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lunasfics · 1 year ago

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Found Family

summary: In which Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent engage in a custody battle over a clone created from both their DNA, or, in which you get saved from a lab and gain two new families who would move mountains for you.

pairing: Bat Family x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 8.2k

preview

a/n: hello! IT'S FINALLY OUT WOOHOO, it's a bit long but i had a lot of fun writing it. certain characters may be a bit ooc so i do apologize as i'm still getting my footing on how to characterize certain people. let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated (just pls don't be mean lol)! i left a somewhat open-ish ending because i wanna make this into a series/universe, and will start taking requests for drabbles in this universe, depending on how this is received! - luna :)

reblogs are appreciated!

“I’m in. Robin, what’s your status?” Bruce spoke into the earpiece, swiftly moving through the shadows of the lab. It was a simple mission: get into the lab Lex Luthor had created under Gotham City, collect intel needed to take down said lab, and leave. Unfortunately, it’s never really that simple, is it?

“I’m in, making my way through the west wing, cover is still intact,” Damian muttered back.

“Good. Nightwing?”

“Just entered the center lab, heading down to the bottom level now, haven't been spotted,” Dick said, making his way down the steps, careful to remain silent.

“Good. Remember the objective. In and Out.” Bruce muttered as he continued, searching for the locked file cabinet he was looking for.

“Files located. Ready for extraction” Damian said quietly through the intercom.

“I’ve made it to the bottom level. Requesting immediate backup, there's something here you guys need to see” Dick’s voice echoed through the earpiece, “They’ve made another clone.”

Bruce stopped what he was doing, silently making his way down the hall towards the staircase Dick took around a half hour before, “I'm on my way. Damian?”

“Heading there now. Files are downloaded.”

Upon arriving at the lower level, Dick bypasses security to let them in, making sure to reactivate the lock behind them, “Look.”

He gestured to the incubation tube not far from them, inside of it stood a young woman, who looked no older than 20, wearing a black skin-tight suit, a familiar “S” symbol adorning her chest, only it was the center of another symbol, the bat symbol, with bat ears at the top and bat wings on either side of it, a dark burgundy color with gold lining along the edges. The plaque below the tube read:

Attempt 1: G6B24

Specimen 1: Superman (Identity: Unknown)

Specimen 2: Batman (Identity: Unknown)

Status: Failed - Shows excessive signs of emotional intelligence (unfit for purpose), Subject is not invulnerable, Lacks thermal vision

‘Emotional Intelligence’ you must have shown hesitation, a moral compass.

“Father… what are we going to do?” Damian asked, he was at a loss, part of him felt slightly threatened, if you were taken in, he would no longer be the only child related to Bruce by DNA, and you were older, stronger— perhaps you would take his place, the place he’d finally felt he truly belonged; however he remained silent, his past self likely would have attempted to argue against your rescue, but he’d grown, he knew deep down you deserved a chance at this life just as much as he did.

Bruce looked up at your unconscious figure, at a loss for words, you were his daughter, intentional or not, there was a part of him in you, he only hoped that part wouldn't screw you over for life. As surprised as he was, he had an obligation to you the same way he did with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Damian, and every other vigilante he had taken under his wing.

His Batman instincts kicked in very quickly though, immediately refocusing himself, reading through the files, in an attempt to prepare himself for any possible scenario, he turned to Dick.

“Find all the DNA samples they have belonging to both me and Superman, we’re taking them,” he said, making sure to not hyper-focus on the thoughts flooding his mind.

“We’re not just leaving her here, are we? The plaque says ‘failed’. Who knows what could happen to her?” Dick said, he was frustrated.

Conner had gotten a chance to build a life for himself. You deserved one too, the mere thought of Bruce wanting to leave you there angered him.

“She’s coming with us. Damian, watch the door, Dick, find the samples," Bruce said gruffly, moving to the tube, bypassing the database to open it, without setting off any system safeguards. He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his shard of kryptonite, just in case it was needed to neutralize you.

The tube opened slowly, a swoosh sound filling the air as the cold fog escaped the tube, spilling into the air, your eyes fluttering open as you looked around, your eyes focusing on him.

You flew at him, full speed, pushing him against the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of him, your eyes boring into his, glowing red, just as you were about to terminate him with your heat vision, he uttered the safe word he had seen in your file.

“Blue Pineapple” he grunted out, the red in your eyes fading away instantly, as you stared at him with wide eyes. You backed away slowly, lowering yourself to the floor. Your eyes fixed on him once again.

You recognized him from your programming, the man whose combat skills were engraved into your mind.

“Batman?”

Dick and Damian rushed over, making sure Bruce was okay. He was fine.

Dick turned to you, holding out his hand, “Come with me. We need to get you out of here, you aren’t safe here.”

You stared at him, your eyes narrowing, “Why should I trust you?”

Dick sighed, Those damn Wayne genetics, he kept his hand extended to you, “Because we’re helping you escape, if you come with us, you can meet Superman, be a hero just like him and Batman, you could actually see the world” he promised.

"I know what the world looks like." you stated bluntly.

He sighed, his hand not wavering, "But have you ever experienced it? Let us show you what that's like. You can have a life."

You thought for a moment, before letting out a small grunt, nodding at him and taking his hand, allowing them to lead you out of the lab grounds seemingly undetected.

When you stepped out, you stopped, eyes completely transfixed on the brilliant night sky. Blends of blues and purples and grays danced together to make the beautiful endless abyss above you. You knew every color there was. You knew everything, but at the same time you really didn't. You stared up at the stars, you knew how they came to be, you knew every scientific explanation there was yet seeing them… it made you feel a way you couldn’t explain.

They led you to the batmobile, situating you in the back seat with Damian, starting the drive to the Batcave. Bruce dialed Clark’s number into the keypad, it rang twice before he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Meet me in the Batcave. It’s urgent. Bring Conner.”

“What’s going o-”

He hung up.

Dick covered his mouth to hide his snicker, “So, Bruce, you and Clark have an official love child now, right? What will Lois think?” he feigned concern, placing the back of his hand over his forehead, committing to the drama, “Oh, how scandalous, I mean really, the shame! I can already see the headlines ‘Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne turned common whore after breaking up happy metropolis family’”

Damian covered his laugh with a cough.

You looked at the three of them, utterly confused, still processing what was going on.

Bruce huffed, shooting them both a glare, “Dick, be mature.”

Dick smiled, “I can't help myself, just wait til Jason finds out.” He smiled in excitement, as they pulled into the side entrance of the Batcave.

Bruce let out a deep, tired sigh.

Clark sat in silence in the Batcave, Conner standing to his left, his eyes wide as he stared at you, possessing some features belonging to both he and Bruce, and other features that seemed to be entirely your own.

You stared back, that same stoic nature radiating off of you that radiates off the Batman, however, he noted the defensive look in your eyes, one so similar to the one he saw in Conner when he first met him. He eyed your suit, noting the familiar “S” symbol, only it was a burgundy color, a rather interesting combination of the Batman and Superman emblems, and he was utterly confused.

He looked over at Bruce, still in his bat suit, his cowl pulled off, “Bruce, what the hell is going on?”

“I had to call you here because Luthor decided to create another clone. I did the DNA test, Clark, she’s a combination of both our DNA” Bruce looked at him, Dick and Damian standing to his right. It was silent for a moment, you felt like a guinea pig, the way they all stared at you. It made you angry.

Conner was the first to speak, stepping forward before opening his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “What’s your name?”

You responded immediately, it felt automatic. “Experiment attempt number one. Code G6B24. I was made to be the future killer of the Batman and the Kriptonian.”

He nodded slowly, “I’m a clone too, and Clark took me in— well, he took me in eventually— that’s besides the point. He showed me how to become my own person, we can help you do that too.”

You looked at him, eyes softening ever so slightly, but you kept your guard up like your Batman programming taught you to. “I was made to be a killer, if I don’t do what I was made to do, what am I worth?” you said quietly, voice unwavering.

Damian watched you, your words striking him in a way he hadn't expected them to, he understood what you were saying all too well.

Bruce decided to speak up next, “You were created, it’s not your fault what their intentions were when they did so. What you become from here on out is your choice.”

You stayed silent, eyes darting around the room—What is this feeling? Vulnerability? You knew it by definition, like you did most other feelings, but feeling them… it was different.

Dick noted the way you seemed overwhelmed, he approached you slowly, pulling up two chairs, motioning for you to sit, you chose to remain standing until he sat down first.

“You know, we trust you, we want to figure out a way for you to become the best you can be. On your terms” he said, offering you a small smile.

You looked around, the others nodded in agreement, “I was made to be only the best parts of you” you said, your gaze focusing on Clark and Bruce, they both put their best qualities forward to help others, how could you use those same qualities to destroy that?

“I… don’t want to be a killer. They said I was too… human. I thought I’d failed them.”

Damian decided to step forward, “You didn’t fail anyone, you are meant for greater things. You haven't killed anyone, you can choose your path. If the path you choose is the Robin mantle... I am willing to work with that.”

At this, the other men in the room turned to look at him, Clark and Conner were slack-jawed, this was the same kid who fought Tim tooth and nail over this mantle. The same mantle he was just… willing to give you?

Meanwhile Dick had a proud smile on his face, you thought you saw a small tear in his eye.

Bruce’s face seemed unreadable, however, you took notice of the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second. before reverting back to their natural state.

You weren’t sure what to say, again, you knew what this mantle was, by definition. The reality was you had no sense of what it meant, the weight it carried. And you knew that.

“Thank you, but I feel like that title isn’t mine to take. I think I need to… become something that's true to who I am, whatever that may be.”

Bruce looked at you, the corner of his lip barely twitching up into a smile, a smile so subtle that only someone of your… background would notice, an attempt of his towards getting you more comfortable, “We should start with a name.”

You looked at Conner, he gave you an encouraging smile.

“Like I chose Conner, so now I’m Conner Kent,” he said with a small shrug, “You can choose whatever you want.”

“I see,” you thought for a moment, “I like Y/n.”

Clark smiled, standing up and clapping his hands together, “Great! Y/n Kent, has a nice ring to it.”

“Wayne.”

He turned towards Bruce, eyes narrowing slightly, “Kent.”

“Wayne.”

This time Conner spoke, “Kent.”

The three men stared at each other, arms crossed mirroring each-other’s glares.

Dick cut in, “How about Grayson?”

“No.” came their simultaneous response.

Dick frowned, slumping in the seat next to yours, “Jeez.”

Damian spoke next, “I suppose Al Ghul is off the table…”

Dick snorted, breaking out into a fit of laughter, you grinned softly at the sounds of his laughter, it reminded you of a windshield wiper.

Conner sighed, “Fine, what about Wayne-Kent?”

Bruce huffed, “I suppose.”

Clark nodded, the smile returning to his face as he turned to you, “Y/n Wayne-Kent”

You nodded, “I like it.”

Dick could help but laugh from beside you, “It's like I'm watching reality tv. Love me some baby mama drama.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak and closed it, before sighing and looking at Bruce, who just pinched the bridge of his nose.

Conner chuckled at the sight, turning to Damian, who’s lip quirked up in amusement.

Bruce looked up, his attention directed towards you, “Y/n, you can stay here for the night, I’ve asked Alfred to set up a room for you. Clark, Conner, come by tomorrow with Lois and Jon, I’ve called the others to come by as well, we’ll get everything situated tomorrow. For now, get some rest.”

Everyone nodded, Clark and Conner heading to the exit of the cave, Damian, Dick and Bruce leading you to the room that was prepared for you.

Dick brought you a sweater and some sweatpants to change into, closing the door with a soft, “Goodnight, kiddo.”

You changed in silence, slowly getting under the covers and drifting off to sleep, marking the start of your new life. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

You woke up the next morning, to a soft knock on the door, your super hearing picking it up better than you would have liked. You opened the door, revealing an older man you hadn’t seen before. He smiled softly, giving you an instantaneous sense of comfort you couldn’t explain.

“Hello Miss Y/n. My name is Alfred, I am the butler,” he greeted you, handing you a folded set of clothes, “Master Kent chose these for you, however if they are not to your liking, do let me know.”

“They’re fine…Thank you.”

He smiled warmly, the kind old man giving you a nod, “Once you've changed, do come down, I’ve prepared breakfast. The other members of the family will arrive soon to meet you.”

You gave him a short nod, he smiled again, your demeanor reminding him of the young Bruce he’d looked after all those years ago. He shut your door softly before retreating down the staircase, leaving you in your room to change.

You picked up the small note that rested at the top of the pile, reading it over.

Comfortable, Practical, and cool. Hope you like it. - Conner

You looked down at the neatly folded clothes, unfolding a black long sleeve turtleneck shirt, the material was thick but breathable, you slipped it on with ease, the foreign material soft against your skin, you appreciated that it didn’t suffocate you.

You reached for the pants next, dark gray cargo pants, these were thicker, and the had an overwhelming amount of pockets. You slipped them on before slipping on the boots that were at the bottom of the stack and exiting the room, going down the staircase.

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with Bruce sitting at the head of the table, reading the paper calmly eating his pancakes, to his right sat Dick chatting excitedly to the boy next to him, who smiled at him as he listened, he was a slender boy with black hair who looked a bit younger than Dick. Then there was Alred, calmly enjoying his breakfast. Finally there was Damian on the other side of Bruce, leaving an empty seat between Damian and Alred. You sat down, the pale boy noticing you first.

Bruce looked up, “Tim, this is Y/n.”

“Hello.” You sat up awkwardly. One thing you never learned was how to navigate social interactions.

He studied you for a moment, offering you a small smile, “I’m Tim.”

You gave a nod, returning his smile with a smaller one of your own.

“She knows, by the way.” Dick chimed in.

His eyes widened, was that why you were there?

“How?”

All eyes are on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Damian spoke first.

“She’s a clone. Father will explain everything when everyone else arrives so as to not waste time, until then, hold on to your childish curiosity. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast.”

Dick nodded, “She was literally made for this shit.”

“Watch your language Master Dick, it is deplorable to speak in such a way at the table, much less in the presence of a lady.”

Dick blushed, “Sorry Alfred.”

Bruce simply gave a nod.

Tim slumped back in his seat, wanting to ask you questions about your abilities, your earliest memories, who were you a clone of, how your programming worked, the boy was itching to know it all.

Breakfast passed by relatively quickly after that, you weren’t bombarded with questions, much to your relief. Alfred kindly asked you how you slept to which you replied that you slept well. The sound of casual conversation and glassware scraping together filling the room. You enjoyed observing the atmosphere.

Clark and Conner were the first to arrive at the manor, greeting you happily, with them was a woman and a younger boy, who immediately went to sit by Damian.

Clark brought them over to you, the woman smiled warmly at you. It made you feel safe.

She held your hand in hers, “My name is Lois,” her voice was kind, genuine. You noted how she carried herself. Strong, secure, honest.

Clark was quick to bring Jon over, excited to introduce him, “This is my son, Jon.”

“Hi!” he beamed at you, you smiled, he was cute. Cheerful as he smiled brightly at you.

“Hello, my name is Y/n.” you greeted the two, who smiled at you.

Conner was the next to approach, “Did you like the clothes? I picked them out cause it was all I used to wear, but who knows, you may want something more… fashionable.”

You smiled softly, “They're nice, thank you.”

“On that note actually,” Clark said, “I was thinking we can take you shopping later, Bruce and I can pay.”

Bruce deadpanned, “That’s a joke, right?”

He smiled, “Of course, you’re paying for everything.”

“Sounds about right.”

Chatter filled the room not long after, Jon and Damian catching up on the couch while Conner and Tim started a conversation of their own.

The next people to arrive were three young women, blonde, brunette, and red hair. They had arrived together.

The blonde spoke first, “Why'd you call us here Bruce? We had planned for brunch.” She bitterly narrowed her eyes at him, the brunette behind her giving a short nod of agreement.

Bruce sighed, “We’re waiting on Jason. He’s late.”

“As always.” The redhead said with a sigh, though you could see she wasn't actually upset.

The blonde girl turned to you first smiling, “I’m Stephanie, but call me Steph. I’m assuming you’ll be joining our vigilante posse.” She seemed funny, and kind, like she truly cared for those around her.

“Somewhat, I don’t really know. I’m Y/n.” You said bluntly.

“Pretty name.” She smiled, gesturing to the red haired woman behind her, “This is Barbara, but she's really just Babs.” She then gestured to the brunette, “That’s Cass. She’s lovely.”

You looked at them and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled warmly at you, “You too, I’m so glad there’ll be another girl around, we can always use more company.” She smiled at you so kindly, despite having only just met you. Her voice was sweet, like honey.

Cass smiled softly at you, “Come to brunch with us later. Or, lunch, now since Jason is holding us up.”

You nodded your lip quirking up into a small smile, “I’d enjoy that.”

Truthfully, you didn't know what the fuck brunch was. But she said lunch and that you knew. You'd find out about brunch later.

Then, as if on cue, the man in question arrived, walking through the door, slipping off his brown jacket and tossing it on the couch. He was tall, with a stocky frame, jet black hair with a white streak on the front.

“This better be good.”

Tim mumbled, “Finally”

“Miss me Timmy?”

“Quite the contrary.”

The one called Jason laughed before giving him a small nudge, to which Tim swatted his hand away.

His eyes fixed on you, then on Bruce.

“Dude, seriously? Another one? You have a problem man. You’d think you would’ve stopped after me.”

Bruce stood up, “Jason, sit down. Now that you’re all here I wanted to introduce you to Y/n. She’s a clone, made from both mine, and Clark’s DNA.”

“Holy shit, man.”

“Jason, will you shut up?”

“Never.”

“As I was saying, she’ll be here in the manor for the time being, I’ll be training her and assessing her combat technique.”

“Hold on,” Clark interjected, “She should come with us, she needs to get the hang of her powers.”

“Clark, I have a state of the art training area in the cave.”

“So? We’re supers, all we need is an open field.”

“We need to assess her combat skills, and also assess the extent of her powers. She isn’t invulnerable. We need to prioritize getting to the bottom of that.”

Clark huffed but nodded, understanding the full extent of your abilities was vital in actually training you.

“It’s like I’m watching a custody battle.” muttered Steph, Barbara laughing quietly beside her.

“Wait- So Y/n is basically if you and Clark had a baby?” Tim gawked at them, his eyes shifting from Bruce to Clark, to you. When his eyes landed on you, he fired questions like he was on a time limit.

“How do Bruce’s genetics affect your abilities? Are you immune to kryptonite and invulnerable? How does your thermal vision work? Enhanced strength? Can you fly? Can you fly as fast as Superman? Do you have combat training? How do y-”

Conner smacked a hand over his mouth, leading him back to his seat, “Lets try not to overwhelm her with the questions.” He chuckled.

Tim nodded, looking up at you, “Sorry, Y/n.”

“That’s okay. To answer your questions, his genetics don’t necessarily have a huge impact on any of my abilities, I was created with every available video of Batman fighting embedded into my mind, and the combat skills were engraved in my memory, I should be able to replicate his fighting style to a tee. I’m not invulnerable, but in theory, the stealth I was programmed with allows me to stay agile enough that I shouldn’t often get hurt. I don't have thermal vision, but I do have laser vision, enhanced strength, and flight, although I haven’t tested how fast I actually can fly. And like I said, my combat training is essentially the combat footage uploaded into my mind.”

Tim had nodded, eyes trained on yours in complete interest as you answered each question, occasionally jotting something down on the notes app of his phone.

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly at both Bruce and Clark, “I do hope you’re factoring in giving her the opportunity to build an actual social life. Maybe get her enrolled in school.”

“She has doctorate-level information on several different topics stored into her mind, as well as fluency in 8 languages. I think she’ll be fine, Lois,” Bruce replied.

She rolled her eyes, “Okay, so school’s not necessary, what about building a social life for herself? That’s important.”

“There’s Young Justice,” Conner said, “I figured she’d join.”

Tim nodded in agreement, “I can help her get situated.”

“Where will I stay?” you asked, you didn’t particularly enjoy how they were all discussing you as if you weren't there, but there honestly wasn’t much you could do.

“You can stay at the manor, or you can stay with the team, but it'd be best if you lived here in the Manor.” Bruce replied.

“Why isn’t Metropolis an option?” Clark muttered.

“Because it’s more practical to have her here in Gotham, living with Tim will make it easier to adjust to the team.”

“I want time with her, Bruce.”

“You’ll get it. We’ll have her assessed, then three times a week she’ll train and get a hold of her powers with you.”

Clark nodded, satisfied with that answer.

Lois spoke again, turning to you, “Y/n, how does that sound to you?”

You blinked. “It sounds fine. My super hearing allows me to hear every conversation proficiently.”

She chuckled softly, “It’s a figure of speech sweetheart, I meant if you’re okay with everything that was said, you’ve been a bit quiet.”

You felt your face grow hot, “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Clark gave you a fond smile.

Bruce looked at you and smiled softly, a barely noticeable one, but a smile nonetheless.

The bulk of the conversation was over. The people in the room falling into easy conversation with one another, you look around, not sure what to do. That is until Jason approaches you, a kind smile on his face.

“Hey Y/n, I’m Jason, I’ll be honest, you probably won't see me too often cause I can barely stand being around Bruce, but… if he’s ever a dick, call me and I’ll either punch him for you and take you somewhere he’s not.” he grinned, “Or both.”

You laughed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll be raiding the kitchen, but if anyone asks, I left.” He shoots you a grin before slipping away.

It’s not long after that when Jon approaches you, Damian by his side, he shoots you a toothy grin, “So, you’re like, my sister now, right?”

You’re not sure how to respond, but you feel a puddle of warmth pooling in your heart, it’s nice. You smile at him softly, “I suppose so.”

He grins, “And that would also make you Damian’s sister. right?”

“I suppose so.”

“See Damian, we’re blood brothers by extension.”

“Jon, that is the most imbecilic logic I’ve ever encountered. Just because Y/n is both my blood and yours doesn’t mean–”

“Blood brothers!” He had shouted cheerfully, before walking away and over to Lois to inform her of the good news.

Damian sighed, though you took notice of the soft smile that flashed across his face, you concluded that he cared for him.

A lot of people in this family– Bruce’s family specifically, tend to hide affection, despite the fact that it is apparent to you that they feel it. You decide not to focus on it, people are complicated.

You chat a bit with various people in the room, Lois telling you that you’re always welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Barbara talking to you about how her work as Oracle, Steph telling you all about the other vigilantes you’ll probably end up crossing paths with. Tim and Conner sat by you, telling you all about the team and the people you’ll meet once all your training is done.

Slowly, people start to leave, you saw Jason slip out the front door first, sending you a wink. Dick left not long after, needing to return to his responsibilities in Bludhaven, making sure to tell you you’re always welcome to visit him over there. Then Clark left with Lois, Jon, and Conner, leaving the residents of the manor plus, Cass, Steph and Barbara.

Damian and Tim had retreated to their rooms, while Alfred busied himself with household chores, Bruce stood up, approaching you before saying, “Did you still want to go shopping? You’ll need training clothes.”

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

Steph perked up, rushing towards the two of you, “Oh, we have to come.”

“Steph, you go shopping every week. With my card.”

Barbara chimed in, “It’s not about that Bruce, you have a terrible fashion sense. We can’t let you impose that onto Y/n.”

Cass nodded in agreement.

“We’re just buying training clothes.”

“She can’t wear training clothes in her daily life,” Steph rolled her eyes, “She needs a wardrobe.”

You smiled, “I would like a wardrobe.”

“See?”

Bruce sighed but nodded, “Let's go then.”

Steph cheered while Barbara and Cass high-fived behind her, it was an amusing site.

When you arrived at the mall, Steph immediately linked arms with you, dragging you around to her favorite stores, paying no mind to your super strength potentially being able to accidentally break her arm. It caught you off guard, not only the physical display of affection, but the trust.

Again, you felt that soft puddle of warmth pool in your chest. You could get used to that.

You had gotten to know Barbara and Cass fairly well during the trip as well, Barbara was sweet, she and Steph made you laugh more than you thought you could. Cass and you got along well too, she picked out the clothes you liked the most, always nodding in approval when you would try anything on, a soft smile on her face. The three of them opened their group up to you so quickly, it had surprised you, you felt that with their company you were better able to navigate finding yourself.

The four of you hadn’t paid much mind to Bruce trailing behind you as you went from store to store, not that he minded. He held a fond smile as he observed the four of you giggling, talking, and having a good time.

He knew his focus on training was important, but he also knew Lois was right (not that he’d admit that to anyone), you needed a social life too. And he knew your heightened emotional intelligence would surely allow you to obtain that, you just needed to blossom, and allow yourself to break free of the restraints you put on yourself.

He’d lost count of how many times he had swiped his card that day, at some point he had decided to just start waiting by the front, once you guys were ready, he’d walk over, swipe his card, and you guys would move on to the next shop. He wouldn't say this to anyone, but he enjoyed doing things like this, taking care of the people he cares about.

The last store you had gone to was WayneTech, it was Bruce’s idea. You needed a phone in order to keep everyone’s contacts. So they brought you there where you got the latest model of their cell phone line, it was sleek and thin. You picked out a case and you got a screen protector. Bruce had told you that once you got to the Batcave he’d input league contacts, safety features, as well as league-level security settings.

By the end of the trip it was early in the evening, Bruce had his arms absolutely filled with shopping bags, and what he couldn’t carry was carried by you and Steph. The five of you stepped out into the parking lot, the sun setting, casting a deep orange hue on the parking lot. You took in the image in front of you, you didn’t know suns could set so beautifully.

The ride home was nice, the car was filled with the soft chatter of the four of you, Bruce didn’t feel the need to listen in. The soft music playing on the stereo as a background was a nice addition to the atmosphere.

When you’d arrived at the manor, the girls had bid you goodbye, but not before making sure they had your number to add you to their group chat. You were warned by Steph that Cass’s meme game could not be beat. You were slightly confused but nodded, a happy smile on your face. They each gave you a hug before getting in their cars and heading off.

The walk into the manor was silent, but not awkward, mainly the two of you taking armfuls of bags up to your room.

As he shut the door, Bruce turned to you, “It’s not too late, if you want, we could start out on some training.”

You nodded, going into your room to change, “I’ll be down there in a bit.”

He nodded, walking away to change as well.

You entered the Batcave shortly after, comfortable in your black sweatpants, and a black long sleeve athletic shirt. Now, having a better opportunity to take it all in, it was massive. You looked to your left to see Damian sparring with Tim in one of the further training areas. You walked over to Bruce, he gave you a small smile, leading you to the second training area by Tim and Damian, who by now had stopped sparring, in favor of observing your skill.

“You can replicate my fighting style to a tee, right?”

You nodded.

“Let’s see it.”

You charged first, making sure to suppress your strength, your movements swift and calculated, landing a fast right kick to his abdomen. He sidestepped, landing a swift punch to your side. You kept attempting attacks on eachother, each one dodging the other flawlessly.

Tim and Damian watched in awe as the two of you gracefully moved, as if you were dancing. This went on for several minutes, until you attempted a fast left kick to his side, which he caught, using as leverage to flip you over on your back.

Your limbs ached, you looked up at him, “How did you do that?”

He held a hand out to help you up, “I’m not as fast with my left kicks as I am with my right ones. My weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

You nodded. Made sense.

“You have good technique, and you replicate my fighting perfectly, but that’s all it is. A replication. You need to make it your own. Adapt it in accordance with your abilities, you can’t do that now because Clark hasn’t trained you, but in time you will.”

You nodded, your chest swelling with pride at his compliment, you knew after your training with Clark you would be able to better adjust your fighting style.

Damian walked over to you, “Y/n. I’d like to spar, you’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.”

You nodded, it would be good to spar with someone with a different fighting style. Tim sat down to the side, perfectly content with just observing for now, like earlier, he occasionally jotted down some notes on his phone. You decided you didn’t mind it. It was endearing.

This time, Damian charged first, landing a swift right kick to your ribs, you turned and landed a hard kick to his chest, sending him back, before he flipped and caught himself, running towards you again. His smaller frame provided him with an advantage as he jumped onto your shoulders, before he could land his blow, you flipped your body, sending him to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. You crouched over him, extending your hand.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” he took your hand, getting up to his feet, you gave him a soft smile, which he returned, giving you a nod of approval. He, like Bruce, didn’t often use his words, but you were able to discern their intentions just fine.

Bruce then led you to a machine he had in the cave, where it analyzed your genetics in comparison to Clark’s, he had determined you were missing the genetic composition that happened to be the main source of invulnerability, therefore the reason you were the way you were. You are unfortunately still weak when exposed to kryptonite.

You were tired by the end of the night. You felt you had bonded with Damian, he had asked you to spar with him another time, to which you agreed.

The next day, Bruce had sent you over to Smallville, where Clark had decided on training you, ‘A good old fashioned open field’ were his exact words.

He made sure to send you wearing your original suit, not knowing how fast you would be flying, just in case, only you didn’t like it, so you opted to wear some sweats over the suit.

And there you were, floating about 300 feet in the air with him, as he explained the basics of flying.

“You want to create your own leverage, using your flight, you should be able to do this.” He bent one leg, tilting to the right as he effortlessly glided in that direction, he repeated the action only now going in the opposite direction.

You nodded, imitating his movements, gliding from side to side before stopping and looking at him. He smiled brightly at you, “You’re doing great, kid. There was never a point where you didn’t have powers, so this should be easy. Now, we’ll test your speed.”

You nodded, “How are we doing that?”

He pulled out a stopwatch, “I’m going to wait here while you fly to Gotham and back. You know the route?”

You nodded.

“Okay… and…. Go!”

You immediately shot forward, a slightly bumpy start but your body adapted immediately, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and a smile spread across your face as you made a U-turn around Gotham, making it back to Clark in seconds.

“2.6 seconds. That’s good.” He smiled at you.

You went on like that for the next few hours, him giving you encouraging words of advice, and you gained better control over your abilities, him providing you with tips he learned over the years. For that last hour, Jon and Conner joined the two of you, the four of you eventually just playing air tag until Martha and Lois called you in for dinner.

They insisted you stay for dinner, and you had no mind to refuse, spending time with them was nice. Jon insisted he sat next to you at dinner, excitedly talking your ear off about whatever he’d gotten to that day, and sharing his favorite stories about Damian with you. He acts like he doesn't like people, but he’s got a soft spot for a lot of us, were his exact words. You honestly completely agreed, you smiled at him as he continued talking.

That day you’d gotten to know Martha and Jonanthan Kent, who insisted you called them Ma and Pa. They instantly coddled you as if they’d known you since birth, though, in a way, that is technically the case.

They didn't let you leave empty handed, sending you off with tupper-ware filled with leftovers, cookies and pie. You thanked them for their hospitality and headed back to the manor.

The next few months were mainly doing morning and evening training with Bruce, occasionally Dick would stop by to train with you, always telling you he was proud of your improvement, which never failed to make you glow just a little brighter with pride. He’d begun a tradition where he would treat you to a burger after training, or whatever it was you were craving. He said that it was his goal to get you to try every fast food joint in Gotham, deciding that it was just an essential part of living there. You quickly decided you hated fast food, but never said anything because that wasn’t at all what mattered to you, what mattered to you was the bond you were creating with your older brother.

Your relationship with Bruce wasn’t perfect. There were times you saw how focused he was on his mission, neglecting the feelings of those around him, he could be an asshole. And with you still navigating your emotions, you’d get angry and yell, and so would he. If you saw him brushing off Damian, or Tim, one look at the crestfallen expressions on their faces was enough to get you angry. You shouldn’t have been surprised, truthfully, you weren’t. You were too similar. You were just fortunate enough to be surrounded by people early on who could convince you to let them in.

Regardless of the imperfections between you and Bruce, you knew he cared. He always showed it with the small smile he’d give you as he held up two tickets to the movie you had wanted to see. Or in the way he’d lure everyone into the living room with snacks for a movie night. Or how he’d try his best to always express to you that you were doing well. That you were enough, and that you deserved to be there.

You’d grown closer with Tim, too, always willing to help him with his assignments (not that he often needed it, but on the rare occasions his sleep deprived self couldn’t wrap his head around a problem). You’d often go to him when you needed help figuring something out on your phone, to which he would offer a simple solution you hadn’t seen before.

Tim was kind, he showed he cared for you by fixing things, when you cracked your screen protector by accidentally tapping it too hard, he made you a new one that could withstand the force of a bullet. He learned to confide in you over time, telling you about Bernard, expressing his worries to you about whether or not he’s good enough. You’d always tell him he was more than good enough.

Damian had taken to calling you ‘sister’, often challenging and teasing you when he could, you’d developed a relationship where he’d go to you for company. You’d sit in the garden and take in the life around you, while he sat a few feet away and drew it.

Once, he drew you while you weren’t looking, when he finished, he handed it to you without a word and walked away. In the bottom right corner you read ‘Y/n Wayne-Kent’ in neat handwriting, just below that, ‘sister’. That was the first time he’d used that word for you. Your heart swelled.

You continued seeing Steph, Barbara, and Cass, regularly having lunch with them and talking with them on the phone. Barbara, or as you now called her, Babs, was always there to guide you when you needed it, she’d often send you small gifts from time to time, like jewelry that reminded her of you.

Cass and you would often find the most peaceful company in each other. She would listen to you talk about all the things you'd been learning, telling you about her own experience adjusting to a new life.

Steph and you bonded over poorly written hallmark movies, she always giggled madly when you would point out plot inconsistencies, wearing the most confused expression she had ever seen on a person, you didn’t understand why at first, you would just state facts, but you always enjoyed the time with her. She always says you guys should start a podcast, and you always agree. You hope she never asks you what a podcast is... because you genuinely didn't know.

True to his word, you didn’t see Jason often, but there were a few instances where you felt particularly suffocated by Bruce’s training that you took him up on his offer to take you somewhere he wasn’t. Those moments were... nice. Every time, he would bring food, and take you to his apartment, where you talked about books and he introduced you to some of his favorite movies. You didn’t know why he and Bruce didn’t get along, but you chose not to pry.

Alfred had taken a liking to you instantly, he enjoyed giving you etiquette lessons, and would bake all kinds of scones and cookies for you to try. His humor was at times very dry and sarcastic, which never failed to make you laugh. He taught you how to bake once, finding you were exceptionally good at it, ‘Miss Y/n, I think we’ve found your natural talent’. You hadn’t expected to be good at it, but Alfred said you were phenomenal.

You’d also train with Clark 3 times a week, getting even closer with the Kents, integrating yourself in both families. It was interesting being part of two very different families. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Clark had shown you a lot about your powers, but it was never just training. It had become a necessity for the two of you to fly to some famous landmark and have lunch together, before flying back to Smallville for more training.

Clark was constantly trying his best for you, he still had his regrets from his initial relationship with Conner, and although he was forgiven and their relationship was rebuilt, he knew he lost time. And he absolutely refused to repeat that and hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it.

You always stayed for dinner, you found that you could never say no to Jon, the one time you tried was awful, you felt so bad that you went back the next day and took him shopping. With Bruce's card, duh.

Jon was stuck to you like glue whenever you were over. He always insisted on sitting by you and talking to you about whatever he’d been up to. He flew around with you a lot, you guys would play games that he taught you how to play. Your favorite moments were when he and Damian would allow you in to watch them play video games because ‘How do you not know how to play video games? That’s just wrong. We’ll teach you.’

Conner had spent more and more time with you as well, telling you about a lot of social cues, the importance of boundaries, etc. He was determined to help you adjust in every way he could, he shared his experiences with you when he first started working in teams. You learned a lot from him, he was very affectionate with you, but in that awkward-older-brother way. He’d give you a soft pat on the back and a smile, he knew you’d do just fine.

Lois became your role model, you truly admired her. She was strong, outspoken, confident. She helped you not be afraid of forming your own opinions and voicing them. One time she saw you yell at Bruce over something he’d done, and all she could do was smile proudly.

These people whose lives you just appeared in one day, very quickly became your family. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have come to care for them as much as you do. Bonding with them was nice, and you very quickly understood the appeal of having family.

These are people who care for you unconditionally, simply because they want to. Because every moment that they spend with you, they choose to.

And just like that, you were ready to meet the team. You had learned to combine your combat skills with your powers, if you need to, you can fight in mid air. You’d learned to incorporate your abilities into your technique to enhance your own personal style. And it felt amazing.

You knew every possible way to deliver an effective, non-lethal blow. Of course, you needed a suit. Bruce offered to enhance the one you had worn the day they rescued you, but you wanted a new one. To you, that suit represented what you were created to be, and that is not who you are. You wanted something true to yourself, and he understood and wholeheartedly supported you. Damian helped you make a sketch, and together you’d designed the perfect representation of you. And you became Eclipse. The alignment of two heroes, though unintentional, created a whole new hero. You.

Taglist- @one-green-frog @bonniecat @minnieearsposts @chickentenderx @murkyponds @loserwithnofriends @ilikefanfics4 @fangirlvibez @instantplaiddream @lovelywritersgarden @calicocat45 @strawberrycreamh @sappynappysworld @zyuuuu @allycat4458 @lovelypitasworld @batfamlover @pterodactyl-hater @american-idiot21 @starlets-things @th1s-b1tch-1s-dead @dontgivemeyourname @normal-internet-user @sillyfinn @lostgirlsstuff @llvmakk @princess76179 @vanessa-boo @1lellykins @blitzythefanvergentpitsterthings @samibrewss @pickyblue12 @thetiredtoad0-0 @lacklustertrashbag (I'm not sure why some people's tags didn't work,, I am very sorry, if anyone has suggestions onhow to fix that i'm open to fix them)

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ordinorultor-if · 9 months ago

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Welcome to Ordinor Ultor!

You’ve ruled the Duchy of Akize, the southwesternmost duchy in the Kingdom of Ribaur, for 15 years, since the year 1107 ME.

15 years ago, your Liege had your parents executed for a plot they had no part in.

Despite becoming a ruler while only a teenager, your lands have done well - no thanks to your Liege’s proclamations. Despite the annoying interference, you would have been content to just administer your lands and pay your taxes.

But one day, your Liege goes too far, and wrongs one of your siblings - personally.

You’ve had enough. You and your siblings will chafe no longer under the yoke of that tyrant. You will be free from oppression - whatever it takes.

Choose your character's name, the name of their noble house, and whether they are a Duke (male), Duchess (female), or Dux (enby).

Choose which foreign land your mother hailed from - such as the northern court of Ostroway or the island nation of Sayland.

Pick the type of education you received - were you taught how to use the shadows of Intrigue? How to construct Martial strategies? Or something else?

Interact with your friends and family, possibly including your foreign cousins.

Choose how to deal with your Liege - will they be put on Trial, will you lead an armed Rebellion, or will you take to the shadows to have them Assassinated?

Pick from four gender-selectable ROs - two fellow vassals and two foreign nobles.

Deal with various interest groups - such as the Peasants you rule over, your fellow Vassals, the religious head known as the Hierophant, and more.

Ordinor Ultor takes palce in a low(ish...) fantasy world, with the protagonist's home country of Ribaur being inspired by medieval France.

I'm relatively new to coding, so I can't promise a concrete update schedule yet (also, if anyone has any advice and/or resources for me to use, I'd be very grateful!). That being said... VERSION 1.5 - RELEASED 7/29/24

I hope everyone enjoys!

#interactive fiction #ordinor ultor if #intro post

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dailyadventureprompts · 8 months ago

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DM Tip: Lining up the Pieces

A few years ago I saw a video that changed the way I design combat encounters, using chess pieces and 4th edition monster roles as a handy way of conceptualizing the enemy roster and making better combat.

I’ve wanted to refer back to it for ages now, but I can’t seem to find it. As such, I’m going to reproduce it’s wisdom here for everyone’s benefit and hope I can find the source one day. ( I feel like it was a Matt Coville video, but my searches have turned up nothing. Seriously, if you can find it I will be extra grateful).

TLDR: You can break down enemy combatants into six (ish) roles represented by different kinds of chess pieces, and you can mix and match them when designing encounter to create fun tactical scenarios. You can also use this as an alternative to CR picking a “budget” of these enemy roles based on how many players are in the fight. Check out the types below the cut:

Infantry (pawn): Generally weaker and mechanically simpler than any other type of combatant, the infantry uses teamwork or sheer numbers to overwhelm the party. This can be anything from rank and file soldiers to a necromancer’s skeletal minions to a pack of wolves, anything that takes up space on the battlefield and prevents the party from targeting who they want or generally getting their way in a fight. 5e combat is a numbers game, and the infantry is there to swing the numbers in the enemy’s favour (until the party cut through them to even the odds). Infantry likes battlemaps with chokepoints they can hold and crossroads they can use to outflank opponents. When budgeting they’ll have a balance of 2 infantry per 1 player they’re matched against , but the weaker they are, the thinner you can spread them.

Brute (rook): High defence, high offence, the brute is an outright threat that the party should not want to take in a head to head fight. Giants, beasts, constructs, and heavy armoured warriors are your traditional brutes, but you could also go with a buffed to hell battlemage getting all up in the party’s face. Conversely, every brute has some kind of weakness that the party can exploit. They might be slow, or be unable to maneuver as easily, or like a werewolf, fiend, or troll, have particular weapons or damage types that overcome their natural resilience. Their job is to force confrontation, blunder into the middle of combat and force the party to act defensively rather than proactively. They soak up the party’s frontline’s attention while forcing the mid/backlines to scatter under the threat of too much raw damage. The brute Likes open spaces where they can have a direct path to the party and dead ends they can corner their targets against. Budget: Around 1 per 3 players

Skirmisher (knight): A very broad type of opponent, the skirmisher’s job is to bully the party’s weapsots whenever they’re exposed. They can do this by being ranged fighters ( traditional archers, magic users) or by being highly mobile (stealthy, mounted, flying, teleporting). They’re the bane of the party’s backline, generally targeting whoever has the lowest armour/or least health, then using their evasiveness to deny any kind of retaliation when the group rallies to protect their squishy friends. Skirmishers have great offence but are generally pretty weak, made helpless when you can deny them their movement/terrain advantages. Skirmishers like unfair fights, terrain that gives them a movement advantage, cover, or allows them the highground over their foes. Budgeting: 1 per 1-2 players.

Controller (bishop): The controller’s job is to fuck with the party, Either by locking down some of their stronger options (counterspelling, mind control, status effects, grapples), by manipulating the battlefield in some way that disrupts planning (aoe spells to prevent grouping together, summoning to reinforce numbers, barriers and banishment to single targets out), Or by advancing the baddies’ goal while the party is otherwise occupied (the cult priest finishing the disastrous ritual, the master thief making off with the mcguffin) forcing them to split their attention. The controller likes to distinctly be away from combat, and will usually be on the otherside of some kind of hazardous/hard to bypass barrier, sometimes of their own making. Budgeting: 1 per 2-3 players:

Support (king): Usually a healer, bodyguard, or some kind of buff-bot, the support wants to piggyback on other sorts of units or make them better at doing their jobs. Generally this means they’ll ignore whatever the party is doing to focus on staying with effective range of those who most benefit from their abilities. Supports will stay back in safety while throwing out buffs, bodyguards will put themselves between the party and their designated defendee. They tend to prefer whatever type of terrain most benefits their partners. 1- 2-3 players

Elite (queen): Something to be reckoned with, an Elite mixies the strength and abilities of two other kinds of combatants and uses both to devastating effect. Combine a brute and a support for an unstoppable frontline commander, or infantry and a skirmisher for an elite striketeam that attacks in perfect coordination before fading back into the shadows. Mix and match for whatever combination you think would be most interesting for a situation, then supplement it with a different unit or two for contrast. Elites make up your traditional “big bad and minions” bossfight, without escalating to the full party challenge of “solo” monsters. Budgeting: 1 per 3-4 players.

Picking the right Pieces:

Generally what you're going to want to do when planning a combat is to first think of what the baddies are trying to acomplish with the fight then pick 2-3 different types of baddie that you think would work well in concert to achieve that goal. "Kill the party" is an all too common goal, but you could easily imagine others that provide for dynamic stakes:

A group of forest bandits intend to rob a caravan, so they unleash a captive warbeast as a distraction while their archers rain chaos from above (Infantry, brute, skirmisher)

A villain abducts an important npc into a carriage while their dutiful muscle run interference (controller, brutes)

A necromancer hurls curses from behind a barricade of gravestones while their undead minions pour from surrounding tombs ( Controller/infantry)

While the party is ambushed by an archer in a tower, a cloaked figure waits in the underbrush, waiting for them to thin out and begin picking them off one by one (paired skirmishers of different types)

After the fighter is tricked into single combat against the mounted arena champion, the rest of the party will have to search the crowd for the caster secretly channeling healing magic to their opponent. ( combined brute/skirmisher elite, support)

Once you've got your pieces picked out, you can start designing the battle arena taking the desires of each combatant into account while also throwing in any environmental flourishes you'd like to enjoy.

As an added benefit for DMs like me who don't have the inclination or budget to collect huge batches of minis, it's SUPER easy to pick up a second hand chess set or two and use them as stand ins. Your players will have an instinctive understanding of what each piece does which will help them understand the roles outlined above.

Artsource

#dm tip #dm advice #combat #dap combat hack #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder

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shadesoflsk · 9 months ago

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MOONTALK

pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN Reader.

summary: After retiring, Leon often has nightmares about his past. Talking under the moon's gaze seems to help.

warnings: Smut MDNI, just oral (m receiving), angst to fluff to smut hehe, mentions of death, violence, and alcohol, catholic symbolism, dad bod leon hehe (x2) subby leon, reader is called spouse.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: Hello! This is very simple since I'm trying to get better at writing smut for gender neutral readers :) There's not enough content and while I improve at writing the whole sex scene I shall bring you this! (I'm open to suggestions or constructive criticism.) As always, I hope you're having a good week!

The starry night is chosen to be Leon’s witness in the middle of his stolen slumber.

It’s a common occurrence, part of himself longs for the pain-filled activity since it serves as a reminder of his own life. Night terrors scare him more than his anxiety. The first one clings to his soul and threatens him with an inability to wake up. Helpless to his own mind, he prefers to be fully awake.

However, his brain isn’t his friend. Even when awake and aware of his surroundings, his mind would recreate scenarios he has lived before. Blood dripping and sticking to his combat boots, the smell of the iron-ish liquid filling his nostrils painfully making its home in Leon’s head, messing up with his perception of the world and himself.

Somewhere in that messed up path, he had found you.

He didn’t intend to, it wasn’t in his plans to. He had locked his heart and thrown the key somewhere in the sea of his failures.

A feeling of regret brimmed in Leon’s soul. How could his name be attached to yours if the sole mention of Leon Scott Kennedy brought memories of hell on Earth? A former rookie cop, ready to risk his life on duty turned into the government's best weapon. He’s made peace with that, ever since his mission in San Francisco his life has gotten significantly better.

But that doesn’t mean it has stopped hurting.

He once heard Jesus presented his left cheek to be slapped. In the past, he’d have imagined the mere thought of being that naive was ridiculous.

“You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.”

Now, that passage has been planted in his heart like a thorn that wouldn't go away no matter how much he pinched the skin. But rather than being a bothersome feeling, it shaped him into the man he is now.

He would never be Jesus, he knows that much. Ever since he was a kid, his connection to religion was always dangling between trust and distrust; faith and doubt. Fear crossed his juvenile and innocent expression whenever he came across a statue of the people’s lord and savior.

God bad, Jesus good. People good and bad. The Old Testament was the backbone for Leon’s hatred towards God. If this supernatural being ‘loved’ his people, why would he punish them?

Sins are ambiguous. Killing is bad. But if he had killed creatures that were no longer humans, is he a sinner without redemption?

He’s still coming around that last statement. Were they really no longer humans?

That’s why he prefers the New Testament. A fresh start, a new life being born. Jesus wouldn’t judge him for the man that he was and is.

And just like him, he turned his left cheek in a mission in San Francisco years ago, when he ended Maria’s life. Bitter and revengeful for killing her father, the woman made it her mission to murder Leon. But ultimately (and ironically) she ceased to exist in Leon’s arms.

‘Revenge’ was met with a ‘Now you can be with your dad again.’ Merciful, he had granted her a last moment of peace.

The soundless night heightens Leon’s senses. As he tries to brush off his worries, some footsteps break the unnerving silence that Leon is in. His ears focus on the soft pace that he easily identifies as yours.

Recognition turned into monotone and monotone into mundane. And don’t get him wrong, God he loves feeling he has finally found his home.

Leon’s arms are resting on the balcony railway, blue eyes focused on the starry night.

“You should be sleeping.” He flatly says without turning to face you. Not out of apathy but guilt. Not being next to you has woken you up.

“Can’t sleep without my husband.”

Sensing you approaching, he opts to tease, trying to divert your attention somewhere else. “Wouldn’t be my dear spouse if you weren’t clingy.”

“I’m not clingy.” But you wouldn’t allow Leon’s usual antics. You know them by heart, lighthearted jokes instead of facing reality. “I’m just worried,”

“You worry too much.”

“But I’m always right.”

A sigh.

Teeth biting the inside of his cheek.

“It’s hard to sleep sometimes.” The phrase is not directed at you, but a response to his own thoughts. For him, safe and sound sleep is a blessing he’s not lucky enough to receive.

“I know.” And then again, your reply isn’t about yourself. A feeble smile appears on your face out of empathy and partial understanding. Standing next to him, your elbows rest on the balcony railway, the chill air sending goosebumps through your skin. “Did you dream about something?”

Leon’s eyebrows knit in concentration as he mull over her question. When he tries recalling his past moment of slumber he is met with the usual gruesome scenario and the same gut-wrenching screams.

“Same old tale.” He exhales. In the past he would have had a glass of whiskey in his hand, tilting the content to one side as he gazed over the starry sky. But he made a promise, and as much as his past comes back to haunt him, he’d keep it.

“Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Why I don't believe you?”

He brings a calloused hand to his mouth as he registers your words. Under the moonlight, his expression gives away his exhausted state, a hint of darkness around his eyes, a permanent faint frown.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yet here I am asking.” It’s not until now that you notice Leon’s shirtless torso. Most of his scars are turning a light white color while his bruises are changing their hues. His body is not the same from a few years ago. His abdomen no longer shows off his chiseled abs but a slightly round and soft belly.

“Feels like I’m walking in circles.” He finally answers with his eyes closed. His restless mind can’t give him a break. Unable to completely live in peace, he finds himself pondering about his own humanity.

“The past is always clearer at night.” With an expression akin to resignation, he looks at you. “And the past tells me I’m a monster.”

The faint sound of the clock could be heard even when they were both gazing into the sky and letting their thoughts be consumed by the chill night. It reaches the dreaded ‘Devil’s hour,’ 3 AM.

“You aren’t a monster.” And it is the truth. While Leon is a complex man, it is not a difficult task to unravel and search through the layers he has covered himself in. His heart beats for the nation and therefore its citizens.

“If I’m not a monster then what am I?” He replies, his face growing somber. “If what I’ve done isn’t destruction what is it?”

“Salvation.”

It is far from salvation. It’s selfish to even think that way.

Sadly, Leon was the designated pawn to complete the job nobody wants to do.

Sadly, Leon is no more than a victim in the web of despair and destruction.

“Salvation.” He scoffs, a sharp ironic demonstration that your words weren’t the best. “I used to fight while the innocents kept falling at my feet.”

A glimpse of a past self appears in front of you. Chaos and loathing unfurls.

It’s been years since you last saw the man who used to drown himself in the deadly burning liquid. However, the alcohol no longer filled the empty spaces in his body and soul.

Truthfully speaking, nobody can fix or heal anyone. But you gladly took the role of being Leon’s partner in life. Not only romantically speaking. Silently, you made a home in Leon’s heart and he was too comfortable with you to ask you to leave him.

“You didn’t do it in the first place.” You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The government did.”

“But I was just another bullet in a gun.” He replies softly, his gaze drifting forward. Even after all of these years, he couldn’t completely shake off the guilt that kept haunting him. “Another man with his finger on the trigger… I was just a man with a gun.”

“And you’re also a man with a heart.” You respond immediately, not giving him a chance to continue his venom-filled words toward himself.

“If you were the demon you think you are, these late-night thoughts wouldn’t be haunting you as they do. You wouldn’t be mourning every soul even after all these years.” Your words bring a sense of comfort amidst the internal battle that is occurring inside him. The weight of his burden has always been more bearable with you.

“You think I’m that much of a saint?” A faint smile tug at Leon’s lip. A troubled expression on his face tells you he is still not believing your words. Or perhaps, he feels like he shouldn’t believe you.

“I don’t think you’re a saint. Humans are much more than black or white, good or bad. We are gray.”

Your statement is true. Humans are far from being one-dimensional beings. The balance has always been there and he knows it. When he was a child and religion was still an important part of his life, he remembers when Jesus protected Mary Magdalene.

‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’

Leon had stained his hands with blood and gore, but he had also saved countless lives when the odds were against him.

“God… I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” He laughs, finally bringing you closer to him with his arm around your waist.

“No, you’re just human.” You reply, admiring the view your balcony provides, you think about the endless possibilities in life. If you hadn't met Leon, where would you be? And if Leon hadn't met you? How his life would look right now?

Universe works in mysterious ways, if you hadn't been in the right place at the right time, you wouldn't have your soulmate next to you.

A comfortable silence sets in as Leon finally relaxes and gives his mind a break. There were days and nights in which his brain was weak, but that doesn’t mean he hasn't gotten better.

“I would do laundry and taxes with you in every timeline.” You break the silence with a quote from a movie both of you had watched and Leon being the moviegoer he is, you know he’ll recognize it.

“That's not how the line goes, you silly.”

Bingo.

“Then enlighten me, Mr. I know every movie by heart.”

“It is ‘in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.’” He states matter-of-factly which gains a laugh from you. But in a way, you’re used to his antics and almost nerdy personality only you get to see.

But your words mixed with the ones from the movie hold a glimmer of truth. Even in a timeline in which he wasn’t an agent and just a regular citizen, you’d have fallen for him. Because his past doesn’t make him the man he is now.

In another life, you’d love him over and over again.

“But I’d do all those things in this life and even in the afterlife.”

His eyes fall on you, the glimmer in them now being obvious. Just a few words from his love would pull him out from his depressive nights.

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“I’m just amazing like that.” You wrap your arms around Leon's neck while his hands rested on your middle section. “Now hug me because I’m fucking freezing.”

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Laughing, he pulls you closer in a tight embrace. “I’d hate for you to catch a cold. Besides… I need my cuddling partner every night.”

As both of you move out of the balcony and away from the cold wind of the night. Leon’s hands move painfully obvious to your rear. After his late thoughts, he only wants to feel you close to him.

“I don’t think you want to cuddle.” You remark the obvious. Leon just chuckles, nodding.

“Aside from being the perfect partner you’re also a mind reader?”

You step in your bedroom. Place that has been witness to Leon’s most vulnerable moments, from the times in which he'd come back from a mission to the ones in which both of you would get lost in each other's bodies.

His sanctuary, your heaven.

You smile at him as you motion him to sit down on the bed. Both of your eyes are locked in a gaze that says what you are feeling, love. No matter how hard his or your days could be, both of you could always come back to a partner that takes care of them. No matter the situation.

As he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, you lean closer and press a kiss to his forehead, to his nose, to his cheek, and lastly to his lips. This last one lingers more than the others, sweet and slow, like how you want to treat him tonight.

“I love you.” You whisper as you pull back from the kiss, your thumb grazing over his stubbled jaw.

“Love you more.” He responds with the same tenderness you have brought him. After saying his words, his hands traveled to where your hips were, attempting to pull you closer.

“Nuh-uh. Tonight’s about you, sir.” You have your mind set that this night is going to be all about the perfect husband you have in front of you.

With that, your lips once again found their home but this time it was on Leon’s neck.

With your lips giving some attention to Leon’s sensitive skin, you treat him like he was fragile porcelain.

After a few moments, you slowly lower yourself until you're between his thighs. Another reminder of how much his body has changed, his thighs were fuller and bit less toned than before.

He has seen you like this before, on your knees and with the sweetest of looks but dear God it gets better every day.

You press your cheek against Leon’s inner thigh, your hand rubbing the flesh that is still covered with his sweatpants. He was no longer an active agent therefore he had gained some weight which you completely love. He blames the alcohol he used to drink so much and the lack of high-impact exercise. But you always reassure him that you love him nonetheless.

Your hand creeps to his clothed crotch, you gently trace along the bulge that has already formed. Leon’s breath is starting to get heavier but nothing too scandalous, for now.

“I haven’t even touched properly and you’re already this hard.” You are trying to be gentle, but there’s something about having control over him even when you’re on your knees that just prompts you to tease him a hit.

“Might as well cum in the spot, don’t you think? Bet you’re already imagining me pulling down your boxers and stroking your cock.” The face Leon was making could send you straight to heaven.

“You’re the devil…” Leon tries, he tries to gather himself by making a joke. But his high-pitched speech comes out pathetic. A rebuttal? More like a whine.

“What? My handsome husband can’t handle the spice? I expected better.” The praise seems to hit a spot somewhere in his body because the way his hips just bucked and sought the friction of your hand was contradictory to his previous words.

“Please…” And after that whimper, you no longer want to tease the man. Especially tonight in which he deserves the best.

“Ok, ok. I gotcha…” You murmur, wasting no more time and pulling his sweatpants down. A wet spot is already formed in his gray boxers. Then again, more teasing words flood your mind but you brush them off.

With a gentle kiss on his inner thigh, your fingers hook around the fabric and slide it down. His dick springs forward, and as always, it makes your mouth water. It’s the same image as always, slightly curved lenght with veins you had memorized by now and a reddish tip that tells you how bothered and pent-up he’s been.

Marriage has always been depicted as a boring and monotonous lifestyle, in which you get bored of your spouse after a couple of years. In a sense, you understand where they come from. However, Leon and you always made sure to keep things interesting, and as corny as it sounds, both of you try to make the other fall in love again.

You press a kiss on his tip, holding back a laugh as you know how sensitive he must be. The slightest touch has him gripping the bedsheets.

“You’re teasing.” He says as his lips form a pout. His calloused hands flatten on top of your hair

“Am I?” You give his shaft a few kitten licks, not breaking eye contact while doing so.

Finally, your shenanigans are followed by your lips wrapping around his tip, sucking the area. That gains a whimper out of Leon, the ones you’re so used to.

When you first met the stoic agent, you wouldn’t have thought that he’d be so vocal in bed. Even when he was supposed to be on top, he’d let the most beautiful moans against your ears. asking for permission to continue, asking for permission to fill you up.

For a moment, your lips continue sucking off his tip. Your saliva coating the area and sloppily making out with the head of his dick. Your fingers wrap around the base of it, almost overwhelming Leon with the amount of attention he is receiving.

“Ah — Fuck…” His eyes roll back as you finally take him whole. The previous ministrations long forgotten as your mouth and part of your throat surround his sensitive cock.

You bob your head, slowly at first, controlling your breath as Leon involuntarily thrusts his hips making his tip hit the back of your throat. You place your hand on Leon’s thigh, to motion him to stand still.

“Shit — sorry, sorry…” His voice gets slightly higher, now his previous words turn into pleas or straight-up moans. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth as your tongue runs on the underside of his cock.

“Too good for me…” He’s reduced to just babbles and whines, his knuckles turn white as keeps on gripping the bedsheets, an awful attempt to drown more moans. As you continuously bob your head, Leon could feel his high coming.

Unconsciously and given his dazed out state, he brings his leg to your shoulder. You were completely focused on him and this simple action made your concentration break a bit. He’s putty in your hands, his brain no longer functioning whenever you are in control.

You’d edge him, you’d definitely tease him for that. But now, you just continue sucking him off with the inner side of his thigh brushing against your cheek.

“I’m gonna — Fuck…” It’s not a warning, but a comment, a needy announcement. As much as he denies it, there’s not a better image than seeing you covered with his cum, or watching you swallow it whole. It made him feel a sense of pride, knowing that his spouse is the one making him come undone.

And as your tongue runs along a vein, he couldn’t contain it any longer. With a high pitched whine and throwing his head back, he spills down your throat.

The warm liquid fills your mouth and some of it drips from the corner of your lips.

You stay still for a moment, collecting every last drop of Leon’s cum. When you feel Leon’s hand on your shoulder —the one that doesn’t have his leg on it— you know he was asking you for a break.

Pulling out with a pop, you gently move his leg for him to rest.

For a few seconds, you just massage your jaw as Leon tries to recover. Heavy breaths fill the dark room, allowing you to relax once again.

“You good?” You ask as you are sitting down on the floor.

“Yeah — Just… give me a second.” He laughs, closing his eyes. A loving smile forms on his face.

You laugh too, getting up from the floor, you admire the scene Leon provides you: All of his body exposed to you, his sweatpants and boxers pooling at his ankles, and his fucked out expression.

Heaven.

After a minute or so, Leon composes himself.

“I’ll make sure to wake up every night if this is the treatment I get.”

“Next time I will just tie you up to the bed.”

“Oh? I like the sound of that.”

Laughing, you slap his naked chest as he pulls you closer. Nights like this are a reminder of his humanity and his right to love and to be loved. The past can never be changed or forgotten, but he can learn from it.

💬shadesoflsk: Comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.

author's note 2: I just had to mention eeaao! It's one of my favorite movies and I know Leon would love it. Sorry if it was too sappy of me but then again... I'm always like that.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #resident evil x reader

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moodymisty · 3 months ago

Note

Please please please PLEASE produce some nsfw with female reader Alexis Polux Propaganda. I need some Imperial Fist content.

Author's note: HMNGNGNGGGGG POLUX TIME

Relationships: Alexis Polux/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Size difference, Praise kink, Polux is a good boy™, Rough-ish sex

"I'm surprised to see someone so young here,"

A voice speaks, and you don't entirely realize they're talking to you until they come up on your left side with an expectant look on their face.

"You look a bit too well dressed to be someones servant," You aren't quite a fan of the way he seems to examine you like a painting, but you assume he just isn't familiar with social gatherings. Many of the people in these circles are always examining for weaknesses, valuable information, so the feeling isn't entirely new. You just aren't used to it.

With a soft smile you nod to say hello despite him not giving you the same courtesy, holding your parchment close to your chest.

Your drawings had been going well, documenting the progress of the Palace has been no small feat, and the few picts you've taken will go along will with the various sketches you've been working on.

"Well, I'm usually not on Terra, But right now I'm here on business. Imp-"

The man cuts you off, letting out a noise. You're not sure if he's a commissar out of his regalia or a lord, not that it matters in the end.

"Ohhh! That's surprising."

You wonder why he thinks that.

"You don't seem like a young lady who would be part of the fortifications of the Sol system," It takes a lot in you to keep your place- to not roll your eyes - and just smile and nod.

"Well, looks are deceiving sometimes."

The man smiles and nods, seemingly amused your answer.

"Indeed they are."

You look away from him and over the massive and ornate railing at the view below you, spires and twisting paths of gold weaved between endless construction. Your primarch has been hard at work, and the pict you decide to take will serve as a useful thing to add to your ever growing documentation.

The man looks at you amusingly as you do it, but oddly enough doesn't ask why.

"How long have you been out here all alone?" He looks at you curiously, his chin tilted upward just slightly as he casually crosses his arms.

You think on it for a moment. You aren't meant to be here for the current meeting, it just happens to be going on in tandem to your arrival. You also haven't been alone for most of it, though your guardian- you can't think of any other word to call him, even if guardian doesn't quite fit - has been absent as he left to give orders briefly.

"No more than an hour, I think." The man throws out a hand, gesturing it vaguely in your direction.

"An hour out here? how about you come and get a drink with me? At least take a break and warm up before you come back out here." You politely shake your head and take a step back, still holding your parchments close to your chest.

"Oh, no thank you, I don't have the time to take a break, I'm quite busy."

He waves off your refusal. "Nonsense, have you even been to a Terran gathering? There's plenty of things I'm sure you've never seen before. Have you tried wine?"

You haven't, but your interest to do so is nonexistent under this context. Desires aside, you have work to do; Dorn and his men hold your work to a high bar and won't be fond to see you slacking off.

"I haven't but I really need to get back to my work, or my Pri-"

The man reaches for you hand and while he grasps it gently, the gesture is unwelcome.

You notice two Imperial Fists passing by as you tug your hand out of his own and back away, scowling at him. The closer Fist that passes you by looks at you, and moments later you hear the distinctive crackle of the vox device in his helmet turning on as he continues by. It's a soft sound you've gotten used to, in your time close to astartes.

"Surely your work isn't important enough to not enjoy some company. I am far too bored of the people who only seem to chat because they want something."

Despite his lament seemingly authentic he seems to want something from you, hence his forcefulness. he reaches forward once again to put a hand on your arm and you back away, but you accidentally back yourself between him and the railing- cornering yourself.

"I told you, I am here on business and I am really not interested in-"

You hear something to your left, the thundering of heavy footsteps - and the both of you turn to see the source.

A wide surface of bright yellow armor is what you see, spanning far wider than you and far taller, as well. It makes you overjoyed, you know who he is- while the man looses all the blood in his face at once.

“Let go of her.”

Polux doesn’t need to do much more than speak and the man removes his hand, as now it's suddenly as if you're on fire.

Polux stands in the same realm as the primarchs in height in his armor, and even someone used to being around space marines would find themself more than a bit intimidated by him by just his presence, let alone being the object of his displeasure.

You know he's far kinder than his off-putting visage implies, but both you and Polux are fine with not letting anyone know about it.

"Thank you, Polux."

The man seems surprised by you saying the marine's name so casually, and the way he looks down at you. He looks at you as if he knows you, which given how rare it is for astartes to interact with baseline humans, is more than a bit unusual. His short, cropped blonde hair is stuck to his head in weird ways, after so long underneath his helmet.

You turn to him, fingers flexing around your notebook as you take one side step in Polux's direction.

"I was trying to say I am here on Imperial Fist business. I am one of the remembrancers for The Fists documenting their fortification of Terra." Polux stares at the man, and his neutral face accidentally serves to frighten him more. Despite you knowing the astartes is almost what you would dare consider shy, his stalwart, wrinkled face does not imply that in the slightest.

"And I am quite busy doing so."

The man swallows, playing with his teeth while shifting his jaw nervously.

"Oh I am, so so sorry. I never meant to intrude on Fists business, I was only trying to offer a nice lady a d-" Polux ignores the man; Looking down at you.

"Are you alright?"

You know if you say you aren't Polux will more than likely drag the man somewhere to be punished for his misdeeds. But you're fine, and find the whole idea a bit too time consuming to deal with. It's not as if he did anything horrific, besides being far too pushy and irritating. Given your status as remembrancer mouthing off to someone who might possibly be a high lord wasn't something you can do either, less you risk getting your head rent from your shoulders.

"Yes, I'm ok. Just a little handsy."

Polux only needs to take one look in his direction and gesture, almost as if the man is a wild animal, to dismiss him, and he walks off with a briskness in his step.

Now alone with Polux you soften significantly; While he doesn't do the same visibly, you can tell in his tone of voice and eyes that he is somewhat less aggravated.

You give him a sweet smile, ignoring the chilly breeze penetrating your clothes. He must've gotten the vox that the Fist sent when he walked by, probably knowing a fight was brewing. He looks down at you with that stoic but soft expression.

Even as battle hardened and massive as he is, something about Polux is almost, gentle.

"Thank you so much for saving me, Polux. I needed that."

His face changes just the slightest bit. You don't know why, and you can only assume he finds your thank you thoughtful. You don't imagine he hears the words that often.

Reaching forward he grasps your shoulder with his wide gauntlet, and starts to push you along. You nearly stumble over with how much ground he expects you to cover in one step, almost loosing hold of your parchments.

"We should return to the Eternal Crusader."

When you returned to the ship, it had taken Polux 45 minutes to remove himself from his armor.

Record time; Given his size he wears custom armor that takes more effort- and thus time - to remove.

It had taken only fifteen more to return to his quarters, dragging you along. Once you got there, there was only roughly 40 seconds before the sound of the door locking, and Polux picking you up, and throwing you onto his cot.

Your clothes didn’t survive the minutes after- they became tattered ribbons on the floor as Polux made a strategic path to his target.

He had such a logistical way about it; his bred traits cause him to treat every scenario with stoic and almost taciturn attitude.

He thrusts into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with an embarrassing loudness.

“Thank you for saving me, Alexis,”

The sentence goads him on hitting a deep part of him, and you feel the way he drives his cock even deeper into you. He’s pressing you into the cot, laying on your stomach back arched to present yourself to him. Polux is almost uncomfortably wide at his hips and torso, you can barely spread your thighs enough to allow him close enough, unless he puts your knees by your ears.

“Why must you find yourself in trouble every time I turn away from you,”

You let out a sharp moan as he drives himself into your particularly deep, and the thick base of his cock stretches you even wider.

“It just finds me, I don’t know what I’d do without you,”

He lets out a soft groan and you swear your feel his cock throb inside of you at the praise.

Polux has always had trouble recognizing his own skill among the other Imperial Fists. His skill is never enough, and he always doubts his place as belonging to his late brother. Your words fan a fire inside of him that only fuels with the acknowledgement that he has done his duty to the utmost of perfectionism, and never once faltered.

“More, please more,”

He grunts with effort as his massive forearms cage your body, his hips slapping against your ass. You know you're going to be covered in bruises that you'll have to cover, find excuses for, but you couldn't care less. You nearly squeal as the head of his cock bullies his way deeper inside of you, feeling like it’s at your belly button. His cot isn’t meant for this kind of abuse and creaks unhappily, threatening to crumble under the weight and strength of nearly 400 kilos of muscle and fat.

Why did you have to pick the biggest Imperial Fist that’s ever lived? Polux swallows your entire body in his shadow, and the overwhelming heat he exudes stifles the air with the hot smell of sweat and sex, combined with the odd chemical smell of an Astartes.

In an odd way it’s begun to stir something in you, and at times you at the way your body betrays you and begins to get hot at the worst of times.

Your hands desperately attempt to reach for anything to hold on to, one gripping his forearm and feeling his hair on your palm. You can feel the almost painful tightness in your lower stomach as you get closer and closer, gritting your teeth.

You have to be loud enough that it can be heard in the halls. You dread the idea of the serfs hearing their newest, brightest and shiniest remembrancer getting getting absolutely fucked out of her mind by one of the Imperial Fist's most stalwart and immovable men. But you can’t find the ability to be quiet- not when the Astartes is trying to force his cock impossibly deeper with each thrust as his balls slap against your cunt.

His brow furrows tight as he fucks you like it’s a singular goal, giving no mercy or gentleness.

The painful twisting vice in your stomach finally snaps when you cum, what little strength you had to keep your hips tilted upwards fails. You go nearly limp, and Polux is forced to move a hand to grab your hip and hold you up to continue trying to drive himself closer and closer to your cervix.

The way your soft walls clench around him almost stops the marine dead, and you can hear the hiss he lets out through his teeth.

This is only the third time he’s fucked you, and the first time he’s initiated it. The feeling of nerves and neurons unused being stimulated in such a way is almost overwhelming to him, and he isn’t sure if he enjoys the way his body almost takes control from him in that desperate, primal effort to finish.

He grips your hip tighter and fucks you harder with little regard to your limp and well fucked body, cumming inside of you not a few moments later. Buried to the hilt you feel the hot pooling of cum inside of you, and the way his cock twitches with each spurt.

When he pulls out, you whimper at the feeling of your abused cunt fluttering around nothing, and beads of his cum leaking from you.

You feel the back of your thighs ache in pain, and you’re sure they’ll be bruised wonderfully in a few hours.

“…Are you well?”

Polux says with an almost out of place concern as you lay limp on his cot. You nod and try to turn on your side beneath him.

“I’ll, I’ll be ok.” You don’t know if you will be right away; Your lower stomach aches as your cunt tries to recover from his abuse, and you’re sure sitting down or doing anything strenuous is going to be painful the next few days.

Polux furrows his brow, shifting his thin lips.

“I, do not like how unclear my mind gets during my… time, with you.”

You wish you could explain to him that’s normal, but to a man who’s known nothing but the machinations of a crusade, of standing stalwart and logical in the face of unknowns- desireless - you don’t know if you ever could.

“Do you want me to leave?” You look up at him, and he shakes his head.

“No.”

You attempt to adjust, but the motion puts tension on your aching muscles and causes you to grimace.

“You’re hurt? You lied?” Polux looks at you sternly, and you shake your head.

“I’m just really, sore. And bruised.” Polux shifts and moves to stand, further motivated when you hiss in pain again.

“You need the Medicae.” You quickly speak up. “Would you like to explain to them how you, an Astartes, fucked me so hard I can’t walk, or should I?”

Polux stares at you stone faced, a thinking expression that would be funny, if not for the embarrassment you implied.

“I… I will go to the apothecary and say you injured yourself and need salve.” Polux shifts his jaw, and you can see some of his more shy personality come through. “I will, forgo the details.”

You can’t help but smile a bit before he leaves, watching as the man storms off task at hand, and leaves you to wait.

#Alexis Polux x reader #space marine x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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peggyao3 · 5 months ago

Text

Night Crawler - Pt. 1

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader / can be read as OC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha welcomes a nocturnal visitor in his chambers, who is plagued by the symptoms of her artificially induced condition.

WORD COUNT: 3,558

TAGS: 18+, smut, lactation kink 🍼‼️, pseudo pregnancy, breastfeeding (no baby involved only a big sexy egg man), she/her reader, AFAB reader, ambiguous relationship status, non-consenting drug use, dark undertones, implied violence, stockholm syndrome-ish, dubious consent, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Part 1 ↓, Part 2, Part 3

The nights on Giedi Prime are inky black, not midnight blue like on her home world. Inky black are also the sharp-edged pillars that frame the hallway. Jagged polymer giants that intersect the row of windows like alien artifacts. The view outside is not much better. Where one might expect palace gardens are only industrial plants that stretch past the horizon. They are the only source of light.

This corridor is solely occupied by the na-Baron. She has been here many times. But never alone. The corridor where she resides is not far away, yet the path seems to stretch on forever, the Harkonnen palace a hostile monster that pierces her marrow and bone with every barefooted step on cold, black tiles.

She hates this so much. Tonight will be her personal disgrace. That she goes to him willingly, and in the middle of the night no less, is a first.

Though willingly is a farfetched word. No servant has reacted to her request for some pain relief remedy, mumbled then shouted into the transmitter panel in the wall of her chamber. It could be because she had uttered a wrong word in the afternoon or he didn’t like the way she held her fork and knife at dinner. It is hard to tell with Feyd-Rautha.

What is also not under her influence is the chemical cocktail in her veins that tricks her body into believing something has taken root in her womb. The symptoms are manifold, but what torments her most is how her breasts have grown bigger and heavier with milk that no one drinks.

At first glance one might think the fine lines that frame her enlarged breasts are stretch marks, but many of them are scars, placed by an enraptured Feyd-Rautha who loves to lap up the crimson beads, from base to peak. Sometimes his mouth and teeth ghost over her pert nipples.

The na-Baron seems to find sick enjoyment in her condition, fantasizing about the idea without the commitment. It is still better than being forced to carry the his real spawn.

The corridor ends in a dead end and she raises her hand, knocks on the door with cold knuckles. “My Lord?” Her warm breath is a ghost swallowed by the hallway.

There is no sound to be heard, nothing moves aside from the rise and fall of her ribcage. She swallows her pride and knocks again.

A mechanism whirrs and the door slides open. Out comes Feyd with a knife. That much was to be expected, but she still gasps when the icy edge of the blade finds her throat. The na-Baron’s frown dissolves into surprise when he recognizes her. Her throat is one of the few he wouldn’t slit right away for disturbing him.

“Feyd-!” She gasps and flinches away from the blade. Its tip tickles her jaws.

He was asleep, she realizes and is somehow surprised. The slight touch of puffiness around sharp eyes gives him away. She has never seen him sleep and she believes no one has, except for his own mother perhaps, who is now dead by matricide. This pinch of vulnerability on Feyd-Rautha’s face makes her heart stutter, as she hadn’t expected to wrest a triumph from this wretched night.

“What do you want, night crawler?" He sheathes the knife and drags the tip of a finger down her throat instead, to her collarbones, making a shiver roll down her spine. She prefers the knife.

“I am hurting, my Lord.” She stares straight ahead at Feyd's throat while gesturing at her breasts, avoiding his face. Tonight she can't stand to see the sickly joy that lights up his eyes whenever she's in pain. “They are… Too full, or so it feels.” Her bosom sits heavily in the snug night gown, warm and aching.

“Oh. Do they hurt badly?” Feyd wants to hear a yes. Fatigue and ire about being woken are gone now and he stares at her cleavage. The scars he made stare back at him.

“Would I come to you if they weren’t?” She spits. Feyd-Rautha smiles eerily and in the black of the night, his maws look like they possess no teeth.

“Come inside then.” He steps aside, clearing the passage into his chambers. The hairs in the nape of her neck prickle.

“Actually… “ She takes a step back. Even the alien pillars at her back emit more warmth than Feyd's den. “I only need you to call a servant for me. My panel seems to be broken. I’m sorry to have woken you, but I can get no rest like this. And I would…” She cringes. “I would like to be well-rested for whatever my Lord has in store for me tomorrow.” There is always something.

“Is that so?” Something about his voice reminds her of stepping on wet gravel. “You already woke me. No need to wake a servant now.” A hint of a smile creeps over his visage, a threat in one eye, glee in the other as he holds out his hand.

She chooses not to take it, so she can retain some dignity while entering his bed chambers. The door whirrs shut at her back and she knows she won’t be able to exit until he places his hand on a hidden panel. Slowly she walks into the center of the bleak room, walls made of polished stone, steps in the back leading down to a basin that is sunken into the floor. A double bed is at the right hand side and the ruffled sheets are the only sign that something lives in this room.

Feyd-Rautha moves like a beast of the night. She feels his breath on her neck before she hears his footsteps. Wiry arms circle her from behind and pull her against his chest. He is the warmest thing in the room, but as long as she isn’t freezing to death she prefers not to throw herself into an embrace that can warm her one second and scorch her the next. He kisses her neck and softly slides the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders.

Assuming Feyd’s intentions are as they most often are, she shuffles away and pulls the straps back up, trying to sound stern. “F-Feyd-Rautha, I don't know what you think you can do about my predicament, but I-”

“Sit on the bed with me.” His voice cuts the air like a Fremen crysknife. He is going to cut her breasts open to drain the milk, she thinks when she sits on Feyd's bed. The sheets are still warm.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him approaching and notices the wrinkles in his sleep shirt. Such everyday imperfections look bizarre on a man so atrocious. His bare feet pat on the tiles now and fabric rustles when he climbs on the bed. He sits and leans against the sleek headboard, a single pillow in his back and waits.

“Come.” Reluctantly she turns, gathers her nightgown skirt and scoots closer towards him. Too slow for his liking. His pale fingers brush against her throat. “Why aren’t you wearing your collar?”

“I don’t wear it to sleep!” She spits. “You’d know that if you ever-” Slept with me. Cold sweat breaks out under her armpits.

Feyd’s head tilts to the side, disgusting curiosity in his eyes. He pulls her in his lap, thighs on either side of his hips and then pulls down her night gown with one harsh tug so her right breast pops free. Even the soft scrape of fabric over her nipple makes her whimper and she hisses at him to be gentle.

Seated in his lap, her chest is roughly at Feyd’s face level. At first, she thinks he is only going to ogle the plump shape of her, taking sick pleasure in her visible pain as a reimbursement for disturbing him at night. But then his mouth starts ghosting over her and a trail of nips and feathery kisses leads him to the apex of her breast. One hand curls under the taut flesh and lifts it carefully.

Oh. Now she understands.

How grotesque. How humiliating. She should have expected nothing less.

With horror she watches his plush lips close around the nub. Dark eyes lift to scrutinize her face and when she utters no complaints (although God knows they’re clawing at her throat, they just can’t make it past the lump inside), Feyd closes his eyes.

Her face is scrunched, nails digging into Feyd's shoulders when he creates suction, hesitant at first but greedier as soon as the first drop of white milk decorates his black tongue. She cringes, thighs flexing around his which encourages him to cling to her hip with his free hand.

The sensation repels her at first, alien and encroaching, as if a parasite was latched onto her teat. She has never nursed anyone before. It takes her fear-conditioned mind several moments to realize no harm comes from Feyd’s mouth this time. He only suckles on her breast and his cock twitches against her core, which she ignores. In the chamber’s nocturnal silence, she hears him quietly gulp and with each moment, the torturous pressure in her breast abates. A tear almost slips down her cheek, that’s how thankful she is, even if Feyd-Rautha only helps her for his own pleasure.

Minutes pass and she almost grows used to the sensation, the pressure of his tongue against the underside of her nipple and the occasional scrape of teeth. The tender flesh however is starting to ache, not used to such a long assault of his mouth.

“That's e-enough, it h-hurts now.”

Feyd growls and his hairless brows twitch over closed eyes. He squeezes her breast, mouth latched over her nipple. Greedily, he suckles, ignoring her wincing. Shivering, she realizes that trying to take away his toy from him will always spark ire, so she gently scrapes her nails over his scalp instead until his ravenous mouth relaxes and strangely, she relaxes too.

“You can have the other one instead, okay?”

That works. His mouth slides over to her left breast, tongue swirling around the nipple before his lips close around it. He suckles more gently now and the relief makes her moan this time, spine arching against his face as milk flows into his mouth.

“Thank you, this is… So good. “

Feyd's hand still cups her right breast, as if scared she or anyone would steal it from him if left unattended. A bead of milk still clings to the nipple. With a spark of hope she wonders if Feyd-Rautha would ever be willing to share her breasts with an heir.

No, she sees him throttling his own spawn, just so he can have everything for himself.

In the dead of night, a sly little smile tugs on her mouth and she encouragingly wraps her arms around Feyd's neck, hugging him close. Willingly, he sinks into her chest, drinking with abandon. “Keep drinking,” she hums.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the na-Baron, the gladiator, is temporarily docile at her bosom.

The silent victory makes heat grow in her belly as pressure is released from her breasts. She shuffles against his lap and the hardness that rests against his belly. Feyd's hand squeezes her hip, nudging her closer. While he drinks, the other pale hand lightly fondles her right breast, catching the drop of milk with an unusually gentle index finger.

Her spine arches and her hips curl against his pelvis, head and hair falling backwards. The cool of the chamber is now pleasant on her heated skin.

“Feyd, please…” A quiet sigh, nearly swallowed by the midnight hour. Her core curiously grinds against his length.

He seems to know better what she pleads for than she does. The hand on her hip sifts through the layers of silky gown to get to where he needs, finding her flesh unobscured by undergarments. Slick essence coats her gown where she had sat and Feyd’s hand stutters when his knuckles brush through the wetness on the silk.

Instantly, her cunt bucks against his fingers and Feyd's eyes snap wide open. His digits glide through her folds, stunned to find them so wet and hot. Her entrance weeps and yields so easily when he prods lightly with two fingers.

“Don't say anything, just-” She shakes her head, realizing Feyd hasn’t said anything at all since he discovered the milk from her breasts for himself. Fascinated, he gazes up at her from coal-black eyes, pouty lips puckered around her nipple still when two calloused fingers sink into her cunt. Languidly, he thrusts, finding her walls willing and soft to the touch. She meets each thrust, sighing as she brings her hips up and down.

Looking down at Feyd’s pale skull latched to her breast, she also looks at the scars that paint them. They taunt her now.

‘Does he make you wet now?’ They seem to ask. ‘Has he finally cut you into submission, into the shape he wants?’

She doesn't feel overly submissive right now, however. The pace of her hips quickens, as does that of his fingers. Her nails dig into his scalp when a third finger eases into her cunt without her request. The stretch makes her moan and her hips needily rut against Feyd’s hand.

Even if she is not truly in power, she can at least pretend she is.

“Take yourself out of your pants!”

Determinedly, she sits up straight and leans back, breasts feeling almost light now, compared to before. Her nipple slips out of Feyd’s mouth and he gives it a parting gift, sharp teeth nipping at the tender bud. Probably the punishment for her bold tone. Still, she grows nearly euphoric when he does as she says, sliding his trousers down to his mid thighs, so his daunting cock comes to rest against his navel. It doesn’t daunt her today.

She shuffles and pulls the silky layers of her nightgown away, so her pelvis can rest on the smooth, milky expanse of Feyd’s hairless thighs. His balls rest hotly against her weeping cunt until she raises her hips and kneels, grabbing Feyd’s cock to line him up with her entrance. The size of him makes the angle awkward and she has to lean forward to try and shuffle the thick head between her folds, one hand wrapped around the shaft.

“You can ask for help, you know.” Feyd chuckles, fingers gliding over her thighs under the gown. She hisses and resists the urge to tell him to shut his mouth, lest he ruins the night. It had been so nice without the talk of his foul tongue. Finally, she has him angled like she needs him and her entrance yields for his head.

Feyd knows she struggles to take him, despite the preparation. Her soft cunt stretches around his obscene length and she tries to be strong, play it tough, so her whines can’t give away the challenge it still is for her to be a fitting sheathe for his cock. Amused, he watches her toil away in his lap, slowly sinking down, then hissing and jerking back up. He gives her the time she needs, curiously watching her face shift into triumph when their pelvises come flush.

Up and down she goes, sighing and moaning and her grimace slowly relaxes as she grows accustomed to his cock. Feyd-Rautha sinks into his pillow, sliding down the headboard as his figure becomes more and more horizontal. Her breasts are out of reach now, but he still marvels at the marks and puffiness left by his mouth. His jaws flex. He already misses the taste of her milk. Tomorrow he will instruct the authorized doctors to tweak the formula of her injections, so she will produce more.

Unbeknownst of his thoughts but well aware of his wolfish gaze on her tits, she rides him as she pleases, hands pushing up his sleepshirt so she can grope his pale torso, leaving angry red marks on his belly and on the small dent between his pectorals.

Her shoulders roll forward and her thighs hurt a little from lifting herself so repeatedly, but she tirelessly grinds against his pelvis, chasing the pleasure sparked by power that kindles in her belly before it’ll inevitably go out by something he says or does. If he had pubic hair, perhaps it would be easier to get some friction against her clit. She is missing that extra stimulation to quite push herself over the edge.

Feyd’s hands on her hips have been docile, but the moment she falters, he strikes. Her weak knees buckle when his thumb finds her clit and her wrists are gathered in his other hand.

“I… No!” She stubbornly pleads, the figment of control wrenched out of her grasp. Not even by his hands that overtake her body, but by the mean midnight-smile that decorates his face.

“That’s alright,” he coos sweetly. No one likes gravel mixed with honey.

Hot tears gather in her eyes when she fights weakly against his grasp but still moans from the pressure of his cock. She wants to tell him that nothing is alright. It’s not alright that she can’t even fuck herself to completion without his help. It’s not alright that her legs give out because of the medication he’s put her on to induce false pregnancy. It’s not alright that her tits hurt and she gets sick in the mornings and It’s definitely not alright that he’s taking her little victory away from her.

She is close to tears but doesn’t start crying. Feyd’s hips dictate the rhythm, driving up into her cunt so she no longer rides him, she only helplessly sits as he fucks her. And to her dismay, it feels better. He just does it better.

The pressure of his thumb on her clit is just right, as are the short, hard thrusts against her cervix.

This whole night still counts as a victory, she reminds herself as her head falls back and a climax rolls through her body, walls fluttering around her tormentor’s cock while he pours sweet, gravelly honey in her ears. It’s the softest he’s ever been with her.

Feyd prolongs her climax, drawing tight little circles on her clit so her walls keep milking him until he has spilled his seed harmlessly against the entrance to her womb. A throaty groan rumbles in his chest and then the chamber falls silent.

His cock twitches and relaxes against her walls while his thumb still lazily plays with her clit. Uneasily, she shifts in his lap and her squirming draws wet noises from their conjoined pelvises.

“Stop smiling,” she demands.

“I can't.” If only his smile was prettier. Feyd releases her wrists and his thumb abandons her overstimulated clit and ghosts over her abdomen, the bunched gown, her plump breasts. A flutter of warmth follows his trace as he presses into the dip between her clavicles and then brushes over her throat, perhaps still mourning the absence of her collar.

“I… I need to go to the bathroom.”

Abruptly, Feyd sits up and swings his legs over the edge, catching her before she can fall backwards off his lap. He turns his head and nips at the hand that had instinctively latched onto his shoulder. “Don't be long.”

She denies him the satisfaction of seeing her sway and buckle when she slips off his cock. It smacks against his abdomen and black seed sullies his pale stomach and shirt. Feyd doesn't mind, but if she insists on getting cleaned up, she shall.

For a moment she fears he will follow her, just to make sure she doesn't flush herself down the drain to escape him, but he remains docilely on the bed.

She just barely makes it to the bathroom before the thick rivulet of cum that rolls down her leg reaches the ankle and stains the floor. Awkwardly, she cleans herself with cold water from the sink and paper towels, then hovers over the toilet and waits until most of Feyd's release has exited her body. Some of it still stubbornly clings to her womb, she's certain.

For a moment, she regards her reflection in the mirror, little more than a shadow in the dark of night, but even now she sees the shape of her hard nipples under the silk. She feels obliged to clean the cum stain on the floor, even though that's a task for the maids.

Once she comes back out, she almost expects a knife against her throat - foreplay for what Feyd-Rautha might consider the real fun, but the na-Baron's breath chimes calmly and steadily from the bed. Could it be?

Almost as silent as a beast of the night, she slinks to the door, knowing it probably won't budge for her but it's worth a try.

“Where are you going, night crawler? Come here.”

He lifts the covers and wordlessly she resigns and climbs underneath, like a bird into an alligator’s open maws, hoping she will be useful long enough and her wings not broken when the maws snap shut.

Feyd-Rautha sleeps on her bosom that night and she cries for a good minute while caressing his scalp. Why does every triumph, no matter if big or small, always come at the cost of feeling dirty?

[If you enjoyed this fanfiction, a comment would mean the world to me! <33]

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd #feyd x reader #feyd x you #house harkonnen #feyd smut #dune part 2 #dune part two #dune fanfiction #dune #austin butler #peggysuave fanfics #feyd x oc

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spectralreplica · 2 years ago

Photo

Uhhhhhhhh Sburb AU!! This was more of an excuse to classpect and make sprites, so don’t ask me questions about plot details because I put like zero thought into it. Tsumugi probably had something to do with setting up the session, and she’s hiding her real title and the fact it’s not her first session. Baby Kiibo is a robot baby because I thought that was the funniest option.

Drawing with anti-aliasing off really brings me back...

Classpect thoughts under the cut if you really want:

Immediate caveat: I mention speculative stuff here like unconfirmed active/passive class pairs and inversion theory. If you don’t like those things or otherwise disagree with the titles I gave people that’s fine but just know I’m not super interested in debating about it and won’t reply.

So, to start out with I wanted to make the 8 of them a session, so I needed no overlaps in class or aspect and one Time + one Space. I also wanted to have Kaito and Kokichi as opposing aspects. In general, I think of a Title as kind of the end of your assigned character arc, so depending on your level of maturity/introspection at the start, it can seem either really obvious or really unintuitive. I tried to base them off of the hypothetical chapter 6/survivor versions of characters, since those (plus maybe the chapter 5 deaths) of the ones that get a full arc in DR canon.

Immediately Tsumugi seemed like a deadringer for Space, not so much because of the literal physics-related stuff but because of its associations with creation/narratives and setting things up for other people to act. I made her Sylph of Space here, but that's a facade. She's actually a Muse of Space who participated in past session(s) and wants to watch how things play out.

Based on the Extended Zodiac description, Kaito or Kaede has to be time, but Kokichi CANNOT be Space by any stretch of the imagination. I made her Heir of Time with the interpretation of Heir as someone who invites change/influences of/through their aspect. Time is also associated with music and death, which is both fitting and a little mean. (I can also see Kaede as Breath outside of having to have someone be Time.)

So moving onto Kaito and Kokichi, I was considering Hope vs Rage (belief vs doubt, possibility vs restrictions), but 1) Rage is defined partially by hatred of lies despite otherwise sounding Kokichi-ish (that alone could be interesting, with the possibility of a negative/reverse title or else giving him Hope and Kaito Rage for the unexpected swerve........) 2) I really wanted to give Hope to Kiibo. So instead I went with Heart and Mind (emotion vs logic, intuition vs planning, identity/motivation vs action/decisiveness).

Kokichi is Thief of Mind for taking away other people's decisions for his own purposes but also for generally "stealing" things (e.g., the Mastermind Role, narrative importance in general, along with literal items) through his own cleverness. Vs Kaito, a Knight of Heart, who uses his constructed identity as a weapon to face challenges. I'm also a fan of inversion theory, so I think at low points they'd both trend towards Page of Heart (grows powerful late in the narrative based on his own ego/identity) and Rogue of Mind (taking choices/agency/logic away from people for their own good), respectively.

I always wanted Kiibo to be Hope since 1) Ult. Hope Robot 2) big on possibilities/faith but can be a little self-centered. I went with Bard at least partially to make a "guess we know whether he has a dick or not now!" joke, but I also think "inviting destruction through Hope, inviting destruction of (false) hope" is pretty spot on for chapter 6 Kiibo. Like, as the camera/audience surrogate, he's been forced into passively leading the others to despair, not to mention how the audience takes him over to destroy the hope of ending the show. But Kiibo ends up reversing this and helping destroy the audience's faith in Danganronpa, destroying the whole academy in accordance with the vote. (Sidenote: I wonder if Kiibo gets taken over by Horrorterrors and goes grimdark? Or if he's just really, really susceptible to orders from his Exile)

Shuichi, Page of Void, was another one that immediately came to mind. Like, "starts off weak but becomes really strong/important by the end" is Shuichi's thing! Also, counterpart to Kaito's Knight. And Void is all about secrets, mystery, etc. From the Extended Zodiac: "Where others might be compelled to go out and seek answers, the Void-bound lean more toward casting doubt on what is already considered understood. They don't take much on faith and would rather live in a state of confusion- than believe something that might be untrue or bow to intellectual authority... At their best, Void-bound are wise, intuitive, and vibrant. At their worst, they can be dismissive, indecisive and apathetic."

I had considering Light, for seeking out knowledge/truth, but Shuichi's character arc ends on "fuck you, I refuse to play. You all get nothing more from us" and learning to live with ambiguity, so I think he's way more Void. But, again, inversion would be Thief of Light, so selfishly taking away knowledge/importance from others.

Speaking of Light, I made Miu Mage of Light. Mage is like, active Seer, seeking out knowledge for yourself (vs advising others) and Light is luck, knowledge, and also importance/plot relevance. As an inventor, Miu keeps innovating and figuring things out, plus she's very motivated by her own importance to the world. She wants to be seen more than anything else and loves being smarter than those around her. Also: "At their best, the Light-bound are resourceful and driven. At their worst they can be fussy, pedantic, and insensitive." Inversion is Heir of Void, so "inviting change via hiding things" or "changing what's kept secret", which suits Miu when plotting murder.

Finally, Maki is Prince of Blood. Blood is trust, bonds, relationships, stubbornness, duty, obligation (vs freedom, change, choices) so "someone who breaks bonds/destroys relationships" but also "someone who destroys using/motivated by duty/relationships". Like, Maki is inherently a fracture point in the group because of her talent and then directly breaks the group apart and sabotages her relationships with the others in chapter 5, but also she's deeply motivated by her bonds to others in all of her destructive actions (protectiveness for orphanage/friend, love for Kaito). This sound super negative, but I think this is also the Maki who commits to destroying the institution of Danganronpa in chapter 6. Sometimes you have to be decisive and cut bad relationships out of your life.

Inversion would be Sylph of Breath, so "healing via change" or "encouraging growth towards freedom", which you can argue is sort of the way Kaito wants her to go? But she just doesn't. Idk, for better or worse, I think Maki is very aware of who she is and how people related to her, so even at her worst she's true to herself, vs, say, Kaito or Kokichi, who act "ooc".

#Homestuck #Kokichi Oma #Kaito Momota #Miu Iruma #Shuichi Saihara #Kaede Akamatsu #Maki Harukawa #Kiibo #Tsumugi Shirogane #New Danganronpa V3 #Danganronpa #Sburb AU #Spectra Art

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glitch-karma · 9 months ago

Note

Hii! Can you do Vanitas x sleepy reader? They’re kinda just sleep deprived all the time, hehe. Sorry if I’m bothering you, I hope you can do this request! <3

✧Me who started this at 2:35 am:

✧One shot

✧Cw: Gn!Reader, Fluff-ish, Reader is a vampire and Vanitas's assistant, reader struggles with insomnia, maybe ooc Vanitas, complicated relationship (still romantic-ish)

✧ probably not proof read

✧theres always crumbs for vnc so here y'all go

It was a slight chilly night as Vanitas sat on the roof of the Hotel Chouchou. The breeze of the night came through slowly, the wind flowing through his hair lightly. It was funny, how the city of Paris still looked almost alive at night. The soft glow of lights speckled the city.

Vanitas wore a dully melancholic expression as he stated at the city. It was eerily quiet as he numbly stared out.

The sound of soft foot steps approaching notified him someone was near, though he stayed perfectly still. "... It's late y'know?" He said, his face shifting to a light smirk as he looked behind him. There you stood, the eye bags under your eyes evident as you stared down at him, before turning to the city. "You're up too, non?"

He huffed as he looked away, placing his hand to his face. "This is why you're so exhausted all the time y'know?" He scolded you lightly. "It's fine." You nodded.

There was silence as you stood behind him quietly. Vanitas glanced behind him, noticing how you wore the same, dull expression he'd worn not so long ago. What could you be thinking about? Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were also a broken person such as himself. Honestly, he'd rather not think about it.

You let out a light yawn as you finally sat down beside him. Vanitas chuckled at your drowsiness as he looked back out to the city again. You sat there for a long while, just the two of you and the sounds of the dead Paris Streets.

Vanitas could feel you shiver beside him lightly as he sighed. "Why are you out here anyways? You're obviously exhausted." He said annoyed. "I'm always like this." You shook your head. He scoffed out a chuckle as he nodded. "Well duh, stating the obvious."

The eeiry silence once again enraptured the two of you. Vanitas mentally scolded himself as his thoughts couldn't be cleared of you. Your presence beside him somehow managed to break through the barriers he'd carefully constructed. It was exhausting, the way his mind couldn't ever stop thinking about you.

"I don't get it," he muttered, a hint of frustration tainting his words. "Why do you push yourself so hard, running on empty all the time?" His gaze shifted to you, attempting to decipher your expression.

You shrugged with an indifferent expression. "Dunno.." at this Vanitas stared at you more. Your gaze met his, and for a moment, something softened in his eyes. Uncomfortable with the vulnerability, he turned his attention back to the city lights.

"I guess I've been like this for awhile." You mumbled out. Vanitas glanced up at you again. "Sleep just doesn't really come that easily, even if it's all I crave. You know, you're not the only one with demons," you said softly, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "We all carry our burdens, Vanitas."

He scoffed, his wall being built within him once more. "I don't need your pity." "It's not pity," your tone was gentle. "It's understanding."

For a moment, Vanitas looked away, not wanting to listen. Then, with a sigh that carried the weight of unspoken emotions, he spoke. "Understanding won't change anything."

"Maybe. But I can hope it helps ease it.. Just being there. Even in the silence of the night." You finished.

Your words hung in the air as another silence engulfed the both of you. Vanitas found himself momentarily at a loss for words.

As Vanitas tried to regain his composure, he stole another glance at you. There was a softness in your worn out eyes that echoed the vulnerability he often tried to bury. It was a vulnerability he couldn't quite comprehend.

Vanitas sighed as he looked away again. "You talk too much." He huffed out. You merely shrugged, a small but genuine smile playing on your lips. "It's a talent, I suppose."

He let out a scoff, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps a hint of gratitude. After a few moments, another yawn escaped your lips. You glanced up at him slightly. "It's weird.. you're one of the most unbearable, scary people I've ever met." "Okay, ouch." He commented, letting you continue.

Your eyes closed for a second before opening again in defiance, "But I feel the most relaxed when I'm with you." You finished.

The contradiction between tonight's conversations and the usual banter between you two left him momentarily speechless. His attempt to mask his surprise with a scoff was futile as he grew embarrassed.

"You're delusional if you think I'm someone you should find relaxing," he retorted. Yet, the subtle tint of pink on his cheeks portrayed the effect of your words. "Probably." You mumbled out, slowly blinking.

Your yawns persisted, and a drowsy smile lingered on your lips as you observed Vanitas's futile attempts to deflect your words. "You're just spouting nonsense because you're half-asleep." He shifted away from you. "Sure, that's what I'm doing."

The silence made him glance up again, noticing you staring into the city lights, closing and reopening your eyes every few seconds. He couldn't help but stare at you for a bit, before jerking his head back to the city himself.

"You should.. Let yourself sleep." He mumbled out. You looked over with slightly surprised eyes, before your face slowly softened. "..thanks, Vanitas."

"yeah, yeah whatever.." he embarrassedly mumbled, looking away from you. You chuckled, continuing to stare at the beautiful pairs sky together.

#vanitas no carte x reader #vanitas x reader #the case study of vanitas #the case study of vanitas x reader #vnc x reader #vnc Vanitas x reader #glitchs✧works

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hipsdofangirl · 1 month ago

Text

and when i’m back in chicago..

seokmin x reader

summary: what it could have been

genre: meet-cute, idol au, kind of melancholic ending

notes: reader and dk are iphone users, reader is a svt fan and has anxiety lol

a/n 1: DAWG IM BAWLING RN I WAS 30 FT AWAY FROM HIM AT THE BEAN GETTING INTO MY UBER AND I MISSED HIM GRRRRAAAHHH MY FCKING ULTIMATE BIAS so this is me coping and telling my experience with what i wish could have been 🙄

wc: 1.4K

not proofread

1:58 pm CST

“oh my god! the bean is not under any construction anymore!” you point out, able to discern the article text under the glaring sun.

your friend nods, tired from the lack of food and wandering around in clothes not accustomed for the 60 degree temperature. you still were high on energy, the city and sunny autumn weather fueling your excitement; along with the anxiety fueling your flight response.

you sling your phone in your pant pocket as your other palm sweats against your sling bag—one you’ve been gripping ever since you entered the large city in fear of being pickpocketed. you pick up your pace absentmindedly as your friend trudges behind you.

you glance back at them. “since it’s a major tourist spot, no doubt they will have food.”

you could imagine a cartoon-ish sigh of relief exude from them as their own pace slightly picks up.

the gardens slowly wade behind you as you trudge through them, searching for any sign of a enormous metal bean. sweat glues your shirt to your back as your fingers trail against the leather portion of your bag.

after walking on a curved path beside the pavilion, your eyes blank out on the promised free bean. you've seen it before—a long time ago—but your friend has never seen the iconic tourist attraction.

although some conditions weren’t in your favor, you hoped they could at least enjoy seeing some things not everyone gets to. their immediate attention goes to the overpriced food trucks right beside it; however, knowing that both of you haven’t ate in 6 hours means money didn’t mean a thing.

they pat your shoulder. “i’m going to get a hot dog and a water, you want anything?” you shake your head, too entranced with the surroundings of everyone interacting.

“i’m fine—thank you though. i’ll be on the bench over there,” you reply wistfully.

your friend pretends to understand and strolls quickly to the nearest truck. in the meantime, you stand alone on the burning concrete sidewalk, enjoying the scenery.

the air seemed fresh next to the gardens, with the trees colliding alongside the massive skyscrapers, reaching to the clouds past the sky.

“ah—pardon me?” a man under a black hoodie jump-scares you, face flinching in response; your hands absentmindedly clasps your belongings.

you take a brief look at the tall tan man as he himself jumps a bit at your own response.

you chuckle before a light laugh escapes. “sorry! you scared me—is there anything i can help you with?”

he pauses. you discern his previously concerned eyes—the only part of his face you can see—as they focus on the ground before darting back up to meet yours once again. his eyes disappear behind a crinkle, forming smiles of their own you imagine.

he waves his hands, phone in one. “no no! i am sorry,” you can hear an accent, “i took picture of you—“

your brows furrow, lips pursing; he catches on immediately.

“oh um—“ he mutters something in another language which you can recognize as korean, “you looked really pretty.” your face turns hard pink and you hope he only believes it’s from the heat. “and the sun looked pretty and i had to take a photo, but i want your…support for it?”

it was obvious he wasn’t even sure of himself; the hands flailing from you to the sun and back to you says it all. you slowly nod, trying to understand his words. you glance to his eyes, searching for any soul behind them; that soul digs into your own for something sincere that you can’t quite place yet.

the world just seems to encapsulate you two as you can hear light scratching of his fingernails against his phone case, tugging your attention away to the new source. you can feel his gaze linger on your skin before he follows your gaze.

he almost yelps, “oh! here!” he scrambles to open his phone. as easy as it was to open a previously opened app, you linger yourself on his hands, seemingly red and scratchy.

you don’t even notice people briskly walking past you, staring in your direction; you don’t even notice another man, yet older and in all black clothing, walk over to the backside of the man you are talking to.

his phone is brazenly shoved into your face, forcing you to realize how close he has gotten to your right side. you could feel his quick breathing and additional warmth radiating from him; you wonder if you seemed to be the creep between the both of you. the blush returns as you force yourself to stand still. you look down to what he is showing you.

it’s a picture of you. where you were standing. he was right. the afternoon sun glow shined beside you onto the camera perfectly. the trees colliding alongside the massive skyscrapers, reaching to the clouds past the sky.

you swallow, noting your dry mouth. “wow—that’s. that’s really good.”

“right?” he isn’t looking at the photo anymore. he is slightly bending down, so you are able to meet his eyes as equals. he suddenly cuddles into his black jacket a bit more. “you like?”

you swallow again, “mhm! it’s amazing. candids really are something.” you mentally hit yourself with the stupidest remark.

he chuckles. “give me your phone.” your eyes widen. he chuckles again a bit louder but only audible to yourselves. “so you have the photo?”

your mouth opens and his eyes close in cheer. you fiddle through your pant’s side pocket to fish out your phone. once it resides in your palm and faces him for the next set of instructions, he tugs down the top and presses on the bluetooth icon.

you glance over at him as he adjusts his settings—confirming your suspicion that he did speak korean. he then lightly tugs your wrist, facing your phone towards him. he presses the phones together and you observe as the picture airdrops to your phone.

“oh my god..” you whisper. he chuckles, breath hitting your cheeks somehow through his mask. “i didn’t know it could do that—airdrop can be tricky for me.”

he hums in response. he glances briefly at the corners of your cheeks. “only for us.”

you look back up at him with a smile. “oh for sure! thank you so much!”

he waves and nods his head. “have a good day.”

the man behind him tugs his sweatshirt and they begin to quickly stroll away. not before he glances back at you and waves shyly.

you then look around yourself, noticing some girls were angling their phones at you.

“so what was happening over here?” you friend saunters over to you, hot dog in hand and two waters tucked into her side.

you let out a breathy chuckle out of disbelief. “some dude just took a gorgeous candid of me and sent it to me.”

your friend nods and smiles. “good for you! no doubt he liked you.” she hands you the extra water bottle.

“h-huh?” you stutter, eyes widen.

your friend chuckles. “your expressions are so funny sometimes.” they pat your back as you aggressively twist off the cap. you tilt your head back and chug part of the water. they pat your back again. “slow down, you don’t want to throw that up later because i am not cleaning that up.”

you nod, this time slowly swirling the cap around the grooves of the plastic bottle.

“now let me order that uber and you show me that so-called amazing photo.”

9:59 pm CST

“—NICE!” the fifth time the song rings out never gets old. as much as your bones are exhausted, you are determined to keep up.

getting to the venue was a hectic experience, but stepping to your almost-floor seats was a whole separate experience itself. the arena was smaller than expected, but the seats were in perfect view of the extended stage, especially during the encore.

a quick snap of your phone catches the image of that same man you met the previous day.

you didn’t register what completely happened till you arrived at your hotel room, until your friend showed you a specific member’s instagram story. the road signs may have looked familiar in the background, but you hit yourself mentally for recognizing the tan man.

now, in the concert hall, he never looked over in your direction; instead, he waved to the 200s and to the people on the floor, yet you still took his photo.

even if he never notices you or remembers you, you’re content with the thought of him doing something he loves and you being part of a fleeting moment only through his eyes.

“candids really are something.”

tags: @jcxbliss

a/n 2: did i almost cry writing this ending? yes. did i cry when i barely missed him irl? yes. did i sit down just now and write everything in one sitting? yes. did i cry happy tears at the revelation that i briefly passed him? yes. god i love him so much—

thank you for making it here! have a good day and night 🫶

#seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt x you #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen dk #seventeen seokmin #seokmin x reader #dokyeom x reader #seventeen dokyeom #dk x reader #svt #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic

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madaqueue · 5 months ago

Text

would you feel the noise?

playlists | "static" x steve lacy

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

themes/content: modern non-curse au. angst, smut. mentions of gojo x geto. language, cheating (but your boyfriend does first lmao), alcohol, weed, substance use (ket but never explicitly stated), dubcon-ish (you're both high), semi-public + unprotected, p in v (missionary). 18+, MDNI

word count: 3.9k

a/n: this got a little angsty at points and is so incredibly self-indulgent anyways happy pride i will never back down from the bi gojo agenda!

It’s all so fucking fake.

But then again, was anything real?

The smoke filling your lungs is real. The burn with each inhale is real. The crackles of the bonfire, its shape transforming with each second, overwhelms the crashing of the waves. Certainly, that is real.

Faintly in the background finds the hum of conversation, the whispers of laughter. It was always so easy for them, worming their way into others’ hearts. Maybe it wasn’t real - maybe they were nothing more than parasites, feeding on each other’s desires to feel wanted, to feel seen.

Tossing the now-spent joint into the fire, you stand, legs slightly wobbly from the mix of weed and shitty beer coursing through your body. Finding your boyfriend seated around the fire, his hand resting on some unfamiliar girl’s thigh, the mix of sand and rocks beneath your feet crunches as you make your way to him. When his eyes catch yours, he takes no action to move from the damning position beyond a sinister smile growing across his lips.

“Hey babe, grab me another beer, would ya?”

Even the retorts that used to fill your mind aren’t there anymore - Why can’t you? Too busy talking to your new favorite slut, whatever girl decided to give you an ounce of attention? Or too busy pretending to promote your shitty music, as if this party is the one that’ll finally make you go big and get you out of this town you claim to hate so much? - as you nod.

Making your way up the grass-covered dune away from the beach, you pass other groups lost in their own constructed worlds. Reaching the car, you pop the trunk and grab two beers from the cooler before returning down the shadowed path to the beach.

Maybe it’s seeing his arm wrapped around her. Maybe it’s the way you wish the flames would engulf them, consuming them until there’s nothing left. Maybe it’s just that you’re too fucking tired of this. But when you find yourself approaching the group around the bonfire, your legs won’t bring you there. Sighing, you turn towards the ocean - maybe you could find peace in the waves instead. When your body senses the presence of someone else seated on a washed-up log, the one you had hoped to reside on until your boyfriend decided it was finally time to leave, it was already too late.

His white hair glows under the moonlight as he turns over his shoulder to face you, his blue eyes unmistakable even in the dimness of night.

“Satoru?”

He looks different, yet distinctly the same. In the years since highschool he had grown, but something about him looks wrong, as though his soul was gone, nothing daring to take its place. Seating yourself next to him, the lingering dampness of the wood cool against your thighs, the changes are more prominent up close: his frown lines are deeper, his eyes less bright. Even his shoulders fall forward under an unidentified weight, one he was unable to carry. The light inside him had finally dimmed.

“Hey,” he weakly smiles, “it’s good to see you. Been a while, huh?”

Shock is dulled by the combination of substances in you, yet your heart picks up speed at hearing his voice again after so many years. At least it still remembers him. “Yeah, it has been.” Your arms instinctively move to offer him a beer, as though you were back in the highschool dorms sneaking in liquor before a party. “What are you doing here?”

Reaching out a hand he accepts the drink, the condensation momentarily tethering him to reality as he shrugs, gaze still focused downwards on the sand at his feet. “Thought it might be nice to see people.” Lifting the bottle he takes a sip, the taste familiar despite the years since he last shared a drink with you. “Why are you here?”

Without turning around, you tilt your head back to gesture at the group gathered behind you around the fire. “Came here with my boyfriend, he said there were supposed to be some producers here or something that might like his music.”

Gojo seems to sink into himself for a moment as he mumbles a soft, “Oh.”

Silence blankets you, yet something in it is comfortable, a lack of pressure to speak just for the sake of hearing yourselves talk. As you both sip your beer, he senses the changes in you, in the way you move your body. There’s a new rigidity, a tightness in your muscles as though every move took a concerted effort. You used to be so free, so unencumbered, a stark contrast to the tension that buzzes around you.

As he finishes his drink he places it into the sand before rummaging through the pockets of his jeans. Pulling out a small plastic bag, he gathers his keys, collecting the white substance inside before lifting it to his nose and inhaling. Turning to you, he holds out the baggie. “Want some?”

You don’t know why you say yes, perhaps some combination of fatigue and curiosity, an implicit trust in Satoru that he wouldn’t lead you astray. “Sure,” you nod with a sly grin. Lifting his key to your nose, you take the bump, the substance trickling through your sinuses and burning the back of your throat.

He smiles, seeing a glimmer of the girl he once knew: the nights you’d sneak out from the dorms, handles of vodka hidden under your jackets; hotboxing his first car, a shitty sedan that broke down a few months later, the smoke fogging up the windows; the barefoot runs through backyards, hopping over fences when cops would inevitably show up at the party you attended. “Not even gonna ask what it is?” he teases, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

You shrug, still smirking as you lean back, your hands resting on the damp wood. “Would’ve said yes no matter what.” Memories - or rather, blurs of them - flash through your mind, the days that turned to weeks you could barely remember, hunting for anything to numb the pain that dug itself into your bones. Every emotion was another ache, your joints creaking under the weight of surviving each day. Weed and alcohol happened to be the most accessible forms of escape, but at this point your body barely felt like your own, your cells simply a form to contain the lingering shreds of your soul.

He hums in response, allowing silence to settle upon you once again. The waves crashing begin to blend together, their sounds muffled in your ears. Has your body always felt so heavy? All you can feel is the cool wood beneath your palms and the warmth of Satoru’s arm next to yours, prickling your skin with his proximity. Your vision seems to pulse with each beat of your heart, each crashing wave of the sea. Are you the ocean? Is it breathing?

“Hey,” Satoru turns to you, moving as if in slow-motion. His eyes are glowing under the light of the moon, his smile making your cheeks feel warm. “Wanna get out of here?”

For a brief moment, you remember why you’re here, the boyfriend you left behind by the bonfire. Slowly, you glance over your shoulder. Your eyes eventually focus in the distance, finding his form illuminated by the crackling flames as he’s making out with the girl you saw him talking to before, his hands grabbing at her hips. That piece of shit. You should be angry, you should go up there and confront him, but instead of rage you just feel free. “Mhm,” you hum, the sound seeming to echo through your vision.

You feel yourself starting to float away, taken under in the current, until Gojo’s fingers intertwine with yours, pulling you back to the surface. Your legs wobble as you stand, his grip on your hand tightening as he leads you away from the party down the beach.

With each step, the sand crunches under your bare feet.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

You can’t help but giggle at the sound - how could your body make that? The miniscule pebbles adjust under your weight, leaving damp footprints in your wake.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

“What’s so funny?” Satoru turns to you, a smile plastered on his face.

“I crunch,” you laugh, momentarily turning your gaze down as your words land in the open air.

And he giggles, the sound bright under the dark sky. Picking up his knees, he slams his feet into the ground, forcing loud stomps to echo as you both laugh. Marching along the beach, you continue your path, holding tightly to one another as your joy bubbles into the air.

Rounding the corner behind an outcropping of trees, you find yourselves in a secluded cove, away from the noise of those gathered at the party on the other side. Gojo plops down on the sand, his body thudding as he lays back. You mirror his motions, unconcerned with the dirt coating your clothes as your back hits the ground.

Staring at the sky, you feel yourself wanting to be a part of it, to meld into the darkness, a cloud tethered to the land with lead. Heavy. Yet, you’re grounded by Satoru’s presence, the cool scent of his cologne, the gentleness of his thumb rubbing over your hand.

Glancing at him, he looks younger, no longer consumed by the years that had passed. His boyish youth has returned once again as his eyes lazily fix themselves upon the stars, as though each pinprick light heals him little by little.

He looks the same as the last time you saw him, the day of your highschool graduation. You promised to keep in touch, but as it often does, life got in the way. He and Suguru promised to call, to come visit, but with moving and work and the recurring responsibilities of adulthood, your friendships dissolved over time. On your part, you similarly assured them you would stay a weekend in their shared apartment downtown, a vow you failed to keep, recalling the pictures they sent you after moving in together. Suddenly, the striking absence of Geto fills your mind.

“Where’s Suguru?” you ask, your voice hitting your own ears before you realize what you’ve said.

Gojo tenses next to you for a moment, a flash of something - regret? - momentarily crossing his features before he settles back into the numbing bliss. Yet, hearing his name is enough, his mind forcing him to relive it, to feel it again.

The fights.

“You just don’t understand me, Satoru.”

“Because you don’t let me understand you - you don’t let me in! It’s impossible, Suguru, I don’t fucking know what you want!”

The pain.

“Then maybe you should stop trying.”

“Suguru, that’s not what I meant-”

“Why try to do something impossible? That’s not fair to either of us.”

The emptiness.

“It’s for the best, Satoru. We can’t love each other in a way that matters.”

“Suguru, please-”

“I’ll never forget you.”

Sighing, his gaze remains fixed on the sky. “We broke up.”

“Oh,” is all you can get out, barely able to process his words but feeling the hurt lingering behind them. “I’m sorry he lost you.”

A weak smile tugs at his lips. “It’s okay. I’m over boys, anyways,” he laughs, slipping back into the substance-induced euphoria he forcefully brought himself, a welcome embrace as he allows his thoughts to once again melt away. “Speaking of which,” he murmurs, the vowels drawing out, “how long have you ‘n’ your boyfriend been together?”

The stars seem to connect, each one a memory of the time you spent with him. “Eight months.” Each point a constellation of your past, yet none of them make you happy. Mostly, it’s just him taunting you, pushing you away, using your emotions against you. The times he’d pressure you into coming with him to a club only to find him making out with some girl in the corner; the concerts he’d bring you to and conveniently forget to introduce you to his friends; the nights he’d promise that this time he’ll be there, he won’t stand you up again, and the silent taxis home alone. “But I don’t love him.”

“Oh?” Satoru whispers, as though lowering his voice would allow him to better understand yours. “Why not break up with him?”

Your shoulders shrug, pushing the sand around them up. “‘s nice to have someone around, I guess.”

“I get that,” he quietly murmurs, gaze still fixed above. You simply hum in response before you feel him shift next to you. “Hey, I have an idea,” he breaks the silence, his smile evident in his words, the letters curling up at the end. “You should be my girlfriend.”

A chuckle in the shape of his name erupts from your throat as you entertain the idea, one that is completely, and utterly, impossible.

“I’m serious!”

Your head lazily flops to the side, your cheek resting against the cool sand as you meet his gaze, a blissed-out grin on his face. Under the moonlight, he looks angelic, his skin perfectly smooth, the curves of his body contrasting against the darkness of the woods behind you. In his soft eyes, you find a peace you didn’t realize you had been searching for, a silent promise behind them.

“Okay,” you giggle.

Before you can process the words, his smile widens, his shoulders relaxing as they release a weight he didn’t know he held. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nod, the word making your body warm with its vibration, in tune with the frequency of the universe.

For a moment you just lay there, the crashing waves against the shore, a shared adoration flowing between you. Satoru blinks, his eyelids resting closed before he reopens them, his demeanor visibly brightening every time his gaze finds you laying next to him, as though he temporarily forgets your presence only to reexperience the joy of finding you again.

“Do you wanna go swimming?”

As if on cue, your senses momentarily shoot through your body, jean shorts digging into your hips, the warm cloth of your tank top over your shoulders. “Now?” you chuckle.

“Mhm,” he beams. “I bet the water’ll feel amazing.”

Something deep within your soul trusts him, submitting to his desires. “Okay,” you grin before sitting up.

Crawling towards each other, you allow yourselves to close the distance between you on your hands and knees, your motions abiding by a planet-sized magnetic pull. Grazing your hands over his chest, you help him remove his shirt, your palms lingering over his firm chest. Since you last saw him, he had filled out perfectly, no longer the scrawny teenager you once knew. Now, his muscles ripple as he lifts your tank top above your head, simultaneously undoing each other’s shorts, as though separating your touch for even a moment would cause you to lose one another, to lose yourselves in the darkness. Tossing your clothes in the sand, crisp air tingles your skin, covered only by a bra and panties, while Satoru, now adorned only in his boxers, returns his hand to yours. Squeezing your palm, he glances over at you, a silent reassurance behind his eyes.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.”

With that, you’re running into the sea. The water momentarily shocks you as cold pricks at your skin, but Satoru pulls you deeper and deeper until you’re both diving under the waves. Resurfacing, shared laughs echo along the ocean. He shakes out his hair, cool droplets landing on your face as you jokingly shove him away. Easily catching your wrists he pulls you closer, the warmth of his chest hitting yours a welcome contrast to the icy sea. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as his rest along your lower back, holding you against him.

Each wave has you bobbing slightly, grounded only by the brightness of his eyes. They flit across your face, your flushed cheeks, soft lips curled into a grin. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs.

His body feels solid, well-defined against the fluidity of your surroundings. “You are too,” you giggle.

Gaze never faltering, you both lean closer, and closer, and closer, until his lips meet yours. They’re soft, slightly cool after being outside all night, as you sigh into him. There’s a subtle sweetness lingering as his tongue swipes against yours, a quiet desperation behind his actions. Suddenly, cool air hits your skin as he carries you out of the water, sand hitting your back as he carefully lays you along the beach.

Pressing his weight against you, the kiss becomes messier, teeth bumping as your lips clash. Despite the breeze rustling through the leaves of nearby trees, you feel warm, a comfort in the imprecision. His clothed erection pushes against your core, your hips bucking against him as you moan into each other’s mouths. The friction is addicting, the damp cloth rubbing perfectly against your clit. Your thoughts are fuzzy, your body acting on its own as your palms trail over his back, lower and lower until they’re pawing at his waist.

“Need you,” you mutter into him, “need you s’bad.”

His head falls slightly, finding a place in the crook of your neck as he places wet kisses along your skin, a slight saltiness lingering on it. “Y’sure?” he whispers.

“Please, Satoru,” his name leaving your throat shockingly clear, the only thing cutting through the haze, finally granting you a second of clarity through the substance- and lust-induced fog.

Hearing you call his name, a shiver runs up his spine, as though it was the first sound he ever heard, as though he was reincarnated to live in this moment forever. Pulling down his boxers, his cock springs out as you tug your panties down your legs, meeting their fate in the sand.

Positioning his hips, he aligns himself with your entrance, his hands glued to your hips. Slowly, slowly, slowly thrusting into you, your walls stretch around him, your soul tearing open and releasing the white hot light of ecstasy.

“Oh fuuuuuuck,” he groans as he enters you, his eyes rolling into his skull, jaw slacking open.

Your hands trail up his back to land at his face, cupping his jaw as you softly giggle at his total loss of any remnant of shame, allowing the feeling of your body, your warmth, to completely overtake him, releasing the most primitive, desire-driven version of himself. Pulling him back into you, you rejoin his mouth to yours, tongues mingling in the space between them. Rolling his hips into you, each thrust sends wave after wave of euphoria up your body. Atoms align perfectly, allowing you to slip into one another, the distance between you infinitely approaching zero. You only exist at the points where his skin touches yours, his pelvis smashing into you, his fingers digging into your waist, the warmth of his lips and the gentle flutter of his eyelashes.

You aren’t quite certain if your eyes are open or closed, the darkness clouding your perception indeterminately from the sky or the inside of your eyelids. Either way, the scene is beautiful, each sensation painting a new color across your vision. Satoru’s cock pressing into your gummy insides, purple; his hand trailing up your torso to lazily grope at your tits, green; his hot breath as he whines with each imprecise thrust, blue. The image evolves, ever changing, impossibly beautiful. When his voice hits your ears, it immediately brightens, somehow even more complex, a masterpiece of sensation.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, never daring to separate his lips from yours, “y’were made f’me.”

“Made for you,” you babble back, and you truly do feel it, the way your walls meld around his length, how your bodies perfectly fill in each dip and curve of the other’s, your souls fitting perfectly against one another. “Best thing, feel s’good.”

“So, so good,” he whines, “so warm ‘n’ sweet.”

“Sweet, sweet,” you mumble into him, the taste of booze and something sugary lingering on his tongue. “Soft.”

“Mmm.” He shivers as your hands roam his body, one ascending to his hair and one trailing down his spine, tracing imprecise patterns into his skin. “Love you,” he spills.

The words tumble out before he could stop them, his hips momentarily stilling as he hears them. Before he could retract them, the hand in his hair pulls him further into you, your back arching off the sand as you whisper your response. “Love you s’much.”

Some part of you feels it’s just your body reacting, the bare minimum networks active to recite language. Yet, a deeper part knows it’s true, a quiet love you’ve always held for Satoru. Perhaps now, in the absence of your better judgement, the self-imposed cognitive rules, this piece of you is finally free to enact its control, speaking its truth, allowing it to be heard, felt.

At your affirmation, Satoru lets out a blissful whine, his thrusts picking up their pace yet somehow softening, a new tenderness behind them. You love him. He doesn’t even know what it means, really - after Suguru, his perception of love changed irrevocably. Yet, as he feels the warmth of your skin beneath him, the comfort of your presence, he doesn’t feel a pressure to know, a whisper of meaning lost into the waves of the ocean.

In your shared ecstasy, back and forth mindless babbles continue filling the air, the shape of the words gliding across your vision. It’s beautiful, you think, the way sounds create shapes create meaning; maybe that’s what you’d been looking for: meaning.

No, you had meaning - hell, sometimes you think you had too much meaning. Maybe you needed the absence of meaning, a stillness, a silence. Your life had been too rough, too tumultuous, whitecapping waves covering the oasis of your thoughts. No, you needed unbroken waters, a calm pond to sink into. As your fingers trail over the smooth skin of Satoru’s back, you feel yourself wading into the depths of his soul.

The thrusts of his hips, the rasp of his breath, consume your senses. He melts into you, you melt into him, both of you becoming grains of sand and stars in the sky. In another moment you expand, becoming the sea and the moon, watching over one another, a patient influence over each other. The connection ties you together, without expectation, without pain, simply content sharing your presence.

His arms begin trembling above you as your legs tighten around his waist, holding him against you. A light appears in your chest, the fire of desire burning larger as each prod of his tip fans the flames. Brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until it consumes you. Your vision goes white, your skin flushing hot. Satoru’s moans are far away as his entire body twitches, taught under the strings of pleasure.

You both come undone together, melding into the universe, two comets in space, two suns circling. The collision of your soul ignites, explosive heat surging through your bodies.

As your senses return, you feel nothing but warmth as he rests above you. Your gaze focuses on his, blown pupils glowing down at you. Cheeks pushing up, you both grin impossibly wide as giggles bubble into the stillness around you. Resting his damp forehead against yours, breathy pants fill the air, desperate to fill your lungs with the cool night air. Placing your lips to his, your thoughts finally quiet, your soul finally at ease. In him, you think you’ve finally discovered the missing shard, uncovering the truest form of yourself, the euphoria you had been searching for: peace.

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romana-after-dark · 1 year ago

Text

Don't You Worry Your Pretty Little Mind

DBF!Joel Miller x Fem!reader

Sugar Daddy Joel, No outbreak

Masterlist : Taglist

Summary: You need money for next semester. Luckily, your dad's rich friend's eyes follow you were ever you go, and he thinks you're such a good girl.

Warning: DUB CON VIA BRAINWASHING AND MANIPULATION: The sex is v consentual, the breeding is worn down. Breeding kink, age gap (30 ish years), Joel's obsession with gender rolls. The gender rolls and sentiments expressed by Joel and eventually reader are not mine. You do not need to be a mother or wife or care for children to be a good girl. Joel is controlling and manipulates reader away from friends and keeps her financially in the blind but he does not hurt her. If you like this and are okay with DARK DARK DARK you might like The Wrong Way on my masterlist bc Joel housewifes little one up. Cream pie, fingering, oral, but its not super smutty. Most is implied.

Immersability: Joel can pick up reader, reader can have kids theoretically.

This born of me being under extream stress rn and wanting all my thoughts out of my head.

*******************************

Joel was broad, sweaty, and all consuming over you.

His thrusts were growing erratic, sloppy, but that was okay; he’d made you cum 4 times already, so it was his turn. You had no idea how someone his age had so much stamina while you got winded walking up a flight of stairs, but were too tired to think much further on it. As it was, you were falling asleep as his rhythmic thrust rocked you. It wasn’t that you were bored, it was that you were completely and totally wrecked. Spent. Fucked to sleep.

“Please baby, please? I need to cum inside you, need to make you mine.”

“I am yours.” You insisted quietly, fucked out head unable to stay up and nodding to the side. You needed sleep.

Joel continues to grunt, to plead with you. “Not yet, not until you’re stuffed full of my cum, not until your belly swells with my baby…”

It was supposed to be one time. You were so, so close to having enough money for another semester of college… but not enough. You’d been late on payments so often your school required it upfront for you now, and you were just short.

“Hey hun, you alright?” Joel let himself into your family’s home. He had a key right now, with your parents vacationing in Europe the last couple months and gave Joel a key to watch over things. To watch over you.

You check yourself in the mirror once again, everything needed to be perfect, so you shout down the hall. “One moment, sorry!”

“Take your time, darl’n.”

Re-apply lipstick. Wait, no, too much lipstick. It’s too try hard, take some off. Fuck you smugged it! Touch out your cover up, then the lipstick again. FUCK ITS TOO MUCH! Oh fucking well, your were whoring yourself out, might as well look like one. Straighten your dress. Tits out.

You tried to act casual. It wasn’t unusual to see you dressed up for dinner, your parents were big on dressing for dinner especially when guests were over, and Joel had been a friend guest. Him and your dad were close friends ever since your dad represented Joel in his divorce, getting him full custody of Sarah. It ended up being pointless anyway, as his ex-wife stopped taking Sarah for her weekends a year into the divorce. Sarah had been just a pawn for her, but Joel loved her, taking care of everything she needed for college. His business had taken off, moving from not only construction to full on housing and property developments, so he had paid for her college and was paying for her dream wedding as well. You were invited, although you’d only met her a few times. Your parents, despite their success, had no interest in helping you with college when you rejected pre-law in favor of early childhood development, so you’d been paying your own way.

Joel had defended your life choices when your dad attempted to publicly embarrass you, your dad stating that you ‘don’t fucking listen’ and were an ungratful, disobidiant brat at a dinner party, but Joel wouldn’t hear it. He said you were ‘a good girl’, and that it was a beautiful thing to see a woman who cares about children, still in this world. He praised your efforts and your determination.

“Thank you for coming, Joel.”

Joel stands as you enter the room. “Of course, a pretty girl invites me to dinner, how could I say no? Everything's alright here, no one’s giving you any trouble are they?”

“Yes, everything is good, thank you.”

“Anything need fixing while I’m here?”

“No, thank you. Come on, diners ready.”

You lead him to the kitchen, and you don’t miss the way his eyes trail down as you pass. This is what you were counting on.

Joel was quick to praise your food, not holding back on compliments. “This is delicious, sweetheart, you really got a skill here.” and “You’ll make some man very happy one day.”

That last one made you swell with pride. You were happy he thought of you as wife material. What you were about to do wasn’t very “good girl” of you, however. Joel always called you a good girl, while your dad thought for sure you were taking an ‘easier’ major to allow more time for partying. You wanted Joel to think you were good.

After dinner, you and Joel sat down with coffee and a cherry crumble, smoothing your dress over the couch. Conversation was light, easy. It was always easy with Joel, despite him making you nervous. He was just so fucking handsome, so fucking strong, and the way he talked about sarah with a twinkle in his eye… you know he was a good dad, a loving dad. The few times you met Sarah, Joel always took care of her even in adulthood. He gave her gas money she never asked for, told her she looked beautiful, and his face always beamed with pride when he looked at his daughter. He always hugged her goodbye, even if he’d see her tomorrow. Your father hadn’t hugged you in years.

“Is there a reason you brought me here tonight?” Joel asked, sipping his black coffee with a bit of splenda in it, a splash of the dark liquid remaining on his mustache until he dabbed it away.

You squirm a bit in your seat. “Well, yes, actually. Not that I don’t enjoy your company!” Was your fast addendum.

Joel chuckled, smiling into his mug. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I ain’t one of those old men that have delusions of pretty young girls wanting to spend time with them.”

“That’s not it!” You stand quickly, fluttering over to where he sat on the couch and plopping down. “I swear, Mr. Miller, if you say no, I’d want you to stay and finish dessert, I enjoy spending time with you, just as we are.”

Joel was struggling more and more to stave off his orgasm, but he needed this. He couldn’t just cum in you, although you wouldn’t resist and he doubted you’d throw a fit. He had you too wrapped around his finger by now. Young, sweet, naive thing that you were… but Joel needed you to want this too, Joel needed a life with you at his side, his pretty wife, mother of his children… starting tonight.

“Joel, nooooo…” You mutter, tired and worn out. He made sure to get you like this; compliant. “I have to finish school, Joel…”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. Just tell me what you need, I’m sure we can work something out.”

You wring your hands in your lap, suddenly aware of your proximity to him. He smelled like leather and sandalwood.

“Well, as you know I’m in school…”

He nodded, setting down his drink. “That’s right, Early Childhood isn’t it?”

That made you light up, turning to actually look at him and finding his kind eyes on you. “Yes! I can’t believe you remembered!”

“I remember your dad ranting about it. I told him he shouldn’t have been surprised, good girl like you, wanting to take care of children.”

You nod quickly. “Yes exactly! My school offers a minor in special needs which I added too.” You were happy with his approval of your choice and added that fact on to make you seem more noble. This was a good cause he was investing in. You were a good girl who wanted to help children.

“My oh my, darl’n…” Joel mused. “You really are a sweetheart, aren’t you? Now, what can I do to aid such a valiant effort.”

“Well, school starts this month and I’m close, I’m so, so close to having enough but even with the overtime, it’d looking like I’ll be short about $500 for tuition, and then there’s books and supplies and-”

“Now wait a minute, little lady.” Joel held up a hand, and for a moment you’re disheartened and think he’s about to reject your ask before it’s even out, but his furrowed brow is for another reason. “Your daddy ain’t help’n you pay for school?”

“No sir… not since I refused to go to pre-law.”

“Well that ain’t right… I know how much he makes, he can pay for a few months in Europe but not your school? Fathers are supposed to take care of their daughters.” He looked genuinely disappointed.

Shrugging, you chuckle nervously. “Well, I suppose he doesn’t think it’s very useful, so he doesn’t want to pay for it.”

“You graduate before the second semester.”

“But my dad”

“I’ll handle your dad”

“What about Sarah?”

“I’ll handle Sarah.”

“But the money-”

Joel stopped, mid trust, his cock buried inside you and trying his best to stave off his orgasm.

“Sweetheart… Don’t you know I want to marry you?”

Joel had known Mike wasn’t the most attentive father, but he never thought it was this bad. He always thought you were a good girl, kind hearted and calm, empathetic and caring. It had only been this last year that he’d begun to see you as something more, something seductive, yes, someone who he thought about fisting his cock at those lonely nights, but, that wasn’t the full picture either. You were a caretaker… Maternal.

“That’s fuck’n stupid.” Joel countered, bluntly. “Take’n care of children, that’s the most important job on earth, why, your daddy should but thrilled to have such a nurturing daughter!” His voice was raised just a bit, but not at you. Didn’t your dad see what a prize he had? A woman like that, well, you were of high value. You were a treasure. His bitch of an ex wife never really wanted to be a mother, he knew that now, just like his mother. They had Sarah because that’s what you did when you were married in the 90’s. Joel fell in love immediately… she never really attached, and much like his mother wasn’t mentally present on the rare occasion she was physically… Well, his ex-wife lasted longer than his mother did, anyway. You would never leave your child like that. You would never leave him like that. “Whadya need, sweetheart.”

Your fidgeting continues. “Well… $1000… but… It’s not a loan, I was hoping to… to sell you something.”

Interesting… you had his complete attention, whatever you needed, it was yours. $1000 was nothing, and he’d much sure such a good girl had everything she needed… you deserved it.

“Whatever it it, darling girl, I’ll buy.”

He saw you taking a deep breath, hesitating at first before standing up and walking in front of him. You looked stunning in your red dress, an absolute marvel.

With a deep breath and hands folded in front of you., you answered what you were selling.

“Me.”

“W-what?” You were suddenly awake again, snapping back to reality at his words. “No, no Joel you’re just saying that…”

Joel shook his head. “I wouldn’t like about that, baby. C’mon, you gotta know how badly I want to marry you. You're my good girl. We’d be so happy together, just you and me…” A large, splaying hand on your bare belly. “And our baby…”

Joel stands up, walking over to you and towering his body over yours. “Sweetheart, do you know what you're asking?”

You look up at him and nod. “I do, Joel. Please know I understand what I’m doing.”

He shakes his head. “No, darling girl I’ll just give you the $1000, you don’t have to-”

“I want to.” You eyes shined at him, timid but attempting to look sure. “I can’t just take a hand out.”

“You can-” He reached for his wallet, but you grab his hands.

“I can’t. Joel…” You slide up to him, pressing your body too his. “I’ve seen the way you look at me… I look at you like that too.”

Reaching a hand up, Joel cups your face. “Baby…” He groans, erection growing in his pants already at the thought. “I don’t think I can do this just once… you gotta know that, don’t you? Special girl like yourself…” His eyes darted to your lips, cherry red and beautiful and oh-so inviting.

You look down at his shirt as you behind to feel up his chest. Firm muscles of hard work under the softness of age. “Well, maybe… since my dad won’t help me…” You wriggle your pelvis against his, taunting him before looking up at his brown eyes again. “We can come up with an arrangement?”

Joel was holding on by a thread. “Yeah? You gonna let me take care of you?” His thumb on your face spreads to your mouth, and when it prods are your lips, you open eagerly. Keeping eye contact with his brown orbs gone black, your nod and suck, the message clear. Yes sir.

“Fuck…” Joel mumbles his mouth encasing yours in a harsh, hard kiss and scooping you up with ease, only to lay you down on the couch. Your red dress splays and russles as he does, bending your knees so it slides down to your hips. When you make an attempt to remove the dress, rough hands stop you. “Keep the dress on.”

Your black tights, however, were ripped open to reveal white lacy underwear. “Uh fuuuuck..;. So beautiful…” He marvels at your pussy, so perfectly groomed for him. Falling to his knees on the floor, Joel mouths over the clothed core, his breath adding to the heat as he explored you.

“You don’t have to-”

“I know damn well I don’t.” Joel snaps. “I don’t want to, sweetheart, I need to.”

With that, Joel ripped off your underwear with two hands and dived into you. He couldn’t help but palm himself over his pants as he did. You just tasted too good, and he was a starved man.

His thrusts continued, but with a different rhythm this time. Eyes sharply on yours, he drew back slowly but thrusting in hard. Slowly, hard. Less slow, more harder. Less slow… you were going to come again, eyes never leaving his for a moment.

“Everything you ever need, everything you ever want, I’ll take care of. I’ll provide for you, I’ll love you, protect you, I’ll care for you… only thing you ever need to do is take care of me and this baby, okay? That’s it.”

You were dizzy, you were worn, you were on the precipice of climax and you were in love.

“Okay.”

His eyes light up, a smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, baby? You lett’n me fill you up?”

Joel knew you were ovulating. Of course he did. Joel tracked your periods to make sure he always knew what you needed. Heating pads, tea for bloating, pads and tampons and cups. He said he wanted to know so that he could take care of you emotionally.

Of course he knew when you were ovulating.

The next two hours were a blur of bliss, Joel taking care of all your needs, physical, sexual, even emotional.

At the end, a $2000 check was written in your name and a tender kiss on the head as he parted as well as plans between you to for next time.

For the next several months, ‘next time’ became more and more frequent, more and more demanding but a higher and higher price. Joel began to take care of it all. Your apartment, your food, every single need or want was handled by Joel, and in return every free moment was spent with him. You didn’t desire to see your friends. They just wanted to party. But you, you were serious about your passions. You were serious about helping people. Joel may have mentioned it once or twice when your grades were getting worse, suggesting instead of studying with them, you study at his place. He’d keep you on track. Quickly, your grades improved, and you began studying with Joel more and more. You eventually just stayed with him.

It was like a dream, you had everything you needed, including Joel who whispered his love to you every chance he had. Joel took care of you in the way your father never did, Joel filled those gaps he left.

Joel took away every in convenience. He told you when your friends weren’t good for you, he cooked for you on late nights, he even began making appointments and getting your car fixed. Your parents were none the wiser, but you began to care less what they thought. Only Joel mattered, and the children. Joel took away every worry for you, and all you had to think about was making him happy, and what to do with your upcoming degree.

“Yes Joel.” You whine, desperate to please him, desperate to remain his everything as he is yours. “Wanna be your wife, wanna have your babies, please?”

“Oh fuck,” He panted, holding on by a thread as his brows pursed together. “Gonna fuck you full, little mama.”

Your orgasm hits you, crashing waves causing you to cry out in a rigid scream. “Joel!!!” Your fingers claw bloody on his back. “Make me a mommy, please?”

“Ohhhhh, fuck yeah baby, good fucking girl, gonna put my baby in you, yes, yes yes, FUCK YES!” Joel growled and unloaded into you, painting your inside in his cum and filling you to the brim before collapsing onto you. Heavy and overbearing, Joel consumed your body and every thought in your head and soon, your body and entire life will make room for him.

Your mind reeled, the reality of what just happened setting in. At 22, you were at peak fertility… were you pregnant?

“Joel?” You ask, still clinging to him desperately.

“I know exactly what you’re worried about, and what do I always tell you?”

You smell his neck, reassuring yourself with his mantra. “Don’t you worry your pretty little mind…” Joel always told you not to worry about a thing. He’d take care of it all, he’d take care of you…

“That’s right, sweetheart. I know you’re worried about what I said…” Joel’s body pulls away just a bit, tucking his forehead to yours. “I’m gonna marry you, baby girl. I’m gonna take care of you and this baby. If you’re pregnant, if you really are my good girl, I’ll marry you.” Sitting back, Joel watches his cock slide out of you with a ‘pop’ and laments the cum seeping out of you. As he pushes it back in, Joel brings you to orgasm yet again.

You were, in fact, pregnant. As your belly swelled, Joel became more and more obsessed with you, constantly caressing your belly. You graduated college of course, as you dreamed, but finding a job… it wasn’t really on your raidar There wasn’t really a need. Joel handled it all, and he said he didn’t want you dealing with that stress right now. And who would hire a heavily pregnant woman?

Joel and you married in an intimate ceremony at the 4th month mark in a small baptist church. It was your parents, a few family members of yours and a friend who two who Joel thought were good influences and Sarah and Tommy were there of course. Joel promised you a big, fancy vowel renewal whenever you wanted, but a wedding like that takes time to plan, and you both wanted to me married when you had your baby.

Joel made you happier than you ever thought possible, he took care of everything. Of course, he controlled everything too, but that was okay. You didn’t need a bank app on your phone, all you needed to know was that your debit card would go through, and you knew it would. You didn’t need the routing and account number, you didn’t need to see finances, look at insurance plans, stocks, bills, anything like that. All you needed to do was take care of your body, and soon, this baby.

“I gotta admit Joel, I wasn’t really a fan of this at the start.” Your dad announces one Sunday dinner. He had invited Tommy and Sarah over as well. Extended family. Both had been hesitant at first, especially Sarah, who was a few years older than you… but they saw how you made her dad smile, and how Joel took care of you… how could they not be happy?

“I remember” Joel jokes back.

Your dad continued. “But I gotta say, this has been good for her.”

They tended to talk about you like you weren’t in the room, sometimes, but that was okay. You were Joel’s pretty, obedient wife, and you spoke when spoken too. You were there to support Joel, not meddle in his conversations.

Joel turned to you and smiled, kissing you on the cheek and feeling your 9 month swollen belly. “She’s come a long way, but she’s a good girl, obedient. Best wife I could ask for.”

Joel spoke for you, proudly telling them how after the baby was born and you’d recovered, you had plans to put your degree to use. Not work, oh gosh no! You don't need to worry about something like that. No, you’d be volunteering at a nonprofit. And isn’t that so much better!

You wouldn’t have to have another worry in your head again, outside of being a good mother. Your could give a few hours a week to children in need and then come home to a living family without being exhausted from long days on your feet.

Everything would be taken care of.

Everything would be handled.

All you had to do was be a good girl.

************

AHHHHHHHHHHHH

I hope you guys enjoyed!!!

I am so stressed rn ive been crying for days about work stuff. I dont want to work I want to volunteer and take care of children in need and have a hot husband fuck me and and and and ANYWAY

PLease consider reblogging, it's the only way to spread fics!

I love you all, thank you to everyone whose been raching out to me

@fandxmslxt69 @moriartyyouwhore @hereforthepedrofanfic @alwaysmicado @noisynightmarepoetry @morallyinept @kyloispunk @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @princesslunablogger

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ivystoryweaver · 7 months ago

Text

What a Mother Can Be

Pairing: Moon Dads! Steven Grant x mother!reader, Marc Spector x mother!reader. (Jake is mentioned). The story does not state that this reader has given birth to these children, nor the reader's gender, so anyone who could ever feel like a mother would be included here.

Word Count: 1.7k

Content: MOON DADS!! fluff, domestic fluff, kids, married life, it's Mother's Day, kissing, mentions of food and eating, there is a tinge of angst-ish, as Wendy Spector is mentioned, but this is not an angsty fic. This story is what I wish for the Moon Boys IF this is what they would want. They deserve to heal and they deserve a family if they want one - whatever that may look like. not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

He finds you in the kitchen early Sunday morning, standing over a hot griddle, pancakes sizzling.

Your babbling toddler wiggles in the high chair, pinching one Cheerio at a time in her chubby fingers and stuffing it into her mouth, making a kind of weird mush as she entertains herself.

You back is turned to him so you don’t realize he’s there until his arms wind around you from behind.

“You can’t cook today,” he breathes on your ear, stealthily removing the spatula from your hand.

You giggle and pretend to shrug him off. “Why not?”

“It’s Mother’s Day,” he declares, with an adoring kiss to your cheek.

“So? We have two boys about to come barreling in here,” you remind him matter-of- factly. “My present to myself is not listening to them demanding to know what’s for breakfast.”

A sliver of shame shoots through Steven's heart. He intended to wake up before you and take care of all this: breakfast and the kids. But Jake was out late last night and he accidentally overslept.

“Dada!” Lockley calls from her high chair, playfully slapping her hands down on the tray.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Steven greets his daughter, bending over to kiss her forehead. “Did you know it’s Mummy’s day?

“Ma-ma, Ma-ma, Ma-ma,” Lockley wiggles back and forth, chanting proudly.

As predicted, two energetic boys burst into the kitchen, their tousled curls an adorable mess.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” the twins shout in unison, holding up a handmade banner, constructed from about 60 post-it notes stuck together.

“Wowww,” you whistle in admiration. “Somebody’s been ransacking my office for supplies.” You wink, kneeling down to inspect their handiwork, and assuming they were unable to locate the construction paper to make this unique banner.

Then you take a closer look as Steven tends to the pancakes, finishing them up and removing them from the heat.

“Oh…” Your eyes mist over instantly when you realize the reasoning behind using such small paper to build a banner.

"There's messages on each one," Grant, the oldest twin by two minutes, shyly murmurs.

"Read 'em, read 'em, Mom!" Your energetic Jakob almost tears the feeble construct apart with his bouncing up and down.

Several of the notes boast simple messages such as, "Happy Mother's Day!" or "We love you!"

A few of them have small handprints - Mother's Day classics. There's even a tiny handprint, with LOCKLEY printed messily underneath.

"We had to write hers because she can't write," Jakob states the obvious. "But she tried to eat the Post-its."

"I'm sure she did," you chuckle, glancing over a few "coupons" where the boys have offered to load the dishwasher, fold laundry, give you a back rub and the like.

Then you notice a rather good drawing of your family under a banner reading, "The Spectors": You, holding baby Lockley. Grant and Jakob are flanking either side of you. And there are three dads pictured and labeled, Marc, Steven, Jake, underneath, "DAD" written in all caps. "MOM" is above your head.

"Grant, did you draw this, bud?" You ask your little artist, ruffling his curls.

"Yeah. It was hard to fit everyone on a Post-it, so I made it on two. So you have to keep them together...okay?" His dark eyebrows shoot up hopefully.

You nod, continuing to inspect each one.

Jake has written a few notes in Spanish and Steven left you a riddle...which led to a second riddle underneath the first one. And a third.

Jakob is giddy, dying to tell you what the riddle's answers are, but Grant silences him.

The bottom post it says, "Turn around."

Curious, you stand back up and turn to find Steven holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand and a wrapped present in the other.

"One-two-three," you hear Grant coach. Then Jakob joins in. "Surprise!" Your husband and twin sons chorus.

"Happy Mother's Day, darling," Steven smiles at you, handing you your gifts. "These are from Marc and me."

"Thank you, I love them," you accept the flowers and kiss him sweetly on the lips.

"And Jake says he's going to get Frenchie to babysit next weekend so he can take you out in the city and 'show you off.' His words."

You snort, clearly amused. "Frenchie wants to babysit these three?"

"Yay!" Jakob cheers. "Uncle Frenchie! Uncle Frenchie!"

"Fen-he!" Lockley attempts, bouncing in her chair.

"See, everyone loves the idea," Steven grins, nodding for you to open the wrapped gift. "You can wear this."

A moment later, as he places your flowers in some fresh water, you unwrap your gift.

"It's beautiful," you gasp, touching the golden necklace, bearing hieroglyphs.

"It represents motherhood," Steven gushes. "Here, I made sure to get the paper that explains it all."

"Thank you." Wrapping your arms around his neck you hug him tightly. "Will you put it on me?"

Steven obliges, and you turn back to your boys. "What do you guys think?"

"It's pretty, Mom," Grant sweetly replies.

But Jakob has already dropped his half of the banner and is reaching for a pancake when Steven clears his throat pointedly.

The five of you gather around the table for an all too sugary breakfast before heading out to the park to get some fresh air, let the kids play and spend some quality time together.

Lockley can't walk quite yet, so she's rolling and scooting on a blanket on the grass while Grant and Jakob play close by.

Steven has already apologized for oversleeping, but you confess that you heard Jake come home extremely late. Lockley had a fussy night, so you turned off the baby monitor not ten minutes after he fell asleep and spent most of the early morning rocking your sweet, fussy girl.

"The perfect mom, as always," Steven compliments, with a sparkle in his eye. "And the day's not over yet. There's more to come."

You tangle your fingers with his, laying your head on his shoulder. After a brief silence, you ask, "How's Marc?"

You normally don't ask one alter to deliver messages for another. Half the time, they don't know anyway. But this is Marc. On Mother's Day.

"Quiet," Steven answers. "I think he's okay."

You hum a response, handing Lockley the pacifier she spit out.

"And you, my love? How are you today?"

Because Steven lost his mom too. And not simply because she passed away, but because the mother he thought was his was not real. Parts of her were real, to Steven anyway. The parts from childhood when she wasn't drunk, wasn't violent.

Those were Steven's memories to hold.

But he lost who he thought she was, as well.

"I'm better this year. Better every year," he nods, eyes focused on his twins playing together. "Get to spend this day with the best mum there is."

He gazes over at you adoringly.

"Thank you," you whisper, sealing your mouth to his.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Later that evening, after you and Steven have wrangled three kids into bed, you decide to take a quick shower.

When you emerge, Marc is waiting for you with a glass of wine.

"Happy Mother's Day," his dark eyes flicker down the curves of your body and he wets his lips.

"Marc," you breathe, taking the wine glass from his hand and setting it aside so you can throw your arms around him. "I didn't think I would see you today."

His strong forearms flex against your back, pulling you closer. "I'm here. Did you get the flowers?"

"Yeah they're on the dining room table. Thank you, they're beautiful."

"Good." Easing back, he kisses your mouth, before taking your hand and retrieving your wine glass. "Come on."

The sound of the record player drifts faintly down the hall, welcoming you into the den, where Marc has built a fire.

"I know it's May, but I turned the air down low," he explains, answering your quizzical look. "I know how much you love a fire."

You beam at him as he leads you to sit down on the plush rug in front of the fireplace. There's a tray with some adult-worthy snacks, like - the nice brand of cheese and fancy chocolates.

"No kids allowed," he winks, knowing you're always the one to give up the last pancake or slice of pizza for your children, or for him.

"Oooh, okay, this almost feels like an anniversary." You reach for a chocolate as the two of you get comfortable.

"Too much?" He questions, dark eyes focused intently on the way your lips wrap around the candy.

"Owh naw - its puwfect," you mumble, mouth stuffed full of a truffle.

Marc laughs, nodding mockingly, but playfully. "Sexy."

"I know," you humph, finishing your treat. "But today's my day. I don't have to be sexy."

"You couldn't help that if you tried," he smoothly counters, reaching up with his thumb to swipe chocolate from the corner of your mouth.

"You're really racking up the points here, babe, like, this is..." You glance all around you before taking a swig of your wine. "This is good. Really good."

"I thought you could use some kid-free time," he explains, "With your favorite things - without Jakob eating them all first."

You share a laugh, knowing it's true. Jakob is barely a middle child, but he certainly acts like one.

"If you want some alone time, just say the word," Marc adds, a bit reluctantly. "I just want you to be able to relax."

Setting down your wine glass, you pull him close by his t-shirt. "Don't you dare. You're mine."

You surge forward to meet his lips in a hungry kiss, the wine and the pampering treatment truly reminding you of more of a romantic anniversary setting than anything else.

Marc hums against your lips, cupping your face in his hand as you deepen the kiss, licking open the seam of his mouth to taste him. The wine and the chocolate and the essence of your husband soothes and thrills you equally as you melt into his arms.

"Thank you," you whisper, rubbing your nose against his as you part for air. "Thank you for making me a mother."

He touches his forehead to yours and earnestly returns, "Thank you for showing me what a mother can be."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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