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giantchasm · 3 days

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A Ginormous Assortment of Floralia Headcanons

Just because I haven't been posting headcanons lately doesn't mean I haven't had Kirby on the brain! Recently, I shared a LOT of my thoughts about Floralia on Discord, and I've compiled and organized them here to share! Enjoy!

On the islands themselves:

-Royal Road is the most important island of the bunch, at least when it comes to discussing the Insectoids and People of the Sky. This is where both of their homes are situated. The island is (Or... well, was) divided into two halves — those of the Insectoid Kingdom and that of Sky Kingdom.

-Sectonia took over the Sky Kingdom during her tyrannical rule, caging its people. Oddly enough, though, now that she’s been overthrown, there’s actually less of a concrete divide between the two groups. They interact almost like one big kingdom.

-Although Royal Road is by far the most populated island, the other islands have their own little communities. In particular, there are quite a few small villages in Fine Fields and Lollipop Land. These communities weren't really involved in the royal drama until Sectonia also conquered them, and with her reign of terror having ended, they've gone back to their regular lives.

Everything else (Going over Insectoid biology and culture, the history of and relationship between the two kingdoms, ETC) will be placed beneath a cut, as this post is over three-thousand words long. Please check it out, though, if you'd like!:

On Insectoid biology/culture:

-Floralia has MANY types of Insectoid. Every type of bug you can think of, they have! Ladybugs... butterflies... stickbugs— you name it! There are even beings similar to some animals we DON’T classify as insects considered Insectoids, such as spiders and snails.

-True Insectoids are not related to or 1:1 to the bugs of our world— they simply resemble them. There are many differences. For example. They’re a sort of cross between arthropods and mammals, unlike any creature we have here on Earth. They have blood (referred to as ‘hemolymph’) that’s red when inside of their bodies but that turns blue when exposed to oxygen.

-True Insectoids are the anthro, sapient insects like Sectonia and Taranza. Meanwhile, Lesser Insectoids are… well, actual bugs! True Insectoids do not see Lesser Insectoids as their equivalent or as equals and thus do not object to people eating them. In fact, they’re a staple part of True Insectoid cuisine!

-Most Lesser Insectoids (also sometimes just called ‘bugs’) are eaten already dead. However, live Lesser Insectoids are occasionally eaten by the wealthy and are considered a delicacy. Some Lesser Insectoids are eaten more or less than others. Those such as wasps and particularly poisonous bugs can only be consumed safely when prepared very carefully— somewhat like pufferfish. If not properly cooked and cut, eating them can lead to injury, illness, or even death.

-True Insectoids have more formal names for their subspecies, being called things like Arachnids, Sectra and Mantidae. Meanwhile, Lesser Insects are referred to as spiders, wasps, mantises, et cetera. Sometimes True Insectoids can be referred to by the same names as Lesser Insectoids, although this is seen as informal, albeit not impolite slang (Think of calling Taranza a spider instead of an Arachnid as something roughly similar to calling a television a TV or a cat a kitty. Like I said— not rude, but not really professional.)

-True Insectoids are one species with many subspecies. Despite looking very different and having wildly different abilities, they’re still closely related enough to crossbreed, although this is seen as somewhat taboo.

-Insectoids have a strong natural affinity for Soul magic. Some derogatory folklore posits they were created by Death itself as opposed to Void like the rest of the living beings. Insectoids themselves do not believe this, of course, but it’s, if nothing else, still a common People of the Sky wives’ tale/superstition

-Different types of True Insectoids have various abilities and unique skills, most often connected with their proficiency for Soul Magic, but not always. For example, Mantidae (mantis people) have super speed and the ability to teleport, Hercules (beetle people) have super strength, Papillon (butterfly people) have a special connection to the dead and ability to receive omens of the future, Sectra (wasp people) have the ability to influence the thoughts and feelings of the weak willed using their pheromones, and Arachnids (spider people) are capable of both puppeteering and bodysnatching.

-All Insectoids are seen as untrustworthy and scary by other species, but Arachnids especially. They’re viewed as manipulative schemers, even amongst other Insectoids thanks to the aforementioned abilities. This is despite the fact that almost no Arachnids bodysnatch and the fact that all Insectoids have similarly terrifying powers. In part, this is because of an incident detailed later in the kingdom history section, but truthfully, said incident is mostly just an excuse to have someone to step on. If it weren’t for that, they’d have found another reason to look down on Arachnids.

-Arachnid bodysnatching is a two-part process. First, they sting their victim with their stinger and administer a special type of venom. This puts their victim in a comatose state, rendering their mind dormant and unable to fight back as the Arachnid then assimilates them. Arachnids have a special organ for storing souls, and this is where they keep the souls of their victims when they bodysnatch. All Arachnids wear a stinger cover at all times, lest they accidentally jab someone. Even if bodysnatching isn’t performed, the stinger venom can cause comas, brain damage, and even death.

Aforementioned venom can also be administered via the fangs, but it’s much less potent. More often than not the fangs are simply used to administer a second type of more traditional venom used for killing prey. Or… well, it was back in the day. Now, it’s a bit of a leftover evolutionary trait, considering Arachnids aren’t doing much hunting any more

-Arachnids are one of, if not the only type of Insectoid to have hair. It’s seen as strange and generally viewed as unattractive by other Insectoids, but amongst spiders it’s a point of personal pride. They take very good care of their hair and love to style it

-Clothing is not seen as something necessary for modesty in Insect society. There is no social taboo regarding walking around naked. More than anything, clothes are simply a way of showing off status and power, as well as accentuating beauty, and are most often worn to things such as balls or coronations. Arachnids tend to wear clothes more often than other Insectoids because back in the day they used to make their own clothes with silk! This is much less common nowadays, however, although some Arachnids remain tailors!

-Sectonia wearing so little is seen as scandalous, but not because she’s near-naked. It’s because it implies she’s so perfect she needs very little to make herself look any better. It’s just another show of her ego and generally seen as conceited.

-Hercules love to decorate their horns with jewelry. This is a tradition mostly unique to them. Although- uh- is only really a ‘thing’ amongst the wealthy Hercules. There’s a very big class divide in the Insectoid Kingdom, and commoners can’t really afford those sort of luxuries.

-There are three types of Sectra: Drone Sectra, Worker Sectra, and Royal Sectra. Almost all male Sectra are worker Sectra— weaker, meek Sectra noticeably easily influenced by a Royal Sectra’s pheromones. Worker Sectra make up the majority of female Sectra and are strong, diligent fighters. Then, of course, there are Royal Sectra— those of the Sectra royal family. These can be both male or female and are MUCH larger and more powerful than other types of Sectra, not to mention far bigger: being almost three times the size of other Sectra and generally towering over most Insectoids. It’s rumored they achieve this form by being fed a special type of magical honey when they’re young, as opposed to the royal family having any TRUE difference from other Sectra

When Joronia/Sectonia assassinated the rest of the royal court, she killed all of Royal Sectra and the Worker Sectra serving them, but left the Drone Sectra alive as footsoldiers. She was able to use her new pheromones to turn them into disposable, utterly-obedient meatshields. It’s kind of horrifying

-Almost no other subspecies have gender dimorphism as noteworthy as the Sectra and their Drones vs Workers. The one exception is Antlers— Ant people with a similar hierarchy, except in small family units instead of larger groups. Because of this, Sectonia was able to create an army of Antler Drones as well.

-There is SOME, more minor, gender dimorphism in other subspecies, though, usually pertaining to size or appearance. For example, female Arachnids are noticeably bigger than male Arachnids, being able to reach twice their size. Joronia, being a trans woman, was always small, even for a DMAB Arachnid, and this is something she was super insecure about. Even Taranza was a little bit taller than her. When she took on the form of an absolutely humongous Royal Sectra she reveled in it. If it weren’t for the horrific bodysnatching thing, the euphoria she felt would almost be cute

-Floralia has no real education system. Instead, education is received through private tutors. This, of course, worsens the class divide, because only the wealthy can afford to truly educate their children. Taranza’s family taught him basic reading and writing, but he received no other tutoring. The only reason he’s as smart as he is is because he had a deep love for learning and would spend DAYS in the library studying and teaching himself things

-Before the Dreamstalk, there were “sky ferries” run by flying Insectoids that took people between the different Floralian islands. Hercules ran these most often because their super strength made carrying these ferries incredibly easy.

-Sectonia, despite being a “Sectra,” for the most part, had traits that were unnatural for them— being a beautiful Frankenstein’s monster. Sectra never have patterns as vibrant as she did, but she had them because she stole that bright indigo coloring from another type of Insectoid. Sectra never have shapes, let alone hearts in their wings, but she did, because she took those from a Papillon. In general, she was very, VERY uncanny valley— like one of those people who gets too much plastic surgery. She was a perfect, absolutely artificial freak of nature— a being who never could have been born naturally, and this gave all of the other Insectoids the heebie jeebies

On the two kingdoms/general history:

-The five most iconic True Insectoid subspecies are Arachnids (Spider people), Sectra (Wasp people), Hercules (Beetle people) Mantidae (Mantis people) and Papillion (Butterfly people). This is because these are the subspecies that make up the five royal families. It’s said that when the Insectoid kingdom of Floralia was first founded eons ago, it was founded by those five families, and as such, every one has right to the throne. Heirs from each family duel when they come of age to determine who becomes ruler until, of course, more heirs grow up and one eventually takes that person’s place.

-Duels between heirs for the throne were incredibly intense and violent, and sometimes ended in tragedy. While there were always healers on the scene, it wasn’t unheard of for heirs to occasionally die of their injuries. These heirs were always martyred, though, being seen as brave and unwavering by their people. Because of this, there was almost some pressure for heirs to actively fight to the death rather than surrender. No-one died during Joronia’s duel for the throne, though.

-(Suicide TW) Speaking of heirs dying, it wasn’t unheard of for heirs to sometimes take their own lives after losing the duel for the throne and their chance of becoming king or queen. These heirs, in contrast, were ostracized in death, and seen as cowards who abandoned their lineage.

-It’s said that once upon a time a heir actually ran away from Floralia before the duel for the throne. This heir— a Hercules, decided he wanted no part of this, and fled to the lower world, where it’s said his descendants still live. (Notably: Buggzy). Taranza sometimes fantasized about running away with Joronia in a similar fashion, but she was too fixated on the idea of winning the crown for him to ever seriously suggest it.

-There has been strife between the Insectoids and the People of the Sky almost as long as Floralia has existed, with the two groups fighting over land and power. In particular, the People of the Sky have the larger, more beautiful half of Royal Road, and this is something most Insects have always seen as unfair. Despite Sectonia being widely hated and feared by the time she launched an attack on the People of the Sky, some Insectoids supported her fullheartedly in that endeavor, at least, simply out of spite

-Several hundred years ago, there was an incident involving an Arachnid and the People of the Sky. At the time, the Insectoids and People of the Sky were at war, and allegedly, this Arachnid— a royal duke— decided to put a stop to it through dubious means. In the dead of night, he bodysnatched the ruler of the People of the Sky. Then, he pretended to be them as he slowly destroyed the kingdom from the inside out. Eventually he was caught and killed, but by then it was too late. Irreversible damage had been done to the People of the Sky’s livelihood.

When they confronted the Insectoid kingdom, the other royal families claimed they had no idea and used the duke, alongside Arachnids as a whole, as a scapegoat. Although there are rumors all of them were in on it and orchestrated the scheme together, simply using the duke and his fellow Arachnids as their fall guy in the wake of being caught.

Truthfully, it doesn’t really matter. Even if the duke DID do it alone, it wouldn’t excuse the poor treatment of Arachnids… and if we’re being real: it was never about the duke for the other Insectoids. It simply benefits the other royal families to have a family seen as “lesser,” and so they maintain the oppressive stereotype for their own benefit.

-Once upon a time, there were actually three noteworthy species in Floralia. Alongside the People of the Sky and Insectoids there was a third group: a large family of nobles who lived in a mansion in Wild World and sometimes traded/communicated with the other two. However, one day they seemingly just… disappeared. They stop reaching out, and when the People of the Sky and Insectoids went to check on them, it was as if they’d vanished into thin air. There are rumors of how they were cursed and whisked away to Hades or that one of them went mad and killed all of the others in a rampage. No-one knows what the truth is, though, just that that mansion is deeply unsettling and supposedly haunted now.

-It’s rumored that, eons ago, the lower world and higher world were connected by a tower in Nutty Noon that stretched into the sky and bridged the gap between them. However, that tower has long since degraded, and by the time of Triple Deluxe, the worlds had very little contact. The upper world still knew of the lower world— being able to peer down on them, but very few people living in the lower world knew of the upper world’s existence

-Sometimes gossip from the lower world still reached the upper world, though, particularly through flying species like Bronto Burts and Birdons. As teenagers, Taranza and Joronia heard stories of a horrifying tyrant who ruled the lower world with an iron fist. It was said this person had a hundred mouths with sharp, bloody fangs, and that he’d steal all of the lower worlders’ belongings. Joronia fantasized about one day traveling to the lower world, defeating this monster, and freeing the people. Little did she know the “tyrant—‘ actually a simple penguin, would one day end up helping free HER people from her.

-A very long time ago, back when the lower world and upper world were still connected, Ancients visited Popstar and Floralia, dazzling the people of both worlds with miraculous inventions such as the Fountain of Dreams and Star Rod. When they offered to let the two worlds join their intergalactic society, however, both declined, preferring their easygoing, lazy lives. Some people from the upper world and lower world left to join the Ancients, but Popstar and Floralia as a whole did not become a part of their utopia… and in hindsight, this was almost certainly for the best

-However, it’s through encountering these Ancients, particularly human tech Ancients, that Insectoids received their names. That’s why they’re called things like Arachnids and Mantidae despite not actually being related to real bugs. Humans simply saw them, went “They look like bugs!” And it stuck.

-Joronia was the first Arachnid ruler in over a hundred years. Her winning the duel was completely unexpected. She was a very unpopular queen, not only for being an Arachnid, but also for generally being seen as rebellious, irresponsible and childish. She tried very hard to make people like her, but never really earned the kingdom's love. This, of course, played a part in her eventually snapping while under the mirror's influence. She bodysnatched the other heirs, alongside many more bugs to create her perfect body— one that she felt the people could never reject, and went on to rule the skies with an iron fist.

-Sectonia killed… like, a lot of people during her tyranny. She slaughtered and/or assimilated the entire royal court. Public executions were commonplace. All people even SUSPECTED of being traitors were killed… sometimes, alongside their innocent families. Taranza did a lot of these executions himself, as Sectonia never wanted to get her hands dirty.

-As I alluded to earlier: nowadays the People of the Sky and Insectoids get along better, as after Sectonia was overthrown, the People of the Sky realized most Insectoids were just fellow victims of her tyranny and sympathized with them. They’ve bonded over their shared hatred of the ex-queen. You know what they say! The enemy of an enemy is a friend.

-The Insectoids and People of the Sky generally have very different cultures and traditions, meaning different holidays, although there is one they share: Floralian Independence Day. Every year, the two kingdoms get together and celebrate Sectonia’s death, having a feast and engaging in general festivities. They also leave offerings at the Dreamstalk, which they see as a symbol of their freedom. It goes without saying that Taranza loathes Floralian Independence Day with a burning passion

-Speaking of Taranza: as the tyrant queen’s right hand man and enabler, he is not well-liked. Hell, he wasn’t particularly liked even BEFORE the tyranny by virtue of not being of noble blood and only joining the royal court through Joronia DEMANDING he be allowed to become her retainer. Occasionally, Insectoids and People of the Sky make attempts on his life. When he goes out in public, people give him a wide berth. Teenagers egg the castle (which he now lives in alone) to upset him

On the People of the Sky:

-They aren’t born naturally. They’re planted. Two parents make a seed together that sprouts into a baby Person of the Sky

-When they sprout, a flower that matches the flower on their head sprouts alongside them. The two are connected. If the Person of the Sky dies, the flower wilts, and if the flower dies, the Person of the Sky becomes very ill before, most often, dying as well. These flowers continue to grow throughout their lives, and never reach a completely mature state. They can get pretty big. Nothing like the size of the Dreamstalk, of course, but some are as big as trees!

-They have a strong affinity for Flower magic and can even communicate with plants, but most plants don’t have anything too interesting to say. They mostly just make their needs (More water, more sunlight, ETC) known. The one exception to this is the plants that are born alongside the People of the Sky. Allegedly, they speak their deepest, most subconscious feelings and thoughts.

-They’ve had a democracy for a while. Their monarchy fell after the incident with the Arachnid duke. They’ve been helping the Insectoids get used to living in a democracy now that their own royal family has been disposed of.

-Their bones have rings based on how old they are, like trees. That said, I wouldn’t recommend cutting them open to find out their age. That’s just mean.

-They photosynthesize alongside consuming food, and need sunlight to live. Many People of the Sky actually died in the dungeons while jailed by Sectonia. In the dark and starved of that necessary resource, they withered away. She knew they’d die in those conditions, but did not care, having long since lost all compassion at that point.

#kirby #sack’s kirbyverse #kirby of the stars #hoshii no kaabii #floralia

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vampirebutterflies · 2 years

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oh, to be able to accurately capture how a song makes u feel into an artform for others to experience in the same way as a means of deeper transformation connection and understanding

#and a “this is how I perceive this— can you feel it too? can you understand it at all? can you appreciate it even if you don’t?”#except “how it makes u feel” is far less standard emotional “feeling” and far more like #oh this one feels like walking along the road you know well from where you grew up except the sun is setting so everything’s bathed in a #shifting gradient of sunlight fading from pink to oranges to pinky purples to deeper purpley blues. in a way that feels and looks surreal #yk when sunset light just completely changes how everything looks and feels?#so. bathed in that sunset light and surrounded by tiny floating soft silvery glowing flecks that are almost drawn to you but float further #away when you reach out your hand to touch them #the ones you do touch turn more golden and have the texture of. soft silky dust. like flour or tile dust. and they feel cool at first but #warm very quickly #and you’re walking down that street you know so well (for better or worse) but you’re older now. you’re You now #and you can see the world and the people around and there’s things happening. but you’re unaffected by it all you’re just walking #“there is freedom within— there is freedom without / try to catch the deluge in a paper cup”#and it doesn’t feel bad. just a calm sense of disconnect and. relief? and a path. doesn’t matter what’s happening around you #“there’s a battle ahead— many battles are lost / but you’ll never see the end of the road while you’re travelling with me”#you’re just walking through it all #“and I’m counting the steps to the door of your heart”#I’m sure this is an incredibly common and normal experience #especially given this is very different experience to my intentionally curated brainmovies and music videos I make in my head (normal)#this is just a This Is How It’s Always Felt From When I First Heard It #it’s developed with listening again and again over time but the feelings and the core are the same #anyway #I need to go to bed #mercury moments #if anyone reads all this babbling this specific example is sarah blaskos cover of dont dream it’s over #just so u know #free to rb the post if u want #shrug. maybe I just feel things too much and. too deeply and too specifically sometimes #iunno

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tonycries · 6 months

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Unhoneymooners!? - G.S.

Synopsis. The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, exes to lovers, unprotected, argument as foreplay, slight enemies to lovers, more like annoyances actually, cunnilingus, oral (male + female), spitting, creampié, one bed trope, rough, Satoru is still EXTREMELY down bad for you, and unfairly hot, forced proximity, cúmplay, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 8.5k

A/N. It’s impossible to not write Satoru without bullying him at least a little bit.

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 2 weeks, and 16 hours ago - not that you were keeping count, of course.

So why was he outside of your resort room blasting “Kill Bill” by SZA like he’s auditioning for the world’s most dramatic comeback tour? On what should’ve marked your fourth anniversary, no less.

Well, given you were the one to lock him out, but still - the stubborn bastard could at least have some decorum.

With an exasperated sigh, you throw yourself onto the king-sized bed of your honeymoon suite, trying to will away that annoying, grating voice - not SZA, no, more so Satoru singing along at the top of his lungs to the chorus.

How did you even get here? And with Satoru of all people - your Satoru. Or at least he was this time a little over a year ago.

You first met Satoru when you were in university, back when he wore those pretentious circled sunglasses and waltzed around those halls like he owned the place. And after a single literature assignment together, he wasn’t just your (self-proclaimed) best friend; he was the reluctantly favorite thorn in your side.

Like the rest of him, Satoru’s introduction into your love-life was anything but subtle. It wasn’t like he strolled in, gave a polite nod, and blended into the background. Oh no, he bulldozed his way in and dragged you to dance with him on the tables of some dingy frat party in what you could only assume was some joke from the universe at your expense.

And damn him, you think bitterly, you couldn't resist him that night. Spinning you into a dramatic dip, silver chain brushing your face as his half-lidded eyes bored into yours. You couldn’t not kiss him after the way his hands were just searing into your skin.

God, you’ve never been able to listen to “Gasolina” the same way ever since.

Satoru was in love as he was in the rest of life - a force of nature, and it was too easy to find yourself caught up in him.

That night at the frat party was just the beginning. From then on was a rollercoaster of everything from heated debates over the best flavor of ramen to impromptu road trips where you’d end up under a carpet of stars. Wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing whispered secrets for an unpromised future - oftentimes where Satoru would crack a joke or two about running away to Tokyo with him. To which you’d laugh it off with a “Yeah yeah, I’d leave everything I’ve known behind in a heartbeat for your dumbass, Toru.”

You just didn’t think that it would be the downfall to your relationship. All the empty promises.

Because as those heavenly days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, eventually two years had gone by. The whirlwind romance settled into a comfortable rhythm, but with it came the looming promise of graduation and Satoru moving to work under his family company in Tokyo.

Under pressure, it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show, the arguments more frequent, and the silences more deafening. And as your relationship slowly turned into nothing more than a husk of what it used to be - so did the both of you.

Long story short, graduation was a bittersweet goodbye - and you think both of you knew long before it was actually over. Neither of you attended the afterparty - with Satoru on a flight straight to Tokyo and you at home to stuff your face with chocolate. Hey, at least you could blame your tears on finally leaving university, right?

You had meticulously erased his name from your phone, your social media, and even your dreams - well, almost, the bastard still came around to bother you occasionally. It was messy, painful, and final.

But “final” really didn’t explain your current predicament. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned about Satoru is that he’s always there - whether you liked it or not. He was there when you needed a partner for that literature assignment, and he was there to turn your world upside down at that dingy frat party.

Hell, he was even there to help you stubbornly chug mountains of ice cream and win that raffle for this five day-long getaway trip to the Maldives. Though, you think he might’ve chugged the ice cream without the promise of a vacation anyway.

But, when ultimately those shiny tickets came in the mail - Satoru wasn’t there. Oh well, it might’ve been a couple’s trip - but you could have a hot girl summer, right? Maybe you could even snag a hottie by the end. You’d almost forgotten that he’d be getting his copy of the tickets as well.

Yet, unfortunately - as the beginning notes of P!nk’s “So What” bursts through the heavy wooden door - you were inevitably reminded of the fact that he was here. Right now. Goading you into coming outside.

You find yourself groaning inwardly (and outwardly) because of course, why wouldn’t he come back even more obnoxious than before? You haven’t seen him in ages, yet here he is, crashing back into your life with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Or - you furrow your brows at his purposefully off-key singing carrying over the sounds of the waves outside - with the subtlety of a manchild with a JBL and a premium account on Spotify.

Rubbing your temples in frustration, you contemplate how much longer of this it would take before you’re both kicked out of this resort. And after you ate so many ice creams to win this getaway trip? No chance.

With a resigned sigh, you rise from the bed, smoothing out the bathing suit you’d just put on before the devil incarnate showed up knocking at your door. Something hot and prickly pools in your stomach as you approach it, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sheer absurdity of the situation. So like Satoru.

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you shakily reach for the handle. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal actually.

…

What’s the worst that can happen?

Slam!

The door swings open, and there in all his smug glory stands a very shirtless Satoru. Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru, the same asshole you’ve blocked on even Gmail.

Except, you’re momentarily struck by how high you have to raise your eyes to meet his. Are growth spurts even a thing anymore? You didn’t have a chance to take a good look last time before slamming the door shut at the first flash of white hair and a smug grin.

But right now, traitorously, your gaze catches on just how broad his shoulders look and…since when was he so chiseled? Damn you, Tokyo - you were doing him too good.

His hair is slightly longer too, curtaining those slightly more mature features, stopping just above that ever-immature grin. One which moves as he hums, “Well, happy fourth anniversary to me, If I knew this came with the suite then I’d have swam here myself.”

You scoff, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious as he wiggles his brows, striking blue eyes sweeping your figure from head to toe. “I’d prefer if you swam back. What are you doing?”

“Why, just showing up to our room on our lil’ honeymoon, sweetheart.” Satoru sing-songs, leaning against the doorframe to fully prevent you from slamming the door in his (admittedly) pretty face again. “And before you try to break my nose with that door again, I won that ticket here fair and square, y’know. I ate just as much ice cream as you did for it.”

“You ate most of those before you knew about the getaway raffle.” you sigh over his nonchalant shrug, pinching your nose, “And stop calling it our honeymoon, I dumped you five months ago.”

“Well aren’t you just the gift that keeps on giving. Keeping count?”

“No. Don’t be a pest.”

“Always thought you had a thing for pests. After all, you did date me.” As Satoru grins impossibly wider, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He winks, “And if I’m a pest then you’re an itch that just won’t go away.”

“At least I’m not the itch that shows up uninvited to someone’s honeymoon suite.” you hiss. And with that you start shutting the door ever-so-slowly, delighting in the panic that overtakes Satoru’s features as he reaches out frantically.

“Hey!” he sputters, “I didn’t know you’d be here! And besides this ‘pest’ forgot his slippers all the way in Tokyo and can’t stand on flaming-hot boardwalks for too long so let me in.”

And sure enough, you glance down to see that Satoru isn’t wearing any slippers on the scorching boardwalk. The realization almost brings a smirk to your lips. This idiot.

“Wow.”

“‘Wow’ at my feet or-”

“I should leave you here to rot just for your pure idiocy.” you deadpan, eyes locked on the way he’s burning his soles off yet still has the audacity to flash you a cocky smile.

“But you won’t.” he hums.

A beat passes. One. Two. And Satoru’s grin almost falters, before you finally relent - opening the door just a crack, cursing his entire bloodline under your breath. “You’re incorrigible” you mutter as he saunters inside victoriously, dragging his hefty luggage behind.

“Why change perfection, sweetheart~” he calls out, heading straight for the bedroom, only to let out a delighted “OooOOo” at the sight of the king-sized bed in the middle. The only bed. “How scandalous, maybe you’ll even fall in lov-”

“Don’t. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a seashell.” you warn, holding up both keycards threateningly, “I get the bed, you take the couch.”

“But-”

“And I’ve got the keys, so slippers or not you’ll be back out on that boardwalk.”

A slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips at the way Satoru looked so dramatically crestfallen, you continue - just to be petty, “And no more ‘Kill Bill’ that’s on my angry ex playlist.”

With a heavy sigh he sulkily makes his way to the bathroom, calling out as he does, “Fine. But I’m showering first.”

As he disappears from sight you throw yourself onto your bed, basking in what little peace and quiet you’ll have because of your unwanted guest. This was going to be a-

“And I’m using all of your body lotions.”

“...”

“I will use one of your body lotions.”

Groaning, you sink into the plush mattress, just wishing it would swallow you whole and spare you from this torment. And this was only Day 1? This was going to be a very long five days.

---

The first night with Satoru, honestly, wasn’t too bad.

You don’t know what you expected exactly - maybe for him to pour hair dye in your shampoo or something. But he actually stuck to his word, slept on the couch after only a bit of taunting, and used only one of your body lotions. Your best-smelling, most expensive one, but one nonetheless.

Feeling slightly more optimistic, you spent most of the second day at the beach, meanwhile he stuck to lounging by the pool. Add in a bit of pretending you didn’t know him by the salad bar at dinner and that made for an almost-perfect hot girl summer.

Well, considering that you were rooming with your insufferable longtime ex - in a honeymoon suite of all places.

The only catch came that night, fully content at the burning soreness from being pushed around by the waves outside. You got ready to splay out on your bed, humming along to the tunes of your playlist and…Satoru’s lamenting?

“I swear my back feels like it’s been run over by a truck. Five of them, and a zoo.” he complains from behind you, dramatically draping himself over the couch - his impromptu bed.

“Good.”

“What if that was my last straw?”

“Even better.”

His exaggerated, disappointed whine is both embarrassing and almost-endearing as you roll your eyes, resisting the urge to suffocate him with a pillow. “Maybe call your chiropractor guy.”

Satoru shot you a pointed look, his expression a mixture of faux innocence and irritation, which you knew too well. “I wish but he’s trekking through the Himalayas. C’mon~ Don’t you think that lovely king-sized bed is too big for just one?”

“No, but the boardwalk sure is. Maybe you should try it out.” you monotone, getting ready to end this conversation once and for all.

But when has Satoru ever let you off easy? He sits up abruptly, a devious smile curling his lips. “Ohh, I get it.” he taunts, batting his long lashes mockingly, “You’re scared to sleep in the same bed with me.”

Huh?

“Out of all the idiotic-” you cut yourself off by whirling around to face his smug grin, “Why would I be scared to sleep in a bed with you. I’ve done that far too many times already.”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “And all those times you could barely last an hour before without keeping your hands off of me. Scared you’ll end up pinned underneath me and stuffed full like old times, sweetheart?”

You narrow your eyes at him despite the heat burning your face. “The only thing I’m scared of is your icicle feet on my side.”

He laughs, a sound that’s equal parts irritating and endearing, and stands up from where he was slumped on the couch. Making his way slowly, but surely towards you, “Oh, c’mon. For old times’ sake, admit it, you miss me.”

"Yeah, missed the peace and quiet I don’t have because of your big mouth,” you scoff. Finding it hard to meet his twinkling gaze as he comes close enough that you’re toe to toe with him. Your cheeks burn at the proximity - hot enough to match the heat radiating off his body.

Satoru shakes his head, undeterred by your threats. And suddenly you get the overwhelming urge to throw him out the window and straight into the ocean. “You can deny it all you want, but you still have feelings for me.”

Your jaw clenches at his audacity. “You wish. I’d never.”

“Then prove it.”

Damn, he was good.

Which is probably how you found yourself lying in the same bed as Satoru, with a wall of all the pillows in the room erected between you two - and a few extra from room service just in case.

“Sweetheart, this is a king-sized bed. Is the fortress really necessary?”

You wrap your blankets tighter around yourself, trying to ignore the figure radiating warm right next to you. Muttering out a muffled little, “Yeah, so you can keep your mitts off of me.”

Satoru groans dramatically, bed creaking as he shuffles what you can only assume to be closer to you. “You keep your mitts off of me, you lecher.” he quips, voice dripping with sarcasm as he inches closer.

You stiffen at his proximity, feeling his warmth seep through the layers of blankets and pillows as he chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine, “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. We used to share a bed all the time.”

“That was before,” you interject. God, you didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“Before what?” Satoru presses, his voice low and insistent.

Now, you might’ve let yourself be goaded into sharing a bed but these were old wounds better off left alone. You hiss, tone firm, “Before. Now sleep”

Before when you didn’t have to make a wall of pillows. Before when he would hold you tight and whisper sweet secrets into your ear. That he’d buy you the biggest ring he saw and promise you the world. Before-

“I missed you, y’know.” Satoru breaks the silence barely audible over the sound of your own thoughts. The word pangs through your mind and claws at your chest. And at your silence he continues, tone a little lighter, “And stop hogging all the blankets, I’m gonna freeze to-”

“Boardwalk.”

“My apologies, ma’am. Goodnight, ma’am.”

And he sinks back into his pillow with a huff, you let out a sigh of relief. Something hot coiling in your stomach as you close try to catch as much sleep as you possibly could with the bane of your existence laying right beside you. The suddenly taller, dangerously handsome, still as-obnoxious-as-ever bane of your existence.

You just wonder if he remembered “before”.

Oh, how Satoru remembered “before”. So much so that he had sixteen different playlists dedicated to you even after the breakup.

It’s divine punishment - it has to be. Satoru thinks there’s no reasonable explanation for the series of unfortunate events happening to him other than punishment from his ancestors above for being such a pussy and losing the love of his life.

First he forgets his slippers, then he ends up locked out of his own honeymoon suite by said love of his life. Granted, all thoughts of his poor burnt soles went out the window the moment he caught a glimpse of you in that positively sinful bikini. God, were you glowing. A goddess upon Earth - he could really give the Gojo Satoru of five months ago a good, hard kick.

And now he’s stuck in a - very comfortable - prison with you just inches away, tossing and turning in that way he knows means that you can’t sleep either.

Honestly, very funny universe, the great Gojo Satoru demands a refund. Way to punk’d him into confronting the feelings he’s desperately been trying to bury these past few months - ever since he got on that plane to Tokyo and contemplated faking a heart attack just to get off.

Realizing just then that he lost the love of his life - and the only woman who’d tolerate his karaoke nights. But with that realization came another, more jarring one: he was too late.

Every touch, every laugh, and even every time you rolled your eyes was etched into his very soul, and it felt like a montage from a sappy breakup movie directed by a sadistic screenwriter who had it out for him.

And it really didn’t help that this was the exact suite he was planning once upon a time to propose in. God, how you’d feed him to the crabs if he said anything about that - nevermind the fact that he was actually one that booked this-

But still, some traitorous, annoying part of his heart interrupts, she still hasn’t made you sleep on the boardwalk yet.

Maybe - just maybe - he’ll wake up to a second chance?

…

Ha. As if.

“I can’t sleep.” Satoru groans out loud, more so to drown out his own thoughts than anything.

“Well, I can. Goodnight.”

Ah, his girl was such a lil’ liar. Undeterred, the mattress creaks as he shuffles his weight to excitedly face you, taking a moment to admire how pretty you looked under the dim moonlight. He plows on, “Hey, if you promise not to make me crab food, wanna walk along the beach and watch the stars?”

A beat of silence. One. Two. so deafening and tense that Satoru was half a second away from obnoxiously laughing it off as a joke and pulling out his Emo Times™ playlist.

“Or I can go back to the couch and-”

“Shut up. Let’s watch the stars, Satoru.”

But what do you know - maybe the universe hasn’t given up on him just yet.

And, well, if he woke up the next morning breaching your fortress - your warm breath tickling his neck and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, like the lifeline he never knew he needed - then, neither of you mentioned it.

---

“Hey, Satoru. You think we’ll always be like this?” you hum into your boyfriend’s chest, barely a whisper as the looming fears of, well, everything ring in your mind.

He pulls you close, flashing a mischievous grin before planting a dramatic kiss on the top of your head. “Duh, I’ll always be around to drive you dangerously close to a stroke, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, yet bury yourself closer to his warmth anyway.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter if I have to drag you by the leg to Tokyo. Wherever you are is where I belong. ”

---

You’ve come to learn that a resort island is only so big when you’re actively trying to avoid your 6’3 manchild of an ex.

Now that you were rooming with Satoru, sleeping with Satoru (in a literal sense only, of course), and just-so-happening to bump into him at the beach - somehow, talking with him is a little easier, his presence just a bit more exciting than you’d care to admit.

If the you of four days ago could see what had become of you, then she’d probably slap some sense into you faster than you could say “Kill Bill”. Sleeping in the same bed (still only literally), having dinner, watching the stars - with Gojo Satoru? You’ve gone completely off your rocker.

But could you really be blamed? These last few days have you feeling like maybe you’ve been dropped into an alternate universe, where you and Satoru never broke up.

Yet, reality is a persistent little bastard. And with the end of your trip looming dangerously closer, the past you would be cackling mockingly in your face, flashing a large sign in big, red letters reading “I TOLD you so.”

Whatever. Maybe by this time tomorrow both of you could laugh this all off as a silly little adventure and call yourself somewhat begrudging friends. Maybe you’d even end up unblocking him by the end - on Gmail, at least.

At the very least, dinnertime was a solace - both from your thoughts and the smug bastard talking your ear off about how he could “make that spaghetti better than a thousand Italian grandmothers.”

Until the fourth - and final - night, that is. When the resort, deciding that your current torture wasn’t already enough, arranged a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people.

Great. Wonderful. Perfect, in fact. Going out with a bang. Was this really part of the all-inclusive package? It was like the universe was playing some twisted joke on you - or some awful version of wingmanning.

You grit your teeth silently as you’re ushered to the beachside table, thoughts barely audible over the waves crashing against the shore and the soft, romantic music drifting from the band nearby.

The complete opposite of Satoru, who was already seated at the table and enjoying himself far too much for your liking. He lounged back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched you sit opposite him uncomfortably.

You hated to admit it - but God was he dangerously beautiful in that crisp white button-up, one that you knew was from his overpriced collection for special occasions. You found yourself fighting to avoid the amber hues twinkling in his eyes as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm shadows that bring out his pretty features.

Pretty? So frighteningly pretty - until he speaks, that is.

“And here I thought our honeymoon couldn’t get any worse. You’re sweating bullets, sweetheart. This your first date with me or something?”

“We’re not on a honeymoon, Satoru. And no, it just brings back memories.” you scoff. Relishing in the way he inches his chair closer to listen, clearly not expecting this sudden sentimentality. “Memories of why I blocked you on every social media.”

All but slamming his head down on the table, Satoru whines out, “Ouch, straight for the jugular. That mouth is still as bitchy as ever, huh? Though I do prefer it choking on my-”

“I’m going to throw you into the ocean.”

“Ooo, kinky~” he hums, swirling his wine glass, “But you know what this reminds me of? That one time we had dinner under the stars.”

You froze, the memories suddenly flashing back to you despite your best efforts to suppress them. “Oh yeah,” you muse. A chuckle leaving your mouth despite yourself, “Wasn’t that where you spilled ketchup all over your shirt and then insisted it was a fashion statement?”

He leans in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey! It worked, didn’t it? I got compliments from everyone including you.”

“I was just trying to stop you from bursting into tears.” you roll your eyes, shaking your head at the memory.

“Exactly, sweetheart. Like moths to a flame.”

“More like to a bug-zapper.”

Satoru throws his head back and laughs, loud and unabashed. A sound that echoes across the beach and makes something warm and sticky strum at your heartstrings. And at that moment, that stupid, little part of you didn’t even mind that you were at a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people.

And he didn’t even have to goad you into it with SZA this time.

As the orange glow of the setting sun melded into the cool blue of the night, it almost felt like slipping back into an old routine. The food had long since been finished. Jabs and shared memories flowing through the air like the gentle waves lapping at the shore.

The cool air was now thick with contentment and something so unknown yet so familiar that it made your heart race.

“I swear.” you groan over Satoru’s loud cackles, “He tried to charm his way out of the bill by flirting with the waitress. In front of me.”

Satoru doubles over, clutching his stomach as he laughs uproariously. “Classic move! If he’s going to be a cheapskate then he should’ve at least been successful with it.”

Damn, was he eternally grateful for these dim candles. Otherwise you’d surely have caught the rosy flushing tinting his cheeks. How dare you sit there so gorgeous and perfect in front of him. Perfect for him - you haven’t changed one bit.

“Right? She looked ready to fling us both out.” You chuckle, eyes catching on the little dimple just at the corner of his mouth as Satoru shoots you a sly grin. “Mhm, I know if it were me I would’ve charmed us out of the bill successfully.”

You raise a brow, retorting, “Oh please. I’ve had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of that ‘charm’. You’d probably end up charming us into washing dishes in the kitchen.”

Ah, right now, he doesn’t think he wants to be anywhere but here - bickering with you.

“Ouch, you wound me, woman!” Satoru feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically before leaning down to whisper, low and conspiratorial, “Besides, I doubt you even remember what pleasure feels like since being with me.”

A thrill goes down your spine as you realize the insinuation of his words, steady and searing - matching that of Satoru’s fingers on yours - which had snuck their way across the table, lazily tracing patterns along your skin.

When did they even get there? Sly bastard.

Your mouth drops into a soft oh! at the dangerous glint in his eyes. But you refuse to back down, “Don’t flatter yourself, Satoru. I’ve had other guys make me cum much harder than you have.”

Touch burning. Mapping every curve and dip he’d known so well, and this time - you graze them back. A challenge. God, you missed that warm little flutter in your chest.

That seems to catch him by surprise, as those darkened blue eyes widen. But there’s a dangerous edge to his grin as he purrs, voice low. “Is that so?”

And with that, Satoru’s chair is scraping softly against the sand as he stands up, “C’mon, you’re gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

Oh.

Satoru knows that it’s been 5 months, 4 weeks, and 8 hours since you two lasted an entire dinner civilly - not that he was counting, duh.

So when he begged the resort staff into setting the two of you up on this special candlelit dinner, he was expecting you to drown him in the lobster tank halfway through or at least end the night with a slap.

What he certainly did not expect was to end dinner with you shoved against the closed door of your suite, legs wrapped impossibly tight around his waist, and lips trailing hot, openmouthed kisses down your neck. He angles your neck, body pressing so impossibly close to yours.

Inwardly, you curse his button-up for being so goddamn thin that you could feel his abs rub against you with every little movement. Toned chest rumbling as he groans at your hands tugging at those soft locks - just a tiny revenge, for your body lotion.

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, and he breathes it in with an almost-pained sigh - not wanting to part for even a second. Because fuck it took so long to get you back and he wasn’t going to waste a single moment.

Pulling just a hair’s breadth away, “Tell me what you want. Always knew we’d end up-”

“Just shut up and kiss me, you smug bastard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And, well, who was he to deny you? So he does.

His lips are searing on yours, hasty and greedy. With a tinge of something so painfully familiar. Your hands make their way onto his chest, feeling the thundering heartbeat against your fingertips - matching that of yours.

Sweet. You tasted so sweet. Just like honey, and all the dreams where he didn’t leave you behind. Where he didn’t get on that damned plane but instead ran to you all the way from the airport like those sappy romcoms you love.

He licks at the seam of your lips, drinking in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, God, knowing his luck - he probably won’t.

One hand cups your cheek so gently - a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his lips as he kisses you deeper. Meanwhile the other wanders the expanse of your body, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake.

Satoru parts with a playful nip to your bottom lip - and before you realize what’s happening, the zipper hits the ground. He’s ripping your pretty dress off - mumbling something about “buying a new one” before large hands surge forward, groping and kneading your tits.

His mouth waters at the sight of your bra. Light blue - to match his eyes. “You evil, evil woman.” he mutters into the soft valley of your breasts as you giggle delightedly. Oh, how he couldn’t get enough of you.

And if there was ever a moment that Satoru thinks he could cream his pants right there, then this would be at the very top, followed very closely by the sight of that withering glare you shot after opening that suite door to him just a few days ago.

He unhooks your bra with one hand, throwing it blindly across the room as if it killed him to see you clothed.

Immediately, Satoru drops to his knees with the desperation of a madman, coming face-to face with the heavenly sight of your clothed cunt, soaking through your thin panties.

“Didn’t specify where I had to kiss, sweetheart.”

Your gaze pierces through him, as it always did. “What are you-” Your words get choked up in your throat as his tongue darts out. Licking a long, languid stripe over your clothed cunt.

“Shit. So sweet f’me, jus’ like I remember. Just one taste and I feel like m’gonna cum in my pants.” Satoru groans, urgently sliding your wet panties down your quivering legs.

“F-flattery won’t work.” you stammer out as his hot breath fans your quivering entrance as he waits just a second - one, two.

Drinking in the view of your pretty pussy with dazed, half-lidded eyes. Wet - so wet, he almost wants to tease you - just a bit, to see if you’ll get even wetter. Ah, he doesn’t have enough time to take in this view - probably never will. Would it ruin the mood if he took a picture?

“Oh, I’d say it worked pretty well.”

Cock twitching carnally, Satoru needed to taste you now. He immediately surges forward. Breathing you in so sinfully, pooling your juices on his tongue. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he tips his head back back back to let it slide down his throat.

Shit, if you were the forbidden fruit then he would gladly be cast out of the garden of Eden.

Half-delirious thoughts running through his mind, Satoru flattens his tongue across your swollen folds. Leisurely sliding between them, catching on your throbbing clit up and down up and down up and-

“Oh- hngh, Satoru faster-”

“So bossy.” he hums prettily around your swollen clit, the vibrations stimulating it just right. But of course, what his girl wants, she will get.

Lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. Rolling his tongue harshly along your clit, sucking so sensually. Licking at your sweet cunt, dipping just into your sloppy hole.

You almost miss the long fingers that deftly slide their way up your thigh, spreading your folds with his thumbs. A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as your walls flutter so sinfully around nothing - aching for more friction.

Urgently, Satoru bullies his fingers past your folds, sinking deep into your plushy walls as his tongue continues its abuse. So warm and wet around him. Curling his fingers just right.

“Ah- fuck, Satoru- Feels s’good.” you gasp as he starts thrusting his fingers back and forth. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and-

“Oh yeah? Thought you didn’t like my ‘big mouth’?” he purrs, muffled around your clit, “Look at you, sweetheart, now falling apart cos’ of it.”

You scoff, fingers tangling in his silky hair, pushing him deeper into your dripping pussy - mostly because you needed it, but somewhat because you really needed him to shut up. “Yeah, I like it better when you shut the fuck up.”

And with a dark chuckle, his mouth is back on your cunt. Your slick glossy and dripping down the corner of his mouth as he alternates between sucking unforgivingly on your ravaged clit and fucking into you at the same time as his fingers.

And in the delicious stretch of your cunt, you barely register the metallic clinking of a belt before Satoru presses his clothed erection into you.

Shit. You clench so obscenely around his tongue at the feeling of his clothed, painfully hard and throbbing against your leg. Fuck - as big as you remember. You weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

“You like this, huh?” he murmurs, speeding up the rhythm of his fingers. Vibrations sending white-hot jolts of pleasure down your spine.

Cracking an eye open you risk a glance downward. Greedily eyeing the hand wrapped tightly around the base, moving up up up. Pumping in small, jerky movements at the same pace of his fingers fucking into you. “Like the way m’getting off to tonguefucking my girl?”

“Like thinking about how this is what I thought about all those lonely fucking night without you?” You arch into his touch, fingers searing on his scalp and angling Satoru just right to make your knees weak.

He’s so close that you can feel the precum smearing onto your leg. Mouth fucking you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting.

“Like thinking about how you’re all I can fucking think about.”

“Hngh- Yes, Satoru! Yes-”

You see stars as you cum - or maybe those were the tears in your eyes. Pulling Satoru impossibly closer to your quivering pussy so that you could ride out your high on his pretty face. And he readily accepts it - letting himself be handled roughly with the conviction of a man that wouldn’t mind dying if it was suffocating in-between your pretty thighs.

Your vision is hazy, blood still roaring in your ears as Satoru stands up. Not even bothering to wipe away the wet trail of your slick prettily glossing his lips before capturing yours in a searing kiss.

“Y’know, sweetheart,” he gasps in between heated kisses. “We got a king-sized bed so we better make use of it, hm?”

Your back hits the mattress before you can even react. Reeling from shock and the audacity as you bounce at the sheer force of his throw.

“Next time you do that you’re-”

Whatever insult at the tip of your tongue melts away immediately at the purely pornographic sight of Satoru stalking his way towards you from the foot of the bed. Eyes hooded, cock rock-hard, kiss-bitten lips parted slightly in a way that was so fucked-out.

Unhurriedly approaching you with such a predatory glint in his darkened eyes as he fucks his fist slowly - so agonizingly slowly. Eyes locked on you.

Despite cumming not even minutes before, your pussy jumps in anticipation. Immediately reaching over as soon as he’s close enough - as if in a trance - to replace his hand with yours.

He was big - so mouthwateringly big. Flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light - every part of Satoru was so unfairly pretty.

So hot and heavy in your hand as you pump him at a steady, methodical pace. Precum smearing on your palm, trailing down your wrist as you pump. Tighter on the base, thumbing teasingly under his slit the way you knew he used to like.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Still remember, huh?” he hisses lowly. Ah, the way he still likes.

“Mhm.” you hum absentmindedly, thighs clenching together at the way his hips grind in shallow, mindless little motions into your soft hand. Meeting your strokes as if trying to fuck something so delicious out of him.

And, well, you just couldn’t resist a taste. Bending down in one, fluid motion to delicately lick at his angry, hard head. Slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip. Tracing lightly - ever-so-lightly - down his prominent veins.

Satoru groans, low and hoarse with desire, “Shit, hah- you don’ ngh- have to-”

“Shut up, Satoru.”

And with that, you’re shoving down as much as you can of his throbbing erection down your throat. Cunt clenching at the way he hardens impossibly as you choke and gag around him.

“Shit, oh- Oh fuck, m’girl. Yes yes yes-.” Satoru lets out a guttural moan. Fingers threading through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth. Hips stuttering and jerky with pleasure. Yeah, he definitely missed this.

Half-delirious and cock-drunk, you take him all the way till your nose was buried in the tufts of white at his toned pelvis, already so wet with saliva and precum.

Still got it, some smug, utterly debauched part of yourself titters.

It was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his heady scent filling your senses. Beginning to move up and down up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. Pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips.

You moan around Satoru’s thick cock, clawing at his toned hips for some semblance of stability. Some truly animalistic part of yourself relishing in the neat, red lines down his milky skin. The sight hazy through the tears that spring to your eyes at the way his fat tip hits your abused throat. A relentless, sinful tempo you were steadily losing your mind to.

Messy. It was so fucking messy.

You just wondered if his orgasm would be the same…

But, alas, one can’t always get what they want. Because Satoru pulls you off of his achingly hard cock with a lewd pop! that rings in his ears and makes your cunt twitch.

“Shit, sweetheart. Any longer and I’ll have to start thinking about ol’ Prof. Gakuganji to not cum.” he pants through ragged breaths, flashing you a deceptively innocent grin. “Now, lay back and spread ‘em f’me and let me see if your pretty pussy can still handle me.”

And that you don’t argue with.

It’s almost embarrassing - the way you scramble desperately to sink back into the mattress. Letting Satoru manhandle your legs open so shamefully for him, throwing them over his muscled shoulders. But that’s a problem for the future, not lust-drunk you.

Right now you couldn’t give less of a fuck as his hungry gaze locks on your glistening pussy. Pausing for just a split-second before spitting once. Twice. Thrice onto your waiting cunt. Making you feel more and more like an object as the warm saliva mixes obscenely with your slick, trickling down to form such a sinful pool on the sheets below.

And you liked it.

Almost as much as you loved the way Satoru drags his tip along your swollen folds, catching so maddeningly on your clit. Teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. It was so sloppy. And too slow.

“Satoru, I’ve waited five months too long for this. If you’re going to fuck me then fuck me like you mean it.” you grit out, frustration and pure need boiling over within you.

“Oh? So it’s like that, huh?”

And maybe you were a mastermind, maybe you were an idiot - probably both. Because Satoru immediately pushes in one, long thrust into your dripping cunt. Your words catch pathetically in your throat as he loses grip on whatever semblance of restraint he had - or his sanity - whichever one would break you first.

Fuck, it feels so heavenly. Oh, how you missed him.

Bowing his body down down down till his damp forehead met yours. Folding you completely underneath him in the way you’ve found that only the smug bastard, Gojo Satoru can.

You could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, borderline insane, and exactly what you’d been trying to deny that you’d been craving all these past five months. Being split apart on his throbbing cock, feeling like you were about to be absolutely devoured underneath him.

It seems Satoru was just as needy for you, hot and throbbing agonizingly inside you, each little bump bump bump against your walls matching that of your heart thundering against your chest.

Or was that Satoru’s? At this point you couldn’t even tell.

“Oh, god yes-, jus’ like that ah shit shit shit-”

“This what you wanted, yeah?” A low growl leaves his throat at how sinfully your walls were milking him as he pulls back. All the way till his leaking tip was just innocently kissing your sloppy hole - only to ram his cock all the way back into your snug cunt. “To be split apart on my cock?”

Shit, he could just about pass out right now with the way your cunt was sucking him in so greedily like she never wanted to part.

Guess she missed him too, he thinks deliriously. Not even having to think about it as he starts fucking into you in shallow, mindless little thrusts. Pushing himself deeper and deeper into your plushy cunt.

“Äh- fuck, yeah. S’all I’ve wanted.” you mewl, feeling so vulnerable and exposed under the hungry eyes boring into yours. A dark gleam in them as he grins, “Then take it back.”

Disoriented, you gasp out a strangled, “What?” before Satoru’s hips become rougher, chasing his high as much as yours.

“What you said at dinner.” your lips fall into a soft oh! as you realize just what he’s talking about, “Admit that no man makes you cum as hard as I do.”

God, you don’t think you could answer even if you wanted to, choking on the harsh, purposeful movements of his hips just to fuck your soul out.

Heavy balls stinging your skin, the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin fills the heady air. Driving you to insanity. An absolutely unforgiving cadence that has the bed creaking in protest. Ah, whatever, he could buy them a new one anyway if this one just so happens to break.

“Take it back yet?” He had to break you first though.

Slick gushes out of your heated cunt, dripping down his length and pooling at his heavy balls, stinging your ass at each merciless thrust. “No.”

A large hand hastily makes its way down to draw rough, frenzied little circles on your throbbing clit. Voice strangled, sweat beading on his forehead, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppier. “How about now?”

“Ah- hngh- oh fuck. Satoru!” You could only moan softly in response, broken whimpers leaving you each time his tip kissed your cervix. Angling his hips just right to expertly brush against that one spot he knew so well would have you keening and bucking up into his cock. Your face almost burns at the sheer familiarity of it all. This bastard knew you too well.

And something about that made such an uncomfortable, prickly feeling pool in your stomach.

Something which you knew would only be sated if you looped your arms around his neck. Nails digging into his sculpted back as you pulled him impossibly closer.

Kissing his flushed cheeks as he murmurs, “Take it back, sweetheart.”

Despite the thick cock splitting you in half till you probably couldn’t walk tomorrow morning, you find it in yourself to huff out a soft laugh at the way Satoru’s tone teetered on just that endearing side of sulky. “Fine. You win, Toru.” you whisper into his lips,

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes and Satoru’s lips gently slotting against yours as he fucked you through your high. Acting as if the fucked-out whimper of his nickname is one he’ll never forget.

As if he couldn’t cum simply from hearing it leave your pretty lips. And he does, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum painting your plushy walls white with a raw groan of your name. It oozes out of your cunt and onto the mess of sheets below as he fucks his seed into you as a lover would. As he would.

It was intoxicating - everything from the way you milked his cock so sinfully, to the arms tight around his shoulders. Pulling him close, running soothingly along his skin as Satoru collapses onto you with a final, fucked-out thrust.

And despite being a lightweight, Satoru’s never been so easily drunk off of something than he was off of you. God how he missed this - how he missed you.

So much so that he can’t put it into words - and probably won’t ever be able to. But it’s alright, because your sticky body snug against his, and Satoru arms tenderly around your waist - but you didn’t mind. Both of you understood.

Satoru traces his fingers lazily along your side, neither of you bothering to tackle the mammoth task of cleaning up for now. Each movement slow and gentle, as if any sudden movement might shatter the delicate balance between you.

All is quiet in your little haven, and you could almost fall asleep. The most contented one you’ve had in a while - 5 months, 3 weeks, and 7 hours ago to be exact.

But, of course, Satoru can’t keep his mouth shut for nothing. You jolt out of your reverie as he hastily tries to stifle the startled laugh that huffs out of him. Your dazed eyes meet his in the dim lighting, raising a brow in question.

“It’s just…” he starts, voice soft, “You still call me Toru. Feels like home.”

Ah.

You find yourself chuckling softly with him. Heat rushing to your cheeks, burying yourself deeper into his warm chest, to hide the embarrassingly flustered smile breaking out across your face if anything.

Chuckling, Satoru shifts closer, touch now feather-light against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips. Faltering ever-so-slightly as you mutter out, “Happy anniversary, by the way. I didn’t say it earlier because someone was being a public menace.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault that someone locked me out of my own honeymoon suite.” he laughs, drinking in your pretty lil’ smile.

Ah, you were perfect. As you always were. Satoru can’t help but utter out a little, “Hey, if I tell you something absolutely stupid, would you promise not to make me fish food?”

“Absolutely not.”

He knew you’d say that. So he flashes you an easy grin, a hint of nervousness in it that he’s sure you see through - you always do.

“So…” he begins, “First thing’s first, I’m thinking of expanding my father’s company further overseas and it might just so happen that I’m leading the branch development and get to pick where exactly.”

God, you made him feel like such a teenager. At your stunned silence, Satoru could barely raise his eyes to meet yours as he plows on, stumbling so uncharacteristically over his words, “You, I picked where you are.”

You’re breathless, words barely audible as his sinks in. “What? Toru that’s-”

“And don’t be mad but you kinda sorta didn’t-win-the-raffle-so-instead-I-planned-this-getaway-when-we-were-together.”

Any and every trace of breathless euphoria leaves your tone as you narrow your eyes at the very guilty Satoru beside you. Fidgeting under your intense scrutiny. Finally - after what seems like an eternity - you find your senses after his whiplash-inducing information dump.

A hand immediately shoots out to squeeze his side, right where you knew he was dangerously ticklish.

“You sneaky little-” you scold over his laughed out yells of, “Mercy! No murder on our honeymoon!” squirming helplessly beneath you.

“I can’t believe you let me chug all that ice cream.”

“Exactly- hah- help! You w-would’ve been so sad that you ah- didn’t win.” he manages to choke out under your attack.

Finally relenting, only once you’re sure he’ll be feeling the burn of laughter until your flight tomorrow, you release him from your grasp. A satisfied smirk playing on your lips as you lean in close. “You’re lucky I still love you, you smug bastard” you deadpan.

“Aww, you beat me to it.” Satoru whines. Yet he reaches out to cup your cheek, “And I love you,” words hanging in the air like a promise. “With every fiber of my being.”

You let yourself be begrudgingly pulled into his embrace again, hands caressing along your skin like the highest form of worship. Satoru sighs out a contented, “Best honeymoon ever.”

But of course, you couldn’t help but bully your idiotic boyfriend. “This is not a honeymoon, Toru.” you mutter into his heated skin.

He only presses you closer to him. Yeah maybe not, fingers deftly dancing along your left hand. But maybe next time.

“Wanna watch the stars and tell me all about that branch development?”

“Of course, sweetheart, but first can you at least unblock me on Gmail now?”

“...”

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 3 weeks, and 12 hours ago. And as for how long it’s been since he won you back - well, you think it might just be one of the few things you didn’t keep count of.

A/N. Based on my vacay at Lily Beach except I didn’t meet my future husband there :0

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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skzdarlings · 6 months

Text

the ride ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by @rosequartsz : chan with the prompt ❛ i want to fuck you so badly. ❜ like the reader is the same age as jeongin so chan kinda feels bad but at the same time he wants to corrupt the reader so bad cushsisjsis

original ask: requested by anonymous : Chan and ❛ please. make me feel good. no one else can like you. ❜ ❛ have a little trust in yourself, i know you can take it. ❜

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: friends to lovers, chan is a little older than reader, reader is not actually that innocent but pretends to be and they both get off on it lol. some not very safe driving lol keep ur eyes on the road. car sex, dirty talk, teasing, corruption play, puuuuure smut. word count: 2400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

“That’s not fair,” Jeongin says. “I called dibs.”

“Too bad.” You stick your tongue out at him. “Learn to run faster, loser.”

Jeongin scowls, once more relegated to the backseat of Chan’s car. You are sitting pretty in the passenger seat for the fourth day in a row and Jeongin is playfully annoyed about it.

You and your twin brother have been racing into Chan’s car since high school. You are both at university now, but Chan still offers the occasional lift. With storm season making public transit a bigger hassle than it’s worth, Chan has been offering more rides.

Just because of the weather. Not any other reason. Of course.

You smirk, casting a side-glance into the driver’s seat. Chan is smiling at Jeongin through the rearview mirror, looking less like Channie, the boy of your teenage fantasies, and more like Bang Chan, the man of your adult dreams. He is wearing a baseball cap and leather jacket, his whole demeanour oozing an effortless masculinity, the bearing of a competent man who knows he can do anything.

And still, despite his well-earned cockiness, he has an undoubtedly shy side. When he looks at you, the tips of his ears flame an embarrassed, fiery red, and his dimpled smile is almost boyish in its sweetness.

“Right then,” he says. Then, like the endearingly cheesy goofball he is, he adds, “All aboard, ready for takeoff!”

“Jeongin,” you say, blinking innocently at your twin through the mirror. “You have your presentation notes, right? You don’t want to forget them.”

Jeongin double-checks his bag but you already know he won’t find them. You deliberately took them out and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“Damn,” he says, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt. “I thought I put them in here. Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Jeongin practically flies out of the car and up the driveway, leaving you and Chan. It happens quickly, before Chan can even compute it. You can see the gears turning in his head, but you are faster, sighing melodramatically while gathering the hem of your skirt.

“Silly boy,” you say. “What should we do while he’s gone?” You draw your skirt up your thighs just enough to tease the skin of your upper thighs.

Chan is staring there with his mouth open, his words evaporating on his tongue. He clears his throat after a second, ripping his gaze away. He looks across the dashboard and laughs, a shy, awkward laugh.

“Your brother will be back in a second,” Chan says. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yeah?”

He is white-knuckling the steering wheel, like all his restraint is being poured into that physical grip. Even so, it is not hard to pry his hand off the wheel. You know a stronger, more belligerent shove could not bend a determined Bang Chan, but the softest touch from your gentle hands will have him breaking in seconds.

You are slow, casual despite your racing heart, guiding his hand onto your knee. He makes a little noise that turns your whole body to pure, liquid heat. You make a similar sound, a faint whimper in the back of your throat, as you slide his hand up your thigh.

“Channie,” you say, your too-sweet, too-innocent voice part of your acting, but your breathlessness undoubtedly real.

“Don’t—” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. “Don’t say my name like that. You know—”

“What do I know, Channie?” you ask, blinking at him with wide eyes while you curl his fingers around your thigh. You bring your legs together, holding his hand between them.

He visibly swallows, throat bobbing. The redness has spread from his ears down his neck.

“We’ve talked about this, baby girl,” he says, his tone stricter, taking on that darker edge that makes your heart – and everything else – gush. “We’ve been good so far, okay?” If stolen kisses, open zippers, and groping touches count as good. “You’re my – you’re my friend. You should be like a little sister or something to me… yeah? Yeah… Yeah!” He shakes his head, pulling himself out of the distraction caused by you unzipping your jacket. He squeezes your thigh, a firm, warning grip. “Don’t make this so hard,” he says.

“What’s hard for you, Channie?” you ask, reaching into his lap and touching his thigh, then higher, finding the evidence of his words. A shiver moves across his shoulders, his breath catching as you cup your palm around the bulge in his jeans. “Is it something I can help you with?” You lick your bottom lip then smile.

“Oh,” he says. His eyes crinkle with amusement but there is a score of different emotions on his face, all of them smoldering. “You really wanna play that game, huh?”

There is no chance for an answer because Jeongin returns, hopping into the car with his notes. You and Chan separate, looking out the dashboard window. You pat your hot skin and try to slow your racing heart.

Sensing the oddly silent tension, Jeongin narrows his eyes and looks between you. Eventually, his expression sours like he smells something bad.

“Oh my god,” he says, then punches Chan in the shoulder. “Are you fucking my sister!”

“What!” Chan says, getting redder by the second. “Jeongin, how could— I wouldn’t— I don’t—”

“What, you don’t fuck?” Jeongin asks, then laughs until he is wheezing. “You can do better, man.”

“Jeongin, shut up!” You reach back to smack at him, rubbing your hand all over his stupid face and messing up his hair while he wails in protest.

“All right, all right!” Chan says, breaking you up. “Let’s just… let’s just go, okay? Okay.”

“Yes, daddy,” you say, mostly out of spite.

Chan squeaks.

Jeongin pretends to gag then slumps against his window.

“I’m gonna need to start taking the bus,” he says, morose.

Fortunately, thanks to the impromptu revelation of your shenanigans, it does not take much convincing for Jeongin to find another ride home. When Chan pulls into the campus parking lot to pick you up, you approach his vehicle with a grin and a wink.

You slide into the passenger seat, smoothing down your skirt while he sighs. It sounds more amused than frustrated.

“Where’s your brother?” he asks.

You shrug with theatrical exaggeration.

“Right,” Chan says, starting the car. “Got it.”

He puts a hand on your headrest to leverage himself, looking out the rear window as he reverses the car. That proximity alone gets you hot, the temptation to grab him already strong. You play a patient game, as always, stealing glances and suggestive smiles while he drives.

Halfway home, you put a hand on his knee. At first your touch is innocent, tracing slow circles on the denim, then you get a little more brazen, fingertips brushing up his thigh.

“Baby,” he says in that warning voice, eyes on the road. Holding the wheel with one hand, he uses the other to stop your wandering ascent.

“Yes?” you ask with all that faux-innocence. Rather than fight his touch, you guide his hand to your lap, placing it on your knee.

Unlike this morning, he does not play nice. You make a startled, high-pitched sound when he immediately dives under your skirt, his rough palm pressing down where you are already aching. Your thighs slam shut out of instinct but his hand is where it wants to be, his fingers curled around your pussy in a proprietary touch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice playfully mean. He grinds the heel of his palm against your throbbing clit. He never takes his eyes off the road. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, though you cannot help but rock yourself against his hand.

“Mmm,” he says, patting your pussy then stroking your thigh, guiding your legs open again. “We’ll see about that.”

You keep your eyes ahead too, pretending not to notice when he glances at you. Then you gasp because he reaches out and tugs the zipper on your hoodie. You instinctively clutch it, wearing nothing but a bra underneath, having taken off your other layers to surprise him. He is the one surprising you, a secret sexy menace under all that shy sweetness. He unzips the hoodie halfway then reaches past the material to squeeze a handful. Your body practically sings under his touch.

“Channie,” you say, breathless again.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Channie’s gonna take care of you, yeah? Always.”

“Take care of me how?” Your question toys with that false innocence, the little game that gets you both hot, but there is genuine curiosity there too. This game has been escalating slowly over time. You want more and you are starting to get desperate.

Chan looks at you. His gaze moves over your mouth then your body, your skirt rucked up and breasts practically spilling out of your hoodie. He swears, looking back at the road with that red blush on his ears again.

“Fuck,” he says. “I want to fuck you so badly. You have no idea.”

His words have a raw, honest edge. He swallows, hard. You feel like one tightly coiled ball of tension, ready to snap apart.

“Please,” you say in that breathy voice. “Make me feel good. No one else can like you.”

You do not make it all the way home. There is a nearby lookout point at the park, a shrouded parking area that has undoubtedly seen its fair share of hook-ups. Chan parks there and you dive at each other like randy teenagers. You climb into his lap, bumping everything on the console on your way, the honking the horn with your backside for good measure. It makes you both giggle.

Then your laughter is swallowed by hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses.

“Mmm,” you hum against his lips. You push his hat off his head and sink your fingers in his curly hair. “Channie, please,” you say.

He cups the back of your neck, holding your head where he wants it so he can kiss you thoroughly. His ravishing touch leaves you shaking with need, rocking against him to no relief.

“Poor baby,” he says with a little laugh, squeezing your neck then drawing his hand down the curve of your chest. He unzips the rest of your hoodie. His mouth follows the same path as his hands, down your chest and back up again.

He is working you up, deftly and swiftly, using just a few well-placed throat kisses, a few flicks of his fingertips across the sensitive peaks of your breasts. He seems so composed under you, other than the flush to his complexion, the heat to his skin that has him shedding his leather jacket. You feel completely undone, half-naked and writhing in his lap. Your hands tangle together, fumbling around his belt.

“Let me,” he says. He gets his belt open and his fly undone, then his hands are on you. He doesn’t just tug your panties to the side but rips them apart, snapping the seams like they’re nothing. Then those strong fingers are inside you, finding just how wet and ready you are for him. He makes a low, guttural sound, thumping his head against the headrest. “Fuck, baby girl,” he says. “You know what you do to me?” he asks.

“I dunno, Channie.” You pout and bat your eyelashes. “You better show me.”

He laughs. He holds your hips and moves you, positions you where he wants you. You are pressed so close together, chest-to-chest, so you cannot see when he finally enters you. But you feel it, hot and hard and filling you, stretching you, almost painful but burning so good. You slap a hand to the roof of the car, eyes closing as you moan.

“S-so much,” you say, because it feels like you have been sinking forever and he is still not all the way inside.

“Yeah, I know, baby,” he says. His thumb is expertly circling your clit while your whole body seems to soften, changing to fit him, like you were made for this moment. “That’s it,” he says. “Have a little trust in yourself. I know you can take it.”

His thrusts are small, his hands guiding your hips over him, grinding him deep inside you. Then you are clutching his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he fucks you slowly and steadily. It is everything you needed and not enough, only spurring more desire. You know you will need him again, the way he needs you. Just the way he says your name as he holds you, as he fucks you, as he takes you apart and puts you together again. It feels like that when you come, when he fucks you through it, saying your name and praising you.

“Good girl,” he says, barely above a breath. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

When he gets close, he pushes the seat back. You get on your knees between his legs and take him in your mouth. He comes with a low groan and another breathless slur of your name. Then you are back in his lap and his hands are everywhere, clutching you possessively to his chest. You are both breathing hard, riding the slow come-down of your frantic desperation.

“Fuck,” he eventually says. He seems shy again, giggling as he looks at you with a blush on his face. “We, uh, we just did that, in the car, uh wow, yeah, I, uh—”

“Channie,” you say with a laugh of your own, grabbing his face and kissing him. He smiles into the kiss, returning it with the same tender softness.

You kiss for a long time, ignoring the world around you. Eventually you have to crawl back into your seat and mostly redress yourselves, still smiling and giggling at each other the whole time. Your phone was buzzing in your bag so you finally check it, rolling your eyes at the message there.

You show it to Chan who laughs, blushing again, but nods.

“Right,” he says, “We should probably go get him.”

You laugh too, sending an emoji with its tongue sticking out in response to Jeongin’s message that reads: My ride fell through. When you are done not-fucking each other, can you come back and get me? Thanks. Sluts.

#bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x reader #chan x you #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz x you #valentinesdaystories

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gfguren · 2 months

Text

pro hero!bakugou x fem!reader | fluff, suggestive, husband!katsuki, katsuki implied as being taller than reader, implied age (~late 20's, early 30s~), light-hearted bickering, an excuse to write more domestic!kats, 1.8k | cw: cursing, suggestive

-your husband comes home late, soaking wet and a little bit handsy-

Katsuki is late; you hope traffic isn't too bad. Outside your window the sky is overcast, steely shades of grey over a slate canvas. The roads are dyed an inky charcoal, pooling at the surface where rain drip-drip-pours in endless streams.

You've taken up residence in the foyer, between the linen closet at the end of the hall, and the umbrella Katsuki left by the front door this morning. The very same one you reminded him to take with him at breakfast, and twice again before he left in the evening. If you loved him a little bit less, he might listen to you one day.

But you do—love him—right down to his bad habits and stubborn disposition.

So you wait for him the same way you have for years; perched at the breakfast nook in the corner with a warm cup of tea and a paperback that's been gathering dust for half-a-year now at least. The bar table is worn at the edges, legs wobble if you lean too far forward—frankly, you should have gotten rid of it years ago—but it was the first belonging that wasn't yours, or Katsuki's, but ours; a piece you thrifted when you were both still twenty-something and broke.

The years have changed a lot—our table, our bed, our house, our life. Your Katsuki.

—His wife.

The band around your finger is white gold; it clinks when you put the mug to your lips. Honey, ginger. Sweet. Rain hits the window and falls; two trails meet at the middle, and stick to each other like glue. Katsuki would laugh if he found you right now, smiling into your tea like a lovestruck fool.

You let the ceramic rest, turn to page thirty-or-something of a book that you totally-intend-to-finish. An hour passes before you hear the telltale rumble of an engine.

You spot his headlights first, misty pools of sunlight spilling onto the pavement when he pulls into the driveway. It's well past midnight now; Katsuki is a shadow against the porchlight, long strides and a hand over his crown. You have half a mind to bring the umbrella to him, but he's quicker, ascends the four steps to the veranda in two big leaps; you barely register the rustle of keys before he's stepping into the house, pooling rainwater at the welcome mat.

He's soaked at the shoulders, a grumble in his throat when he kneels to unlace his shoes—black leather, designer and sharp, same as the suit jacket around his shoulders. Tailored to fit him just right.

Katsuki's always been handsome, even as a hero in training renting hand-me-down suits from the little mom-and-pop shop down the street. But it really strikes you just how beautiful he is when you look at him now, dressed to the nines. All the years of hard work paying off in more ways than one.

You go a little fuzzy when he lifts his head to catch you staring; red eyes kindling the air and making it hard to breathe. He's the spitting image of a number two hero, just returned from a long night at some fancy-pants gala; sometimes you forget that's exactly what he is. Even more dumbfounded that, somehow, he's yours.

"I know," he grumbles, moving his shoes to the cabinet and meticulously hanging his jacket over the chair to dry. He briefly eyes the umbrella. "I f'rgot, kay?"

So have you, suddenly.

There's a pause and—"I didn't say anything."

He meets you at the table, one hand at the surface and the other at the knot of his tie. "Y've got that look."

You tip you chin to glare at him playfully. "And what 'look' is that, Bakugou Katsuki?"

"Like y'r about t'chew me up." He pulls the fabric strip from around his neck in one fell swoop, pops the first button of his dress shirt with his thumb. Your eyes fall for only a moment—barely a second—but Katsuki grins with the self-awareness of a man who's known you half his life. "Or about t'jump my bones, hah?"

He looks entirely impish in his revelation, ego flaring to rest in his cheeks; you have half a mind to nip at them like candy floss, instead you reach for the cuffs of his button-up, tidy the sleeves one fold over the other until the rainwater and well-kept muscles catch at the seams. You feign a sigh when his stare becomes too insistent to ignore, hand falling to rest at the peaks of his knuckles. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah." A spark of firelight flashes in his eyes, deep carmine and coy; teasing him was so much easier a decade ago. "I'd let'cha."

You roll your eyes. "You're so unsexy, y'know that?"

"Hah," he barks with all the disbelief in the world. "What? Want me t'do that dirty talkin' shit instead? Jump y'r bones right here at the table? D'n think she'll hold up, baby."

He lets a fraction of his weight fall against the corner and the old wood immediately cries out, splintering oak and creaking hinges and the real, immediate threat that the poor thing might actually collapse at your feet.

You spring up defensively. "Katsuki!"

A once neatly-folded towel tumbles from your lap to land at your toes. His gaze falls; grin widens.

"Said y're gonna make me 'deal with it' next time I forgot the stinkin' umbrella, didn't'cha?" His fingers pinch the fat of your cheeks teasingly. "Love me that much, hah?" Your eyes narrow, fingers dive with intent for the space beneath his ribcage. He's quicker, wraps five fingers around your wrist and pulls you in with a hand at the back of your neck. He breathes, warm against the top of your head—"Missed y'tonight."

You hum against his chest, damp fabric sticking to your cheeks, flush and warm with surprise. You can count the number of times he's been this blunt with his affection on one hand; at least twice being in the presence of an empty champagne glass, or five. "Did you drink?" He gruffs at that—the only indication that he heard you at all. "Katsuki?"

"Come with me next time."

You tilt your chin, brow creasing. His head dips at the sight of the first wrinkle, the way it always does when he's trying to change the subject, or sweeten you up, or get his way in any way, really—a habit you must have taught him because you let him get away with it every single time. It's probably why he looks so offended when you pull back suddenly with a click of your tongue.

"That's not an answer."

"Not a drop," he finally says—huffs—with an almost boyish scowl.

You find yourself stifling a laugh, hand over mouth, and he glares, even as you step away to rustle through the linen closet. His eyes are red hot, brow downturned, downright grumpy, only cooling to a simmer when you're toe to toe once more, fresh towel in hand and lightly waving him down to your level. His spine bows, head dips until you're massaging the soft cotton through his hair; you would have had to fight him on this once—years ago—before time weathered his sharp edges, doused the wildfire raging in his heart until he became the man he is now—irritable, arrogant, stubborn, still, but willing—to make amends for who he was before, to extend a hand where he's able, to let you offer him one in return.

"Chose this one on purpose, didn't'cha?" Katsuki's voice is lukewarm, a tepid grumble at the back of his throat, an almost purr when you dip your fingertips against his nape.

"No idea what you're talking about."—but you do. The towel in question, he means, is from the left side of the closet, your side, all soft cotton and fluff; the same ones he refuses to use, for those very same reasons. "Said they 'd'n dry a damn thing' but-" you drape the supposed 'overrated, overpriced pile'a'fluff' around his shoulders to ruffle his bangs, more wily than usual, and barely damp. "Would y'look at that?"

He snorts, hand falling to the small of your back. "Don't get smart."

"Or what?" you keen up at him, at the balls of your feet, tip toes and still barely nose to nose; they bump once on accident, and twice on purpose. "Huh?"

Warm, exasperated breath fans across your cheeks. "Tryna start somethin' t'night, are ya?"

You bat your lashes, head tilting and fingers splaying across the 'v' of his neckline. "Me? Start something?" Your grin betrays your facade. "And what if I am?"

He pulls you in at the waist, holds you steady with one, strong arm, warm lips at your jaw and low, deep voice in your ear. "Better be ready t'finish it, then."

His right hand comes to rest at the back of your thigh, teases the skin right where your skirt ends; gooseflesh blooms all the way up your spine and you shiver. "Who's jumping bones now, huh?" you bark—yap, like a scaredy-pup with it's tail between it's legs—bite lost somewhere between the callouses on Katuski's fingertips and the press of his hips against your own.

You straighten your shoulders to get a good look at the ego washing over his face like miles of trumpet vine. All consuming, a force to be reckoned with. And devastatingly pretty.

"That'd be me, pretty lady," he says, all kinds of smug and annoying.

You hold him with your stare for an entire second—two, just so you can get a real good look at his stupid, handsome face—and then you're pulling him in by the collar, wrinkling the shirt he'll spend too much on dry-cleaning tomorrow. Not that he seems to mind when your tongue meets his, honey mingling with the mint on his breath and making his head swim, all but forgotten when a hand comes to rest at your waist, heated fingertips beneath your sweater, licking softly at your skin.

He walks you back 'til your thighs hit the table—(it rocks, precariously); one of your hands fall against the surface, the other to his heart that thump-thump-jumps when thunder rumbles through the house, and stills. You smile, soft against his lips, thumb tracing the precipice of his collarbone until your fingers can curl around his spine. The next kiss against his mouth is featherlight, barely there; you sigh, contentedly—"I love you."

Katsuki goes a little hazy, eyes the color of early Autumn; the blazing summer sun reduced to a tealight candle, flickering in the palms of your hands. "Yeah," he chokes. And you know just what he means.

You kiss him then, once more, a little more playful this time; mischievous and coy with a cheeky, "—even though you're totally unsexy."

"So help me, y/n, I will howitzer this table."

#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bnha #mha #x reader #x you #one day you find out he keeps an umbrella tucked under the driver's seat #he stops at a red light or smth and it rolls out like a goddamn bit and you just turn to him like 👁👄👁#the car ride is silent all the way home and if you so much as mention an umbrella ever again he turns beet red and gets soooo defensive #needless to say he never ~forgets~ his umbrella again djdjhfjfh

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wandasfavv · 3 months

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Keep It Steady

Wanda x Fem!Reader

Summary: Meeting an older woman through a dating app wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, especially one that’s newly divorced and experimenting.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Inexperienced!WandaxFem!Reader, fingering(r receiving), oral(r receiving), fingers in mouth, overstimulation, soft sex that turns rough, Servicetop!Wanda, fluff and angst, matched each others freak tbh

Sunlight shone through the thick glass of the car with the two of you inside, hitting your back as it accompanied the warm sensation within your body. Heat escaped your lips and into the other woman’s mouth, a constant motion for trying to find air between the deep exchange in which led to the sound of a device loudly announcing itself in the front pocket of Wanda’s pants. As you were positioned on top of her, straddling her lap, you felt the buzz beneath you.

She pulled away from you with a huff, evidently flushed whilst she looked down to the direction of her phone, waiting for you to lift yourself up so she could pull it out. Your eyes wandered down as well to the screen, wondering what it was to have disturbed the session. While she checked the notification she received, her fingers lightly and comfortingly traced your skin by the free hand pressed against the side of your thigh.

Another sigh left Wanda before she looked back up at you. The clatter of her phone being gently tossed inside the cup holder disrupted the quiet space. “Sorry, it’s the kids.”

“It’s fine,” you replied almost aloof, a faint frown present. Getting tugged toward the other seat of the car by the disappointed force of your body, she looked over to you with an unreadable expression. “It’s not like we don’t do this all the time.”

There was a certain underlying bitterness to your tone, yet it went unnoticed Wanda’s oblivious front. She hummed a response, averting her gaze from you as her rosy cheeks eased up after the practical make out. You took the wheel of the vehicle and started the engine before backing out of the secluded area in which became a routine.

The drive was overall peaceful— or so one would think from the point of view of anyone besides you two. The silence besides the noises of the pebbly road and the blasting AC was dreadful as it led you deeper into your thoughts. Thoughts of this relationship if you could even call it that.

For the past month, you and Wanda had been nothing more than what felt like two friends who happen to dabble in kissing. It was ridiculous, but how could you have any say if you weren’t outright protesting against it.

Ever since you met her outside of the app you first saw her from, you knew what you were getting into. The words of her interests and what she looked for in her bio below the picture that caught your attention more than anybody else haunted you throughout. To not have anything serious. It constantly made your stomach churn as the reminder was only forcing you to either leave or stay put in this hooked position. Wanda’s charming yet confusing character brought you to the latter.

From when you saw her through just a blinding square in the darkness of your room, she sparked something in you. The way you trailed and raked over every feature that was shown in millions of pixels, from her prominent smile lines to her perfectly refined clothing. Everything about her made you swipe right, overriding the contrasting wants between the two of you.

Yet there you were, stuck in a repeated process of being nothing more or less than whatever this was. It made your head spin how she’d at times be obviously tempted in doing more with you, but stop herself. You’ve noticed it countless of times. The acts of service in which had bundles of flowers in your hands to sudden cold turns that leave you on read. Or the way she would often fumble around with the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your pants only to pull away and keep up at the same pace of only locking lips. She led you nowhere but a pitiful hole that left you trapped.

As you began to drive past the many houses you became familiar with down the street, your eyes spotted a foreign car parked in the driveway of Wanda’s home. Behind the tinted windows, you saw a man sitting in front while two smaller heads peeked up from behind him in the back. You parked on the side of the sidewalk, turning to Wanda who had a subtle smile on hers.

“So I’ll see you… Saturday?”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll see you,” you responded in more a friendly but forced voice, a small smile played as you waited for her to exit the car. But surprisingly, she leaned forward and placed a short yet lasting kiss on your lips, the softness of hers making you flush. It felt sweeter than most, meaningful even. As she pulled away and swiftly turned to open the door and leave, you almost missed the matching flustered expression. Again, you were met with another puzzling action that made you internally groan.

Watching her round the corner of your car and walking to the other, the door opened with two boys the same age jumping out. Smiles on both of them as they ran over to their mom was a warming sight, along with seeing the white between her lips as she grinned brightly looking down to them hugging either side of her body.

Wanda waved a slight bye to the man as you educatedly guessed it was her ex husband dropping off the kids for their few days with her. She had told you about the shared custody, something you knew that partially bothered her as conversations upon that topic resulted in noticeable downturns of her mouth.

A tired exhale came out before you turned away and started to drive again, not wanting to deal with the emotions spinning.

——————

Few days passed by since you last saw Wanda. You two only messaged each other at random times, like now when you were headed to bed. Already lying down and under the blankets, your eyes closed for the night until a disturbance occurred.

You stirred, feeling the buzz beside your head as you laid on the sunken pillow. Lazily reaching a hand up to take hold of your phone, it lit up in your squinted eyes, revealing a message that made your heart stutter with a following swallow of nerves.

“I want to see you.”

Your thumbs twiddled above the keyboard, not knowing how or what to respond with considering how it was still before the day you two planned to meet up. But you soon typed a reply back, wanting to seem casual about it. “Right now?”

Her reply came in an instant, a certain eagerness radiating off a single word. “Please?”

Your legs moved without a thought and dragged yourself out of bed. You were focused on the request, not bothering to care about the doubts about Wanda. But then again, you were also completely unaware of the state that she was in.

On the other end of the phone, she bit her tongue. A message sent out of pure desire and impulse. In honesty, she had no idea of what she was doing with you. These common meet ups and ‘dates’ came out as a way for her to release some sort of pent up tension.

It was her first time being with someone who wasn’t her ex, the man she’d often grimace at the thought of as she began to revel in ones of you instead, and since the day she found you on a simple free app which piqued her interest. She knew most wouldn’t have been fond with the idea of doing what she had in mind, yet she lucked out as an attractive individual like you willingly followed along.

It all started off very slow, subtle gestures and small compliments that could’ve been perceived as platonic. Or atleast until a random night where she ended a simple day with a sudden first move, kissing you with a particular urgency. And then only that continued for the next counting weeks.

She was just so comfortable in where you both were, able to do things at the steady pace she wanted while you stayed compliant. Yet, now she couldn’t have helped but felt that there was maybe more that she wanted in spite of the fear and nerves of doing something she wasn’t familiar with.

The sound of the doorbell disturbed her thinking. Her body moved at a quick pace to the front door revealing the face she grew to yearn seeing everyday.

You walked in hesitantly as you watched her eyes lit up, a small exchange of greetings between you. Her hand came to the small of your back to gesture you in her home which was welcoming with ambiance. Looking around, you saw littered and deserted toys in the living room, a long train along with futuristic and faux weapons you’d see in movies. “They went back with him already?”

“Yeah, I know. So soon,” she replied sighing, closing and locking the door before facing you. “They’ll be back soon enough though.”

Wanda walked towards you, taking your hand gently as she led you upstairs. You followed with no complaint, sensing what it was that she wanted. The usual.

Stepping into her room and trailing behind, a wave of uncertainty washed over you. Everything that you had thought about over the past week stirred up inside your head, and while she closed the door behind you, her eyes roamed your body without a clue. You sat on her bed, hands clinging onto the covers hanging off. The soft click of the door was heard. And then the unexpected blurt of your nervous voice.

“Wanda?” You called out to her without thinking as she turned her head around to look at you curiously with a small hum in return. “Could we talk about us?”

Her face dropped from your question, matching the feeling of her heart as she fully untwisted her body to properly talk to you. She muttered an answer. “Yeah, what about?”

You shifted nervously on the edge of her bed, your eyes flickering between her and floor as you spoke at a low level. “I just feel like this isn’t for me.”

“W-What do you mean? Everything’s been going so well between us,” Wanda responded, her voice laced with worry and disbelief.

“Wanda, it’s been over a month of… I don’t even know what. You’ve been giving me mixed signals. And honestly, I’m not sure why I willingly agreed to do this- thing like I’m some experiment,” you retorted with an undertone of sadness along side the confusion you’ve brought to the top.

“You’re not- trust me,” she tried to keep the wavering in her voice at bay until it lowered to same wavelength of regret. “You know I’m new to this…” Her brows pulled together while she took steps towards you, her feet reaching the bed and side beside you. The mattress sunk under her weight to your right. “I-I was just worried about what you’d think if I didn’t meet your expectations, and I knew you liked doing what we did so I figured I’d get enough out of that while also maybe keeping you interested-”

You heard her rant helplessly, the nonstop shaking of her leg then concerning you. She caught the way your eyes softened, and stopped herself from furthering her disquieting explanation. Her lip quivered as she let only a few more words sum it up. “I’m serious about you, I promise.”

The beating of your heart was loud against your chest, and you kept quiet letting her words sink in. All the doubts and nights you spent overthinking disappeared in your mind at the reassurance. You looked at her, your eyes wide with yearning as she gently trailed her fingertips along your jaw after her hand came up. Your skin heated up under her touch, only prompting her to then let her smoothly tilt your head further up.

Wanda took in the expression on you, how she sensed the feeling of security as you only gazed at her with want but not making any move to make her uncomfortable. So she took the chance to initialize it instead, now knowing that she no longer wanted to keep it steady. Leaning down, she pressed her plump lips against yours and kept her hand at your cheek as her other one crept up to caress the other side.

In response, you let out sigh through your parted mouth before you felt her tongue slowly probe and enter it. A noise of both surprise and desperation left you at her sudden movements, causing her to lightly groan and press against your warm body. She moved her hands to run down your shoulders to your waist, softly but firmly holding you there. And with moments of her kissing you breathlessly, she pushed you down against the mattress as her lips chased after yours in a longing manner.

“I want you,” she whispered after parting for only a second until she came back down a lot more eagerly. You reach up for her with your hands running through her soft untangled hair as another small moan left you. Wanda continued to intertwine her tongue with yours which only let her take control and you followed her lead. Lasting for only a minute or so, she teared herself away from you, staring down at your frazzled state. Heavy breaths huffed out from both of you, hers a lot more erratic.

Soon enough you felt her tugging at your shirt, signaling for you to pull it off of yourself. In a swift motion, you did while she then took the time to take your other article of clothing off from below and leaving you in just your underwear.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to see you like this…” Wanda’s voice came out muttered and deep, like she was really lost in your presence. She gradually crawled on top of you, her knee between your thighs as it pressed against your clothed center. You gasped at the sudden friction, already feeling as if you soaked through and made evidence of your wetness on her pants. As Wanda kneeled for a second, she took off her shirt and tossed it to the same direction of your clothes. She came and lowered back down to make contact with your lips again, her arms supporting her at the sides of your head.

You ushered a response to her, breathing heavily once you were able to part from the heated interaction. “Longer than me?”

“Probably,” she cracked a smile at your reply, your soft tone sounding sweeter than ever through her ears. “I just didn’t know it yet.”

With her hand coming down between your legs, she pulled her knee away and looked down to see the damp fabric. Her fingers grazed the darker spot of your panties, applying a light pressure to feel you more. You let out a moan in return, the sensation only heightening as she started to kiss and suck at the pulse of your neck.

The teasing lasted shortly before you felt her pull the cotton to the side to access your pussy. Two fingers pushed between your folds, a slight intake of air heard from Wanda due to your arousal leaking on her. You basked in the feeling of her gently rubbing against your sensitive areas before probing your entrance which welcomed her greatly.

She let one finger slip in, your walls already clenching around it. You bit your lip after the long anticipation, muffling another sound of pleasure as she continued to go in and out at a slow pace before stretching you out with another finger. She watched you from above to check for any signs of discomfort. “Does this feel okay?”

Her sweet and soft tone made you pay more attention to her expression, noting the furrow of her eyebrows. You were reminded of her inexperience as she showed concern over what she was doing. The careful movements inside your walls took some time to turn into light curling against that one spongey spot. “Mhm… you’re doing really good.” Your muttered and hushed words caused a sudden spur in Wanda. The praise fueled her to go deeper, hitting another point that drove you further in heat.

More wetness pooled beneath you and on her hand, making the sounds from below anything but innocent. Her lips returned to your neck, peppering lower to your collarbone and nibbling against the soft skin. You jerked up to meet her hand to find more friction which led to her thumb to then go upward to your clit, smoothly bringing you closer to the built up tension within your lower tummy. She didn’t stop her ministrations at all, ignoring the growing soreness of the muscles as the tip of her tongue ran over the dark marks she created.

The rise of volume and the desperate grip you had on Wanda had her in a daze as she found it all so addicting. It made her question why she didn’t give in sooner.

“W-Wanda, I’m gonna…” you trailed off, throwing your head back as she pumped into you harder. Tears welled up at the pressure, climbing up to the feeling of ecstasy. And the hum of her deep voice brought you over the edge.

“Uh huh, cum for me,” her breath fanned your flesh before her teeth dug into it, another mark made that well represented her possession over you.

At her soft demand, you squeezed around her fingers which forced their way to keep curling at your g-spot. Mixed moans left both of you, and filled up the room until she slowly came to stop, letting you ride out your orgasm before her fingers stilled.

As the tense feeling began to wash away, you were met with light kisses pattered around the side of your neck, trailing slowly up your jaw. You smiled faintly as Wanda’s lips separated from your skin to instead look down at your hazed expression. Again, her smile lines deepened as she couldn’t help but show more satisfaction of what she made you do. Carefully, her fingers left your drenched hole, causing you to also inwardly pout in disappointment at the emptiness following.

Wanda’s hand came from between your legs and you stared at it with earnest, noticing how a slick layer covered mainly two of her long thin fingers. Without thinking, your own hand came to gradually capture her wrist, making her caught off guard before your weak hold left her content. She gazed down at you curiously and watched with intent at how you sluggishly dragged it to your face. Eyes widening just enough for you spot it, Wanda clenched her teeth as she swallowed down a breath seeing you open your mouth and envelope her digits.

You continued to look up at her with doe-like eyes, desperation filling them and only making the warm sensation in her stomach on the verge of bursting. The feeling of your tongue moving against her and the tip running through crevices combined with the tear stains shimmering from the soft hue of light beginning to dry up pushed her in a state she didn’t recognize. Like an unknown switch was turned on in the back her mind.

Through your blurry vision, you saw the way her green orbs shifted side to side in a shaky but subtle manner, likely studying every feature on your face which kindled her further. With her still in your mouth, you sucked lightly, taking off and tasting all of your arousal. Once you were done, the grip on her wrist tightened loosely to pull her fingers back out, a line of spit connecting you both as the two of you witness each other’s reactions to everything.

Wanda let out an unstable breath. Her bottom lip shook lightly before being trapped between her teeth. Letting the silence sink in for only a few more moments, her muttering voice broke the building suspense. “God, you’re so pretty… I can’t fucking take it.”

With your lips still parted, she leans back in to eagerly capture them, her tongue immediately darting in to taste your arousal. Her hand came up to firmly yet gently hold your face in place by your jaw. Smalls gasps left the two of you and into each other’s mouths, leaving hardly any room to breathe. You could tell how much more she wanted this by the way she hungrily roamed the open spaces inside.

Laying weak underneath Wanda’s body, you felt her lift herself up steadily as she lightly grazed your bottom lip with her front teeth before separating. While you were still in a daze, she let go of you momentarily to lower herself. Her knee between your legs moved down as she placed and trailed light kisses from your neck to all the way to your tummy. “So perfect, baby.”

You felt your spine shudder from her hushed words, feeling the heat radiating off of her as she continued teasing you down to your inner thighs. Smaller bites led to her canines being sunk into your soft flesh as she marveled at the way you let out quiet but effective sounds and held onto the pillow you laid on. Spit followed from her lazily dragging her tongue dangerously close to your cunt, causing a subtle huff leaving you from the rising frustration of not getting straight to the point. The corners of Wanda’s lips tugged upward smugly at your growing desperation. She pulled just millimeters away for a moment and looked up at you, observing the slight frown on you from the loss of contact.

“Wanda, please,” your tone comes out as whiney, tempted to just grab onto her soft locks to pull her into the source of slickness she caused. “Please, I need you so bad.”

Her eyes noticeably darkened as she glared at the pleading expression, taking in the way your brows were creased together along with the lower lip just slightly sticking out. But your voice just pulled everything together.

Her hands pulled down your panties completely and threw them down to the floor. Opening her mouth again and not wasting anymore time, Wanda’s tongue was quickly coated with the taste of you again. A soft moan escaped her because of it as her arms came up to wrap around your thighs securely. Her tongue ran up and between your folds, each stride becoming more tantalizing. She barely reached your sensitive bud, and you only responded with another needy sound.

“Shh, just let me make you feel good,” Wanda shushed you, keeping her pace slow as she relished the taste. After a few more strokes up your folds, she made contact with your clit and lapped in an unhurried and deliberate manner. You gasped in response as the feeling pushed you further back into a heightening pressure within your lower body. She continued the ministrations, quickly pulling you close into another orgasm as she switched lightly sucking and licking your bundle of nerves to plunging back into your dripping hole.

Wanda feels you tightening around her tongue as she delved deeper into you, reaching spots that made you writhe beneath her. “Mhm, are you close again baby?”

You hear her soft voice alongside feeling the hum against your pussy. Pathetically, you nod with vigor and tug at her hair in your grip, feeling the impending climax the more she continued her movements. Despite her lack of experience and without your guidance, she was unexpectedly able to hit all your favorite spots.

“Beg for it.”

Her words came out more firm, prompting another twitch from your clit in her mouth. “P-Please, Wanda please. I wanna cum on your tongue.”

She smirked inwardly at the desperation reeking from you and worked on helping you to fall off the edge a second time. By the quickened pace and the ability to meet her lips by moving your hips with abandon, it wasn’t long until the pressure was released and left your body shuddering. The sounds that came out of you were loud and pleasant to Wanda’s ears. She lapped at you at a slower pace to drag out your pleasure, feeling the constant push as you kept grinding against her stained mouth.

Brought back to reality as you came down, the feeling of Wanda’s tongue was still relentless. She didn’t pull away at all but rather began to pace herself back to the previous speed. You whimpered noisily, trying to move away from her tongue attacking your extremely sensitive nub again. Yet, you were met with an aggressive tug as she tightened her hold around thighs and had your lower half hit the bed again. “Mm-mm, stay still for me.”

You felt yourself throb again at the sternness of her tone despite the growing and almost overwhelming overstimulation. Yet, it wasn’t like it mattered since her hold on you was anything but easy to get out of. You were only able to cry out as your weak arms pushed at her head to no avail. “Wanda, fuck- I can’t…”

She didn’t once falter under your straining whine to have her stop, triggering another upcoming sensation. Your futile attempt soon turned into a performance of need, your back arching from the heat of the sheets under you while her hands pinned your hips down, and the dull nails clung onto you. Moans spilling got increasingly louder from both of you, and for Wanda mostly from the little pain she received by your continuous pulling at her bunched up strands in your grasp.

She sensed how close you were again by the way you sounded and the way your body reacted. All of it becoming more recognizable under her touch. Your swollen clit was between her lips while her hand crept back between your closing thighs around her head, pushing her fingers into your pussy again. And rather starting off slow inside of you, she kept up a speed and force that matched her suckling, bringing you to a third high that left you shaking and moaning pitiably.

Wanda licked your cunt slowly as she pulled out again, her face willingly trapped because of you squeezing around her without control. She eased up on you, her hold less tight though leaving evidence of her nails that dug into you. It took a moment for you to regulate your breathing, pants filling the now silent room.

You sighed out heavily and your hands loosened their grip to allow Wanda to get up from between your trembling legs. With her face in view, you saw her mouth and chin covered with a mix of your wetness and her own saliva. A small laugh of adoration found its way out you at the sight, even if you felt exhausted. “You’re a mess.”

“Like you look any better,” she playfully countered while grinning at your disheveled appearance laid out underneath. As she crawled up to meet you eye to eye, your hand raised up to her chin, gently wiping it with your thumb. She stayed still for you and looked down lovingly, feeling like it was only you two who were present in the world, staring at each other longingly with no disruption. Though shortly, she softly spoke again, worry etched on her without warning. “That wasn’t actually too much for you, was it?”

“No, don’t worry. It wasn’t,” you quickly hushed her concern, your hand coming down as your arm wrapped around her neck to pull down. “It was perfect.”

You felt Wanda’s body loosen as tension left her shoulders, following with a warm smile. Matching her expression, your arm continued to apply a light pressure for her to lower herself, only stopping once your lips met in another loving peck.

“Stay here. I’m gonna get you cleaned up, okay?” Wanda said as she got up from you, excusing the look of disappointment from pulling away that she saw. Once you muttered the word of approval, she stood up from the bed and towards the bathroom where you heard water running for a short amount before she swiftly came back.

Wanda approached with a wet hand towel. You lifted your head to watch her intently as she settled back on the mattress, kneeling between the small space between your legs.

“Open up for me,” she commanded with a sweet tone, patting your thigh lightly before you spread a bit more, revealing the mess that was left surrounding your core. “Good girl.”

Splayed out before her, you couldn’t have helped but felt a little too exposed. You looked down at how she gazed at your sensitive area, wiping and soothing your skin with the warm cloth. Her eyes were full of admiration and love replacing the previous lust as she only now yearned to take care of every part of you, all while being able to see the vulnerable state your in despite how she thought of how beautiful you were.

You looked away and shyly waited for Wanda to finish, a growing warmth on your cheeks evident. She took a good portion of time slowly getting you all cleaned up. And once you noticed the longer period without the feeling of anything against you, your head turned back to see her toss the towel to the side carelessly as she never once averted her eyes from you.

You expected her to come forward and lay beside you, but instead she leaned down again with her head between your two limbs. It caught you off guard until you felt a gentle but firm pressure from her soft lips against your pussy, causing your stomach to flare up once again with an intense fluttering. The feeling of the kiss lingered after she pulled away, leaving you in a more patterned daze. She came back up soon and slowly made her way to your side as she quickly snaked her arms around your waist to have you pressed up to her chest, and ignored your flustered self.

“My pretty girl,” Wanda murmured, her hand to your head as she patted down the frizzed up hair. Your scent filled her senses, and she wanted nothing else than to bask in the moment with you. “You did so well for me.”

In response, you smiled against her skin and only clung onto her tighter. Until a teasing remark leaves you at the thought of her unexpected skill and care. “Now I’m starting to think you’re lying about this being your first time with a woman.”

“Oh please, I’m not lying,” she chuckled a bit, tracing your bare skin at the curve of your side. It’s true though, being with you made everything come natural to her, similar to how you’ve been a big factor of her life flowing so much easier. Even if it’s been barely a month.

A moment of silence passed through while the two of you soaked in the feeling of being tangled comfortably under the covers. The subtle grazing of her fingertips soothing you into a state of sleepiness. Yet, you only wanted to stay awake and appreciate it longer. Wanda sighed at your constant shuffling and pulled your head away from her body, tilting it up so she could see you. She observed your tired features and lightly rubbed the side of your cheek. “Why don’t you fall asleep? You look tired, sweetheart.”

“I wanna be awake with you.”

“I’ll be right here next to you in the morning. We’ll have all the time tomorrow, okay?” She smiled at your adorable demeanor, slightly wanting to pamper you more in spite of your sleepy self. In response, you nod up and down before leaning up for another quick kiss. Her smile grew into a grin as you pulled away, and she snuggled you into the crook of her neck as you felt your eyelids finally drop. Wanda muttered a few last words in your ear and caressed your upper body, pulling you into unconsciousness without a single worry.

Part 2(Something New)

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen #lesbian #wanda x fem!reader #mommy!wanda #top!wanda #wlw #IM TWITCHING

2K notes · View notes

gutsby · 6 days

Text

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

#‘HIS FIST IS BIG BUT MY GUN’S BIGGER’#‘HE’LL FIND OUT WHEN I PULL THE TRIGGER’#ms. lambert was INSANE for that #supporting women’s rights and wrongs all day long in this fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic

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not-neverland06 · 18 days

Text

forgotten promises

pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)

bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader

a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask. Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.

“What are you doing?”

You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone.

“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket.

Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes.

“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”

“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”

You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”

Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both.

“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less.

“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid.

LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING

Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6

Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention.

“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front.

That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants.

Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance.

You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat.

“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving.

It hadn’t gone over well for him.

He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom.

He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly.

When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door.

“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target.

“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving.

The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling.

He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end.

He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer.

But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit.

He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you.

“All good?” You ask.

He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer.

Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down.

There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work.

It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him.

His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long.

It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you.

You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.

“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore.

You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”

Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently. “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning.

“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much.

Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it.

You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this.

The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut.

Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place.

He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded.

“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”

Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”

He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”

You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here.

“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?

He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in.

You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here.

You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long.

It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough.

As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him.

Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night.

A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here.

The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty.

Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby.

“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting.

The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair.

“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”

Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars.

He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before.

You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air.

You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you.

It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand.

For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with.

You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump.

A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!”

“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves.

“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you. You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage.

Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for.

You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face.

The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel.

You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy.

Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking.

You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you.

You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself.

He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though.

He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs.

The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him.

You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard.

You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one.

You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you.

You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”

He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”

You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it.

In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands.

“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”

He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.

It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish.

Are you angry?

Are you leaving?

Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?

Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore.

Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so.

You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you.

You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty.

It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar.

Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you.

You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth.

The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you.

You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety.

You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up.

You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence.

You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer.

You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light.

He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.

Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would.

You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt.

His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering.

He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks.

He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”

You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly.

His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips.

His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well.

He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you.

His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk.

“Logan,” you scold.

He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him.

He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours.

It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”

“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”

You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again.

“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.

You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime.

You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you.

“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze.

You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips.

Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another.

It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either.

He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan.

There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried.

Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt.

He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”

He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”

You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him.

It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for.

But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him.

“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be.

His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again.

You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back.

Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good.

This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy.

You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped.

You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want.

He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out.

“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.”

“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”

He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”

Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs.

He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up.

Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head.

The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.

You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin.

Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other.

One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him.

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat.

But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further.

You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them.

You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling.

The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck.

He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly.

But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say.

“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”

“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him.

Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”

You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life.

“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks.

A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand.

“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt.

“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow.

He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you.

You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh.

When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him.

“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth.

For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead.

Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy.

You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes.

You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings.

He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?”

You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner.

You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago.

Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both.

You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”

He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you.

You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”

You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”

You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”

He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice.

You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”

Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right.

Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh.

He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window.

He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.”

You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”

He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”

“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”

His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart.

It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”

He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again.

The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes.

Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes.

As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different.

You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan.

This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out.

But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street.

You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it.

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left.

You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all.

By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark.

You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine.

When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable.

There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down.

He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep.

Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning.

You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something.

He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive.

You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste.

“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him.

Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night.

By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road.

You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight.

“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower.

The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is.

You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about.

“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest.

“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him.

He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”

He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”

Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”

You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now.

“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”

You’re not gonna like it.

I don’t want you tagging along.

You should just stay here and read or some shit.

You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him.

“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”

He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.

“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”

You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it.

He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries.

You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck.

The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd.

The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool.

The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender.

She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her.

“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix.

“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do.

Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life.

Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”

The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?

“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl.

And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched.

Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.

“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure.

There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off.

It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?

“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on.

“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it.

The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand.

You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”

Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore.

Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you.

“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly.

“What?”

He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him.

He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle.

She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through.

“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror.

You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps.

You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes.

“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you.

“You’re such a softie,” you tease him.

“Shut the hell up.”

Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags.

He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”

She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment.

You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything.

You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing.

You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement.

The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on.

Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here.

The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it.

You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab.

Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you.

But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?

“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now.

It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”

You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator.

When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over.

You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time.

You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”

Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you.

“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing.

Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again.

“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap.

You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you. You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here.

It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long.

“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open.

Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”

You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”

The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it.

Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own.

You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look.

“What was that about?”

“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging.

“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured.

You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”

You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.”

There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox ♡

Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo

@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns

@likeficsinthewnd ♡

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #hugh jackman x reader #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman

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cy-cyborg · 1 year

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Tips for writing and drawing Wheelchair using characters: Your character's wheelchair can tell us a lot about them

When you first start learning character design, you'll often be told something to the effect of "use your character's outfit to tell us more about them" - and this same principles can be applied to a disabled character's mobility aids.

Mobility aids like wheelchairs, to many disabled people, are a part of us. They can be an extension to a person's body and chances are, if you're going to be using this piece of equipment every day for the foreseeable future (or at least for a good amount of time for the foreseeable future), it's going to start reflecting some aspects of your personality, your interests, your passions, especially when you remember, a lot of people get their wheelchairs custom built for them.

You can use your character's wheelchair to tell us a lot about them without ever needing to show/describe them directly.

Let me show you two examples:

Take a look at these two wheelchairs. they're similar in shape and build, but still pretty different to each other. Can you make some guesses about their users based only on what's shown here?

intended answers below:

Please note, the following points are all generalisations and the real world is rarely this simple. This is to demonstrate how to use disability aids to contribute to your character's design, not how to make assumptions about real people in real life.

So here are some similarities between the chairs:

Both wheelchairs have ridged frames, this means the wheelchair can't be folded in any way. These kinds of chairs can imply a few different things depending on the person. They are typically lighter, sturdier and more durable, and indicate the person probably will be using the wheelchair for a long time and/or has the money to get something built to last (or lives in a place where cost not an issue due to universal/subsidised access to healthcare). They are also typically better to travel with when flying, as they are less likely to be broken by airport security/staff.

Both wheelchairs also lack anti-tip wheels, which are a third set of wheels that extend from the back of the chair. Them not being present could indicate the person is likely pretty confident in their ability to use the chair without worrying about tipping out. It could also indicate they are in an environment where the anti-tips could be more of a hazard than a help, such as on rough terrain.

So lets look at some specifics for the green wheelchair:

Take a look at the wheels. The front wheels are pretty small and appear to be solid, while the back wheels appear to be quite narrow (compared to the orange chair anyway). This indicates the user likely lives somewhere with decent accessibility like a (well funded) city where they are unlikely to encounter unpaved/dirt roads/grass. Small front wheels and thin back wheels are good for manoeuvrability and a smooth ride over even terrain, but they will get stuck as soon as bumps appear, so this probably isn't an issue for this person.

While its a bit hard to tell unless you have seen other similar wheelchairs, this wheelchair is very long in the front, meaning the footplate and front wheels are further away from the seat than most. There could be a few reasons for this. One either indicates the person has very long legs, or a lack of motion in their knees, making it harder to bend their legs. This is moves the chair's centre of gravity forward by a decent amount, making it harder to tip back, which could indicate the person's legs are very light. You tend to see this most often in the wheelchairs of bilateral leg amputees, who are at a greater risk of tipping backwards due to a lack of weight at the front of the chair (even if they wear their prosthetics).

The colour of the chair is bright. This could simply be the character's favourite colour, or maybe this colour has some significance to them?

There are stickers on the side of the chair relating to the Paralympics. This could indicate the person is a fan, or perhaps had some involvement in the games?

The wheelchair has handles on the back, but they are able to be folded down. This is a popular feature for people who are independent enough to go out on their own, but still want to have the option for some help. folding down the handles also deters random strangers from grabbing at you (an unfortunately common experience for wheelchair users).

There is some mild paint scratching to the front of the wheelchair, but nothing too noticable. This is typical of older chairs and people who are a little rough on their chairs. Maybe they've had a few stacks and falls throughout the years, probably going a decent speed.

Ok, now let's look at the orange chair

This wheelchair has very large, inflatable front wheels, and very thick back wheels. This will make the chair slower and less manoeuvrable on flat/even surfaces, but much, much easier to push on rough terrain. This is supported by the amount of mud on the wheelchair.

The seat on this wheelchair tilts upwards slightly. This is called a bucket (or according to an old basketball teammate of mine, a dump-truck lol). This is a feature you typically see in wheelchairs made for people with spinal injuries who are unable to move their legs and engage their lower bodies or core to help keep them stable.

The back of this chair is very low, indicating that if this wheelchair user has a spinal injury, it's probably pretty low on their spine, likely fairly close to the hips, making the person a low-level paraplegic. Higher-level paraplegics and quadriplegics usually need a higher back to help support them and keep them from flopping over, since all the muscles below their place where their spine broke either doesn't work, or is significantly weaker. Higher backs though can get in the way of pushing and reduce mobility, so people who need less support will likely opt for a lower back rest.

This wheelchair has no handles, which indicates the user is probably very independent and doesn't need a lot of help getting around.

The paint on this wheelchair is very scratched up, showing the person is very tough on their wheelchair and doesn't care to get the paint touched up.

This wheelchair has no breaks. This is very common on chairs with larger tiers as they don't tend to be as effective, but also on many outdoor wheelchairs, for two reasons. One is because they are made for rough terrain, so chances are, you aren't going to go far without a big push to get you moving. The second reason is that to get over large bumps and obsticals in a wheelchair, it can be helpful to do very large pushes using the top and front of the wheel. When pushing a normal chair, most people will only use the top section of the wheel to push since it's closest, but these big pushes that use the front of the wheel make it easier to push, since you can benefit from downwards momentum. However, this is also where the breaks are located on most wheelchairs, which can create a hazard. I've lost entire fingernails by them getting snagged on the breaks when pushing this way. So if you live somewhere where the breaks are not going to be helpful to you often, it makes sense to not get them.

And here are the characters who own these wheelchairs

The owner of the green wheelchair is an amalgamation of a few people I knew from when I played wheelchair basketball. They're a bilateral leg amputee, and judging by their outfit (The Official National Wheelchair Basketball uniform for Australia), they're an elite athlete. This wheelchair is not the one they play sport in, but it still needs to be durable enough to withstand the rough treatment of airport staff when traveling, as well as heavy day-to-day use that comes with being an active person. While it needs to be rough, the person also seemed to want to prioritise speed and manoeuvrability, and likely doesn't need to worry about rough terrain too much, so they probably live in a major city.

The owner of the orange chair was inspired by a family friend of mine. They live on a farm, and need a chair that can handle life in those conditions, rough terrain and all. This comes at the cost of speed and manoeuvrability on smoother terrain, but honestly, anyone who's lived in the country knows you won't find many of those around there anyway, so that's not too big of a sacrifice. They are paraplegic, are very confident in their ability to use their wheelchair, and probably doesn't need help too often, but still benefit from some extra stability support from the raised seat on their chair.

Conclusion

Once again, these are generalisations, and in real life there are always exceptions, but I hope this helped demonstrate what I meant when I said you can use your character's wheelchair to tell us more info about them if you're smart about it.

I originally planned to do a whole series of these, showing a wider variety of wheelchairs and the people who they belong to, but I guess I kind of forgot because they've been sitting, abandoned on my hard drive for the last 2 years 😅. If that's something you folks would be interested in seeing though, let me know, I'd happily revive the series lol.

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the-fiction-witch · 1 month

Text

Little Knight

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Gwayne Hightower Couple - Gwayne X Reader Reader - Visenya Hightower (Daughter of Rhaenyra and Wife of Gwayne) Rating - 15 Word Count - 1715

Requested -

Hello Miss Witch, me again! Can I request again in your “Boys Yet To Have Books” please? I really love the Oscar Tully I requested, how you write it is simply divine! But now I’d like to request a Gwayne Hightower story. Wherein he is married to Rhaenyra’s sister named “Visenya” (many years after Alicent’s marriage to Viserys) to have a stronger bond between Hightower and Targaryen. But the thing is that they both resided in Old Town. They both had their first child, a girl the same age as Daeron and now expecting another one. No spice please, just Gwayne being the best husband and father ever, being really clingy and touchy, showering sweet words and kisses to his wife exactly like a simp haha. I am a million times grateful if you do this request, thank you! <33

Gwayne rides into the stables, pulling up and dismounting his horse bag slung over his shoulder. He tries to hurry his way inside fast and easy but finds the Maester pestering him as he walks

"Ser, Ser, A raven from your sister," The short man bobbles about following Gawyne around the yard,

Gwayne lets out a sigh, “What does my sister want?”

"She requests for you to take coach and begin the road to king's landing, Ser."

Gwayne grumbles, rubbing his forehead. “By the gods do I need to spell it out for her… no. I am not going to Kings Landing.”

"But Ser-" He began,

Gwayne held up his hand, stopping the man there. “What part of “no” are you unable to comprehend? I will not be going to that viper’s nest, I do not care for how much my sister begs and nags, nothing she can say will change my mind.” Gawyne sighed once more, "I will not risk such a movement, I will not do it. Visenya could begin her labours any day I will not risk taking her on the road in her condition much less to Kings Landing just to please my sister. Visenya will remain here, in our bed-chamber, with her maids and maesters while we wait for the baby. and I will be here. By her side."

The Maester began to argue more but at this,

“Do. Not. Push. Me.” Gwayne turned to face him, a growl upon his lips.

the Maester froze like a deer in the headlights at this, his legs going still and his lip quivering slightly as he nodded his head. The maester grumbled but relented, knowing he was not going to get any further than that, “Very well, ser, I shall inform your sister… again.”

Gwayne let out a scoff, running a hand through his hair in a bout of frustration. “I would not waste your birds on my sister… I’m certain she has a mind to flay you alive if you say “no” once more.” Gwayne heads inside the Hightower, heading up the many stairs to his chambers, already he felt a giddy smile as he opened the door.

The balcony doors open letting a soft breeze blow in from the sunset sea, the sweet canopy bed shaded by wooden screens. And there she lay Visenya his beloved wife. Long hair messy from her rest, wearing only her long white nightgown and her socks, her baby bump ripe and ready to pop any day. She hums softly as she slowly sews little baby clothes.

Gwayne stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her with a soft smile. He thanked the gods she was his, and questioned whatever luck he had been given for the brief time just to call her his own. He could have watched her forever, until Oldtown and the Hightower sank into the sea. But he moved further into the room, closing the doors behind him. He sets his bag down beside the bed, walking over and sitting on the edge. He looks at her sewing before his eyes move up to her face, his smile only growing. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, then her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, then her jaw, then her collar, then her chest, then her bump, where he finally stops. He reaches out, resting his hand on her belly, rubbing it softly with a gentle smile. “Are you working on the clothes again, my love?”

she nodded "Mhm, I made our little knight some little socks to warm his tiny toes,"

Gwayne chuckled softly, grinning at the thought of their child and their tiny little toes ripe for kisses and tickles, “How shall our little night shall be to have such tiny socks, why I could fit the whole knight in my sock,”

“And poison the poor lad,” she joked,

“You are cruel to me my love,” he teased giving her another kiss, “You know not yet if it is a boy or girl, love…”

"No, we shall have to be surprised."

Gwayne smiled softly, taking her hand in one of his and intertwining their fingers. “Indeed, though regardless, I’m certain they will be a gorgeous and strong child. They have us as parents, after all…”

she nodded with a giggle in agreement,

“And I spent the day in the Old Town gardens and I gathered you enough Moonblooms for a whole batch of soap.” He cooed glancing to his bag, “As soon as your hungry let me know and I will make it myself for you,”

“Thank you darling,” she cooed, "What did the maester want, he came looking for you earlier"

Gwayne let out a sigh, he laid down resting his head on her bump in such a way he could still look at her face, “Ummm have I ever told you how beautiful you are,”

“Yes you have,” she smiled, “Maseter… wanted… what?” She reminds,

“You know just staggeringly beautiful,”

“Gwayne!” she complained, “Don’t just avoid the topic,” She warns, “You are causing me distress,” She teased rubbing her belly,

“More ravens from my sister, demanding my presence in Kings’ Landing… I once again refused, I will not take you on the road with you in your current state. It is not fair to you, nor the babe.”

"You know she will not stop her asking until she feels the babe in her arms"

He let out another sigh, “I do not care how many ravens she sends, I will continue to refuse her. I will not risk you or our baby for my sister’s whims.” he explained, “It is three months ride to kings landing, swiftly and you are in no condition to travel for that long, let along be on any swift movements. Our babe will be born by the time we arrive and I will not risk you and our baby’s health to have your labours in the back of a coach. No. You will be here. With all the citadel’s maesters to aid you, all your handmaidens. And I by your side. In your own bed, with your own views, Visenya,” he took her hand in his holding it to his chest,

"But don't you want to take your beautiful wife, swollen heavy with your babe to court to show off?" she teased

Gwayne chuckled, bringing the back of her hand to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it.

“While seeing you in court would be wonderful, you are more important then any lords, ladies or my sister. You are my wife, my love, my Visenya.”

He shifted once more so he was lying partially on top of her, his body mostly on her side, his head now against her torso. He wrapped his arms around her waist, He listened to the sound of her breathing, the steady beat of her heart, and most importantly the sound of the little pitter-patter of their child’s own delicate little heartbeat. Everything was perfect, here in this moment in his mind, often he whispered sweet cooes to her and peppered her with kisses telling her and their baby how much he adores them,

Suddenly the door to the chamber flies open

"Did I miss it!" Lianna yelled in panic, standing at the door in her green gown, fresh from her library session with her cousin Daeron,

Gwayne nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden shout from the doorway, not expecting his daughter’s sudden appearance. The surprise was soon replaced with a sigh and a chuckled at the girl’s question. “Miss what, Lianna?”

"My baby brother!" She bolted over jumping onto their bed with excitement

Gwayne chuckled, shaking his head, his hands going to her little arms to prevent her from accidentally moving the bed too hard, knowing Visenya needed to be on her back most of the time these days. “Lianna, you’ve asked this every day for two months, and it’s always the same answer. Your brother has not arrived yet.”

"Why not?"

Gwayne sighed, smiling at his impatient, and at times, irritatingly stubborn daughter. “Because these things take time, sweetling. Give it another month or two, you’ll have your baby brother to dote on and bother all the time.”

lianna nodded, and pulled a bundle of flowers from her back "For you mama," She offered the flowers to Visenya,

"Awww thank you my sweet girl," she cooed taking the flowers from her, setting them in a vase beside the bed with the flowers’ Lianna brought her yesterday, but keeping one out to rub on her belly to soothe the little baby within,

Gwayne scooted over, The sight made him smile. Lianna was so sweet, though a handful at times. “Those are beautiful Lianna, you did well with them,”

“Lianna, would you like to feel your sibling move? I can feel our little knight right now…”

Lianna immediately came to rest her hands on Visenya's belly "I feel him! I feel him!"

Gwayne chuckled softly, watching Lianna rest her hands on her mother’s belly, a smile upon her face. He reached out, gently resting his own hand over Visenya’s stomach, smiling at the feeling of their child moving around in there. He could practically feel Lianna’s excitement, and he smiled softly at their daughter’s enthusiasm for the little one.

Visenya chuckled, placing her own hand over her Gwaynes, both of them now resting on her stomach.

“See? He’s a little knight indeed. He has been very active lately, moving around in there quite a lot.”

“Umm, I think he is almost ready to join us,” He smiled,

“I think so too,”

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notmyneighbor · 5 months

Text

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 10

Word Count ~ 5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ fluff and smut

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

taglist ~ @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp @kaislashes @charli33-b33 @finalitgirl @kawaiichookie @vexillum-moeru @blackcurrant28 @r4yyyyy @dazedin2d @mrsspector-grant

Monday morning comes all too soon.

You’d stayed up later than you’d intended. Talking about the wedding. You’d agreed on an outdoor ceremony. To be held in late autumn, maybe. Still nothing definite. Baby names. This still unresolved. You think you’d fallen asleep mid debate.

Your doppelgänger has to get up even earlier on mornings when he stays at the farmhouse.

He’s insisted you sleep in before but you never do. You don’t want to miss any time being with him. It was worth missing sleep. Maybe you’d have matching shadows under your eyes.

You smile sleepily at him. It’s still dark but you can sense he’s awake, looking at you. You reach blindly for his face. He turns it, kissing your palm, his hand covering yours.

“I love you,” you greet him. You can’t say it enough.

“I love you, too.” A little regretful sigh before leaving the bed. The sounds of him getting ready in the bathroom, less obvious as you make your way downstairs and get coffee going. The sky is gradually lightening now. You can see some small wild brown rabbits through the kitchen window, rummaging near the bushes for breakfast before heading back to the burrow. You watch them scamper and forage while you prepare your own breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast to accompany the coffee.

An arm wraps around your shoulders, drawing you backwards. You can smell soap and shampoo and aftershave. He’s gotten better at the routine. Getting ready faster. Or maybe just rushing to steal a few more of these moments with you.

You lean against the doppelgänger, your head dropping back as his lips find your neck, then brush the shell of your ear. The smell of the coffee and cooked food permeates the kitchen. Warm kisses before the warm liquid slips down your throat after your first caffeinated sip.

The same words are spoken each morning before he steps into the delivery truck. I love you. Be safe.

The familiar ache is present before he’s even left the driveway. You miss him already. You worry for him. The rising sun kisses the dew on the lawn. You wrap your bathrobe tighter around your waist and head back up the steps of the porch.

***

Today is the day you’re introducing your fiancé to your parents.

You’re not sure which of you is more nervous as you drive to their house.

“What if your father says I can’t marry you?” Francis’ copy inquires anxiously, not for the first time, his fingers twisting restlessly in his lap until you reach for his hand, clutching it tightly.

“He won’t. I told you, it’s just a formality. A cultural politeness,” you reassure him. Still unsure of how this meeting is going to go. You’re going to be lying to your parents, after all. Telling them you’re marrying a human resident of the building you guard, knowing full well he’s really an alien. “We’ll get through this, love. Last thing before we move in together.”

A crooked little smile at this reminder. Still nervous. Your mouth brushes his knuckles before you return your attention to the road. Not as much traffic on a weekend morning.

“I’m surprised they don’t live in the building you work at.”

“There weren’t any vacancies or else they might have. There’s quite a waiting list to get into a DDD guarded building.”

“Meaning my apartment will be in demand once I move out.”

“Yes.” You sigh. “I’ll missing seeing you there. But then, I’ll have you at home, so, it’s a fair trade off.”

“Making you get up extra early five days a week.”

“Worth it.”

Another smile, this one sturdier. He was relaxing a little. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You’ve arrived at your destination. A brick and mortar home close to downtown. The narrow strip of lawn immaculately kept. Window boxes full of flowers. Your mother is watching your approach through the screen door, unable to wait any longer, hurrying down the trio of cement stairs and wrapping her arms around you. It had been several months since your last visit. You really should come more often.

Maybe you would, now. With a grandchild in tow, one day.

She steps back to inspect you. Looking you over, making sure you were healthy, eating properly. Remarking on the color in your cheeks which only heightens it further. You introduce your partner to her, noticing your father still hovering in the background, near the stairs.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Francis’ copy closes the distance and holds out a hand and you beam with pride. You’d rehearsed this. Your dad looks stern, but that’s just his way. He accepts the offering, his eyes boring into your fiancé’s. Did he suspect? He couldn’t possibly.

“Well, come on in. We’ve got lunch ready for you,” he invites, and you sigh inwardly with relief. So far, so good.

“Your young man is so handsome,” your mother murmurs as you ascend the stairs. You nod, holding the door open for her. You can hear your beau talking to your father in the dining room. Your dad was definitely a sports fan, and you knew for a fact neither Francis nor his doppel followed any pastimes. Hopefully they’d found some neutral pleasantries to converse about.

“Let me help you in the kitchen, Mom.” She accepts, leading you into the room. Smaller than your own, necessary with these inner city dwellings. Everything was more compact. Efficient. “New wallpaper?” You observe, noting the previous floral pattern has been exchanged for a linear print.

“Yes, last month. Very contemporary.” You grab a pair of potholders and remove a casserole from the oven while she begins unloading side dishes onto the plates.

“That’s a lovely ring, dear. He must have saved up quite a lot for that.”

“Yes, it’s pretty, isn’t it?” You pause to admire the engagement solitaire you’re wearing. “Francis always lived quite frugally. Lives quite frugally,” you correct hurriedly.

“Well, nothing wrong with being sensible when it comes to finances. Your father will appreciate that sentiment.”

“Do you think they’re okay in there?” You gaze in the direction of the open doorway that leads to the dining room. You still can’t quite make out what they’re saying.

“Oh, I’m sure your Francis is doing just fine. Don’t worry.”

You finish helping her fill the plates and then lift two, carrying them into the other room. Your father is seated directly across from your fiancé. Talking about the apartments. News. The war effort. You dart an anxious glance at the doppel but he’s doing well, keeping his voice neutral, answering everything politely. You can tell he’s relieved to see you, though, the second you enter the room his eyes lighting on yours.

“Here we are. Now, Francis—do you go by Francis? Not Frank, or…?”

“Francis is fine, ma’am.”

“Francis, we’re not shy about eating a good meal. There are seconds if you want them, just ask.”

“Thank you.”

You sit next to your doppel and your mother settles across from you. “Um, before we dig in, Francis would like to say Grace.” Your parents weren’t devout, but they respected the faith well enough. It had been a constant practice before every meal you’d sat down to with the milkman’s copy.

“Oh, certainly.” Your mother bows her head, and you see a faint flicker of something—maybe approval?—in your father’s eyes before he follows suit.

The simple prayer completed, you find yourself demolishing the contents on your plate with enthusiasm. Nothing ever beats your mother’s cooking. You’ve missed it.

The conversation flows well, with only a few pauses here and there. You appreciate the fact that your mother keeps drawing the invader back into the discussion, making sure he feels involved, a welcome participant.

Your father is still a little reserved, much of the communication done with his eyes. Intently regarding your beau. Studying him. You abandon the napkin draped on your lap and reach for the pretender’s thigh to reassure him, squeezing lightly. He squeezes your hand back.

By the time dessert arrives—you’re suddenly wishing you hadn’t stuffed yourself quite so full, you should have left room, because who could say no to homemade apple pie?—you can see your fiancé is anxious to ask the question he’s wanted to all along, shifting a little restlessly in his seat, the fork sinking into the sugared crust forgotten.

“Sir, I’d like to ask your permission for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The room goes quiet, the movement of cutlery on porcelain still. “You’re going to provide for my girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s special. She deserves the best.”

“I agree. I swear to you I will do everything in my power to care for her and make her happy.”

Another pause. You’re holding your breath. Your mother is staring at your father, worrying her bottom lip.

“Well, I can’t ask for more than that. You have my permission.”

A collective sigh of relief from the guests at the table. Your mother’s hands clasp, her eyes shining. You press your lips against the doppel’s shoulder. He’d passed. You’d done it. You manage to clear your plate, offering to help your mother with the dishes.

“I like your Francis. He’s a fine young man. Respectful. Hard working. Maybe a little too hard working. The boy looks a little in want of sleep. Or is that your doing?”

“Mom!” You gasp, and she nudges your arm.

“I’m only teasing. But he’s a good man. He’s got your father’s approval, and you know that isn’t easy. Have you thought about a date yet?”

“We were actually thinking about the fall.”

“This fall? 1955?”

“Yes.” You finish lathering a plate with soap and rinse it, setting it on the rack to dry.

“That’s a little soon. You’re not…you know…”

“No, Mom. Not yet.”

“You know I’ve been wanting grandchildren. I know your career is important to you, but you should indulge in a domestic life. Stay home and raise a family. It would make me feel better not having you facing those horrible doppels day in and day out.”

“I want to help people, Mom. So others can have that kind of life. But I would take time off for a baby.”

“Only one?”

“Francis wants several.”

“I wish your father had,” she mutters, the dish sponge squeaking against the inside of a glass. “I’m with your young man on this. The more the merrier, provided you’re doing alright financially. Fill the house, dear. You won’t regret it. It will be the happiest time of your life.” She kisses your cheek. “That’s the last of the dishes. Let’s go find out what our men are up to.”

Your men, as it turns out, are outside in the front yard. Your father sounded like he was giving tips on lawn care. Poor Francis.

“Hey.” You slide your arm through the doppel’s, coming to your fiancé’s rescue. “We’re all done in the kitchen, if you’re ready to head out.”

He nods, shaking your father’s hand, then returning the hug your mother offers before heading to the car. You embrace your parents again, your mother already on her way back inside after bidding you farewell while your father lingers by your side.

“You like him, Dad?”

“He’s different, that one. Something about him…”

A little surge of alarm runs through you. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just something,” he murmurs thoughtfully, then shakes himself. “One thing’s for certain, though: he’s crazy about you.”

“He is, Dad. And I feel the same way about him.”

“Keep us posted when you set a date. You be careful with those doppels.” His lips graze your forehead and then he retreats indoors.

You settle behind the wheel, glancing over at your fiancé. “What do you think?”

“I think that was stressful, but overall it went well. What did your father say to you just now?”

“That he could see you’re crazy about me.” You lean over and kiss him. “Want to go home and celebrate?”

“Yes. Maybe wait a bit, though. That was a lot of food.”

“My mom always fills the plates like that,” you agree, starting the engine. “You did great today. I’m really proud of you. Really happy.”

“I’m glad, sweet girl. Me too.”

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

***

There’s an advertisement for an event the following weekend sitting on the kitchen table.

The paper had been folded and tucked into the doppel’s work pants, retrieved when you’d been gathering a load of laundry together.

“I forgot about that,” he murmurs apologetically, kissing the patch of skin behind your ear, making you shiver. “It’s a dance. I didn’t know if you wanted to go. Someone on my route gave it to me.”

Social gatherings were few and far between. Dangerous, these days. You generally avoided them.

It’s tempting, though. You’re conflicted again. Wanting to go out with your beau, being afraid of discovery.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do you have to do the washing right now, or can we…?”

“We can.” You set the basket down and turn in his arms. His hands slide down your back, then shift to stroke over your hips.

“My beautiful girl.” His lips touch yours.

“My handsome doppel.” You return the gesture, your fingers carding through the hair curling at the nape of his neck. He needed another trim.

“Come upstairs with me.”

You follow him eagerly. He pauses midway through unbuttoning his shirt to cup your face between his hands, kissing you. He’s forgotten to undo his shirt cuffs, the sleeves still clinging when he tries to shed the garment. You come to his rescue and he stops you for another kiss. Little by little the clothing piles onto the floor.

Neither of you has switched the bedside lamp on. It’s just the two of you in the darkness. The moon is hiding tonight.

“I love you so much,” he breathes into your ear as he enters you.

“I love you.” You wrap your legs around him tightly, rocking up against him. Gentle movements. Filling you. Withdrawing. Stretched again. Plunging deep. The place where he ends meeting the place where you begin.

“Is it wrong to pray? To ask for something, is it so different than the words we recite before meals, these ones from the heart, will He answer me, a monster…” He whispers against your skin, your hair, musings you’ve mulled over yourself, surely he deserved it, if any did, you know what he wants, what you want, too.

“Ask, love. Ask, I’ll ask too, Francis…”

“Please…” His hips drive against yours. Sheathed faster. Impaled and then not, in rapid succession. His mouth is rough on yours, sliding sloppily off the edges, words half uttered, some in that strange native language of his.

Inside. Pressure. Contractions. An echoing pulse. Liquid heat. Your nails digging into his shoulder. His teeth scraping your throat. Filling you. Breathless kisses before the calm.

***

You don’t typically make small talk with the residents.

There’s always a kind of tension between you, their fates resting in your hands. You were trained to be professionally detached, but that obviously had failed in Francis’ case. Still, you’re gradually warming up to some of the others. The happiness of your relationship making words tumble free easier. Today it is the physicist at your window, Dr. Afton. He adjusts his glasses with a long practiced gesture, shoving them back up the bridge of his nose as you examine his ID and entry request. He is listed for the day and everything checks out. A quick call to his fiancée confirms what you already know. He’s legit. The real deal.

“Have you and Mia set a date yet?” You slide his documents back towards him through the slot.

“Spring, I think. You and Francis?”

“Autumn, maybe.”

“So soon,” he murmurs. His eyes flick down for the briefest of moments and you don’t misunderstand the significance.

“Oh, no, I’m not…I mean, we’re trying, but…” You flush heavily as you stammer. Your attempt at small talk was seemingly backfiring. Maybe it was best to just keep things professional after all. “Anyway, have a good rest of your day.”

The doctor stands looking at you expectantly. “The door?” He prompts gently.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” You hastily operate the door controls and the man leaves the entryway.

Your next attendant makes your face break out in a grin. Your beau has returned.

The replicant milkman deposits his required documents into the slot, grinning back at you. There’s an extra slip of paper there, something torn off his delivery list on the clipboard, perhaps.

I love you

You mouth it back at him. He lays a hand on the window. You match your palm to his, dwarfed by the larger structure.

“How was your day?”

“I made an ass out of myself in front of Afton, but yeah, good. You?”

“Not bad. Can I come in?”

“Uh-huh.” You press the buzzer. Your fiancé doesn’t take the elevator like you’d expected, instead invading the security booth.

“Sir, this is for DDD staff only,” you mock protest.

“Does it count if I’m going to be married to a DDD staff member?”

“Mmm, I’m not sure.” You’re about to step closer to him when you hear someone entering the building. A middle aged man you don’t recognize wearing a suit. The same DDD enameled pin on his lapel. You hurriedly take the papers and ID he offers while the doppelgänger takes a step back, still out of view of the window, near the open doorway.

“I’ll need to call to verify your identity,” you remark. You don’t get visits from personnel other than the cleaners that often, and if you do, you usually get notified first. The man’s face is expressionless. He nods and you proceed, dialing the number of the headquarters.

“Good afternoon. I have someone here from the R&D department. I wasn’t expecting…I see. Alright. Yes, thank you.” You hang up the phone. “They’ve vouched for you. What brings you here today?”

“Something that will revolutionize the screening process, we’re hoping.” He sets a briefcase down on the narrow ledge of the counter, using a key on a cord around one wrist to unlock it before thumbing the latches and opening the case. He lifts an object and places it on the ledge before shutting and removing the briefcase. “This device here emits a frequency that the doppels can’t resist. It forces them to come out of hiding, as it were.”

“How do you know?” You can see your doppel’s body tense in your peripheral vision.

“Oh, a little project we’ve been working on. Sometimes the cleaners bring us gifts. We don’t always exterminate…but I suppose you wouldn’t know that, once the screen goes down. Well, in any case, they’ve made for good lab rats. It’s taken us awhile, but I think this just might be what we need to turn the tide and gain the upper hand.”

“You’ve been experimenting on them,” you whisper, unable to keep the revulsion and horror out of your voice.

“Why not? It’s not like they haven’t taken their own POWs from our side.”

The urge to glance at your fiancé to confirm the truth of this is overwhelming but you resist. “Why would they want to keep us prisoner?”

“I’m sure something unsavory. Food supply. Experiments. Who can say? Disgusting creatures. But I don’t need to tell you about that. You encounter them on a daily basis. A nearly perfect record too, I hear. Only one…mishap.” He grins. His teeth are yellow. You find yourself disliking the man more and more.

“No one was hurt,” you say defensively.

“Thank goodness. Now, to the task at hand. This device is extremely simple to use. It’s already calibrated to the correct frequency. No need to adjust. Simply flip the switch. Undetectable to human ears. But very effective for the doppels. They’ll reveal their true form within seconds. Then it’s just a matter of calling the disposal team. Just think of the applications this will have once this gets approved for mass production. No more fear of the unknown. No more doubts. The ultimate weapon of retaliation.”

Your stomach turns with every sentence he utters. There would be no hiding for Francis. For the baby you would one day conceive. All of the happiness you’d felt earlier evaporates. You grip the edge of the counter as he demonstrates the switch to turn the device on and activate the frequency.

You hear the creak of the wood when the doppelgänger grips the door frame.

“Yes, I see, easy to use. Better conserve the battery, right?” You finally surrender to the impulse to glance over at the invader. His chest is heaving, his teeth razor sharp. Bloodshot eyes that plead with you, the familiar shimmer outlining his true, hidden form appearing.

“That is one of the drawbacks, yes. We’re still working on a more reliable power source.” He flips the switch off and you can’t help but sigh loudly in relief. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that you’re to use it only in cases when there is any doubt. You’ll still be performing the standard screening procedures. But if this has the results that I expect it will, I’m certain this will become the new industry standard. And give us the advantage at last. I’ll be collecting this after a one week trial. I’ll have a questionnaire for you to fill out after you’ve tested it out.”

“Of course.” You plaster a smile on your features, willing the man to leave.

“Shall I bring it to you, or…?”

“No, company policy prohibits anyone from entering the booth that’s not authorized. Technically you haven’t been, so…”

“Quite right. Well, I leave it in your capable hands, then.” The briefcase in hand, he turns and exits the building.

You immediately turn to see Francis’ clone sweating profusely, still struggling to return to human form.

“Francis! Are you alright? Love, it’s okay, I’m here.” Your hands cup the intruder’s face, disregarding the dangerous rows of cuspids stretched wide, peering into the crimson streaked eyes.

He shudders, his hands—claws—closing over your wrists. You’ve never seen him have this much difficulty. What was that evil frequency the scientists had discovered?

“Francis, it’s me. Come back to me, love. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Another violent tremor. Then his grip on you lessens, his eyes clearing, the haze dissipating. The facial features rearrange to form the familiar ones of the milkman.

“Sweetheart,” he manages, his breathing still ragged.

“Yes, Francis. You’re okay.” You wrap your arms around him and he squeezes you tightly.

“The pain, love. You can’t imagine. We have to destroy that. We can’t…”

“We’ll think of something. Tamper with it. Lie about it’s effectiveness. I don’t know. Something.” As wondrous as it would be to have access to technology like that, you couldn’t risk its use for your doppel’s sake. For your future children’s. “I didn’t know they were experimenting on…is it true, what he said? Have the invaders been taking humans prisoner?”

He releases you. “Not my squadron, I promise you that. But yes. It’s true.” He draws in a shaky breath. “I know I said in the beginning I wanted to experiment…now, I would never condone…”

“I know. I know you.” You retrieve the device, deciding to store it in the lockbox under the desk for now. Francis’ doppel gives you a wide berth as you walk around the booth carrying it, backing away as you make the corner. “You should go upstairs and rest. My shift will be done soon.” He nods, still looking shaken. You embrace him again, watching as he steps onto the elevator, then your eyes flick to the lockbox.

A new complication that you didn’t need.

***

Francis Mosses’ apartment is silent that afternoon when you enter.

No record rotating on the player. No meal being prepared on the stove. There is just the doppel seated on the couch, the crocheted blanket draped over the cushions behind him. He hasn’t even removed his work uniform, except for the cap which is resting on the coffee table. He hadn’t locked the door or risen to greet you at it, his tired eyes shifting to watch as you sit next to him.

“Francis, are you feeling alright?” You’re wondering if the device didn’t have some lingering ill effects.

“Fatigued. I’ll be alright. I’m sorry I didn’t get the door for you. I’m still…” He holds out a hand that tremors as if with palsy. You’ve never seen him this ghostly pale.

“Do you have any appetite at all? Should I fix us something, or…?”

“Just stay with me, love.”

You snuggle closer to him, slipping off your shoes and drawing your knees up, tucking your stockinged feet to one side, your fingers stroking his forearm. You’re suddenly feeling tired yourself, the rush of adrenaline from earlier now leaving you feeling sapped of energy. There was a nice breeze coming in through the living room window. Your lover’s arm curls around you. You fall asleep.

It’s dark when you awaken.

You’re disoriented, blinking away the vestiges of a dream you don’t recall the details of. Francis’ doppel is cuddling you. Awake. You can tell by the rhythm of his breathing.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

“We both needed the rest.” His lips press against your hair.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Physically, anyway. Mentally…I’m worried.”

“I know. Me too. We’ll figure something out, Francis.” You reach out blindly to find his hand. “Want to do something improper like skip to dessert and have cookies and milk in bed and forget everything for a bit?”

“Hmmm. Are you included in that menu?”

“I can be.”

“Then it’s a deal. Shower first?”

“Definitely.”

His lips touch your forehead. “You always make everything better.”

You’re more concerned than you’re letting on. But you don’t want to focus on that right now. You want the doppel to feel safe, secure. Enjoy the peace you’ve found together for tonight.

You feel him leaning away from you, reaching for the lamp. His condition does appear to have improved from earlier. Healthy color returned. Hands steady. You dig around in the drawer where you’ve stored some spare pajamas while he turns the shower on.

“Don’t fuss too much on what you’re wearing. It won’t be staying on.”

Oh, he was definitely feeling better. “Maybe I’ll just skip it entirely.”

“Now we’re talking.”

You strip off your work clothes, your fiancé already halfway undressed, finishing that task now and leading your into the deluge of warm water. You take a moment to soak your hair, then switch places so Francis’ copy can do the same.

You grab the bar of soap from the shallow ledge on the wall and begin lathering your hands together, working up a cloud of suds that you quickly smear across the cloned milkman’s chest. You take turns washing each other, hands lingering when they reach nipples, buttocks, between legs. You’re pushed gently back against the shower wall, the soap slipping from your grasp. The doppel cups his hands beneath the spray, splashing it over your body, making sure you’re rinsed, lifting one leg and guiding it to rest on the edge of the tub while he kneels down, blinking water out of his eyes, his damp fingers now working against your sex, followed by his tongue, sucking a mouthful of shower water and your clit in one go. You moan, raking your fingers through his damp dark hair, marveling at the feel of that frenzied muscle dividing your nether lips, plunging inside and then swirling around your clit.

You’re thinking of that alien cock of his, the one you’d mostly felt more than saw, and you suddenly crave the feeling of it again. You won’t dare ask him for that tonight, not after what had happened earlier when he’d been forced out of hiding, but another time, you want that in your mouth, back inside of you, fucking you missionary style, driving in deeply. You’re already swollen, dripping, that slick liquid thicker than the water pelting your bodies, a trail he follows with lips and tongue and even teeth, nipping at the soft skin of your inner thighs, the arc of one hip, the crest of your mound before he’s sucking your bud again. He’s leaning into you, offering you a chance to rest some of your body weight, the raised leg shaking as you find a swift release, bursting on his tongue, ripened hive spilling creamy honey before you’re rinsed clean.

He shuts the shower off and you’re barely swiped with a towel before he’s pushing you down into the bed, picking right up where he left off, sliding his erection into the place his tongue and fingers have just vacated.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me, I’ll do anything you want.”

Catering to you. You feel you should be the one making the offer. “I’m yours. I love everything with you. You decide. This is nice. This is…oh…good.” He’s picked up the pace, droplet covered hips kissing yours over and over. The shower water still clinging to him drips from his hair, splashing your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. You think of kissing him that day it rained on your front porch, already falling so fast, so far, Francis the bridge but the doppel the destination, it didn’t feel wrong, it couldn’t, when it was like this between you.

“Sweet girl, you’re so perfect for me.” A word you don’t know, but the tone is in the same vein, affection, lust, breathed beside your cheek, moaned against your throat.

“I want to learn it. All of it. Starting with your name. I love you.” The words are pushed into the mouth that closes over yours, hot breath, that thick cock of his incessantly drumming inside of your womb. You’re lost in the dark of his eyes, in that blissful realm he drags you back into, your body shattering around him, milking him, urging to be mated, claimed, marked as his. He calls you something that sounds almost like wife and you nearly are, bonded to this foreigner that’s crossed galaxies and mapped stars to build a new universe within you, starting with this, that sowed seed, fingers interwoven, cock buried deep, face burrowed in the curve of neck damp from the strands of hair clinging there.

After there is cold milk from the fridge and chocolate chip cookies, melting sweet on your tongue as Francis’ doppel holds you against him, licking at the stray sweet granules clinging to your lips. “Your first lesson,” he begins, and it is him speaking now, the invader beneath, that deeper voice stirring interest in your loins again already, twice sated but still eager for more. “My name is…”

#francis mosses #milkman #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor #the milkman #doppelganger #that’s not my neighbor

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