asks, “They sent you here alone?”

Your mouth feels dry. You nod and try to swallow.

His face softens. “No, please do not be scared,” he tries to recover, cupping your shoulder warmly with his palm. “But they should care more about you. You are precious.”

“Well. . . Thanks, I think I’ll be okay,” you stammer.

Javi chuckles and locks all the doors to the van. Your upper body quickly goes cold as he settles in again next to you, his knee touching yours. How did he even do that?

He smiles darkly. “You felt that, right? In your spine?” His thumb brushes the nape of your neck, then the top of your spine.

You nod, otherwise paralyzed.

“Fire them,” he repeats in a whisper.

You stand up just an inch to smooth your dress, and before you can sit back down, the van lurches out of nowhere. You’re propelled face-first into Javi’s arms. The unopened bottle of champagne rolls away. Your faces are only a few inches apart. His shirt is soft, his body is warm, and you’re breathing his minty breath. The van lurches again and he hugs you into him, protectively.

“I apologize, sir,” the driver announces through a speaker.

You slowly begin to sit up from him. His arms are slow to release you. As you sit up, he lays a hand on your thigh. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I should warn you,” he murmurs. “Traffic is very bad here.”

—--

You sit there with Javi’s arm behind you and his other hand on your thigh, and neither of you speaks. He’s practically enveloping you with his whole body.

“You are thinking about it, right?”

The pitch of his voice and a nod toward your skirt tells you what he’s talking about, and you don’t answer. He takes his hand off your thigh only to adjust himself, and your face heats up.

He sighs. “So, if you are the press, what should I say right now?”

After a loaded beat of silence, you snap out of it and begin to ramble, “Well, I haven't asked you a question, so you don't have to say anything, in fact, unless they ask–”

He reaches for your face. He rests four fingers on the side of your face, then brushes his thumb over your lips. “Shh. I won't say it,” he whispers. “That this press is the most beautiful girl. . .” Your lips part and let his thumb into your mouth, but your tongue pulls back.

“That I need her. . .in a way I cannot explain.” You gasp and look down. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, then his hand drifts to his pants. “That I want to twist her legs around me like a pretzel.” The glint of his rings catches your eye, slowly moving atop his pants. His eyelids are heavy. “I should not say it, right?”

You look at his mouth then meet his eyes again and shake your head no, ever so slightly.

“But I can think it,” he whispers with a nod. “I can feel it,” he nods with a raise of his eyebrows. “Dios mio. . . I can have it.”

He hugs you, slides a hand under your opposite thigh, and swiftly pulls you into straddling him with your knees on the seat and your skirt hanging loosely in his lap. You aren’t wearing stockings, but you’re wearing modest boy shorts. His hips lift up to meet you as he pulls you down with a sigh. His warm package feels even bigger than it looked. He closes his eyes and runs his hands over your back as your loins throb against each other.

He holds your body firmly in place for a few gentle little thrusts that make you gush with each push of his bulge. Then, satisfied that you're not going anywhere, he pulls your face in for a long, steamy kiss, with his rings pressed against your cheek. As he feeds you his tongue, his hips keep moving, slowly pressing himself against you.

He pulls his face away and asks, “Do we have to go to this thing?”

“No,” you say, pleased at this turn of events. He cups your head, and you explain, “Not at all. We wanted you to lay low. But you insisted-”

“I want to lay low with you,” he murmurs against your cheek. “Let me lay with you.” Your insides are throbbing and swelling. His lips and the slightest hint of his teeth drag down your neck while his thick manhood hardens more against the crotch of your boy shorts. “I'll give you more than a taste, Mamacita. We're going to lay together.”

He asks the driver to take you back to his place. Then he latches onto your neck, and you let out a little moan. The van turns around to head back to his place.

“I just need to text the team,” you tell him and get off his lap. You straighten your dress and begin to text your manager. While you're on your phone, he keeps kissing and nibbling at you.

Your manager calls, and you clear your throat. Javi occupies himself by popping open the bottle of champagne. You receive accolades for talking him out of the event.

—--

When you're off the phone, Javi has somewhat composed himself. “Now we have all night.” He hands you a flute of champagne. A voice comes over the intercom saying there's a security matter Mr. Gutierrez needs to be briefed on. The van pulls over and Rafael, Javi’s head of security, joins you.

“Your brother is back,” Rafael tells him. “And he's not happy about what you took.”

“Puta Madre,” Javi grumbles. “You know what he would have done with it.”

“I know,” Rafi nods.

“I have plans tonight, Rafi.” Javi looks at you adoringly. “The most important plans of my life.” He turns back to Rafi. “Do you see this beautiful woman? We have plans.”

“You have to stay with me,” Javi tells you. “I’ll keep you safe.”

When you arrive back at Javi’s place, Rafi insists on escorting the two of you up to the penthouse. The place has already been cleaned up, and a maid is on her way out.

“Thank you, Sandy,” Javi says as she passes by. She nods.

——-

You excuse yourself to freshen up while Javi rants to Rafael. There's a crashing noise and you take your time coming back from the restroom, unsure what awaits.

You come back to the main room and put your bag on a stool at the counter. Rafael is on his way out to stand guard by the door. Javi is sitting on the sofa with his pants off and his shirt unbuttoned, holding his gold pistol against his thigh.

“I asked Rafi to give us some privacy,” Javi says. “We will not let this ruin our night.” He looks at you hungrily. “Come. Sit.” He makes space in his lap and looks down at himself. He’s wearing black boxer briefs.

You straddle him but don't sit yet. His free hand slides up the back of your thigh and he grabs a handful of ass. “You are the most beautiful woman,” he sighs. “And you feel so good in my hands.”

With his other hand, Javi nudges the golden gun under your skirt, and the metal on your bare thigh makes you flinch. “Shhh.” He slowly slides the barrel along your inner thigh where the hem of your underwear is. He slides it lightly back and forth, breathing deeply through his nose. Then, his lips part as he rubs it along the damp crotch of your boy shorts. Your whole body erupts in goosebumps. He watches your face as he rubs you with the barrel of his pistol. He angles it upward each time he reaches your front.

He palms your ass at the same rhythm as he massages you with the gun, as if encouraging you to ride it. Then he holds it still between his legs, pulls you closer against it, and your hips move on their own, seeking more pressure against the barrel. You twitch and gasp and he sucks in a deep breath through his nose. He moves you on the gun and you grind against the barrel until you’re almost at the edge and your thighs are trembling.

“Good girl,” he sighs. He brings the side of the barrel to his nose and sniffs. Then he makes eye contact with you as he presses his lips to the side of the barrel and dips his tongue onto the metal. He kisses the gun goodbye, then puts it aside. “I will keep you safe,” he reassures you again.

Javi takes your hand in his and puts it on the hard bulge and you almost come. He’s so big, and so hard, the seams of his boxer briefs must be ready to burst. He uses your hand to massage himself. At the same time, he grabs the back of your head and pulls you into him for a passionate kiss. Your palm begins to massage his shaft. Feeling the hard shape of him, you can tell how thick he is, and it's more than a handful. Your fingers cradle his balls as you massage the lower part of his shaft. He pulls his underwear down and your skin meets his bare cock.

Both his palms engulf your ass cheeks and he lifts your dress all the way up over your ass so he can see your hips before desperately pulling you fully onto him. He smacks your ass, then kneads it again and licks into your mouth as he grinds up against you.

He gropes your breasts and pulls your dress all the way up, taking it over your head. His hands find your bra clasp, and he frees your breasts, taking one to his mouth right away. He reaches into your smooth, stretchy boy shorts and gasps at the feeling of your bare, dripping cunt. He holds his cock in his hand and brings the tip to the bottom seam of your underwear. He wedges his cock into the garment, resting against your inner thigh, then a little further, and the bare skin of his tip nudging between your slippery folds makes you weak in the knees. He puts his cock all the way into your underwear from the bottom, wet from your slick, and pulls you tight against him. You grind together and his shaft massages your clit. The pressure builds and quickly boils over, and you moan as you begin to pulse against him.

“Oh, my love,” Javi sighs, then moans as you grind and come against his cock in your panties. “Such a pretty sight and sound.”

With pleasure still washing over you, he wraps an arm tight around you, turns and lays you down on your back as your orgasm wanes.

His cock slides out of your underwear as he makes space to finish undressing you both. He tears your underwear down in a frenzy and can't get out of his own soon enough. Within seconds, you're both nude on the sofa in the dimly lit room.

Javi sits on his knees between your legs and pumps himself slowly, belly pushing out, eyes dancing across your body. His cock is so stiff and thick, you can't take your eyes off it. You throb and ache for it. He runs his flattened fingers through your dripping seam and moans at your wetness.

“I cannot wait another moment to feel you, my love.”

Javi gets on top of you, his belly pressing into you as he positions himself then notches at your entrance. His gold chain hangs and grazes your chest. He hikes your leg up and you wrap it around him.

“Good,” he whispers.

Javi shoves into you, punching the air out of your lungs with a brief burn at the stretch. He groans as he fills you with his flesh as fast as your body will allow. “Javi,” you gasp as his girth spreads you apart. His dick twitches at the sound of his name on your lips. He sighs your name and you're almost flattered he knows it, giving you a brief twinge of uncertainty that's quickly replaced by pleasure as he withdraws a few inches then slams into you.

“You are so beautiful,” he pants as he begins to fuck you steadily. He kisses your chest and your neck. “It was fate that you came here to me.”

He moans and grunts as he buries his cock in you. You wrap your other leg around him. His body is solid and soft against yours. So much skin on skin and it all feels right. You feel safe, and you feel adored. The way he looks at you, the way he feels you, moves on you, it’s like he’s been waiting for you forever. He hooks a hand under your shoulder for more leverage, and the force of each punch of his hips jiggles your breasts. He slows down and fucks you more tenderly, but still with power. The movement of his hips is fluid and smooth.

After a few minutes, he moans, “Ohh, my love,” then sighs your name. “I have to give you my cum, I have to give it to you.” You aren’t sure, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything to disrupt this moment. You’ve never had someone make love to you this way. “I’m going to explode,” he warns.

He buries his mouth in the crook of your neck, bottoms out, and groans as he erupts deep in your core, sending you for another climax of your own. Then his lips scramble up your neck and jaw to find your lips and he kisses you passionately as warm bursts of his cum fill you up. “Mmm,” he moans into your mouth as you clench around his cock.

When you’re both finished coming, he stays inside for a moment. “We will be joined again,” he assures you as he pulls out.

He lays half on his side, with a bit of his weight on you for a moment. He strokes your face and admires you tenderly. You excuse yourself to the restroom, and he goes with you, escorting you to his master bath instead of the guest room you used earlier. He shows you his bedroom on the other side and says, “you will stay here with me.”

When you come out of the restroom to Javi’s bed, you approach hesitantly. “Are you sure?” you ask.

“I would not dream of letting you leave,” he assures you.

#javi gutierrez #javi g x you #javi g x reader #pedro pascal characters #cw dubcon #dubcon #javi gutierrez x reader #female reader #pedro pascal x reader #toxicanonymity ☠️#tim and eric #dark!javi gutierrez #dark!javi g

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groundzerosgirlfriend · 7 months ago

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Rin Okumura: NSFW Alphabet

A-Aftercare

After a night of 'the Devil's Tango," Rin falls asleep pretty quickly, drooling all over his pillow and sleeping like the dead, but that's just most of the time. If he manages to stay awake long enough, he probably loves pillow talk—telling each other how much you love each other and maybe complaining about his day and Yukio, who's up his ass more than usual. He's also always looking for a way to show off one of his only talents, 'cooking' so if you express any form of hunger before he falls asleep, he's quick to jump out of bed and prepare you a meal worthy of a Queen.

B-Body Part (On you & him) Rin honestly loves everything about you. Though if you ever asked him this, he'd probably think it was a trick question and get nervous and anxious, not being able to think of anything on the spot. Though if you clarify that it isn't a trick question and that you're just simply curious, he'll take the time to think about it before deciding on your face. Yeah, boobs are nice and all, but your face has your eyes that he loves staring into and that beautiful smile he loves to see.

On the other hand, when it comes down to what he loves about himself, for a lot of life, Rin thought he was nothing more than a violent monster, and when he was found out to be Satan's son, those insecurities just worsened. He's hated his hands for a long time; they seemingly brought violence everywhere he went. Yet, one day, when you held his hands without fear and commented on how much you loved them, he could swear he could die happily knowing that you loved something he despises so much. He likes his hands now, knowing that you love them

C-Cum (what he does with it & what it tastes like) Unfortunately, Rin does not like the invention of condoms; he complains that they don't feel personal enough, even though he's already balls deep inside you. He won't wear them willingly; you have to practically force him into one, but he won't cum in you. He knows you have a life and doesn't want you to be stuck carrying Satan's grandchild, especially while you're still in school. He'll pull out and cum all over your ass; the sight sends a shiver down his spine every time, but there has been an accident or two where he has cum inside you to riled up to realize he was cusping orgasm. His awkward chuckle and the rubbing on his back of his neck almost makes your anger go away…almost.

His cum is not necessarily bad either. In fact, it's as enjoyable as it can get swallowing down seed. He has a healthy diet and makes his own meals, staying away from the artificial stuff. The only notable difference is that it's a lot warmer than others, even cusping the phrase 'hot'. Also, there's a ton of it, like it should actually be illegal to spew as much cum as he does.

D-Dirty Secret (Does he have own) Rin is probably a slight hypocrite—just a slight one. He teases and joshes Shima for saying and doing perverted things about women, proclaiming that he's too much of a' studly womanizer, but he has definitely jacked off to a pair of your panties before. How he got his hands on them is a mystery, but he's taking this secret to the grave unless his big, fat mouth spills it while he's blabbering on and on.

E-Experience

Despite Rin's attractive, boyish features and the talents of a professional chef, he has no experience. He gets no play, has never gone on a date, no bitches, nothing. Not only does his unnatural temper and strength scare away lots of girls, and most people aren't lined around the corner to date the son of Satan himself, especially due to his blue pyrokinesis that he's still trying to learn to control.

F-Favorite Position Rin's favorite positions are anything that allows him to see your face; if he can't see your face, then he's a bit huffy and fussy. "Missionary," though a little plain, always gets him shooting blanks like no other. What can he say? He loves the intimacy. Though he's also not against holding you up against the wall with ease due to his demonic strength and fucking your brains out as you go limp in his hold.

G-goofy

Rin hates silence along with sitting still; it's almost like he's allergic to it. If it goes quiet for more than 2 minutes, his leg starts bouncing, he starts getting fidgety, and he overall becomes fussy and annoying. That being said, he hates sex that is silent because, in his mind, when someone is silent towards him, they're mad at him or they don't want to be around him, two things he dislikes very much. So he makes it his personal mission to ensure you're always having a good time when you're in bed together. Your laughter from any slip-ups that may occur makes it all worth it, and he'd embarrass himself to the end of time just to hear those giggles once more.

H-Hair Before getting into a relationship with you, Rin never bothers to shave down there unless it's actually starting to bother him. He didn't think he'd be getting a blowjob on a random Friday night, so why bother? But now that you've entered his life, he takes a step back, realizing how unappealing spitting out pubes mid-sex can be and making it a practice to keep himself clean down there.

I-intimacy Rin definitely loves intimacy and being romantic with someone, even if he sometimes makes 'alpha male' jokes with friends (Shima) about how it's lame; he's a deep sucker for all the mushy mushy. Every day he wants to spoil you with gifts for staying by his side even when his brother didn't, but there's not much a broke high school student can buy as this rich preppy school, so he makes it up to you in other ways. By making you lunch, rubbing your back, ensuring your hands stay interlocked the entire time he fucks you into his mattress in mating press, leaving sloppy shuddering kisses down your spine as he fucks you doggystyle, and making you cum over and over by means of his mouth and hands (which he's surprisingly good at, not to brag about it).

J-Jerk Despite being raised in a church and having the most talented, unshakable-faithful priest as a father figure, Rin beat his dick like no other. There's not much privacy in the church, so he had to ensure absolute silence unless he wanted everyone teasing him in the morning at breakfast, but jacking off always helped reel in his uncontrollable temper. He's an ex-wire now, and honestly, he's always just a bit too tired to think about touching himself, and besides, he has you now. But if you're even not in the mood when he's desperate, he will resort to his primitive ways with a tight grip around his length and moaning to and grunting to his hearts content now that he's lives basically alone in the abandoned dorms (excluding his brother and maybe you).

K-kink Rin definitely has a food play kink; he loves eating, and he loves you. Combining his two favorite things together is a recipe for success. He'll hide it under the guise of baking something together, all shy and jittery while trying to be smooth like usual, but it ends with your chest covered in his spit and the residue stickiness of honey and chocolate blubbering about how much he loves you. Also, he has a super huge praise kink when you tell him just how good he did at something; he thinks his heart will fall out of his chest and his dick might burst out of his pants. He brushes off your comments dismissively at first about how it was no big deal for him, but if you compliment while in his demon form, his tail will wag like a little puppy, and you'll see it since he never tucks it in.

L-location Despite Rin's sporadic and energetic behavior, he knows when reckless things are just a bit too reckless, and this is one of them. Getting caught fucking you in mid-public would definitely paint him in a more perverted light than Shima, and having to explain what's going on while you're both trying to cover up is more than enough to keep the lovemaking to the safety of your room, but if you're pushy enough, you can persuade him into a bathroom stall or even a storage closet. What can he say? He can't deny you.

M-motivation Seeing you in your Cram school uniform, the shorter the skirt and the tighter the shirt, the better. He also likes to see you kick demon ass, your biggest hype man, and when you're both done, he pulls you away with him already knowing what he wants to do to celebrate.

N-no (what he won't do) He won't use his flames on you or have anything to do with his demonic powers. He is quite literally terrified of hurting you with something he possesses, and he even has nightmares about you hating him and being engulfed in flames, screaming, and crying. He's also iffy with threesomes; he's kind of possessive, even if he won't say it, and if you wanted one with Suguru ("Bon"), he thinks he could burn his classmate to ash as he's already unsheathing his sword.

O-oral Rin loves both equally; he's never going to be one to turn down a blowjob, but giving to you has just the slightest tip over the edge. Hearing you moan and squirm his name as he holds your hips down with his effortless strength, your squeals and cries light a fire in him that doesn't hurt anyone (except for maybe you when you're overstimulated by belief).

P-pace Rin's pace is usually sloppy and quick; he knows he should slow down and take his time with you, but time isn't on both of your hands. The threat of Yukio coming into their shared room is always looming, and besides, you haven't complained through any of your orgasms yet. Yet, on days he knows he has you all to himself with no worry about Yuki appearing, he takes you nice and slow to show you his appreciation.

Q-Quickies Rin is a big, big fan of the art of a quickie. Sometimes schoolwork is a lot, and along with the additional pressure of Exorcist training and grueling mission hours that leave you both exhausted, there isn't a lot of time to take you to bed, peel off your clothes slowly, and really go to town with the foreplay. He prefers if you suggest them, so he doesn't seem pushy, but if you agree to one, no matter who asks first, he'll take you to the abandoned dorm male dormitory and do you in against the wall in the first room he sees, maybe even in the hallway if he's really restless.

R-risk Rin isn't always into into risks despite his volatile and reckless nature, it really depends what the bad outcome of the risk could be. So if it's anything that potentially lets anyone beside his friends at the Cram school know he's the son of Satan let's just say he's wont be jumping with enthusiasm like he usually does.

S-stamina Rin stamina depends on his emotions largely, if he's in his normal human-goofy self he gets like two maybe three rounds in before he's out for the count and 5 seconds away before passing out on your boobs, if he's in his demonic form snarling and growling like a wild beast his stamins and endurance are unlimited and you could do 7 rounds pass out three times, voice hoarse, sheets soaking wet with sweat cum and he's still ready for another round.

T-time

Rin's round last maybe 10-15 minutes at a time of just one of your normal fucks, not including the foreplay. Foreplay included could stretch the session up to 20-30 minutes of total time, and for the scenario of quickies he can bust his load in 5-8 minutes tops.

U-unfair Occasionally Rin will tease but it's mostly likely not done on purpose and it's with his words and not his action. Sometime he's just says the cheesiest thing ever that'll make you all shy and flustered and he'll stand there confused but smirking nonetheless assuming his his lighthearted compliments swayed your hearts. Now when you tease him Rin melts into the floor: when you tug him along like a little puppy away from his friends to show him something or touch dangerously close to this crotch as you two sit side by side his eyes turn into his hearts and his mouth goes dry as he tries not to get a boner.

V-volume Rin is moderately loud when he's on top of you and his words dirty talk consists of lots of profanities (little potty mouth), groans and sweet nothings as he fucks into you gummy walls, but when he's on the bottom with your weight on his lap you better believe he's whimpering and moaning like a dog in heat as you ride him deeper into submission.

W-weird fact Like mentioned in the anime and demonstrated many times, grabbing and touching Rin's tail makes him basically paralyzed. So while not really unknown, it is weird how something so simple can render him so defenseless to all your perverted whims. Whenever you do it and give him a knowing smile crawling near him, he only whispers out an anxious "Be gentle" with his voice cracking and his face beet red.

X-ray Rin isn't big, but he's isn't small either he's like the perfect size. He's a grower definitely about 3 inches when he's soft; but it doubles to about 6.4 inches when he's hard, maybe 6.8 if he's rock solid with arousal. His tip is blushes red like crazy when he's needy and he leaks like a broken faucet. His balls are cute and very squishy and they don't hang to low either. It's perfect just like him.

Y-yearning On a scale of 1–10, Rin lands about a 6.5, maybe a 6.8 if it's been a rough week. It's not always on his mind, like a perverted deviant, but staring at you for too long, or more specifically, the swell of your skirt or your breasts within your blouse, can definitely cause stray thoughts to appear. What can he say—he's a hormonal teenager?

Z-zzz Like mentioned in 'Aftercare' (A), Rin falls asleep pretty quickly, and when he does, there's no point in trying to wake him up. He's basically a drooling, snoring corpse, but you do notice that his tail instinctively wraps around your leg and ankle to keep you from getting very far away from him, even in his sleep.

#rin okumura #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #rin okumura x reader #rin okumura smut #smut #blue exorcist x reader #ao no exorcist x reader #rin smut #blue exorcist smut #blue exorcist headcannons #ao no exorcist smut #ao no exorcist hcs #yukio okumura #x reader #headcanons #blue exorcist drabble #ao no exorcist headcanons

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roosterr · 5 months ago

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firewatch | day 04

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john price x gn!reader wc; 4.6k summary; maybe you shouldn't complain about having nothing to do, or some idiot tourists will change that

haha yeah it's been three months, whoopsie. started hating writing for a while there, but i'm better now lol. pls enjoy, this series is a labour of love 💕

you severely underestimated how fucking tedious this would be.

honestly, you thought you could handle it. all you have to do is look out the window, take note of the weather every now and then, fuck around for the rest of the day, then rinse and repeat for a few months – and you're getting paid, to top it all off.

sounds easy enough.

you look outside, no smoke. you check the weather, it's sunny. two hours later, no smoke and not a cloud in the sky. six hours later, still no smoke, and, would you believe it, it's still clear blue skies and suddenly three days have gone by and somehow you're going stir crazy in the middle of a beautiful state park where most people would go to cure their cabin fever.

it's one thing to be left completely alone with your thoughts for months and months on end, but when you're so adamant about avoiding said thoughts, it turns out there really isn't much else to do.

john was right then, you suppose. people only ever take this job if there's something wrong with them.

well, you weren't completely alone. you take a sip of your tea, lukewarm by now, and turn your eyes to the radio next to you. john isn't bad company, truthfully he's probably the only reason you haven't gone completely insane yet. it makes you wonder how he possibly does this every year, with no other–

"fuckin' hell, is that fireworks?"

john's sudden exclamation startles you mid-sip of your tea, a fit of coughs wracking your body when you accidentally inhale some. you're about to scold him for scaring the shit out of you, but his voice comes through the radio again before you can start.

"out your west window, have a look." he grumbles, low and irritated.

you twist your neck to look, wiping the remnants of your tea from your face with one hand as the other puts the mug down on your desk. your eyes narrow at the sight of the colourful sparks and smoke in the air. "shit, i see them. that's super illegal, right?"

"illegal, and just flat out stupid." john replies, the frustration in his voice rumbling even deeper than usual. "you're gonna need to get down there and stop 'em."

"is…" you blink as another firework explodes above the treeline, "...is that really my job?"

you hear him huff on the other end. "your job is whatever i say it is, rookie. no rangers nearby to call, it's just you'n me out 'ere."

"great." you mumble dryly, casting a mournful glance at the half empty mug of tea sitting on your desk. "so, what do i do? kick their asses?"

"if ya like," john replies in a chuckle, "just make sure they won't come back, and confiscate the fireworks."

"aye aye, captain." you raise your hand in a mock salute entirely for your own amusement, and though he doesn't respond, you hear the click of his radio and an intake of breath as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. you shake off his odd reaction and turn away to look over your fire finder at the various trails and paths. "so… how do i get down to the lake?"

"the trail north of your tower should take you." he says, prompting you to pull out your own map and quickly make a note of the trail he mentioned. it looked straightforward enough, a slightly meandering path through the forest leading to the clearing around the lake. "there's a shale slide along the way, so grab some rope. should be in one of your boxes."

your gaze finds said boxes exactly where you'd left them on the floor beside your desk, partially unpacked but still mostly untouched. you sigh and get on your knees, cursing your previous laziness as you rummage through them one by one. it's a mess of random supplies; a few boxes of matches, a candle or three, an old lamp that looks like something a coal miner would use, even a few rat traps that you keep a mental note of for future reference.

"got it." you announce, only a minute or two of searching later, standing again as you hook one of the clips onto your belt loop and let the rope coil hang there. "so you know this park pretty well, huh?"

john hums in agreement, and in the background you hear something that sounds like the door opening and closing, and then the buzz of the wind under his words. "this area, yeah. been doin' this quite a few years now. plus, i'm the one who drops off supplies at your tower."

"oh, so that's your handwriting on the boxes?" you grin, looking back at the boxes that still lay strewn across your floor as you grab your light bag and head out of your own tower. "maybe you should work on that. shit's barely legible."

"i'll make a note." he chuckles, and the conversation between you paired with the lovely scenery as you descend the stairs almost lets you forget about the reason you're going out in the first place.

unfortunately, your reprieve is interrupted by the echo of another firework in the distance, louder now that you're outside. the colourful sparks are still half visible over the treetops against the late afternoon sky, and you frown at the display.

you find the trail to the lake fairly easily, and cast a glance over at john's tower before it's blocked by the trees, just as yet another bang scares the birds.

you scoff as you watch them fly away, narrowing your eyes at the faint traces of smoke still visible in the sky. "can you hear those from over there?"

"just about." john answers, an amused kind of suspicion is his voice. "why?"

"oh, no reason. but if you happen to hear any screaming, do me a favour and ignore it." you try to disguise the grin in your voice, but you can't help the laugh that slips out when your heart john's rumbling chuckle through the radio.

"i'll tell the police it must've been the foxes."

another airy laugh escapes you at his words. john does seem to have a way of improving your mood, even when it had been decidedly soured by the morons threatening to set the forest alight. and, honestly, it’s difficult to stay annoyed when you’re surrounded by shafts of golden afternoon sun breaking through the canopy of leaves, and the soft rustling of the breeze through the branches.

the forest feels almost dream-like in this light.

you’d mostly stuck to the southern trails on the handful of walks you’ve taken over the last couple days, taking to avoiding the lake since john told you it was somewhat of a tourist hotspot. it’ll be nice to see a new area of the park, you think, even if you’re only going there to yell at some people.

a twig snaps ahead, just off the path in the underbrush to your right, and you pause.

a dear trots into the patch of sunlight that falls through the trees to the centre of the worn trail, and it pauses too. you stare at it, and it’s deep black eye stares right back. it’s beautiful, you can just about think to yourself, your awe keeping you frozen in place.

and then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it’s gone.

"woah." you murmur, still gazing at where it disappeared into the trees. a smile pulls at the corners of your lips as you click the button on your radio again. "a huge deer just crossed the path in front of me."

a moment passes before john answers, a hint of a teasing laugh on his breath. "they do live out here, love."

you click your tongue, rolling your eyes to yourself as you step over a branch to begin walking again. "alright smartass, some of us don't spend ninety percent of our lives in the middle of the woods."

"i'd say it's more like sixty." he chuckles in response, wiping the faux annoyance from your face with ease. "what did it's antlers look like?"

you quirk an eyebrow and cast a look back over your shoulder at the trees where the deer had gone, but the point of his question still flies over your head. "uh, normal?"

another rumbling chuckle comes through the static before john adds, "which way did they point?"

"oh…" you hum, sidestepping a leafy shrub growing over the path as you think. "to the sides? like, outwards, I guess?"

"probably an elk then, not a deer."

you smile, somewhat impressed, but you're not exactly surprised. for whatever reason, john does seem like the type to know that kind of thing. "that's actually pretty cool. how’d you know that?"

"the informative poster provided by the park, which i understand is in both of our towers." he replies, a sense of smug amusement lifting his voice, which earns another eye roll from you that he'll never see.

"right, right. i definitely read that…" you mutter, which earns you a lighthearted scoff from john.

"did you at least read the one about the poisonous plants ‘round here?" he adds, and you grimace stepping over a ditch in the trail because, well, you know you should've, but there's only your own laziness to blame for ignoring it.

you clear your throat, stifling your grin as you answer in a decidedly unconvincing tone, "...yes–"

"christ alive…"

"–but, just to be safe, i'm not gonna touch any plants, so i don't have to worry." you continue – and as if on cue, a tall nettle waves in the breeze into your path, and you're only narrowly able to dodge it before it can brush your skin. you tut at the plant, like it can understand you, and it almost feels as if the park itself wanted to prove you wrong.

you'll keep that close call to yourself, you decide. what john doesn't know can't hurt him, right?

"i'm gettin' grey hairs talkin' to you." john mutters, and you can so clearly picture the disappointed shake of his head that no doubt accompanied his reply.

"you don't already have grey hairs?" you tease, unable to stop the laugh that comes through your words.

"oi, i'm not that old!"

"i know, i know," you chuckle, "but you do sound like a guy who's smoked a pack a day for twenty years."

"more of a cigar man, myself." he pauses, and you can hear the wind pick up in the background when he doesn't take his finger off the button. "not a habit you can keep up out here though, unfortunately."

"you could if you wanted, then we'd both have a fire to watch." you reply, your smile easy now, like you're talking to an old friend rather than someone you met three days ago.

"you're full of good ideas, aren't ya?"

the conversation dies down again after that, a comfortable atmosphere replacing it. the sun has gotten slightly lower in the sky since you'd started walking, and while it wasn't getting dark yet, it would be soon. wandering around the forest at night was possibly the last thing you wanted to be doing, so you'd better hurry this up.

thankfully you're not walking for much longer before you come to a break in the trees. the trodden path you'd been following gives way to the rocky ground, and just ahead you can see the sudden drop off that you assume must be what you're looking for.

you come to a stop at the edge, and gaze down at the steep descent in front of you.

"hey, i found the slope." you announce, clicking the talk-lock button on your radio so your hands are free to start unfurling the rope. your eyes drift to the slope despite how hard you try to keep them on what your hands are doing, and a spark of anxiety shoots through you as you look over it. "am i really going down this?"

"unless you wanna take the long way."

"i don't… but that's gotta be, like, a fifteen foot drop." you grimace at the sharp stones making up the ground below, your hands twirling the rope nervously between them. suddenly you weren't feeling so confident about this.

"that steep?" he sounds surprised when he asks, maybe even slightly concerned. "s'been a while since i've gone that way, must've had a landslide at some point…"

you seriously would've preferred he kept that thought to himself, because now there's an undeniable feeling, right at the forefront of your mind, that this was not going to end well for you.

"landslide. right." you murmur flatly. "that doesn't fill me with optimism."

if john's at all worried about this like you are, he does a fantastic job of hiding it. his voice is unshakably confident when he responds, "you'll be fine, just make sure your clips are tightened."

you sigh, hesitant to continue, but proceed to tie one end of the rope and loop it into the clip on the anchor point just before the drop off – a sturdy looking rock that you sincerely hope isn't going anywhere – and internally you debate over just cutting your losses and turning back, but considering how high the fire risk is right now, there's no way your conscience will let you delay getting to the lake.

you sigh, giving the rope an experimental tug to make sure it really is secure, which it does appear to be, before throwing the rest of it down the slope.

you really don't want to do this, but unfortunately, you really have to.

"alright, i'm going down. if i die it's your fault." you grumble, hearing a muffled chuckle from john as you take the rope firmly in both hands and tread backwards over the edge of the slope.

you only get two steps from the top before you hear the rope creak. the sound brings the taste of bile to the back of your throat, but you do your best to swallow it down. it's probably an old rope, a weird noise doesn't mean anything – it's the same as the noises your tower makes, right? old things creak, that's just what they do. no need to panic.

it's not like you have much of a choice. you're already suspended by it, and there's no turning back now. your palms start to sweat.

"don't do that." you scold the twine under your breath, willing the inanimate object to hear you. "don't make weird noises."

one more step and the rope creaks again, much louder this time and significantly more worrying. it sends a cold bolt of panic up your spine that you don't get to react to before you hear the unmistakable sound of fibres snapping. "wait– no no no no–!"

you vaguely hear john call your name, but it's muffled by your cut off shout as the rope snaps in half and sends you free-falling down the slope.

time seems to slow as you watch the rest of your rope get further away, your wide eyes meeting the vast blue of the sky above with only one thought on your mind.

this is gonna hurt.

a heavy thud reverberates through your skull when you hit the ground. hard. the impact knocks the air from your lungs and forces a strained whine from your lips. jagged stones dig into your skin through your clothes, only adding to the pain already radiating from your upper back.

john calls your name again, his voice a little more frantic this time, you note through the pain fogging your mind. "sitrep– uh, talk to me, what's happened?"

"ugh, shit…" another groan leaves your chest as you push yourself up onto your elbows, attempting to blink away the dark spots that float in your vision. "my fucking rope snapped. fell down the slope…"

"shit." he hisses. "you broken?"

"what? no," you mutter through a deep intake of breath, finally gathering the strength to sit up fully with a hand attempting to soothe the ache between your shoulders, but it doesn't do much to help. "my back just really fuckin' hurts…"

"right…" he murmurs, letting the silence hang between you for a moment too long before continuing. "the rope snapped?"

"yeah… made some fucked up noises and then broke clean in two." you send a withering glare to the other end of your rope, still hanging tauntingly from the top of the slope with a distinct air of mockery you didn't know an inanimate object could be capable of giving off.

standing requires a lot more energy than you currently have in you, but the distant sound of a firework reminds you again why you're even out here – so with a laboured grunt, you push yourself upright through the sharp ache in your back and brace yourself on your knees as your vision spins.

you hear john sigh absently over the wind on his end. "i'm sorry, this is my fault. i should'a checked the supplies 'fore i dropped 'em off at ya tower, i would'a noticed–"

"john, hey, it's fine, okay?" you interrupt his rambling before he can get too far into his own head, and frown to yourself. "but i'm not getting back to my tower that way…"

"there's– there's another path back, from the lake." his voice is quieter than usual, and he stumbles over his words – something so incredibly unlike him, it has you on edge from such a small change.

you hum, looking back up at the other end of your rope with a disdainful sigh as you brush the rest of the gravel from your pants. "as long as there's no more abseiling, i think that'll work."

john doesn't say anything more, which has you concerned, but you decide not to push it. he's clearly cut up about what happened, even if you don't completely get why, and you get the impression that moving on from the subject would be best for both of you.

the way the small valley is shaped leads you easily to the continuation of the trail, and before long the rocky ground gives way again to softer forest floor. you find yourself in another larger clearing, open enough that you can see ahead where the path disappears between more rocks and overgrown shrubbery. the lake must be nearby now, you think, because the distant sound of voices reaches your ears periodically on the wind.

the radio silence from john lingers in the air, heavy and stifling despite the great distance between you. the solitude leaves you with your thoughts, wondering why he was acting so responsible for something so beyond both of your control, and though you've resolved to leave the topic alone, you really can't seem to stop thinking about it.

another bang of a firework echoes around the clearing and you regret complaining about the tedium of the last few days. this was not what you wanted.

you drag your aching body across the rest of the clearing and brush a low-hanging branch out of your way as you make your way through the overgrowth between you and the lake. a clunking sound catches your attention, and you turn your gaze downwards to an empty beer can, followed by another further down path, then a few more, and a few more.

"holy shit, what is wrong with these people…" you mutter through gritted teeth, crouching down to gather as many as you can into your bag as you go – with only a short grumble at the pain it causes your back.

with a deeply exasperated sigh, you sling your bag back over your shoulder just as you come to the end of the trail and the bushes give way to the clearing of the lake. there's a small, raised island in the centre, where you can see the group lounging by the water with their music turned all the way up.

god, could these people get any more obnoxious?

you take a second to steel yourself, because this was not going to be easy, before cupping your hands around your mouth and shouting, "hey!"

they ignore you. of course they do.

"hey!" you yell louder this time, and thankfully they acknowledge you by finally turning off their music and glaring at you from their perch. you're probably supposed to handle situations like this with decorum, but as a result of the last hour or so your patience has worn incredibly thin, and you really can't find it in you to care. "fireworks? really? are you guys completely fucking stupid?"

they scoff and look incredulously between each other, before who you assume to be the ringleader yells back, "what the hell is your problem?"

"yeah, it's a free country!" one of the others adds.

"that's not how that works…" you sigh to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose and willing yourself to keep at least some modicum of composure. "you kids better get the fuck outta here! right now!"

they scoff again, and pointedly turn away from you. good god, the urge to throw rocks at them was getting harder and harder to fight.

"ignore them, it's just some random fucking loser creeping on teenagers…" the ringleaders comment is only just audible from where you're standing, but you do hear it, and it only serves to fuel your temper.

"what? no, i'm–" you falter for a split second, debating the consequences of the lie you're about to tell, but the side of you that just wants these idiots out of your life wins over fairly easily. "i'm a park ranger! and if you don't leave now, i can guarantee the cops are gonna be waiting for you when you do!"

a beat of silences passes, before they begin to mutter amongst themselves.

"oh shit… are they for real?"

"i don't care dude, i can't get arrested again, my parents would kill me!"

"let's just get outta here, this is freaking me out…"

you fold your arms tightly over your chest and watch them scuttle to gather their things with a scowl. they collectively send you one last withering look, which you readily mirror, before they wade back into the lake and swim across to the bank on your left.

"fucking finally…" your gaze follows them until they weave between the trees and you can no longer see them. with a tired sigh, you bring up your radio and move to check where they disappeared to as you update john. "hey, they're gone."

there's a moment before john replies, sounding not quite as downtrodden as he was earlier, which you take as a good sign. "yeah? how'd it go?"

"i hope they drown." you grumble in response.

he laughs, genuine and deep, and you feel your lingering annoyance melting away with the sound. "let's hope they won't come back."

"are you…" you clear your throat, weaving your way between trees and bushes. "are you okay? about earlier, i mean?"

"yeah, i'm– i'm fine." john answers quickly, and you get the strong feeling that he's deflecting when he continues, "let's just get you back to your tower, eh?".

"and far away from these fucking tourists…" you mutter, which earns you another light chuckle from him. just the memory of them has you cringing as you brush through a few bushes. "completely unrelated question, but would i get in trouble if i, hypothetically, lied about being a park ranger?"

"hypothetically, i reckon we could keep that between me and you."

a small grin finds its way onto your face, just as you reach where you assume those kids had been camping. there's more empty cans scattered by the worn dirt track, which you gather up with a string of curses under your breath.

following the trail of litter as you round the trees, the first thing that meets your eyes is the remains of their campfire, still smouldering and glowing orange in the evening shadows.

"idiots lit a campfire, too." you seethe, sharply kicking dirt over the embers until you're sure it's out. "the fire risk is colour-coded for assholes like them, and somehow it still went over their heads…"

john sighs. "don't think too much about it. knobheads like that wouldn't get it if it smacked 'em in the face."

"who knows? maybe one of these days i will." you're only half joking, but the smile must come across in your voice because john's rumbling chuckle follows again.

"right, and when they ask 'how on earth d'you get fired from a job where all you do is sit on your arse all day', what're you gonna tell 'em?"

"that i beat up some dumb kids and saved the park from being burnt to a crisp?" you grin, starting in the direction you vaguely remember another trail ending, but a glint of light catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

you crouch down, and forgotten behind the bush is a half empty bottle of cheap whiskey. nice.

you slip it into your bag and call it the service charge.

"i think the coppers'll be more concerned with the first bit." john quips. you laugh through the twinge of pain as you stand again, and hope he doesn't notice.

"that's their problem. i'll be the people's hero." you say, earning a other deep chuckle that grows a light feeling in your chest. you get a few more strides up the path before coming across a trail sign with a spoke for fire lookout seven, and tell john, "hey, i found the sign for my tower, so i'm heading that way."

"good. that way's a bit more of a hike, but it's shorter, so you should be home in time for dinner."

"perfect. can't wait to get back to my room temperature tea." you reply, with a trace of sarcasm that you're sure is only just noticeable.

john breathes a short chuckle, before his voice turns slightly more serious. "how's your back, anyway?"

"fucking hurts, but i'll get over it." you answer, and the moment silence that follows has you wishing you'd just said fine. it had slipped your mind how odd john was being about your fall, and though you want to find out why, you get the impression that questioning him about it wouldn't get you anywhere.

he clears his throat uncomfortably. "...sorry, again. it was my fault you fell."

you frown in concern when he apologises, again, and do your best to ease his mind. "don't worry about it, alright? i didn't even fall that far, i was already, like, halfway down."

he doesn't have to know that was a lie.

"still, it shouldn't've happened in the first place." he replies, still sounding rather pitiful despite your efforts.

"i'm being dramatic. it's really fine, john." you try to keep your words light, to convey that you really don't blame him, and he shouldn't either, but he simply hums in response.

"if you say so."

"well, y'know how you can make it up to me?" you let another smile creep into your voice when another idea comes to you.

"how's that?" he takes the bait, some form of amusement present rather than the cynicism from before.

"you can tell me some of your war stories," you can sense his hesitation through the radio, but you press further with a more lighthearted tone, "the cool shit, like how mission impossible is based on your life or whatever."

"well, i'm no tom cruise, but i was at the piccadilly bombin', back in twenty-nineteen." john replies, a hint of smugness behind his words that you don't even register through the shock that stops you in your tracks.

"holy shit, what?"

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #141 x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #mw3 x reader #call of duty x reader #price x reader #john price #captain john price #roosterr writes

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celestiaras · 2 months ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ with you next to him ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anons ˚₊ ⊹

ft. ver vermillion x f! reader — xsoleil, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ he’s trying to sleep, but his needs overpower his fatigue┊1.5k words

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub ver┊somnophilia, sleepy sex, wearing his shirt & lacy panties, mentioned masturbation, intercrural/thigh fucking, riding, implied breeding kink, orgasm denial & slight brat-taming? cut-off ending

➤ author's note: unfortunately, i couldn’t figure out how to make him a dom in this one & i have no idea why it took so long to write, so sorry for continuously pushing back when i would post this when i promised it so ages ago. it’s not even that good or long because i’ve been dragging it out for so long, but fuck it, we ball

juggling several heavy responsibilities was something that ver grew accustomed to ever since he was elected student council president in freshman year and carried the occupation until now, but only being able to return back home at any time past sunset during early summer should be illegal. he can’t complain though, it was his own decision to continue helping out xsoleil institute after he graduated and to guide the person who would take his title when he left for college. there were simply too many memories and too many friendships created within the walls of the building for him to let go so quickly. one of them included meeting you, his high school sweetheart whom he positively believed was the love of his life and the one he would end up marrying someday.

since his parents were on a business trip and wouldn’t be home for the next few days, you were actually already waiting at his place after he invited you over a few hours earlier. quality time nights like this were infrequent and risky since you had to wait until the entire family was out to call the other over and could have gotten caught in any moment, but that hasn’t happened yet so these sleepovers still go on behind their backs. besides, both of you were quickly able to navigate the other’s home like it was your own and even knew where to escape just in case someone unexpectedly showed up, there was no fear about it anymore.

he was so goddamn exhausted that he wasn’t sure if it was possible to spark enough energy to do anything that wasn’t simply cuddling and dozing off in each other’s arms. fortunately, it was one of your many favorite bonding activities and you were tired as well. you were found lounging in his bed on your stomach with your legs kicking around while scrolling on social media, smiling and rolling over with outstretched arms to welcome him but looking like you were about to pass out at any moment. it looks like you had a long day at work today and ver greeted you with a kiss on the forehead, telling you that he was going to take a shower, that you could finally sleep now, and how he’ll join you once he is done.

all he planned to do was to doze off in your embrace and to get down to whatever shenanigans you could think of in the morning after a revitalized rest, he swears that he originally had no other intentions. perhaps stepping out into the cold air after being splashed by warm water woke him up, but he only noticed something particular about your choice of clothing right as he was about to lay down next to your slumbering form.

you were wearing a t-shirt of his, a casual one he wore around the house that had the name of the event he got it at for free plastered across the front and back with big bolded letters. it’s nothing too serious, you probably just forgot to bring something more comfortable than your work uniform to wear, and it’s not like it’s the first time you stole something of his to wear.

it wasn’t really the shirt itself that caused something to stir within him, falling at your upper thigh and hiding your curves with its loosely rectangular shape, it was actually the way your legs were positioned to flash your cute lacy red underwear to his eyes.

he needed to blink a few times to process it before instinctively covering his face to hide his blush, tilting his head to get a better glimpse of it like the closeted pervert he is— or maybe you’re the pervert who did this intentionally to get a rise out of him. he has no way of knowing, but he does know that there’s a little damp spot that stained the fabric a little darker color which was driving his imagination wild about whether you were having a wet dream or were playing with yourself while he was away.

whatever the answer was, it’s safe to say that he was now way too horny to sleep.

laying on his side of the bed, pressing his face into the pillow, slowly jerking himself off, trying to muffle the sinful noises threatening to spill from his mouth. it’s different from when he’s alone, a lot more intense when the object of his desire is resting a mere few inches away from him. he can’t remember if he’s ever been in a situation similar to this one before and how he got out of it if he did, his mind is too fogged to recall and it’s becoming borderline painful to continue this way.

he turned on his side to meet you face-to-face after tucking himself back into his briefs, his gaze falling on your kissable lips, and his eyelashes fluttered shut knowing he couldn’t keep this up for much longer. “babe? are you awake?” he whispered, hoping that you weren’t too deep in slumber so that he could gently wake you and then beg to fuck you like the loser he was being.

you murmured something and turned to the other side at the minor disturbance, but remained mostly unmoved by his efforts. guilt started to settle in for trying to wake you up, leading him to decide his next move in a frenzy of horniness where desperate times call for desperate measures.

he wrapped his arms around you and pulled the two of you closer together, movements slowly and languid to avoid rousing you any more than he already had. you smelled of his shampoo and faint remnants of the vanilla perfume you sprayed early in the morning, making him slightly dizzy as he inhaled the scent. his hand snaked around one of your thighs to part them, slotting his pre-cum and spit-slicked cock into the little gap.

your skin was softer than flower petals compared to his hands which were slightly calloused and worn away from gripping pencils while studying most of his life. heaven truly was between your thighs, he almost felt like he could have busted right there and then.

still overwhelmed with fatigue, his pace was pretty sluggish, completely immersed in the feeling of his twitching length being massaged by the silky smoothness of your skin. it was like floating on clouds, crossing the lines of reality and the realm of dreams, warm and cozy with mixtures of sinful pleasures and tired lust-induced hazes.

he wasn’t going to last long, grip tightening onto your sides as his sloppy thrusts became quicker to chase his orgasm, panting like a dog with sweat beads forming on his face to stick his red hair to his pale skin. just when he was on the precipice of ecstasy, he felt you stir in his arms before he found himself face-to-face with you once again, looking into your eyes sparking with mischief despite the weariness behind them.

“hm? what’cha doing?” you teased with a little giggle, words slightly slurred together, moving your head to kiss him.

“‘m sorry for waking you…” he murmured into your mouth, pink from both exertion and embarrassment.

it was a bit late to ask, but you didn’t mind, arching your back to press the curve of your ass further into him teasingly, “aww, couldn’t have waited until morning? poor baby…” you covered your mouth in a yawn before turning around to press a lazy kiss on his lips, pushing him back on his back to situate yourself in his lap and placing one on his chest. “do you want me to help you out?” you smiled as he nodded furiously, allowing your hand to reach into your panties which were getting more soaked by the second and pumping two of your fingers into your needy cunt. “don’t worry, i’ll take care of you…”

although sleep pulled at your eyes, you still tried to keep them open to look at your handsome boyfriend’s face as you lined up his erection with your slit and eased him into you with a sigh. he wasn’t the biggest, but still the perfect size to fill you up and make you gasp as you took him inch by inch until he bottomed out. you shifted your weight to keep him still, preventing him from squirming or trying to buck his hips up into yours.

“oh, no, baby, i’m setting the pace this time. you need to be punished for waking me up, so you can cum when i say so.”

“please?”

you tutted in disappointment, “no, i’ll stay up all night if i have to until you learn your lesson. just be good for me, okay? who knows, maybe i’ll even let you cum inside of me as a reward— you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

request one [ if your goods with it! dom!ver x reader somnophilia! <3 common prompt but, ver comes home tired from work/student council duties p late and stuff and really just wants to spend the night with reader but! unfortunately, reader's sleeping :( oh wtv would he do :( you can hv full rein of wtv else :33 i would just like to ask that it isn't non-con (dub-con okay!) :D and that's all! hope u have fun w this !! :33 ]

request two [ i just wanted to say that, i love your works! my request is maybe riding ver? also breeding kink if possible idk just don't overwork yourself 💕 ]

#📜. her works #ver vermillion #ver vermillion x reader #ver vermillion smut #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji smut #nijisanji en #nijisanji en x reader #nijisanji en smut #xsoleil #xsoleil x reader #xsoleil smut

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year ago

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Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Six: Would I Lie to You, Baby?

special thank you to @myosotisa and @loveshotzz for the beta read and also @myosotisa for helping me with a special scene that takes place in this chapter!!

warnings: minor injury; mentions of alcohol; unwanted advances/flirting/touching - R receiving end; and a whole lot of fluffy modern day!rich!fake-husband!steve x afab!reader. (9.3k words)

masterlist

——

What’s that saying?

Woman down.

Abort mission.

Houston, we have a problem. And boy do you have one.

The day starts like any other, only because of the rainy weather that has plagued the city since September bled into October, you’ve been forced to take your morning walk indoors. And it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve used the personal gym in your home either. In fact, by now you’ve used it countless times.

No. Instead, it’s the image that greets you upon entering that is a definitive ‘first time’ for you. Because there’s no forgetting the sight of your husband, bare chested, catching his breath as he rests on a bench. His hair is hidden beneath a baseball cap, a water bottle between his plush lips that manages to spill onto his chest with the intensity he’s chugging it.

Oh, and his face? He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Steve Harrington with a growing mustache and beard should be illegal.

Jail time and a permanent sentence if you have any say in the matter.

The reason why?

Riling up his fake wife into a tizzy.

The optic is…not helping your present situation. The dawning realization that seems intent on reminding you every single day that you’re attracted to your husband. Emotionally, physically—the whole of it. It’s infuriating, daunting and downright terrifying. But he can’t know that—can never know that, because of the deal.

The deal. The arrangement. The rules.

But lately, you want to throw them all out and burn that ridiculous contract he had you sign seemingly so long ago now.

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re staring, watching as his brows draw high on his forehead. With a swallow, you turn your head away, hating how your damn cheeks start to warm under his scrutiny.

He’s probably loving it, too. Loving the way you shift on the spot, unsure of what to do beneath his stare, hugging yourself tight.

Basing it on the smug grin that curls his lips alone, you know he has to be.

“Figured I’d get in a workout because Charlie is napping,” you explain, stepping further into the room, stopping in front of the endless rows of dumbbells your husband keeps on a rack against the far wall of the room with wall to wall mirrors reflecting your nervous image back at you. “And also because it’s raining, I couldn’t go outside.”

“Uh huh.” He takes a final gulp of his water and places it down onto the floor beside him, about to start more bicep curls when he catches your image in the mirror. “Looking for something?”

Maybe it’s your inability to figure out what weight dumbbells you should start with. Maybe it’s because you’re already forgetting the layout of the TikTok workout you watched earlier that evening you intended to try. Maybe it’s the fact you know you want to start lifting weights, if only to help with your running and dog walking business (some of those bigger dogs get a little rowdy). Maybe it’s the fact you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. As a result of all of that, your teeth pinch against your bottom lip, skin taut between, meeting his stare in the mirror.

“I’ll probably just hop on the treadmill. Go for a walk,” you decide, cowering away from his curious stare to rush to the farther corner of the room where the cardio equipment is.

The present set up has a treadmill, elliptical, stairmaster, and spin bike. More than you’ll ever need, but you’ll never complain because one of the perks now in being married to Steve is that you were able to cancel your own membership and save a little extra cash every month. Hopping on, you tap on the large screen panel to set your leisurely walking pace, pop a pair of headphones in your ears, and drown out the sounds in the room.

The plan works.

For all of five minutes.

Because you’re minding your own business, bobbing along to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. as you strut across your runway slash treadmill belt, when Steve decides to lift his weights once more. Uses his knees to help prop them up, going right into a set of overhead dumbbell presses.

And damn it, if the sight of him when you walked in hadn’t sent you into orbit, this certainly does.

From where you’re standing you can see his back. The constellation of moles you never really paid much attention to, but now want to mark the path of with your fingers. Want to trace them like the stars in the night sky. With every overhead arch, his sinewy back ripples, muscles in his arms straining, veins sparking to life beneath his skin. You can see the lines of his abdomen, the sweat pooling across ridges, clinging to those perfectly sculpted divots. Can see the way his chest jumps with each movement, making your thighs clench.

Only—one's thighs shouldn’t clench on the treadmill.

Except yours do.

And promptly send you crashing onto the belt, skin ripping from your kneecap in one rapid swipe.

A giant, gaping black hole in the floor would be a good escape right now. That or a meteor falling from the sky, with its target directed at your head. Anything to rid yourself of the mortification of your current dose of reality.

Steve’s already dropping the dumbbells by the time you fall onto your rear, nearly crashing into the glass window in the process, your trembling hands clutching your scraped up knee.

It burns. A white hot heat that has your eyes prickling, embarrassment burning like a heated iron in your chest. And to make matters worse, Steve utters out a soft “baby” as he drops down in front of you, and that might as well signify the end of all life function. Because not only have you fallen off a treadmill ogling your increasingly “not-so-fake-husband,” but now he is calling you “baby” on top of it all.

“Baby, let me see,” you realize he’s saying as you come crashing back to reality, the hazel of his eyes growing darker as he crawls closer on the floor, trying to inspect your knee. With a reluctant sigh, your hands fall away, revealing the freshly torn skin. “That’s a mean looking burn. Come on, let's put something on that.”

“I’m fine right here,” you argue, back pressing against the mirrored wall.

“Why?”

His brows lift high on his forehead, left hand curling over the unbroken skin of your left knee. You can see he’s wearing a black silicone wedding band today, not his usual wedding ring, and yet you don’t miss that simple gesture. Always wearing that symbol of your union, while your own are presently sitting high enough in a ring holder so Charlie won’t be able to mistake them for very expensive doggy chew toys.

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“It’s a little burn, and then you’ll feel better,” he promises, giving your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll be so gentle.”

“Steve.”

“Honey.”

“Well when you say it like that,” you say, snorting.

He takes it as joking. Head shaking as you curl your hand around his and allow him to help lift you off the floor, body nearly careening into his at the force of it. But there’s a sincerity behind the joke; the way your heart thumps a little faster every time he utters his affections like that; every time he graces you with a token of his appreciation, or the lingering sweetness of a fond title when no one is around to hear it. Those little moments that are completely yours for the taking, hidden away from those who would watch your marriage under a microscope—those you continue to act in front of to keep up your facade.

There’s an expectation, though you’re uncertain where it derives from, that he’ll take you to your bathroom, connected to your bedroom. It’s closest to the gym, as it is. But when you pass your doorway and end up in front of his bedroom, drawing the excited gaze of your puppy lazing on Steve’s bed, you find yourself freezing. Pausing in the entryway as you take in his room. Like your living room when you first moved in, it’s minimalistic. Huge, with a california king bed in the middle. But it’s limited in decor. White walls, black furniture and bedding, with a few pictures strewn about his walls.

This is where he sleeps every night. Where he slips away to when you bid one another goodbye. Briefly, you wonder if he sleeps on his side, or maybe his back. Wonder if he slings a forearm over his eyes or tucks the back of his hand beneath his cheek to draw comfort. Or if he sleeps with the comforter pulled all the way up over his shoulders, or if he prefers them slung low around his hips. All things you shouldn’t be thinking about; especially not now, not as he tugs you along behind him into the adjoining master bathroom, telling Charlie to ‘sit’ in the doorway.

The puppy drops down onto his haunches, and then lower still, onto his little elbows as Steve gestures for you to hop up onto the sink counter. Palms curl around the edge as he starts to rummage about in his medicine cabinet, finding the topical ointment he’d been looking for. He hadn’t been lying about being gentle. He’s all gentle brushes of a clean warm washcloth damp with water. He then lets the wound air dry as he stands in the cradle of your thighs, looking down at your face.

“What were you doing for this to happen?” he asks, opening a large band aid to cover the surface of your knee and gliding a small helping of the antibacterial cream there.

“Just…tripped.”

“Just a little spill?”

At your rapid nod, he presses the edge of the band aid down and glides the rest over the surface area of the burn. There’s a bit of a sting, but it settles into a dull ache. His touch lingers. A slow, delicate sweep over the top of your thigh that draws your gaze to his point of contact. It has you wishing nothing more than to lock your ankles around his narrow waist, tug him near, and drag his mouth down against yours.

Only you don’t.

Because they’re all fantasies. All fantasies struck up by close proximity to the man. A normal reaction after living with a man like Steve and playing house for four months now.

Right…?

“You didn’t happen to be distracted or anything?” your husband queries, giving you another one of those swipes of his thumb over your bare thigh.

Dangerous.

He’s verging on dangerous territory.

“My music was pretty loud.”

He barks out a laugh. “Was it?”

“Uh huh.” Another swipe. Is it getting hot in this damn bathroom? Must be an October heat wave. “What’s the damage, Dr. Harrington? Will I make it?”

“Might lose the knee,” he says gravely, bowing his head in faux sympathy.

A little gasp spills from your lips, hand curling over your heart dramatically. “The knee?”

Charlie jumps to attention at that, rushing over to bump Steve’s thigh with the tip of his nose. You lean down a bit to pet him, and holy mother of god he’s still half naked, you remind yourself as your face comes a little too close to Steve’s hip, eyes stuttering on those moles that litter his abdomen.

And then he’s flexing.

Fucking flexing, because you’ve been caught. He knows it, too. Lips curling upward slowly in that self-satisfied grin of his that makes your stomach swoop low.

Woman down.

Dead on arrival.

The jig is up.

I can fix this, you think, clearing your throat. “Actually, if you must know…I wanted to learn how to lift weights. I figured it would come in handy with the dogs. Charlie, too. He’s a little reckless on our walks still.”

Steve listens, patting Charlie on the head for emphasis as you lean back against the bathroom mirror, your knees still on either side of your husband’s hips.

“And you,” you explain, waving a hand in the air, very noncommittal, and hopefully lackadaisical because you’re still trying to play it cool and all of that, “seem to have a wonderful form.”

“You mean wonderful form.”

Record scratch. Steve’s finger’s pause in their dastardly trail, your eyes darting up to his. Dark. They’re so damn dark, and you swallow the thickness forming like a knot in your throat.

Mortification rising, cheeks burning, you amend, “That’s what I said.”

“It's not,” he muses, “but if you say so.”

Another swipe along your injured knee, while Charlie rests his snout on your other. Both your guys, all together in one room. It would make for a cute family moment were it not for the way your husband’s mouth twitches higher, enjoying your turmoil a little too much for your liking.

“Remember we’re married. We live in the same home. I can still kill you in your sleep.” It’s a deadpan. But your facade breaks a moment later, a giggle rising up despite your threat.

He leans in closer, and you briefly wonder if this is the first time you’ve noticed those little green flecks he has in his eyes thanks to broad daylight filtering in through the window. When you’re out to dinner for social functions, it’s usually in those dark, dimly lit rooms where you pretend to be absolutely smitten with the man.

But after that kiss on your cheek after getting Charlie, there’s been a shift. Additional touches, sitting closer on the couch—under the guise of sharing the puppy, naturally—a brush of shoulders as you pass in the hall. The whisper of a kiss against your temple when you fall asleep on the couch watching your shows (or at least when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep).

Changing.

Things are changing with the seasons and each day a new layer is added into the reasons why remaining married to Steve Harrington for the next nearly two and a half years might be the most difficult challenge you’ve faced yet.

Because the only casualty at the end of this…is your heart.

You’ve never forgotten that, no matter how blurry the lines seem as of late.

He whispers, “Remember the wife is always the first suspect.”

His hand finally moves away, and you loathe that you miss it as soon as he does. Charlie scampers into the doorway as Steve helps you down off the counter, gritting your teeth against the flare of pain in your burnt kneecap. You walk down the hall together, saying nothing, basking in the comfortable silence as you enter the kitchen, pulling bottles of water free for both Steve and yourself. He accepts it gratefully, chugging half before leaning his elbows onto the kitchen island.

“I could show you,” he says, smiling softly at your arching brows. “How to train. I could teach you.”

“Like…workout together?”

His head dips, fingers coming up to remove the hat from his head. And maybe your heart does a somersault when he shakes his hair out, now grown out quite a bit.

“If you want to,” he says, rubbing his left palm over his stubbly cheek.

And you do. So you agree to his suggestion and find yourself standing at a squat rack the next morning, thanks to yet another rainy day in the city.

Steve’s foregone his shirt again.

A fact you find equal parts exhilarating and infuriating.

Him with his low hung gym shorts, highlighting the lines of his abdomen, the line of hair your eyes hitch on dipping below the waistband.

Charlie sits in the distance, a happily distracted bystander to his parents trying to figure out what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into, thanks to the doggy bone Steve brought home for him the prior evening.

“We’ll start with just the bar.” At the hesitance in which you approach, eyeing it precariously, he adds, “It's not that I don’t think you can handle more. You wrangle animals every day. But your form is important so you don’t injure yourself. Can’t have you ruining the other knee.”

“Couldn't have that,” you laugh, running your finger along the barbell. “Okay, now what?”

“You’re going to stand in front of the bar, legs shoulder width apart.” He does exactly as he says while he’s explaining, thighs separating just enough as he needs to. “You’re going to wrap your hands around the bar, thumbs around the bar. I’m going to get under and rest it just below the base of my neck.”

He slips under with ease in a maneuver you’ve seen often enough from the numerous TikTok videos you watched in preparation. His biceps shift with the movement, fingers loosening and tightening as he gets into comfortable positioning. He unracks the bar with ease, spreading his legs a little wider, eyes on his reflection across from him.

“You’re going to take a deep breath and brace your core before squatting.”

He demonstrates, the bar clearly too light for him, because there’s no struggle on the descent. His thighs don’t even quiver, they merely tighten, highlighting the definition honed from years of time well spent in the gym.

“You’re going to want your thighs to be parallel to the ground.”

He lowers until he’s in the proper position.

Pauses.

“And then you’ll drive up through the heel.”

He rises, hips drawing forward, racks the bar, and turns to you. Growing warm at the sudden attention on your figure, you push down the lip of the hat he wears, rushing in front of him to stand warily in front of the squat rack.

Suddenly, you’re aware of the set of eyes staring at your form in the mirror that belong to Steve. The way he walks up behind you and curls his palms over your shoulder, kneading the muscle there. Suddenly, you’re overly aware of the fact that here's your ridiculously fit husband, and in front of him…you.

You’re wearing a pair of running shoes you bought a few years ago, a ratty old tee shirt from your early years of college, oversized basketball shorts, and mismatched socks.

“You know I can always tell when you’re overthinking, right?” Steve asks, rubbing particularly hard on a spot that has you about ready to melt into his arms and call it a wrap on your workout.

I’m beat, looks like we’re all done here! Great workout, honey. Let’s hit the showers, you want to say, before folding into his embrace.

“You won’t judge me? For being nervous?”

“Why the nerves?” He turns you around to face him, peering down at your eyes. “It’s me. Me…who you’ve seen every day for four months now.”

You shrug, because there really isn’t a reason for it. With a heavy sigh of resignation, you turn back around and face your reflection in the mirror, trying to follow Steve’s instructions closely. Feet, shoulder width apart. Fingers around the bar, thumbs curled, palms facing forward. Duck, slide under the bar and rest it at the base of your neck.

And here’s the part that has you nervous, the lifting up onto your feet, driving the bar up and out of the rack, wobbling a little bit at the unsteadiness of the suddenness of the weight on your shoulders.

Before you can even start to panic, Steve’s fingers are hovering underneath the spaces beside your fingers, letting you start to adjust a bit and find your balance.

“I’ve got you,” he says, chest barely brushing your back as you take a couple steps backward on unsteady feet closer to him. “I’ve always got you. I promise.”

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. I promise.

You’re brought back to your wedding day. Dancing in the middle of a room full of strangers, arms around your new husband’s neck, swaying to a song you both liked enough to be the one to “define” your day as a couple for your first dance. Recall those words he spoke then. You’re the Harringtons. You’re not alone. It’s the two of you now. Different, and yet the same. Providing you with the strength you need to steel yourself, righting the bar, and training your gaze on the girl in the mirror.

And you trust him. Wholeheartedly, you trust him, as you drop down into your first squat. Then the second, and the third. The fourth and the fifth come with a little resistance. Six feels like your thighs are burning. Seven has Steve coming up a little closer behind you, his arms extending out into the air on either side of your waist, hovering beneath the bar.

“Do you have one more?” he asks, and you try…you really do.

The descent is fine, despite the quivering of your thighs from exertion. But as you try and push back up through the heel your breath rushes out in a puff, head shaking. Steve hurries forward and pushes the bar up and onto the rack, just as you slide out from beneath it and smack backward into a chest. A firm, yet soft, and sweaty chest. That chest comes equipped with arms that curl around your form to keep you upright, and then linger for a moment as you collect your bearings.

Like this, you can feel every inch of him. The contours of his body, the fullness of his biceps, the hair on his chest. Can feel the cradle of his hips…pressed precariously flush against your backside. And as you glance up at your forms in the mirror, it’s almost like you’re hugging.

It’s not even an almost, because you are hugging.

His arms around your waist. His ringed finger resting comfortably against your bicep. His chin over your shoulder, your cheek flush with his. Spine to chest, ass to hip, his breath fanning against your skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his weight.

It’s a perfect moment, and neither of you want to disrupt it. There’s only his breath at your back, his arms around your waist, your hands across his forearms. Peace. Safety. Rest. That is, until Charlie Harrington decides he’s not about to let his parents hug without getting a hug of his own, running over to thump his paws against Steve’s hip, demanding his own cuddles. And you both oblige him, dropping down onto the gym floor to give him all the belly rubs he could ever want, pink tongue rolling out of his mouth, paws in the air.

Laughter. There’s laughter and Charlie’s little yips of happiness. Laughter and Steve’s eyes on your profile. Laughter and your eyes darting to meet him. Laughter…and this unspoken thing left to linger in the air between the two of you. Laughter and maybe something tentative. Something more? A little breathlessness, the rush of air falling from your lungs as he reaches over and tells you how well you did. The gentle squeeze of his hand around your uninjured knee, a sweep of thumb across your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

Eventually, Charlie gets his fill and scampers off. You return to your training session with your husband. There are gentle touches throughout, his arms there to correct your form, to guide you through the program for the day. There aren’t any more lingering hugs, but that ‘something’ burgeoning remains.

It’s in his easy smiles. In his encouragement. In the brushes of his hands at your arms, your sides, your hips with your consent as he shows you how to move this way and that way. It’s in his praises and his promises. And later, it’s in his maneuvering in the kitchen as he prepares you a smoothie, as he looks at your knee again in his bathroom.

And you…well, you want to explore it.

Heart be damned.

——

Breathtaking. The material of your silk evening gown exudes elegance and sophistication. Eye catching, meticulously crafted, and designed for your exact measurements.

It’s a timeless silhouette that only enhances your figure. Delicate sweetheart neckline that hugs your chest and shoulders, draping sumptuously at the middle of your bicep. Every movement of your body has it shimmering where it hugs the curves of your body, like an inky night sky.

However, it’s the back of the dress that’s your favorite part. The captivating open design, leading to the fabric that drapes at the smallest point of your lower back. The way the dress falls down to the floor, swaying and shifting as you smooth your hands over the fronts of your thighs one last time. Exhaling deeply, you reach over to grab your rings from their holder.

For the first time ever, you feel like Mrs. Harrington. Truly.

“Well, what do you think, Charlie?” The Bernedoodle lifts his head from your bed where he’s been trying to get the squeaker out of his penguin toy. “Do you think your dad will like it?”

The puppy in question rests his head back down on his paws, nuzzling his face into the blankets you have pushed to the edge of the bed. It’s as good a response as you’ll get, and with one last glimpse at yourself in the mirror, you slide your rings up onto your finger and step out into the hall where Steve’s already dressed in a black tuxedo. And…the sight is just as wonderful, if not better, than on your wedding day.

Hair freshly blown out and coiffed to perfection, facial hair trimmed, the tux tailored to perfection. He’s foregone his glasses tonight, instead opting for contacts, and you rush over when you notice he’s fiddling with his watch, reaching out to help him settle it into place.

It’s better than locking eyes with him. Better than pretending you miss the way his eyes roam your form, round and full of reverence—for you. As the watch locks into place he catches your fingers within his own, holding them lightly as he takes a step back and gazes at you.

“You look…” He pauses. Swallows thickly. You wonder if he can feel the sweat of your palms, can hear the beat of your heart slamming against your sternum. “Wow. You’re—well, you’re always beautiful. But…just…you’re stunning.”

“T-thank you.”

You stutter your reply, parting enough to take him in. Hair curling around his ears, now in need of a trim. The hair along his jawline and upper lip, the dark tuxedo hugging his form. He’s handsome. Handsome in a way that has you feeling a little breathless, a little nervous as he laces your fingers between his own.

“Should we…?” The words you speak are left to linger in the air, because Steve moves forward and cups the bottom of your chin. Tips your head up just in the slightest and presses a kiss to your forehead. Warm. He’s so damn warm and you’re pretty sure you’ve now lost all feeling in your toes. “What was that for, Steve?”

“I’m just…I’m really happy you're here with me tonight.”

“Part of the agreement, right?”

It’s meant to be a joke. But Steve’s face drops, mouth drawing into a firm line. He coughs into his elbow, head turning away from you, and in that you know you’ve messed up. And not wanting to start the night off on a bad foot, you curl your arm around his bicep and drag him forward, forehead against his jaw, left to nuzzle there for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “I say things sometimes and I don’t think about how they might be perceived. I think you might actually be my best friend, Steve.”

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back enough to stare down into your eyes. “Best friends, huh? I’ll take it.”

“Four months of marriage definitely gets us best friend status,” you tell him, winking. “I’m excited to spend this night with you. I’m a little scared about being around all these people…but I’ll be the perfect Mrs. Harrington, don’t you even worry.”

“Just be yourself,” he says softly, and you feel your heart jackhammer in your chest. “They’ll love you.”

After that, the two of you make your way down to the main floor as a couple. The doormen whistle and holler as the two of you walk by, dressed to the nines, and apparently looking a little extra loved up, because Hopper gives the two of you a look you’ve never seen before as you approach. Brows high on his forehead, shit eating grin in place, and smug as all hell.

“Mrs. Harrington,” he says as he opens the door for you and Steve helps you in with an extended hand. “You look wonderful.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Steve muses as you settle down.

And fuck, you hate what that does to the butterflies in your belly. They’re not even just fluttering anymore. It’s like they all picked up fireworks and set them into motion. There’s not much time to linger on it, however, as Steve rushes around the other side and clambers in beside you, your left hand sliding over onto his lap. You tell yourself it’s because you’re nervous, because you’re about to be around socialites, celebrities, dignitaries and businesspeople alike.

But when you don’t let go—well, there’s no one to blame but yourself.

The drive is spent in nervous silence. Your fingers around Steve’s and his around yours, playing with your rings as always. The gala is being held at one of your husband’s hotels, and yet nothing prepares you for the grandeur of the Harrington Hotel looming before you. It’s massive. Reaches high up into the city sky, bracketed by workers prepared to take care of the guests’ cars, weaving in and out seamlessly as evening gown after evening gown pours out of classic cars, luxury cars, limousines, and the like.

“Hey,” Steve says as Hopper opens the door for you and you both step out onto the busy city streets. You whirl around, facing him. Your chests brush lightly. His hand comes to rest in yours, pulling it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss to the skin there. “Eyes on me. It’s the two of us, remember?”

——

Harrington Hotel’s ballroom is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. High, vaulted ceilings that go on endlessly. White walls with ornate carvings in their tasteful pillars situated on the outside edges of the room. Drapery that likely costs a small fortune hangs from the walls in sweeping arcs, a projection of your new last initial displayed against the far wall, with the charity information beneath.

The room itself is dim, cast in a pretty blue light, with a large chandelier twinkling from up above. Set on each table are beautiful centerpieces with gorgeous flower arrangements. Various deep shades for the approaching fall season, with candles lit on the table below, flickering atop the tablecloth, gold embellished chairs awaiting their many guests for the evening.

Steve helps you get situated upon arriving at your table, tugging your chair out despite your protests that you don’t need him to. And before you can even utter a request, you’re being handed a glass of champagne from one of the many workers on staff for the evening, and finding yourself tugged into a hug by Eddie, who Steve purposefully placed at your table so you’d have someone by your side at all times throughout the night.

A fact you become increasingly thankful for as time ticks by and Steve’s immediately pulled this way and that way into various conversations you can’t seem to keep up with, before he’s ultimately tugged away from you with a promise to be back soon, your request for another glass of champagne when he gets back met with a glowing smile as he rushes off with another businessman, leaving you alone with Eddie.

“Nope.” Eddie shakes his head, ringed fingers waving in the air. “Nope. No! I know how this goes.”

“How what goes?”

“You’re eye fucking your husband,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your fake husband, need I remind you. This whole charade has an expiration date. You two decided this. You made your bed, and now you both get to lay in it.”

“I am not.” You exhale deeply, watching your husband raise his hand to the bartender, capturing their gaze so he can order you another champagne. “I just…have been spending a lot of time with him lately. And would it really be the worst thing if I was…interested in the man I’m already legally married to?”

Eddie seems to consider this, twirling around his glass tumbler on the tabletop, silver rings glinting in the chandelier light above. “Look. That would be the best case scenario. I’d love for you two to fall in love, be disgustingly gross together forever looking at him the way you are now. But need I remind you of high school? Early college?”

“Eddie…”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. For a while there it was just you and me against the world.”

You know this. Eddie’s been there for it all. For that first boyfriend in freshman year you dated for all of one week, and yet felt like they’d ripped the rug from beneath your whole world.

To that asshole senior you dated while you were in your junior year, thinking that because he was an ‘older man’ that must mean he’s more mature. That must have meant he knew loyalty wasn’t making out with another girl while you went to grab him another beer at a party.

And then there was freshman year of college. The pre-med student who promised you the world, only to decide two years later he liked the pretty nurse in L&D and broke things off through a text message.

He’d been there for those major milestones and all the silly relationships in between. The fleeting things, and yet there all the same. Watching your heart crumble over people who never had any right to it in the first place, with his arms tight around your frame in a hug, a glass of wine at the ready, or your favorite tub of ice cream already purchased and thrown into your lap as soon as you let him know you were coming over.

The stress remains on his face now. The downward drag of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the way his chocolate brown eyes regard you carefully, like you might shatter right in front of him now.

But Steve…Steve is different, isn’t he? Steve, who stands right now with his elbow on the bar, tuxedo sculpted flush around his bicep, mid-conversation with a man with salt and pepper hair and thick black glasses. They laugh, and you can hear it from where you're sitting, your thumb running idly on the underside of your wedding rings.

Eddie catches the movement and slides a palm over your own, stilling you in your movements. “Steve is a good guy. I wouldn’t have let you carry on with this crazy situation if he wasn’t—”

“Wouldn’t let me? When have I ever let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do?”

Narrowing your eyes at him playfully, he amends with, “I would have strongly advised against it. Maybe stood up when the officiant asked if anyone opposed the marriage.” He swallows, giving your hand a squeeze. “He’s my best friend. But you’re family. And if he fucks it all up, I just want you to know my couch is always open. Don’t know if I’ll be around because of tours and all of that, but you know it’s yours. My snack pantry, too.”

You clap a hand over your mouth in a dramatic gasp. “The snack pantry?”

“The snack pantry.” He nods.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though,” you tell him, rubbing your hand along your forearm. “Pretty sure it’s one sided.”

At that, Eddie breaks out into barking laughter, drawing the curious gazes of multiple tables around him. Someone even hisses for him to be quiet, and he reaches to grab a piece of caviar, poised at the ready to throw it right back at them. Luckily, you manage to whip your arm out and stop him before he can get himself kicked out of the gala.

“What was that for?” Your voice is a whisper, but you’re shrieking it at him all the same.

“One-sided?” Eddie laughs again, head shaking. “I’ve seen Harrington flirt with women. I’ve seen him fail time and time again, and because of that…I’ve seen him give up on the whole thing. He said when it happens, it’ll happen. I always thought that was just a thing people said. Today when you two walked in, he looked so damn happy to have you at his side. This room is full of people, but he’s only got eyes for one.”

Nose wrinkling at his words, you snort. “You’re going soft in your old age.”

“It’s called having you as a best friend since we were in middle school, and knowing if I say the wrong thing you could justifiably stab me and I’d have earned it.” His head turns to where Steve is gripping the stem of a champagne flute in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in another. “I just want you to be happy. I trust him. I do. But at the same time, I care about you enough to also know I don’t want to see you cry over another guy ever again. So I’m telling you again, no matter what…my couch always has space for you.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you breathe out, sniffling on a shaky inhale.

The backs of your hands dab beneath your lash line, making sure you don’t actually cry in front of the man, and smile fondly up at Steve when he walks over and leans down to press a kiss to your temple, handing you your glass.

Eddie dips his head at Steve, extending his fingers around the glass he holds in greeting. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs the rest of his drink in one go, before standing to his feet. “Now if you don’t mind me, I am going to try and talk to Chrissy Cunningham. Wish me luck.”

“You’ve been trying to talk to her for m—” At Steve’s pleading gaze, you pause.

Eddie’s been crushing on the actress for months now. Met her at some party you'd been invited to, where Steve introduced the two of them. She had shyly waved at Eddie, and he’d waved back.

Annnnd then they never said another word to one another for the rest of that evening, their nervousness too grand.

Today she looks gorgeous in a powdery blue shimmering gown that matches the hue of her eyes, blonde hair curled to perfection, falling down from the high, slicked back pony tail on her head. From where you’re sitting you can see her laughing at something her friend has said, a bright smile glimmering in the dim light of the ballroom.

“Ask her about her favorite song. Or—oh, her favorite cheese!” You suggest, bouncing on your chair, clasping Steve’s hand excitedly.

“Could also ask her if she’d prefer an extra toe or an extra nipple—”

“Surprisingly enough, I actually don’t want to know what kind of stuff you two are into,” Eddie interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose. He levels his gaze with Steve. “Just…take care of her, okay?”

There's silence. Steve’s mouth twitches, his head nodding once. And then, “You know me.”

Eddie only smiles. You don’t know what the hell that means, nor do you have time to investigate their odd exchange, because Eddie’s off to find Chrissy.

——

The gala passes in a blur.

Evening becomes night, and the ballroom is suddenly illuminated in a lavender glow. Your husband stands on the stage in the far corner of the space, thanking those for joining, and reminds everyone of the purpose of the evening: raising money for charity.

All of this, this evening, is nothing to him if he’s not giving back. It’s one of the many things you admire about him. The acknowledgement that though he was fortunate to grow up with a life where he never needed to worry, not all experience the same. And the drive to want to do something about it.

The room erupts into clapping and people disperse to grab drinks, interact with friends and family members, make new acquaintances, and give their donations.

Your feet have never hurt more in your life in these way too expensive heels, you’re still itching for a dance with your husband once they announce for those wishing to to walk onto the dance floor, and your champagne glass is empty.

Caught up in a conversation with a business partner, you offer to refill yours and Steve’s glasses, trying to no avail to call over the bartender.

All around you you're made aware of the decadence in which these people live their lives.

Women and men alike seemingly drape over the bar, garbed in fancy suits and flowing dresses. Hair perfectly done, makeup to perfection, men showing off with the most expensive watches, shoes that likely cost a small fortune, cufflinks with family initials on them, encrusted with diamond embellishments.

Tonight, they behave like you’re one of them. A member of their seemingly secret society. They pass you smiles as you go, veneers glowing in the dim light, those who weren’t present at your wedding congratulating you on your marriage. And for a moment, however brief, you allow yourself to enjoy it. To enjoy the affection from strangers. To enjoy being Steve’s wife. Being perceived as the woman who gets the joy of spending forever with a man so well loved by many.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at these social functions before. I would definitely have remembered you,” a voice from beside you practically purrs. You stand up on your tippy toes once more, waving at a bartender who seems to completely miss you as they rush on by, trying to keep afloat in a sea of bodies. The man waves a hand in the air, and a bartender finally notices. “Jason Carver. Quarterback for the—”

“My husband watches your team.”

Simple.

Curt.

He’s shock of blonde hair and a handsome face, a multi millionaire, ridiculously popular for being one of the best at what he does, but you can already feel the asshole aura radiating off of him—made only more so noticeable when you catch the flash of his smirk directed at you, the trail of his gaze on your bare shoulders, and then the flash of his ring on his left ring finger.

Briefly, you recall meeting his wife, Tina, earlier that evening. A smiling face with a hand never straying far from her presently rounded belly. A little girl due in early January, she’d told you fondly, muttering how she hopes the baby gets her husband's eyes. Those same eyes that look at you now with increasingly questionable intent.

With that knowledge, you train your stare ahead, rambling off your husband’s order and yours. Jason shifts closer, the heat from his body making your skin crawl, back ramrod straight.

“And your name?”

You tell him in a rush, watching the bartender start on your husband’s drink behind the bar. There’s a touch along your tricep that has your throat closing, the feeling of his breath nearing your ear as he leans down closer into your personal space making your stomach curl.

“Can I just say,” he whispers, and your eyes dart up to reluctantly meet him, “you are absolutely beautiful.”

The backs of those fingertips trail your flesh. Unwarranted and unwanted, chest heaving with the flurry of your choked breaths. The room starts to swirl around the edges, Jason’s voice a revolting caress down your spine, colors melding into a kaleidoscope around you.

Harnessing the shiver of disgust into power, you shift out of his grasp, barely brushing against the person standing on the other side of you. “And you, Jason Carver, are making a fool of yourself.”

And then you hear him. The familiar sound of Steve’s voice in your ears, and then feel his hand at the small of your back, the warmth of his palm and the slight tingle of his wedding ring against your spine tethering you back to reality. Grounding you once more.

Jason stills beside you as the bartender slides your drinks over into your waiting palms. Steve takes his from your extended hand and sips, leaning down to tug you closer and press a kiss to your temple. All still unfamiliar, all still sending new waves of electricity along your skin.

“I see you’ve met my wife,” Steve says calmly, and you glide your hand over your husband’s chest for emphasis.

“I have,” he says thickly, dipping his head.

“Sweetheart,” you begin, “we were just talking about how lovely and beautiful Jason’s wife, Tina, is. He’s so lucky to have someone like her in his life and definitely shouldn’t ever forget that. We were also talking about how exciting it is that they’ll be having a little girl in just a few months. He was just getting back to her, wasn’t he?”

Jason wastes no time in making himself scarce, leaving you to stand near the bar, still pressing against Steve’s side. Neither of you moves for a bit, and you simply relish in the nearness—shocked by the comfort that barrels into your bloodstream over simply having him there.

“For the record—”

“You didn’t need me to do that,” he finishes, and your brows shoot up because how the hell did he know what you were thinking. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s one of the things I…honestly admire about you. But I also want to remind you that you’re never alone. You have me. You know that, right? Isn’t that what a…best friend would do?”

You snort at the title. “I know. I-I do know that, Steve.”

But you’d been taking care of yourself for so long you don’t know any differently. So instead you glance over to where Jason and Tina are sitting at their table, his hand over her rounded midsection, overly affectionate for someone who had just moments ago been flirting with another woman.

Another married woman, on top of it. With her husband only a few feet away.

“He’s an asshole,” you tell Steve.

“I know. I saw him touching you. I watched you tense up.” His fingers trace the path Jason’s had trailed, covering the tracks he left with his own. “I’m serious. You look for me in a crowd, and I’ll always be there.”

There’s such a sincerity there. A plea behind those hazel eyes that has you swallowing the remnants of your drink and placing it down on the bar, gripping Steve’s hand tightly within yours. Without another word, you pull him along behind you, Steve managing to drop his drink down onto your table before you tug him over to the dance floor where other couples are now slow dancing, far away in their own little worlds.

“What are you—”

“I want you to dance with me,” you tell Steve simply, stopping in front of him. Your heels to his leather shoes. “I really really want you to dance with me. I feel like a damn princess in a silly dress, at a ridiculously fancy party with my husband, and I want him to dance with me. Because I hate that I’m enjoying this. I hate that my last name is plastered on everything here, and that I’m in this dress, with these shoes on, and I feel like a pumpkin carriage is going to pull up at any moment and take me home. And if I’m enjoying it, and if at twelve I’m going to be whisked away from here, then I at least want the full experience.”

Steve’s not judgemental. He’s never been. Has never questioned your past, wondered where and what you came from. He’s only ever been open to knowing who you are at present. The everyday. The chaotic and crazy moments. The monotonous ones. The time spent watching your shows, cooking to music in your kitchen together, playing with Charlie in the living room as a movie plays in the background.

But standing before him now. Him in his tuxedo, staring at you the way he is now, his hands moving to curl around your waist and draw you close—it’s the first time you really feel like someone could take a needle to your current reality and pop it. Like all of this would disappear at any given moment, like it’s all a dream conjured up in your mind. You hate it. Hate it so much that your eyes start to burn with it.

Sensing your inner turmoil, or seemingly just wanting to hold you, Steve folds you into his chest. Rests one forearm low against your back, and curls his hand around yours, swaying you back and forth on the dance floor as “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra starts playing in the distance. Your dress shifts and moves across the floor, your cheek to his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. He’s warm and solid and you can hear the frantic flutter of his heart, and can feel the slickness of his palm against your back. He’s not wholly unaffected by all of this, either. There’s a sense of comfort in it. This unfamiliarity of feeling—and the uncertainty of what?

“Can I be honest?” he asks at the top of your head.

“Always.”

“I hate all of this, too.”

“Steve, it’s horrifying. Our name is on literally everything.”

“I know,” he laughs, the rumble rattling your skull. You nestle in closer, and his arm drags you in tighter. “Does it make you feel less bad if you strip away all of the—” He waves his hand around at the grandeur of the room. “stuff and just focus on the fact you’re allowed a night out where you dress up. Away from school, away from stress, with the people who care about you? Because take all of this away, and that’s all this is.”

It’s not. And even so, you know he’s right. Because take away all the gorgeous scenery, the fancy clothing, the endless drinks, the designer cars, and the end result is the same: Eddie and Steve are here.

You’re not sure when Steve became one of those constants, yet it’s the truth all the same.

“If I’m being honest, parties like this usually end up feeling lonely,” he says heavily, and you tip your head back enough to get a good look at him. “I grew up going to these things. My parents were always leaving to talk to friends, leaving me to sit back at the table. And I mean, people talk to me now, but only because they need something. Never because they want to. Not really.”

And that laugh that…wrinkles your nose…

“I want to,” you tell him softly.

It touches my foolish heart…

“I know. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he mutters back, a little choked, a little breathless against your skin as he lowers his face into the space beside your ear, cheek to cheek now.

Lovely…don’t you ever change…

There’s a whisper of a kiss against your shoulder, meant for those looking to see, nothing unusual there. And then he adds, “The parties aren’t so lonely anymore either.”

Keep that breathless charm…won’t you please arrange it?

He holds you closer, if possible. Hides his face in your shoulder—trembling against you as though the words he’s spoken terrify him. They terrify you too. The implication of them. The meaning. The lines in the sand that become blurrier by the day. His head leans back, eyes locking with yours, dancing to your lips, then moving back up again.

His fingers curl around the side of your cheek, and he leans down. Presses his lips to yours in a way that’s familiar. You’ve done this before countless times at dinner. A short peck. The smallest of brushes. Yet you sigh against him all the same, palm resting over his sternum, his hand along your back. Against your skin that burns hot—hotter now.

“No one is watching,” you murmur against his mouth and open your eyes to find the room swirling around you.

They’re not. You’re surrounded by a sea of couples on the dance floor. Even Theobald and Cami, who you would try to go above and beyond to sell your marriage to, are tucked away in their own little world. Forehead to forehead, hand to hand, heart to heart.

Cause I love you…just the way you look…tonight…

But he doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t say a word as you sway to the song, chest to chest in what feels like a slow motion love potion, his other hand joining the first on your opposite cheek. His eyes roam your face, a frantic slide across your features, before he’s leaning down and kissing you anew.

I’ll be gentle, echoes in your mind, his soothing words like balm across the sudden skip of your heart. He is nothing but gentle as his lips slot with yours, your lower lip between the plush curves of his mouth. Warmth, warmth, warmth abounds as your eyes flutter closed and you lose yourself in it.

You’re not his fake-wife right now. You’re not under contract, you’re not putting on a performance for investors or chairmen or Theo, you’re not practicing to make sure it all looks real. This is real—the press of his nose against your cheek, how he uses the touch on your jaw to adjust your head to press in at a better angle, the gentle glide of his soft lips around yours as he kisses you like you’re something delicate. Something precious. Something real.

Time stands still and time rushes forward all at once, the moment exploding through all those ‘what if’s and ‘what are we doing’s and ‘should we’s. None of that exists here as your swaying comes to a stop in the middle of the dancefloor, your fingers tucking into the lapels of his tuxedo in a show of please don’t go.

His steady hand skates down, sliding along the side of your throat to press the tips of his fingers into the nape of your neck, thumb beside your ear in a show of I’m right here.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs absolutely burn in your chest, pulling just a sparse inch away to gasp in air like you’ve just surfaced from water. Steve is similarly affected, shoulders in a heaving rise and fall as he presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you say a word as you catch your breath—your eyes lost in the mossy green woven into the golden brown of his hazel eyes, his flicking back and forth between your gaze and the shine of your lip gloss like he can’t think about anything else.

A gentle clear of his throat, a harsh swallow of nerves before his lips, the ones that just kissed you, tilt in a bashful smile. “I didn’t mean to take your breath away,” he murmurs in a tease, hot air puffing against your lower face as he gently laughs.

Unable to find the part of you that wants to tease back, to make it a joke, to keep it safe, you’re pouring out honesty when you tell him, “You don’t have to try very hard to.”

He remains there, you both do, bodies swaying, foreheads pressing close. There are no more stolen kisses, no whispers of breath between the two of you, only the quiet of togetherness that drowns out the rest of the room. There are no decisions for the ‘what next?’ nor the ‘what does this all mean?’ Instead you relish in the moment, hands still around his lapels, his own covering yours, keeping you near to him.

And that’s more than enough.

——

if there was ever a chapter i would love to hear your thoughts on—it’s this one! please consider reblogging, liking, leaving a comment. you all mean the world to me. haha seeing everyone get excited over this fic has made my week. xo luna. 🤍

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x fem!reader #Steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #modern!steve harrington #fake husband!steve harrington

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emmg · 3 months ago

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Larian really did it, eh? They took one look at all the rich possibilities for complex, deeply layered antagonists and thought, "Nah, screw that. Let’s just make a devil who could probably cum just by looking at his own reflection." And somehow—somehow—it worked. Like, I know I’m showing up late to the party here, but holy hells, they cooked up Raphael, a mysterious, narcissistic, probably-can-suck-his-own-dick-until-he’s-cross-eyed kind of character, who has about as much emotional depth as a puddle of jizz. And the fandom? The fandom was like, “Oh yes, Daddy, I would like a side of that. And make it extra toxic.”

Let’s be real here, the man struts around like he’s the second coming of every goddamn god in the Realms, practically making love to his own shadow as it follows him around. And we're all like, “Yeah, that’s it. That’s my guy.” He’s the type who wakes up, glances at himself in the mirror, and you know the first words out of his mouth are, “How do you do it, you stunning, devastatingly perfect beast?”

And when he’s done looking at himself, he watches his own cum drip down the mirror like it’s some kind of divine art installation. He’s just standing there, all smug, probably biting his lip, admiring the drip as if it’s the Sistine Chapel and muttering, “Exquisite. Truly a masterpiece, Raphael. You outdo yourself again.”

And yet. And yet. Despite the fact that he lasts about as long in bed as it takes me to throw out any remaining shred of dignity I possess—spoiler alert, it’s not long at all—the fandom is still like, “Oh yes, give me that.” I mean, let’s call it what it is: Raphael is over here jerking off in front of a mirror, flexing his wings, probably biting his lip and winking at his reflection while moaning something like, “I’m the real devil here,” and somehow people are out there thirsting after him like he’s offering a five-course meal instead of trauma with a side of existential dread.

You know this guy practices his sexy monologues in the mirror every morning, right? There’s no way he doesn’t. He’s probably standing there, buck-ass naked, wings unfurled, saying something ridiculous like, “Oh, Tav, you poor fool. You never stood a chance,” while blowing a kiss to his own reflection. And you know the moment Tav walks in, he’s like, “Oh, didn’t see you there,” as if he wasn’t just mid-flex, trying to decide if his pecs or his horns were his best feature today.

Honestly, Raphael probably thinks missionary is an act of charity. He’s not trying to make anyone else feel good—he’s just giving you the honor of basking in his sheer, unfiltered glory. Meanwhile, you’re over here just happy to be involved while he’s thinking about how good his ass must look reflected in the chandelier above. He’s like, “Oh yes, you love this. Everyone loves this. I love this,” as if the entire experience is just him doing you a favor by letting you witness the seventh wonder of the world: him.

AO3 is out here churning out fanfiction like, “Raphael’s sweat dripped down his perfectly sculpted abs, glistening in the flickering candlelight of Avernus as Tav moaned, ‘Oh, Raphael, you’re just so… perfect.’ He smirked, flicking his tongue as if seduction were some high art only he had mastered,” and somehow we’re all reading this like, “Yes. Yes, please.” It’s ridiculous, but are we complaining? Absolutely not. But also what abs? The motherfucker is sipping wine all day and delegating every possible task to everyone but himself. He should have a beer gut.

AO3 has officially become the home for the weirdest, most insane, borderline illegal fantasies you didn’t know you had until Raphael walked in with that velvet voice and that “I’m better than everyone” attitude. And suddenly, you’re reading about how he’s chained Tav to a bed made of solid gold in a mansion on the second layer of Hell, calling her ‘mouse’ like it’s a goddamn pet name while he drafts another contract with one hand and—you know—‘negotiates’ with the other. Tav’s out here thinking, “I could stop this if I wanted,” but really, could she? Could anyone?

Oh, and let’s not forget the taglines on these fics: “Extreme narcissism,” “dubious consent,” “he’s an actual devil, what did you expect?”, “wingplay,” “weird infernal kinks you didn’t know existed,” and my personal favorite, “Raphael’s dick is bigger than his ego (which is saying something).” And somehow, people are eating it up like it’s the best goddamn wine from Avernus, despite the fact that Raphael is probably the kind of guy who’d finish in record time, look over at you, and say something like, “Well, aren’t you lucky to have had me?” before leaving to stare at himself in the mirror again.

At the end of the day, Raphael is the equivalent of someone giving you their business card after mediocre sex and telling you they’re free for a follow-up next Thursday. He’s probably sitting back after three minutes of glorified foreplay, sipping on some infernal wine, dribbling down his chest, cock half-hard and still leaking, saying, “That was a gift, darling. You’re welcome.” Meanwhile, you’re left there thinking, “Is it rude to ask for a refund?” You know he’s terrible for you, but like, what’s the alternative? Not letting him wreck your life? Ridiculous. Absolutely not.

This is the kind of fandom insanity we’ve built, folks. Raphael’s out here jerking off to his own reflection and smirking like he’s some kind of gift to the multiverse, while the rest of us are like, “Yes, Daddy, please tell me more about how you’ve single-handedly ruined my life and maybe take your shirt off while you’re at it.”

And what’s truly wild is that somehow, somehow, we’ve collectively managed to elevate this walking, talking narcissistic wet dream—this smarmy, self-obsessed devil with more self-love than a Greek god on steroids—into the sex icon of the year. Like, how? Raphael’s out here selling delusions of grandeur with a side of, “Oh, by the way, I will absolutely fuck you over, and you’ll thank me for it,” and the fandom’s response? We all just dropped our panties like it’s some kind of compulsory event. Logic? Gone. Self-respect? Out the window. It’s like we’re all standing in line with a collective, “Sir, yes, sir! Please ruin my life.”

#this is my manifesto #thank god veilguard is coming out so i can obsess about less toxic characters #but maybe not #raphael bg3 #bg3 #raphael x tav #bg3 shitpost #raphael baldur's gate 3 #i'm really spiraling over here with the quiet season and nothing to grade

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roosterbruiser · 2 years ago

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Can I request a Bradley thing where he goes in to get a tattoo and reader does his tattoo and he’s just super love stricken. Next thing he knows he’s going to get tattooed just to see reader till he finally asks her to go on a date??? 🫶🏻🫶🏻

𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

Honest to God, if Bradley knew that you were going to be the girl doing his tattoo today, he would've pretended to be sick to get out of the appointment. He would've just gone to a different tattoo place entirely. But it's too late now--he's here, sitting in your little cubicle with its potted plants and hand-drawn posters and knick-knacks and bluetooth speaker, and you're quietly humming as you look over his paperwork.

It isn't that he thinks you're incapable of doing his tattoo--God, no. You were the name that kept popping up when he asked around for artist recommendations, the highest rated artist in his area (and the surrounding three--but who's counting?). And he knows you'll do a good job because he's seen your work on other people and even if he hadn't, the posters on your wall are evidence alone. Bradley can draw a crude stick figure on a good day--so he is endlessly impressed with your skill.

It's just that you are the prettiest thing he's ever seen in his entire life. No, not just pretty--something above that. Beautiful, gorgeous. Fuck, you're ethereal even and Bradley hates people that say ethereal.

Everyone he talked to failed to mention that you are simply the prettiest person in every room you walk into and, Bradley knows just by looking at you, that you're probably the coolest person at every party you've ever been to.

You have big eyes that you wear bright colors on, which look almost too good against your skin and those pretty irises. Just looking at you legit makes Bradley want to bite his knuckle. You have a cool haircut, one that is polar opposite of all the Navy-issued chop-jobs he's so used to seeing, and your voice is raspy and lovely. You're wearing authentic vintage Levi's and a smooth bodysuit, one that hugs your body, one that shows the hills of your breasts so well.

Simply put--you're fucking perfect.

Perhaps the worst of it all is that you're so fucking nice. From the moment he walked through the door, you were all smiles, leading him back to your little area and talking him through everything without making him feel like an idiot. You were offering him drinks and asking what his ideas were and then complimenting his ideas. You were making all the little tweaks he wanted and not complaining about it even a little bit.

And now, as he sits on your table with his foot tapping incessantly on the tile, he's just watching your throat vibrate as you hum. It takes him a moment to recognize it, but when he does, it makes him want to rake his hands through his hair.

"Leather and Lace?" He asks you, perching a brow.

And the way you laugh, looking up at him with a bright grin as the sun kisses your face, should be illegal. You're about to put a needle to his skin and watch him cower in pain--he wishes you would take that into account and look less Goddess-like, for the sake of his ego.

"Stevie is my idol," you sigh, pointing casually to the portrait of her on your arm. He inspects it with a smile tugging at his lips, hoping his ears aren't as red as they feel. "You're a big music guy, then?"

He nods, slightly embarrassed. Isn't everyone a big music person? Who the fuck doesn't like music?

You like this guy--this guy that told you to call him Rooster for some reason. This guy who's wearing the ugliest vintage Hawaiian shirt you've ever seen. This guy who has a lewd pornstache, the one who somehow pulls off the lewd pornstache. God, this guy is still wearing his sunglasses inside, but he's just so goddamn cute. He has one of those infectious laughs and a headful of nice, sandy hair. He looks like California has kissed him--pretty. He just looks pretty.

But you can tell that he's nervous. Most people are before getting under the needle--you totally get it. Sometimes you still get nervous about it, too, despite having your arms almost all the way filled in. but you have a hard time imagining this hunk of a Navy man is nervous about a tattoo on his peck. Even just based on the scars littering his face and throat, you're certain he's been through worse.

"So," you sigh, moving your chair closer to him so he can see the paper in your hands that has the mock-up of his tattoo. He leans in and you get a whiff of sea salt and vetiver--God, he smells good. "I scaled down the legs just a bit. I was thinking some light shading through here and filling in here and here--is that okay with you?"

Rooster nods, swallowing hard, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"It looks good," he tells you. "Like really, really good."

You beam at him.

"Well, thank you," you say softly. "I'm a big art girl."

It makes something come loose in his chest--some breath he's had bated releases through his smiling lips. You're teasing him, you're joking with him. It feels good--natural.

"So, with this detail, I'm gonna put us at three hours. Does that sound good?"

Rooster nods immediately--his afternoon is entirely clear. But the prospect of getting to be with you for three hours is exciting--so exciting that it makes his throat tight. Needle be damned, he's going to get to listen to that laugh for three hours. Three!

"Sounds great," he tells you.

You grin, clapping your hands together.

"Well, I bet we're gonna be good friends by the end of this, huh?"

He grins. He already aches to kiss you and he doesn't even know you. Rooster does consider himself a hopeless romantic--but this is a whole new line he's crossing.

You point to his shirt, a slight blush covering your cheeks.

"You can go ahead and take that off now. I'm gonna prep the area."

As he obliges, he watches as you grab a little plastic razor and some paper towels. You're putting gloves on and still humming along to music that isn't playing, mentally cataloguing everything you're gonna need presently.

"Prepping the area includes--?"

You smile, standing up. He still hasn't taken his tank-top off yet, but you can tell already that this guy is fucking ripped. Not even in the usual California way--no, this guy is like movie-star ripped. He looks like he's been plucked out of a blockbuster.

"Shaving and disinfecting," you tell him, gesturing to the razor.

He nods, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as he finally shrugs his tank and lets it fall into the chair he was sitting in.

"At least let me buy you dinner first," he teases.

Then you laugh--it's the first time he's really heard you laugh. He likes the sound, likes that you laugh with your mouth closed and your eyes wide.

"We'll see how the tattoo goes," you wink.

You're very careful as you shave and disinfect him, humming Stevie Nicks and Don Henley still. And you can feel his eyes lingering on your face as you work, but it doesn't bother you. He has pretty eyes--you're glad he's looking at you.

"Wanna be the DJ?" You ask with a grin, nodding towards the speaker.

Rooster feels like his heart is about to fall out of his ass. If he'd have known that he was going to be DJing this three-hour tattoos session with you--the prettiest girl he has ever seen--he would've made a playlist. Like, a proper playlist. One that is carefully curated and accounts for all possible avenues of this appointment. His dad used to make his mom mixed tapes--he still listens to them. Even though he thinks that making playlists is only a fraction as romantic, he understands that it's the modern mixed tape.

"Sure," he says softly, connecting his phone. "Are you exclusively a Fleetwood Mac girl?"

You shake your head, making sure all your ink is set out on their stabilizing beds of petroleum jelly and your gloves are intact. You pat the bed and he takes the hint, laying down while you adjust the light above you. Jesus, his muscles are practically rippling and he's not even doing anything.

"Mainly," you tell him, running your fingers along his peck and trying not to drool. "But I'm pretty diverse with my music. Hit me with your best shot."

Bradley suddenly feels nervous--put on the spot. It isn't even that he is about to have a needle against his skin. No, he was in Afghanistan, he doesn't really give a fuck about three hours of needle pricks. He cares about picking a song you think is lame. God, he'd just die of embarrassment if you didn't like what he chose.

As if you can sense his sudden nervousness, you grin up at him--it has the ability to completely relax his shoulders.

"C'mon, flyboy," you smile at him, readying your tattoo gun, "give it to me."

And suddenly Bradley can't breathe. You know that--it's why you said it. You watch him suck in a breath, watch him flounder for words, watch his pupils blow. Now he knows what it feels like for you to stare at his upsettingly beautiful midsection.

So Bradley gives it to you--very subtly turning on Hot Stuff by Donna Summer. It makes the both of you laugh--you even dance a little bit for him, in a silly and unserious way that makes his heart warm.

"Bet you're a good time at the bars," he tells you with a grin.

You nod rapidly, biting your lip.

"Oh, I'm the best to go to bars with," you tell him with a grin. "I dance and I sing and I drink."

"Triple threat," Bradley grins.

You nod again, chewing on your lip again. This guy is cute--like too cute for his own good.

"Few and far in between," you say, sighing. "I'm really a spectacle."

His heart is sitting in his throat. He loves the way you blush when you're being mockingly egotistical--he thinks that makes you genuine. Genuine and confident.

"I'd gladly spectate you at any bar," he says. You smile at him, the blush in your cheeks darkening as you narrow your eyes slightly. "You know, if you're up for it."

Your answer is a resounding yes--you know that already. But you can't just give it to him like that--you like to keep guys on their toes. Especially Navy boys.

"Actually, I have a two-tattoo minimum dating requirement," you sigh, shrugging.

He smirks at you. He can do this--he can do the chase.

"Is that so?"

You nod.

"Unfortunately," you say.

"What's your availability look like tomorrow?"

There's that sweet laugh again--it's bigger this time. God, Bradley loves to make you laugh. You just look so fucking happy. Happiness looks really, really good on you.

It isn't hard for him to imagine that you really are the best person to go to the bars with. He can imagine you in a pretty little skirt, sweat dampening your hairline as you twirl on the dance floor, the golden lights above you reflecting off the glitter on your eyelids. He can imagine that your warmth would be enough to heat the entire place. You seem like someone who is just down--down for anything and everything. He likes that.

"Ready?" You ask sweetly not a moment after, still laughing quietly.

He just nods, blinking rapidly at you.

The three hours honestly flies by. The pain really isn't all that bad, not when you're making conversation the entire time. By the end of the tattoo session, he knows where you grew up and that you don't have a boyfriend and that you have a cat named Strawberry and that you don't have a boyfriend and that your favorite food is street tacos and that you don't have a boyfriend and your first concert was Neil Young. Oh, and that you don't have a boyfriend.

And by the end of the tattoo, you know that Bradley is getting the tattoo in memory of his father, who was also in the Navy. You know that he has an affinity for Jerry Lee Lewis. You know that he has a vintage car and an endless collection of vintage Hawaiian shirts. You know he's gonna be stationed here indefinitely and that he hangs out at the local Navy bar--The Hard Deck. And you know that he is endlessly pleased that you don't have a boyfriend.

"Careful sitting up," you warn softly as you take your gloves off. "You've been laying down for a while. Want a hand?"

Bradley feels totally fine. He doesn't want to brag, but he's pushed his body to the brink in his life. Laying down for three hours having a conversation with the prettiest girl he's ever seen is like a luxury for him. But he wants to touch you--so he lets you grab his hand, lets you help him sit up.

And then the two of you are close--like close enough that he can smell that sweet, flowery musk on your skin. He can see the little flecks of his favorite color in your eyes and the way your lashes fan out over your cheeks.

And you can see his scars when you're this close, these pretty white lines that roll over his skin like ridges on a map. You like scars--as an artist, you think they're part of what make bodies art. They're the human equivalent to an eraser smudge.

He doesn't move for a moment, just looking down at you with that sweet smile, just letting his eyes wash over you. And you don't move from his gaze--you feel totally comfortable in it. You haven't known Bradley for long, but you're a good people reader. You can tell that this man, intrinsically, is a good person.

"Don't you wanna check out your new ink?" You ask with a teasing smile.

He makes a show of glancing down at his chest with his eyebrow perched. Then he hums and nods in approval. When he looks back up at you, you're biting a grin of your own.

"So," he starts softly. "Your availability tomorrow?"

eeeeek fun fact about me: I have eighteen tattoos! so it would by me greatest HONOR to write this little fic!!

633 notes · View notes

writing-blog-iguess · 1 year ago

Text

Online Matchup 3

Summery: Y/N just wanted to study and head home for some sleep, to bad the night in Gotham has different plans. Now all they want to do is see the one person who's been on their mind since they started talking. Question is, will Jason agree?

Warning: swearing, fluff, it gets a little angsty, comfort, a sprinkle of gun violence, a mugging.

A/N: I got it done by Friday. I did not think I could do it, but I did. I’m not sure part 4 will be up, but I will be taking the next week to try and finish other projects. If there’s anything you’d like to, let me know. Uh, this ended up being over 6k works, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is welcome.

Words: 6574

ao3

Series master list

————

October 7

Y/N (7:30 am) Why is it so cold?

Jason Because it’s october

Y/N October just started! It should be illegal for October to be so cold so soon

Jason You’re the one who wanted to live in Gotham

Y/N I know But still

Jason: You lived in Gotham for how many years?

Y/n … Three

Jason: And you're still not used to the cold? and to think you chose Gotham

Y/n Shut up

Jason All because Gotham and I quote ~intrigues~ you

Y/n Shouldn’t you be at work?

Jason Shouldn’t you be in class?

Y/n I’m on my way there Why’d you think I’m complaining about the cold?

Jason Could have fooled me Maybe your heater broke in your apartment and it’s freezing

Y/n I would cry if that happened

Jason Don’t like the cold?

Y/n I don’t like getting sick

Jason Touché

Y/n But I also hate the cold

Jason It’s sweater weather

Y/n Still cold

Jason Fall is not cold Winters cold Fall is the perfect season It’s not too cold not to hot Perfect

Y/n Maybe for cuddling under the blanket and read

Jason That an invitation?

Y/n Wouldn’t you like to know

Jason Awe come on, little bird don’t shy on me now It’s been what? Three weeks?

Y/n Yeah But, uh I’m a little nervous It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date or something

Jason Ah I get that Honestly me too We can wait a bit longer and when we do meet up it’ll been in a public place

Y/n The confidence you have that we will be meeting is showing

Jason What can I say? I’m falling and I can’t get up

Y/n Oh my god You ruined the moment

Jason ‘Twas the plan

Y/n You dork

Jason No but really I really did fall and now my ass hurts

Y/n What do you want me to do about it?

Jason Come kiss it better

Y/n In your dreams

Jason Every night

Y/n I hope you step on a Lego

Jason First my ass and now my heart? Y/n you wound me

Y/n Sure, we’ll pretend your not into it

Jason I- Okay wow

Y/n Am I wrong

Jason I plead the fifth

Y/n Mm thought so

Jason Shouldn’t you be in class?

Y/N Yup, just waiting for the professor

Jason Is it true that if the teacher isn’t there after a certain period of time that there’s no class?

Y/n Some people think it is but no They always end up coming to class Unless there’s an attack of the school or something

Jason Does that happen a lot?

Y/n Like maybe every few months Don’t quote me on that, I barely pay attention

Jason I think that’s something you sure pay attention too

Y/n I did when I first moved here and now I just roll with the punches

Jason I really hope not

Y/n Like my guard is up when I’m out but other than that I guess, I don’t care?

Jason That’s even worse

Y/n That’s what my mom said too Oh look, the teach is here

Jason I'm more worried about you then I have worried about someone in my life

Y/n (12:20 pm) Hey You keep up with the news right?

Jason When I have time Why?

Y/n Have you heard anything about college students going missing?

Jason No I don’t think I have

Y/n Mm, not surprised I guess Apparently it’s a recent thing

Jason How recent?

Y/N Um, like a few days ago?

Jason And the cops haven’t done anything about this?

Y/N Nope Said they probably dropped out Some tried to report them as missing But they haven’t looked into it much

Jason How do you know this?

Y/n Rumors mostly Guess that’s why the cops won’t do anything But I don’t think they’re rumors I know some of the students that are missing Most are on the top of their classes Some are scholarship students, they wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it

Jason Damn My brother’s a cop, I could get him to look into it?

Y/n You’re brothers a cop in Bludhaven What do you think he can do in Gotham?

Jason How do you know that?

Y/N Jason, we’ve been talking for awhile And sometimes when you complain about your brothers, you let information slip past. Not that I mind, everything you tell me I keep to myself But you need to pay more attention to what you’re talking about

Jason Right, sorry I forgot about that

Y/N Have you been sleeping lately?

Jason …no

Y/n Everything okay? Er, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to it’s fine

Jason No it’s okay I want to tell you I just don’t know where to start

Y/n Start wherever, and how much you want to tell me I don’t need the whole picture

Jason I guess I’ve been having nightmares lately

Y/n About when you died? Allegedly

Jason … Don’t know if I should be impressed that that’s where your mind jumps to or not

Y/n It’s a gift

Jason But yeah, that’s what they’re about Someone found me after, and took me in and raised me for a couple of years And then coming going back home It’s a lot I guess Sometimes I feel like I’m broken

Y/n I bet I’m not going to pretend that I know how you feel and I’m not sure what exactly what I can say And I don’t want to invalid your feels, you’re allowed to feel how you feel But you’re not broken, not completely anyways Maybe a little bruised and banged up And like any bruise, they heal with time Sometimes with help sometimes without All depends on if you want it or not

Jason Are you sure you’re not a shrink or something?

Y/N Pretty positive It’s something my mom told me sometimes

Jason Wise women

Y/n You have no idea So, if you ever want to talk, chances are that I’ll be awake at any time

Jason Thank you And as for what Dick could do? Not a whole lot, but he does have friends in the gcpd though

Y/n You think he can do that?

Jason Yeah, he owes me

Y/N He’s your brother Does he have to owe you?

Jason Our relationship is a bit complicated

Y/N You’ve mentioned But if he can do something, that puts my mind at ease a little I’m worried and maybe a little scared

Jason As you should Just be careful okay?

Y/n I will do my best

Y/n (11:30pm) So… Have you heard anything from your brother?

Jason Smooth It hasn’t even been a day

Y/n That’s me The ruler of smooth A lot can happen between now and when you talked to your brother about it

Jason All true you dork And yeah I have Turns out they aren’t just rumours He went to check out the students dorms are they left everything there Usually when someone leaves they bring some clothes and stuff with them right

Y/n Yeah, unless they were in a hurried and couldn’t care less then they would pack important stuff

Jason Yeah but they left everything there Phones, wallets, keys I’m not sure what the connection is and all that But the cops are working hard

Y/n Mm okay At least some things being done about it

Jason Mm

Y/n No sleep tonight?

Jason Not yet Helping my brother with something

Y/n You know, for someone who has a complicated relationship with one’s family You sure do help them a lot

Jason What can I say? I’m a family man

Y/N Is this your way of saying you love your family?

Jason So how’s your dad doing?

Y/N I cannot believe you pulled the same move I used on you, on me This is a disgrace Unacceptable

Jason I’m just using when you taught me

Y/N I didn’t teach you shit

Jason Well it worked, didn’t it?

Y/n Unbelievable

Jason Answer the question

Y/n Okay I guess Tired mostly Says he’s trying to keep busy but my mom tells me he gets tired easily There’s no win win

Jason I’m sorry

Y/n Yup

Jason Still repressing your emotions?

Y/N You know it

Jason I’m here if you want to talk

Y/N Thanks Jason That means a lot

Jason Shouldn’t you be sleeping?

Y/N Yes But I’m currently doing a project that’s due tomorrow

Jason Ouch

Y/N Did you know that the library I’m at is open this late?

Jason Why?

Y/N College students needs books

Jason Yes But you can take them out and bring them home

Y/N I left my library card at home so now I’m stuck here with the book I need until I’m done

Jason See, I want to feel sorry for you But something’s holding me back

Y/N I can see the compassion from here Anyways I should go home soon

—

My phone’s about to die and I don’t have my charger either, you typed out and before you could hit send, you were met with your reflection on a black screen. “No,” you whined, slumping back into your chair. “It’s fine. I’ll just use my laptop, it should work.”

Sitting up straight, you reached over to wake your computer up, you were met with the same fate as your phone. “No, nonono,” you muttered, frantically searching your backpack for your laptop charger. When you couldn’t find it, you dumped everything on the table, hoping you were just blind. But it wasn’t there.

You groaned when you came to the realization that luck wasn’t on your side tonight.

Sighing in defeat, you made a note of the books you were using and the pages before cleaning up the table. As you stuffed your backpack with your things, you took a quick glance at the clock on the wall and cursed. If you don't hurry now, you’ll be late for the last train for the night.

If there’s one thing you hated most about Gotham, it was walking home really late at night. And the last you wanted to do was that, also you didn’t want to make Jason worry.

With the rest of your stuff hazardously stuffed into the backpack, you raced out of the library hoping to make the last train.

—

Jason You good? Home yet? Is everything okay? Hellooo? What happened? Are you safe?

—

Nothing. There was no response and when Jason tried to call you, it went straight to voicemail. No matter how many times he called, it always yielded the same result.

Jason is not worried. He knows you're busy with your project. Maybe you misplaced your phone while talking to someone. Or you’re already on your way home and need to concentrate on getting home. He vaguely recalls you saying you take the train to and from school.

Lighting up his phone to check the time, he nodded to himself. Yeah, that was it. You were just busy and on your way home. Jason’s not worried, he’s not.

“You okay there Jay?” Dick asked in concern, “you look a little worried there.”

Okay, so maybe he’s a little worried and maybe a little scared of what could potentially happen. In Gotham…At night.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jason lied, trying to push images of you hurt away. It didn’t help that there was this group out there kidnapping college students. For what, who knows. Jason only hoped that you didn’t get mixed up in it.

Dick leaned in front of him and poked Jason’s forehead. “Are you sure? Your brow is pinched like you ate something sour,” he commented and Jason pushed him away with a scowl.

“Maybe he’s worried about his new friend,” Tim sang from the Bat computer. “It’s awfully late for a college student to be out in Gotham.”

Jason whipped his head around so fast, he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. “How the fuck do you know?! I haven’t told you shit.”

“I’m a detective, Jason, I detect,” Tim pointily said, pressing buttons on the keyboard before a file with pictures of you showed on the screen. “Gotta say, they are kinda cute.”

“Why are you spying on them?” Jason asked, trying to keep his voice even. He was pissed he couldn’t have something in his life to himself. But his nosey siblings had to meddle in his life, love life too. It's like they have no life outside of fighting crime.

“I was bored,” he replied as Dick made his way over to the computer. No doubt curious on what Tim found.

“Don’t you have cases to solve?”

Tim shrugged, clicking through photos of you, which only served to piss Jason off even more. Why is it that he wanted to slowly get to learn more about you, that his brothers decided to do a deep dive without his permission? Times like these made him wish he stayed dead. “Your love life is more interesting at the moment.”

“Well, you can fuck off then,” he said, grabbing his Red Hood helmet from the nearby table and put it on.

“Where are you going?” Dick called over the roar of Jason’s motorcycle.

“Anywhere that’s not here,” he answered and sped off.

He had meant to drive aimlessly, but soon he found his way towards the library you were currently studying in.

He couldn’t get the images of you hurt out of his mind, and he convinced himself that it was fine to make sure you were okay. Otherwise, he’d be drowning in worry.

As he drove, he heard a cry for help. He almost dismissed it, thinking that someone who was on patrol would help them. But with his bike in idle, he heard it. Granted, the last time he heard your voice, you were all nasally with a hoarse voice from a sore throat. But he recognized you’re voice anywhere.

Parking his bike, he unholstered his gun and slowly made his way to the alley that your voice came from. Peeking his head around the corner, he saw you fighting with someone over your backpack. You held your own for a while, and Jason could only wait until there was an opening.

Was there a little part of him that wanted to see you fight? Maybe. but he doesn’t want to think about that now.

“Let go you asshole,” you grunted, pulling your backpack hard enough that the mugger tripped forward. Which gave you the time to kick him in the balls, hard. Jason winced at the impact and the mugger staggered backwards with a groan and you successfully gained back your bag. “Ha!”

“You bitch!” he yelled and lunged towards you. But before either of you could do anything, Jason surged forward and shot him in the leg. The both of you screamed, you at the sudden noise and the mugger at the pain. Without looking to see who was there, you ducked behind a dumpster, out of harms way.

Clever Little Bird, Jason thought as he stalked towards his prey. “Your mom ever teach you manners?” Jason asked. The mugger shook his head and begged Jason not to kill him. Jason was tempted too, but an annoying voice in the back of his mind, who sounded suspiciously like Bruce, whispered, don’t kill.

“Nah, I’m not gonna kill ya,” he grumbled and waved him away with his gun. “But if I see ya again, I ain’t making any promises.” He took it as it was, and limped away as fast as he could. Jason watched as he disappeared before holstering his gun and turned around towards you with a frown. You were curled in on yourself, hugging your bag tight.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to tap you on your shoulders. With no warning, you quickly spun around and hit him with your bag. He winced as it collided with his chest, surprising him.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed once you realized who he was. You dropped your arms from the next attack Jason had no doubt would have followed through. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize it was you.”

“What are you packing in there?” he grunted as he rubbed his chest, “fucking bricks?”

“Textbooks,” you answered sheepishly, hugging your backpack to your chest. “I’m really sorry I thought you were someone else.”

“No worries, I ain’t mad,” he said with a smile. Though you couldn’t see it given the helmet. “Hellva reflex though. Not many would fight back.”

You shrugged, tightening your grip on the backpack. The adrenaline must be wearing off, Jason noted. You were starting to shake. “What can I say? My flight or fight kicked in and there was nowhere to run.”

“Still,” he said, taking the moment to study you, and wishing he had shot the punk when he clocked the bruise forming under your eye. Other than that, there was nothing of note to worry about. Physically at least. Emotionally, he had no idea where your mind was at. “Are you doing okay?”

“Uh maybe?” you said, unsure yourself. You took a deep breath to calm yourself but it came out shakily. “I don’t know. I will be, once I’m home though.”

“Need a lift?” Jason offered, catching you by surprise. You lifted your head to look at him, eyes narrowed. As if you were trying to see under the helmet. He stood there and waited. Eventually, you shook your head. Disappointment filtered through Jason but he pushed it down.

“Thanks, but I’m just down the street. Don’t think anything else can happen between here and there,” you said and Jason’s heart leaped at all the possibilities of what could happen.

“You’re gonna jinx yourself if you keep saying stuff like that,” he pointed out. You only shrugged and gave him a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

“I’m sure an angel is looking out for me,” you said, getting enough courage to pat him on the chest as you walked past him. “Be seeing ya, Red.”

Jason stood there for a moment and shook his head with a smile. You sure were something else. Though it was a short distance to your place, it didn’t stop Red Hood from following you until you made it to your apartment. Even then, he stayed on the roof adjacent to your building, waiting for your message saying you were okay.

You stood in front of your apartment door, keys in hand and frowned. With the adrenaline completely out of your system, and finally being alone, your mind raced with the events that transpired over the last couple of hours.

You had managed to make the last train and the journey was uneventful. It wasn’t until the walk home that your luck turned bad.

You were so focused on getting home that you didn’t notice the guy following you until he grabbed your backpack. You fought, Red Hood showered up surprising you and talked before going home.

You blinked at the memory. If you weren’t so in your head, you’d be giddy that you actually talked to Red Hood. You talked to Red Hood. What the fuck? You’re not even sure if you flirted with him near the end or not. But you were still processing everything.

You shook your head, trying to get out of it. You didn’t want to go inside. Going inside meant being alone, alone with your thoughts and that’s the last thing you wanted.

What you wanted was company, what you wanted was someone you haven’t even met yet, yet you knew you’d feel better after seeing him. You wondered if you called Jason, if he would pick up and ask to meet up. It couldn’t hurt to try.

With a half-baked plan, you finally unlocked the door. The first thing you do is plug in your phone, the second is to shower.

You wanted it to be quick, the faster you're done the faster you can leave the apartment. But you’re not sure what happened between grabbing your clothes and now. You just know that when you come to, your hair is wet and dressed in your comfortable clothes, and you find yourself standing in front of the mirror.

You feel better, if only a little. You wince at the bruise and you could cover it up, but you’re tired and you don’t want to stay here any longer than you already have. Instead, you bushed your hair and leave the bathroom.

With your phone half charged, you grab it and your keys and wallet before leaving the apartment. As you walk towards the elevator, you open up your phone to see a few missed calls from your sister and Jason, and some texts from Jason asking if you’re okay. You made a note to call your sister in the morning and tried to ignore the guilt at seeing the messages from Jason. You pressed the button for the elevator, your thumb hovering over Jason’s name.

Maybe calling him will be a mistake, Despair whispered in your ear.

Or, maybe it’ll be the best thing in the world and you won’t regret it, Desire countered. And hope bloomed a little in your chest. With that, you pressed the call button without much thought and brought the phone to your ear.

One ring, you step in the elevator as you begin to second guess yourself that this was a bad idea. Second ring, you press the button for the lobby, starting to panic. Maybe he won’t pick up. Half of you hoped. By the third ring, you're off the elevator and almost hung up when the call connects.

“Little Bird?” Jason answered, and the grip on the phone tightened. You really didn’t think he’d pick up, and he doesn’t sound tired. For how late it is, anyways. If anything, he sounds awake, like he was waiting for something.

Guilt rears back into your stomach again when you realize he was waiting for you. Tears start to pool in the corner of your eyes, and you blink them away. You didn’t want to cry, that was for later, when you're curled up in a ball in bed. Waiting for sleep that you know will never come.

“Hey, you still there?” Jason asked, voice soft as if he knew that’s what you needed right now. Your heart warms at the person you’re slowly falling for. You clear your throat and hope your voice sounds normal when you answer.

“Hi,” your answer is a whisper, and you find yourself you don’t care.

“Hi,” he greeted back and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m surprised you're still awake. Figured you’d be in bed by now.”

"Yeah, me too. But I’m too wired to sleep,” you said, forcing your feet to move. You start walking out of the building and towards your favourite café that’s near your place. “Surprised you’re awake too. Still helping your brother?”

You’re so engrossed with your conversation, that you don’t feel eyes on you as you walk. And Jason hoped to keep it that way. “Nah, doing my own thing before going to bed. Surprised you called though. Usually, you shoot me a message.”

You stall for a moment, almost tripping on your feet, before walking again. “Er, yeah. Sorry I just…I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to say sorry. I don’t mind talking either. Besides, you've voice is music to my ears," Jason said, and you try not the blush with how casual he says things like that. "So, what’s up?”

You’re quiet for a second, chewing on your lip before blurting out the question, “do you want to meet up?”

You’re met with and you close your eyes at your stupidity. “Sorry,” you started, “that was stupid. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I get it. It’s fine. Plus, it’s super late, like two in the morning late. And we should be sleeping but the thought of being alone right now scares me. And I don’t want to be alone and I just really need some company. And I thought why not Jason? I wanted to meet him for awhile and I’ve now realized it was bad timing and-”

“Are you sure?” Jason interrupted your rambling and you couldn’t be more thankful. You were positive you would big yourself in a hole you couldn’t get out of if you kept talking.

“Sure about what?” you asked dumbly, as if you forgot what you had just asked him. You’ve reached the café and stood in front of the door, peering in.

“That you want to meet up,” Jason said with a chuckle.

“Oh, uh yeah, I am sure,” you said with a nod. “I mean if that’s okay with you?”

“Sure is,” he said, “can I ask what brought this on?”

You're silent for a moment, debating whether to answer him or wait until he’s here to say. But you think of the bruise under your eye and you think it’s better to tell him now. “I, um, almost got mugged on my way home. He didn’t get my stuff, but he did clock me in the face. Could be worse though, but I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Shit,” he breathed out, “are you okay?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled to the couple coming out of the café and stepped aside to let them go. You shrug even though he couldn’t see you. “Like I said, it could be worse.”

“Don’t. Don’t downplay what happened to you,” Jason said softly, “anyone would be shaken up after a mugging. You’re allowed to not be okay, sweetheart.”

The simple sentence is what breaks you, and you start letting the tears fall down your cheeks. “Damnit,” you mumbled, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “Have me crying in public Jason, not cool.”

“Sorry sweetie. Where are you? I’ll get there as soon as I can.” You rattle where you are and you can feel Jason’s smile through the phone. “I know the place. Order me a hot chocolate and I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Try not to break any laws now, Jason,” you muttered, though you smile all the same. Knowing you’ll meet Jason soon has you in better spirits since the incident happened.

“No promises.” With that, you hang up and walk into the building. You tell the barista your fine when she asks about the bruise and order your usual and Jason’s drink with a cake and find an empty table. You find yourself in the corner by a window, making your way over and you set your order down and sit facing the door.

You’re scrolling through your phone while you wait, trying to keep yourself distracted. And it helped with Jason texting you updates on what’s happening. You find it endearing, and a little silly, but it keeps you from spiraling and you're thankful.

Before you know it, you hear a roar of a motorcycle driving past, and you look up just in time to see them part in front of the building. You watch as they turn off the bike and climb off before taking the helmet off.

Breath escapes you as you recognize who it is, and pictures didn’t do Jason justice. Jason’s pretty, and you like the little white strip he has in his hair. It suits him, somehow.

Lifting your phone, you take a picture of him fluffing out his hair and type out a message saying you see him before sending it to him. You watch as he takes out his phone, frowning a little at the message. He whipped his head up and scanned the building until his eyes landed on you. All you can do is wave, and your heart almost leaps out of your chest at the smile he gives you.

It's brighter than you imagined and you're okay with it. Your eyes follow him as he makes his way inside. You stand when he makes his way towards you and you smile as he stands in front of you.

“Hi.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before you start to laugh. Not a full belly laugh, just a light chuckle as if someone told you a joke. You’re not sure why you find the whole thing funny, but you do. Maybe you're too tired to fully process it completely.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked, a little worried. He took a step forward, arms moving to give you a hug, but stopped himself. Worried that you wouldn’t appreciate the gesture, scared that you might reject his touch. Your heart warms at the hesitation and you make the decision for him. Stepping forward, you wrap your arms around him and practically met into his chest.

After a moment of hesitation, Jason wraps his arms around you, hugging you tight. It's one of the best hugs you’ve ever had, and you can't seem to remember the last time someone hugged you that wasn’t family.

“I am now,” you whispered, blinking away more tears. “Sorry if this first meeting isn’t exactly to your expectations.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t change this for the world,” he said, leaning back a little. Snaking one hand to your chin, he gently lifted your face to look at you. He hissed a little at the bruising and you can’t seem to find yourself to be embarrassed about. Not with the look Jason’s giving you, like you’re the only person who matters to him.

“That’s good,” you mumbled, blushing a little with the attention he was giving you. You pull away a little, only to pull him to sit down. Your feet started to hurt and you needed to let them rest. Sitting across from him, you wrap your hands around your cup and let the heat seep into them. “You know, I almost didn’t call. Was too afraid you’d say no or something.”

Jason leaned over a bit and took off his jacket and you tried to not openly stare at his arms.

“Don’t think I could say no to you,” Jason said, taking a sip from his drink as you averted your gaze to his face. “But I’m glad you called, I was trying to work up the nerve to ask you to a coffee date or something. Something always stopped me though.”

“Well, we’re here now,” you pointed out, leaning over the table with a smile. “Nothing we can do but move forward.”

“Wise words coming from a lady who thought I was asking for a booty call,” Jason said with a smirk. You gasped at the reminder, and reached over to pull the plate of cake you had bought to share with him.

“You know, just for that, I’m not sharing this with you,” you said, and moved the plate closer when Jason moved to grab it.

“Now that’s not fair, Little Bird. It’s been a tough night dealing with my brothers all night, I need a little pick me up,” he said, trying to grab the plate from you again. You moved it just before he could grab it, and stuck your nose in the air.

“Guess you should have thought about that before insulting me, good sir.” Jason snorted, mock surrendering. You giggled and moved the plate back to the middle. “How was your night? Anything interesting happen?”

“Nah, not really. Turned out he didn’t really need my help, just said that to rope me in for family supper,” Jason answered, picking up the fork and stabbing a piece of cake before eating it.

“If you’re gonna be mean to the cake, I won’t share,” you threatened, trying not to smile when he gave you a look. “Family dinner huh? Can’t be all that bad.”

“It’s not,” Jason hummed, “I get to eat Alfred’s cooking and there are some siblings I don’t mind hanging out with. It can be too much sometimes, you know? Like they lived their lives while I was somewhere out there being raised by different people, you know?”

“Mm not really but I can imagine,” you said, smiling when he snorted. “But they’re trying, that’s all you can ask for. Question is though, are you trying?”

Jason shifted as you stared at him with raised eyebrows. “What is this? An interrogation?”

“Can be if you want it to be,” you quipped back. Following his lead as he leaned forward.

“If anyone’s gonna do the questioning, it’s gonna be me.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, Little Bird.”

The two of you stare at each other, waiting to see who cracks first at the challenge. You blink and you know you’ve lost. “Yeah okay. But you didn’t answer my question,” you reminded him, leaning back.

“Yeah I’m trying, just hard,” he answered and he took a moment to study you. “Are you doing okay? Not to be rude, but you look exhausted.”

You snort and rub your eyes only to wince when you touch the bruise. “I don’t know. I haven’t really had time to process everything properly.”

“How’d you mean?”

“Like I didn’t sit down and cry about it yet. When I got home all I wanted to do was leave. But I forced myself to shower but I think I blacked out or something, I don’t know. I don’t remember it. After that, I left my apartment as fast as I could and called you.”

“Which I’m glad you did, but now you have to take a moment and let it sink in. You can take it now, let yourself not be okay, I won’t judge. Hell, I’m probably the last person to judge.”

You gave him a sad smile and slowly slumping down into your seat, trying to hide from the mostly empty café. As if sensing what you’re trying to do, Jason gets up and moves to sit beside you, angling his body so you’re hidden from view.

A wave of fondness washes over you, and you think he can’t surprise you anymore then he already has. Taking a deep breath, you slowly let it out and close your eyes. Listening to Jason and let yourself not be okay.

The night plays like a movie behind your eyelids and you fight to keep it playing. You feel all the emotions that you managed to push away hit you like a truck, making you tear up. You cover your eyes with your arm and feel movement from beside you.

But you're too embarrassed to look, so you wait until Jason’s right beside you.

“I’m going to hug you okay?” You hear Jason whisper close to your ear. You nod and almost flinch when his arms snake around your waist, but you don’t. This touch is warm, caring. The complete opposite of the mugger. You feel safe for the first time that night.

You relaxed in Jason’s embrace and balled your firsts in his shirt as you cried. He sat there, rubbing your side, whispering that you’re okay, that it will be okay, and waited until you were done.

You sniffle when the sob has subsided but you don’t let go just yet. You’re exhausted, embarrassed that you ended up crying on Jason, and you're not yet ready to face him.

“You’re okay,” Jason murmured, squeezing you reassuringly. You only nod, moving slightly to wipe your nose with your sleeve. But as you move to do that, there’s a napkin in front of you.

“Thanks,” you muttered, taking it and blowing your nose.

“Feeling better?” Jason asked, moving slightly but he kept you in his hold. And you're grateful for it. His touch was something you could get used to.

“Yeah, much. I think I could sleep forever,” you joked, leaning into him you felt his chuckle more then heard it.

“Please don’t, I enjoy your company,” he said and you smiled. “I hope you feel the same.”

“I do,” you hummed, “I’m sorry for crying all over you. I think I got your shirt all wet and snotty.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. It was something you needed and I’ll gladly be your shoulder to cry on.”

Silence settled between you, and you closed your eyes feeling the need to sleep. The two of you stayed like that until Jason could feel your body relax into sleeping.

“Come on, I think it’s time for you to go home,” Jason stated, shaking you a little to keep you awake.

“Noooo,” you whined, pouting as you sat up slowly. “But I’m having a great time.”

“You need sleep,” Jason pointed out, collecting your garbage and standing to throw it out. When he came back, he put on his jacket and smirked as you stared. “We can always hang out another time. Maybe next time it won’t happen at three in the morning.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he answered, holding out his hand. You blinked at it before grabbing it and he helped you up. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to have,” you said, quick to shake your head.

“Please? For my peace of mind,” Jason said as he walked the both of you out. “Plus it prolongs the time I get to spend time with you.”

Opening your mouth to argue, you stop yourself and feel the blush creeping into your cheeks. “Fine,” you agreed begrudgingly, though glad for the company.

The walk was short, you spent the time talking about anything that came to mind. And before you knew it you were standing in front of your door. Jason had insisted on walking you up, to make sure you didn’t trip on anything. He had claimed and you didn’t seem to mind.

You have thought about inviting him in, but sleep was calling you and you didn’t want to seem too eager.

“So this is me,” you said awkwardly, unsure how to say goodnight.

“I had a good time,” he said, smiling. You squinted up at him, only now realizing how tall he was.

“I ended up crying.”

“You had a bad night, you deserved to cry after what happened to you,” he countered. “Like I said, I’m the last person to judge.”

“I’m going to get that story one day,” you challenged, and he leaned down a little, smirking. Cocky bastard.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, and you gently punched him in the chest with a laugh.

“Text me when you get home?”

“Awe, you worried about me,” he teased. You rolled your eyes as you took your keys out and unlocked the door.

“I can unworry about you,” you said, swinging the door open. Before going in, you turned and gave him a hug, squeezing tight. “Thanks, for you know.”

Jason returned the hug and buried his nose in your hair. “Anytime. Glad you're feeling better.”

You stay like that for a moment before Jason lets you go. He cupped your cheeks and for a brief moment, you thought he might kiss you.

“Night Little Bird, see you soon.”

With that, he turned and walked down the hallway, leaving you feeling warm inside.

Walking in, you unlocked the door and immediately plopped into your bed, letting your body relax. Sleep pulled at you but you were determined to stay awake until Jason texted.

But sleep was just as determined and stronger, you fell asleep just as your phone chimed.

Jason I’m home

#jason todd x reader #jason todd gn!reader #jason todd #batman imagine #online match up #my writing

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ohshi-kaboom · 7 months ago

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Murder Drones Rider Au + Uzi fanart

Or should i say... Murder Drive AU HEHEHEHE

This lovely amalgamation was made by yours truly when putting murder drones and pretty bikes on a blender hoping for something fancy. And i did it.

The mechanics are simple! (Haha get it? Mechanics)

Uzi is a moody mechanic (i will get real tired of the word mechanic and so will you.) Working in your local Auto shop: Copper's 9 ! Owned by daddy dearest Khan Doorman! She mostly does repairs and common car maintenance, aaand if she decides she likes you well enough you'll get some neat modifications for half the price! (Its a lie but only she knows that)

In her free time she stays around the back of the store repairing and selling old cars as a hobby that also doubles as a side hustle.

Her life in home isn't as sweet as she would hope for but she's learned to cope, something that she specializes in after her Moms disappearance; Nori Doorman, presumed dead.

Shes the only occupant of a nice little apartment, moving from their parents house a few years after Nori's disappearance and Khan's neglect. Rarely visited by anyone she stays little time in her apartment, either watching anime after a tiring day, eating lunch, showering after a messy oil spill or just existing after closing hours. Youll definitely see her more at the shop doing gods knows what this time. The reson why Uzi doesn't spend more time in the little home shes built herself is because of the atmosphere, too cold and gloomy for her liking, the barren space reminding her too much of her loneliness.

("She looks soo much like Uzi" you all say in unison.)

Nathaniel, or best known as "N" is a Bike racer, youll see him proudly sporting his various motorcycles all earned by his sweat, hard work, and money from illegal races.

N has and incredible set of bad luck, following him like a stubborn rain cloud with every single bike he touches breaking down at some point. No matter how much he dotes over them or how carefull he is; they will break. And thats a promise from the universe, aparently.

He lives in a fairly big house with his other two roommates: Jay, "J" and Veronica, "V". They all participate in their own races, N and V competing frequently while J sits back and collects their winnings. J also participates in rare ocations.

When N is not flying through the streets, or winning the months rent he resides in his little corner of the garage painting, drawing, scrap booking or doing whatever craft he can get his hands onto.

(I will probably add more on N later on)

N and Uzi meet when Ns bike breaks in "the middle of nowhere" according to V, so he just sits quietly besides the road waiting for either backup (V showing up to rescue him after cackling over the phone and then hanging up) or to simply perish. Uzi was heading to the workshop in Railgun (a very beat up, highly modified but very loved minitruck that she herself constructed from other cars parts) When she came across a very puppy kicked to the side of the road sad looking person laying down besides the road by a very nice looking motorcycle. She slows down to take a quick peek to the bike when the person laying down jumps immediately at her side after noticing her slowing down, begging asking for a ride to the closest Auto shop explaining how his bike broke. Uzi (although very begrudgingly) decides to help this weird friendly stranger as her good deed of the year. She parks to the side of the road helping N heave the bike into the trunk and waits until he hops into the passenger seat to begin their way to Copper's 9.

After Fixing N's bike (and getting a tip she will not complain about) She gives the rundown on what the problem of the bike was and how to avoid it. N thanks her (a little too much if you ask Uzi) and parts ways. Uzi not dwelling about it goes on to the rest of her day, not thinking about seeing N again anytime soon.

Not even a week later N shows up again with another bike, this one looking like it went into the devils asscrack and back. Uzi just gives him a glare and gets to work.

That is NOT the last time that happens. (She counts 12 visits in one month, what the hell N?)

So! This is the basic information about my silly little Au, i don't have a name for it yet, I have been calling it Murder Drive for gits and shiggles but i don't know if I should make it the official name of this Au, if you have any suggestions tell me about it!

And I've been thinking about making it a fic buuut I've never written anything lengthy before, and English is not my first language so you can imagine how I feel.

Do tell me how you feel about it, or if you have any asks send 'em my way!

ALSO! THIS IS A HUMAN AU!! YAYAY HUMANS‼️‼️

#I do apologize for the typos #idk I'll figure that later #I am way too lazy to proof-read it #or maybe I'm not #UPDT: I did fix all the typos i could find lol #murder drones #murder drones fandom #murder drones uzi #md uzi #md n #md nuzi #murder drones au #Murder Drive AU #murder drones fanart #traditional art #original art

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intimidating-fettuccine · 1 year ago

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A reader that leans in like a cat when a creep tries to pet their head? Any touch at all, just makes them...melt..if you ask them a question, while they're receiving affection, they'll have to ask the affection giver to pause for a sec, just so they can actually think and answer the question..just brain mush, eyes closed, immediate cat

"Wh..Hold on..What'd you say?" (You can choose the creeps :])

Jeff:

As someone that also gets incredibly melty with affection, it's like the two of you are exactly the same sometimes. Jeff likes to destress with physical touch, so quite honestly you can get the same reaction out of him, where he's so spaced out that he isn't hearing or processing anything, and when you stop he's just staring at you in blank confusion. I think the two of you probably tease each other with this, just trying to get the other to space out from physical touch because you think it's cute and so you can tease them a little bit. I also have the thought of both of you probably just spacing out like that together a lot, just curled up in bed, snuggling up and petting each other's heads, stroking each other's backs, just really slipping off into your own little world's together so that you can just relax and not have to focus about anything for a few hours. Honestly, that probably happens a lot, but I don't think that either of you would complain about it all that much. Jeff definitely teases you the most out of the two of you though, as it's what he does as a sign of affection, so prepare yourself for a lot of cat-related nicknames and jokes.

Slender:

Slender, upon discovering this little habit of yours, feels like his heart is going to fucking explode, and that's not an exaggeration. Slender has always viewed you as incredibly cute, but once he discovers this little trait of yours?? He just wants to hold you and squish you and protect you from everything at all costs because it should be illegal to be that cute, but there you are, just roaming free and living life. Whenever you start doing that, pushing your head and body into him, trying to get more touch and affection from him, it just makes him want to coo and cuddle you and spoil you until you can't take it anymore. I think it's good for Slender to have a partner that he can dote on, and spoiling his partner is his favorite thing to do and his favorite way to show his love for you, so I can see him getting affectionate with you at any chance he can get. If he tries speaking to you and you don't hear him from how distracted you are he always gives you this sweet, deep, and comforting chuckle and gives you a moment to come back into existence before affectionately repeating whatever he'd said, before going right back into loving on you.

Jason:

Jason didn't know it was possible to love you any more than he already did, but then again you've always been full of surprises for him, haven't you? Like Slender, Jason loves spoiling his partner as often as possible, and with you, that's no different. He practically makes it a goal and a point to show you affection throughout the day, to get you curling up into him and just being so happy and at peace with the love he shows you. It makes him feel so loved, happy and appreciated to know that he's the one able to reduce you to such a state, and it just makes him want to dote on you even more. He often rambles at you while he loves on you, mostly just to speak his mind and get some thoughts out of his brain, and while you aren't required to listen, if you ever give him that adorably cute glance and ask him what he was talking about, he always teasingly feigns offense, gasping and saying he can't believe you weren't listening, but he'll just give you a little laugh and a smooch before starting his story over again, before resuming being extra loving and affectionate with you. If anything, he's happy to retell any story to you, as it makes him feel special that you would interrupt your affectionate hours just to listen to him speak.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer headcanon #jeff the killer headcanons #jason the toymaker #jason the toymaker headcanon #jason the toymaker headcanons #jason the toymaker x reader #slenderman #slenderman headcanon #slenderman headcanons #slenderman x reader

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another-whump-sideblog · 1 month ago

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Fixing Tracy -- Outside

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

The moment Tracy wakes up, she remembers what Molly promised yesterday. She's going to be allowed outside!

She gets dressed quickly, trying to balance picking lightweight clothes with picking clothes that have enough pockets to stick in a bunch of the snacks she hid around her room. She’s getting out today.

She doesn’t know exactly what the weather will be like, but she can tell through the frosted windows that it’s sunny and not raining. She knows nothing about what's outside, but she can assume it's fairly isolated, or else Molly wouldn't be so willing to let her out. She wears some sturdy running shoes, prepared for a long journey.

She wears a jacket, too. It'll probably be warm out, but it gives her extra pockets. Plus, if there's an electric fence or something, maybe she can use the fabric as a buffer between her and it? She's not sure how that stuff works. Maybe she could try to wear thick clothing to protect herself from the cattle prods… or maybe that would just encourage Molly to aim for her face. She hasn't found any goggles down here, so she'd have to either cover her face and blind herself, making stealing the cattle prods or keys very difficult, or risk Molly shocking her face, which doesn't sound pleasant at all. And she doesn't even know if fabric actually stops electricity. She knows it doesn't conduct it, but would that mean no shock at all? Well, at least if she does encounter an electric fence it won't fight back like Molly would. If fabric doesn't work, she'll figure something out.

She does some stretching, since she'll probably need to run and/or climb to get away, and to ensure that she has a full range of movement in the clothes she picked. She continues stretching near the basement door until Molly finally opens it.

"Oh, you're all ready! That's great. You seem pretty excited… I should've offered to let you outside a while ago. I know you don't like me apologizing, but, uh… yeah."

She's sorry for not offering to let Tracy outside, but not for kidnapping her. Tracy clenches her teeth. "Can we go right now? Or were you wanting to wait until lunch or something?"

“We can go now. I prepped the food last night, it's just waiting in the fridge upstairs. But first, let’s talk about how this is going to go, dear. I can’t let you go back to all of that stress you had before, and I don't want you to have to worry about choosing between that and here, so we need to arrange a way to make sure you can't run off. I think that just cuffing your ankles together should be sufficient, is that okay with you?"

"Obviously not, why do you ask questions like that?"

"...The real question is… are you willing to have your ankles cuffed together in order to go outside? Because if not, I can't let you go outside."

Tracy was really hoping that Molly's only plan to keep her while they were outside was some kind of fence, but of course it can't be that easy. Still, she can't just give up her chance to go outside. "...fine."

Molly smiles. "Thank you for being so understanding." She takes handcuffs out of her pocket, crouches, and locks them around Tracy's ankles. "One other thing: we're kind of out in the middle of nowhere, and there are a few animals that make sounds that sound like human screams. So it's fine if you scream outside. Those animals don't sound like humans screaming words, though, so if you're screaming words I'll have to gag you, since this is technically illegal and I don't want anyone to take you back to the life you had before." She gets back up.

"Technically– fine, yeah, whatever." She'd already given up on the idea of getting outside help, anyway.

"Are the cuffs too tight? I can only loosen them so much, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Maybe we could figure out a way to put some padding on them?"

"They're fine right now." If she complains about it once they're already outside, maybe Molly will have to take off the cuffs to pad them, giving Tracy a chance to run.

"Perfect! Give me one second…" Molly runs back up the stairs and unlocks the top door, using a key on a string around her neck.

Tracy's eyes widen. She knows where both keys are kept, now. One in Molly's pocket, and one around her neck. If she fails at escaping today, at least she'll have learned that. That could be useful, right? Like, if she managed to knock Molly out, she wouldn't have to search her for the keys, since she knows where both of them are.

Molly runs back down the stairs.

"Are you okay with me carrying you? You could, theoretically, crawl up the stairs if you wanted, so you can say no and still go outside if you want."

Crawling up the stairs with her ankles cuffed together would be equally humiliating to being carried, but being carried would be faster. "...you can carry me."

Molly scoops Tracy into a bridal carry and heads up the stairs.

Once they're upstairs, Molly carries Tracy through a living room into a kitchen. The decor is very similar to the basement, and it looks like it's been recently cleaned. There are lots of connected shelves with nothing on them on the walls, and a cat tree in the corner of the living room.

"Do you have a cat?"

"No."

Molly sets Tracy down in the kitchen and gets a picnic basket out of the fridge. She sets it on the kitchen table next to a folded blanket with some bottles on it.

"I assume you won't want help applying sunscreen." Molly passes Tracy one of the bottles.

Putting sunscreen on just for a picnic is… weird, but Tracy applies it to her face and neck without complaint and hands the bottle back to Molly. Molly applies the sunscreen to herself as well.

"Did you… used to have a cat?" Maybe this conversation will lead to useful information, somehow.

"Yes. Hm… we should go outside to apply the bug spray."

Molly opens a door that leads outside, then gathers up the picnic basket, blanket, and bottles into her arms and heads out. Tracy follows slowly, being careful not to trip on the cuffs around her ankles.

Molly spreads out the blanket and sets the basket and sunscreen on it. She shakes the bottle of bug spray, applies it to herself, and then passes it to Tracy, who does the same.

"Do you wear sunscreen and bug spray every time you go outside?" Tracy asks.

Molly sets the bottles aside, sits down on the blanket, and starts taking food out of the basket. "I probably should. Really I just don't want you to suffer unnecessarily, and a sunburn or bug bite would do that. Come here, sit down."

Tracy sighs, not bothering to argue that being kidnapped is suffering unnecessarily. They've already had that discussion many times, but Molly remains resolute in her conviction that it causes less suffering than normal life.

She definitely does not want to sit down, it'll be very hard to get back up if she does. Well, she's outside, she might as well try to get Molly to take the cuffs off. "...my ankles really hurt. I didn't realize how much worse walking was going to make it… I'm afraid I'll hurt myself if I try to sit down."

"Oh no!" Deep concern etches into Molly's face. "Let's go inside and take a look, I'll see what I can do. Is it okay if I carry you again? I don't want you to hurt your ankles more."

Inside is better than nothing. As long as she can convince Molly to take the cuffs off, she can run and get away. "...Fine."

Molly scoops Tracy up again and heads right back inside. She's a lot stronger than her frame suggests, which worries Tracy a bit.

Molly takes Tracy into the living room and sets her down on the couch. "Let's see…" she crouches and inspects Tracy's ankles. "They look okay, especially with your socks between your skin and the cuffs. It hurts to walk, you said? And you think it'll hurt to try and sit yourself down? Maybe I can just carry you everywhere until we go back downstairs, how does that sound?"

"It really hurts, could you please pad them like you said earlier?"

Molly sighs and gets back up. "I'd have to put you in the basement while I tried to figure something out, whether that's padding these cuffs or going to buy padded cuffs, and we'd have to wait a bit for the picnic. Do you want that, or do you want to go back outside now?"

She knows. Of course she knows, it's not like it's that hard to figure out Tracy's intentions. "...Let's go back outside."

She can still figure something out. If Molly is distracted long enough, maybe Tracy could crawl away? That might be faster than trying to walk. Molly picks Tracy back up and takes her outside, setting her down gently on the blanket.

"I've got some sandwiches, some salads, some fruit, some drinks… what do you want?"

All Tracy can see for miles are trees and Molly's house. Maybe if she managed to get away while Molly was distracted, she could hide somewhere, and then start the actual journey when Molly gave up looking for her. She'll never get away if Molly is right behind her, and crawling through the woods would be too slow and too loud to do while Molly's actively looking, but hiding might work…

"...Tracy? Are you hungry?"

"Um… yeah, sorry." Tracy takes a sandwich and starts to eat it slowly. She just needs a way to distract Molly…

There's nothing. She can't even come up with any ideas because there's nothing that could possibly distract Molly from the picnic long enough for Tracy to find somewhere to hide. Maybe if she manages to knock her out? But Molly would just get her with the cattle prod and restrain her…

She blinks back tears as she eats. She's so close. There are no locked doors in her way. There’s got to be a way out that she just hasn’t thought of yet.

“Do you like it?”

“Huh?”

“The sandwich. Do you like it?”

“Oh… yeah, Molly, I like it. You’re a good cook.”

Molly beams. “Thank you! You’re so sweet.”

There has to be a way out. There has to be, but Tracy looks and looks and can't think of anything. Is the food drugged? Or is she just stupid??

"Tracy." Molly's voice is gentle. "There isn't a way for you to get away. You haven't missed anything, there's just nothing to miss. You are never going to be able to leave. The outcome will be the same whether you spend the picnic frantically trying to think of a way to escape or just enjoy it, so why don't you just enjoy it?"

Tracy can't hold back her tears anymore. "Why can't you just believe me that I want to go home??"

"Because you don't. You want to not feel like you've abandoned your responsibilities, and eventually you'll feel that way here."

"You're not a mind reader! You don't know me at all, you just have this imaginary Tracy in your head!"

"It doesn't take a mind reader to know that no one really wants to go back to an abusive environment."

"It's not– And even if it was! This is an abusive environment, Molly!"

"I know you feel that way, and I wish it didn't have to be like this, but you'll understand as you heal."

Tracy sobs. Why does she even try? Molly's right– the outcome will always be the same. They'll have the same argument over and over again until Tracy learns not to start it anymore.

"Would you like a hug, dear?"

She would like a hug, but not from Molly. She shakes her head.

"Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?"

There's no point to arguing. Tracy eats more of her sandwich. "The cat you used to have… what happened?"

Molly raises her eyebrows. "Why are you so fixated on this?"

"It's not like I have a lot of other topics of conversation," Tracy grumbles.

"Hmm… well, it's not a very interesting story. Her name was Marcy, she was a rescue, I took care of her, and then she died." Her voice is strained. "I haven't put away her stuff because I like the reminder of her. I like that she can still be a part of my home, if she can't be a part of my life anymore. That's all. So, other conversation topics… what would you do in a zombie apocalypse?"

Tracy eats some fruit. "Protect my sister."

"What else?"

"I don't know, whatever she wanted to do."

They listen to the birds chirp for a bit, before Molly breaks the silence. "...do you want to play Uno?"

Tracy agrees, and Molly takes the card game out of the basket. They make their way through the prepared food and play Uno, mostly without conversation. It's nice. Tracy didn't realize how much she missed sunshine and fresh air.

When the food is gone, Molly starts to pack things back into the basket. "That was nice, wasn't it? We should try to do this often, especially while the weather is so good."

Tracy reaches out to stop her. "Please, I don't want to go inside yet." She needs more time, she's so close to figuring out a way to escape. "Please, Molly, you said you want me to be happy."

Molly tears up. "Of course I do. I… we can stay out here as long as you want. I'm glad you feel safe asking me for things."

Tracy sighs, but doesn't try to argue. She… does feel safe asking Molly for things. Even if the answer is no, Molly isn't going to hurt her or get angry. Molly is very predictable, really. She'll never agree that Tracy should be able to go home, she'll always have a plan for whatever Tracy comes up with, she'll only hurt Tracy if she's a 'danger to herself or others,' and she'll always want Tracy to be happy, even if she's very wrong about how to do that.

Her consistency drives Tracy crazy, makes her feel like she's not being listened to, makes her feel hopeless and alone, but… Tracy can't deny there's also a safety in it.

Something is seriously wrong with her, that she can feel safe around someone who stalked and kidnapped her, but what else is she supposed to do? Be afraid all the time? It's… it's better anyway, that she feels safe. Being afraid makes it harder to think logically.

But even feeling safe, she can't think of any way to get away. She sits quietly for quite a while, mulling it over, but nothing comes up.

Molly said they'd do this again. Maybe Molly will start to let her guard down the more times they do it? Maybe, knowing what to expect, Tracy can prepare a way to deal with the cuffs next time… She has a lot more options if she waits just a little longer.

"...okay. I'm ready to go back inside. Thank you."

Tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

#i'm not sure if this makes no sense or if I'm just struggling to reread it because of brain fog...#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whumpee #carewhumper #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #captivity tw #really annoying whumper tw #gaslighting tw #fixing tracy

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damagedintellect · 7 months ago

Text

Skk Brainrot for Chuuya’s BDay

💌 When I said chibi was my dog this is not what I meant : Chapter 1 💌

Summary: The minute he stepped into Mori's office Chuuya was already annoyed. While the Mafia dealt with foreign imports of all kinds, being told to investigate the strange influx of Stray Dogs across Yokohama wasn’t his ideal use of his skill set. Chuuya has always liked animals, animal's also liked Chuuya and he's always wanted a dog. He never expected to become a dog. The irony of Dazai calling him a dog all these years makes him want to scream. His ex partner has always been vocal about his disdain for two things. Now Chuuya is somehow both, and Dazai is the only one who can change him back.

Notes: Happy Birthday Chuuya~ I wanted to post something for Chuuya's birthday & this has been sitting in my drafts. Eventually this will have more than one chapter because I see the vision I just haven't had the time to write for it. Gonna base all the dogs on WAN.

💌 Word count: 3,754 💌 You Are Here | Next Chapter coming soon

The port mafia was practically "in charge" of every illegal trade in Yokohama so the sudden influx of stray dogs, breeds that were not known for being popular in Japan, tipped Mori off. He couldn't help but sigh rolling his eyes because he probably should have someone look into it. As silly as the situation may have seemed the Port Mafia has a reputation to uphold. Although the juxtaposition of sending an executive to investigate was also incredibly ridiculous but Mori has seen animals gravitate to the young man and knowing that a certain partner used to claim all the time that Chuuya was his dog, brought back a level of nostalgia that plastered a smile on his face. Chuuya on the other hand was less than pleased with this position. The mafia’s greatest combatant being used as a sheepdog to herd in a bunch of no names to the slaughter was a waste of time in his personal opinion. Don't get him wrong, he'll do it because Mori's command is law but he's still going to complain about it.

The investigation didn't actually take him that long to trace it back to a series of missing people reports. One person went missing and suddenly there was a new dog on the streets. Although it seemed pretty cut and dry it was still concerning that the authorities haven't done anything about the disappearances. Most of the cases occurred near the edge of town where plenty of abandoned facilities were located. It was possible whoever was behind this was hiding there. Chuuya had only assumed what was happening, he had a hunch that it wasn't even animal's being imported. The power of science was a bizarre field to him, after all, he contained a power equal to that of a God.

What he didn’t expect was for it to actually be someone's ability. Why let the dogs out on the street if it was someone’s ability? He only had more questions but Chuuya didn't care one way or the other because what difference would it make to him. He was given the order to take them out regardless. Mori wanted the facility intact for further investigation after the group was swiftly dealt with but it was more of an afterthought. Chuuya didn't even bother taking reinforcements; he simply walked through the front door and watched as they realized nothing could touch him. He cleared out floors left and right until the only way down to the lower levels was an elevator. His ability should have been able to handle whatever trap had been set but then the room filled with gas, one of the very few things his ability had no effect on. Chuuya could only hold his breath for so long and despite manipulating the drop from the elevator to compensate for the impact of fall damage, he was already dizzy. By the time he forced the doors open, with a few steps out of the elevator he found himself collapsing to the floor.

His head had a dull ache that spread to the rest of his body. They didn’t kill or physically harm him yet which could only mean they want information but they must be more stupid than they look to not even bother trying to restrain him. All they did was put a cloth over him. His joints were sore as he tried to clutch his head. When he shifted the cloth fell off revealing not a hand but a paw. He wiggled out of what used to be his clothes to get a better look at himself. Observing the new changes to his body, he was a dog. A fluffy chihuahua if he had to guess by his reflection in the glass across from him. They seemed to have put him in some examination room. He turned around and shook his tail. The feeling of an extra limb was more apparent and weird but he didn't have time to dwell on it for too long. Someone was going to pay.

The familiar red glow covered his form as he continued what he came here to do. Being a dog wouldn’t matter in the end. He'd just change back after he killed the ability user, but even after clearing the building he didn’t. He ran up and down the empty halls struggling with the new sensation of walking. The panic was starting to set in. He still hadn't changed back and there was not a soul left in sight at the entire facility. That means they got away before Chuuya woke up. He grit his teeth. He didn't know how long he was out for and tracking them down would be a pain in the ass in the state he was in. The only thing that gave him some relief was that he came alone and that none of his comrades were in this predicament. He could only imagine the chaos an entire division of dogs would do.

Trying to sift through files with paws was a nightmare. It took all of his self control to not destroy everything in this godforsaken lab. Chuuya just hoped this weird organization didn't send back up his way otherwise he was screwed. He couldn't find anything important and his patience was running extremely low with how long it was taking to even grab a file from the desk. If he was human it would take him two minutes to settle this whole endeavor. Chuuya stopped dropping the papers from his mouth.

If he was human.

A wave of dread washed over him as he realized there was one person who could fix this.

Dazai.

He really didn't want to see the mackerel especially not like this but what else could he do. He couldn’t go back to headquarters like this. He couldn’t even phone for someone to help him, he tried. Even if someone picked up he could only bark and hoped they understood. All Dazai would need to do was touch him but there was one glaring problem with that. Dazai hates dogs. He wouldn't voluntarily approach them let alone pet one out in the wild. If Chuuya tackled him to the ground he would be forced to at least touch him right? He took off in the direction of the ADA without a second thought. Completely forgetting about his hat, his phone and the rest of his belongings. He sure had a lot of faith in Dazai’s ability.

Chuuya was exhausted halfway there. Walking on all fours was miserable considering the distance he had to cover and he was even using his ability to help travel which probably only made him more tired. Luckily it was so late in the night there weren't a lot of people or cars around. By the time he made it to the agency building he was ready to collapse. He sat by the door as the sun was already starting to rise. It would be hours before Dazai would show up. He let himself sleep in the meantime he was too tired to try and fight it.

“What’s going on here?”

A voice stirred Chuuya awake from his sleep but he didn’t want to wake up yet not after the night he’s had. He could sleep in a little more right? He didn't have to make his report immediately. He contemplated just how long he would sleep in before another voice joined the conversation.

“Hey Mr. Kunikida.”

Chuuya swears he’s heard the name before but it doesn’t fully click why. He was about to get up when he felt a hand smoothing out his hair. A warm feeling washed over him preventing him from wanting to move. He let the voices talk while he leaned into the unknown touch still keeping his eyes closed.

“A lost dog, did you really think things through before bringing it here? Listen, it's a lot of responsibility taking care of a living creature.”

Lost dog

That broke Chuuya out of his pleasant stupor. He opened his eyes and got up abruptly. He was sitting in the white haired kids lap while a bunch of agency members were surrounding him. None of them were the one he needed to see.

“Dazai!” he tried shouting as he scrambled out of the kid’s grasp to find the waste of bandages. He briskly dodged the many hands that tried to grab for him. Finally being small came in handy for once. He cringed that he admitted that to himself. Chuuya sniffed the air and sure enough he could tell exactly where the brunette was sitting at his desk. As he bolted around the corner he jumped into Dazai’s lap almost knocking him out of his chair. He was pawing at Dazai’s chest trying to explain what happened to him but it only came out as incoherent barking.

Dazai frowned. All of his coworkers were fawning over an ugly mutt while he was making it a point to actually do some work. It was just a dog and a lost one no less. It already had an owner. What was so special about it? He had made his distaste for the animal apparent when Atsushi brought him up the stairs. Hadn’t he ever heard the phrase “let sleeping dogs lie” before? A single bark rang out from the conference corner causing him to turn his head before everyone’s panicked cries could be heard. It must have woken up and the amount of people surrounding the dog scared it away. Dazai should be fine at his desk or so he thought. The small runt tackled him almost making him lose his balance yapping up a storm. He frowned, glaring at the dog but that only made it continue barking and pawing at him.

“Okay that’s enough.” Dazai snapped, holding the dog up with both hands. It was weird the dog stopped his infernal yelping, its eyes seemingly growing wide as both its tail and ears slumped downwards. Did the dog understand that it was being scolded?

Atsushi stood in front of Dazai making sure the dog was okay “I thought you didn’t like dogs?”

“I don’t. Here, you take him.”

The statement was dismissive as he tried to hand Chuuya off to Atsushi but before he could get a proper hold on him Chuuya jumped on to Dazai’s desk and started growling at the tiger boy. Dazai perked up again at the sudden change in the dog’s mood.

“Maybe he can tell you’re a tiger.” he stated playfully.

“Or maybe he likes you, Dazai.”

Chuuya started barking again, taking an aggressive stance towards Dazai’s protege. Dazai stifled a laugh looking over the dog. It was a red long haired Chihuahua. The fur almost seemed unnaturally orange for a dog and paired with the black collar around its neck it almost reminded him of a certain slug. Maybe this dog was a Chuu-huahua with how little it’s temper was.

"We should call him Chibi because he's so small." Dazai wanted to take a picture, draw Chuuya’s tacky hat on the dog and then send the picture to him. Of course he wasn’t going to because that was effort he didn't want to waste on the small creature but he still had the thought cross his mind.

Before Chuuya could bark in protest the president stepped into the room to address the obscure racket. They filled him in on the situation as Dazai resumed working, nudging Chuuya to get off the paper he was writing on and then completely ignored the dog. Naturally Chuuya stepped aside at a loss of what to do. The president was pretty okay with the agency taking care of the runaway for now until they found his owner but they would never find his owner since Chuuya wasn’t actually a dog. He hadn’t even noticed he was still wearing his choker which is probably why they thought he was lost. It fit loosely around his neck but since his coat of fur was so fluffy it wasn’t that obvious it didn’t fit him properly.

Chuuya was gutted that he didn’t turn back immediately but if he could just get Dazai’s attention the brunette would put it together. They could communicate nonverbally in the past with just a look. All Chuuya had to do was to make the stupid mackerel realize it’s him. He put his paw on one of the books discarded to the side. If he could make it float then his ex partner was sure to put it together right, but nothing happened. There was no red glow in fact Chuuya couldn’t even feel Arahabaki anymore not since the president said they would take him in. Was it possible that being a dog got rid of his ability? That can’t be right since he used it a few hours ago. He was more confused than worried. Dazai wasn't touching him; he should be able to use it. Chuuya grit his teeth but tried to appear calm. Chuuya glanced towards the president, was it possible it was his doing? He didn't actually know if the president had a special ability but it's also not like he doesn’t remember N explaining that animals are not capable of manifesting special abilities. It's just peculiar that he was able to use it when he first turned. Maybe it took him a while to fully transition to being a dog?

He didn’t have much time to think about it as Kunikida tried to pick him up off the desk. He kicked his hand away and growled again. He refused to let anyone come near him. Chuuya might be a dog but he didn’t want to be touched again. Knowing how good it feels to be pet and pampered he’s afraid he’ll lose himself in the warmth, plus he needs to focus. His train of thought crashed when Dazai patted his head calmly saying “No one’s going to hurt you here. You can stop your growling. It’s annoying.”

He didn’t miss the glint of daggers in the other’s eyes, it was oddly comforting. If it was anyone else he would have bit them but right now Dazai was the only one he trusted. Chuuya nodded at Dazai causing him to pause. Chuuya would smirk if he could because he understood what that look meant. It was a subtle gesture but since he’s known Dazai for years and in that split second he could tell the other was caught off guard.

Dazai blinked, did the dog just nod at him? It was getting increasingly difficult to dislike this dog when it kept peaking his interest. Most animals have always hated him but cats usually were the only exception. They say that animals can judge a person’s character and it seems like every small creature in Yokohama, including a certain slug, got the memo but this is twice now that this dog seemed to understand his words. Not even the cats that approached him displayed such obvious strange behavior. He could also be reading too much into this situation because he simply didn’t want to be working right now but that was more to spite everyone over the dumb dog.

Before anyone else could touch Chuuya, he jumped down and scampered underneath Dazai’s desk sitting by his feet. He had a lot to think about and he was still tired. He thought about going back to the facility to try again but it was too far for his small stature to traverse back and forth constantly and now he'd have to shake off these schmucks to do it. Honestly he could try dragging one of these losers with him, they are detectives after all. One of them could put it together but he doubts any of them would follow a dog around town for that long without thinking they’ve gone batshit crazy. The biggest problem is he didn’t know who the ability user was and there was no way for him to communicate effectively right now especially since his ability disappeared. Or was there? He’d have to think of something.

Atsushi and Kunikida watch in awe as the dog practically follows Dazai’s command. They both peer under the desk to see him curled up by Dazai’s feet. Atsushi raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not the only one who thought that was weird right?" Laughing awkwardly as he looked around when everyone circled the desk.

Kunikida pushed up his glasses "I guess he's a lot smarter than he looks." Chuuya peeked out to bark again before glaring at the blonde. He could see this startled Kunikida slightly.

Dazai sighed "I think you guys should leave Chibi alone for a bit. Let him get used to his surroundings."

"I'm impressed. Dazai, I didn't realize you were so good with animals."

His frown deepened "I'm not, I'm just saying that he's only gravitating towards me because I'm the only one who's left him alone."

Dazai shifted to see the dog still at his feet lazily pawing at his shoe laces. He rolls his eyes. This dog was more of a cat than a dog but he supposed that with its small frame it wasn’t completely uncommon for a chihuahua to be fast and nimble but that does take the proper training to accomplish. Just whose dog was this, unless, was it possible this is Chuuya’s dog? Dazai remembered the hat rack always mentioning that he wanted a dog but for some reason he never got one. He smirked to himself. If that was the case Dazai would keep him for a while. Maybe he could train him to mess with his owner a little bit but first he had to find out if this was, in fact, Chuuya’s dog. Unfortunately finding that out would be too much effort even if it was to annoy Chuuya. He dropped the idea entirely. At the end of the day it was just a dog.

Everyone went back to their daily tasks giving Chuuya a much needed break from being the center of attention. He lazily played with the laces of Dazai’s shoes. He really had nothing else better to do. He heard the shuffling of paper and the scribbling of pens filling the room. Chuuya only assumed Dazai’s partner was furiously trying to blitz through paperwork. Glasses guy seemed like the workaholic type. Although that gave him an idea. If Chuuya could get his paws on a writing implement he could try spelling it out for Dazai. He slowly got up and walked around the corner to Kunikida’s desk. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the dog except for the blonde. Gracefully he jumped up and knocked a pen and small notepad off of the desk.

“Hey, what are you-” Kunikida stopped when he saw the dog try to take the cap off the pen. Dazai raised an eyebrow but knelt down to take the cap off for him.

Chuuya tried his best to write “help me” but when he looked down it was intangible scribbling. Next he tried to draw a fish which he was much prouder of when he really shouldn't be. Dazai tilted his head as everyone crowded around to see what the dog was doing. When there was still no reaction Chuuya rolled his eyes and drew a hat. Well he tried to draw a hat. Putting the pen down it looked more like a food bowl but come to think of it he hadn’t eaten anything and it was nearing lunchtime already. Chuuya placed the pen down sitting upright, puffing out his chest. Surely this was enough for Dazai to understand what was going on.

There was a moment of silence from everyone before Kenji clapped his hands together "Oh I get it! He's hungry."

Chuuya deflated, nosing the paper of the notepad to start over as the ADA were trying to figure out the food situation. Chuuya took his time with the next drawing. He needed to get it right this time but holding the pen in his mouth wasn't the easiest thing in the world when he had to pick it up from the floor. Luckily this time it was a recognizable fish. When he was done he pushed it towards Dazai stamping his paw trying to mentally communicate.

Dazai tilted his head to the side "A fish?" Chuuya barked trying to correct it to "mackerel" but it was no use.

Kenji crouched next to Dazai on the floor. "Could it be, he likes fish!"

The brunette raised an eyebrow before trifling through his pockets to pull out a can of crab. "Maybe he could smell this on me? That would explain why he tackled me earlier." He flatly added opening the can without a second thought. Seriously, what was he doing? He should let the others handle the pest.

Chuuya stared at the open can silently laughing to himself. Some things never change, huh? Back when they were partners Dazai always carried around the same disgusting cans of crab with him. He contemplated pushing it away but at this point it was better than being relegated to eating dog food. Taking a hesitant bite it wasn’t as bad as he remembered it being. He lapped up the crab ignoring the rest of the office marveling his odd taste in sustenance.

"A dog who likes crab and Dazai? Atsushi, where did you even find such a creature?." Kunikida put his pen down for the moment. This situation was weird even for what they normally deal with. "Well he was just sleeping outside the entrance. I thought he was another stray until I saw the collar." Atsushi scratched the back of his neck. He didn't really think anything of picking up the dog since Kyouka had brought a cat to the office not too long ago. Kunikida pushed up his glasses “I guess Dazai should be the one to take care of it then.” Everyone in the

office nodded in agreement leaving Dazai in distress.

He scoffed “Why me? Might I remind everyone that I detest dogs!”

As Chuuya finished eating he casually walked back over to where Dazai was sitting and made himself comfortable in the brunette's lap. Kunikida laughed going back to his work. “Could have fooled me.”

Dazai grumbled, staring at the small creature. It wasn’t everyday that anyone trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. This dog really was like Chuuya. The thought only made him roll his eyes. “Yeah, as if.”

#bsd fanfic #skk #happy birthday chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #skk fanfic #soukoku

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