#walking the streets of a former hell
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touhoutunes · 2 months ago
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Title: 夜行性の怪力乱神一匹 (A Nocturnal Supernatural Being)
Arrangement: イコ
Album: 外の世界から
Circle: 深夜放送
Original: Walking the Streets of a Former Hell
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touhou-music-twice-a-week · 6 months ago
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Title: Jazz Piano Arrangement feat. Tenor Sax
Tenor Saxophone: Issay
Arrangement: Swing Holic Band
Album: TOHO PIANISM I
Circle: SOUND HOLIC
Original Themes:
Walking the Streets of a Former Hell
A Flower-Studded Sake Dish on Mt. Ooe
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gravegoer · 2 months ago
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OMG sevika x reader who fills in for silco after he dies?? 🤍 but sevika is oddly shocked at her kindness—
Sevika's boss ꩜
i absolutely love this idea ! sevika pledging her loyalty to you whilst you pledge yours to her !! so this is how you met + how you treat her on the job.. and off (i fear silco didnt provide a safe work environment)
visit my masterlist HERE , part 2
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Zaun needed a new leader, and you just so happened to be the second in line to the throne.
You had the option to throw Sevika out if you really wanted a different right hand man. But in your opinion, if she worked for SIlco; she would work for you.
You'd never met her before, only heard the things that Zaunites whispered about her on the street
" She took on three men at the last drop yesterday. I think Silco put her up to it. "
" The way she looked at me made me think I was going to meet my end. "
Silco was no gentle ruler, he was strong and fierce. You could only imagine how he treated his goons, and and only Gods know how he treated Sevika.
You sat in his office chair, displeased with the scattered papers on his desk and the old whiskey in a glass that now smelled rank.
You had called her in to have a chat, so that you knew who you were really working with. Not knowing what to expect; you watched as the door creaked open and you nervously drew in a quick breath.
In walked a tall woman, definitely over 6', obviously muscular with one prosthetic arm. Your eyes traveled up to her face, and now you knew why everyone talked about her gaze. It was steely and almost frightening. She looked you up and down with something in her eyes that you couldn't place. Her skin was littered with scars, the biggest one was smack dab across her cheek. How intimidating.
You spoke to her, firmly but gently, "As you know, I'm taking over for Silco until things can be.. sorted out-"
She cut you off with a brisk, "Get to the point."
You eyed her full lips as she said this, the gap between her teeth was more prominent when she spoke. Not to mention her husky voice, she sounded tired but with still a hint of determination.
"I'm not demoting you or anything, just so you know," you spoke while raising an eyebrow at her, "I just wanted to get to know you before I start ordering you around, y'know?"
She narrowed her eyes at this statement. Its obvious she expected you to immediately ask her to do things for you the way she did for her former boss. Always running around the city cleaning up his mess, fighting his battles. But no. You weren't Silco. There was something different in the air around you.
Now that you've officially met its time to put this girl to work !!
She was almost always available. This concerned you. If you asked for her presence she would be there within minutes. It was like she was waiting for you at the door 24/7.
This made you bring up off days to her, "You know, if you ever need time off or anything don't hesitate to ask me. I don't bite"
She was confused at your willingness to let her do nothing but sit around while you did the work. And even after you said this she never asked to be called off.
"Okay, you know what. If you're injured after a mission don't even think. About trying to leave your house," You called her in to run some errands but what she didn't tell you is that she got stabbed roughly in her side the night before.
This made her angry, did you think she was weak? You're making her take a break because she didn't do her job good enough for you? Trying to cut her pay by putting her out of work?
But no, surprisingly in the next few days you sent her out again, and when she came back you slid a hefty bag of coins her way. She questioned your ways but she wasn't complaining.
You tried never ask absurd or unnecessary things of her. If you needed to talk with someone in the city you would go down and do it yourself. She caught you out one day, talking to a shop owner about prices.
"Why the hell are you out without me."
You turned around to meet her eyes (also having to crain your neck to look up at her.) "Well, I don't need a body guard to walk around you know that right?" You said, tilting your head to the side.
She drug her hand over her face at this, "You could have asked me to do it for you, I'm free. Plus don't you know anyone could be trying to get at you? Are you an idiot?"
"I can handle myself Sevika. But if you're soo worried about me ill let you come next time," You teased before turning around to speak to the owner again.
She grumbled to herself before taking a seat in one of the old chairs behind you and crossing her arms. If you didn't know any better you would think a small embarrassed blush kissed her cheeks.
When you walked around in the streets with you she always walked behind you, looming over your shoulder. Sometimes you thought she would start barking if anyone came up to you. You slowed down a bit to match her pace before latching onto her arm.
Her body tensed at your touched and she looked down at you, though you didn't meet her gaze as you continued looking forward. The neon lights illuminating the angles of your face. She shook her head at your willingness to touch her, but didn't comment on it.
You felt the flex of her bicep when she tensed up at your fingers. Her arm was hot under your touch and you could feel the scars that littered her skin.
This became routine, when Sevika walked you home late at night she would get comfortable enough to drape her arm around your shoulder, her poncho sheltering you from the cold.
And yes, she started walking you home at night because she stayed in your office to keep you company whilst you did paperwork into the late hours. Saying, "Its the least I could do since you don't let me do it for you."
Lighting a cigarillo she sat on the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table. The smoke wafted from her position to your nose, the smell oddly comforting.
When you groaned and dropped your head into your hands it was her queue to get up and pull your chair out from your desk.
"Its too late, you should get home."
Sometimes you'd fall asleep in at your desk, but this was no problem. Sevika would pick you up, gently as to not disturb you and carry you to your home. And she was careful to walk through quieter places in the city so that the hustle and bustle of people didn't wake you.
And yes she tucks you in.
If you really insisted on staying to do paperwork she would grumble a few curses but stay anyway.
You were starting to grow on her. Maybe being cuter than Silco gave you some brownie points.
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thank you for reading ! if you sent an ask in the past few days, don't worry, I'm getting to them all :) I appreciate all the support !! ♡♡
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phyrestartr · 7 months ago
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PR Stunt (Only, Right?) | Sukuna/M!Reader
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W/C: 6.9K (oh god lol) #NSFW, fingering, implied fucking, bottom!reader, top!sukuna, angst, fluff, smut, happy ending, Sukuna owns a body shop, reader is an actor, kinda meet cute, ABO dynamics, mpreg, yes there are always babies involved because i love dad sukuna, surprise baby, sukuna is a dickhead (what else is new), Gojo is an actor, Getou is a manager/agent, Toji is a stunt coordinator, Jin is a teacher tags: @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @watyousayin 
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“Did you sleep with (L. Name) (F. Name)?” 
The question caught Sukuna off guard; normally, Uraume didn't inquire into his personal life in regards to who he had and hadn't slept with. They were a friend, yes, but moreover they were the bookkeeper and helped with securing clients and arranging meetings–celebrities and their managers were fucks that Sukuna didn't like negotiating with. Best to leave the yapping to someone with a cooler head.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Sukuna asked as he rolled out from under the newest commissioned vehicle. 
Uraume walked to him, iPad in hand, and turned it to him, stone cold. 
Sukuna sat up straighter and squinted at the screen, annoyed. You’d probably just made up some salacious rumour and spread it throughout your friend circles; or worse, you wanted revenge on him for something he probably definitely did. In that case, Sukuna could somewhat understand. But still–
(Name) putting on weight? What’s happening to the former bombshell babe of Japan?!
Pregnant with a baby boy?! The secret's out!
(Name) returns to the stage after giving birth to a baby boy–but who is the father?
(Name) driving a Ryoumen Sukuna rescue vehicle?! Could he be the deadbeat dad we've been looking for?
Sukuna sucked his teeth after skimming over the article titles presented to him. 
“...No proof.” 
“Ah. Then please explain this,” Uraume requested, still polite as ever, as they flicked to an additional few images the scumbag paparazzi had caught of you. 
One was the car mentioned. Sukuna remembered it like it was yesterday–the joy of restoring a Porsche 911 back into its former glory was unmatched. You happily paid for all the parts and too often swung by to see the progress being made on the old thing. Obviously, Sukuna was more than happy to oblige. 
The next was of you holding a little nugget of a baby against your chest as you walked down a street in Shibuya. Nothing too damning, nothing too inspirational. 
But the last one–
“The fuck?” Sukuna mumbled as he snatched the iPad from Uraume’s hands and zoomed in on the now-toddler sitting with you in that damn Porsche, grinning brightly beside his mum while you ruffled his hair. His very, very pink hair. 
Sukuna took a breath while he thought. He didn't have to think too hard, though, not when he still dreamed about you and the short-lived fling between the two of you. 
“A Porsche 911, huh?” Sukuna grinned as he looked over the rusted beater of a car. He could still see scraps of its former glory, of the beautiful thing she used to be. Heaven knows she would've become an irreparable hunk of junk if you hadn't bought it from a scrapyard. 
“Yep.” You beamed. “So you think you can make her pretty again?” 
“You kidding? I'd pay you to let me fix this thing, baby.” Sukuna caught sight of your security stepping forward, but you waved them off without a second thought. 
Sukuna smirked. “But it’s not gonna be cheap.” 
You nodded. “Well, do what you have to. I'll pay whatever you need, handsome.” 
“Yeah?” Sukuna asked, looking your neatly-manicured appearance up and down; you were dressed like you were meeting someone of great importance (and you were, obviously), with your hair groomed perfectly, outfit fit for a premiere, skin flawless. 
���Mhm. And I tip well.” you looked him up and down in kind, grinning as you bit at the nub of your sunglasses.
“Done.” 
Every time you came to check on his progress, genuine excitement flooding in your motormouthed words, you'd go home with him and fuck him silly. 
And now, you were the momma to his baby. Allegedly. 
“I–so what the fuck does this have to do with anything?” Sukuna ran a frustrated hand through his hair after Uraume took the tablet back. “Bitch isn't asking for anything, he's not asking me to be his public fucking baby daddy, not asking me to pay for nothing?” 
“No,” Uraume conceded, “But he and his PR managers have reached out concerning this.” 
The man groaned and stood. “Fucking hell. Can't stand fucking PR teams. The fuck did they want?” 
“They want to make a statement about Touma's father.” 
Sukuna froze.
“Touma's a good name for a boy, right?” 
You asked the question so suddenly, so out of nowhere in the quiet of the afterglow. The city lights sparkled and winked at you both through the towering windows keeping you safe from the outside world. In hindsight, Sukuna would wonder if the city was excited for him. For you. 
“What, for a mutt?” Sukuna drawled, puffing on a blunt while he played with your hair and drowned in the tingles left in the wake of fingers drawing circles on his bare chest. 
“For a kid,” you chastised with a laugh. “I like Touma. Or Touka for a girl. Ayato's nice, too. Maybe Kazue.” 
“You better not be pregnant.”
“I'm not, I'm not. I'm just getting baby fever, I guess.” You hummed and left a sweet kiss against his tan skin. “I guess being around a big, bad boy like you's got me feeling domestic.” 
Sukuna laughed, dazed and happy. “You wanna ruin this pretty lil’ body for a fucking kid? Be my guest. Just don't come looking for a booty call after you've ruined yourself like that.” 
“Oh, don't worry,” you cooed. “I won't.” 
Man. Man. 
“A statement.” 
“In other words–”
“I'm not the fucking father.” 
“This might be a good way to get Yorozu off your case,” Uraume suggested, and Sukuna perked up. 
“Right. She fuckin’ hates kids.” 
“So, if you were to have a son, and it's revealed you've been quietly trying to make things work behind the scenes with (Name), then hypothetically–”
“I'll take the runt.”
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Truth is out–Ryoumen Sukuna is the father, (Name) tells fans on social media!
Sukuna hated seeing that shit. The circus celebrities had to dance through used to be funny until he somehow got swept up into it. Until he suddenly had a baby boy that looked so much like him and so much like you. 
He spent too much time on your socials, scrolling through promotion posts and photos of you at red carpet events and premieres–and then he remembered you had a private account. One that you said he could follow. One that he never followed.
Sukuna rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling as he sulked in bed. Was he really about to sacrifice his pride for this? Was he seriously gonna request to follow your personal account just moments after articles dropped and tweets were sent about him being the baby daddy? Could his pride take it? 
Fuck me. This shit is highschool. 
He requested to follow, and not even a minute later, you approved it. 
That had him interested. Did you want him to follow? Did you want him to be part of his little guy's life? Were you feeling a rush of anxiety and excitement like he was right now? 
“Get over it, you fucking idiot,” he mumbled to himself before scrolling through your photos. 
There was so much more here. So many photos of you pregnant, of Touma when he was so ridiculously itty bitty, of when you were recovering in the hospital, looking worn out and exhausted, but still beaming as you held your little boy. 
There were photos of his first birthday and the cute…rustic cake you'd apparently made yourself. Your agent, Getou, was there, as was one of your fellow agency mates, Gojo, along with some other folks Sukuna did and didn't recognize. 
Of course, his boy–your boy lit up the centre, eyes glittering with the reflection of sparklers and the warmth of a good, safe home. He was happy. The boy–his boy–your boy was happy. 
Then he called you. He couldn't help it, not anymore.
Sukuna paced around his penthouse, sipping on his spiked coffee and trying to desperately control his…nerves? Alpha instincts? Excitement? Fuck, he didn't know. But he was full of whatever it was, and it drove him nuts.
“Hi!” You answered as you picked up, so full of life as usual. “Been a while. How're you? What's up?” 
Sukuna felt so, so old suddenly. Why were you so awake in the morning? 
“Think you can spare some of that pep in your step for me?” Sukuna asked. He smiled when he heard you laugh on the other line. “Dunno how the hell you're so awake in the morning.”
“Well, I don't party or work on cars until the crack of dawn,” you purred back, so sweet and teasing. Sukuna almost got hard. Ugh. Ugh. What the fuck was wrong with him? 
“Hah? What, you sayin’ I'm irresponsible ‘n make shitty choices, babe?” 
“Absolutely.” 
“Tch. Omegas.” 
You snickered again before cutting to the chase: “So, you're calling about my Touma?”
Sukuna swallowed. “Yeah. Gotta say I'm pretty fucking confused.”
“Yeah, I get it.” He heard you shift in bed, triggering a rumble of grumpy noises from your little one. You hushed him gently and apologized before the small, crackly purring resumed faintly in the background. The thought made Sukuna's heart ache.
“What do you wanna know?” 
Sukuna inhaled deeply. “Why'd you keep it?” 
“I wanted him,” you said. “Next question.”
“...When did you know?” 
“Mmh…I guess about a week or two after we stopped hooking up.”
“And you didn't say shit?” 
You went silent for a moment, and Sukuna felt his nerves tingle and prick. He wasn't anxious. He wasn't feeling betrayed. It wasn't any of that. Absolutely not. 
“I guess I got cold feet,” you admitted. “I don't--I know how many baby daddy accusations you get, y'know? I didn't want you to think I was just trying to get you to pay me out or something.” 
Oh. Okay. That made sense, actually. 
Too many omegas and women Sukuna fucked around with pointed the finger at him if they caught some sort of STI or fell pregnant; even if it was months after fucking, Sukuna would be suspected of fathering the pregnancy of a newly-pregnant, ex-partner he hadn't seen in eternities, and the media would run to the ends of the earth with it. He was the infamous bad boy the media circuit loved to prey on. And Sukuna didn't really care for it–not until now. Not until those fucks ruined his opportunity to be a dad. 
“Fucking–” Sukuna sighed and put his mug down to rub his face. “Shit. Shit. Fucking media bastards. Fuck.”
“I need to get my car tuned,” you said.
Sukuna deadpanned. “Read the fucking room, babe, we're not–”
“Do you want me to bring Touma?” You finished, undeterred by the alpha's grouchiness. “So you can meet him? I think he'd like that.”
Oh. Oh. Ouch. His heart–was Sukuna about to die? Why'd his chest hurt so much? What the fuck? 
Sukuna cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I–yeah? Yeah. Alright.” 
“Okay, cool. When's your next–” 
“Tomorrow.” He cleared his throat again and scratched at the back of his neck. “Any time.” 
You stifled a laugh poorly. “Don’t be nervous, Sukuna.” 
“M'not. Fuck you.” 
“I can do tomorrow. Let's saaay…1pm?” 
“Yeah, sure. 1pm.”
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You rolled up at 12:59pm. 
Sukuna had the garage open, everything tidy and ready to go like he actually gave a fuck about tuning your car when his literal fucking son was about to be in his presence. But he was so not nervous. Definitely not fucking nervous. Nope. Nuh-uh. Never. 
You stepped out of the car and Sukuna felt his heart jump; you looked the same as you did last time he saw you. You were dressed more casually, though, done up in joggers and runners with a university hoodie to top it all off. Clearly, you didn't care to impress today. 
You threw Sukuna an easy smile before pulling open the back door and taking care in plucking your chubby bunny from his car seat. All the while, Sukuna wandered closer and closer, but maintained a respectful distance just in case your momma bear came out to bite. He knew you had an impressive temper when your easy-going self got pushed too far, and he would rather not bring that out right now. 
“Pa!” Your son yipped as soon as he got up into your arms. “Puh Pa!” 
You melted immediately, punching Sukuna in the gut with your happy scent of maple syrup and cardamom as the little one nuzzled up to you, repeating variants of “pa!” as he rubbed his chubby cheeks and snotty nose against your neck and face to get that perfect scent onto him. 
“You're so sweet, bunny,” you cooed and adjusted him in your arms as you met Sukuna the rest of the way. “Hey, hey! So, did you want to meet him first, or–?” 
Sukuna didn't know what the fuck to do, honestly. 
“I, uh. Car shit first. What needs tuning?” He drawled, watching the pup clinging to you with rapt attention. 
Admittedly, Sukuna didn't really pay attention to what you were saying and what you were gesturing to; he was too captivated by the faint wisps of scent he caught from your little one. He smelled of smoke and syrup–a perfect combination of his parents’ scents. 
And he just looked so much like the both of you. Touma's skin tone tilted more your direction, but the glowy, bronzey quality that Sukuna brought to the table still shone through in its own weird way. His eyes were almond-shaped like his own, but bore the same, welcoming colour of yours. And, fuck, his hair was just a perfect match to Sukuna's. If the little shit got Maori tattoos too, he'd be a tiny carbon copy. 
Damn. Speaking of–would his mom wanna meet the little shit? Her grandson? Would she ever bother leaving Hawaii to–
“You get all that?” You asked. 
Sukuna stared at you. “Get what?” 
You pursed your lips like you so often did and turned to the big, bad alpha. 
“Maybe we should do the meet ‘n greet first, huh?” You swayed a little and kissed Touma awake. “Baby, you wanna meet a friend?” 
“Buh!” Touma exclaimed. You gently guided his little face to look at Sukuna, and the boy looked star struck staring up at the absolute unit that was Ryoumen Sukuna. 
“Touma, this is Sukuna.” You closed the gap between the two of you a little more, and Sukuna leaned down to look at the little one. His little one. 
Sukuna twitched a smile as he looked over the little thing. “You sure this thing’s mine? Looks a little small.” 
You laughed. “If you were born as big as you are, I’m so, so sorry for your mother.” You nuzzled Touma’s little cheek and bounced him a little. 
“Wuh!” Touma’s little arms flew up towards Sukuna, and the towering man looked a little more than nervous, looking at the tiny pudgy hands like they were deadly weapons. 
“Come on, don’t look at him like that.” You took Sukuna’s hand and delivered it to Touma. “He’s curious. He hasn’t met anyone as big and tall as you, y’know?” 
Sukuna huffed, but let the little one grab at his fingers and hold his hand. “What, you don’t have another alpha looking after you? Hard to believe that. You're the neediest little bitch I know.” 
“Stop. I'm not Yorozu,” you huffed, and Sukuna cringed at the name. “He has alphas around, sure. But not big ones like you–security excluded. It's not like other men want to play nice with another alpha's pup.” 
Sukuna caught the hint of a frown on your face, and his hackles started to rise. 
“Some dumbfuck giving you grief?” Sukuna asked, voice rolling with thunderous promise. He'd kill whatever moron fucked with you and his pup. You just had to drop the name.
You sighed, light-hearted. “You know what the rich and famous are like--we're the worst.” 
Sukuna growled, and Touma mimicked the noise as best as he could with his pathetically teeny tiny crackled voice. Fuckin’ cute as shit. 
“Tch. Don't sell yourself short.” 
“I'm just trying to say I don't need that around my boy, and I sure as hell don't want it around me, either.” You nodded and stepped closer as Touma reached up for Sukuna again. Apparently just holding his hand wasn't doing it for the boy anymore. 
“Good. Don't need those pathetic fucks around the runt–oi, wait, what the fuck're you–” 
“Wup, wup!” Your son shrieked as you helped bully Sukuna into holding him.
“He wants uppies.” 
“Uppies,” Sukuna balked.
“He wants you to–okay, you're bad at this–don't hold him like that! Here, do it like–” you cut off as you helped Sukuna get a comfortable hold on Touma while the littlest one squirmed and squeaked in delight, trying to climb up onto Sukuna's shoulder but failing miserably. 
Sukuna twitched a smile as you sighed, exasperated by the ball of energy trying to scale the mountainous man. But he got a hold of him, tucking his arm under his butt and holding his back to make sure the little shit didn't go plummeting to the floor. 
“You give your ma hell, huh? I can get behind that,” Sukuna hummed. His son's little hands papped at his face, grabbing at his nose and jaw–specifically over the dark tattoos streaking along the curves and cut of his features. 
And you smiled the entire time. You pursed your lips tightly to hide it, but you did it so poorly. You always did. Maybe it was on purpose. 
“So, can I tell you about my car problems now?” 
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Sukuna held onto his runt while you explained what flaws, either cosmetically or mechanically, were bothering you. It mostly consisted of slight dents from other assholes not knowing how to park, paint scratches, and more of that sort. As a fellow car guy, Sukuna could understand the anguish of having a favourite baby get all dinged up. 
“Not hard to fix,” Sukuna decided. He held the hood up with one hand and looked over the motor–everything looked clean and well-maintained. He was almost impressed. “But, well, it'll cost ya. Uraume can send the details.” 
You nodded. “Sure, sure, sounds good. I'm never taking this thing on the road again after it's fixed. Too many fucking idiots out there with piss poor driving skills.” 
The mechanic smirked. “Ho? So beating up your car is what makes you start cussin’, huh? Noted.” He let the hood fall closed and adjusted his hold on the now-sleeping tot. “Couldn't even get you to do that in bed.” 
“Psht, don't say that in front of the baby, Sukuna, jeeze,” you sighed and rubbed your face. “Babies remember more than you'd like to know.” 
“Huh. You think he'll remember when he got–” 
“No, he won't remember his inception.” You laughed and shook your head, but paused when you saw smears of concealer on your fingers and tutted. 
“How long's the car gonna take? Should I get a rental?” You asked before the man could comment.
“Probably, if you want me to detail this thing right,” Sukuna mumbled. He reached out and turned your chin back to him, looking at the spots concealer missing, hinting at dark circles under your eyes. 
Your face grew hot, but you nodded and cleared your throat. “Yeah, okay. I'll, uh. I'll call someone to pick us up–” 
“I'll take you home.” 
You brightened the slightest bit. “Yeah? I–okay.” You pulled his hand from your face and smiled. “I'll grab the car seat.” 
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Sukuna liked your house. It was a nice mix of traditional and modern with large stretches of woodgrain and bamboo. A neat outdoor garden and pond decorated the front, but a bigger, more lush collection of tropical plants greeted guests. It was beautiful, if one was desperate to be in nature. 
“I'm just gonna get him to bed, be one second.” 
Sukuna nodded and pocketed his hands as he pretended to not watch you trot upstairs with the sleepy cub melting in your arms. You still had a nice ass even after popping that little melon out. Huh. 
He looked around your space more, wandering with slow, lumbering steps. The house wasn't huge by any means, but it was cozy and warm, quiet and hidden away from the city's gaze. That was probably why you chose it–here, you could be honest with yourself. You could shield your babe from the brutality of your career and keep him safe from leering eyes. Honestly, one of the leaves on your giant monstera could hide him from the whole universe. 
Guy's too obsessed with growing shit. It ticked him off, but he didn't know why. 
Maybe it was all the photos of you and Touma. Maybe it was because he wasn't in them and too many other men were in his place, lining your walls in the protection of cheap IKEA frames–but Sukuna didn't want you. No, no, Ryoumen Sukuna did not want anyone. He didn't want you. He didn't need to settle down and–
“You want a glass of wine?” You asked when you came back down the stairs. “It's plum wine. Don't really have any scotch or anything, but I–” 
Sukuna scoffed before a mocking laugh slipped out of him. You paused, looking at him with bleak attention as he shook his head and pocketed his hands. Your request for him to stay pissed him off; clearly, you expected something more from him.
“Whaddaya think is gonna happen here, huh? You think we're gonna fall in love, pick up where we left off, have a happy little fuckin’ family to tell the tabloids about?” 
“What?” You asked. “I never–”
“Didn't have to. Gotta admit, you did a better job than the rest of the whores that tried wrangling me in to–”
“All I asked,” you cut him off, voice quiet but firm, “Is if you wanted wine. I’m not proposing, Sukuna.” 
Sukuna didn’t like that. The whole…not-being-into-him and not wanting him to stick around after he just shut you down. He sucked his teeth and took a breath, about to say something, but you spoke first. 
“I know this is a PR thing. I know how the whole media circus works–you want your ex to stop bothering you, and I want people to stop asking questions about who the fucking father of my son is.” You paused, staring Sukuna dead in his eyes, a quiet, simmering rage boiling just beneath the surface of placid control. 
“Call my manager when the car’s done,” you decided, sounding beaten down and exhausted. “I’ll send someone for it. Thanks for the ride home.”
Next thing the man knew, he was ushered toward the door and stood in the doorway, stuck on the idea of being kicked out of his omega’s–no, no, out of an omega’s house like he was trash. 
“Fucking–wait, just–” 
“What?” You snapped.
“I could–glass of wine doesn’t sound too bad–”
You shoved the bottle into his hands and slammed the door. 
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Sukuna tried to sleep it off–as in, he slept around to forget about the crushing weight of rejection collapsing down on him, shattering his chest, spearing his heart with shattered bone. 
You still kept being so fucking nice to him, too. You never slandered him, never spoke ill whenever he was asked about in interviews–you spared his reputation with a kind smile every time you had to talk about him or to him. 
And he was grateful for it, even if he didn't return the favor. It's not like he was on a smear campaign, no, but anytime a hook up would ask about you, he wouldn't give a glowing review, per se. But it wouldn't be scalding either. Just sheer indifference tainted with drops of bitterness stemming from unripe guilt.
It went on like that for months–until you did your parental duties, and set aside your feelings about Sukuna for the sake of your son.
“Uraume, get that,” Sukuna called as his phone rang. He was too busy fucking around under the hood of his latest project to wipe his hands free of grease and pick up himself, obviously.
But Uraume was there for a reason. They picked up the phone with a polite hello before their sharp frigidity melted into rounded edges. 
“(Name)-san,” they hummed. “It's good to hear from you. Do you need to talk to Sukuna-san?” 
Sukuna started wiping his hands off so unbelievably fast. 
“He's working on a car right now. You know how he can be when he's focused.”
“Fucking–piece of shit–what the fuck–” somehow, he got even more grease and oil on his hands thanks to that stupid fucking rag. God, what a nightmare.
“Sure, I can take a message.” 
“Fuckin’ shit fuck, fuck.” He wiped his hands on his designer jeans before running to Uraume and gesturing for the phone.
Uraume's brows raised, and they actually smiled. 
“Ah, hold on, Sukuna-san's here.” 
Sukuna snatched up the phone, ignoring the knowing look glimmering in Uraume’s eyes. Ugh. Ugh. Betas.
“Hey,” Sukuna said after clearing his throat. 
“Hey! Ume said you were working on a car? You didn't have to stop to talk.” 
“Yeah, well.” Sukuna shrugged to himself and kicked a scrapped car part, sending it skittering across the ground and clanking into other parts. Jesus, when did his shop get so messy? “Needed a break anyway.” 
“Ah. You work too hard, you need to take breaks more often,” you laughed sweetly. “So, listen, Touma's birthday's coming up–”
“Shit, seriously?” Sukuna grinned and kicked another chopped part. “Fuck. How old's the little shit turning?” 
“Two! He's growing up so fast, I wish I could slow down time and–” you paused and laughed, suddenly sounding unsure and a bit nervous. “Sorry, sorry, was about to go on a tangent. Anyway, there is a little get-together, but you don't have to come. Satoru and Toji'll be there. But your brother and his son'll be there, too, so it won't suck completely.
“Otherwise, if you want to come see him earlier or something, that's fine, and–and you're not cutting me off and I didn't think I'd get this far so I'm losing the plot.” 
Sukuna huffed. “What, you don't want me to fuckin’ listen, huh?” 
“I know you will since I have such a pretty voice, but I'm surprised you're being a good boy for once.” 
The mechanic rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. Who knows if it was to wipe away embarrassment or fatigue. 
“You’re exhausting.” 
“And you’re a dick.” There was a special brand of teasing bitterness behind those words, but the vibes were balanced perfectly; seemed you were still cranky about what he said, but you were willing to let it slide.
Sukuna chuckled, relaxing the slightest bit. “Alright. I don't know what the fuck kids like at that age, but I'll figure somethin’ out. I can at least show up Jin.” 
“Wow.” 
“Text me time and place. I'll be there.” After a moment, he added, “I’ll bring some plum wine. Fancy shit.”
The hidden rumble of a purr snuck its way out from your side, and Sukuna did everything he could to suppress his alpha's reciprocation.
“Sounds good. See you then, Sukuna.”
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Toji answered the door. 
“Hah. Why the hell are you here?” The fuckhead ex-Zenin asked with a stupid, shitty smirk on his dumbass face. 
Sukuna strained not to throw the first punch. He really shouldn't murder someone at his--your son's birthday party. Murder is bad. Murder is bad. 
“Fuck you.” Hey, at least it wasn't murder. “‘M here for my fucking kid.” 
Toji crossed his arms and suddenly looked beyond bored as he leaned against the doorframe. 
“Your kid? You mean (Name)’s kid?” He wondered, putting on a show of thinking. “Weird.”
“You're one to talk. You forgetting what you did to your own brat? You fuckin’--”
“Sukuna!” Your sweet voice called, instantly changing the atmosphere. “Glad you came. Do you–oi, Toji, move, stop bodyguarding. You're not a bouncer.”
“Eh?” Toji stayed in his spot as you smacked at his arm and tried to push him away. “I'm just standing here. Not bodyguarding. Minding my business.” 
“You’re so full of shit.” You wheezed and squeaked as the man suddenly gave way, nearly making you crash into him and plummet to the floor. But you caught yourself and hissed at the dark-haired menace until he whistled innocently and waltzed away. 
“Fucking--why’s he here again?” Sukuna grumbled as you let him in. He leaned down to nose at your cheek with a grumpy, quiet grunt--typical greeting procedures for an interested individual or bonded pair. But the way you choked on whatever you were about to say meant he must've caught you off guard. 
“He's uh–we work together. We've worked together? He was the stunt coordinator for some movies I've been in.” You cleared your throat and took the present bag from Sukuna to place with the others. “And I babysit Gumi sometimes.” 
“Gumi? What the fuck is a Gumi?” 
“Megumi? His son?” Oh. Oh. “I babysit Yuuji too, so. Thick as thieves, y'know?” 
Sukuna nodded a little, thinking hard on the lore. He liked that Yuuji was taken care of by you, but surely that wretched Gumi could go somewhere else. Toji was probably just leeching off of you. 
“Oi, Momma, get in here,” Toji crowed from wherever all the baby giggles and excitement bubbled from in the house. “Your boys need some maternal guidance–” 
“Toji, don't make it weird!” Jin whisper-yelled before going on a long-winded rant about this and that, about proper behaviour and attitudes in front of children (not that the kids were paying attention to anything Toji did). 
You gave Sukuna a tired smile. “Come on. It won’t be that bad, I promise.”
Sukuna sighed, but let you drag him to his demise, bottle of wine in-hand.
But it wasn’t that bad. Not really. 
Your other boys, Gojo Satoru and Getou Suguru, showed up and showered tiny Touma with way too much praise and far too many gifts, but the little shit looked so pleased that Sukuna couldn’t get too annoyed. Shoko and Uraume came by, too, much to Sukuna’s surprise. Uraume brought with them a whole fucking confectionary cake they’d crafted themselves at home. Gojo obsessed over it and Getou tried to reign him in to no avail. 
And the night went on. No one talked shit, not unless it was in good fun, no one got fucking hammered, no one talked about work–it was all about the kids. Nothing else. No one else. 
Sukuna could never guess just how far that truth went.
When everyone left for the night, the alpha could start to see the edges of your smile fraying. But you held on, thanking everyone for the gifts and for showing up for Touma, and especially thanking Jin for offering to let all the little ones spend the night at his place (you and Toji would forever be in his debt). 
Then, when the door closed and all fell silent, he heard you cry. 
Sukuna didn't know what to do about people crying. He never had. Even when he was a kid, he had a hard time trying to comfort people with hugs and words of reassurance–he just couldn't do it. 
“It's okay,” he heard you whisper. “It's okay. It's okay. You're okay. It's okay. I'm okay.” 
Sukuna got up and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. “Sure about that?”
You jumped and clasped a hand over your mouth to stifle your scream. Sukuna barked out an ugly, reedy laugh while he defended himself from your petty smacks and pinches. 
“You scared the fuck out of me–why're you still even here? Go home! Shoo!” You wiped your eyes once you were done harassing him and turned away, busying yourself with cleaning up dishes and wrapping paper left in the aftermath. 
Sukuna followed you idly, a shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. What could he say? He loved seeing you get all petty and riled up. But he didn't love seeing you cry. He didn't love seeing you try to stealthily wipe tears away, to try and steady your shaky breathing. 
“What’s going on with you, babe?” Sukuna asked as he settled beside you at the sink. 
“It's nothing,” you said with a snuffle. “It's seriously nothing. Sorry, I--you don't need to stay. Or anything.” You sighed and rubbed at your eyes with your sleeve. “You've done your fatherly duties. You're free to leave.” 
“Yeah? ‘N what about my baby daddy duties?” He wondered, voice so horribly low and comforting, like the buzzing crackle of a campfire. 
You laughed, watery and shaky. “You already did everything you needed to, Sukuna.” 
“Come on, don't cockblock me like that.” He gently tilted your Chin his way to catch your eyes just like he had back at the shop all those months ago. “Look at me.” 
You did. Your eyes were red and irritated, whatever pretty boy make up you wore was wiped off and smudged, and those heavy, dark bags met the light in front of someone else for the first time in a long time. 
You still had the gall to laugh it off and pull Sukuna's hand from your face with a small, “I'm fine,” though. 
“Then why the hell are you crying?” He asked. 
You squeezed his hand with both of yours. “Things are just…hard. Overwhelming.”
Sukuna nodded a bit. “That why Jin took the runts tonight?” 
“Yeah. Needed some time, I guess.” You snuffled and wiped your face with both hands before finishing up with cleaning. “Makes me sound like a shit parent, I know.” 
Sukuna couldn’t disagree more. “Least you're not flipping out on the kid. That'd be way shittier, yeah?” 
“I don't know. I guess, but–yeah. I don't know.” 
Sukuna sighed and scooped you up like a new bride. “You're driving me fucking mental.”
“Sukuna–!”
“Quiet.” Your omega indeed piped down at the grouchy command, and you shyly let the man carry you up the steps to find your bedroom. “You're getting some damn rest. You look like shit.” 
You grumbled something Sukuna elected to ignore in favour of tossing you onto a bed the way one might lob a stone into a pond. You landed with a warbled squawk and looked at Sukuna with horribly accusatory, baffled eyes. 
Sukuna quirked a brow as he looked down on you, gladly using his broad build and tall stature to secure your submission. And it worked; the aggravated spark in your eyes curled up and fell silent after a few long seconds. Your head lowered just the slightest bit, too, but your passive gaze remained stuck on him, waiting for his next move. 
“Fine,” you grumbled. 
Sukuna raised his brows and eased onto the bed, caging you underneath him with his solid frame. Your scent flickered with shy playfulness, and Sukuna relished in it. 
“How do I know you're gonna obey, omega?” 
“I guess you don't. Not for certain,” you admitted begrudgingly. 
“Tch. Someone's gotta keep you accountable then, huh?” He nosed at your neck, nearly letting his lips touch your neck but refusing to do so in the same instance. “Make sure you're doing the right thing, make sure you're behaving.” 
One of his hands squeezed at your soft thigh before inching up little by little. Your hands found themselves in his hair as he teased at your joggers’ waistband, pulling the elastic taut before letting it go. 
“Sukuna,” you laughed, sounding a little breathless. “I, uh–I thought you said–”
“Changed my mind.”
“But–”
“Forget what I said and let me make you cum on my fingers, brat.” 
Oh. Well, hard to argue against that. 
You swallowed but gave a meek nod. He ripped your bottoms off and felt up your blazing skin with rough, calloused hands, groping and grabbing in the same spots he liked back when you were hooking up: your thighs, your hip bones, the squish of your stomach. As much as the man harped on about not wanting “damaged goods,” he sure worshiped your body like it was brand new, untouched. 
Sukuna brought his fingers to your mouth, and you took them with utmost compliance. Your tongue worked against his digits thoughtfully and thoroughly for your own sake–a lack of starter lube wouldn't end well, after all. And Sukuna was not the most patient man in the sack.
“See?” Sukuna crowed into your ear as his hand traveled south and a finger sunk into you. “It's not so bad to just behave, now is it?” 
You already felt like you were about to explode, and Sukuna savoured It. He liked being the one to do this to you–the only one for a while, considering how tight and sensitive you were. Any little push or prod inside you brought sweet sighs and soft moans to the surface–and a second and third finger had your hips bucking and your nails digging into his shoulder and back as he finger-fucked you to oblivion while still caging you in. 
“Good omega,” he cooed. “Gonna cum already, huh? Tch, you shoulda said no one’s been taking care of you; I would’ve taken my parental responsibilities more seriously.” His lips and teeth landed on your neck, as you curled up into him, body tensing, heels digging into the mattress, panting and gasping getting louder and faster. The sound made his pants strain even more. 
“Fuck, you smell fucking good. Better than when I fucked you the first time.” 
“I-I forgot you talked so much in bed,” you managed out. “Could you just–shut up?”
Sukuna growled, and you whined. “You want me to shut up, huh? You wanna listen to your slick fucking hole getting spread open, plowed into? You miss me that much, omega?”
“No.” You hissed and clung to his upper arm as he somehow managed to take it up a notch, slipping his fourth finger in and spreading you obscenely wide. 
“I think you did. Think you were hopin’ I’d come around, plow you into the bed again, stuff you full like no one else can.” 
“Sukuna–”
“I’ll fill this hole up all you want, baby–I’ll even stuff another pup in you. Twins. You want that, huh? You gonna be my omega from now on? Creaming on my cock ‘n fingers the way you shoulda been the day you walked your perfect, little ass into my life?” 
“Shut up, shut up, shut up–” you choked on a gasp and bit into his shoulder, soaking his shirt with drool and shuddered mewls while your body tightened and ecstasy hit like the weight of Sukuna’s words–brutal, fast, honest. 
Sukuna moaned in sympathy, ignoring the way his hand and arm cramped and ached to keep pistoning into you and draw out your high. He couldn't help it–something about you drove him mad in that moment. It could have been how you made his ego swell, it might've been the way his greed needed your slick staining his and only his skin, perhaps it could have been a quiet yearning coming from his lonely, hollow alpha. He didn't know. But he didn't question it. 
Your body started to relax with the death grip you had on his shoulder as you came down from the sudden, electric high. Your hips still jolted with every slow, lazy push into your soft hole, though a haze of purring and cooing filled the spot where gasps and moans once did. Eventually, you melted off of him and collapsed onto your back, looking as content as a cat lounging in the sun. 
“Oi, oi, you're not done yet, sweetheart.” But if you said you were done, he might've listened. Just that once. 
You hummed something as you looked up at him, eyes doey and so egregiously lovey-dovey. 
“That's a nice face. Make sure you save it just for me,” Sukuna gently commanded, and you laughed. 
“Demanding. I thought you didn't like used goods.” 
Sukuna scowled. “Shut up.” His free hand traced the stripes of stretched skin left in the wake of bearing his baby boy. “I like ‘em when they're used by me.”
“Does that really make them ‘used goods,’ then?” You murmured as if speaking logic too loud would break Sukuna's entranced obsession of you. 
But maybe, maybe, you had a point. 
“Guess I'll have to think on that.” His fingers slipped out of you and he gave you a wet slap on the ass to wake you up. Your subsequent squeak sure as hell woke Sukuna up. 
“Ow. Gross.” 
“I'm not finished with you, brat. Don't get too fuckin’ content, yeah?” He smirked when you glanced at his crotch expectantly. “You want me to fuck you?”
“Please.”
Sukuna sighed and settled between your legs as he futzed with his belt and button. “Could put up a bit of a fight.” 
“Too tired.” You yawned and stretched with a pleased sigh. “No will to argue.” 
The alpha leaned down to bite at your knee, and you pulled your legs together to avoid his chunky, rude fangs. You knew he'd delight in making you bleed or leaving dark bruises. He was the worst. 
“Still got a little fight left in ya,” Sukuna said with a grin. “Let's see how much more we can find, hm?”
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shares-a-vest · 6 months ago
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I feel like over the past week and a half, I have been any given one of the trio in this ficlet. So yeah, I'm projecting onto my blorbos. Enjoy!
Eddie can sense Steve isn't in bed when he blinks awake. It's still dark out and the apartment is freezing. Well, Eddie is freezing without the furnace-like warmth of his boyfriend curled into his side.
He looks over at Steve's nightstand to find that the alarm clock only reads a little past 3am and that's when he begins to panic. It's nowhere near time for Steve's early morning run, nor is it a reasonable enough hour that he might be pottering about in the living room.
So, Eddie hops out of bed and is immediately hit by the winter chill of the two-bed apartment he and Steve share with Robin.
He shivers as he walks into the hallway, where he finds the apartment still shrouded in an icy darkness. He chances a peek into Robin's room, where he finds his housemate sound asleep and snoring, lying in the middle of her bed and certainly without the company of her best friend.
Steve has nightmares – hell, the three of them do. But Steve usually ends up with Robin if the situation arises.
Eddie continues on, now tucking his hands under his armpits, hugging himself as he dips his chin into the loosened neck-hole of his oversized sweater – a maroon-coloured former Harrington Classic.
He tiptoes along so as not to disturb Robin, almost sliding his socks along the floorboards as he makes his way into the living area, his path illuminated by outside street lamps.
Eddie tsks under his breath when he comes across Steve, curled in on himself as he lays soundly asleep on the couch, his nail bat close by on the floor.
Steve hums, or more shivers – visibly freezing as he sleeps in nothing more than an old pair of gym shorts whose material Eddie suspects might evaporate the next time they find themselves in one of the building's shoddy washing machines.
He sits by his boyfriend's side and places a hand on Steve's shoulder, desperate to stir him enough to coax him back to bed, but not spook him entirely.
"Sweetheart," he stage-whispers as Steve grumbles.
"Hmm?" he murmurs before startling awake. His eyes snap to attention and he looks up at Eddie as he speaks full volume, his voice groggy, "I heard a noise."
Steve rubs at his arms, the iciness of their surroundings hitting him now that he is (at least, partially) conscious.
"Love, I need you to come back to bed, it's freezing out here."
"But, I heard a noise," Steve whines, sitting up now.
Eddie can't help it, he presses his palm to Steve's cheek and his heart skips a beat at just how cold he feels.
"Shit," he curses and loops his arm around Steve's middle, commanding, "Bed, now."
Steve grumbles, but complies, lazily reaching for his bat before they both stand up as one. Eddie takes his boyfriend's weight, the bat dragging along by Steve's side as they shuffle back towards their bedroom.
Steve shivers and continues mumbling something about the noise he heard. And Eddie can't tell if it was an actual noise or something heard in that strange (and admittedly, scary) space between wake and sleep. Whatever it is, Steve seems both frightened and stubborn all in one.
He shudders again and Eddie can't bring himself to bite his tongue any longer.
"Baby, why aren't you wearing a shirt?"
Typically, he'd be all over Steve in such a state of undress – with all that hair and muscle. But right now, his arms are peppered with goosebumps and his eyes are starting to droop with every step.
"Got hot before," Steve explains, weary.
They pass by Robin's bedroom and the door opens fully, revealing a duvet-covered mass and in the darkness, Eddie can still spot a frown.
"What's going on?" she asks, voice like gravel but nonetheless worried.
"I heard a noise, Robbie."
His tone pains Eddie from his heart down to his gut and the same must happen to Robin too because, in an instant, she retreats to her room in haste.
Eddie continues on to his and Steve's bedroom and gently lowers Steve onto the edge of the bed before he takes the baseball bat. He makes a show of rolling it back under the bed but Steve isn't watching. Instead, his boyfriend is looking over at Robin, who has reappeared, cradling a handful of items and hunching her shoulders in a feeble attempt to keep some kind of hold on her blanket.
Eddie flicks on the bedside lamp and crosses her as he heads off in search of a sweater. He rifles through a drawer and listens on to what sounds like Robin crowding the nightstand with her stuff before she swishes about the excess bedding. Steve whines and Eddie turns back to find Robin with her arm around her best friend.
"Alright," Eddie says, holding out a navy sweater, "Time for bed."
He gestures for Steve to lift his arms up and he complies. It takes a moment, but Eddie wrestles the near-dead weight of Steve into a cozy sweater before he lifts his legs to help him into bed.
"In the middle, Dingus," Robin instructs, "And don't snore."
"How about, you don't fart," Steve quips, shuffling into the middle nonetheless.
There's a bitchy lilt to Steve's voice that has Eddie relaxing a little. He rolls his eyes, thinking the pair burrowing under the covers will probably bicker on. But honestly, he'd prefer that to the balled-up, half-naked, scared Steve he found out in the living room.
Eddie exchanges a glance with Robin before she reaches for the nightstand and grabs a hot water bottle, her Walkman, a notepad and a pencil.
"What the hell are you doing?" Eddie grouses, rounding his side of the bed – thankful to slip back under the covers.
But he pauses mid-way, distracted now as Robin juggles with her wears.
"I need my things," she grumbles as she places the hot water bottle on her stomach and dry sobs, "Oh no, it has gone cold!"
Steve rolls his eyes in Robin's direction, more sleepily than annoyed.
"Eddie, go get some hot water," he mumble-commands, turning to snuggle in close to his best friend.
"What?"
"Eddie..."
"Fine," he reaches for the hot water bottle and snatches it from Robin's grasp.
Eddie thinks he must love his boyfriend a lot, considering how he freezes his ass off to a doubled-over, teeth-chattering level in the several minutes it takes for their stupid kettle to warm up. And by the time he gets back to the bedroom, Robin is quietly snoring with Steve tucked into her side, the two of them forming a single hair-filled mass of platonic soulmatedness.
Eddie tucks the hot water bottle under Robin's covers as best he can and resumes his spot, giggling at the thought of the inevitable drool that is going to make its way into Steve's hair at some point. He snuggles in behind Steve, forming a cocoon around him and his boyfriend snuffles at the touch.
"It's okay, Stevie," he says, kissing him just behind the ear, "Get some sleep. Don't think about the noise. You're safe here with me and Rob."
"What about my ba –"
"It's back under the bed, sweetheart," Steve hums at that, relaxing against him, "We'll figure out the noise in the morning, I promise."
"'Kay," Steve breathes more than speaks as sleep overcomes him, "Love... you."
"I won't let anything hurt you, Steve," Eddie says, hugging him tight.
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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year ago
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Yandere DILF! Reaction to You Having a Boyfriend
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Warnings: Yandere Behaviour, Obsessive Behaviour, Possessive Behaviour, Age Gap, Suggestive Themes, Stalking, Monitoring, Implied Yandere MILF, Implicit Threats, Implied Blackmail, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.
♡ There is no measure of fury capable of being held or produced by Hell and Earth that can rival that which fires through Dominic’s veins.
♡ At first, he didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. That his (Y/N) would sever his heart from his chest and run it into the ground.
♡ He thinks – knows – that you’re being held against your will. That’s the only reasonable explanation for this…lapse in judgement, as he sees it.
♡ However, when he watches you from his window leaping into your male friend’s arms, being swung in a display of greatest enthusiasm, Dominic knows he’s being delusional. A rare instance of self-awareness.
♡ Initially, he considers this a curse; the fact that your heart lay in the hands of another. But, the longer he stewed over this development, considered any and every point that would grant him vantage, he began to see it as liberation. A cover beneath which he could operate until he struck from the bushes, his viperous intent strengthening.
♡ He is still amidst the throws of fury, but his wrath is not directed towards you. Rather, that juvenile sack of meat and electricity you donated your time to.
♡ Dominic knows that your ‘boyfriend’ will never love you like he does; that you won’t understand how boys are interested in one thing only. Dominic should know; he’d been a young man once. His psychology was his greatest burden and insight.
♡ He starts taking note of your new, adjusted schedule; the days you reserve for your dates – a long-dead excursion in Dominic’s eyes, not having felt any excitement on a ‘date’ aside from his chance encounters with you.
♡ He follows you, sees which restaurants, cinemas, arcades, shopping centres you enter. And, when the moment is right, when he sees the two of you at the pinnacle of happiness, he acts.
♡ In whatever way he can, he breaks up your dates, saying how it’s “Crazy that you’re here, (Y/N) – what a coincidence,”
♡ When you introduce him to your boyfriend, he flashes a smile only he can see is disingenuous. Grabbing your boyfriend’s hand and shaking it with enough force to give the impression that your boyfriend is weak – boneless – compared to Dominic, the former of the two taken off-balance.
♡ “Better watch your step there, Kid,” he says. There’s grit in the road of his voice, but you’re  piloting an aircraft. Your boyfriend is on a bicycle.
♡ “You’re no use to (Y/N) broken,” he jokes. Something flashes behind his eyes. “Or dead.”
♡ He insists that he drop the two of you home. He knows neither of you drove here.
♡ You can’t say no to your favourite neighbour, who lets you sit in the front seat while he makes your tag-along sit in the back like an animal. An outcast.
♡ Anything to make him look weak. Undesirable. The runt of the proverbial litter.
♡ Dominic drops you home. Tells you he’ll be back soon. And, without asking for directions, begins his embarkation to your boyfriend’s home.
♡ Neither say a word to each other. Seemingly aware of their position in each other’s world.
♡ Pulling up outside your third wheel’s house, Dominic leaves him with only a parting phrase.
♡ “Imagine what else I know about you. What little secrets you’ve been keeping.” He serves a frozen stare in the rearview mirror. “If you leave (Y/N) alone, you’ll never have to find out.”
♡ You never saw your boyfriend again after that. Never heard a peep from him over text, never received a call, never even saw him walk down the street.
♡ Of course, you were confused. But more so, you felt uprooted. Forcibly extracted from the life of someone you cared deeply about. Someone who, evidently, didn’t care as much about you.
♡ Eventually, after monitoring you for those first three weeks, those three, long weeks where every inch was laden with shattered glass and stretched on into infinity, Dominic came to you.
♡ Offered you comfort.
♡ He only wished he could have come sooner, but he knew you’d just react with anger. An emotion he couldn’t risk you feeling towards him, even for a second.
♡ And, just as he’d rehearsed a million times, just as he’d lay in bed, sat in his office losing himself to the phantom of your fleeting warmth he’d patchworked together into a blanket from your previous encounters, he came to your door. Knocked. Entered your home. Opened his arms to you.
♡ And the collective euphoria from his every vivid daydream couldn’t compare to the electric joy which made his heart stop. Resuscitated him.
♡ Your head was to his chest before he could encase you in his embrace. He lay his arms upon you, the snake to your Eve, and held you.
♡ “It’s okay, Darling,” he said, his voice low, as if his wife could hear from across the street. Or from the camera she’d implanted into that new vase she’d bought you last week.
♡ You twitched in his arms with every sob. Dominic could feel your tears soaking through his shirt. His now-favourite shirt. One which he’d never wash again.
♡ In his languid daydreams, he’d imagined you thanking him thoroughly for his kindness, his empathy, professing how you’d been so blind to his love before submitting to him entirely.
♡ But, for now, this victory was enough. To have you as close as you’d ever been, your body curled into his chest as he ran a hand through your hair, your warmth leaking into him.
♡ His warmth that he wanted to see leaking out of you.
♡ His lips to your hair, he resisted the tempestuous temptation to take you now. At your most vulnerable, most suggestible. Your most submissive.
♡ To show you that he can please you in ways no mere boy can.
♡ Instead, he took to trying not to inhale your scent, replace one vice with another, to not replenish his memory of you anew.
♡ “I’m here. I’m here.”
♡ His voice is soft, feather-light. It belies all he has done to get to where he is now.
♡ And all he will do to get to where he needs to be.
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost
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roosterforme · 1 year ago
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Khaki, White and Blue | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Summary: Three different uniforms on him. Three different rides for you. But there's just one man who can get you off with his words, his actions and a well placed thigh.
Warnings: Swears, fluff, smutty thigh riding, 18+
Length: 3200 words
Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)
Happy birthday to @thedroneranger!
This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Banner by @mak-32 Check out my masterlist
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Bradley bit his knuckle as he watched you come strolling down the vacant sidewalk toward him in the idling Bronco. He grunted softly as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, never missing a step in your high heels and snug tweed skirt. You were illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights, and even though it was Friday, your late night teaching advanced calculus, you looked as perfectly put together as you had this morning. 
"Fuck," he moaned when you opened the door and climbed in next to him, your skirt sliding up your thigh as you started to lean closer to give him a kiss.
"What?" you asked, pausing to examine his expression before dropping your gaze down to the insignia pins on his khaki uniform shirt. 
Bradley shook his head, voice raspy as he said, "Don't act like you don't know that you look fine as hell, Sugar. You feel like taking a walk to the library? Maybe check out one of the study rooms?"
He leaned in as your pouty lips formed a perfect smirk, but you just nipped at his mustache, pulling away and teasing him every time he tried to deepen the kiss. You laughed softly as he chased your lips when you asked, "What's wrong with right here?"
Bradley froze except for his big hand that he slowly wrapped around the back of your neck. "Here? Parked on campus?"
You just nodded in response as he subtly adjusted himself in his pants, his body responding favorably to his wife as usual. Then you finally kissed him with parted lips, letting him taste your tongue, and you whined when he reached for you, pulling you gently until you crawled across the seat. 
"You look good in your khakis with all your pins, Beer Boy," you whispered as you eased yourself down to straddle his right thigh. The interior of the Bronco was mostly dark as you reached for his rough hands and set them softly on the hem of your tweed skirt.
"You're such a fucking tag chaser," he said, trying to hide his grin as you tipped your head back and laughed. You both knew that couldn't be further from the truth, he just loved to hear your laughter. But that melodic sound was replaced with a whine as he pushed your skirt up inch by inch, bunching the tweed fabric until his hands were on your bare skin.
As he drew little circles along your thighs, he let his hands drift back until he was cupping your ass. You were already grabbing at his shoulders as you rolled your hips forward, and Bradley had to run his index finger down nearly to your pussy to even confirm you were wearing one of your tiniest thongs.
"I guess I am," you whispered, rubbing yourself against his thigh. "It's making me hot that you're getting a new pin tomorrow, Lieutenant Commander."
"Fuck," he gasped as your knee nudged his hard cock. He glanced around a little frantically, trying to make sure nobody was walking down this quiet side street. "You know, one of your students or coworkers could see this."
"Mmm," you moaned, grinding yourself down on his thigh until you gasped. "See what? Nothing's going on in here."
Bradley palmed your ass before giving you a little smack and tucking his long index finger inside your thong. He guided you forward on his thigh, keeping a foot of space between your upper body and his. 
"That's right, Sugar," he whispered as you rubbed your pussy up and down his khaki pants. "We're just talking here."
You nodded as you bit your lip. "Just talking." When your head tipped back again, showing off your beautiful neck and making your tits strain against your blouse, Bradley had to fight to keep his lips off you. 
"You're putting on a show for me, Baby. Feel good?"
Your hips stuttered a bit as you rode his thigh, and he guided you along with his hands on your delicious hips. "Bradley," you whined. "I... oh... oh!"
"Full sentences. Tell me what you need," he said with a smirk as you tipped your head forward to look at him and scooted up in desperation until your pussy met his gold belt buckle. 
"Need this... oh!"
Bradley thrust his hips to meet you as he growled, "You sound so fucking dumb right now. I thought you had your PhD."
"Fuck!" You reached for his biceps, holding on to him as your lips parted. You were panting as you shook, grinding against the metal buckle, making soft little gasping noises as your eyes drifted closed. Bradley squeezed your hips tight as you came on the front of his khakis, moaning his name as the roll of your hips started to slow. 
He reached for your left hand, running his thumb along your diamond ring as he guided your fingers to his cock where it rested hard and huge against his thigh. "You feel what you do to me?" he grunted. "You feel how much I love you?"
You nodded your head, still coming down from your own orgasm as you squeezed him gently. "I do. I feel it."
Bradley thrust up into your hand as he swallowed hard. "Get buckled in, Sugar," he commanded, and you went scrambling back across the seat, treating him to the sight of your bare ass as you went. Even in the dim light, he could see the slick, wet marks you left all over his pants, and he groaned. "I'll take you home and let you feel it until you're screaming."
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You'd never been to a promotion banquet before, but you were thoroughly enjoying every moment of this. Your husband was sitting with his arm around you in his dress whites with his new pin on his uniform while sipping a beer, and he looked gorgeous. He was all crooked grin, crooked white hat, and flushed, pink cheeks, and you knew he would give you anything you wanted tonight. 
"I still can't believe you wore that," he muttered, pressing his lips and mustache to your ear. "You just tell me when you want to go home, and I'll take care of the rest."
You moaned softly at the banquet table, basking in his attention when his beer bottle met your tattoos. You were wearing the black dress from your college reunion, the one you had on last summer when the two of you had reunited after ten years, and there were cutouts on the sides. Bradley's hands had been all over you that night, and they were all over you again now.
"Beer Boy," you warned as condensation dripped down your skin, but he didn't care. His deep, rumbling laughter alerted you to that fact. 
"You've been teasing me all night. You think I don't owe you a little something?"
"What did you have in mind, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?"
Bradley looked around the table, nodding to the other officers he knew as he set his beer down and squeezed your shoulder. He hooked his fingers under your chin and kissed you sweetly before saying, "Alright, tag chaser. Let's go for a walk."
Laughter bubbled out of you as Bradley helped you to your feet, lacing his fingers with yours and leading you unhurriedly out of the main ballroom and down a quiet hallway. "Where are we going?" you finally asked when he led you through a propped door next to the kitchens. There were some waiters and bartenders outside smoking, and Bradley pulled you right past them and around to the back of the building. 
"Somewhere you can admire my new rank in private, Sugar."
"Oh," you gasped when he pushed you carefully up against the building, caging you in with his body. He took your left hand and kissed your palm and fingertips before pressing them to his new pin. 
"And somewhere I can admire you," he added in the softest whisper. "I haven't seen you in this dress since our reunion. It's my favorite thing on you besides my Grateful Dead shirt."
His kisses were so soft, but you clenched around nothing as he spread your legs with his knee and pressed his thigh against you. "It's for special occasions," you whispered as your lips skimmed his. You could hear the conversation and smell the faint cigarette smoke, reminding you that you weren't alone. But that just made it even better when he started to hike up your dress, letting you feel the cool, night air on your bare skin.
"Oh god," you moaned into his mouth between sweet kisses when you felt the scratch of his white pants against your clit. "Beer Boy." 
"Hmm," he hummed against your mouth as he gently palmed your bare butt with one big hand, planting his other hand next to your head on the building. He guided you up his thigh, and the pressure against your clit left you gasping. Your hands went to the back of his neck, and he held eye contact with you as you started to rock. "You're gorgeous."
"Bradley."
"And smart. Always so far out of my league," he added, and you clenched again as he kissed your cheek. He was so solid and warm, and your brain was in a fog as he said, "I want you to do it."
"Do what?" you whined, hips rocking against his thigh at the tempo he set with his big hand. 
He squeezed you, digging his fingers into the round of your rear end as he told you, "I want you to mess up my pants, Sugar." He cupped your chin. "Mark me up. Get me all wet. Like you own me."
When your head tipped back, you gasped. You nudged his length as you rolled your hips, but Bradley just said, "Keep going. Keep going." You were practically dangling from his neck as you held onto him and wiggled against him, grinding and humping until you were almost there. "That's it," he encouraged, reading it on your face. "Good girl."
That's all it took as your walls fluttered. "Bradley!" you whined, and his lips found yours as you came, feeling yourself gush just like he wanted. "Oh my god." He kissed you harder before you could get too loud, and your pussy was soaking wet as he guided his knee away from your body as you chased him until your front was pressed completely to his. 
Your dress fell back into place, and he wrapped his hands around your waist as his crooked grin returned. He was fully erect, hard in his white pants, and you were about to offer to take care of it for him when he said, "Let's get back inside and have dessert while I show off my pants, and then I'll take you home and let you suck my cock."
Still whimpering, he paraded you back inside with his pant leg wet at the exact same height as your pussy. 
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Bradley slept like a log after you sucked him off so long and so well, he even dreamed about you showing off your pretty mouth full of his cum before you swallowed. You'd whispered, "I love you, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," to him so many times as he dozed off, of course he was startled when he woke up alone. He grunted your name, hand roaming around your side of the bed before he heard the shower running.
He reached down to stroke his cock with a smile, the thought of your body warm and wet with water cascading down back had him a little hard already. The sweet scent of your body wash filled the air, sending Bradley's legs swinging over the edge of the bed to get to you. But then he froze when he saw his white uniform pants on the floor from last night, and his mind drifted. Friday night, you had his khakis in the Bronco, and Saturday you had his dress whites while he got promoted. You deserved everything this weekend, so he turned toward the closet to dig out his third uniform for your grinding pleasure. 
He was grinning as he buttoned up his jacket, affixing his new pin to the front before tossing his blue hat on his head as he heard you call out from the bathroom. "Oh, good, you're up. I had this fun thought that maybe you could-"
You froze in the doorway, completely naked with a pair of clean underwear in your hand, and you bit your lip as you took in his appearance. Bradley watched as you pressed your thighs together, but he knew you'd be spreading them for him soon.
"Maybe I could what?" he asked, voice deep and raspy as you took a few steps closer, closing the distance to him.
You looked up at him, tapping his new pin with your index finger as he stood tall for you. "You read my mind. I was going to say maybe you could change into your dress blues for me," you whispered. "Let me have all three this weekend."
Bradley groaned as you pushed him back toward the edge of the bed where he sat down hard. When you came to stand between his splayed legs, he reached out to wrap his hands around your thighs as you cupped his cheeks and kissed him. Your skin was warm, and when he slid his hands up, he traced your ass with his thumbs, loving how you'd filled out since college. 
"It's all yours, Sugar," he said, kissing along your tits and tasting your skin before you turned your back to him. "Oh, hell," he moaned as you planted your palms on his thighs and bent a little bit before slowly wiggling your ass from side to side against the front of his pants. "What are you doing, Baby?" he rasped, heart thudding as he brought his hands up to your hips while you essentially gave him a lap dance. If you wanted to turn the bedroom into his own private champagne room, he was not about to complain.
"Warming up my seat," you whispered, bumping back on his cock. When you turned to look at him over your shoulder, Bradley leaned forward to kiss your shoulder, and you arched your back for him before you straddled his left thigh. "This okay?" you asked as your back rested against his chest. When you glanced at him again, your lips were so close, he had to kiss them.
"Baby, you do whatever you want to me," he crooned, letting his hands drift to the front of your body. He circled your clit with his middle finger and smiled as his mouth found your neck. Your pussy was nice and wet, just the way he wanted it on his pants, and your ass bumped his cock every time you moved. 
Bradley took his time, moving his finger at the pace he knew you liked as he sucked gently on your neck and shoulder. "You smell good," he whispered before nipping you and licking you over and over again. With every roll of your hips, he thought about bending you over and fucking the absolute shit out of you, but he'd let you have your fun first. 
"A little harder, Beer Boy," you whined, looking back at him as he pressed his finger into your clit until you gasped. Your eyes were half lidded as you planted both of your hands on his leg just above his left knee. "That's so good."
He had only ever been truly good for you. He only ever planned on being good and sweet and everything you needed. When your back arched in pleasure again, you started to rock and grind, treating him to the sight of your perfect ass rubbing his cock. His pants felt snug, and then he thought about how tight your pussy was and he yanked you back against him, making you squeal in delight as he nibbled your ear. 
"You got me really wound up," he growled. Every movement had you rubbing up on him while he swiped his finger up and down your slick clit as you babbled. The faster he moved his finger, the closer you got. And the harder you rocked against his cock. "Jesus, Sugar."
"Can't help it," you gasped, reaching for his hand and pulling it from your clit up to your mouth. "I'm so close." And then you licked his fingers before taking them between your lips, rocking back as you humped his leg. 
You were his wife, always treating him to the finest things in bed and out, but you were feral right now, whining and moaning his name. He explored the front of your body with his other hand, pinching your nipples and squeezing. You got louder, bumping his cock in a delicious rhythm as you sucked away on his fingers. 
He wanted your pussy and your mouth and your tits, every part of your body wrapped around his cock. He wanted it sloppy, just how he knew you could get as your tongue swirled around his fingers. He wanted you every single fucking way. 
"Baby," he groaned, your saliva running down to his palm as your back arched again. "Oh, shit."
His hand settled around the front of your neck as your voice rose, a pretty crescendo of a needy whine as you jerked your hips and came on him. "Bradley!" You were loud now, grabbing at both of his thighs to keep yourself seated as you rode out your orgasm, but it was too late for him as your right hand slid back to grab his cock.
Two loud grunts in your ear, and he came, too. Right in his dress blues. 
He was still thrusting against your hand when you groaned, "I got your pants soaking wet," as your hips slowed down. When you looked back at him one more time, you whispered, "I love you. Tell me how you want me to get you off."
Bradley could feel the stinging heat rising in his cheeks as you gently nibbled his lips and then stood on shaky legs in front of him. You kissed him and knocked his hat off before you reached for the fly of his blue pants. He had to take your hands in his to still them. "You already got me off," he muttered. 
You looked puzzled before you ran your hand lower to his softening cock, and then he saw the realization of what just happened dawning on your perfect face. Your lips parted on a moan that had him reaching to pull your body against him. "That's so hot," you whispered, your voice sounding desperate again. "That's so fucking hot, Beer Boy."
In one swift motion, you pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist, leaning down so your bare breasts rubbed his pins. "You're so fucking hot," he promised as you licked the side of his neck and whimpered, letting your pussy rest on his uniform jacket now.
"How fast can you get hard again?" you asked, taking his wrists in your hands and pinning them above his head before your lips returned to his neck. 
Bradley grinned and closed his eyes, enjoying your little whimpers next to his ear. "With you on top of me, Sugar? I'd say pretty damn fast."
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I love these two, and I think Sugar deserved a nice weekend. Congratulations to Beer Boy! And happy birthday, Jay! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
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tenjikyu · 1 year ago
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𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴 - 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥.
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౨ৎ ⋆。˚ bonten!executives x manjiro’s son!reader , male!reader , izana lives bc fuck it we ball & he adds character to the fic , bonten all lives together in a massive penthouse just like my rockstar!reader fic bc that’s such a fun idea , reader is a very “ ion gaf ” character , reader is not biologically related to manjiro , reader has suffered through childhood abuse , more fluff then angst , going to make a part 2 .
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❤︎ the day manjiro sano found you, helpless and starved, he practically convinced himself to ignore you.
❤︎ alas, his big brother didn’t share the same sentiment, quickly walking over to you and overwhelming you with questions.
❤︎ izana talked your ear off, and all the executives present could see that you were pissed by his presence.
❤︎ deciding it would be better to just leave you be to die of starvation, he takes izana’s hand in his own before dragging him away.
❤︎ you barley crossed his mind after that.
❤︎ until he found you in an alleyway, drenched in blood that was certainly not your own.
❤︎ you were wielding a simple thin kitchen knife, and you were clearly distressed.
❤︎ looking over your shoulder, you notice the man’s presence behind you, and get in an offensive position, ready to attack need be.
“what happened?” the boy with frosted skin asked you, staring lifelessly at the rather large man that had a slice to his throat.
“he followed me back to the alleyway after i borrowed some apples from the store next to his. when i told him to leave, he didn’t.” you explain, glaring at the corpse next to you.
“and so, i had to take matters into my own hands.”
you seemed almost indifferent to the stench of blood, your eyes spoke a million words to manjiro. it was as though this was an all to familiar scenario for you.
“come boy, i’ll get you a change of clothes.” the man before you almost orders you. scoffing, you race to him and grip the knife to his throat.
“like hell i’m going anywhere with you.” you spit at the man, completely oblivious to just how dangerous he was, not that you would’ve cared regardless.
it’s a kill or be killed world, and you weren’t going to become apart of the former. not again.
manjiro only sighed, waving your hand away from him.
“come, or do you want the cops to find you? you aren’t getting anywhere dressed like that. if you’re with me, the police force won’t be able touch you.”
at the end of the day, you had just killed a man once more, and you knew deep down that the strange man in front of you was right.
there was no way you’re getting out of this alone.
❤︎ and so, you allowed the lean man to hold your even thinner wrist as he walks through the streets. it was about 10:00pm by now, and manjiro knew that his brother is probably blowing up his phone as you two walk.
❤︎ regardless, he takes you into a shady thrift shop and gets you dressed. nothing fancy, just a black hoodie with some worn jeans and a pair of 2nd hand converse shoes. not the best, but much better then the rags you were wearing beforehand anyways.
❤︎ as he made his way back to the penthouse, which could easily home more then 15 people, he finally answers his silenced phone.
❤︎ izana is giving him the usual earful about how he “shouldn’t leave without his big brother” and how “anyone could be tracking his movements.”
❤︎ manjiro only holds your little hand tighter as he steps into the place.
❤︎ immediately, 8 sets of eyes land on the two of you.
❤︎ the man with the curly white hair blankly stares into what feels like your soul. he slowly approaches you, before leaning down to his level.
❤︎ “you like taiyaki?”. his eyes crazed and still glaring into you.
❤︎ and thus, you were oddly enough, quickly welcomed into bonten.
❤︎ you were promptly fed and bathed, much to your discomfort, before being placed into one of the many spare bedrooms within their absolutely massive penthouse, right next to manjiro’s bedroom for simplicity’s sake.
❤︎ everything was a first for you, from the endless amount of food stocked in the home, to having adults around you that aren’t about to beat you senseless.
❤︎ after waking up from your first ever comfortable night asleep, you promised to yourself that you wouldn’t speak a word to any of these people.
❤︎ having your trust in the ones supposed to protect you abused and shattered doesn’t get fixed overnight, but that didn’t seem to bother any of the men around you.
❤︎ it has been 2 days since your arrival, and apart from manjiro showing you around, they seemed to mostly ignore your presence.
❤︎ you did whatever you wanted. watched TV, ate anybody’s food without a care in the world, interrupted all of the men from getting their work done and stolen an excessive amount of personal items that belonged to the executives, much to their confusion.
❤︎ some of them used the spare bedrooms as 2nd offices (apart from the one at HQ), and you used that as a way to learn more about the guys who had ripped you from the streets.
❤︎ and from that, you learned then that you were currently residing in the most dangerous home in japan, with the deadliest men in the country’s stolen goods scattered in your bedroom.
❤︎ your heart sunk when you heard someone enter the office you were in, only to find the head on bonten staring at you as you scrolled through his laptop.
❤︎ you only blinked, before slowly backing away from him, attempting to make a run for it.
❤︎ “let’s chat, (Y/N).” he takes ahold of your little wrist once more.
❤︎ fuck.
❤︎ you spent a good 2 and 1/2 hours talking to manjiro. you told him about your home life. how your mother slept around with the door wide open, and how your fathers empty bottles typically collided with your forehead if you took a breath too loud. you told him about how you had finally had enough, and murdered them both with the same knife you held to his throat only a few days ago.
❤︎ you told him about how school was a drag, and the kids there would often laugh at the marks left by your father. ‘the boy with unfortunate parents’ was your title, and you found yourself breaking the noses of the children teasing you. and so, you just stopped going.
❤︎ you told him more about yourself. how you (from what you could remember), were nine and turning ten next year, and what your interests were, heavily limited due to lack of exposure.
❤︎ not once did manjiro interrupt you as you spoke. he sat there, legs crossed and staring at you with an indifferent look.
❤︎ after you were done, he gently pulled you by the waist into his lap and ruffled your messy hair.
❤︎ “from now on, you only listen to what i say. you don’t need to listen to anyone else in the house, okay? just do as i say, and you’re free to do as you wish.”
❤︎ that’s all he says as he strokes your hair, attempting to have you drift off in his protective hold.
❤︎ and it works.
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A/N : part 2 is gonna have the reader interacting with the executives, as well as the father/son relationship form between him and manjiro.
uncle izana is gonna go so hard.
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no-saints-around-here · 6 months ago
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Yesterday's Cage for Tomorrow's Prison: Chapter 2
Yandere Shiba & Sano Family with Baby Shiba Sister!Reader
Masterlist
‎‎‎
<< Chapter 1
this was a lot harder to write than I thought, and I nearly died but unfortunately the immigration line in hell was too long
tw: heavy incest, pseudo incest, explicit smut, yandere, drugging, sexual assault, heretic religious themes, afab reader, female pronouns, dead dove do not eat
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Yuzuha cursed under her breath, large orange eyes sweeping side to side as she methodically checked the storefront for any sign of you. Nothing, again. Turning to briskly walk further down the same street to the next store, the orange-haired girl already knew that you weren’t going to be there either. Hell, she could say with a hundred percent certainty that you weren’t going to be anywhere near here, even if she wasn’t done with her meticulous searching for the day. Having long lost count of the number of times she had already looked in every nook and cranny of your favorite haunts over the past week, day and night, there was simply no way she would have missed you at this point. More so, it was the sinking feeling in her gut and that third sense she had for you that confirmed your absence from the area.
Opting to sink onto one of many benches that littered the shopping street, the Shiba sibling popped open a cold can of soda, taking a chug as she took a break from the afternoon sun in the shade of a tree, watching the rest of the world go by. Nameless individuals bustling up and down the street, bags of things filling both arms and eyes occupied with the glamorous displays, sparing naught a second glance at her or her situation as they rushed past on an unknown countdown. An undignified sigh slipped the lady’s lips as she lowered her now half-empty can, bronze eyes glazed over as she stared up at the rustling leaves overhead, though she did still catch a few stray empathetic looks thrown her way.
The last thing she wanted was anyone’s pity, really, but Yuzuha simply couldn’t help herself looking this despondent. After all, you were gone. Missing. Lost to the greater world, and no matter how poetic one could make that sound, the simple matter of the fact was that neither she nor Taiju had seen you in a week. if you weren’t here or there or wherever she looked, then where on God’s green earth could you possibly be? Were you even still alive?
The quaint little shopping street, just a stone’s throw from the Shiba family home, brought a pang of nostalgia to the lonely lady’s chest - the shops that lined both sides of the pedestrian lane had changed hands countless times, but the slow, leisurely atmosphere had remained steadfast across the past twelve years. Once considered a rare escape from the house in exchange for your good behavior, the occasionally bustling area was now more of a reminder of the recurring nightmare Yuzuha was currently trapped in. Taking another large gulp, the orange-haired lady had to quickly sit up as she spluttered, earning herself another look from a passerby to which she sheepishly apologized, before quickly returning to her pondering. Was there anyone else you could be seeking shelter with? As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t as if you had any other friends outside of your older siblings, with most being too afraid of the long shadow of Taiju and the unspoken threat that you carried with you, and the rest having already been dealt with.
While there wasn’t much to like about the blue-haired former delinquent of an older brother -  their miserable childhoods under his tyrannical rule, the physical and emotional abuse they endured for years on end, and the extreme decisions that he had driven both Yuzuha and Hakkai to at the end of their wits - for you, it had been worth it all. She hated Taiju, but there was no denying that you had been kept safe by the oldest of the Shibas all these years.
Pulling her phone out from her pocket, the second Shiba sibling clicked into her chat history with you as if on instinct, her fingers mindlessly beginning to scroll upwards through the countless desperate, unanswered messages she had sent your way. You weren’t supposed to have a phone (Taiju would never permit it, no matter what the reason is) but the simple dumbphone you owned had been a gift from your older sister with strict instructions not to breathe even a word of its existence. It had no internet functionality, since not even she would risk you being able to access the internet and its treasure trove of internet, but as the only two girls left in the household, you and Yuzuha shared some secrets and had to have a way to do so. The phone was purely just for messages and calls and the occasional simple game when their big brother wasn’t watching. Or at least that was how the bronze-eyed lady told herself.
The memories came flooding back as she finally reached your last reply, what had seemed like a reassuring “yes, nii-san!” before you all but fell off the face of the earth. Such a simple gift had been enough to endear you to her, and you had thanked her again and again through the years, always willing to answer her messages and calls quickly, humming to yourself when you got time to fiddle around with the small electronic. Yet, you hadn’t replied in a week.
Standing from the bench, the lady stretched, flicking her empty soda can into the nearby bin with pinpoint accuracy as she stalked off, phone swinging lazily in one hand. A slight breeze had picked up during her rest, and though it only seemed to blow hot air down the street instead of providing any respite, Yuzuha took in a deep breath, enjoying the fleeting moment of calm. There was no point in frantically trying to call or message you, even though she had been doing so herself over the past few days; your phone was most likely dead from a lack of battery, or if you had seeked shelter with someone, the phone had probably already changed hands. 
You didn’t want to be found, certainly not by her,  that much was obvious. And your older sister didn’t blame you.
The lady turned a corner into a side alley, the cacophony of the crowds dying down behind her with every step she took further into the shaded street. She didn’t believe in the concept of sin and repentance, the same one that her older brother so conveniently ignored when it came to you, but there was no denying that she would never be able to answer for what she had done to you. There were excuses she could give herself of course; that she couldn’t ignore the way that Taiju looked at you as the years passed, as you started to yearn for the freedom of the wider world. That Taiju should take all the blame for being the one to actually deflower you in a misplaced bid to preserve your purity. 
But Yuzuha would be the one to carry the original sin even if she was just trying to do the right thing. She had been the one that had trained you, that had prepared you to take Taiju. Cleaning you up after everything that had happened, soothing the mystery ache between your legs that you complained about the next day.  Keeping you on birth control pills for years and years, never knowing when the oldest of the Shibas would make his move yet never wanting to risk anything untold happening to you. All in the name of keeping the Shiba family together, as she had promised their mother. 
A pause as she came to a stop at a fork in the road, the lady too lost in her own thoughts to make a decision which way to turn.
Yet even then, as much as that was all Yuzuha would like to admit to herself, she would always share the burden of giving into temptation. She could still see the first time it happened if she let her thoughts slip; your contorted expression, furrowed eyebrows as you mumbled in your sleep, your legs crossed as you unconsciously humped your pillow - a wet dream. Taking the opportunity of when you should share her room to explore you herself, the lady let out a ragged breath as her mind recalled her slipping her fingers into the pants of your pajamas and into your panties, slim fingers finding their way towards your already drenched slit and into your warmth. Your whimper as your walls clamped down around her intrusion as she teased and prodded, bronze eyes all the way carefully watching your expression.
The feeling of you spazzing uncontrollably around her as you came in your sleep, drenching both your underwear and her fingers with a moan that sounded too awake. Yuzuha had jerked away in a panic, the elastic band of your pants snapping back against your skin, but you had mercifully fallen back asleep amidst coming down from your high. You tasted sweet, the burst of flavor as she licked her fingers striking a chord deep inside your older sister, a sweetness that she couldn’t get enough of. And while it was the first time she - or anyone really - had ever explored you in that manner, it certainly wasn’t the last time. You had turned from her baby sister into an unholy addiction that she couldn’t give up. 
Her phone lit up and began to buzz, the ringing echoing down the otherwise lifeless sidestreet. Yuzuha blinked, drawn out from her thoughts.
Taiju. Was it already time?
With a deftly press of a button, she brought the smartphone to her ear, taking the quiet path to the left.
There was no doubt that your siblings would be scouring the streets for any sign of you, Izana mused, the fingers on one gloved hand tapping a rhythmless tune atop the glass as empty eyes watched you consider and reconsider your decision, yet that train of thought hardly bothered him. For one, this was a privately owned shop in a rather obscure location, down several narrow and rarely trodden alleyways that no regular passerby had any business accessing. And for two, was most definitely the right decision to bring you on this little excursion; knowing your older siblings and their annoying habit of breathing down your neck about everything big and small, they would have never allowed you to choose your own unhealthy, sinful treat, let alone see the inside of a convenience store. 
Which meant that this would put him squarely in your good books, ahead of not only your wretched siblings, but more importantly, ahead of the rest of his own wretched siblings. His grip on you tightened slightly, the rate of his breathing rising.
The longer he could keep you to himself, the better.
Returning to reality from his daydreams of his life after you had obviously picked him over the rest of the Sanos, it was obvious that the colorful display of ice cream in the freezers was more akin to cocaine to you; the large selection spread out beneath you having you absolutely mesmerized with just the glass slider separating your eager hands from the delightful treats. “There’s so many…” you mumbled out under your breath, your eyes darting right to left as you leaned over the chest freezer, the colorful wrappers glinting in the reflection in your eyes. “Which one?”
Was it really that hard to choose? Not that he would know, he supposed, given that he already had his favorites delivered straight to his doorstep and barely spares a second glance to the entirety of the shop on a regular day. But even if he was usually an impatient man, this was one instance that Izana didn’t mind taking it slow, the tanned club owner leaning in so that his body pressed up tight against your own, violet eyes fluttered closed and his face pressed into the crook of your shoulder, biting back the groan he could feel building in the back of his throat. Your blood family was the last thing on your mind at the moment, and this was exactly the way he liked it. One hand resting on your clothed thigh, the other already taking the initiative to begin exploring under the hem of your skirt, it took every ounce of control he had to ignore the tenting crotch of his pants. He couldn’t wait. “Wasn’t there a certain brand you were looking for?” He breathed out into your ear, warm air tickling your skin. “Do they not have it here?”
“Y-yes!” You startled slightly at his question as if you had been lost in your own world, your hands instantly flying up to shake a ‘no’ at his question instead much to his amusement. “Um, Izana-nii, I mean-”
His hand teased at the hem of your panties, rubbing the cloth that covered your crotch lightly between the pads of his fingers, occasionally brushing against the bare lips hidden underneath. Still no negative reaction from you. “You can’t choose?”
“No,” you admitted, though your eyes were still fixed on the contents of the freezer. “I didn’t know there were so many here.”
The air-conditioning continued to whirl from above unimpeded as the world outside continued to turn, the convenient store absolutely silent save for the sound of breathing.
“Hmmm.” Violet eyes scanned the small area even as his hands never ceased their exploration - it was never intended to be a cover business, he mused to himself, given there were more convenient alternatives to launder money, but this small snack stop had finally shown its usefulness beyond allowing his men to get what they need. A tingle in the back of his neck, and Izana swirled around, only for the heavily-tattooed man serving as the cashier to immediately avert his gaze at his nasty look. “Tch.” His eyes had lingered on you for a second too long, and he didn’t like it one bit. He’ll have to get that sorted later.
Unfortunately for the tanned club owner, that gut feel wasn’t just for the unwelcomed looks at his new little sister. A sudden blast of humid air and an untimely trumpet of a car horn in the distance signaled the arrival of an unwelcome guest and a disruption to his plans with the click of the store door being opened, much to Izana’s displeasure, though the fact that it was Kakucho’s voice floating over from the shelves through the now-open door and not the sound of gunshots gave a good indication of who this intruder might be. “Wait, you can’t go ins-”
”Fuck off,” returned Mikey, the cheery welcome jingle of the convenience store a stark contrast to the other’s completely unamused tone. “I have business with that asshat.”
A smack, and then a second voice piped up, drowning out the burst of protests and whines from Mikey. “Don’t be so rude to Kakucho-kun, Mikey!” Emma scolded, the click of her heels echoing up from the tall shelves of the shop as she followed the other deeper into the shop. “He’s just doing his job, you know.”
How did they know to find him here? Izana glanced back at you even as his Sano half-brother continued to complain loudly about being ill-treated and biases towards anyone who would listen (which is to say, nobody in the vicinity); you were still too distracted with the first choice you had in a long time to notice the intruders, and it was already slightly too late to make an exit before the two of you could be noticed. He would have to wait and see what happens next, he supposed, empty eyes glancing back down at you.
“Hey shithead,” Mikey started from around the corner, right as the first of his blond locks came into view from behind a shelf of snacks. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour-”
It was at that precise moment that you made your decision, turning your head up to look at Izana, ice cream already carefully clutched in hand. “Izana-nii, can I -“ And almost as soon as the words left your tongue, you finally took note of the arrival of outsiders, perhaps catching the subtle, sudden movement from the corner of your eyes, or catching the last of Mikey’s spat words. Yet for all that was going on around him, the ifs and could-bes, Izana’s gaze and fascination was fixed on you. What would your next move be? Would you scream? Would you attempt to scurry away to hide? 
Time froze for a moment as your eyes fixed on the unseen source of the noise on the other side of the shelves. What was going on in that little mind of yours?
Yet contrary to all his expectations, you instead instantly clammed up, your jaw snapping shut like a trap around a mouse. Taking a short step in his direction and ducking behind the white-haired man, you seemed to be attempting to line yourself up in a bid to ensure that his silhouette almost covered yours perfectly from the entrance. You were trying to blend into his side, hiding from the unknown.
It was a move that was so unlike your personality that it took Izana by surprise. No doubt this smooth a movement was the result of previous practice, Izana noted amusedly as he watched you move with uncharacteristic speed, something you have had to do multiple times before. Did you think it was your siblings here to pick you up perhaps? No matter, because most importantly, it didn’t matter to him that you couldn’t have known who it was at the door - in Izana’s mind, you had picked your side, and it was his.
Alas it was too little too late. 
As soon as both of those iconic slippers left the cover of the tall shelves filled top to bottom with snacks of every kind, your presence was immediately picked up by Mikey, whose footsteps and words came to an abrupt halt, blank abyss eyes staring at you. An expected outcome, acknowledged Izana as he snaked one protective arm around your shoulders, given the now black-haired man was and is still both the Toman president and legendary delinquent. Didn’t mean much to him anyway.
“Oof Mikey!” Came Emma’s voice from behind as she ran headfirst into the suddenly still back, before the annoyed blond-haired lady stepped round to assess the unfolding situation.. “Why did you stop- oh.”
“Can I help you two?” Izana asked, the tinge of annoyance clear in his tone. The blatant stares were making you uncomfortable, and he didn’t like that one bit.
Walled in on four sides, three by shelves and one being Izana, there wasn’t really any room for you to run or hide, given how small the shop was to begin with. You buried your face into the side of the white-haired man you barely knew, waiting with baited breath, ice cream still clutched in hand. The hum of the chillers around you only seemed ever louder with the silence that fell upon the store.
Scanning you up and down, Mikey’s expression remained unchanged as those blank abyss eyes seemed to reflect you and nothing else, opaque windows that had helped the man hold all his cards close to his chest all these years. You looked…familiar. He’s seen you somewhere before.
Emma glanced between the two men and you, the questions in her mind only growing by each passing second. “Do you know her?” She raised an eyebrow at Izana, who only shrugged in return, unwilling to disclose any further information.
Though in another stroke of bad luck for Izana, one more for the count on this already particularly horrid day, the dots connected for the younger of the two Sano men present, and Mikey’s eyes lit up in recognition. “You’re-“ the black-haired man paused for a moment. “Hakkai’s sister?”
That was enough to spark your curiosity, and you carefully peered out from behind Izana, doe eyes catching the white illumination from the standing refrigerator to the side.  If they knew Hakkai but not Taiju or Yuzuha - could they be on your side? Fortunately, the man on the other side was one you had met before. “...Mikey-san?”
Said man nodded, taking a step forward into the direct shine of an overhead light, as if so that you could take a better look at his face. So it was you that he had been hearing the whispers about, Izana’s little bird; he could still recall that particular night twelve years ago when the Toman Second Division Vice-Captain had brought you along to the gang meeting all apologetic, insisting that he couldn’t leave you alone at home by yourself. You were as shy as you were back then, Mikey mused, taking a good look at you as you shuffled out from behind Izana, seeming slightly more comfortable now. Though he couldn’t say that he wasn’t pleased that it was you of all people.
The white-haired club owner’s grip on your shoulders visibly tightened, and you winced slightly at the pressure. “What do you want?” Izana’s tone now was sharp, violet eyes narrowed at his two siblings.
Mikey was hardly affected, his gaze fixed on you even as he responded. “Shinichiro’s looking for ya. Business,” was all he said.
“Tch.” Clicking his tongue, it was clear that Izana understood the cryptic message - and you couldn’t come along. 
“I can look after her while you’re busy,” came the Toman president’s offer, his hand already outstretched and reaching for yours before his offer had left his lips, but Izana was faster, yanking you backwards and out of reach.
“Absolutely not. She will not be going with you.”
Emma, silent up till now, stepped forward, the sweep of her blond hair backwards looking much like a momentary flash of angelic wings. “She can come with me,” she proposed cheerfully, stopping to shoot a warm smile your way. You shrank behind Izana slightly, your cheeks dusted red.
But the oldest of the three showed no sign of budging. He finally had you, and he wasn’t inclined to share. “Kakucho.”
As if a fae summoned, said man appeared behind the Sano siblings with nay a footstep to be heard nor a door opened, his working red eye respectfully lowered to the ground. “Yes sir.” 
“Take her back to her room. And stay with her.” 
“Yes sir.”
Mikey didn’t seem all too pleased at the decision made without his input. That was very rude. “Hey, I said I can take care of her!” He insisted, his arm once more shooting out to grab at you as you were shuffled past the narrow shelves, though this attempted interruption was quickly stopped by Izana with a quick chop to the offending limb.
”And I said no.”
Puffing up his cheeks only made the gang leader look like a squirrel, earning him a chuckle from you which you failed to bite back. ”I’m telling Shinichiro.”
As if that was a threat. Ignoring Mikey, Izana simply opted to walk you to the door and to his right-hand man and trusted friend’s side. “Straight to her room, Kakucho,” he repeated firmly, before turning to you. “You don’t talk to anyone else, understand?”
You nodded obediently, which earned you a ruffle of your hair.
”See you later.” Izana waved off your escort party, before turning once more to face Mikey and Emma, still waiting inside the shop. “Let’s get this over with then.”
It was rare to see Hakkai in such a frenzy these days, Mitsuya mused, lilac eyes watching said man frantically scan the vicinity before rushing towards him from the airport terminal exit, small suitcase all but bouncing off the floor and his legs as it was mercilessly hauled across the ground.
That striking blue hair was still visible as it bobbed above a drifting crowd of unsuspecting tourists. Comfortably leaning against the door of his car, the former Toman captain took the time to review the context of the situation he had found himself in, starting with the phone call he had received in the dead of night just a day before. He had thought nothing much of it at first, despite the strange 3am call: Hakkai had been overseas on a modeling contract for an international brand for the past week, as a well-sought after model usually was, so perhaps it was just that his former Division Vice Captain had forgotten about time zone differences.
Yet even with that excuse, the whole situation only got stranger, something that even a half-asleep former delinquent-turned-fashion designer noted; the blue-haired man sounded as if he was attempting to catch his breath after running a full marathon, huffing and puffing as he struggled to say even the few words informing Mitsuya that he was already on his way back to Japan, and would contact him when he lands. Divines only knew what was urgent enough to send Hakkai into such a rash decision, though he supposed he would find out soon.
Pushing off from his car, Mitsuya raised one hand as the third youngest Shiba sibling closed the distance, coming to a screeching halt just inches away. The lilac-haired man swore he could see the smoke trails left behind from the suddenly dispersed momentum, though judging from those blown eyes and half-style hair, it wasn’t exactly the best time for a joke. “Hakkai,” he greeted simply, sliding both hands back into his pockets. “What happened?”
“She’s missing, Taka-chan,” Hakkai stammered out, one hand on his chest as if to keep both his lungs and heart from falling out of his chest. “My lil’ sis, she’s gone.”
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caffeinatedmunchkin · 27 days ago
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Nourishment, Beyond the Physical
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Emmrich Volkarin x Fem!Rook ✦ Rating: M (MDNI!) ✦ 11.7k words
He almost didn't recognize the sound that came from him as his own; a whimpering, pathetic noise. Sick. The closest comparison to the feverish hue that rushed his clammy skin. The most apt identifier to the brutal, qualmish onset. He was a lot for her to take, though she'd have it no other way. The first time she laid with Emmrich he left her ruined, and never before had she submit to ruination with such abandon. He had the tendency of holding her needs paramount to his own. Now given the chance to return the favor, she offered herself to his exigency, unconditional and absolute. If he lost himself in her, so be it. She'd light the way back, like a beacon to ships in the night. And she'd piece him back together again. Such messy business - love.
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Crossposted to AO3!
I had an out of state wedding, a death in the family, and double-shifts at work all week long, but none of that could STOP me from finally finishing whatever the hell this is. Inspired by the beautiful and wonderful Cole’s post here, this was one of the realest things I’ve ever read everyone say thank you Cole for being correct and being vocal about it !!
I honestly have nothing to say for myself, other than this was supposed to be no more than a quick and dirty drabble with a double shot of angst at best. Before I knew it, this thing grew legs and booked it. I hope you're as exhausted by the end of reading it, as I am now having finished writing it. I've been working on this one for a minute.
I love you all so much, and I pray to whoevers listening that you like it !!
The last gasp of winter stained his high cheeks, and nipped his nose. Blistering gusts whistling past his ears, the frigidity cut through the wool of his coat with icy talons; swiping at any and all that strode along in it's wake. Spurred by desperation it to cling to it's dwindling reign, as it slipped from it's clutches a little more with each day.
An early evening that marked the start of Wintersend, the suns retreat came later and later, yet the chill in the air refused its dismissal.
Emmrich was but one casualty of few who walked the thawing domain this time of night, having traced this exact path through Nevarra's streets many times.
An ordinary stroll home, after an unassuming day back within his classroom. During the middle of a week that was decidedly without note.
No stranger to the Necropolis's unforgiving temperatures, the elements outside it's walls throbbed bone deep. The bitterness raw, whereas the former was tempered.
A flush of nostalgia was quick to warm him, as he passed the storefront of the florist he had seen prior to his escapades with the Veilguard, Safeia.
She was delicate and attentive with their romance; he felt tended to, like one of her prized blooms. While their affair was as lovely, it wasn't meant to last. Just as the crisp of spring wilted to summers swelter, the annual that was their courtship neared it's end.
They wanted different things out of life, out of their partners. Gentle as she was considerate, their release of one another saw her wistful, but to the same end of her understanding. Their parting amicable, they sometimes bumped into one another around the city. Only ever having gratefulness to offer, in their exchanged nods, and kind smiles.
It allowed him to appreciate the flower shop every time he passed it by, more anxious than ever for the approach of springtime. To see budding greenery overflow through doors she liked to prop open, inviting the mellow sweetness of the air, and prospective patrons alike. His memory of her, just as the woman herself, was always perfumed by fresh soil, and Freesia.
A pleasant smell for a pleasant recollection, Emmrich held nothing but fondness as he thought back to his time with her, however brief.
Spring his favorite season, no one's anticipation for its arrival was greater. Though winters stubbornness held firm, he had his own, personal little slice of spring every day. Waiting for him back home, to where he was en route.
Yet as he strode past, the gentle smile that crept across his face was not for the florist.
Nor was the accompanying tightness in his chest for the anticipation of her floral arrangements that would soon line the windows.
It was for his destination, and his newfound eagerness to reach it. Eagerness that quickened his gait along the paved walk.
All for the woman who awaited him there. Milk and honey in her kiss. Petal curved, and satin soft.
The one who gave him reason to return at the end of each day, instead of idling at one shop or the next, stalling the loneliness that used to receive him.
The one he wanted to be back to, even more than he wanted to stop and admire Safeia's blossoms.
The one who made his house a home.
It was their first of this holiday spent together, and as a couple proper. Far away from the horrors of the blight, and genocidal elven gods that sought the worlds destruction. Though it was a morbid little thought, he couldn't help but pay due credit to those horrors. Stowing aside that guilt and selfishness, it was what brought he and Ariadne together, after all.
Without that interference - be it fate or coincidence or dumb luck - he may have spent the rest of his days without ever knowing the resplendence of her affection. Fierce and unbridled, just like the young necromancer was herself.
Many months had passed since then. Returned to Nevarra, he brought Ariadne back home with him, and brought her back for good.
After the expected reluctance, and no small sum of bluster, the order had agreed to reopen the case of her transgressions. All at his insistence, of course.
Insistence that expressed in no uncertain terms the thorn he'd pose in the sides of not only his colleagues, but the nobility whose favorable relations they prioritized, in the event it fell on sudden deaf ears.
It was almost comical, the utterance of Watcher Ingellvar shifted from the air of an ill-favored black sheep, to one of high esteem in but a blink.
With impressive restraint, Ariadne waited until she was given a formal pardon - as well as an invitation to return to their fold - before taunting with flippant indecision. Exaggerated hemming and hawing, as to whether or not she'd deign to grace their ranks with her presence once more. All through a cloying simper.
Emmrich expected no less.
Prior to his sabbatical, the right of Emmrich's predominant dwelling belonged to the Upper Mortuary, though he owned more than one property.
The Volkarin Estate in the heart of the Nevarran countryside made for an exceptional holiday retreat, and little else. It's distance from the obligations and responsibilities of his day to day made for an impractical primary residence.
It only made sense to whisk her away to his town home, tucked within the city walls on the upper-east side.
Accessible to both the Necropolis, and the tamer portions of the city he frequented, his private niche sat adjacent a sprawling botanical garden. A regular haunt of his, he now had a beautiful young blonde to steal away with amongst the orchids and delphiniums upon their return.
The space of this lodging was always meant for more than just one. Three spacious stories that boasted multiples rooms, each spanned a near obscene amount of square footage, when compared to its occupant; a single, lone necromancer.
So she came to live with him. No theatrics, or pondering. Just emphatic agreement, in the form of the arms she threw around his neck and wound tighter than a copper coil.
All that remained was for them to begin again, anew. To lay the foundation for the life they'd share; and theirs was a quiet one. Their mutual appreciation for that stillness the axis on which they thrived.
Ordinary strolls home, after unassuming days, and weeks without note.
Taking full advantage of her new status, she'd slink through the Necropolis' halls whenever the mood struck, otherwise her appearances were to surprise him. Luring him to the memorial gardens to share the lunch she'd prepared.
True to her reputation, she caused quite the stir amongst his pupils, much to the chagrin of their fellow superiors.
Legs folded beneath her in the grass while her lap cradled his head, his lank stretched along the ground beneath him in comfort. Rattling off the adjustments to his syllabus he was entertaining for the next semester. Or reading aloud to her the poetry of the late Nadia Ulpius, his possession of such rarity all thanks to their dear Neve.
During which she'd hum, and comb her nails through his hair, mindful to go with it's styled pattern, so as to not muss a single strand. Halting his prattling only to lift a strawberry, or wedge of clementine, to his lips for a bite.
Believing themselves to have ample privacy situated behind their preferred tomb, he had made the mistake - for the first and last time - to suck the juice from her finger-tips. Damning impropriety for long enough to indulge a throaty rumble, his tongue lapped the pads of her fingers and lacquered nails in suggestion.
Only to bolt upright once the giggles from some of his first year students burned his ears, rigid with mortification. Clustered and whispering to one other with fervency a little ways off, their distance suggested a discretion that didn't match their prying eyes, and craned necks.
From then on their lunch dates never went behind the walls of his classroom. Door shut and the shades drawn.
Of course it didn't deter Ariadne from trying her best to persuade him back. His romantic involvement with her was every bit as tantalizing as one would expect, and she delighted in the scandal of it all, the wretched little vixen that she was.
It had been only a few days since her last drop-in, but already he'd been spoiled by her presence there, natural as it was familiar. Though she had dashed any hope of the sort for that day, with the litany of errands she recited over breakfast, it didn't prevent his longing for her little figure to saunter through his door all the same.
Before he knew it he was rounding the corner of his block, spotting the lit candles that dressed the south facing windows of their home; the glow combating the dreariness with soft glints through the glass. Beckoning him back to her, like a beacon to ships in the night.
As Emmrich approached their front door, the steady thrum in his chest then soured, no longer weightless with his reminiscing. A once placid heartbeat, it jerked with every step he took that closed the distance.
No warning, no immediate trigger made obvious, as he thought of his little Watcher, and their home together.
They were now on the other side of the insurmountable odds they bested. Together at long last, and happy. The sap in him liked to attribute such things to fate, their story mirroring that of the fairy-tales Bellara had introduced to their book club.
He got the girl in the end. Even though she wasn't promised to him.
Nothing of their future was.
But if his experience with fate taught Emmrich one thing, it was that she was nothing if not a cruel mistress.
Simple, unadorned contentedness appealed to him more and more in his later years. He appreciated the little things; the magic in the mundane. Now having achieved such fortune, it only increased his anxiety that he would lose it.
Just as his fear of death had slithered it's way in when he was at his most unsuspecting, this startling new and very unwelcome loathing had roused when he lost her to the Fade, all those months ago. Her return should have seen it snuffed, but it continued to flicker, faint yet undying.
While he couldn't deny the predictability of such a turn, that was a beast he kept caged in the dark.
He tried to quell it by the way he hugged her a little tighter than he did before, and for longer than either of their full schedules would permit.
He thought to soothe it by staying up later than her, if only to watch her eyes twitch, and her lashes flutter in dreams. Tracing her clavicle, before resting his palm above her heart, stilling himself to it's mesmeric beating.
Able to take a breath in their bed; knowing that the heart that pulsed against his touch was indeed right there alongside him, to be cherished. To be held.
Foolish habits of a foolish man.
He blew in through the front door with an energetic burst of the cold, it's final stab at domination. Pulling the knob with a firm hand, he shut it out, denying it further infestation.
"Emmrich?"
Her call to him echoed the latch as it tumbled with a click. Surmising her to be in the kitchen, if the sugared aroma that tickled his nose upon entry was any indication, it returned his smile.
As did his fears subside. A flaming torch thrust into the snarling face of the beast, banishing it back into the fetid depths from whence it dragged itself. Back behind lock and key.
He was home.
"-Only me, darling." He called back, dropping his shoulder to let the strap of his satchel fall down the length of his arm. Beginning to shrug out of his coat, light foot falls pranced the distance of the hall runner behind him before he pulled out of the first sleeve.
"I missed you today." Ariadne then at his side, she pinched his coat sleeve to help it the rest of the way off.
"And I you." The elf poised on the very tips of her toes in a wordless request for a peck, one that Emmrich was already stooping down to steal. "How did your day treat you? Did those errands keep you very busy?"
"It was all wonderfully dull, thank you for asking." She beamed, relishing mundanity's pace. "What about yours?" Grasping his coat collar, she shimmied it from around his shoulders. "All went well?"
"Very well indeed. My junior apprentices have made remarkable progress, and their aptitude for psychometry continues to astound." He watched as she collected his jacket and bag, and left him for only as long as it took her to hang them up for the next morning.
His look of pride then struggled. "Though, while the subject presents, some have developed a worrisome habit of... oh, how shall I phrase this... enquiring on matters most private. In regards to myself, and my amorous displays with a certain elven Watcher."
Ariadne's lips pulled into a grin, and though her back was to him, he could hear it hugging her words. "Sounds like their fantasies have been piqued."
Back on him twice as fast, she knotted her fingers into the ends of his scarf to coax him back down to her. And he allowed himself to be, her fiendish simper spreading. "Surely you, least of all, are no stranger to some smitten pupils."
His grimace taut, it strained his usual velvet timbre to loose gravel. "They look at me as though I'm some roguish heartthrob straight from a pulpy Minrathous serial."
"Well, I can hardly blame them," she sighed with a bat of her long lashes, chest pressed to his abdomen as she continued to sag against him. "You really are quite dreamy."
"I've no doubt that my stunt in the gardens will shadow my academic career to an indefinite end."
She leaned back for a better view of the grave face angled down at her, one that didn't crick her neck so. For all his lamentation, his eyes sparkled.
"My perfect gentleman, assuming all the credit?" Her tease curled through a wicked pout, the saccharine purr of 'my perfect gentleman' dripping from the tip of her tongue like caramelized sugar, sticky on his teeth and heavy in his stomach. "I played a hand in that one myself, need I remind you."
"Your culpability needs no reminding, my dear." Rocking back to her toes, he seized the opportunity to snake an arm around her waist, sweeping her back into him with a wickedness all his own. "Nor does your insatiability."
A spot of flour dusting her nose caught his eye, it's placement looking purposeful. Spidery digits cupping a rosy cheekbone, he reached forward to brush it away with his thumb, though not before she squeaked from his frozen touch.
"You're as cold as death." She tsked, a flurry of fingers reached up to swipe across his cheeks and temple. He couldn't fight his smile if he wanted to. Emmrich leaned into her, savoring the infectious spread of her body-heat. Her nose crinkled in just the way he adored, murmuring as she fussed. "I'll go run you a hot bath."
"Lovely of you to offer, my darling, though unnecessary. I'll warm up before long." Without breaking their gaze, he turned to lay a kiss into her palm, as it continued to rub the chill from his blushed skin. "That aside, I'm much too interested in that exquisite scent wafting from the kitchen."
"Hmm? Scent?" Expert coyness he was now practiced to poke straight through, her efforts were all for naught, betrayed by the creep of her own sly grin. "What scent?"
Contentedness weighing as heavy on his lips as in his eyelids, he hummed in thought. "What ever are you up to?"
She wrinkled her nose; believable offense feigned, her grin persisted. "Do you always believe me to be up to something?"
Voice kicked into his chest, the abrupt lower in octave had her sway in his hold. "Not at all, my love. Only when you look as though you're up to nothing, is when I begin to suspect you're up to something."
"Wouldn't Neve be proud." Tittering as she slipped from his grasp, she gathered one hand in both of hers, toes planted behind her heel. "Come with me then, and close your eyes."
"Such secrecy." He mused, allowing her to disappear from sight as his eyes fell shut.
Spinning around, Ariadne began to coax him forward with a bounce to her bare step. Flitting a glance over her shoulder to make certain he followed instruction, her timing was precise enough to find his left eye slitting for a peek, only when he knew he'd get caught.
"Ah-!" She chided through a cheeky smirk. "Absolutely not, young man."
Emmrich did as he was told, though not before barking a deep chuckle.
Eyes shut, no so much as twitching to sneak a peep, he allowed his tiny elf to lead him by the hand from the foyer and down the main hall, into the kitchen that they shared. The fragrance strengthened the nearer they drew; something sweet, and still warm from the oven. He could lift the aroma of toasted hazelnut through a haze of fresh sugar paste.
It ghosted across his lungs in bittersweet familiarity, before it spread throughout the breadth of his chest at an alarming pace. Pooling around his heart, it roused an old, dull ache to spasm throughout the muscle. One he knew well, he hadn't felt it in quite some time.
Emmrich didn't need to open his eyes to know what it was.
A chair positioned for him at the table, she guided his tall frame down to take a seat. Traipsing to stand behind him, he felt her breasts against his back, as she gathered his tapered upper body into her arms. Linking them around his neck with fingers dangling against his buttons, her cheek came to rest at his temple.
"Alright." She cleared her throat, the words cracking under her anxiousness. "Now you may look."
The sight of a dessert came into view. A cake, propped up square in his field of view. But not just any cake, if his nose was to be believed.
His mother's hazelnut torte.
It's presentation was pristine. Centered on a black crystal server, the sides were smooth with the whipped silk frosting, though pebbled with crushed hazelnut, just how he liked. Swirled peaks dotted the circumference of the top, dusted with cardamom, and flecks of what appeared to be orange zest.
Both assembled and decorated with a diligent hand, Emmrich could scarcely believe it was crafted by the same one that blurred in a lackadaisical whirl when extending a whisk. Whose 'pinch's and 'dash's were more akin to 'handful's.
Baking was a precise art, and Ariadne, by her own admission, was an imprecise woman.
Mother Volkarin's Nevarran Hazelnut Torte was every bit the labor of love she feared, one that consumed the lion's share of her day.
The hands that brought one of her gods to his knees before her, were the same that shook as she folded the egg whites into the batter. Emmrichs written instruction to 'do so gently' so heavy in it's emphasis, she could hear the ink admonish her from the page.
The cakes almost cracked during the transfer from pan to cooling rack. She drizzled the espresso into the icing before it was whipped, curdling the chocolate in the process, so she had to make it twice.
An adept cook, that skill was much looser with the rules. It allowed for improvisation, and fudging. She could afford to be distracted, and make substitutions without worry.
They often alternated the role of cook, unless it was a shared evening off, in which case they did it together. A testament to their complimentary opposition, seamless cohesion while preparing a meal was not a feat just any couple could boast. But they could.
Baking allowed no room for error, and would punish even minor offenses without discrimination. So much as one under performing ingredient would see the whole suffer. Baking would sooner bite the hand of the uninitiated than show it grace. Not dissimilar to how a beast snaps at one unfamiliar, one that approached with unease.
It required focus. Dedication. Her full, undivided attention.
Judging by it's looks, she had done just that. Having gone through the endeavor for no other reason than to surprise him. To do something special for his favorite time of year. To let him know her adoration of him was boundless, and what she was willing to give went without limit.
Even if it meant baking from scratch.
The length of ring adorned fingers closed around her wrist almost twice over. He stroked the knob of bone there with brisk thumb strokes, as if to quell her doubts through touch, while he was too overcome that moment to speak.
"I know you're not one to spoil your dinner, but your secret'll be safe with me." She pulled away, lips curling to a kiss against his forehead. Tugging the scarf from his shoulders to fold in half, she peered at him sheepish and sidelong. Unwilling to rush him, but anxious for his validation in the same breath.
Those bright eyes of hers boring into him in impatient wait, Emmrich shook himself free of the beginnings of his spiral only as her gaze began to burn.
Finally inclined to speak, the words snagged against his throat, strangling his inflection with what what of his voice managed to escape.
"Forgive me my discourtesy, dearest, I'm... at a loss for the proper words."
Draping his scarf over the back of an empty chair, she came to his side again. "How about your improper words, then?" Taming her nerves, Emmrich clasped her hand and lifted it to his lips.
A soft snicker misted into her skin, before molding his pout to the valleys of her knuckles. Spine then erected, he intoned through an easy smile. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather get on with spoiling my dinner."
She left him sitting there, alone with the torte, to fetch a plate and utensils. Shifting in his seat, Emmrich arranged himself over the side of it, one long leg crossed over the knee of the other. Turned away from the table to instead face her, she returned as if she had never stepped away.
He then eyed her as she placed the setting before him. Counting one plate between the two of them with a knit brow.
"Won't you join me?"
"I'll sneak a bite of yours." She teased, sinking the knife down in two clean, angled lines. Forming a neat triangle, she divulged where her motivations for such an act of service stemmed as she did.
"Lucanis told me when you gave him the recipe. I've been holding onto it for so long, I'd almost forgotten he'd given it to me." Lifting the wedge free, she plated it for him with ease. "It's only taken me so long to get around to because I saw you specified that your mother made it for you every Wintersend, and I wanted to do this properly."
Satisfied with the slice, she then passed it to him, trying to mask her shyness by babbling over it.
"I'm sure you could just make it for yourself perfectly well, but it's... different, I think, when it comes from someone else. Made for you, by someone who loves you." She continued to explain, and he continued his stunned silence. Willing himself to nod when appropriate, all else he could do was swallow hard against the cold lump in his throat.
A heaviness settled around him, but one that posed a comfort. Shielding. A hearty glass of mulled port on a frigid, lonesome night. That warded against the chill, and wrapped the heady spice of cinnamon and anise around his weariness, until it all melted away. An embrace of care. Of affection, and devotion.
For him, by one who loved him.
It patched another of his holes, one leftover from the accident. Another one of his empty gaps tailor-made for her shape, greedy to receive her. Left cold and open until she came along and filled it. No longer having a mother's doting, having been deprived of it at the tender age of old enough to suffer it's absence with appreciation.
Ariadne propped her hip against the edge of the table alongside where he sat. Arms folded, they then fell to twist her fingers at her naval.
Severing a piece with his fork that was both modest yet polite, Emmrich slid it between his teeth. Woefully heedless.
Until the taste settled.
Her fidgeting next balled fists at her hips, before dropping to hug herself around the middle.
Whipped frosting dissolved against the grooves of his tongue, and the airiness of the confection yielded to his thoughtful chewing in a slurry of rich mocha, coffee, and cream. All culminated with the barest hint of a crunch from pulverized hazelnut. With the first bite swallowed, he stilled.
Fingers knotted to keep still, she gnawed at her lower lip. Brows furrowed with an intensity that contrasted against her inhibition.
His stoic features twitched with pain, one that he fought to keep quiet.
Searching him for any signs of encouragement, he stared either directly into her - or through her - she wasn't certain. But it made little difference.
He didn't see her, or whatever it was he zeroed in on. Ever alert and keenly observant, Emmrich's look of foggy displeasure sank her heart to the pit of her stomach.
"That bad?" She offered in hesitation, as she steeled herself. Working her inflection gentle and light, he flinched against her words, as if her doubt struck him across the face. Her panic spiked.
Shutting his eyes, a harsh exhale flared his nostrils. And then nothing. Wound so tight and rocked stiff, not even his broad chest rose and fell with the rhythm of breaths.
She had tempered expectations.
Of course it would pale in comparison to his mother's, but surely her efforts would be appreciated, no matter how amateurish her attempt.
However he remained tensed, and aloof.
It bubbled resignation up her throat to spill between them, like a pot boiled over. Rushing to distance herself from the flicker of hope that she succeeded, only to retreat to forgone failure. Much more familiar to her, she burrowed in that experience, and sought it's shelter. "I know its not quite the same, but I did tr-,"
Breaking himself out of the reticence that held him captive, without addressing her - or even glancing back her way - he turned in his chair to face the slice head on, before he mauled it.
Wolfing it down like a man starved, he hunched over in his seat, no different from how a hound seeks to hide their bone from prying eyes before they gnaw it to shreds and marrow.
Ricocheting the fork back and forth between his mouth and the plate, not a hint of deviation, or break, in his ferine.
His heart throbbed by a chest that squeezed against it, intent to cave in. He didn't come up for air, not that his lungs would be able to suck it in against his body's constricting. Every part of him felt heavy and tender; the sore fatigue of succumbing to grief, after ignoring it for longer than it would tolerate.
The clinking of metal against the china was all the noise between them.
"Oh-," squeaked from her. One so quiet, he recognized it wasn't meant to be playful. He had startled her, just as he had himself.
Emmrich felt himself surrounded by her intent gaze, swelling with his every hurried inhale. Little muted whines were shook loose, before they were able to be strangled by his rabid mastication. With every one that groaned from the cavernous need he rushed to fill with her, the wider her eyes grew.
And the hotter her cheeks.
She couldn't fight the allure of when he presented so unrefined. To witness such vulnerability meant that she, and she alone, withheld the privilege of the one who he lowered his walls for. Ariadne offered to him her heart for his consumption, and he accepted. Selfish and with voracity, he took all she had to give, and it worsened his body's demand for more. It pulsed and twitched around a hollow hunger. One that would never be satiated, so long as she was near.
His teeth ground through her meaning behind the torte, as though the more earnest he was in savoring it, the closer he'd bind himself to her. The stronger the hit would be. The more potent the sense memory would cement itself, should he never get the chance for it again.
Should he ever lose her again.
A fool he was, to believe he reconciled the pain of being made to go without her.
Throbbing low and dull, it shared the space with his heart, and presented like an old scar. His body's hasty work to patch it saw it numbed and gnarled, stitched closed with a ragged touch before he bled out on the spot.
Unbothered to make it clean, or pretty. To lay nice beneath the skin so he wouldn't feel it there. To eventually fade away with time, like all the rest.
This picked it back open. Confronting him with the blood, and the mess. The beast found a weak spot in the cage.
And Emmrich kept eating.
His throat felt thick, and his molars buzzed. Head clotted and hazy from the rush of sugar, it wasn't enough discomfort to keep him from going in for more.
Until every crumb was devoured. Until his fork scratched empty plate. Only to then use the flat of it to scrape the smears of leftover frosting, he sucked it clean from the tines.
He didn't indulge in sweets often, not in a long while. And never like this.
It was like just his mother's, and it wasn't.
So different from how he remembered, yet it warmed him from the inside out, just as it did when he was a boy.
He detected her use of both rum and coffee in the icing, in place of the orange liqueur. A personal preference of his mother's in which her faithfulness was strict.
It tasted like Ariadne. Her bite. How she burned down his throat and boiled in his stomach. An addictive delight, tinged with the inescapable aftertaste of regret that plagued a treat. Something that tasted too good to resist, though he knew better.
Her heavy-hand, and decadence.
Her affection for him, overwhelming as it was unapologetic.
He didn't need his mother's torte. He needed hers. And now that he got a taste, he was ravenous.
It awakened something so deep-seeded within him he didn't recognize it at first. He didn't know how to appease it. Dredged from his depths, it ordered his acknowledgment with the same loud insistence that begged her consolation.
All he could do was reach for her.
He clawed at her hips with too much strength behind his nails, and yanked her into him. Blossoming a squeal that reached his ears, but went no further.
All but snatching her off her feet, Emmrich closed in to curl around her like a sniveling child. Burying his face in her abdomen, he wrapped himself around her in a plea for security only she could give.
He was the small and frightened boy, and the man he worked so hard to become in order to leave him behind, all at once.
Too tall and long-limbed to hide himself in her, it didn't stop him from trying.
The precious trivialities on which they'd built a life upon teased behind his squeezed lids.
Her call of his name through the door when he got in. How she hung herself from his neck, and gazed up at him with those soft brown eyes, like there existed an additional lifetime just for them to admire one another.
How he'd come into their bedroom from his morning bath, to her choice of his cuff links, or ascot for the day, laid out and ready for him. How serious she contemplated his wardrobe whenever he desired her input. A regular occurrence, as he delighted in the perk of her pointy ears when deep in consideration.
Cooking together. Wine blushing her cheeks and loosening her grin. Throaty giggles echoed into her glass at some-off hand remark of his that wasn't meant for laughs, but adoring it had done so.
Eating their meal in silence shared, for even their lack of conversation was a comfort.
Her nimble fingers gliding over the curve of his rump in a playful, yet possessive squeeze as she slipped past to goose him. Her preferred method of getting his attention.
How effortless she could communicate to him, the very same sentiment she spoke aloud just as often.
I love you.
The beast was loose, and it lunged straight for his weakness, snapping at the vestiges of his composure with it's slobbering maw. No longer would it be ignored.
Vision speckled and swimming, Emmrich blinked against it in hopes that would return his acuity, while his fingers curled their way around the waistband of her pants. A thin, clinging material, they goaded his ferocious weakness for the curvature of her hips and thighs. Soft, supple, full. Fecund. What of his faculties persisted, it was not near enough to stop him from yanking them down her legs.
Needing no further clarification of his needs, one of her hands hand grabbed for the meat of his broad shoulder to steady herself. Helping him pull her leggings the rest of the way in hurried accommodation, before kicking the pooled material from her feet.
Having forgone her underthings, a keening whine rattled his teeth at the discovery. Had it been any other time, he would have better expressed his appreciation for such boldness. Her womanhood bared to him, pink and puffy, he gazed at her and began to salivate, sugar still coating the inside of his cheeks.
Another time. When he didn't feel like he might have been ill if he didn't push himself inside her that very moment.
Naked from the waste down, he knocked the chair out from under him with a squawk of its feet skidding across tile. Clutching at the little elf, he sank to the floor, and dragged her down with him.
Scrambling to mount her, he insisted she lay down and open herself up to him; beyond mere words, but begged by way of how he pushed and pulled her.
Emmrich had weathered many romances and heart break, all of which conditioned his hands with an expertise that now failed him. Gifted with unspeakable adroitness with the body of a lover, those hands now shook and misfired, and with his own trousers, no less.
Directionless, he pawed her with brutish fumbling, grabbing at her everywhere and touching her nowhere. Breaths too tattered for blush-worthy adulation. Trembling with such force he was unable to free himself as quick as he needed, much less still himself long enough for a kiss, even one chaste.
Embarrassment had set for a myriad of reasons, though the feud with his clasps whipped him back to his first time - that sweet classmate of his, all those years ago - flushed and inexperienced.
A gangling lad on the edge of seventeen, not yet acquainted with his new height fresh off a growth spurt. Navigating his hormones and fledgling manhood with tragic ineptitude, that was, until Julian.
A strapping young man with the vibrancy of a midday sky in the blue of his eyes. The same height as Emmrich, he carried it so much better, having hit his metamorphosis much earlier. He moved with confidence, an attribute that both attracted Emmrich, and made him green with envy.
Julian kissed him sweeter than his perpetual mischievousness hinted. A biting wit softened to moaned praise. Assertive hands with an exploratory touch over Emmrich's wiry, virgin body. It was romantic in the way that young, puppy love often was; affection warm and dewy as early morning grass in mid summer, their romance carried through that season to the following.
Their end reached it's natural conclusion. He missed his companionship as he did the intimacy. But more seasons came and went, missing him a little less with each one. Dulling the sharp edges of his longing to rosy remembrance, like sand and waves to fragments of glass.
In that light, he held no pain, or grudges. How could he, when he had been left with something so beautiful from his first love? A memento forever treasured.
One shaking hand pulled himself through his slacks, having at last slipped the buttons free after much fervent appeal. Unable to take the time to fold the flaps out of the way, let alone remove his clothes, for his flaring need forbade any further delay.
Her breaths were just as uneven as his own. Hazelnut eyes full of assurance, and all for him, the sight had him twitch with a vengeance against the crease of his palm. Buried beneath his furious desideratum, he was almost appalled to feel himself erect with such ferocity. The sensitive flesh hot and angry grasped within his ringed fingers.
He shifted himself further up her body, seeking to align their sexes. Taking care not to rest too much of his weight atop her, the first nudge of his swollen crown to her folds saw him hiss at the sensation. She was ready for him. Despite the absence of proper foreplay, rubbing his length at the apex of her thighs, it came away puckered raspberry and drooling.
He found his little elf always seemed to be just a little primed for him, an affect of his presence he hoped would never calm with complacency.
A reality he accepted with shame, he could spare her no further attention, or prelude, driven mad with the urgency to be inside her.
His bruised head resting heavy at her entrance, he dropped himself between her spread thighs, and crammed himself in with a stuttered cant. A choked gasp ripped from him while he ripped his way through her, wet and guttural. Shuddering against her frantic contractions to his abrupt intrusion.
Ariadne arched up off the ground as far as the cage of his body allowed. A harsh yelp shot through her lips. The ringing in his ears deadened the blow, as it did the breathless cry of his name that followed, fragile and tumbling. Fingers grabbing at his drawn shoulders, she twisted the cotton of his shirt to anchor herself.
Time was on pause. A hush fell over them as he stalled on top of her, his thumping heartbeat nipping the heels of her own. Only once her dainty hands swept up and down his back, a pressure deliberate to stroke him still, did he realize he was trembling.
He almost didn't recognize the sound that came from him as his own; a whimpering, pathetic noise. Sick. The closest comparison to the feverish hue that rushed his clammy skin. The most apt identifier to the brutal, qualmish onset.
He was a lot for her to take, though she'd have it no other way. The sweet sting of his brunt hilted inside her was ecstasy unlike any she had ever tasted. The first time she laid with Emmrich he left her ruined, and never before had she submit to ruination with such abandon.
He had the tendency of holding her needs paramount to his own. Now given the chance to return the favor, she offered herself to his exigency, unconditional and absolute. Thrust as deep as her body's accommodation could withstand, with widened thighs and a nurturing caress, she welcomed his struggles as she did his prowess.
If he lost himself in her, so be it. She'd light the way back, like a beacon to ships in the night. And she'd piece him back together again.
Such messy business - love.
A quavering sigh seethed through grit teeth, her flutters were almost too tight to be comfortable. Emmrich began to rock himself in and out to stretch her to better fit his girth. Beginning slow and shallow, his thrusts were stilted, unwilling to peel himself away from her embrace long enough for proper gyration.
Their mismatched heights made for an already awkward coupling on the floor even more difficult. Her face tucked into his chest, the top of her head bumped into his chin with her every jostle forward. Steadied by forearms planted along either side of her, he shifted his weight to his lower body, throwing as much into the momentum of his frenzied canting as possible.
The otherwise respectable kitchen now invaded by obscenity, the slap of flesh drowned only by the cacophony of their sighs, and the shrill clatter of his grave gold against both itself, and the tile.
It wasn't romantic, or impassioned. It was distressed, and sloppy. A fast-spreading sickness of which this crude joining was medicinal. Her honey, her heat; the strength and tightness of muscle, that ushered him inside her plush depths. Seeking to knead him to better health.
All of his finesse - his artistry - when it came to making love abandoned him. Exiled to flounder in a shallow pool of desperation. An aspect of all his relationships of which his confidence was unshakable, he then felt like he was laying with someone he was unfit to touch.
Beautiful, dexterous fingers clawed at the floor in front of him until the tips blotched white from the pressure. Afraid to sink them into her, he knew the scratches left behind would taunt him for as long as they'd last.
Locking her ankles at the small of his back, she wrapped her arms around his back to hold him. Her furrowed brow twitching above eyes screwed shut, as he chafed her backside against the edge of tile bared from uneven grout.
"It's okay-, it's alright-," lilting in breathlessness, she fought his attempts to steal them with every snap of penetration. "Y-you're okay."
He hadn't felt such helplessness since his Orlesian artist, Anastriana. Lissome and mystifying, she was the first woman he'd ever seduced that made him feel as though he had to prove himself in order to keep her. Or rather, she was the first woman who'd seduced him.
She liked to claim conquests instead of lovers, and he managed to hold on to her for longer then she planned to string him along. Endearing her with his eagerness to please, his devotion to her needs.
Emmrich would have pried himself open with nothing but blunt finger tips in servitude, all to pluck a rib from its cage, if it might have won her approval. But her approval wasn't equal to her love.
He proved himself a dutiful marionette, one too amusing to put back in the cupboard.
Until the next came along, and he was no longer a befitting muse.
More a heinous co-dependency than it was a relationship. To think he'd been such a willful accomplice of his own heartbreak, when he disregarded the obvious, and asked for her hand. A request denied, and none too gently.
It ripped him apart. Leaving him bitter with wounded pride, and sullied by wild jealousy. Yet, even with how thorough his dismantling by her fickle whims, he remained the same. That pain, visceral as it was, fizzled and faded. Swept away by time, the sting a distant memory.
He had gained better sense alongside self-respect as he matured. Far more guarded with his partners thereafter, Emmrich offered them a scrupulous love. He didn't know any other way to be. If what he had to give wasn't enough, then it simply wasn't meant.
"E-Emmrich-," Her moans brought him back, puffed against his collar bone as she squeezed her thighs against his hips. Her pelvis pinned under his, it wriggled in attempt to match his rhythm, but she couldn't follow a lead he didn't provide.
Withdrawn fully into himself, huffing and grunting as he rut her into their kitchen floor, still she sang for him, as if he were worshiping her the way he should. "F-feels so nice-," she sobbed, perhaps just as far gone herself. Toes curling and heels dug into his low back, her whimpers broke against his ear, finding him through the thundering of his blood, and the roar of his heart. "You're perfect - so perfect-,"
The haughty, bejeweled visage of Anastriana was exiled back to the cobwebbed annexes of his psyche where she belonged. A ghost of his past that deserved internment for what of his mind she saw fit to besiege.
He no longer looked to dissect himself, and discard the more unsavory bits. He'd never again rearrange his parts for a lovers favor.
But for Ariadne?
She'd sooner clap him against the cheek for daring to suggest such a thing, though his inescapable truth remained. The deeper in love he fell, the more certain he was of his unworthiness to have her.
Not with all his flaws. The very same unsavory bits he had been so self-righteous of before her.
Be it by shame, or neediness, he wanted to hide. Sheathed inside her as he was, the urge was demanding.
He couldn't bury himself at her neck in their current position. Stopping just long enough to shift to his knees, the joints bruised and aching from the press of the tile, she stuck to him like a leech. Refusing to detach for even that terse beat of readjustment, claws sunk and legs like a vice.
The first time he glimpsed her face since before they began, her eyes watered above cheeks smeared rogue. Loosened tendrils of silvery blonde clung to her forehead and wrapped around the front of her throat, she mewled up at him like a submissive kitten. The luster of her sex drunk haze heightened by how her pupils spilled across the irises.
Hoisting her up with him to keep her hips flush in his lap, his palms slid up along her back to grip her by her traps. Hunched over, he retreated within the crook of her neck, before rolling his hips in earnest.
His pants huffed against her throbbing pulse, the fingers he had been so worried about hurting her with prior, now bit down into her shoulders to hold her still. To keep her steady as he overwhelmed her with his gluttony.
Messy and without coordination, his heft pushed at the velvet confines of her channel, the ridges clenched tight around his every spear.
Wetness then leaked against the spot on her where he nuzzled. The gallop of her heart was all that protected it from breaking.
Though it was he who helmed this onslaught, Emmrich twisted himself around her with staggering necessity. A needful, clinging tender spot, and no more. Afraid the moment he eased up, she'd fade to nothingness beneath him. Ripped from a dream, the most beautiful he'd ever known.
"Darling, please-," He rasped into her skin, slick with perspiration and stray tears. "Don't- don't leave me."
His inner torment had been plain, but to hear it thicken his tone; so small and despondent, alarm sheared through her like cold wind.
"W-what?" Battling her own disorientation, bleary eyes blinked up at the ceiling, her grasp on him curled tighter. "What are you-t-talking about?"
Ariadne didn't make his townhouse their home. She was home. His home. A home that was taken from him long ago.
One he didn't have the stomach to lose. Not again. Never again.
And he almost had.
But not that dread. That only metastasized.
The sour taste at the back of his throat. Shaking and sweat-dampened in the middle of the night, pawing at her side of the bed to make sure she was still there.
The very thing he wanted most of all had been snatched away from him the moment he received it, and all before he could even recognize it for what it was. Their last argument echoing inside his head without end, his weaknesses and insecurities blinded him from what had been waiting there for him all along. Yet there he was, trying to reject what he had craved all his life. Perhaps the beast had been there from the start.
He could have drowned in that thought if he stayed in it any longer.
Grief was funny that way.
Unpredictable as it was unavoidable. The first week she was gone, Emmrich remained strong. Focused on what he needed to do in order to get her back, he busied himself with optimism, however contrived.
Neve began to visit him those nights in the beginning, when sleep refused them both, and cast each away.
She touched his shoulder as if the company was for his sake, but the bags beneath her eyes conveyed her struggles equaled his own. Telling him that burden was one shared.
"How are you holding up?"
"About as well as your estimations, if the look on your face is to give you away. Though truth be told, I fear I'm faring not even half as well." He attempted a chuckle, but the mirth that would have lent to it's credibility refused to surface with it, rending it a scratchy, parched wheeze. One he hadn't the bandwidth to smooth over, or excuse by that time of the night. "I'm... well."
Whether he said it to convince her, or himself, neither were sold.
The ice mage peered up at him with a tilt of her head. An invitation for him to unload. "And you know it's alright... not to be?"
"Of course..." He declined her lifeline with a tired smile, the sheen of his gaze intensified as it unfocused. "Though it would be of use to no one should I pander to such selfishness, to waste precious time wallowing. Least of all to... her." His throat closed around the acknowledgment, as if speaking about her would jinx her return.
Neve uttered a small noise of agreement from the back of her throat, before gesturing towards the spiral staircase. "Shall we, then?"
The two would set out on his balcony like weary sentinels amidst the starry night. Solemn in their silence, they were each granted a moment in the company of a friend, simply just to be. A break from having to pretend.
She'd offer her cigarette each time, and each time he abstained.
For about the first three evenings.
Catching his stolen, longing glances, and interpreting them as curiosity. An oversight she fast rescinded, for when he accepted it from her, he pulled the burn into his lungs without hesitation. His fluidity betrayed a practiced ease that hinted to an old - or secret - habit. With a taut bob of his Adams apple, he shut his eyes and tipped his head back.
Neve watched with a smirk, as Emmrich blew it back into the night a steady, flattened stream from between his lips, the smoke tugging with it a noise from him. A hum that bordered on a groan, and throaty with relief. It was one she knew well.
"I see you've met before."
"Oh yes, my dear, we're well acquainted. An admission I scorn the taste of almost as much." A hoarser edge snagging his signature silk, he rushed his next drag, and the acridity furled to mild retaliation within his rusty throat. Waving away the quick burst of a cough, he shook his head at himself with a smirk that more earnestly wanted to be a sneer. "Old friends turned adversaries, I dare say."
So became their ritual. Most nights saw them together on his balcony, passing her quellazaire back and forth about as often as their weak words of conciliatory encouragement. Whenever one would find it within themselves to proffer to the other.
Ever tactful, Neve opted to continue sharing hers, to perhaps lessen the blow of his relapse. He was as grateful for her discretion as he was her empathy.
The first week was like wading through wet cement. Every step forward a battle, he held tight to his vigilance, if only for Ariadne.
The second week was when it began to harden.
They had been moving at a break-neck pace, careening down their path quicker than they could formulate the next plan of attack. And then she was gone, and everything halted. Now idle, he had a little more time to think. To dwell.
It smothered him. Everything did. Waking, walking, breathing. A constricting pressure seeking faults so that it may get him to crack, in the form of steady, unhurried fear. The fear that no progress had been made. That she still wasn't back.
His presentation deteriorated a little more each long day that bled into the next. The circles around his eyes darkening, his stubble grown out from days unbothered to shave it. Though he held himself together with little more than threads of the hope, he held tight to them still. Regardless of how tattered.
Neve shortened the time between her visits to his balcony.
Before long, the length of those days strung him right along into the third week.
That milestone a bitter one to accept, the beast then came knocking.
Before it's arrival, he loathed being in his room at the lighthouse alone; for the whispers of their argument slithered through the air in suffocation whenever he opened himself to that vulnerability. With the beast taking that place, he would have welcomed those taunting echoes back with open arms.
It reached for him like a shadow stretching across the ground, its inevitability lurking in his periphery. In the dark corners of her quarters, when he ventured there to sit alone, and breath in her smell.
It sunk its claws into his feet and dragged him down, down, down. Into himself, into self-destruction, into agony so old and familiar it hurt just to look at it. A malignancy he believed to be bested rearing in spite.
It knew Emmrich, and knew him well. It had been a long time, but they had a history. The longer and harder Emmrich looked it in the eye, did the horrified realization dawn.
I know you. And it can't be you. It cannot be. You only come when... and she can't be...
To say he looked haggard from thereon was a kindness. Iron scruff covered his jaw, sunken in and hollow with starvation. He raked fingers through his hair over and over again, leaving it to stick up in erratic tufts that he never tamed back into place, no matter how often he threaded them through it.
By then, when Neve came calling for their regular commiseration, she discovered he'd taken to starting without her.
Perseverance no longer saw fit to bestow him it's mercy.
He turned to face her with bloodshot eyes. His tall height halved as he bent at the waist and slouched over the rail, his perfect posture disintegrated along with his nerve.
The stub of his second consecutive cigarette dangled from his shadowed frown. Without a word uttered, he snapped fingers out towards her, producing a spark between them, as a small flame appeared. Hovering above his fingertips, at the ready to light her up.
Heavy lidded eyes, they were glassy with the tears he denied himself. The top few of his buttons yanked loose, while his waist-coat hung wide open. Just so he could breath.
He had been doing so well.
Having spurned fate at numerous points throughout his life, childish as it now seemed, the frequency of the habit across all his combined years paled in comparison to those dreadful weeks.
And then, as vicious and greedy as it was; as much as it took from him, it at long last returned.
She was back.
One unassuming day. During the middle of a week that was decidedly without note.
All he could do was hold her close, and steady himself to the beat of her heart. Sighing into the top of her head how relieved he was she was back, over and over again. And he was.
They hadn't the time then for proper acknowledgment, or the right words. Already on borrowed time, and he'd squander none of it on dwelling over his anguish.
She was given back to him. And there was a god to kill.
So Emmrich laid to rest the horrifics of how he suffered in a shallow grave, one neither visited.
Why now, after all this time, after she was returned to him for a life shared, a life just beginning - why now did he see fit for its desecration?
Why couldn't it stay buried?
Somehow she managed to draw it out from him. That wound gaping once more, all either could do at that moment was let it weep. For where there was blood, coagulation would soon follow.
And then the sting would dull to an ache. An ache could be ignored, could be carried. Could be learned to live with.
That grief stripped him to his bones, weary and frail. And she cradled them. Shielding them from the hard floor, and using the heat from her own body to warm them. She looked at him no different from how she did when he was at his suavest, at his strongest. At his best.
The tragedy of his parents death shaped him, an inevitability in his story.
But those weeks where he never knew if he'd see Ariadne again, the fragmented echoes of their argument left unresolved, hers would be a loss that would define him.
And then she was back. Safe in his arms. Constant in his heart.
Emmrich spoke firmer, almost a growl. Sharpened with indignation, the words still shook with the tenuous resolve of agony just barely held at bey. "Don't ever leave me, ever again."
She laid there for him, clutching the hair of his nape her fingers thread through. Thinking to assuage him, the act of speech was was a challenging one. The mass of him stuttering into her, every time she opened her mouth, all that knocked from her were gasps.
As though she were fighting against the waves of a sea as they broke over her head, cold and unrelenting. Pushing her back, pushing her away. She hushed into the air in hopes he'd be able to hear.
"I'm-here," choked it's way out against his rutting. "I-It's alright-Emmrich- I'm here."
It wasn't enough. Unconvinced, his thrusts met her harsh and jagged. "I can't lose you, not again I-I'm not- I'm not strong enough, I-"
Far more stubborn than the two of them combined, she pulled him from his hiding place and down into a hug. Forcing him to feel her sincerity through the strength of her embrace.
Shielding him from the beast that snarled in wait.
"Not even death could keep me from you." Bruising him with the weight of dedication too heavy to hold, she begged for his trust. "I promise you, I'll never leave you again."
Usually just before release he quickened, and his movement became focused. Purposeful. This time he slowed, trying to savor her, or stall himself from too quick a release. But it was too late. Rigor had settled. He could feel the little tremors throughout his muscles as they burned. That coil seated behind the root of his cock began to un-spool with the finality of an over-tensioned wire then clipped.
"Ari-," somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, it was low and needful, and unexpected in the best of ways. If she wasn't darling, or love, or my dear - she was Ariadne. Proper, and with much reverence. He had never before called her just Ari.
Deepening the rosy hue that prickled over her every inch, it wound him tighter in her arms. To say that she knew. She understood.
As quick as it mounted, it all toppled over.
A harsh prickle behind his eyes that swept from left to right, the spasms held his lids shut. Not that he would have wanted her to look into them, even if he could fight his body to hold them open.
He emptied inside her, unable to hold it back. A sluggish release, one that seemed to worsen his inner malady as it oozed. Shaking like a wet dog and growing nauseous with the dawning of what he had just done, Emmrich didn't wait for his breath to return before falling over himself in apology.
"Oh, my darling, I-I... -forgive me, I-,"
"Don't you dare." Her tone as firm as the adoration that imbued it. "Of all the things you've sought forgiveness for, that is about the most foolish."
Emmrich felt as sensitive and needled as a nerve rubbed raw, and looked twice as battered, struggling for breath that stuck to the air too humid and thick for his lungs. He had just crashed through the final stage of grief, knotted inside her as he was. Right there, on the kitchen floor.
He thought to roll them to the opposite position, but he feared movement. He still felt everything, and entirely too much.
"Foolish habits of a foolish man." He winced upon hearing himself without the tinnitus to muffle it. Gruff beyond recognition, a raw voice belonging to someone else. In that suspension of sobriety, he very much wished he was.
"Mmm, my foolish man." Her correction loving, her arms draped lazily around his neck, peering up at him glossy eyed and meek.
Humiliation digging at his back, he peered down at her with too grim an expression for all their common vulnerability. "May I... make a confession?"
Her own face fluttered a little as it softened. "Please do."
A palm at her cheek, her crystalline gaze was alight with sincere infatuation. His tongue stalled, hesitation slithering back in. The beast heeled, but still breathing down his neck.
Would he tell her of how he couldn't eat when she disappeared? That scarcity rivaled only by his lapse in personal hygiene? Would he crush that blinding acceptance she basked him in, as he told her how often he had lost his temper with Manfred?
Or that in his withdrawal of her, he thought the dry bitterness of tobacco a worthy substitute for her sweetness? That he replaced one addiction with the other, as if his relapse reduced her to no more than a vice. One he was forced to quit, one he had to reconstitute.
No, he couldn't allow her to visualize him in such a way. Though the jaws of the beast would not unlatch until it was appeased, lest he be left with those punctures for the rest of his days, hot and festered, like wounds that wouldn't close. With a deep breath, he lowered his gaze to the space of her chest that covered her heart. Trained to it's rise and fall, instead of looking her in the eye.
"All this time I thought ill of fate; thinking it cruel to have lead me to you so much later in my life. But I was wrong. It wasn't cruel, but merciful. I've been left behind to live on in the absence of those I loved most. I could not... do that again. Not with you." His utterance just above a whisper. "Not again."
The dour severity of his words flustered her. "That's very sweet."
"Rather disconcerting of you to perceive that declaration as such." He shook, eyes wide and head hung in defeat. The ruefulness of his inflection cut through them both. "I'm a weak man, Ariadne. A coward."
"And I'm a horrid little woman." She all but groaned.
He drew back with a blink. A more familiar, perplexed look settled into the lines of his face, one she was ever grateful to see back on him.
She hadn't meant to snap, but it startled him out of self-loathing long enough to allow for reason. At the very least, their eyes had finally met. "While we're exchanging confessions I have something of my own, if you'll hear it."
Emmrich urged her on, wordless. The pallor in his face receding.
"If I died tomorrow, I'd haunt you for the rest of your days." The mischievous twinkle was unable to mask her honesty, one she was none too proud of. "I know I'm supposed to say that I'd want you moved on and happy, but I'm viciously jealous."
To what she offered, he scoffed, though not one of contempt, or ridicule. That candor of hers brought him solace, one he was gracious to accept. A fullness in his heart, a balm to that nagging ache that throbbed low and steady when she was gone. A piece of it missing in the shape of her, he was then strong enough in acceptance that it was back.
Steadfast, and unequivocal.
As was a different nagging he had been trouble by on and off, in the months following their homecoming. It was far less monstrous, though it frightened him much the same.
Though the way she gazed up at him with those big, brown eyes confronted him with a decision then made. That his rationale for its evasion was unfounded.
He could think of no better time than now, tangled in one another on the floor, as bared to her as he'd ever been.
True to his creed, he didn't dissect himself to rearrangement. He ripped himself open and let her see it all; the ugliness, the cowardice, the unsavory bits. The parts of him that begged recoil, the parts to be shunned. He bared it all. A soul laid naked and plain in oblation. All he had to give.
Should she accept, it would be hers. Forever and always.
And Emmrich knew better than most the rot of things left unsaid, how they lingered like a restless spirit when their time came to an abrupt end, and it was too late to voice them.
"Marry me?"
Clawing it's way through a tight throat that sought to cage it, the blurted plea left him breathless. Hanging between them, tender and exposed.
There was no grand romance. No honeyed poeticism, or candlelight dinner. Not the way Emmrich had expected it might be. Not the way he felt she deserved. It was coarse and raw, just as she made him feel.
Then again, he knew the little Watcher better than that.
She'd always prefer unrefined sincerity, to overwhelming sentimentality. Perhaps this was just as it should be.
No matter the dressing, whether there were dozens of candles - or not one - the promise was the same. The words themselves were the heavy lifting. She trembled beneath them.
"I-," her words caught, and she winced. A blush pooled outward from the bridge of her nose, and moisture webbed across her eyes that only broke over her lashes when she tried to will it away. She continued to blink, looking to hide her face as fresh tears welled to replace the old. "You want a horrid little woman for a wife?"
"Does she love the weak, cowardly man?"
"Point that man out and she'll tell you." She sniffed, allowing for silence to coalesce between them as she collected herself. Though the importance of the request was one that ordered immediate response, he felt weightless as she kept him waiting for it.
"Ariadne Volkarin." Her breath hitched at the taste of the title in full, the flutter of her heart kicked to dizzying thumps with every syllable, every press of her tongue to her teeth. Trying it on for size.
A name she'd be honored to bear.
The first name she'd been offered. And not because there was simply no one else for her to be, but because he wanted her to be no one else.
"Ariadne Volkarin." He repeated, a hoarseness to his deep inflection. "My love... I must burden you once more with a confession, one I'm far more hesitant to impart."
Eyes widened to saucers, they glistened with delicate tears she did well in blinking back. "Oh?"
"I... I don't have a ring." Brows bowed, frown sheepish, resignation muddled his cadence.
Her gaze still blown and shining, it fixed on him, unflinching.
And then she laughed. Breathy, gentle, and blessedly reassuring.
"Does that mean I can't accept your proposal?"
A pressure closed around his heart and squeezed. Unbearable, he could have lived a lifetime in that heartache all the same. "Do you?"
"Yes." Her touch light and trembling, she guided his head down to rest his forehead against hers. When next she spoke, it was no more than a whisper, and a reflection of his frailty she handled with such care. "I do."
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Tagging as per request: @pinkuranium @goddessnyx216
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touhoutunes · 1 year ago
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Title: 温泉と酒で気分は祭よ (Feels Festive with Hot Springs and Alcohol)
Arrangement: まさみティー
Album: 東方温泉祭
Circle: O-LIFE.JP
Original: Walking the Streets of a Former Hell
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hazbinshusk · 7 months ago
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husk x reader. a birthday present written for the wonderful @monstrousvoice. just pure, tooth-rotting birthday fluff featuring everybody's favourite alcoholic feline bartender. hope you like it!
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“D’you think Angel will be upset that we left early?” you ask as the two of you make your way back to the Hotel. It’s just barely three a.m., and the streets are reaching their peak of sinful depravity all around you.
“If he even notices,” Husk replies with a shrug of one shoulder. A car screeches around the corner, and Husk takes hold of your wrist, tugging you over to walk on the other side of him so he’s between you and the gutter. Your skin is warm where he touches you, and you feel a brief pang of disappointment when he releases you. “He seemed pretty… distracted.”
You chuckle quietly. Angel had been enjoying the limelight at a new club opening, and with Cherri there to keep an eye on him you hadn’t felt too bad about calling it an early night.
“I gotta say, Husk, I genuinely can’t tell if you enjoyed yourself tonight or not.”
The promise of free booze thanks to Angel’s level of celebrity had warred with the loud music and large crowds for the bartender, but the former had won out.
“Not exactly my kind of fun,” he admits and you feel his wing rise quickly behind you, hear the sound of glass breaking against the dense wall of feathers that suddenly shield you from harm. He shakes away the broken glass before tucking his wing back down against his shoulder. How he’d noticed the bottle’s trajectory towards you without turning around you had no idea. “But it’s lookin’ up.”
You smile to yourself as the two of you make your way up the hill to the hotel, your shoulder bumping against his briefly. You can feel warmth swirling in your stomach at the easy proximity between the two of you and you swallow, fixing your gaze pointedly on the hotel ahead of you. Your friendship with Husk has steadily become one of the brighter points in Hell for you, and you didn’t need to jeopardize it by letting yourself indulge in whatever it is you’re feeling.
The two of you don’t speak again until you’re in the lobby, and the two of you linger there for a long few moments. You swear you feel Husk’s eyes on your face but when you look up, he glances towards the bar, rubbing his claws through the fur at the back of his neck. You cough awkwardly, jerking your head towards the stairs. “So, I… I’m gonna head up. But I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’ve got somethin’ for you,” Husk blurts out as you turn away, and you stop, surprised. When you meet his eye he looks almost… embarrassed, his ears low and the bridge of his nose a soft pink. He clears his throat, making his way to the bar. “It’s, uh…”
You follow him curiously, taking a seat on your usual stool as he rounds the bar to reach beneath it. He glances back up at you in a way you could swear is shy.
“Can you, uh… jus’… shut your eyes for a minute, okay?”
You raise a brow but do as he asks, folding your hands in your lap. You can hear him fumbling around with something for a moment, a soft click, and after a few moments you feel him take the stool beside you. Without opening your eyes you turn to face him, your knee bumping against his thigh.
“Okay,” Husk’s velvet tenor says quietly, and you try to ignore the shiver that runs up your back. “You can… you can open ‘em up now.”
You do so slowly, blinking a couple of times before your eyes settle on the space on the bar between you.
A cupcake sits on a small china plate on the polished wood, topped with soft white frosting and a single burning candle. You stare at it for a few seconds in surprise before dragging your eyes back to Husk. The candlelight plays over his features, the warm light making his eyes glow.
He gives you a small, embarrassed smile. “Happy birthday, doll.”
“How did you even…?” you swallow; you can feel the beginnings of tears welling to stick in the back of your throat. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”
“I wanted to.” he says and shrugs a shoulder as though it was a gesture that didn’t make your heart flip against your ribs. “Didn’t think your birthday should be all about someone else.”
You feel a soft smile on your lips, your eyes falling to where your hands were still twisted together in your lap. “Thank you, Husk.”
“You okay?” he asks, his own voice now barely more than a gentle rumble. With your eyes on his you feel your breathing hitch… you hadn’t realized just how close he is to you. “You’re, um… you’re blushin’.”
You nod slowly, and you see his eyes fall to your lips for a moment. Your heart flutters, and you feel yourself lean forward for a second. A brief flicker of surprise passes over his features before he moves forwards incrementally too. The moment hangs between the two of you for what feels like forever, the passing time only marked by the shadows dancing over his face and your heartbeat pounding in your chest.
And then… and then the two of you lean forward, his lips brushing softly against yours.
It’s hauntingly brief but still leaves you breathless, and you feel your inhale come shudderingly as he pulls away. He doesn’t go far, his forehead only inches away from pressing against your own.
“’s this okay?” he whispers and you nod, bringing your mouth back to his.
Husk kisses you with reverence, his lips achingly soft and his breath fanning warm across your chin when you part briefly. You reach up to touch your fingers to his cheek, carding your fingertips carefully through the soft fur. A quiet sound, almost a whimper, escapes you as you feel his hand take a gentle hold of your waist.
The kiss doesn’t deepen, doesn’t morph into something salacious, it just lingers in an embrace that sends butterflies through every part of you.
When you do finally pull away you’re breathless, and you see the warmth in your cheeks mirrored in the pink of his. His paw still rests on your waist, and you can feel it curl in the fabric covering your side as you lean over and blow out the candle on top of your cake.
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cobragardens · 1 year ago
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CORRECTED & UPDATED Clothes + Equivocation = Romance: The Husbands in 1793 (Part 2)
From Part 1:
Crowley and Aziraphale share clothes as a common interest. They don't have the same style, but they're both aware of current fashions, and Heaven and Hell aren't. You can't tell me Hastur or Uriel would recognize the significance of Crowley saying "Dressed like that, he's asking for trouble" about someone else while wearing black stockings and cravat and waistcoat himself. And that means Anything the husbands communicate to each other through clothing choices goes undetected by their masters.
SO. With all this in mind, let's go through the 1793 scene again and look at what the husbands communicate to each other without using words or actions to do it, and how their clothing choices help them do that.
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Hello. I'm here and I know you're in a spot of trouble. I like you.
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It's you! I'm so happy you're here!
Sheen's voice and face when Aziraphale says Crowley's name in this moment makes me think that Aziraphale is in love with Crowley--the demon Crowley, not the angel who became Crowley--long before he consciously realizes it in 1941. The way Sheen has Aziraphale say Crowley's name is so soft.
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The way you're he way you're lounging there and what you're wearing are uncomfortably sexy and also incredibly inappropriate for the Bastille at this moment in history. I suppose this is very on-brand for you.
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Crowley: I listen when you talk about your interests and goals and keep track of your general whereabouts and pursuits.
Either they've spoken with each other recently or Crowley has been keeping tabs on Aziraphale. Aziraphale isn't upset that Crowley knows what he's been up to, which suggests the former, which in turn suggests they're in semi-regular (every few years or decades) contact at this point.
Also we've now got a general idea for when Aziraphale opens his bookshop.
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Okay, brief tangent while I point out two things here.
One, my favorite thing about Aziraphale is that he is a sensualist. This is libertine behavior, y'all. He 'popped across the Channel' during the Reign of Terror because he wanted a specific carnal experience of a specific really lovely food.
And two, even when Aziraphale does weird, frivolous, silly, ill-advised things like this, things that clearly baffle Crowley...Crowley never makes fun of him. He never laughs at him. He always has this look of disbelief on his face, like Am I hearing this?--
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--but Crowley never, not once, shuts Aziraphale down.
Until Aziraphale asks him to go back to Heaven.
Anyway. Back to our scene.
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Aziraphale: I am unwilling to abandon my sartorial sensibilities even when it threatens my corporation, and I am insane, so I think this is reasonable. At least I'm not wearing a Slutty Monarchist outfit.
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You're happy to see me, aren't you. You're relieved to see a demon. Go on, say it.
Tennant's delivery of this line cracks me up. It is so gloating and flirtatious and smarmy and indulgent of Aziraphale.
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I am very happy to see you and lucky you're here, and I am willing to say so sincerely even though you are gloating about it.
And then there's the exchange where Crowley very carefully doesn't answer Aziraphale's question about why Crowley's in the area but also reassures him that he didn't cause the French Revolution and Aziraphale can still like him.
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We can't speak openly about this. It's dangerous for me.
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Message received: I won't mention what you did again. But I want to show my gratitude and spend time with you; is it safe for us to get lunch together?
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Yes, but one of us is going to have to change so we can walk the streets of Paris without getting arrested again, and I'm the one doing the rescuing here so it's not going to be me. Your 'standards' will have to take the hit.
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Fine, you've got me over a barrel. But hey, if I have to wear the silly hat anyway I might as well go all the way and wear your colors. Except not monarchist. And not slutty.
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Oh, I don't know, I thought you looked pretty slutty too. (Meaning 2) I'm having this guy killed for touching you, btw. I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Immediately. I see you are having the guy who assaulted you killed in a copy of the clothes he would have killed you for wearing. I wholeheartedly approve of this (Meaning 3), your sexiness in those clothes notwithstanding. The utter insouciance of Crowley's little sniff and the inquiry about what they'll have for lunch drive home hard that Crowley could not be more unbothered by Aziraphale having the man who tried to harm him beheaded.
What really tickles me about this line is not only that Crowley's joke has three distinct meanings, but that Meaning 1 (the meaning that exists without reference to Crowley's clothes) is the opposite of Meaning 3--Anybody wearing clothes like that deserves what they get (Meaning 1) versus It rocks how you just killed someone who tried to kill you for wearing those clothes (Meaning 3)--and yet because of the clothes he's wearing, both meanings come through with perfect clarity, dependent only on whether the listener(s) can see his clothing and know its significance. Aziraphale can, and does, so he receives Crowley's real meaning. Hell/Heaven can't, and don't, so they just hear Meaning 1.
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And then we get Aziraphale's pleased little smile and look of tranquil interest as he watches Jean-Claude dragged off to his death. Its such an interesting facial expression for an angel watching a demon have someone killed having someone killed, isn't it?
Crowley has just told him they're probably being listened to by Hell. That means Aziraphale, Crowley, and the audience all know this is the most Aziraphale can safely react. Aziraphale can't show any overt approval of anything an agent of Hell does, because by definition anything a demon does is demonic and angels must be against That Sort of Thing. In light of the fact that Aziraphale is the one who causes Jean-Claude's death, I now argue that this responsibility not to react too positively to something the other side has done falls on Crowley, and that the reason he makes this joke is primarily to tell Aziraphale I see what you've just done, and I like it without identifying aloud what exactly has just happened for their presumed eavesdroppers because an angel arranging a human's murder is the sort of thing in which head offices might take undue interest.
The awareness that their conversation is not private means the audience and Aziraphale know they need to be watching and listening for multiple meanings from Crowley, and it also means the audience and Crowley know we need to be watching Aziraphale's face closely right now. And that little smile shows us that Aziraphale has received Meanings 2 and 3 of "he was asking for trouble."
Or, at minimum, Meaning 3; even if Aziraphale picks up on Meaning 2--You looked really sexy in your vintage clothes, you crazy weirdo--that's not a message he can afford to react to at all. But he does react to the other coded communication Crowley is sending when he says "Dressed like that, he was asking for trouble" while dressed for trouble himself: I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Immediately. People who think your clothes give them the right to hurt you can go to Hell, and I am delighted you just sent one of them there.
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You just had someone beheaded for assaulting me, I acknowledge and am pleased by your delight at my cleverness. and I could not be happier. Would you like to come enjoy one of my very favorite sensual pleasures with me?
***
EDIT: To be honest I like this reading better than my original, incorrect understanding of the story despite the fact that it is slightly less romantic, both because I love the idea of Crowley as a thirsty witness to Aziraphale quietly being a vengeful badass, because it gives us a glimpse of something important about Aziraphale's character that we don't get to see elsewhere: Aziraphale doesn't have a problem with killing per se.
We learn from the business with the Antichrist that, like Crowley, Az. can't bring himself to kill children. We learn from his perturbation at the Flood and the Crucifixion that he doesn't hold with killing innocents. He gave away his flaming sword. But this scene establishes that Aziraphale will actively cause someone's death if he feels they deserve it. That seems like an important character note for him that may become relevant in Season 3 (feathers crossed that it happens).
And I think there's something else in there too, something about how Aziraphale kills Jean-Claude, not with outright violence but with a trick. One party thinks he's in control of the situation; with a wave of his hand, suddenly a turnip has turned into an inkwell an executioner has turned into the condemned--or at least it seems that way long enough to get the job done. It's a bait-and-switch, like stage magic, and it slots right in to the motif in Good Omens of sleight-of-hand, of characters wearing other characters' appearances (for more on this, see fan theories re: Maggie is possessed), of supplying false meanings to an audience to disguise the true actions going on behind the scenes.
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phyrestartr · 8 months ago
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PR Stunt (Only, Right?) | Sukuna/M!Reader | Teaser!
#NSFW in full, bottom!reader, top!sukuna, Sukuna owns a body shop, reader is a performer, kinda meet cute, ABO dynamics, mpreg, yes there are always babies involved because i love dad sukuna, surprise baby, sukuna is a dickhead (what else is new), teaser not edited lmao
Note: This is just going to be a one-shot since it's already pretty much completed, just need to finish off the tail end and then go back and edit. Wanted a break from writing the other stories for a bit, so I hope you'll enjoy the full story when it's out
tags: @better-imagination-9 @better-imagination-9
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“Did you sleep with (L. Name) (F. Name)?” 
The question caught Sukuna off guard; normally, Uraume didn't inquire into his personal life in regards to who he had and hadn't slept with. They were a friend, yes, but moreover they were the bookkeeper and helped with securing clients and arranging meetings–celebrities and their managers were fucks that Sukuna didn't like negotiating with. Best to leave the yapping to someone with a cooler head.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Sukuna asked as he rolled out from under the newest commissioned vehicle. 
Uraume walked to him, iPad in hand, and turned it to him, stone cold. 
Sukuna sat up straighter and squinted at the screen, annoyed. You’d probably just made up some salacious rumour and spread it throughout your friend circles; or worse, you wanted revenge on him for something he probably definitely did. In that case, Sukuna could somewhat understand. But still–
(Name) putting on weight? What’s happening to the former bombshell babe of Japan?!
Pregnant with a baby boy?! The secret's out!
(Name) returns to the stage after giving birth to a baby boy–but who is the father?
(Name) driving a Ryoumen Sukuna rescue vehicle?! Could he be the deadbeat dad we've been looking for?
Sukuna sucked his teeth after skimming over the article titles presented to him. 
“...No proof.” 
“Ah. Then please explain this,” Uraume requested, still polite as ever, as they flicked to an additional few images the scumbag paparazzi had caught of you. 
One was the car mentioned. Sukuna remembered it like it was yesterday–the joy of restoring a Porsche 911 back into its former glory was unmatched. You happily paid for all the parts and too often swung by to see the progress being made on the old thing. Obviously, Sukuna was more than happy to oblige. 
The next was of you holding a little nugget of a baby against your chest as you walked down a street in Shibuya. Nothing too damning, nothing too inspirational. 
But the last one–
“The fuck?” Sukuna mumbled as he snatched the iPad from Uraume’s hands and zoomed in on the now-toddler sitting with you in that damn Porsche, grinning brightly beside his mum while you ruffled his hair. His very, very pink hair. 
Sukuna took a breath while he thought. He didn't have to think too hard, though, not when he still dreamed about you and the short-lived fling between the two of you. 
“A Porsche 911, huh?” Sukuna grinned as he looked over the beat up, rusted beater of a car. He could still see scraps of its former glory, of the beautiful thing she used to be. Heaven knows she would've become an irreparable hunk of junk if you hadn't bought it from a scrapyard. 
“Yep.” You beamed. “So you think you can make her pretty again?” 
“You kidding? I'd pay you to let me fix this thing, baby.” Sukuna caught sight of your security stepping forward, but you waved them off without a second thought. 
Sukuna smirked. “But it’s not gonna be cheap.” 
You nodded. “Well, do what you have to. I'll pay whatever you need, handsome.” 
“Yeah?” Sukuna asked, looking your neatly-manicured appearance up and down; you were dressed like you were meeting someone of great importance (and  you were, obviously), with your hair groomed perfectly, outfit fit for a premiere, skin flawless. 
“Mhm. And I tip well.” you looked him up and down in kind, grinning as you bit at the nub of your sunglasses.
“Done.” 
Every time you came to check on his progress, genuine excitement flooding in your motormouthed Words, you'd go home with him and fuck him silly. 
And now, you were the momma to his baby. Allegedly. 
“I–so what the fuck does this have to do with anything?” Sukuna ran a frustrated hand through his hair after Uraume took the tablet back. “Bitch isn't asking for anything, he's not asking me to be his public fucking baby daddy, not asking me to pay for nothing?” 
“No,” Uraume conceded, “But he and his PR managers have reached out concerning this.” 
The man groaned and stood. “Fucking hell. Can't stand fucking PR teams. Thw fuck did they want?” 
“They want to make a statement about Touma's father.” 
Sukuna froze.
“Touma's a good name for a boy, right?” 
You asked the question so suddenly, so out of nowhere in the quiet of the afterglow. The city lights sparkled and winked at you both through the towering windows keeping you safe from the outside world. In hindsight, Sukuna would wonder if the city was excited for him. For you. 
“What, for a mutt?” Sukuna drawled, puffing on a blunt while he played with your hair and drowned in the tingles left in the wake of fingers drawing circles on his bare chest. 
“For a kid,” you chastised With a laugh. “I like Touma. Or Touka for a girl. Ayato's nice, too. Maybe Kazue.” 
“You better not be pregnant.”
“I'm not, I'm not. I'm just getting baby fever, I guess.” You hummed and left a sweet kiss against his tan skin. “I guess being around a big, bad boy like you's got me feeling domestic.” 
Sukuna laughed, dazed and happy. “You wanna ruin this pretty lil’ body for a fucking kid? Be my guest. Just don't come looking for a booty call after you've ruined yourself like that.” 
“Oh, don't worry,” you cooed. “I won't.” 
Man. Man. 
“A statement.” 
“In other words–”
“I'm not the fucking father.” 
“This might be a good way to get Yorozu off your case,” Uraume suggested, and Sukuna perked up. 
“Right. She fuckin’ hates kids.” 
“So, if you were to have a son, and it's revealed you've been quietly trying to make things work behind the scenes with (Name), then hypothetically–”
“I'll take the runt.”
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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 3 months ago
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Time to Heal -Oneshot
*Changed some of the details to this being after TFATWS and before Thunderbolts.  Steve never left.  Sam isn’t Captain America, neither is John.  Some details are obviously muddled.* Word count: 2711
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After a long fight during a mission, Bucky and Walker trudged back to the Quinjet, where Y/N, their resident I.T. specialist and Bucky’s girlfriend, stood waiting for them in the hanger area with her arms crossed, looking pissed.  She and John had been bickering over the comms the entire mission, and were both at their wits end.  
“God, you’re insufferable,” Y/N griped at John.  
“Oh sure, I’m the insufferable one,” John griped back, walking past her to the front of the plane.  “Why are you even here?  I guess they accept whoever nowadays into the Avengers, huh?  Dating the former Winter Soldier help land you a job?”
“Watch it, Walker,” Bucky called out from behind them.  
“Shut up, Bucky,” John said, glancing at him.  
Y/N smirked.  “I’m the only reason you even have access to that shield, Walker,” she said lowly.  “If I wasn’t so nice and convincing, you wouldn’t be allowed near it.”
“What?” John narrowed his eyes.  
Bucky took a step forward but she held a hand up to him.  “You aren’t worthy of it,” Y/N sneered at him.  “The only reason you’re even touching it right now is because I convinced Bucky to give you a chance, since Steve deserves retirement and Sam wasn’t appreciated by the American government.  Bunch of racists.”  She took a step toward John, looking up at him with narrowed eyes.  “You are just a placeholder.  You will never be Steve.  You will never be Sam.  Even with that serum running through your veins, it means nothing.  Because you are not a good man.”  She shook her head.  “How did it feel, when you beheaded that man on the street?”  John’s eyes widened at her, his frown deepening as he took a step back from her.  “That’s what I fucking thought,” Y/N said, then stepped away and turned back to Bucky.  John huffed behind her as she walked up to Bucky.  “Are you okay?” she asked quietly, reaching up and wiping at some blood near his eyebrow.
“I’m fine, babydoll,” Bucky said, smiling at her.  “Just a scratch.”
She looked him over carefully, then nodded with a slight smile.  “Okay,” she said.  She quickly kissed him then turned to the hanger door.  “Let’s get out of here,” she said, punching the button for it to close and turning back to face Bucky.  Just as it started to lift one of the bad guys they’d been fighting jumped onto the hanger door, running up behind Y/N and grabbing her into a chokehold, pointing his gun at her head.
Bucky and John both yelled.  Bucky drew his gun and pointed it at the man’s face, but before he could even speak the man jerked to the side and John shot.  He looked on in horror as the bullet pierced through the left side of Y/N’s sternum and into the bad guy behind her through his heart, killing him instantly.  He fell back, taking Y/N with him with a loud thud as the door closed and caught them.  Bucky immediately ran and pulled her off of him, tucking her into his arms as she panted, her eyes wide as she looked down at her chest in shock and then up at Bucky.
“No!  Babydoll, shit,” Bucky cried out, his own eyes wide as he laid her on the floor and put his metal hand over the wound, holding it down to stop the blood flow.  He looked back at John, who looked like he was in shock as well.  “What the hell did you do?” he screamed at him.
“Buck,” Y/N whispered, her lips trembling as she started to cry.  “It hurts.”
“I know, I know Y/N, but it’s gonna be okay,” Bucky said, turning his attention back to her.  “Get us in the air!” he yelled back at John, who quickly did as he said.  “Let’s get you in the cradle, babydoll, come on.”  Bucky hoisted her up into his arms, trying to be careful as she cried out in pain at the jostling.  He took her over to the cradle, the machine that they had kept in the Quinjet since it was first used to help heal Clint years earlier.  He turned it on and then laid her gently into it, pressing buttons until the lid shut over her.  
“Y/N’s been hit, we need medical,” John’s voice carried from the front as he spoke toward a monitor.
“What happened?” Sam asked incredulously, looking at Bucky and Y/N behind John.
“A straggler jumped on board as we were about to take off, and…” he hung his head.  “She was hit by friendly fire.”
Sam’s frown deepened.  “Just get here as fast as possible.  We’ll be ready when you land.”
The call cut and John looked back at Bucky and Y/N.  The anesthesia inside the cradle hit Y/N’s face, helping her breathing even out as her eyes fluttered closed.  Her hand reached to the side of the glass enclosure, her fingers pressing against it towards Bucky.  His flesh hand pressed against the glass as he watched her fall asleep, the lasers and little wire arms and trappings working on her inside the cradle.
“Just hold on, babydoll,” Bucky whispered, fighting back tears.  “We’re almost there.  Just heal.”
***
It was a flurry of voices and bodies as they landed, a medical team running to the Quinjet and unloading the cradle with Y/N in it and rushing to the medbay.  Bucky tried to stay with her but was told to wait outside as they closed the medbay doors on him.  He stared at the doors as Sam and Steve talked to John behind him. 
“How did this happen?” Steve asked, his voice low and angry.
“He shot her,” Bucky snarled, turning to face them.  His anger was now winning out, being kept on the back burner the entire flight so he could focus only on Y/N.  Now he was incensed, and started stalking toward John.  “He shot the guy through her!”
Steve looked at John incredulously as Sam quickly got in Bucky’s way, trying to hold him back.  “Buck, wait–”
“No!  He shot her!” He screamed, pushing past Sam but being intercepted again by Steve.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?  You killed my wife!”
John looked like he could cry at any moment, recoiling from Bucky.  “I didn’t mean to.  He was holding her and I had a clear shot, but he twisted at the last second.”  Bucky got out of Steve’s grasp and cornered John against the wall, his metal hand wrapping around his throat as he lifted him off the floor, Y/N’s blood still on his metal hand coating John���s neck and uniform.  John choked, trying to pull Bucky’s hand off.  “She’s not dead, Bucky!  I’m sorry!”
Steve and Sam pulled Bucky away, holding his arms back as he struggled against them.  He eventually let them pull him back and then shrugged them off, glaring daggers at John.  He sniffed, realizing he’d been crying.  He pointed at John.  “If she dies, I’ll kill you,” he growled.  He turned and walked away into one of the waiting rooms off the hallway.  He heard Steve follow him, Sam and John’s heated exchange muffling as Steve closed the door behind them.  Bucky paced the room, his flesh hand running through his hair and tugging harshly at it.
“Buck,” Steve called to him, approaching him slowly with his hands out in front.  “You need to breathe.”
“He killed her,” Bucky cried, his emotions finally catching up to him.  “It was too close to her heart.  Steve,” he hiccuped, his breath stuttering as his tears fell heavily.  “He took her from me.  I can’t…I can’t do this without her.”
“She’s gonna be okay, Buck,” Steve said, pulling him to the bathroom attached to the waiting room and helping him wash off Y/N’s blood from the metal.  He dried off his metal hand then reached out and pulled Bucky into a firm hug.  “She’s going to heal.  Y/N’s tough.  She’s not gonna leave you.  Knowing her, she won’t allow it,” he said, huffing out a laugh.  He rubbed Bucky’s back, holding him until Bucky finally melted into the hug, clutching onto Steve tightly, leaning his head against Steve’s shoulder, his tears wetting his shirt.  “You just need to hold on and be brave for her, okay?  She’s gonna be fine, I know it.”
Bucky nodded, his heart hopeful but his mind running wild with what-ifs and worst case scenarios.  What if she didn’t wake up?  What if she was dead?  They had just started their lives together a year prior, it wasn’t fair.  Why was he being punished by the universe, God, karma, whatever it was like this?  What did he do to deserve it?  He held Steve tight, trying to ground himself from his mind completely falling apart.
***
Bucky stared at Y/N as she laid asleep in the hospital bed.  She had come out of surgery a couple of hours before, and now they were just waiting to see how she would be as she recovered.  Her skin looked ashen, scaring him further, but her heartbeat was strong, the incessant beeping of the heart monitor at least reminding him she was still here.  His flesh hand held her hand, his thumb running along her knuckles repeatedly.  He leaned down for the hundredth time and kissed her fingers, the back of her hand, then twisting her hand to kiss her palm.  
“How’s she doing?” Steve asked as he stepped into the room, walking to the opposite side of the bed from Bucky.  He pulled up a second chair and sat, looking at her monitors and then looking at Bucky.
“Doctor said the surgery went well, and they repaired the damage done by the bullet,” Bucky responded, his eyes never leaving her hand.  “Though she’s gonna have a pretty gnarly scar on her chest.  Now it’s just a waiting game to see how she recovers.”
Steve hummed and nodded, reaching out for Y/N’s other hand and squeezing it.  “She’s got some more color in her face than before.  Looking good Y/L/N,” he smiled at her teasingly.
Bucky slightly chuckled.  Sam then came into the room, checking on her.  “Hey, man, when she wakes up, if you guys would like a place to stay low and recuperate, you’re always welcome at my place,” Sam said to Bucky.  “That ocean breeze does wonders.”
Bucky smiled at him.  “That sounds great,” he said appreciatively.
“When do we leave?” Y/N suddenly whispered.
All three of their heads snapped to look at her.  “Y/N!” Bucky cried, standing quickly and hovering over her, his hands reaching up and cupping her face.  
“Hey gorgeous,” she breathed, grunting as she cleared her throat.  
Steve quickly got her a cup of water and held it up to her lips, and she drank it all slowly.  “Go slow, Y/N,” he said as he set the cup down.  “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got shot,” Y/N grimaced.  “Don’t wanna do that again.”
Bucky shook his head.  “You’re not going on anymore in-field missions, you hear me?”
Y/N smirked at him.  “You’re so hot when you’re protective,” she said.
Steve and Sam laughed, while Bucky shook his head at her with a small smile.  “How does that sound, babydoll?  You wanna go to Louisiana?  Try to relax and heal?”
“First vacation in years?  Sounds perfect,” Y/N nodded, then looked over at Sam.  “Thank you, Sam.”
***
As Bucky held Y/N’s hand and helped her walk toward the private jet Pepper had set up to take them to Louisiana, they heard someone running from behind them.
“Y/N!  Wait!” 
She turned to see John running towards them.  Bucky frowned and stepped in front of her.  “It’s okay, Buck,” she said quickly, pulling at his shoulder.
John slowed to a walk until he was a few feet away from them.  Bucky looked back and forth between the two of them, then finally stepped to the side, but kept an arm around her shoulders as he glared at John.
“I-I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” John said, glancing at Bucky but focusing on Y/N.  “It was a mistake, and I’m truly sorry for not being able to…not being more careful.  I…”
“Thank you,” Y/N said, nodding at him.  “I accept your apology.  I know it was an accident, and you were just trying to help me.”
John sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging like a weight had been lifted.  He nodded back at her with a small smile.  “Thank you.  I hope you feel better soon.”
Y/N nodded again at him, then turned and walked toward the stairs of the plane.  John tried to speak to Bucky but Bucky held a hand up.  “She may forgive you, but I don’t,” he said quietly so she wouldn’t hear.  “I never will.”
John’s lips tightened, but he nodded in understanding.  They stared at each other for a moment before Bucky finally turned and jogged to Y/N, helping her up the plane stairs.  Steve and Sam were soon loaded on board, then they lifted off toward New Orleans.
***
“I really like it here,” Y/N mused one day, watching the willows sway in the Autumn breeze outside Sam’s house as she sat in the rocking chair on the front porch.
Bucky looked at her and smiled.  It had been a little over a month and a half since they’d come to Louisiana for her to heal.  It was humid, and hot, but Y/N loved the nature and the atmosphere in New Orleans.  They had been slowly going out into the city, enjoying the nightlife carefully, so as not to exacerbate her injury.  Overall she was healing well, but it was a slow and steady process.  Steve, Sam and Sam’s sister, Sarah, along with her kids had been a big help to Y/N with whatever it was she needed.  Steve and Sam had been called away to a mission, leaving Bucky and Y/N alone this weekend as Sarah and the boys went on a fishing trip on the family boat.  
“Me, too,” Bucky agreed, turning to look at her in the rocking chair opposite her.  “Maybe we should move here.”
Y/N’s eyes lit up and she smiled wide.  “Can we?” she asked excitedly.
“Why not?” Bucky asked, reaching over and taking her hand.  
“Well, you’re a bit busy being a superhero,” Y/N said, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb.  
“Only as long as you want me to be,” Bucky retorted, squeezing her hand.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Y/N, everything I do is for you,” Bucky said, giving her as serious a look as possible.  “You’re my everything, babydoll.  You say you want me to quit doing this and stay with you, I’ll do it.  You and I are a package deal now.  And besides, I like New Orleans,” he smirked.  
Her eyes turned watery as she listened to him.  “So if I say that Steve told me you called me your wife, and that I would love nothing more than to be your wife, what would you say?”
Bucky’s eyes widened as he thought back, then huffed a laugh.  “He’s so nosy,” Bucky chuckled, making Y/N laugh at Steve’s antics.  “I’d say let’s get married.  Today.  Tomorrow.  Hell, I would have done it yesterday.  Pick the day and I’m there, babydoll.”
Y/N’s tears finally fell, her smile wide but trembling.  “Really?”
“Really,” Bucky said, getting out of his rocking chair and kneeling in front of her, gripping both of her hands in his.  He pulled her left hand up and kissed over her ring finger knuckle.  “I’ll get you a ring.  Buy you the prettiest dress.  Make you the one and only Mrs. Barnes.”  He could feel his own tears start to build as he swallowed harshly.  “Will you marry me, Y/N Y/L/N?  Be my babydoll forever?”
Y/N let out a watery laugh.  “Yes,” she whispered, leaning over and kissing him deeply, before pulling away and leaning her forehead against his forehead.  “I’ll marry you, gorgeous.” 
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lisbeth-kk · 3 months ago
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Sherlock fandom.
Temporary Stupefaction
Sherlock pulls up the collar of his coat to protect his neck from the icy wind. The night is dark and foggy. Gloomy. It fits his mood. 
John was on a date when Lestrade called with a nasty murder. Sherlock texted and even called John, but he didn’t pick up, nor answered the texts. 
It had been an extraordinary case. John would’ve loved it, despite how easily Sherlock solved it. The cases were no fun when John was absent.
Colourful leaves are twirling around his feet in Regent’s Park. Sherlock is desperate to get home to the warmth of 221B. He forgot to bring his gloves. 
John wasn’t there to remind him. 
Still, Sherlock is hesitating to leave the park and walk the short distance to Baker Street. The flat is probably empty and cold if John’s still out. Perhaps he’s got a leg over and will sleep at that woman’s place. Sherlock is thankful that John never brings any of his girlfriends to the flat.
Small blessings.
The wind and his soon frostbitten hands, decide for him, and Sherlock approaches the black door. When he looks up at the windows, he stops abruptly. Golden light from the lamps and something incandescent, tells him that John is home and that he’s lit the fire. Suddenly John’s figure appears in the window. He stands with his back to Sherlock and he’s gesticulating wildly with his arms.
John never does that.
He’s clearly talking to someone. Sherlock checks his watch. Nearly midnight. Too late for a visit from Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade drove home at the same time Sherlock left the Yard, Molly never visits them, and Mycroft is out of the country as far as Sherlock knows.
Who can it be and why is John so agitated?
He needs more data, and hurries to find his keys and locks himself in as silently as he can. Sherlock tiptoes up the seventeen steps, avoiding the creaky one. John’s voice is loud, but the words are muffled by the door.
Sherlock stops on the landing to eavesdrop before deciding how to proceed.
“How did she know, hm? I’ve only dated her two times.”
There’s a long silence. Sherlock reaches for the doorknob but stops when John speaks again.
“What do you mean I talk about him all the time? He’s the person I deal with the most. It’s only natural, don’t you think?”
What on earth is John talking about? And more importantly; who is he talking to? The responses from the unknown guest, are apparently so low that even Sherlock’s brilliant hearing can’t perceive it.
“I’m not gay, remember!”
Ah, John is talking about Sherlock. His heart cracks every time John utters those words. He startles when John’s voice quivers.
“How did you know that I’m bi? I’ve never told a soul. And before you say Sholto, nothing happened, okay!”
John’s voice rises again when he mentions his former superior officer. Sherlock has always wondered about their relationship. His stomach is in uproar. John has just admitted that he’s bisexual while discussing Sherlock. 
What does that mean?
Sherlock can hear that John is pacing, but he’s stopped talking. He opens the door as carefully as possible and dares to look. John seems lost in his own head. His hands are buried in his hair. He looks a bit like Sherlock does when he’s despairing about a case or useless yarders. 
A quick survey of the room stupefies him. It’s empty apart from John. 
Who the hell has he been talking to?
“Do we have an invisible guest, John?” he asks softly.
John turns to him, his face ashen. He stutters, then blushes. 
“Sh…Sher…Sherlock! What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” Sherlock offers with a smirk.
John snorts and starts to chuckle.
“Yeah, you do. Sorry. I was just…”
“You were talking to…”
Sherlock doesn’t finish the sentence but waves a hand, indicating for John to fill in the blanks.
“No one,” John mumbles, his smile gone.
“I heard you,” Sherlock coaxes, eager to solve this mystery.
He hangs up his coat and walks to the fireplace to warm his hands.
“You forgot your gloves again,” John tuts.
“Brilliant deduction, John,” Sherlock quips.
He rubs his palms together and expects John to reprimand him further, but the flat is deadly silent.
“I was talking to Harry,” John finally says behind him.
Sherlock turns so fast he almost knocks John over. His eyes evidently show the horror he feels.
Harry Watson, John’s twin sister, has been dead for six years.
Before Sherlock can analyse this baffling information further, John grips his hands, warming them efficiently. Sherlock momentarily closes his eyes to revel in the sensation. Warmth seeps through him in a flash and sets in his chest like a burning flame. When he opens his eyes, John is gazing up at him with a look Sherlock’s seen before, but not often. It’s fond and hungry. Normally, it disappears within seconds, but this time…
“Sherlock?” John whispers.
“Are you a psychic, John?” 
Shit! He didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Just a vivid imagination, but who the hell knows? Me and Harry’s bond has always been strong. I don’t think I’ve told you, but as children we sometimes communicated telepathically.”
“You are an enigma, John Watson,” Sherlock murmurs.
Sherlock is completely warm now, and decides to be brave. He pulls John to him by his hands, guiding them around his waist. After he has released them, he lets his own hands cradle the back of John’s head and bends down. When he’s close enough to feel John’s breath on his face, he looks into John’s eyes to get confirmation. They are closed, so Sherlock bends down further and kisses each eyelid, before he finds John’s cheeks, forehead, chin and at long last, his lips.
When they part for air. John smiles and tells his sister to kindly leave them alone.
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