#which i assume is because he had a friend to help watch out unlike usual | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

echantedtoon · 9 months ago

Text

YANDERE DEMONS AND BRIDES P2

Ok. So part 2 is here. Mostly because Hantengu is actually 7 people packed into one and I'll be needing to tackle them all in their own posts. I'll do a part 3 with the lower moons next

Warnings for yandere-ish (???) themes, kidnapping mentions, possibly death mentioned, mention gore(Hantengu ripping up his body to let the clones out) and threats, Mentions of Urogi accidentally cutting Yn, mentions of a dead animal, Karaku IS his own warning, possibly some innuendos, etc.

I won't really do them separately because I can't really see one developing feelings for a single clone because they'd be inside Hantengu most of the time so the only way you'd develop any relationship with the clones is by hanging about Hantengu the entire time.

Zohakutan will also be included as he is a part of Hantengu but his segment WILL BE PLATONIC!! I DON'T CONDONE ANY OTHER WAY!!

HANTENGU + CLONES:

COMPASSION AND PATIENCE

-If you know him then you know his backstory and victim complex. Unless he's killing someone to eat or carrying out whatever orders Muzan wants him to, he's avoiding people like the plague which still he blames everyone else for. So it's unlikely he'd actually meet you unless Muzan ordered him to eliminate you, he's hungry, you're a slayer, or it's by complete accident. Let's go with the last one for this.

-Like usually he hides away from anything and everything. This time taking shelter in an old abandoned shed during the day. Only it isn't abandoned. It's YOUR house. And it's not unoccupied because you come home later in the day from hours of shopping and visiting friends in the town a few miles away from you. You don't even notice the demon in your home because he's hiding in the darkest corner shaking and watching as you walk about putting away new fabrics and food to be made into lunches and dinners later days.

-You accidentally bump into your kitchen cabinet knocking a pot off making a loud noise that startled the demon into shrieking and scrambling across the room startling you into shrieking, dropping objects, and whirling around wide eyed. You both freeze. He's mumbling and shaking like a cat dipped in cold water under your kitchen table and you're staring at what looks like an old man. You both just freeze staring at one another.

-Eventually you slowly relax seeing it was just an old man but you were still highly cautious. It was too dark for you to tell he was a demon in the limited lantern light and the fact most of him was hidden under the table. After a moment you speak to him in a gentle voice asking him if he's alright and when he answers you in sobs and shakes, you couldn't help but feel so bad for him. You took care of your grandparents until they passed away so seeing this assumed poor old man has you feeling so sorry.

-So you offer him something he's never had before. You smile so beautifully at him and tell him it's not his fault for being scared. You ask if he has any nearby family and as he answers no, you tell him he can stay the night in the guest room and you'd figure out what to do in the morning. You try to coax him out by offering him some food to which he reluctantly agrees. Being so used to helping the elderly thanks to the care you gave your grandparents, you easily held him pulling him slowly to his shaking feet and slowly walk him towards the guest room taking your arm in his. Hantengu is stunned, shocked, twisted-......And in his twisted mind it's already concluded one terrible fate for you.

-Hantengu is not one shy to marriage. As a human he's had many relationships and families even if they never ended well. He doesn't remember a lot about them. He has a faint knowledge of having previous wives but he doesn't remember any of them. But that doesn't stop him from thinking that you would be the perfect wife. Compared to other demons Hantengu is the most delusional and the fastest to turn yandere FAST.

-You are surprised when you wake up the next day and find the old man gone no where to be found in your home or the town and no one has seen any old man walking around by themselves when you ask around. Strange. You spend all day looking for him out of worry but give up when you could find him no where in the town, your home, or the nearby forest. You return home before it gets too dark and are surprised to find all of the raw meat you bought the day before completely gone. You only find one half pork chop left with what looks like a wolf's sharp teeth had taken a big bite outta it.

-It weirds you out. On top of the sudden disappearance it sends a bad feeling through you. However you chalk up the old man to a wild dream and the missing meat as a wild animal because honestly you did leave the front door open when you rushed out to search for him. There's no other evidence of him being there so you soon put it out of your mind.

-A few days later you truly realize the horror of your choices as your front door opens wide one night and lit by the bright fireplace is a horrifyingly terrible creature. Shaking with tears running down his face. You're too stunned, to scared, to petrified to speak as he just crawls towards you and tell you in a sobbing but affectionate voice that your husband was home.

-In Hantengu's mind you both are together with you being the perfect caring wife when in reality you're too scared and confused to correct him (for now). He will bombard you with needy whines and sobs expecting you to comfort him with whatever it is he's terrified about. Awkwardly and fearfully you do buying your time until you can figure out what to do about this demon sitting down at the dinner table shaking and expecting dinner (which is usually just raw steaks and such for him) to be served by his pretty wife.

"It's N-Not my fault! You know that d-don't you?"

The rest of these guys all share a similar sentiment to Hantengu however they do have their own opinions on the subject.

URAMI:

-(Bare with me. It was the only gif of Urami I could find.) Actually is the clone you see the very least. In the year and a half of you nicely pretending to go along with Hantengu's 'wife' delusion before Tanjiro frees you unknowingly, you only ever encounter Urami twice.

-The first time you meet him is the same day you're bombarded by all of the clones. They were all itching to come out to meet their new 'wife'. As they're all extensions of Hantengu they all share the same delusions. So you shrieked as Hantengu ripped himself up forming two younger men before they ripped up each other turning into FOUR young men along with one giant version of Hantengu holding his now tiny form in the palm of his hands. You shriek out before fainting. Thankfully Aizetsu caught your limp form.

-Urami is the clone of Resentment, he embodies the resentment of all of Hantengu's past wives not being as good as you. Threatens you not to hurt his 'innocent self's' heart or else he'd make you resent it! You faint again from the intensity of that meeting causing the others to panic and Sekido smack him over the head with his staff.

-The second time you meet him is two months before Hantengu's death and your freedom being restored. He startled you just walking into your home right behind the other clones. He was so tall he had to duck just to get in through the door. Turns out a semi strong demon had challenged him to a blood battle for Upper Moon Four causing five of his six clone forms to appear. He ignores Sekido's arguing with him as he just places one giant hand on your head patting it like a dog as you stared frozen up at him.

"We go through a lot of trouble for you. Don't make me resent you for that."

SEKIDO:

-If you thought Karaku and Urogi's antics or Hantengu's clinginess gave you headaches, then let me introduce you to Mr. Hothead.

-Sekido represents all of the things he's angry about in a relationship. 'His wife not being compassionate enough' or how their wives usually 'blamed them when they were nothing but innocent.'

-Despite this you'd much rather spend time with him than most of the other clones outside Aizetsu. He actually yells and pushes the others off of you angry he isn't getting a turn to just hold their wife. Does it give you headaches? Yes. Does it terrify you? Definitely. Would you rather silently let Sekido hold you and listen to all of his complaints than listen to Karaku make another innuendo or have Hantengu get your dress wet again as he clung onto you? ABSOLUTELY! At least Sekido doesn't smother you as much as the others.

-However he's ALWAYS nitpicking on the things he hates you do that make him annoyed or angry. Have a vase he doesn't like? Complain! You don't have enough raw meat ready for your 'husband's' dinner? Complain! Karaku and Urogi hold you too long? COMPLAIN! He never threatens you unlike Urami, after all he hates to think about you being upset with him. But sometimes he gets so angry with the others it starts a fight and parts of your home is damaged.

"Can't you just appreciate what I'm trying to do for you!?"

KARAKU:

-(For this instance of Karaku I'm keeping him strictly the clone of Relaxation because everything I write is sfw) Karaku is one of the main three you see most often. Mostly you only see Hantengu however since Sekido and Karaku are the first two clones that appear they're the main two clones you see.

-Karaku is giddy and like Hantengu is overbearingly clingy. He's always slinging an arm around you or taunting Sekido into blowing up again much to his and Urogi's amusement. He's the main culprit of why you have so many headaches because despite his relaxed personality he's...TOO laid back around you.

-You'll find him splayed across YOUR bed napping and if you ask him to move he only laughs with a relaxed smile and offers that you can join him. More than once this has lead you to end up sleeping on the floor because the other clones and Hantengu are taking the guest bed.

-He has ZERO filter let's just say. He's too relaxed and ok with many innuendos and jokes about your figure or at your expense making you shutter and start to prefer Sekido and Aizetsu's presence over his. It always rules the anger clone into a fight and makes Urogi laugh much to your dismay and horror.

-He's upset and confused by why you always avoid him leading him to want more physical contact much to your uncomfort. An arm around your shoulders or waist, patting your head, sudden hugs- He's hurt when you always scramble away to duck behind the nearest clone that isn't him or Urogi. He's very dense even if Sekido bluntly tells him you don't like that.

-One got smacked by a frying pan while you were doing dishes and he kissed your cheek suddenly. Urogi still makes fun of him for it.

"You need to relax and quite being so uptight all the time, Baby.~"

UROGI:

-Out of all seven of them Urogi is the one who makes all of them keep an eye on him including Karaku who's usually relaxed. The thing is Urogi gets bored easily unlike Karaku who's relaxed 24/7 and doesn't need to be entertained. However because he's constantly doing antics or things that make him happy and he's overjoyed to finally be getting a wife...The others keep an eye on him like a pack of watchdogs.

-More than once you've gotten scratched by his talons. Not on purpose but sometimes he's so excited about you he ends up scratching you with his talons causing Sekido to rage and beat him to a cooked chicken casserole as Karaku and Aizetsu bandage your teary eyed self.

-His birb instincts take over a lot of the time he's out. One time you shrieked and ended up crying when he brought you a bunny he hunted out of instinct. He was confused and heartbroken when you didn't like it but didn't do it again after another round of Sekido yelling at him and seeing how unhappy it made you.

-Other bird husbandry includes him doing those weird birb mating dances much to Karaku's laughter and your confusion. He also builds a nest high in a tree. More than once you get carried up there shrieking and end up clinging to the tree out of fear of falling as the four argue. Karaku once tried blowing you down with his fan only to get smacked over the head Sekido. Aizetsu had to be the one to climb up and coax you into hanging onto him as he climbed down.

-This happens a few more times before you're ultimately freed of them but it doesn't happen too often anymore after the first time because the others keep a firm eye on Urogi while he's out.

-Joins Karaku in his antics of being clingy just to annoy Sekido. He finds it funny and gets a kick out of riling him up. However it saddens him when that only pushes you further away from both of them.

"Don't be such a a killjoy. You're acting just like Sekido."

AIZETSU:

-The clone who you mostly trust. Aizetsu is an interesting case. He's still as delusional as the others but he's not oblivious to the fact despite your remaining kindness (outta fear) your 'relationship' is making you unhappy, stressed, and possibly depressed. He knows the signs being the clone of sorrow. Does he do anything about this? No. He's still delusional as said and believes that you're the one for them and somehow he can make this work. He just needs to be patient. As I said, they're all delusional.

-He becomes the go to clone you prefer to interact with. While he does nothing to stop the 'relationship', he doesn't cause you headaches or nitpicks like Sekido, he's not as prone to sudden antics or make innuendo jokes like Karaku and Urogi, he certainly does threaten you like the two times you see Urami, and while a bit clingy he is WAY less than Hantengu. If anything most your bonding time is him just silently listening to you vent. If the others weren't included or he wasn't a demon you might've actually dated him.

-He's the go to clone whenever you're crying, need space, or if the others can't console you. If you're trying to escape the others and Sekido isn't near, he's the first one you hide behind. He knows it's sad behavior but he can't help but feel proud you trust him so much out of everyone, and how sad his brother's behavior makes him.

-The downsides though is that in a similar way to how Sekido complains about anything you do that annoys him, he tells you that anything you do that that he finds annoying makes him sad. Give Sekido more attention? You're making him sad. Talking about how you like your favorite dress? You're making him sad. Want to do anything that doesn't involve Aizetsu? YOU'RE MAKING HIM SAD! You start to also get tired of that part of him quickly.

"You're making me sad acting out like this."

ZOHAKUTAN:

-Like Urami you only ever meet Zohakutan twice in the year and a half you and Hantengu are 'married'. The first time you ever see him is also the first ever time you meet all the clones. After two hours of being petrified and having Karaku and Urogi fond over you, Aizetsu silently watching outside of introducing himself and saying their behavior is making him sad, Sekido complaining at them, Urami subtly threatening you, and Hantengu hiding/being clingy you think it can't get much more worse or terrifying. You are dead wrong.

-After subconsciously listening to the other six talk to you for a few hours, Zohakutan wants to meet the new wife too. So Sekido under his constant nudging, absorbs three of the others making you faint again. When you wake up later, the four young men are gone and Urami also disappeared. All that's left if Hantengu's tiny form shivering in the corner and a young boy that's old enough to be your younger brother is staring down at you. Scowling. "It's about time. I hate being kept waiting!"

-You quickly learns that this is just another clone. He's just as delusional too. No!! I'm not shipping him but his delusions make him see you the same as Hantengu. Weak, innocent, something that needs to be protected at all costs. So while he's not a romantic yandere he is a platonic yandere who deems you are not to be harmed under any costs.

-He absolutely HATES Hantengu's past wives, and sees you as the innocent angel Hantengu deludes himself into seeing you as. They share the same main brain so this thought process extends to Zohakutan too.

-You only see him briefly both times, around ten to fifteen minutes for each encounter before he goes back to being dormant in Hantengu. The first time was to just introduce himself to you. The second was right before their mission. He wanted to assure you that because of him all those demon slayers who dare hurt innocent people like you 'and Hantengu' would be dead. This only makes you more scared of him however. Thankfully that was the last time you saw Zohakutan or any of them for that matter.

"I hate those who prey upon the truly weak ones such as you. All evil scum shall perish."

220 notes · View notes

shiorimakibawrites · 6 months ago

Text

Part 2 (Cat Man Do)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Seconding Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 11,000 Summary: It is a day of discovery for you. Warning(s): Swearing, sexual fantasies, referenced masturbation, kissing, dirty talk, referenced marking/hickies, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V sex, referenced oral sex (male receiving), referenced animal abuse (not graphic) Series Masterlist Matt Murdock/Daredevil Masterlist General Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @indestructeible, @what-i-call-men, @reblog-reblog666, @flynnethenerd, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment, @yarrystyleeza, @bellaxgiornata, @reluctanthalfwayofoptimism, @bluerobin35 Also posted on AO3

Cat Man Do

Part 2 of 2

“And that’s the last of it,” you said to yourself as you put the last of the dishes into the drying rack. While you dried off your hands, you did a quick survey of your handiwork. The apartment was now back to its normal state of relative tidiness. The only remaining mess was the nest of blankets that Trouble had burrowed himself into and presumably napping it.

It had been tempting to peek. Very tempting. But you knew yourself. If you did that, you wouldn’t be able to resist petting him. Then you would probably give into the urge to see if he liked any of the cat toys you still had . . . then boom, the housework would be completely forgotten.

It wasn’t that you hated housework. It was just boring. Which made any number of procrastinating distractions rather appealing. Listening to music or podcast on your phone usually helped. Singing along with your favorite songs or learned something interesting made it feel like the dull but necessary work wasn’t taking so long. Thought you had to avoid certain ones while doing housework because sometimes they got you arguing with the people in the magic box instead of doing what you were supposed to. Like ironing your work clothes . . .

Other days, your brain decided to turn whatever was coming out of your phone into white noise and simply daydreamed. Today was one of those days. Fortunate for getting your work done, those daydreams stayed innocent. Imaging Matt having his way with you on your kitchen table, for example, would have been rather distracting. Case in point, even just the thought of that fantasy was making you squirm.

Keeping them sweet didn’t prevent Matt from taking the staring role. Far from it. Which was embarrassing for all different reasons. It was one thing to have sexual fantasies about an attractive man. Picturing that same man saying three little words with that deeply fond smile on his face had different implications.

Implications that made you feel stupid. You knew falling in love with your boss was a bad idea. The king of bad ideas. Mousy secretary falls in love with her incredibly attractive boss is the premise for a romance novel, not a recipe for true love forever. You were going to get your heart broken. Probably not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.

You weren’t looking forward to it. Watching women hit on him already felt like a knife to your heart. Watching while he meet someone else and fall in love with them was going to be agony. Assuming you stayed around to watch. Which you likely wouldn’t do. You weren’t that much of masochist.

The worst part was that you wanted Matt to find his special someone. The person who would make him laugh and help him find joy. Someone who would comfort him when he was sad, take care of him when he was sick. For him to know that someone loved him, that they wanted to stay forever . . . you wanted that for him.

Maybe it was selfish but you just wished that special someone was you.

You knew it was unlikely. Matt had never stated an interest in you beyond friendship. Yes, he flirted. But Matt flirted with everyone. And yes, you had gone on all those outings with him. But those were friend outings, not dates. And yes, on those occasions when Matt asked him to guide him, it seemed like he was reluctant to let go of your arm afterward. Or how he kept holding your hands after they had gotten warmed up after forgetting your gloves last week, only dropping them when the office phone rang . . .

But he never said anything. Sometimes it seem liked he might. Moments where he said he had something to tell you, something that he wanted to ask, that seem like maybe . . . then nothing. Either the universe intervene – phone calls, fire alarm, sudden loud argument between two food truck drivers – or it wouldn’t be exactly what you were hoping for. Like asking if you would be his plus-one at some fancy party being thrown by Columbia Law alum next weekend. That wasn’t a date. It was just practical since he and Foggy had only gotten their invitations to said party this week . . . It was a very deliberate snub considering Marci had received hers month ago . . .

Granted, you hadn’t said anything to him either. In part because you wanted to avoid ruining what you already had. You genuinely liked being Matt’s friend. You valued that relationship and didn’t want to lose it. Or make things incredibly awkward. But big part of it was simply that you weren’t ready to hear ‘I’m flattered but . . .’

You’d probably never be ready. Because no matter how kindly someone tries to let you down, rejection always stung . . .

“Enough moping,” you told yourself sternly. You had a mystery to explore.

But first you were going to check on Trouble. He had been rather quiet. Too quiet. He might simply be asleep but your experience said that sometimes the too quiet cat was a cat getting into mischief. You walked over to the blanket cocoon and peeled back the layers until you found the lithe, brown form. A pair of yellow-green eyes blinked sleepily at you. You couldn’t resist. There were few things cuter than a drowsy cat. You reached over and started lightly scratching behind the ears. Trouble purred and bumped his head more firmly into your hands.

“Hey there, sleepy kitty,” you said. “Enjoy your nap?”

He made one of those trilling noises which only made your smile grow. And encouraged you to keep petting him. Which wasn’t a hardship.

“Your coat is so soft, Trouble,” you said. “Feels like velvet.”

Like your new dress, the one you had let Marci and Karen talked you into buying for the fancy party. You hadn’t intended to buy anything when you accompanied them to the stops. You had fully intended to just wear one of the dresses you already owned. But then you saw it.

A pretty black dress made of velvet that looked like it was your size. Curious, you had checked. It was. Moreover, it was marked off enough to within your limited budget. Which made it very tempting. A temptation that Marci enthusiastically enabled. Come on, at least see how it fits . . .

It fit perfectly, hugging your curves just right. Offered tantalizing glimpses of skin without showing off more than you were comfortable with. You had felt beautiful wearing it. Which meant Marci and Karen didn’t have to push very hard to convince you to buy it. Karen sweetened the deal by reminding you that Matt loved velvet. And that maybe feeling so pretty would give you the confidence boost you needed to tell him how you felt.

Something that both Karen and Marci seemed very certain would be received well. You weren’t nearly so sure but you brought the dress.

In the name of making you feel as pretty and confident as possible, Karen and Marci decided you also needed new shoes and underwear. When you objected that you couldn’t afford to do that, Marci countered that she would pay. Which was why you were now the proud owner of a pair of heels that cost a frankly ridiculous amount of money. Because when Marci decided to treat someone, she didn’t believe in going cheap.

The underwear set had been more reasonably priced but still seemed like a lot for a bra and panties. Even if they were made of high quality silk and lace. But they had looked good on you too and Karen had asked you to imagine if everything went well and the night ended with your dress on Matt’s bedroom floor . . .

You didn’t know what had flustered you more. Your own imagination or that evil, knowing grin on Karen’s face or Marci supplying lewd details of Matt’s sexual prowess. Not from her own experience but she knew people who had slept with him. People whose stories she trusted to be accurate.

Karen insisted that the underwear had to be dark red. Saying with a mysterious smile that Matt would find it hot. Which just confused you. For obvious reasons, purely visual elements like color didn’t hold any appeal for Matt . . .

“Why?” you mused out loud. But since Karen wasn’t here to pester, your only answer was a questioning meow from Trouble. Which probably had more to do with you getting so lost in your head that you had stopped petting him than anything else.

“Sorry, Trouble,” you said, resuming the pets. “Got distracted. Trying to figure out why Karen thinks Matt would find me wearing red silk underwear sexy.”

Trouble made the strangest sound you had ever heard from a cat. Like he couldn’t decide which cat noise to make and kept switching tracks part-way through each one. If he had been human, you would have said he was sputtering.

It was such a funny reaction that you couldn’t help giggling.

Matt’s current form prevented him from blushing. Which he supposed he should be thankful for. His sputtering already had you giggling. He could only imagine your reaction to seeing his cheeks go what he had been told was a lovely shade of dusty pink.

What was Karen up to? Telling you something like that?!

The fact that it was true was immaterial. Now he would have fantasies about running his hands over your curves, feeling your petal soft skin encased in silk . . . and the idea of you wearing Daredevil red immensely pleased that possessive streak that ran deep inside him . . .

But he didn’t need help coming up with impure thoughts about you. He already spent far too much time touching himself while imaging you spread out on his bed, exploring every inch with his hands and mouth, the sounds of your pleasure filling his ears . . . Fantasies that were going to be a lot more vivid now that he knew exactly what those noises sounded like and just how sweet your arousal tasted . . . even if tasting it from the air was a poor substitute for tasting it directly from the source . . .

Matt shook himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

You turned your attention toward your pack and the mystery inside it. You moved the pack over to the couch and started pulling out the suit.

The red color was brighter than you expected, dark scarlet instead of the maroon it had looked under the dim light of your flashlight. The webbing between panels wasn’t black either. It was a deep, deep red that almost black. Like those really good cherries that you loved but could never remember what they were called. It was was just as heavy as you remembered, with the heft that reminded you of an old friend’s bulletproof vest. But more flexible . . . actually, looking at all of the webbing interwoven into it, you’d guess a lot more.

“It seems Daredevil is a bendy vigilante,” you mused outloud. “Probably not as bendy as Spider-Man but that guy is made out of silly-putty. Or at least his spine is.”

The suit was a little scuffed but otherwise looked fine. No holes, rips, or tears that you could find. No visible blood . . . you sniffed. You couldn’t smell any blood either. Just sweat. Something clean that you recognized as saddle soap. The fainter odor of plain soap along with something very familiar.

“Huh,” you said, eyeing the suit. “Daredevil and Matt wear the same cologne. Small world.”

Next, you checked the pouches on the belt. There weren’t that many. They contained a prepaid cell phone that you set aside to look at more closely later, zip ties, fold-up cash, and business cards. Curious, you shuffled through the cards. Nelson & Murdock, Alias Investigations, Chikara Dojo, FEAST, Helping Hands . . . . Each business or charity was separated by paper clips or rubber bands.

“Curious,” you murmured, wondering why . . . maybe he just didn’t want to spend time shuffling through them looking for a particular one? Or didn’t think he would always have time to do that? Maybe he had folded up the cash for the same reason. As long as he remembered how each card was bundled or bill folded, he could get out the right one without looking at them.

You turned your attention to the phone but was immediately stymied. The phone refused to turn on. It didn’t look broken. Which probably meant that it needed to be charged. Guess you weren’t the only one who forgot to put their phone on the charger. Or maybe Daredevil used a phone while fighting crime a lot more than anyone would expect. You grumbled as you got off the couch. You weren’t sure if your charger would work with this phone. Thankfully it did but the batteries were practically dead. Investigating the phone would have to wait.

In the meantime, you inspected the helmet. It was the same color as the suit but not the same materials, something more rigid. But it seemed to be in good shape. You couldn’t see or feel any cracks. You traced the edge of the characteristic horns and mask. You were unable to resist to urge to put the helmet on your own head. It probably looked ridiculous. There was nothing superhero about your oversized tee shirt featuring a gray cat calling itself ‘purr-fect’ and sweat pants. But you were curious. What did the world look like to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?

The answer was very red. You had expected a reddish tint from the color of the lenses. But it was more intense than you expected. It was also less . . . clear than you would have thought. The lenses weren’t opaque – you could see through them. But tinted dark like a pair of sunglasses.

“Odd,” you said, wondering why Daredevil had what was effectively sunglasses built into his helmet. It seemed peculiar. Especially for a vigilante that operated almost exclusively at night. And had a known habit of cutting lights to places before going in. The consensus in the hero forums was that Daredevil must be able to see in the dark. But, you frowned, even the best night vision still needed some light . . . even nocturnal animals couldn’t see in total darkness . . .

“If he has superhuman night vision,” you thought outloud, pulling off the helmet. “Maybe his eyes are really light sensitive?”

Trouble meowed loudly. It sounded almost like a no.

“Vetoing that theory, Trouble?” You asked, glancing over at him. He had crawled out of the blanket cocoon and was doing the big stretch. Which, by the rules of cat companions everywhere, you had to comment on. “Ohhh, big stretch!”

He meowed again. You laughed. It was almost like he was answering you.

You smiled and shook your head. Despite Trouble’s rejection, the theory was plausible. Someone whose eyes worked very well at low light could very well be someone that found bright light painful. And while he worked at night, New York City wasn’t all that dark after sundown. Nowhere near as dark as it was out in the forest.

Granted, Hell’s Kitchen was darker at night than most of the city. Streets lights and other sources of lighting that had gotten damaged in the Incident still hadn’t been repaired or replaced. Somehow there was never enough money in the budget. At least not for something like street lights. Some of the landlords were similarly disinclined. Others had died during the aforementioned alien invasion and similar attacks on the city. And many of those estates were a byzantine nightmare of disputed wills, shell companies, and other assorted legal headaches.

You knew this because Nelson & Murdock was one of the many laws firms attempting untangle this particular Gordian knot. The progress had been slow and uneven. Matt and Foggy had muttered many unkind words about property law, estate law, the lawyers involved in creating this mess, and especially the lawyers trying to keep the knot intact because the mess benefited their clients . . . which yes, was their job. But they didn’t have be so smug about it . . .

The color of the lenses was another question mark. Why red? Then you remembered something you had read . . . red lenses or red lights helped people kept their eyes dark adapted or helped them adjust to low-light conditions quicker. Of course that little nugget had been discovered during a romp through Wikipedia Wonderland. So massive grain of salt . . .

Of course, it could simply be aesthetics. It fit with the Devil theme. You imagined that seeing the sudden glint of those red lenses from out of the shadows would be quite intimidating.

“Or maybe he just likes red,” you muttered to yourself, putting the helmet down on the coffee table.

You drummed your fingers against your thigh, staring at the suit . . . why? Why would Daredevil abandon his suit and (possibly) walk into the night wearing (possibly) only whatever was under the suit?

“Which couldn’t be much,” you mused, your face flushing at the thought. Most images of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen were either low-quality, out-of-focus, or too shadowy to make out much. But from what you could tell, the suit was close-fitting. No much room for anything but him in there. Or nothing at all. Which was an idea that made your flush worse.

Matt might have been the leading man in your fantasies but he wasn’t the only one to appear. You had entertained thoughts about Daredevil. Very dirty thoughts. Which was really saying something considering some of the ones involving Matt . . . but there was just something about the vigilante that could made you feel feral.

You had the feeling that those fantasies were about to get more vivid. Because now, you knew what the suit looked like up close. What it felt like under your hands. Granted what it felt like without Daredevil actually in it. Which was, if you were being perfectly honest, a little disappointing. You might be carrying the torch for Matt but that didn’t stop other men from being attractive. Or your mind from idly (and somewhat guiltily) wondering if Daredevil’s suit struggled to contain his muscles the same way Matt’s suits struggled to contain his . . .

Something touched your thigh. You jumped before realizing it was just Trouble putting one of his paws on your leg. Probably looking for attention. You reached down to start petting him, scratching him behind the ears. Which he seemed to enjoy, purring as he crawled onto your lap. You were easily tempted away from your mystery.

“You’re a total lap cat, aren’t you?” you asked. Your only answer was louder purring.

You were starting to feel almost sleepy, sitting here with a purring cat in your lap. Especially on a day like this, gray and unusually quiet for New York. Which made the notification chime from your phone inordinately loud. Checking it required disturbing Trouble. Which he made very clear that he didn’t like.

“I know, I know, you were comfortable,” you said, checking the notifications. Mostly text messages from friends and family making sure you were okay. You had just sent off a couple of replies when you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

Looking away from your phone, you peered at the suit. What . . . oh. There was something inside the crumpled suit, a bit of fabric peeking out. Curious, you sat down your phone and touched it. Silk. You gave it a gentle tug and the cloth came out.

Immediately, you felt your face flush again. It was underwear. Specifically a pair of men’s black boxers. Black silk boxers. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen wore black silk boxers. For reasons you couldn’t really explain, this made you giggle.

The universe was a peculiar place. One where a blind defense attorney and a vigilante had interesting things in common. They both liked silk. They wear the same cologne. And estimating from the suit, Daredevil and Matt were the same height and had a similar build.

And apparently knew a lot of the same people. Matt carried a lot of the same business cards, personally knew the owners. Though you were a little unclear on how he had met some of them. Jessica Jones, you could see. She lived and worked in Hell’s Kitchen and her zero-tolerance policy for assholes often got her trouble with the cops. But the others were less clear . . . It didn’t help that when you had asked, the story you had gotten had been rather vague.

It wasn’t the only story where Matt, Foggy, and Karen got evasive. Another sign that there were secrets in the office of Nelson & Murdock. And not the normal client-confidentiality type secrets . . .

Glancing back at the suit, you noticed something else. Something you couldn’t believe you had missed. It didn’t look like it had been stripped off. None of the zippers or other fasteners were undone. You frowned, looking closely at it again. How could he have gotten it off without undoing any of the fasteners?

All thoughts of Daredevil were driven out of your head when Trouble let out a pained yowl. You snapped your head up to see him fall off the couch, writhing and twisting like he was having a seizure. You rushed toward him but then something weird happened. Trouble began to grow and swell, becoming bigger and bigger . . . body twisting and jerking the entire time . . . until what was laying on your floor wasn’t a cat. It was a man.

A very familiar man. Matt Murdock lay there, his body still twitching and spasming. His chest heaved and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

You couldn’t believe your own eyes. Had that really just happened? You pinched yourself. It hurt. So not a dream. You reached out and touched Matt’s shoulder. It was solid and warm under your hand. The muscles still twitching from . . . whatever that was. But gradually the twitching stopped and the tension in Matt’s jaw eased.

“Sorry,” he said. His voice was strained. “Didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Find out what? That he turned into a cat? Or . . . you looked at the suit. Then it clicked. All of the pieces suddenly made sense. Matt was Daredevil. The suit didn’t look like it had been stripped off because it hadn’t. The person wearing it had merely gotten much, much smaller.

“You’re Daredevil?” you asked, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“And you turn into a cat?” you asked. You hoped not. He was a very cute cat but that transformation had looked like hideously painful.

His lips twitched into something like a smile. “Not usually. This was the first time.”

“Okay,” you said. You took a deep breath. Than another. Your boss was Daredevil. He had been turned into a cat. You had taken him to your apartment. He might have observed you having a dirty dream about him. This was fine. You were fine. Everything was fine.

Another breath. “Expected development?”

“No. Magic spell. I think.”

“Magic spell?” you repeated. “Like actual magic? You know, nevermind. Of course, magic is real. Why the hell not? We were invaded by aliens. There is a Norse God living uptown. Why wouldn’t magic be real?!”

You were babbling. But you couldn’t help it. It didn’t help that Matt was really smiling now. With the dimple and everything. Which had always left you flustered. Especially when combined with that fond look. Even if it almost immediately faded to something sober and tentative.

“Let me sit up and I’ll explain everything.”

“Okay,” you said. But as he started to push himself into a sitting position, you noticed something. Something that left you even more flustered. Matt was naked. Completely naked. Not a single stitch on him. You could see his . . . everything. Feeling your cheeks burn, you jerked back and whirled around to face the wall.

“Sweetheart?”

You felt your heart beat faster at the pet name. He had never called you that before. At work, he was entirely professional. And when you were at Josie’s or an outing, he just called you by your name.

“Clothes,” you said, feeling little frantic. You needed answers – to so many things – but you couldn’t have that conversation with him while he was naked. You would get . . . distracted. But none of your clothes would fit him . . . wait, the boxers! Where . . . you looked . . . there!

You scurried forward and snatched the boxers off the floor. Keeping your eyes firmly on his face, you went and dropped the underwear into what you hoped was his lap. “Your boxers. This isn’t a naked conversation.”

A soft huff of laughter. “No, it isn’t. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart again? It wasn’t a slip of the tongue? Your cheeks couldn’t get any warmer but they sure tried.

You turned away again to give him some privacy while he dressed. For a given value of dressed. Considering it was only underwear. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt and tried not to think about that. Or his . . . everything. You had limited success.

“I’m decent. You can look now.”

‘That’s debatable,’ you thought after you turned to face him. Yes, everything that needed covering was now covered. But the boxers fit him snugly enough that very little was left to the imagination. Not that you really needed your imagination anymore . . . . And that wasn’t even taking into account the rest of him.

You had known he had muscles. You just hadn’t realized he had quite so many muscles . . .

Matt realized that you had gotten distracted when it took a couple of times calling your name to get your attention. He was well aware that you were attracted to him but it was still gratifying to his ego to experience your body’s reaction to him. And the way the temperature and blood shifted to your face when you realized that you had been caught staring was rather cute.

But he soon sobered, remembering what you had just discovered. What he needed to explained. “Do you remember how I lost my eyesight?”

“I remember,” you said.

“Those chemicals didn’t just blind me,” he said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He squared his shoulders, bracing himself for your inevitable reaction. Then he explained how his remaining senses had been enhanced to a superhuman degree. How he could hear everything happening around him, for several blocks. Further if he was focusing on someone he was familiar with. How he could very likely find Foggy, Karen, or you anywhere in this city if he needed to.

That his other senses were just as keen. Did his best to describe his world on fire. The others had poked fun of his metaphor but it was the best one he had found. He felt the usual frustration at not having the right words, the perfect words, to describe how he experienced the world. Words that help someone else understand his world without the misconceptions.

But such words didn’t seem to exist. He had to make do with the ones he had.

He took another deep breath, continuing in a very firm voice. “My senses do not change the fact that I cannot see. There are things my senses cannot tell me. Like what color anything is. Times when my world on fire isn’t as reliable as I would like such as when I’m tired or ill. My cane and other adaptive equipment aren’t props. I’m not pretending to be blind. I am blind.”

“Someone actually said that to you?” you said, sounding shocked. It was the first time you had spoken when he had started talking.

“Yes,” he said, trying not to remember how Foggy had spit out those words. Hardly the most painful thing that had been said that awful night . . . but the clear disgust in his voice had stayed with Matt for a long time . . .

“Who?” you demanded, your heartbeat sharply rising. He heard the shift of bone and muscle as your hands curled into fists. It was sweet that your first reaction was defend him. If it was completely unnecessary.

“Doesn’t matter,” Matt said, waving it off. “They didn’t really understand the explanation at first. Neither of us were in the right head space for the conversation. We’ve talked more since then and now they get it. And they apologized for that particular misunderstanding.”

You sighed.

You weren’t entirely surprised. Matt tended to be forgiving. Along with a rather concerning habit of ignoring or downplaying things when he was the one being treated poorly . . . And, as you silently reminded yourself, you didn’t know the whole story. That wouldn’t make what they said okay but it might make it understandable . . .

Regardless the decision to forgive or not to forgive was ultimately Matt’s, not yours. And he had obviously chosen to forgive whoever it was. Best to let it go and change the subject.

“Do you want some coffee?” you asked. “Or something else to drink?”

That bit of gravel in his voice might do all sorts of tingly stuff to your insides but he had been talking for a while. His mouth must be getting dry.

“As long you are making it anyway, coffee would be great,” Matt said.

“Coming right up,” you said and went into the kitchen. As you set up the coffee to brew, you did your best to process anything you had just learned.

Matt was Daredevil. It explained a lot. Foggy and Karen certainly knew. It was the only explanation for why they went along with Matt’s very obvious lies about how he had been injured. And why they didn’t seem . . . well, you couldn’t say that there was no concern. You had seen the pinched look of Foggy’s face when Matt was moving like it hurt him to breath. The worried, accessing look Karen gave particularly colorful bruises.

And yet, they had accepted every single one of his excuses from the plausible to the silly without question. Told you there was nothing to worry about when you expressed concern about Matt’s well-being. Even through sometimes neither looked like they really believed that . . .

Now you realized that they were concerned. It was just a different kind of concerned. Because they weren’t wondering how Matt kept getting hurt. They weren’t racking their brains trying to figure out who was hurting him or if all those worrying signs were related to some kind of health problem. Like maybe he was having seizures or something like that but was refusing to see the doctor . . .

But every theory you came up with kept hitting the wall for not being able to explain why Foggy and Karen didn’t seem to share your concerns. Why they clearly loved Matt but ignored that something troubling was obviously going on with him. . . . It hadn’t made any sense.

Now it did. Matt was Daredevil. They knew he was Daredevil. And knew his injuries were from fighting crime.

Matt had super senses. Which meant, you realized with a certain amount of horror, he had absolutely heard you moaning his name while touching yourself this morning. You buried your face in your hands with a soft groan. There was no hiding your non-platonic feelings anymore. The cat was out of the bag. Pun fully intended.

“What’s wrong?”

You jumped. You weren’t expecting his voice to be so close. He wasn’t crowding you or anything. His position by the edge of the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room was a couple feet away from where you were standing in front of the coffee pot. But you hadn’t heard him moving around. Apparently he didn’t need to be cat shaped to walk silently through walls.

“Sorry,” he said, though the little twitch of his lips belied that apology. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Somehow,” you said, willing your heart to slow back down. “I doubt that.”

“Do you?”

“I saw those lips twitch,” you pointed out. “You think making me jump is funny.”

“That is quite the accusation,” he said with mock seriousness. “Do you have any evidence?”

Using his courtroom voice was cheating. Especially when he was only wearing boxers. Pure cheating. You pulled out your stubborn streak, standing with your fists on your hips. “I know what I saw. I will not be fooled by your twisty-turny lawyer tricks into saying otherwise, Mr. Murdock.”

“That sounds like a challenge, sweetheart.”

The pet name said with that almost purring voice sent tingles down your spine. And brought renewed heat between your legs. Rather annoyingly the cocky smirk on his face did nothing to diminish that ardor. Maybe if he had been wearing more than boxers . . . or if he didn’t look so good half-naked . . .

A soft cough brought you back to the present. You felt your cheeks get warm again, realizing that you had been so busy staring at his abs that you hadn’t noticed him talking.

“Distracted?” he asked, a teasing grin spread wide across his face.

“No,” you said quickly, feeling the warmth in your cheeks intensify.

He hummed, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Lie.”

“What?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that I can tell when someone is lying?” He said, feigning innocence. It wasn’t a very convincing performance. He was far too amused.

“No, that detail hadn’t come up yet,” you said. “How?”

“Mostly your heartbeat. It changes when someone is lying.”

Suddenly, something you had observed at the office now made sense. Your job was more on the reception and secretarial side but sometimes you acted as their paralegal. When acting in that role, you had seen Foggy subtly nudge Matt who would give a little shake or nod of his head. You hadn’t know what to make of it at the time. Now you realized that Foggy was checking to see if their client or whoever else they were interviewing was telling the truth.

When you asked about your theory, Matt was quick to confirmed it. A moment later, the coffee finished brewing. You pulled down the two mugs, then doctored them to each of your coffee preferences.

“You seem to be taking this rather well,” he remarked, after taking a sip of his coffee.

You shrugged. “It’s not that surprising once I started thinking about it.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

Matt chuckled. “What, you didn’t believe that I got that black eye tripping over a curb?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Come on, I thought that one was very plausible.”

“Only for someone who doesn’t know you,” you said. “Or your friends pretending for the sake of your secret identity.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

You drank more of your coffee, enjoying the comfortable quiet. To avoid getting distracted by his half-naked body again, you kept your eyes on his face. Which probably wasn’t the best plan. Matt’s handsome face was a distraction in its own right. Especially when he wasn’t wearing his dark glasses. It wasn’t the first time you had seen him without them but the sight always pleased you. It meant Matt trusted you. Not with all of his secrets, obviously, but enough that he didn’t feel the need to hide himself.

Along with those lovely hazel eyes, there were further delights. The generous mouth, good cheekbones and that strong jaw dusted with facial hair. Heavily dusted today. He hadn’t shaved lately. So he had the very start of a beard. You had never seen Matt with a beard. You bet that he would look good with one . . .

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt said, interrupting your attempts to imagine him with a beard.

“Nothing important,” you said. “Just noticed you hadn’t shave lately and was idly wondering if you were growing a beard.”

Matt made a thoughtful humming sound. “It is tempting this time of year but they get so itchy during the summer.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience,” you said.

“It is,” he said. “Wore one for a couple years during college. Shaved it off just after starting L1.”

“Any particular reason why?” you asked, making a mental note to ask Foggy if he had any pictures of bearded Matt. You needed to see them. For science. Or something.

“An especially muggy day in August when the air conditioners decided to stop working. And the girl I was seeing at the time liked me clean-shaven. Said my beard was too rough when I kissed her.”

A salacious grin spread across his face. “Among other activities.”

“Did she?” you said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Because your mind had immediately become consumed with imagining the delicious contrast between prickly beard on your thigh while his soft lips . . . warmth flooded your cheeks.

You saw Matt’s nostrils flare. Then the tip of his tongue slipped out to run across his lips. He made a soft moan that went straight to your cunt. It was impossible not to get worked up. Not with those images in your head. Not with that sound. You were equally unable to stop your breath from hitching as he stepped closer. And closer, stopping just shy of touching you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His voice had always done things to you but that huskier timber really made you shudder. There was only one answer you could give.

“Yes.”

And he was kissing you. Gentle at first, a delicate press of the lips with your head cradled in his hands. But it didn’t remain that way for long. Not after all those months of pent-up desire. Now that you didn’t have to resist kissing him, you all but devoured his mouth.

Matt matched your eagerness, seemingly just hungry for your mouth as you were his. Even the need for air barely kept your lips apart. The entire world might as well have disappeared. You were aware of nothing else. Only that mouth kissing you and greedily swallowing every moan you made. Only those large, warm hands sliding down your body, skimming the sides of your breasts until coming to rest on your hips. Only his body against yours. The edge of the counter digging into your back barely even registered.

At least to you. Matt made some grumpy-sounding noise, then his hands were gripping your hips and lifting you up onto the counter. Your startled yelp turned into a moan when he slot himself between your legs. Any lingering doubts you had about him finding you physically attractive were dispelled at the feeling of his growing erection rubbing against your core. You couldn’t contain a second louder, stuttered moan. Even with too many clothes in the way, it felt incredible . . .

“If you want me to stop,” he rumbled, nuzzling your neck. “Tell me to stop. Tell me no.”

“Don’t stop,” you said, your voice dangerously close to begging. But you didn’t care. You had wanted this for so long. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to.” he said, then one hand abandoned its place on your hip to tug lightly at your shirt. “May I?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, rising your arms to help Matt pull off your shirt. Despite the heater chugging away, your skin still immediately pebbled. Your nipples had already tightened into peaks. You kissed him again as your shirt was tossed . . . somewhere. You weren’t paying attention to your shirt. All of your attention was Matt and the hungry, almost feral look on his face.

Matt ran his hands over your body, exploring every inch of bare skin from the tips of your fingers to the waistband of your sweatpants. So soft, even softer than he had dreamed. Keeping his hands to himself the next time you were at work was going to take some serious self-discipline. He blazed a trail of kisses down your neck until he found a spot that had you shuddering.

There, he applied little nips and lathed at the skin until he was satisfied there would be a mark. One that by happy coincidence should peek out from behind the collar of your work blouses. Good. That should let any would-be suitors know that you were taken. It was selfish but he didn’t want share this delightfully soft skin with anyone.

Or how responsive you were. He greedily took in all your reactions. The dancing rhythm of your heart. The breathy moans as his mouth continued its downward journey. The gasps when he started lapping at one peaked nipple while squeezing the other breast in his hand. The way you cried out his name when he latched onto that nipple and sucked. The way you arched your back, begging for more. How your nails bit into his shoulder when he obliged, swirling his tongue around the hardened nipple. The whines when he removed his mouth from that breast . . . and how it turned into a wordless cry when he gave the other breast the same attention.

Best of all, the scent of your arousal soaking through your panties. All because of him. You smelled just as sweet as you had been this morning. Only this time he wasn’t a cat. Soon, he would be on his knees. Soon, his face would be buried in that wonderfully drenched pussy . . .

Soon . . .

You were burning. A fire that Matt had lit, then steadily built with his hands and mouth until you burned with need. An urgency that the man himself didn’t seem to feel. He moved at a speed that could be best described as languid.

“M-matt,” you whined.

“Yes?” he asked, lifting his head from your breast. Seeing his lust-darkened eyes and kiss-swollen lips made the growing ache in your cunt worse. “What does my sweet girl need?”

My sweet girl . . . . Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing. “Need you.”

“Gotta be more specific than that,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

You were half naked on your kitchen counter and fully ready to have sex with this man and yet somehow that question still managed to fluster you. “Maattt.”

“I’m not a mind reader, sweetheart. You have to tell me what you want,” he said, sounding almost conversational. But his voice was too husky, his eyes too hungry, for that. The way his thumbs rubbed the skin just about the waistband of your sweatbands was another dead giveaway.

Your mouth opened, then closed.

“No need to be shy, sweet girl,” he continued, pausing to give another little nip to the top of your right breast. A spot that you hadn’t realized that so sensitive until he started lavishing it with attention. “No one but me will hear you.”

Biting your bottom lip, you considered that. He was right. It was just you and him. And you trusted him . . . Maybe you should start with something simple?

“My pants and underwear,” you said, managing to keep your voice steady. “I want them off.”

The smirk he flashed you was all kinds of wicked. “As you wish.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants and started tugging it down. Along with your panties. In a sharp contrast to his earlier leisurely pace, he quickly yanked down the clothes and tossed them aside. Like with your shirt, you found yourself too distracted to notice or care where your clothes went.

Matt gripped your knees and spread your legs wide. He then sank down to his knees, shifting forward until he was tantalizingly close to where you desperately wanted him. The sight once again had your cunt clenching around nothing. A deep rumble, almost like a growl, erupted from him. It matched the feral expression spreading across his face.

“Tell me what you need,” he demanded, his voice a growl full of gravel. You shuddered. You had never heard him speak like that. But it worked you up just as much as his courtroom voice. His hands tightened on your thighs. “My fingers?”

He lifted one hand away from your leg, then ran a single thick finger through your folds. You gasped when that finger brushed over your clit, then groaned with disappointment when that fleeting touch was all you got. Then felt your mouth go dry when he raised the finger to his mouth and licked off your slick. Especially when Matt let out a low moan, briefly closing his eyes in clear pleasure.

“Or my mouth,” Matt continued. You gasped when he leaned forward and gave the entire length of your cunt a single lick. You tried to lift your hips but Matt’s hands clamped down on your thighs and pinned you down to the counter.

“Matt!” you pleaded but the grip on your legs remained firm.

“Tell me,” He said, then blow a puff of air against your desperate cunt. He nuzzled your inner thigh, his rough stubble sending sparks down your spine. “What does this beautiful pussy want?”

“Maatt.”

“Tell me, sweet girl.” He kissed your inner thigh. Then another kiss. It rapidly became clear that your desperate cunt wasn’t going to get the attention it wanted unless you said the words.

“Matt!”

“Tell me.”

“Your mouth,” you begged. “Please, I need – fuck!”

Matt did another long, slow lick up your entire slit. After a teasing swipe across your clit, he turned his attention to your soaked entrance. There he lapped with soft, little licks which were obscenely loud. Like he was messily eating an ice cream cone. One that he clearly enjoyed, making a low noise that sounded remarkably like purring. The vibration contributed to making your own, much louder moans. Instinctively you tried to squirm but his hands kept you right where he wanted you. You could feel that familiar pressure start to build.

He pulled away. No! You started to protest but was cut off by Matt lifting your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Then his mouth was back on you, his tongue circling your entrance before slipping inside you. Your hands scrambled for something to hold onto as his tongue fucked into you again and again

That something ended up being Matt’s hair. But he didn’t seem to mind, rewarding every tug on the hair twisted tightly in your fingers with a loud groan. Then his tongue slipped out of you, switching its attention to your clit. You cried out. He altered between teasing licks and stronger lapping as you chanted his name.

Matt wrapped his lips around your little bud and sucked. You almost screamed. Your legs began to tremble as you started hurling toward your peak. Then he thrust two thick fingers inside you. Your thighs squeezed his face between them. Close, you were so close . . . then his fingers curled. You fell over the edge calling out his name.

Your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers. Fingers that continued to work you through your orgasm. His mouth remained latched onto your clit, sending wave after wave of white-hot pleasure. Only you started to whimper from oversensitivity did he lift away from your clit. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his mouth. You let out warbling moan as he noisily lapped at your entrance.

By the time he pulled away, you were a limp puddle on your own kitchen counter. Despite your recent orgasm, your cunt clenched again. Because Matt looked thoroughly debauched. His hair mussed, eyes half-lidded, those pink lips swollen and glistening with your slick. While you watched, his tongue slide out and slowly licked it off.

Matt knew you were watching him. It was obvious from the way your heartbeat sped up. The hitch in your already heavy breathing. The fresh slick dripping out of your cunt, even more tempting now that he knew just how sweet you tasted. He settled for the slick clinging to his two fingers, putting them in his mouth and sucking them clean. Not as nearly as good as getting it directly from your cunt but the strangled groan you made watching him do it was its own reward.

Fingers now clean, he carefully lowered your legs from his shoulders and rose to his feet. Matt heard you shifting, pushing yourself back into an upright position. Then, your hands reached out and tugged his head down to kiss him. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself.

But you didn’t stop there. Your hands leisurely made their way down his torso until you reached his boxers. Your fingers dipped under the waistband, then hesitated.

“May I?” you asked.

“Please,” he answered, eager to see what you would do.

Permission granted, you peeled his boxers down. His cock eagerly sprang free of its confines. As Matt finished pushing his boxers off, you felt a tinge of nerves. His cock hadn’t looked small during your brief glimpse earlier. But it had been flaccid then. Now that his cock was fully erect, you realized he was rather more . . . impressive than you had first thought. Or even imagined and Past You had been rather hopeful that he had a big dick . . .

“Sweetheart?”

The clear concern in Matt’s voice had your head snapping up. He was frowning at you, his brow furrowed with worry.

“You know you don’t have do anything, right?” he asked, his tone deadly serious. “If you want to stop right now, we will.”

“No,” you said, rapidly shaking your head. “I want to.”

He frowned, his head titling slightly to one side. Listening, you realized. Doing his human lie detector thing. “But?”

“I’m just a little nervous,” you said, tapping your fingers against your bare thigh.

“Why?” he asked.

You felt your cheeks warm. “It’s . . . um . . . you’re . . . ah . . . bigger. Than any . . . of my exes.”

“Is that so?” Matt looked distinctly smug. “I can be gentle. But if you’d like to wait –”

“No,” you interrupted. Because nerves wasn’t your only reaction to seeing his cock. Feeling suddenly bold, you reached over and wrapped your hand around his cock. And feel another tinge of nerves and anticipation at realizing that Matt wasn’t just long, he was thick. You started stroking him, slowly adjusting the firmness of your grip as you watched the reactions on his face. He moaned, his hands finding their way back to your hips.

You noted, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that he looked a lot less smug now.

Feeling more confident, you continued, “I don’t want to wait. I want this.” Your thumb swiped across the tip, smearing the weeping pre-cum. His hips jerked and out of his mouth came a beautiful groan that you immediately wanted him to make again. “Inside me.”

His hands tightened on your hips. That feral look was creeping back in. “I don’t – ah – have a condom.”

“Don’t want one,” you said. You knew it was a dumb thing to do. Reckless. But you were tired of all of the barriers that had been separating the two of you. The thought of another one just rubbed you the wrong way.

Your hand slide off of his cock. A faint whine escaped his throat. Tempting you to put your hand back. But it felt . . . coercive . . . to be giving him a handjob while asking him if he wanted a condom after you had just made it clear that you didn’t want one. Especially since you knew Matt had a people-pleasing streak.

“But I, um, have a box of condoms in my bedroom. If you’d rather wear one,” you offered, feeling renewed warmth in your cheeks. It had been an impulse purchase during one of those rare periods when you were both determined to tell him your feelings and confident it would go well . . . only to chicken out once you were actually in front of Matt.

“I don’t think many man would rather wear one,” he said. “As long as you were sure . . .”

“I am.”

“Okay,” he said. “When did you buy these condoms?”

There was a peculiar note in his voice. He sounded almost . . . jealous? But that couldn’t be right. Why would Matt be jealous?

“Last month,” you said. “Past Me, um, had a moment where she, ah, . . . was very confident that you’d agree to a date? And that sex might happen afterward?”

A smile spread across his face. “Past You would have been right. Past Matt would have agreed in a heartbeat.”

“What about Current Matt?” you asked, daring to hope.

“Current Matt agrees with Past Matt,” he said. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

Your heart gave a leap. “You would?!”

“Of course,” he said, utterly matter of fact. Like he was stating something obvious. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Matt Murdock wanted to go on a date with you. “I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked.

“In part because you didn’t know about Daredevil,” he said. “Not telling a one-night stand is one thing. Not telling my girlfriend is something else.”

“Girlfriend?” you repeated.

“Yes,” he said. “If you would like to be.”

“I would like that,” you said, smiling.

“Good,” he said. Then he suddenly laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“All the ways I pictured asking you to be my girlfriend,” Matt said. “Standing in your kitchen naked wasn’t one of them.”

“Me neither.” You giggled. “We’ve done this all topsy-turvy.”

“We have,” he agreed. “Normally, I’d take you to dinner before burying my face in your sweet cunt.”

The reminder sent fresh arousal pooling between your legs. Despite that toe-curling orgasm, that particular body part was eager for more. A desire that only increased when his pink tongue darted out to slowly lick his lips. Then he made another soft moan. The same soft moans he had made while eating you out . . . your heart raced as something finally clicked together in your mind.

“Can you taste, um, . . ?” you trailed off, feeling your cheeks burn. You couldn’t say it.

“How wet that pussy is for me?” Matt said, his eyes darkening. “Yes. Having my mouth on you is better but from the air, the aroma of it, is still . . . intoxicating.”

Part of you was embarrassed. Especially when you thought about this morning, that Matt hadn’t just heard you touching yourself. But another, larger part of you was powerfully turned on. There was something very hot about knowing that just the taste of you, the smell of you, was putting that hungry look on his face.

You squirmed. Then something else occurred to you. “Technically you have taken me to dinner many times.”

“Very true,” Matt said, then chuckled. “Foggy has been saying that we’ve been dating for months.”

“Karen said the same thing,” you said. “Maybe they are right?”

“Definitely,” Matt said. “And we’ve been idiots.”

“Total idiots,” you agreed, then pulled him down for another kiss.

You could still faintly taste yourself in his mouth. Before you knew it, your hands were buried in his hair. Matt used his grip on your hips to pull you over to the counter’s edge. He pressed himself against you. Despite the intervening conversation, he was still hard. Feeling himself grind his cock against your cunt had felt good before. But now? Without any clothes in the way? It stoked that banked fire inside you into an inferno.

You wanted . . . no, you needed him. You didn’t care that you were in your kitchen. You needed that cock filling your achingly empty cut. You needed him to fuck you stupid.

“Matty,” you whimpered, breaking away from the kiss. “Need you.”

“What do you need, sweet girl?” He rumbled against your throat. “What does your pretty pussy need?”

This time you didn’t hesitate. “Needs your cock. Needs you to fuck me.”

He growled. You expected him to line himself up, to start fucking you right then and there. Instead he shifted his grip to your thighs and lifted you off the counter. Startled, your hands abandoned his hair in favor of his shoulders to steady yourself as he carried you out of the kitchen. Given the small size of your apartment, it didn’t take to figure out where he was taking you.

Sure enough, soon he was lowering you down onto your bed. He kissed you deeply as his knees encouraged your legs wider. Not that you needed much encouragement. He grinded against you, coating his cock in your slick. Sparks raced down your spine every time the head nudged your clit. It was so good. It was not enough. Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing.

“Stop teasing me,” you begged. “Please . . . fuck me.”

Which was apparently all he needed to hear. Matt took himself in hand, lining himself up with your entrance. Then, finally, he was inside you. You gasped, nails digging into his back. It was just the tip of him but the stretch was noticeable. Despite the clear hunger on his face, he didn’t move. Stayed right where he was while your cunt fluttered around him until you were ready for more. Slowly, he pressed in deeper and deeper. Until his cock was fully sheathed inside you.

You felt so good. So deliciously full. No one had ever filled you like this. Then Matt started to move, gently rocking his hips into you. Pleasure washed over you with each back and forth movement of his cock so deep inside you. You couldn’t stop moaning. You could feel yourself climbing back toward that precipice.

“Taking me so well,” Matt said, then groaned when your cunt clenched around him at the praise. “Ready for more, sweetheart?”

Your answer was another stuttered moan.

“Words, sweet girl. I need words.”

“More,” you managed to moan out. “More. Mo-”

You were cut off by sharp snap of his hips. His first real thrust into you. You cried out wordlessly. Cries that only got louder as the thrusts got faster and deeper. Instinctively, your hips began to move. You thought he couldn’t get any deeper. You were wrong. As soon as you matched his rhythm, you felt him sink just a little further inside you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Just like that.”

Matt was always handsome. But there was something indescribably beautiful about how he looked now. The pull and flex of his muscles as he moved in and out of your body. Skin kissed with sweat. Hair, a fluffy chaotic mess. His face, for once, with no sign of worry or stress. Just pure pleasure. The grunts and moans spilling out of his mouth with each thrust only added to the beatific vision on top of you.

Your climax had been steadily building but now you were teetering on that edge. Just a little bit more . . .

Matt must have sensed it somehow because his next thrust was slower but impossibly deep and hard. You gasped, your back arching. He did it again. Your body began to shake, toes curling . . . Close, you were so close . . .!

“Matty,” you whimpered.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Cum on my cock.”

Another impossibly deep thrust and you did.

Matt groaned as your cunt gripped his cock tightly as you cried out his name. He never stopped moving, drawing out your orgasm until you were a babbling, shaking mess underneath him.

Only then did he start chasing his release. He pumped into you hard and fast, his entire world narrowed down to you. The delightful pain of your nails raking up and down his back. Your heart pounding in his ears. The guttural noises you made as he fucked you. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your cunt as he moved in and out . . . you were so fucking wet. All for him. Because of him.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. Not with the way your cunt kept clamping down on his cock like a vice. Feeling his balls start to draw up, he tried to withdraw. He intended to release himself on your stomach. But you loudly protested, back arching and frantic hands grabbing his ass in a bid to him keep inside you.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum,” he managed to grit out.

Your hands only gripped his ass tighter. “Cum inside me. Wanna feel it.”

Truth. “Sweetheart.”

“Matty, please.”

That did it. He couldn’t resist your begging. With one last hard thrust, he buried his cock deep inside you and came.

Breathing hard, it was tempting to collapse on top on you. But he couldn’t. He was too heavy. He carefully pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. Still catching his breath, he gathered you in his arms, pressing your back against his chest. Perfect. Matt liked a good cuddle afterward. Didn’t understand what some men had against it. Your soft, naked body against his, smelling like sex and his pheromones? Yes, please.

For a moment, Matt attributed your little restless movements as simply getting comfortable. But quickly he realized that wasn’t entirely it. He reached between your legs. Felt you jolt when his fingers found your clit. Then moaned as he started rubbing gentle circles. You were already very sensitive. It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak again.

Matt buried his nose in the back of your neck. In a little while, he’d need to get up and get a washcloth. Clean up the mess he had made between your legs. But not right now. Right now, he was just going to enjoy having you in his arms.

The storm broke that night, after dumping almost ten feet of snow on the Big Apple. The powers that be had crews out clearing the streets and restoring downed power lines bright and early the next morning but it took several days to get the city fully up and running again.

You and Matt weren’t trapped in your apartment the entire time. Just a couple days. Despite the fact that neither of you were used to living with anyone, it was . . . comfortable. You cooked together in your tiny kitchen without much trouble. He did his share of the housework without prompting or complaint. You discovered during the brief power outage that, in addition to being a lie detector, Matt was a human furnace. Also that he was cuddler.

Once his phone was charged enough, Matt called Foggy and let him know that he wasn’t dead. He made Matt put him on speaker-phone so he could tell you both ‘I told you so.’ A sentiment echoed by Marci and Karen. Among many, many others.

The sex continued to be mind-blowing. And frequent. Because you both were having a hard time keeping your hands to yourselves. A shower became Matt fingering you, then fucking you against the wall. Watching a movie turned you kneeling between his legs, taking his cock into your mouth. Blissful Puddle was a very good look on him.

By time Daredevil slipped out of your window on the third night, your cunt had been given quite the workout and you had lost track of your orgasms.

Life went back to normal. Well, as normal as dating a vigilante could be. You worked. Matt saved people, in and out of the courtroom. You and Matt still went on your outgoings together, only with a lot more hand-holding and kissing. And often followed by enthusiastic sex in either your places or his. Matt quickly fulfilled his promise to introduce you to his silk sheets. You were very happy.

Tonight as you headed up to Matt’s apartment, you were filled with curiosity. Matt told you that he had a surprise. Then you reached his door, he pulled his usual trick of opening the door just as you raised your hand to knock. Just to make you jump.

“Having fun, Trouble?” you asked, entering the apartment.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he denied. But his eyes were too filled with mirth to make his protests believable.

“Lie.”

His lips twitched. But you were distracted away from whatever smartass remark that was about to come out of his mouth by movement behind Matt. You looked and to your surprise, it was a cat. A little brown-and-gray tabby standing in front of the slightly ajar bedroom door, its tail curled into a question mark.

“When did you get a cat?”

“I didn’t,” Matt said. “You did.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, assuming you want her.” He smiled. “I promise this one wouldn’t turn into a vigilante.”

“Certain of that?” You asked. The question was only partially teasing. The recent events had only cemented your desire for another feline companion. But, as much as you were happy with how things had worked out, starting to get attached to a cat only to discover that you couldn’t keep it wasn’t fun.

“Very. According to my magic expert, she’s just a cat.”

You filed away ‘magic expert’ as something to pester him about later. “Where did you find her?”

“Dumpster,” Matt answered, his expression turning grim. “Inside a knotted pillowcase.”

You stared at him in horrified disbelief. Not at Matt’s story. You believed him. But at the sheer cruelty. You knew people could be cruel. You weren’t that naive. But it still shocked you.

“Someone actually did that?”

“They did.” His voice reflected the same anger, the same horror, you were feeling. “Not the first time I’ve found something like that. Wouldn’t be the last.”

He took a deep breath. Visibly reigned in his temper, saving it for the streets or the heavy bag. “Normally I take the animals to an all-night shelter but they’re full right now. They’d still find somewhere for her with one of their fosters or something . . . but I found this one by the same dumpster where you found me. So I thought, maybe it was a sign.”

You smiled. The cat redistribution system at work. And that was that. The cat was officially yours.

You named her Blizzard.

END NOTES

Gordian knot is a legendary knot that became a metaphor for an intractable problem solved by bold stroke. Or in this particular case, one which Matt and Foggy dearly wish they could solve with one bold stroke.

That red light/red lenses thing comes from Wikipedia so treat it with the appropriate level of skepticism.

In Nelson vs Murdock, Foggy had every right to be hurt and angry with Matt. But even if it was deserved, doesn’t make what he said less painful to Matt. Personally, I think Foggy had hit that point of angry-hurt where you just want the other person to feel as badly as you do. And since Foggy is Matt’s best friend, he knows exactly which words will hurt the most. Moreover, I think he was too upset that tonight to really absorb Matt’s explanation about his senses. Hence some of his caustic comments during Season 2.

I have no proof that this incarnation of Matt has ever worn a beard. But shh, we’re having fun here.

It is my understanding that New York City during August is not only hot but miserably humid.

#fan fiction #fan fic #daredevil #mcu daredevil #netflix daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock smut #cat man do #ao3 link

75 notes · View notes

tgmsunmontue · 9 months ago

Text

Online & Anonymous 8/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

Odd year = Bradley's POV and Even year = Jake's POV

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012

2013 – Bradley

When he gets the invitation to Top Gun he almost vibrates out of his seat in excitement. He keeps telling himself it’s excitement and not terror. He’s already going to be turning thirty this year, and while he might be a bit older than some of the other attendees he knows he’s unlikely to be the oldest. However he is older than his father was when he attended. He’s already older than his father was when he died and the idea that his father was married and had had a kid is mind boggling to him, because he doesn’t feel anywhere old enough to have either of those responsibilities, even if he’s coming around to the first one whenever he thinks about a potential future with Jas.

>>I got invited to a thing. An elite training thing. It’s sort of a big deal.

>>I’ll probably be busier than usual.

>>Like what?

>>Wait. Rangers? Delta Force? Pararescue?

>>Yeah. Something like that.

>>Fine. Keep your secrets.

>>You’re the one that said you want to keep some stuff for when we meet.

>>Can I change my mind?

>>Ask me again in 24 hours.

>>You’re pretty impulsive.

>>You like me being impulsive.

>>That’s true. I do.

>>Don’t want you to regret it though.

>>End of May isn’t that far away.

>>Assuming nothing happens again.

>>Yeah well. Fingers crossed.

>>Thinking about finally meeting you is the only gets me through some of my worst days.

>>No pressure.

Bradley squeezes his lips between his teeth, wonders if he should apologize.

>>There is no pressure. I’m just… being honest with you.

>>I’ve had to lie about do much for so long, that even now it’s…

>>Well. I’ll never lie to you. Even if I think it’ll scare you.

>>This is where I get to be myself.

>>But you don’t need to worry about me not liking you.

>>I already love you.

>>Okay.

>>Well.

>>In the interests of being honest, do you want to know a secret?

>>Of course.

>>I’m scared of meeting you.

>>Why?

>>What if you’re not as perfect in person as you are through my phone?

>>Well, I’m not perfect.

>>At all.

>>Do you want me to share some of my gross habits with you?

>>I can do that if you think it would help.

>>Yeah. Go on.

>>Well, a recent one which drives my roommate absolutely batshit crazy, is I leave my moustache hair clippings all over the sink.

>>You have a moustache?

>>Yep. A new one. That long leave period I had last year when we were meant to meet up the second time? I started growing it.

>>Keeps my upper lip warm.

>>Do you look good?

>>I look like my dad.

>>Makes me feel closer to him.

>>I broke down and cried when I caught my reflection because I thought it was him.

>>I think mine is better, but I just wish he was here to joke with me about it.

>>Teach me how to take care of it.

>>All I’ve had are YouTube tutorials and it’s not quite the same.

>>If you’re watching online tutorials it definitely looks good.

>>Vain motherfucker.

Bradley laughs but doesn’t bother disputing the fact, he likes to look good, and taking pride in his appearance is something that is necessary because it reflects on the Navy. He can’t say that specifically though.

>>What about you? Annoying habit?

>>I leave empty bottles and cups everywhere.

>>Not in the mess hall obviously, but everywhere else.

>>My friends despair of me.

>>I try and remember when I’m elsewhere, but I just keep forgetting.

>>Awful Southern manners.

… … …

His seventeen-week stint at the Navy Fighter Weapons School begins and he doesn’t think he’s ever worked so hard in his life. He studies every waking moment, spends time with the ground crew asking questions about particular aspects of their jobs and their experiences, uses them to piece together a better understanding of the planes, although he’s already got an excellent understanding of most things, his obsession and upbringing in his youth meaning he’s knowledgeable about odd things, which sometimes get a raised eyebrow from one or two of the instructors. He does his best to ignore them.

He and Jas have discovered SnapChat and started using that, not for conversations, just for staying connected and sending tiny little snippets of their day to each other, letting him know he’s thinking of him. Shots of morning coffee, books where he carefully covers the titles when it’s related to flying, the sky when it’s particularly pretty, his empty bed with the simple caption wish you were here.

The seventeen weeks come to an end, he comes out on the top and he feels so much. He survived for a start, which is something he can admit now that he was worried about. God, he wants to ring Mav and Ice, and not just to brag, but to hear them be happy for him, although a part of him accepts he definitely wants to rub Pete’s face in it, that he is good enough. Of course it throws everything else into sharp relief and he wishes more than anything he could talk to his dad. He’s sitting in the lounge, just staring at the photos of previous Top Gun classes and 1986 is right there, an image that conjures so many mixed emotions.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw. Thought you’d be out celebrating the win.”

“Sir.”

“Seriously. I’m surprised to see you here and not with the others.”

“I will celebrate. Just. Having some mixed emotions sir,” he admits.

“You don’t think you earnt the win?”

Bradley blinks, because he’s not sure there’s a way to answer that question the right way, without sounding like he’s

“I think it was an honor to be invited here and challenged by fellow aviators who are excellent in every respect. I worked hard and flew well. Just. Did you know my father died at Top Gun? During a hop?”

“Bradshaw. I did wonder. Thought it was in bad taste to ask.”

“No-one asked, but I suspect some are aware. No-one brought it up, sir.”

“No, they’d probably take your lead on that. Well, I’ll leave you to it Lieutenant. Have a good evening.”

“Thank you sir.”

… … …

>>How did you go?

>>Well, I didn’t wash out and I completed it.

>>That’s a pretty low bar.

>>Didn’t wash out? Pretty sure you smashed it.

>>I love your faith in me.

>>I love you.

>>Of course I have faith in you.

>>What I don’t have faith in is the universe and its apparent desire to fuck us over.

>>I’ve been invited to my own elite training thing.

>>Like, I can’t turn it down, it’s pretty much an order to go. And it’s an honor to be selected, but the timing could not be fucking worse.

>>I’m so sorry.

Bradley is so disappointed he’s close to tears, but he also knows that when these type of opportunities are offered to you, you cannot turn them down. Ever. Not directly. Except he sort of just did, and his mind is

>>I understand. I totally understand.

>>Doesn’t stop me being disappointed though.

>>I was really looking forward to finally meeting you.

>>You and me both. Waited this long though right?

>>I am getting really sick of us having to say that.

>>I’m starting to get very sick of waiting.

>>I feel like we’ve waited long enough.

>>But I was offered something, I might see if I can backtrack my decline.

>>Shit. Did you turn something down because of me?

>>Well, I asked if I could think about it for a day or two. I was intending to turn them down, but I think I’ll accept it now.

>>Not if I don’t have meeting you in May to look forward to.

>>Nick. I don’t want you turning down things which could help your career just to meet with me.

>>I’m not going anywhere.

>>This goes both ways. I don’t want you turning things down either.

>>I’m sorry – did you just miss the bit where I said I can’t meet up because I’m taking up a training opportunity?

>>Yeah, but you thought about turning it down.

>>Next time don’t think about it, just accept.

>>I’ll always understand your desire to put your career first.

>>What about when I don’t want to anymore?

>>Also this applies to actual guys you sleep with and could have a relationship with.

>>Don’t you dare use me as an excuse to not pursue something if you think it’d be worth it.

>>Then the same applies for you.

>>Fine. Although the guys I’ve been sleeping with have yet to impress me with anything worth writing home about. Or well…

>>Sharing with you. My fantasies are definitely far more interesting.

>>Still think it’s your useless superpower, ability to hook-up with the worst possible guys and just have bad sex.

>>It’s okay. We’ll practice plenty in person when we meet.

… … …

The offer to stay on as an instructor is there, and he’d said he’d think about it. However he really doesn’t want to stop flying, but he also doesn’t feel like he has the necessary skills to train other aviators yet, which is why he’s seriously considering staying to learn from the Top Gun instructors. When he raises his concerns about wanting to keep up his flying while also wanting to build up his experience with teaching and training to a set syllabus he gets a considered look for his troubles.

“You’re not very much like your father or godfather are you Lieutenant.”

“Excuse me sir?”

“I know who you are Lieutenant. I flew with both your father, and Maverick. You remind my far more of Iceman. Cool and collected, little bit detached from emotion when you’re flying.”

“Sir,” Bradley states, because he’s not sure if he’s asking a question or not. Whether it’s simply an observation or a compliment.

“I’ll see what we can figure out.”

The experienced tutors seem to take his interest in training with enthusiasm, recommending readings and setting homework. He learns that some of them have gone on to do Masters degrees in learning or development. He hadn’t expected quite a thorough background as he’s getting, but it’s good. He’s permitted to take flights early in the morning as long as he clears his flight plans with his commanding officer and also has at least three others awake and at least one willing to act as ground crew. He makes decent deals with several of the instructors, some who just prefer being on base that early to prepare for the day and doing it while he flies around is acceptable to them, especially when he agrees to try out any particular maneuvers and tactics in different planes. He loves it and it’s his routine for three weeks before the next Top Gun intake arrive. He shaves off his moustache and then regrets it almost immediately, but he can grow it back the next time he has a decent amount of leave to go unshaved.

… … …

There are twelve naval aviators and Bradley has read all their files. He’s flown with a few of them before, one of them being Bambi and another Coyote. Then he knows Slipper, Knocks, Frank and Truffle. It leaves the other six as unknowns, although he does recognize the names. He has to admit it’s almost more intimidating than going through Top Gun himself, being expected to command the attention of other aviators for lessons, people known for challenging the status quo. The fact that he already knows half of them actually makes it worse, because he knows they won’t hold back. Not that he expects any of them to hold back, but he’s read their files and they’re all good and more than deserve to be here.

It’s a little awkward, he’s not sure whether he is meant to be hanging out with the instructors, or whether he’s somehow part of this Top Gun class as well. So he finds a weird middle ground, friendly and professional with the instructors, happy to act for them, following their instructions and carrying out flight moves as an example or acting the part of bogey for tactical training. He is even more professional with the Top Gun class, slightly cooler but still friendly enough that he doesn’t think it pisses any of them off, although Bambi does roll her eyes at him more than once and Coyote gives him a quirked eyebrow.

He and Jas continue to exchange snaps every day, although they both poke fun at the seemingly endless monotony of their current day-to-day lives. Bradley’s same mug of coffee everyday wishing him good morning, and it hasn’t escaped his notice that Jas seems to be in his time zone for the first time ever. Or at least for the first time since he really started paying attention and using Snapchat. They haven’t made any long-term plans to meet-up, not until next year and that’s too far away for Bradley to even know where in the world he’ll be let alone what weeks of the year he will have free which makes him feel a little more irritated than usual.

“So, your score is the score I have to beat huh?” Jake Seresin says, and Bradley can’t help the immediate spike of annoyance at the words. He shouldn’t, because they’re Navy, competition between them all is something that is drilled into them from the beginning. More so for the USNA, but Bradley’s been around Naval Aviators his entire life and knows how they are, for the most part. Bunch of egotistical adrenaline junkies. Himself included, although he likes to try and temper his own ego by being as friendly and hopefully genuinely likeable as possible. Of course, being professional and maintaining some sense of distance can be difficult when he just wants to roll his eyes and tell the guy to grow up.

“Just concentrate on your own flying and don’t worry about beating me.”

They’re all good pilots. Of course they are. But Jake Seresin just seems to take the cast of egotistical and break the mold. He’s just so full of himself and the most annoying part of it is that it’s completely justified. He is that good, but he also gives off waves that he doesn’t feel like he has anything left to learn and Bradley knows he can’t be the only one feeling a little frustrated with his attitude sometimes. He asks the other instructors, in a round-about way, and he gets amused looks and told that he’ll learn to manage that with experience.

Then there is how Seresin looks. He’s very nice to look at, Bradley isn’t going to lie to himself about it, and he wouldn’t kick him out of bed, however he’d have to like his personality enough first to invite him there, and that isn’t happening anytime soon. Definitely not while they’re at Top Gun, even if he thinks he could ask and get accepted, he doesn’t want to get a reputation for sleeping with students, that would be disastrous. It doesn’t stop him jerking off and thinking about Jake Seresin’s lips around his cock and he sends a couple of pictures to Jas during and after, telling him he misses him.

… … …

Seventeen weeks feels like the blink of an eye and also, somehow, the longest drawn-out torture ever. He’s glad he has flying everyday, because somedays it’s the only thing that keeps him sane. Seresin seems to ask endless questions, some just bordering on disrespectful and he knows the other instructors find his frustration amusing, because he catches their poorly hidden smiles when he privately expresses his frustration to them, so he starts ignoring it as best he can.

He doesn’t think he enjoys training and teaching enough to want to make this his career, not if every class is going to have people like Jake Seresin in it. He can’t bring himself to whine about it to Jas, not when he knows he’s so busy with his own specialty training, so he does the next best thing and rings Natasha, exchanging pleasantries before just launching into the complaining when she asks how the training aspects are going.

“I just can’t seem to teach him anything! He just rubs me the wrong way.”

“Well, you definitely want to be rubbing something…”

“Jesus Natasha!”

“What? It’s not going to get you kicked out or anything anymore…”

“I’m not going to sleep with him!”

“Would you? If that were an option? Is he hot?”

“I don’t know. Have you met Jake Seresin?”

“Oh. Definitely hot. He’s also Javy’s best friend.”

“Javy huh?” Bradley asks, wanting to steer their conversation away from his inconvenient attraction to the most annoying person he’s ever met.

“Shut up. At least I know what the guy I’m interested in looks like…”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. I had noticed they were pretty tight.”

“Yeah. Tight as brothers. Academy and flight school buddies. Hopefully Javy’s actual brothers are nicer.”

“Well, they aren’t currently here driving me fucking insane, so that’s already a point in their favor.”

“How is Javy doing?”

“He’s good. Everyone here is good. You should be here.”

“I’ll get my turn.”

“Yeah you will.”

… … …

“You know, the other instructors, they call you a rooster, because you get up so early so you can get up and fly before class.”

Bradley grunts, because if he ignores him, maybe he’ll go away. He knows the other instructors call him that, and he doesn’t mind it, because there are far worse nicknames he could have landed himself with. This one has been an almost affectionate one, given to him with a ruffle to his hair and a wink.

“I wanted to see if you’d be interested in getting a drink.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“No, that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“We’re the same rank,” Seresin states, but Bradley is shaking his head.

“I’m still an instructor.”

Seresin’s lip curls, and it’s not in a nice way, but he’s stepping back, hands out in a no harm no foul gesture and Bradley hates that he looks good even when he’s looking pissed off.

“Your loss.”

“I think I’ll live.”

… … …

When the seventeen weeks come to an end, he finally allows himself to socialize with Bambi, taking her out for dinner as an apology for being so formal and professional for the last four months. Allows, for a given definition of allow, for her to sweep the floor with him at both darts and pool. Then he takes her back to his place where they make a video call to Natasha and have a proper catch-up. Of course the first thing Natasha asks is if he’s slept with Seresin yet which has Bambi cackling and telling her all about the times Seresin seemed to be an ass solely to try and get Bradley’s attention.

… … …

>>You ever wonder what would happen if you did something different?

>>Only every fucking day.

2014 - Jake

#online and anonymous #Hangster #Sereshaw #hangman x rooster #Top Gun Maverick fanfic

53 notes · View notes

ghostlesswhispers · 1 year ago

Text

°˖➴ 𝙿𝙾𝙲𝙺𝙴𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝚃 ⋆· ༘ *

‧₊˚ ꩜彡┆𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 .ᐟ

Ftm reader x Lucas Lee, fluff. Now that Scott is back, the show must go on. This time at the Rockit, a new band is introduced. Unlike Sex Bob-omb they have pretty good marketing, the posters plastered almost everywhere in Toronto. During a usual shift at second cup, a friend of Lucas's comes in for coffee and comes across a flyer on the board for the band along with that night's competition.

He suggests going out for drinks and checking it out, which soon has Lucas finding himself in the club of Rockit. Where he meets Scott and assumes he's another Scott but isn't, something that wasn't anything new as the two were known for getting mixed up at parties and things of the sort. After all the two had a couple things in common, with them both being the bass player for their bands. But Lucas finds himself drawn to the male, wanting to get to know him.

✎ᝰ.┆𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙴 .ᐟ

Lucas Lee X Ftm Reader, fluff.

Requested by an anon, I hope you enjoy it and I'm so sorry for the wait! <33

A sigh left your lips as you stood there, raising the beer bottle to your lips and taking a sip. You stood there tapping your foot against the floor, trying to calm your nerves. Your band was to be next, two bands after the one playing right now, compared to the opening band they were average. Nothing special but still people seemed to like them, their bass player was good or at least that's what you believed so you'd give that to them.

As for why you were standing here near the bar, trying to soothe any anxiety you had instead of making sure everything was ready with your band. You had needed a small break, something to distract you from all the overbearing thoughts that were filling your head. Which of course did become helpful in the end, just not the way you intended. As you listened to familiar faces or just random people who knew of you from parties speak to you about events or rumors they heard about "you", the first thing to ever leave some of their lips is usually the fact they thought you were dead.

Which truly confused you, when did you die? And that's when it hit you right there and then, they were getting you mixed with Scott Pilgrim. The loser who was dating or dated a highschooler, and the bass player of Sex Bob-omb who was coincidentally just now going on as you watched them move across the stage. Getting in their positions, this time an unfamiliar face following suit.

You sighed again as you questioned how anyone would get you mixed up with him unless they hadn't seen his face or knew his full name which was overall stupid, after all Scott was a pretty common name and it would be smart to get his last name but then again most of these people you met at parties so what did you expect. You truly found it irritating whenever you got mixed up with the male, it being slightly offensive as well. You did not date a highschooler and never would do anything so sick in the first place, you also did not die as you stood here now perfectly fine.

Which did make you wonder if he faked his death as he was now back, standing on the stage in one piece and alive as he played with Sex Bob-omb. The only reason you didn't confront people over this was because you were horrible when it came to socializing and there's the fact sometimes people would be messing around with you, and you wouldn't even realize. You also were overall just terrible with confrontation, leaving you to just respond with how they got the wrong Scott.

But that didn't matter now, setting the bottle down and taking a seat you pondered on ways to make your nervousness slowly dissipate as someone sat down next to you. "One beer, please." He beamed as he pulled his shades off, smirking at the bartender who immediately recognized him and got to grabbing the man a beer. Soon shifting to the side as his gaze trailed across the crowd and then settled on you, your eye's widened as his met yours.

This wasn't good, you were already dealing with anxiety and now you were sitting next to someone who didn't even look like he'd be found a club like Rockit, where they were now holding a competition for shitty bands to compete. Of course you knew better than to judge someone by their appearance, as who knows why he was here. And then there's the fact he could just have an eccentric taste, truthfully he looked like a Johnny Bravo wannabe but he was pulling it off at least.

But besides that fact, you felt intimidated by him and that just added onto you not being able to socialize well. As the male flashed a grin, "You don't have to stare at me like that, I know. I'm awesome." He stated as he took the beer from the man behind the counter. Picking up a pen as he immediately wrote his signature down on his recipet, then placing it down and handing you it. You were confused as your eyebrows furrowed, was he apart of a band perhaps?

You hadn't recognized any of the bands names on the list so it was hard to tell, if not then maybe some type of celebrity or something? But here in Rockit? Talk about strange, he did look like he could possibly be a model though. His tall and muscular build could easily be eye candy for a lot of people, so maybe he really was a model. It would make sense in a way with how he carried himself, you shook your head before finally asking the question that was plaguing your mind.

Taking the receipt as you spoke, "Sorry, who are you?" And just like that you were met with silence which you quietly panicked inside at. The man just peering down at you for a few minutes before repeating the question you had said out loud, "Who am I? Well, I'm the one and only Lucas Lee of course." His response didn't help you much but you knew you had heard the name before as you stared down at his signature on the receipt. You honestly didn't know what to say in return as you scrambled through your mind for an answer to where you had heard it from.

And that's when you were reminded of who he was, your eyes widening as you looked back up at the male. A famous actor, was he? You remembered your bandmate "Sookie" gushing about how he was now working at second cup, which was exactly where she had gotten his autograph. You had barely been paying attention as you watched her mouth move, that same glittery gloss she wore painting her lips. Seems his acting career was over because of some scandal you did not know of, or that's what you at least have memory of.

Your fingers loosely gripped the receipt as you nodded, about to say something before being interrupted by someone shouting your name. Two familiar figures were heading over to you, your eyes settling on them immediately as you questioned what they wanted. The two being Sookie and Mo, of course. Sookie had her hair tied up in a ponytail, the familiar black curls all bunched up. Her nails painted pink and that same glittery lip gloss she always wore on her lips, as she spoke out, her words were muffled by the bustling crowd around them.

Mo followed behind, his style never changing as he wore his regularly white button up shirt with some weird tie that matched his socks. Today's theme being, Garfield? Was that right? You couldn't tell really, as they moved through the crowd you waved them over. You were going to turn back to apologize to Lucas when a loud squeal was heard, you instantly recognized it as Sookie's as the two had finally made it over. Your eyebrows furrowing as you hoped you didn't have to deal with her fan-girling over the man while you stood there awkwardly, your nerves getting worse.

Her lips curved into a smile as she quickly made her way towards the two, settling right beside you. It was no lie that you loved Sookie but sometimes she could be too much for your own good, with her being a burst of joy and the talkative one of the bunch. While you tried to hide in the shadows because you were horrible with chatting and didn't understand social ques, which had made things pretty awkward at times. Causing you to get paranoid about how you appeared to certain people.

Sex Bob-omb was just now finishing their performance which soon led to a new band coming on stage, meaning Pocket Lint was next. That explaining why the two came out. Probably to make sure you were okay and didn't bale on them, which would be the least of their worries as Mo was always the one vanishing. It didn't matter much as he dealt with promoting and getting the bands name around, those flyers for Pocket Lint plastered all around Toronto being made by him after all.

He wasn't apart of their band anyways really as he had his own to deal with, him being new to Canada and American caught their guitarists attention. Then there was the fact he was apart of a semi-popular band which the male was having problems with, as you had heard all about him dipping on them during a show that Rockit held last week. Seems he was physically and mentally struggling with some things at the moment, as Sookie described how he had a whole new wardrobe and appearance switch. Wanting to change everything.

Arzhel their guitarist wanted to try and get him to join as he was his bands vocals, with Pocket Lint needing their own vocalist as Arzhel dealt with most of the singing and Sookie sticked to the drums while helping out with lyric writing. The three of you being tight knit together as you were their bass player, overall everything was pretty good and Mo helped quite a bit. So it was nice to have him around when needed.

You had just gotten another beer while you watched Sookie talk to the male, beaming about the band and other things. With Lucas soon ending it by giving her another autograph, this time signing her bag which filled her with excitement. Thank God it was just Lucas Lee out of all people, who knows what would've happened if you ran into Envy Adams. You'd have to hold her back from pouncing and bombarding the rockstar with questions, as well praise.

Of course that was a more dramatic reenactment of the situation but you wouldn't be surprised as Sookie absolutely adored the singer, which you truthfully found cute and it made everything easier as you knew exactly what to get when it came to presents. As you had gotten her Clash at demon's head latest album along with some other things you'd believe she liked for her last birthday, to say she was pleased would be an understatement.

As your face had blemishes on it, mainly because of the red lipstick that had beared her lips that night. The memory had brought a smile to your lips as you rolled your eyes, watching the woman finally make her way torwards Mo who seemed to be lost in conversation with a familiar face that you forgot the name of. Your eyes soon leaving the three as you glanced back at Lucas, who had just now asked you a question.

"You, have we met before?" You raised an eyebrow at his question, muttering a simple no as you pondered on why the two of you would've met which you then remembered he could possibly be talking about Scott Pilgrim. "I'm the other Scott, not Scott Pilgrim." He responded, his eyes meeting the male's eyes again. Watching as Lucas thought it over, nodding with a smirk. "Well other Scott, it's nice to meet you. I heard you're apart of a band?" He asked as he stood there.

He was interested in you, though of course that wasn't clear. He just found it amusing that you treated him as if he didn't use to be some famous star, the receipt you had from him now crumpled up and laying on the counter. You hadn't even realized you did that, just a regular occurrence of yours as you weren't the the type to keep receipts. You soon took another sip from the beer in hand, "Yeah," your lips parting as you stood there thinking of how to respond.

"We go on next, me and my band. Pocket Lint, we're pretty good. If you're not bored by the end you could come hang out, that's if you're interested. I'm sure Sookie would enjoy that." You wanted to say you would be happy to have him around for the night that way you could get to know him more but of course anxiety got the best of you, maybe come to an understanding as to why your drummer loved him so much besides well his looks.

You were fairly surprised that you had even managed to keep conversation with the male, perhaps the alcohol in your system pushed you a bit. Or Lucas just had an aura about him that made it easy to talk to him but even so you were still worrying about what he thought, after all he was a famous star in the past. You watched as the man grabbed a napkin, writing something down. Before holding it out, peering down at your hands to watch you take it before he brought his gaze back to your eyes.

"Definitely, I'll be there. Call me, won't ya?" He stated with a wink, your fingers brushed against his as you took the napkin while ignoring the playful wink he gave you. Reading his number over in your head as you stared down at it, you were careful as you put it in the bag hanging from your shoulder. Adjusting the strap before humming, "I should really get going, I don't want Arzhel yelling at me. I'll see you around though, later?" He questioned with a small smile which Lucas returned with "Of course." While waving you off as he ordered another beer.

Now here you and your band were stuck at Arzhel's house, Mo drunk, practically topless as his unbuttoned shirt hanged from his torso and wearing only his boxers along with it which were Garfield themed like the rest of his outfit. You were shocked to not find his bra to be Garfield themed at this point, talk about bold. But that's just how the male was, he even had a collection of converse's that were multiple colors. Wearing the black ones now, instead of his black oxfords. Which truly made the lasagna socks he had on pop, it sounded ridiculous and looked ridiculous in some people's eyes like Arzhel but hey it was a sense of style.

As for Arzhel he was currently picking up behind him, as he grabbed the familiar pair of black pin-striped pants off the floor of his living room. A cigarette dangling from his lips as he rolled his eyes, watching the other male empty a glass of red wine as he plopped down onto the couch next to Sookie. Her pulling his head against her body causing him to lean against her with a sigh as his gaze settled on you, he waved the glass at you with a smile which caused you to let out a sigh in response.

Pondering on if the male would be okay, since he had an argument with his bandmates, he had been sticking around when he could and if he wasn't then he was drinking or sleeping his problems away with some new random person he met at a party. Or at least trying to do so, the sound of Sookie humming as she ran her fingers through his hair with a smile was heard. You watched as Arzhel slowly made his way towards the two, peeling Mo's fingers away from the wine glass as he shut down his complaints with a soft hush.

The four of you were overall exhausted, it being an hour since you left Rockit with a drunk Mo. You had tried finding Lucas after your show but were swept away in the crowd, and in the end never found him, but you did have one thing. His number, you held the crumpled receipt and the napkin in your hand as you stared down at the numbers. Pondering on what to say if you called him, anxiety filling your chest as you listened to Arzhel ask Mo if he'd be staying the night which the male just scoffed and answered with an of course.

You then cursed under your breath before speaking, "Sorry, do y'all think y'all be able to take care of him without me? I have somewhere I want to be, if that's fine." Snookie smiled and nodded, not minding at all while Arzhel patted Mo on the shoulder as he rised. "Don't even have to ask, just don't go getting yourself into trouble and if you're drinking, get a friend. We'll take care of Mo, he'll be fine plus he's been staying at my place for a while anyways so I got him." He explained with a muffled tone as he moved, placing the clothes down on the coffee table before walking past you and nodding at you as he pulled the cigarette from his lips with an exhale.

Which you nodded in return, Sookie soon spoke as she glanced at you for a few minutes. "Have fun!" She winked, which caused you to raise an eyebrow but you shrugged it off. Making your way towards the front door, grabbing the coat off the rack and taking a step outside. Soon you had your phone in hand, pressing each button to dial in the actors number. Then bringing it to your ear as you walked, praying he'd pick up as you exhaled.

It didn't take long for someone to pick up on the other side of the line, you heard the familiar tone of Lucas's voice. "Hello, this is Lucas Lee speaking." Which earned a soft chuckle from you as you stopped in place, causing the male to speak again. "Other Scott?" He questioned, which caused you to picture him raising his eyebrow as he asked. "Yeah, it's me. Other Scott, or well just Scott," He pointed out as he started walking again, "I wanted to know if you're still up for hanging out, or is it too late?"

"No, not at all. I'm always ready for a party." A grin dancing on his lips as he joked, but you didn't catch it as you responded. "I meant alone but I could figure something out if you would prefer being around more people, my bandmates are resting so I might have to dig a bit online." You were soon met with his signature chuckle as you heard the sound of shuffling and digging through the phone, Lucas obviously doing something on the other side. "We can spend some time together, alone. Got a a place in mind?" His voice even thicker than how he had answered the phone at first, perhaps he had just been asleep before you called.

"There's a park, the one with that weird statue of some guy I forgot the name of. It's next to the skatepark if I remember." You soon trailed off as you pondered on the street name, soon telling him the location which caused Lucas to hum before speaking. "I'll be there, give me fifteen minutes. Nothing more, nothing less." It didn't take long before he hung up, you smiling as you fist pumped in your head. Glad that went well, as you relaxed. Your anxiety slowly dissipating, while you started walking at a faster place.

It didn't take long for you to arrive at the park, your hands fumbling with the receipt you still had as you tried to straighten it out as best as you could. Sitting on a bench as you waited for the man, the sound of wheels rolling against concrete soon reaching your ears. As you raised your head, you were met with the familiar figure of Lucas, this time wearing his leather jacket. His skateboard emitted a grinding noise as it grounded to a halt, the wheels scraping against the pavement.

Soon propelling the skateboard upward and effortlessly catching it in his hand, his eyes fixating on you as he moved torwards the bench and took a seat next to you. "So, come here often?" He wondered as his eyes fell on your face, his breathing releasing a visible puff of air from his lips. Then dissipating into the cold atmosphere, you nodded as you watched his lips. Something you had grown used to, always watching everyone's lips move as they spoke.

"I guess, I usually just come when I need a break or some fresh air. It's the perfect place to relax at night after a long day." You explained to him as you fidgeted with your fingers, glancing away every few minutes before focusing on his lips again as he started talking. "I see, it is quite nice. Peaceful even." His eyes not leaving you once as he watched your expression and body language, his eyes soon settling on the receipt that he didn't even notice you took after leaving the bar.

For some reason it made him feel warm, something so small but significant in a way. Even though you didn't know of him that much or minded him being an actor you still seemed to care, it was sweet in a way. His gaze followed your fingers as you blowed at them, trying to warm them up. You soon glancing at the male with an eyebrow raised, your lips parting as you pondered what had him so lost in thought.

What he said next really shocked you in a way, as you stared at him. "If you let me, I could help keep your hands warm." He uttered out loud, surprising himself even but it wasn't notable with his expression being blank. You wondered what he meant by that as you sat there, holding your hands out with a nod. Watching as he took hold of your hands, covering yours with his and bringing them to his lips as he intertwined his fingers with yours. Gently blowing at them, his eyebrows furrowing as he focused.

Your eyes widened at the gesture, it did help in a way but also caused a bubble of nerves to rise. But not the bad kind, more like butterflies in your stomach. You felt warm, you couldn't focus on his eyes or lips anymore. Just staring at your fingers as you thought of what to say, letting out a heavy breath. This wasn't what you expected for the night as you sat there, watching him closely. "Is that helping?" He asked as his eyes met yours making your breath get caught in your throat, making it even more difficult to say anything.

It took a minute before you could say anything, not being able to peel your eyes away from his. "Yeah, it is." You muttered, your voice coming out gravelly. You didn't pull your hands away and he didn't let go as his focus went back to your hands, continuing to gently blow at them. Silence filling the air as you both had sat there together, you savoring the moment of subtle intimacy as you acknowledged the way he squeezed your hands every couple minutes. If this was how you were to end your night, you didn't mind at all. If anything enjoying it.

Once done he lowered your hands but kept his fingers intertwined with them and truthfully you didn't want to pull your hands away, finding it comforting. As you leaned back against the bench, relaxing with a sigh of relief. Your gaze settling on the sky, it seems you'd be here for a bit and you didn't mind it all. Basking in the silence and the moment, he was right about it being peaceful but it was even better now that you had someone with you.

#Spotify #scott pilgram takes off #scott pilgrim vs the world #lucas lee x reader #lucas lee

60 notes · View notes

bejeweledblondie · 1 year ago

Text

Maroon

Alex Keller x F! Reader

Summary: A barracks party, spilled red wine, & a hangover bring a unlikely pair together (inspired by the Taylor Swift song off of the album Midnights)

Warnings: a lil spicy, female anatomy

You couldn’t believe your friend talked you into coming here. She had matched with some soldier off of Tinder & wanted a friend to come with her to make sure she was safe. As soon as you guys got onto the freakin base she ran off with her Tinder match, leaving you alone. Sitting in a lawn chair you were nursing a glass of red wine. The wine was incredibly cheap, & you winced every time you took a sip. Pure bitterness sat on your tongue. A group of soldiers were only a couple feet away from you playing some beer pong & other drinking games. They were insufferably loud & were incredibly drunk.

As you sat there mentally making a list of judgements you had no idea that you had an admirer. Alex stood cigarette in hand with a open beer can next to him overlooking out into the parking lot. The lower enlisted soldiers were up to their usual weekend shenanigans & he wanted to make sure nothing happened. No matter how many safety briefings at least one soldier was in some sort of trouble. He had noticed the young woman in the lawn chair with the wine in her hand. She looked absolutely miserable. Presumably, not there by choice judging by her body language.

She wore a fitted white cropped shirt & a pair of denim shorts. He couldn’t help noticed how well her chest filled out the shirt. Licking his lips he watched as she adjusted her shirt a bit. She looked around at the maroon sunset sky above her taking her eyes off of the soldiers playing beer pong. Then she looked over towards the barracks noticing Alex unapologetically looking at her. A crimson blush appeared on his cheeks from the embarrassment of getting caught checking her out.

You bit your red stained lips stifling a laugh at the handsome soldier with the facial hair who was just caught. He must’ve felt bold, because she watched him make his way down the stairs walking over to where she was seated. A lit cigarette & open can of beer where in one of his hands. The can looked significantly smaller in his hands with his hands nearly wrapped the around the entire circumference. A small crimson heat started to heat up your face in anticipation.

“Hello ma’am,” He said as he finally reached you. You looked up at handsome man & smiled. “I’m sorry for staring but I couldn’t help it.” He admitted. “You’re just so pretty I had to tell you that.” The heat on your face started to intensify from his compliment. “I’m Alex.” He said holding out his hand. You took his hand in yours shaking it.

“Y/N.” You replied smiling at him.

“I’m assuming you’re not here on your own free will.” He joked.

“Nope.” You said & started to play with the rim of the wine glass. “My friend decided to drag me here to make sure nothing would happen to her while she met up with some soldier.” You explained. “But now I can’t seem to locate her.”

“Ah,” He replied. “Which dating app?”

“Tinder.” You replied bluntly.

“Old reliable.” He joked & took a drag of his cigarette. “By chance would you want to come & sit up on the balcony it’s warmer then sitting down here. You’ll also be away from those idiots.”

“Sure,” You said & accepted his offer. “It beats sitting down here.” When you went to stand up your tripped over a rock spilling your red wine all down the front of your white t-shirt revealing your scarlet lace bra. The burgundy liquid stuck to your skin & completely stained the white material. “Shit!” You screamed out in frustration. Not that Alex enjoyed your misfortune of you ruining a perfectly good t-shirt but he wasn’t complaining at the sight in front of him.

“If you want I could give you one of my old t-shirts to wear for the time being.” He offered trying his hardest to maintain eye contact.

“I’d actually really appreciate it.” You replied taking him up on his offer. He lead you up the stairs to his barracks room. It was neat, well kept somewhat surprising you. A stark contrast from unkept messy room of the soldier your friend ran off with. He dug into a drawer & threw you an old pt shirt.

“If you’d like to take a quick shower to get cleaned up the bathroom is just through that door.” He offered. You walked into the bathroom & started the shower. Stripping out of your wine stained shirt & jeans you hopped into the shower. The warm water washed away the sticky red substance from your body. Once you were finally clean you grabbed the maroon bath towel that laid on the towel rack wrapping yourself in it. You walked out & Alex sat on his bed scrolling through this phone. He felt your presence & his eyes raked over your towel clad frame. You don’t know if was the wine talking or the sexual tension that been building but you dropped the towel. Pressing your blood red lips to his you had absolutely no idea you were getting yourself into.

You awoke the next morning with a heavy arm draped over your waist cocooned in burgundy bed sheets. The soft snores of Alex woke you up from the daze you were in. An overwhelming dull hangover made you groan as your eyes caught some of the light peaking out between the curtains. Alex stirred & woke up to you laying in his arms. His lips were stained from the lipstick that was now smeared onto your cheek. He pressed a small kiss to your lips & pulled you in tighter to his body.

“How did I end up here anyway?” You asked groaning.

“My roommates cheap red wine & screw top rosé.” He replied.

#call of duty #cod imagines #cod masterlist #cod modern warfare #call of duty smut #alex keller #alex keller x reader #alex keller x you #ghost call of duty #ghost x y/n #captain john price #captain price #captain price x y/n #cod x reader #john price x reader

46 notes · View notes

joels-shitty-puns · 1 year ago

Text

Pins and Needles - Chapter 2

Pairing: Post-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Reader

Series Summary: Joel has known you for several years, but it was always strictly business, which was easier and preferred. However, after you run into him in Jackson, avoiding him is more of a challenge than you'd like.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Alluding to sexual scenarios. Mention of masturbation. Kissing. Age gap, reader is 39/40 Joel is 56/57. Violence!!! This features outbreak day memories. Blood, stabbing, cannibalism, death, infected. An airplane crash. Spoilers from season 1 of TLOU HBO. Deaths from that season are mentioned. Nightmares. Angst/tension. Let me know if I missed anything!!

Other stuff: Reader is referred to by the nickname Needles, but other than that descriptors are avoided! Reader is fem.

This series was based on these two anon requests! Here and here

Series list: Here

Word count: 1.7k

You and Joel had crossed paths many times over the years. First meeting in the QZ back in 2017, you became acquainted with Tess first. It wasn't long before the three of you were trading goods and looting old buildings for supplies together. Tess eventually introduced you to Bill and Frank, first telling you about them and how they met over the radio. She was very enthusiastic about it, but you, as usual, refused to get close. Bill and Frank were a nice couple, but you couldn't risk getting attached to anyone.

You were first hesitant when Tess wanted to exchange goods and occasionally work together. But you agreed. A business transaction basically.

When she insisted you meet Bill and Frank you blatantly said no. But she assured you it would be worth it, and so the next month, the three of you trekked to their site. Bill cooked up the first decent meal you had eaten in years, and Frank instantly acted like a friend. It didn't take many more trips before he offered you a vacant home in their empty, gated community. You again declined, much to Bill’s agreement. That was too much attachment.

Joel, unlike Tess, seemed very similar in your thinking. He was a stranger to you, despite years of knowing each other, working together, sleeping in the same camps and keeping watch for each other. That was fine by you. You could tell enough about him without his words to need more information. You could tell that he had been through hell and didn't want to risk it by forming relationships. Alliances was as far as he'd go.

Rarely ever did the two of you communicate. Mainly, you would just nod to each other. Tess was the moderator. You didn't know the relationship between them, but whatever she and Joel were was none of your business. The only reason you can imagine she was interested in working with you, was your same aloof attitude and personality as Joel. Your ability to hold your own, killing clickers and stalkers without blinking an eye. You were tough as nails and cool as a cucumber. Tess loved you, and Joel… couldn't complain. You seemed fine without help.

You always assumed Joel and Tess were a couple. Not that you really cared, and they never really said anyway. But despite their potential relationship, you'd be lying if you said you didn't find Joel attractive. You would never act on it, not only because they might be in a relationship, but also the risk of getting attached to someone was much greater when sex and attraction was involved. You tried to avoid that at all costs.

Sure, you'd been with people before since the outbreak, but it was mostly a beneficial situation for both, mainly to get off. Never for love and never with many words. Usually it would be with other traders or Fedra officers you needed to make deals with. You had no problem using violence to make deals, but you also realized you could use your body, and get a little for yourself out of it too.

But rarely ever were you actually interested in someone in this day and age. They might be nice enough to look at to get the job done, but none really took your breath away. None were really attractive to you. So the rush you felt at first seeing Joel was concerning to say the least.

Attraction would only make things complicated. So instead, the two of you were distant and tense. You kept each other alive and you traded and that was that. You tried your best to avoid looking at his features very closely whenever the two of you were nearer than five feet to each other. No need to find anything you liked looking at.

Unfortunately, you did have to make eye contact. And those eyes. Those gorgeous brown eyes haunted you. Showing up in your dreams, accompanied by that rough voice laced with his Texas accent. Not that you liked that sort of thing. Of course not. You weren't attracted to him, and that was that.

Despite your efforts to stay away from connections, you were still human and urges arose from time to time. If you ever felt sexually frustrated over the Joel situation, you would find someone who either was willing to make a deal, or someone who just wanted sex, and move on. If you didn't opt for fucking someone, your fingers did the job just fine, sometimes even better. But you never let your mind imagine it was Joel. That was against your rules.

The last time you heard from Joel Miller was over a year ago now. You had left the QZ a while before, and he had contacted you on the radio to ask for a car battery. He said was trying to find his brother.

You told him you didn't have a battery, nor had you seen his brother, and that was the conversation. You never knew he had a brother and you never felt the need to know more. That was enough information for you.

That said, it came as quite a shock when you arrived in Jackson and not only met Tommy, but reunited with Joel as well. And he had changed.

Sure, you could still feel the gruff exterior, but he was with a kid now. He was essentially her dad. And it was clear he knew what he was doing from the little you saw of them in the cafeteria. Suddenly it made sense to you. Joel must have lost a child at some point. Likely a girl based on how he acted with Ellie. You could tell by the way he behaved that he had grown soft for her.

You knew that probably scared the shit out of him the first time he realized it. You would feel the same, but you had surprised yourself when you found yourself smiling at the thought of his reaction. The thought of him forming a relationship. The scene of him being a dad.

You pushed that to the side. Nope. Don't need to feel mushy for Joel Miller. He went soft but you don't have to.

Although you hadn't spoken much, it was safe to assume Tess was no longer in the picture, either by separation or death. You hoped for the former, but it was likely the latter, and despite her absence, he seemed happy. You felt some envy seeing him with his (now) daughter and his brother. You missed those connections deep down. Though you'd never admit it.

But when Joel first saw you in the forest clearing a week and a half ago, you heard his voice in person for the first time in several years. He spoke your nickname for the first time maybe… ever. And in it you heard…Concern? Relief? Both?

But why would Joel Miller be relieved or concerned to see you?

He dismounted his horse and walked over to you, yet you didn't see the usual gruffness in his demeanor. Instead, he reached you, crouching to his knees to meet your level where you had sunk in the snow. He hunched, looking you over and seeing your healing wounds and dry lips. Your frozen skin and shaky muscles. He cupped your face with both his hands to look you in the eye, and you simply looked at him in confusion. You tensed, nearly jolting at the feel of his hands on your body, having not been touched by anyone in so long, and certainly never with such care.

What is he doing?

It was the first time Joel Miller had his hands on your face. One of the few times he had his hands on your body, and the only time it was ever with affection. With the pull of his hands, you were forced to meet those brown eyes you had always tried so hard to avoid. The eyes that make your knees buckle. A weakness you tried to ignore.

The way he held your face was gentle, yet firm, and as much as you wanted to avoid his eyes, you couldn't. What you could do, however, was avoid all other features of his face and body. Focus on his eyes, only, you told yourself. One weakness was enough.

But as you stared into those deep, dark brown eyes, sparkling against the sun and snow, you were met with an all-encompassing scent. Sure, you had smelled Joel before. Working in close contact makes that inevitable. Living in a quarantine zone during an apocalypse means that everyone smells a little less than great. Everyone is usually dirty, thick with a layer of grime and sweat. Matted hair of dirt and oils until the next rare shower or more often, lake or pond.

But this wasn't dirt. It wasn't sweat, or grease, or blood. It wasn't any form of body odor. Though you could still smell the usual scent that meant Joel in your mind, the normal, not bad, human scent everyone has unique to their body, you smelled other things. His usual leather aroma was still prevalent as he wore his classic thick leather jacket. But you also smelled… soap. He smelled clean. Soap, shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream, maybe even deodorant? Cool, minty wafts swirled between you from his mouth as he asked if you were okay. Clean linen could be smelled from the flannel he wore below the coat. You were sure you weren't smelling cologne as that would be pointless in this day and age, but he still smelled good. He smelled like a man. Rugged and masculine. But clean, and damn good.

It made your breath catch and your heart rate quicken. You still refused to look at the rest of his face. Or his body. But his scent filled your senses and his eyes filled your gaze. His touch encompassed your face. The only thing you felt. Saw. Smelled. It was all Joel. You needed someone to ground you, because him filling every inch of your senses had you reeling for more. Desire pooled in your body.

And as you sat in the tub, thinking back to that day and the events of the last week or so, it was the first time you let your hands drift lower down your body to pleasure yourself with the thought of Joel Miller on your mind.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #a! wrote a fic #joel miller #pedro pascal x afab!reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou

44 notes · View notes

albentelisa · 1 year ago

Note

Hi have Some Crazy Au for you

Basically Jim Live in Camelot with Barbara and his best friend with toby Jim is Wizard and he is Also a good friend with Douxie and hate Merlin (because he hate who he treated Douxie) and Consider Morgana Close friend in this Au Since She is one of Barbara's Closes friends.

And About Claire She is a Witch with Shadow Magic Like in the Au (but in this She doesn't have the Shadow Staff) but She ran away form home because She had Some of Accident with her Powers.

and She is Mostly living in the Forest with a few Trolls

i Still think it would be interesting to See how Jim falls in Love with her in this Au and feel free to add more of your own headcanons.

Oh, I really like this one!

So, Barbara is a witch in this AU and Jim inherits his magic power from her. James is a regular human, who is unaware of Barbara's true identity as he hates magic with passion. They live on the outskirts of Camelot kingdom. Eventually, James finds out the truth and reports Barbara and Jim to the knights. They manage to escape and roam a bit, hiding from the pursuers until arriving in the capital (Jim is only seven then). Initially, Barbara plans to ask Merlin for help, but some of her magic-user acquaintances reveal that Merlin only protects those he finds useful. She is lucky to get acquainted with Morgana, though.

Unlike Merlin, Morgana hasn't much influence over Arthur's decision about everything magic-related, so she cannot give Barbara her actual protection. However, she gives her the job of her handmaiden in the castle as her pursuers will never dare to check there.

Nana is one of the castle cooks, and Toby, who is an orphan, lives with her. Jim meets him after moving into the castle, and they become friends fast. Toby is the only regular human who knows about Jim's magic.

Jim's magic is light-based, and he has a lot of potential, but cannot practice it freely because of the danger of being exposed. He usually goes to the forest to practice it.

Jim also helps around the kitchen and likes it. He's fine with life inside the castle mostly, but he dislikes Arthur and his knights (obviously as they complicate Barbara and his lives) and Merlin (because Merlin is an ass). Initially, when Douxie becomes Merlin's apprentice, Jim is cautious around him (as he thinks that Merlin has picked someone like himself), but he warms up to Douxie fast enough (to the point of trusting him enough to reveal his own magic).

And now to Claire. Claire is the elder daughter of minor nobles in this AU. Her talent for shadow magic appeared pretty early, but Ophelia and Javier decided to hide it instead of giving their daughter to the authorities like the law suggested. Claire is taught to be careful and mindful of her steps which isn't easy for her as her shadow magic is connected to her negative emotions, and she's under a lot of pressure constantly.

Her abilities are revealed during one of the high official's visits when that person offends her parents and Claire just snaps, accidentally injuring the guest and her mother who tries to stop her outburst. Claire escapes so that she won't endanger her family be it with her magic or her witch status. Ironically, the fact that Ophelia was injured too, helps Claire's parents escape the accusations of hiding the witch. Everyone just assumes that they've known nothing. Javier and Ophelia, however, haven't given up on their daughter and still secretly search for her.

Claire settles in the forest, avoiding humans altogether. She is rather scared of her own magic. She befriends some trolls though, including Callista, who can somehow relate to the outcast status. Callista encourages Claire to train to get some control.

Claire and Jim's first meeting is a total accident. Jim goes to the forest to practice his magic and accidentally stumbles upon Claire's practice. For him, it's love at first sight as he watches her spells hidden by bushes. Jim makes some noise unwittingly and Claire notices him and panics, thinking that her hiding place is compromised. Jim panics too and runs away, only adding to the misunderstanding.

Back in the castle, Jim realizes that he has screwed his first impression and complains about it to Toby and Douxie. He hopes to find the mysterious girl once again and apologize to her (and hopefully, have a proper introduction). He fails though, as Claire has moved to a different spot in the forest, fearing that the stranger she saw might bring knights.

Meanwhile, Arthur is suspicious of Jim, who accidentally shows some disrespect to his knights, so to throw him off his tracks, Jim joins the Camelot knights as a squire. Toby also becomes one to support his best friend. Steve and Eli are also squires - Eli is enrolled by his parents even though he would prefer to be a scholar, and Steve is Lancelot's nephew who brags a lot and bullies everyone else (actually, he's extremely insecure because of everyone's high expectations and thinks that belittling everyone else might help him to look better).

Jim accompanies the knights during their hunt in the forest when Callista is captured. He feels sorry for her, but cannot act with other people around. So, Jim decides to organize a jailbreak for Callista and other trolls. Meanwhile, Claire is also determined to risk and save her friend. She stumbles upon Jim and thinks he's one of the knights because of his armor. Jim reveals his magic, hoping that it may convince her, but Claire is still skeptical, saying that Merlin is a wizard too.

Only after Jim shows her the way to the dungeon and helps to free all the prisoners, Claire changes her opinion about him.

They continue meeting in the forest occasionally. Jim hopes to introduce Claire to Morgana as he feels she can be the best teacher for shadow magic. He also provides Claire with the intel about the incoming hunts in the forest and Claire tells him that there are peaceful and aggressive trolls (Gumm-Gumms) and that Arthur's hunts may lead to a full-blown war.

Jim hopes to prevent that one, so he tells what he has learned to Morgana (in the hope that she might be able to convince her brother) and Douxie (whom he expects to talk to Merlin). Unfortunately, Arthur is currently angry with Morgana thinking that she was the one who organized the escape of prisoners and helped the residents of the forest to escape from the knights, and Merlin finds the information from Douxie not that reliable.

As for Morgana, she actually has her own plans right now, experimenting with changelings. One of her first changelings is Stricklander, who manages to infiltrate the knights. Morgana asks him to look after Jim, but Walter actually takes a liking to him. Barbara meets Walter too, but unlike less experienced Jim, she senses his inhuman nature right away and Walter reveals his true nature. So, yes, in this AU there are no hidden things between those two.

Barbara, however, encounters Morgana about changelings, asking what exactly Morgana wants to achieve. It turns out that Morgana is sick and tired of the current status quo and plans a rebellion to overthrow her brother and build a kingdom where humans can co-exist with magic creatures. She lacks supporters though, so she decides to recruit trolls whom she gives the ability to turn human and get them inside the castle (so that when the actual coup starts, the bloodshed will be minimal).

The plan gets an unexpected twist when an emissary from Gunmar contacts Morgana. Gunmar proposes to her a lot of trained soldiers for her rebellions. The deal is that she should give Gunmar the forest after she is the queen. Morgana doesn't fully trust Gunmar, but he seems to respect the bargains, so she agrees, starting to give Gumm-Gumms the ability to shift.

Meanwhile, Claire, who is way more comfortable with Jim now, introduces him to the trolls she knows and even manages to sneak with him inside Dwoza. After all, Jim also knows about Morgana's plan now and hopes to tell trolls that they can live peacefully. Unfortunately, the residents are not that happy with Jim's arrival (a lot of them barely tolerate Claire), and Draal is the one who throws both Jim and Claire out.

And Morgana's plan backfires when there are enough changelings among Gumm-Gumm forces (including Aaarrrgghh and even Bular), they take over the capital, imprison Morgana, and kill Arthur. Barbara manages to escape with the assistance of Strickler, and some knights led by Lancelot run through the secret tunnels (Toby, Eli, and Steve are with them). Douxie is out of the castle during the attack together with Merlin, so they are safe too. Everyone reunites in the forest (including Jim and Claire), and after some accusations are thrown, and everyone calms down they start to think about the plan to defeat Gunmar and free the capital.

Merlin reveals that he has been trying to assemble an amulet containing daylight which should be able to become an ultimate weapon against trolls but it just doesn't work as it should as it lacks magic balance. Lancelot complains that even with the working magic amulet, they lack the manpower to fight properly against Gunmar forces who now aren't even afraid of the sunlight.

Claire proposes to go to Dwoza once again and ask local trolls for help as they dislike Gunmar too. After some attempts to convince the locals, they end only with several troll recruits (Dictatious and Blinky, Kanjigar, Draal, Callista, Vendel, and Angor Rot).

Barbara reveals that she knows how to create a changeling, but only a shadow magic user can do it. Claire isn't sure she will be able to help, but Jim encourages her, and Claire manages to complete the spell.

Everyone is divided into teams and investigates separately. The capital is mostly save as Gunmar keeps residents hostage to make Morgana cooperate. He promises her to leave Camelot alone as long as she starts Eternal Night everywhere else.

Jim and Claire reach Morgana and learn about everything from her. Morgana actually has no idea how to end the mess as Gumm-Gumms outnumber good forces, and Gunmar is seemingly invincible. After learning about Merlin's amulet, Morgana realizes that it can be balanced with the light and shadow magic of equal strength and she believes that Jim and Claire can do it as because of their bond they can reach the perfect equal output.

Jim and Claire leave, going to Merlin with the information they have. They didn't find him, as he had gone elsewhere without informing anyone. Douxie helps them to find the unfinished amulet, and three of them tinker with it. Jim and Claire pour their magic into it as Morgana suggested, and it actually works. Now they only need a champion for it.

Meanwhile, Blinky and Dictatious have an encounter with Aaarrrgghh and manage to convince him to change sides.

Merlin arrives, revealing that he found the way to use even an unfinished amulet as a catalyst for the opening gates to the Darklands and sealing Gunmar and his hordes there. He's genuinely shocked to see that the amulet is complete now, but it's not as if he can complain. He casts the selection spell and it actually chooses Callista, who doesn't expect it like everyone else (Merlin thought it would be one of the surviving knights).

Now, the plan is to lure Gunmar and his forces to the Killahead Bridge. Claire contacts Morgana through the shadow realm, and Morgana convinces Gunmar that every Gumm-Gumm should be at a certain spot so she will be able to start the Eternal Night. When Gunmar arrives at the Killahead, the ambush is already waiting for him there. Gunmar doesn't expect his defeat as his opponents aren't as numerous, but Callista after fighting him gets him to the right spot and activates the Bridge, which sucks in most of the Gumm-Gumm forces.

Camelot is liberated, and Morgana is the new Queen. She establishes new laws, letting witches and wizards live freely. It's also prohibited to hunt magical creatures. Lancelot reforms the knights who now are searching for Gumm-Gumms who weren't sealed and protect not only humans but magical creatures too. Some trolls like Draal and Angor Rot decide to enlist too. Callista goes searching for her lost memories as she wants to recover her lost identity. Claire temporarily reunites with her family, but later goes back to the capital to learn better control of her magic and to be together with Jim (and well, she is free to travel through shadow portals anyway, so she can visit often).

#tales of arcadia #toa au #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #light and shadow #wizard jim #text post #ask box #theslayerbrother

34 notes · View notes

wilmakins · 6 months ago

Text

Look, I hate Steve's ending as much as the next person - but I've had a specific peeve about the discussion about it for, what, six years now? It's not even a bid deal... but still, it nags. So, sorry if this gets rambling.

But I've always found it funny that we *all* agree, Steve Rogers would never have abandoned the fight for good in favour of an idyllic retirement in a 1950s suburb - and yet, despite the fact that we've never seen any details of what he got up to when he went back in time, we've all just accepted that it was dance with Peggy in pleasantville... the thing we all agreed he was unlikely to do?

Given what we know about Steve Rogers - given what we're usually saying, passionately, whenever this very debate about Steve Rogers comes up, in fact - does it not seem more likely that Steve Rogers went back and fought the good fight in the 1950s?

...That maybe he made that choice so as NOT to abandon his friends?

I mean, WE can dismiss the Howling Commandos, and Peggy, and everyone Steve knew at SHIELD and in the Army and, you know, the neighbourhood where he grew up, because WE only got to see those characters in a montage, and we have to google them to know their names. But from Steve's point of view, these are people he knew for years, people he loved, people he fought beside - and people who still needed him. If we'd all spent 12 years watching Captain America movies set in the 1940s, and only knew Sam and Nat from a few plot-exposition flash-forward montages, we might be aghast and baffled that he would forgo an opportunity to get back to his friends and their fight for good (which might be happening in a whole other timeline, with its own separate consequences kevin feige sci fi time travel mcguffin magic hands) to spend time with people 'he was never that close to and who he'd easily get over' (we would assume). Hell, there's even a Bucky in both timelines, and a Tony in need of his help, if you want to put those shipping goggles on and assume he went back to save Bucky sooner or protect baby Tony from the world.

But from Steve's point of view, having lived through both these timelines in non-montage long form, he's actually presented with a choice of which set of friends to abandon and which set of potential catastrophes to ignore (and, if you like, which Bucky and Tony to abandon). The world of 2023 already has a whole host of mega powered super heroes to protect it - and Steve isn't actually any better placed to protect it than any of them. He doesn't know what threats are out there, he hasn't got a special, universe altering insight to offer here. And, at least here, Bucky is on the road to recovery and he has Sam to look out for him. Here, Tony is dead. Whereas he knows that the people of 1940 have all sorts of catastrophes to live through, that all sorts of evil will have the chance to take root and do such harm - he knows, because he lived through it. Which means, in 1940, he can make a real difference. In a world with no one else to defend it, Steve has the knowledge to prevent harm that will, undeniably, come to pass if he stays in 2023. The Bucky of that timeline has 70 years of torture to live through, if no one helps him. He could make so much difference to Tony's life if he'd been there from the start - certainly more than he could after the end of it.

And I'm just saying - given that what little consensus exists on the mechanics of the multiverse - it seems that people are free to change the future when they go back in time, and it will matter to a universe full of real people whether they do, and what they do. At the very least, there's no reason Steve wouldn't have thought that. And given what we know about Steve... Does it therefore not make MORE sense that he actually made that choice because he was thinking of his friends, and saving the world, and doing what was right, rather than deciding fuck his friends and he was going to retire... as.... we appear to have... just made up... that he did?

nah since marvel is trending again I’m going to say it again louder for the people in back — canon steve rogers would never have chosen an “idyllic 1950s white pickett fence life” because the only place that man belonged was a picket LINE. the whole point of his character was that his work was never done. there was always going to be another oppressor, another bully, another person who takes advantage of the underprivileged for him to stand up to. from the moment he gained consciousness he, a chronically ill son of a working class mother living below the poverty line, used his voice and his body to protect & fight for what he believed in. I’m not sure there was ever a time pre-super soldier serum where he didn’t have a black eye. he could put the shield down all he wanted but he could never retire from being steve rogers — someone who never once turned a blind eye, who never once wanted a “reward” for his work, who never once abandoned his friends. this isn’t up for debate. this is almost a century of comic book & film/animated precedent. he may have been a man out of time, but in his words “it’s tempting to want to live in the past. it’s familiar, it’s comfortable. but it’s where fossils come from”

15K notes · View notes

theharpermovieblog · 2 years ago

Text

#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2023

I watched The Sword And The Sorcerer (1982)

How do you know you watch too many movies? A demon pops up on screen in a low budget 1980's fantasy film and even under all that makeup you get excited because you can tell it's Richard Moll.

A prince fights to reclaim his throne from the man who killed his parents.

What should be obvious from the high adventure music and cheesy practical effects, is the fun which director Albert Pyun wants the audience to have. He fails at providing this, as he's a terrible writer, but he tries and that's admirable I suppose.

The film starts with some poorly paced back story about the rising of a demon to help defeat the army of a good king, the double crossing of that demon and a young prince being set up to want revenge.

You'll notice the cheap practical horror effects and the even cheaper weapon props in this first act, letting you know what you're in for. This the reason you should be watching. I guarantee Pyun thought a three bladed sword that shoots swords would be awesome. Instead it looks cumbersome to simply carry around. It's this kind of poorly thought out style that makes this movie close to "so bad it's good".

My complaints start with one hard to overlook flaw. A more glaring flaw than the occasionally plastic looking swords. The fact of the matter is, the hero is unlikeable. Maybe it just hasn't aged well, but I find it hard to get on board with a hero who is taking paymeny by getting to fuck a reluctant woman. A hero who takes a kiss as a sort of down payment. I'd assume from the stories of the women in this movie that Mr. Pyun doesn't have a high opinion of the opposite sex. They're either damsels in distress or getting their tongues cut out. Which seemed pretty intense for a movie that doesn't have many gory kills.

So with a shitty hero we could look to other characters to save the film right? In a bad fantasy movie, We don't need character development or even three dimensional characters, but one of my favorite things about fantasy films of this era is that they usually put together a fun little crew. Even Conan The Barbarian had friends. This movie keeps getting in its own way by never giving us a core group or letting any of it's characters feel like they really connect. It robs the movie of the fun that Pyun thinks he's giving us. By the final battle, I don't even think I've seen half the good characters interact with each other for more than a minute.

Pyun is an awful writer. This movie has a very basic plot and he manages to miss the story beats that he needs to.

There are some decently cool ideas for shots and special effects here. A nice action silhouette during a battle scene, a creepy demon crypt effect at the beginning, a demon shedding the skin of a man. Memorable stuff that could have been iconic had the movie not been so poorly written.

So bad it's good? Almost, but the payoffs aren't solid enough to make this all that entertaining.

#the sword and the sorcerer

1 note · View note

mari-the-bimbo · 3 years ago

Note

hi so i just read your recent dorm mate sukuna where it was super angsty and thee reader left (i think it was like storm is coming something like that!) i was wondering if there is a chance to have like a part two where sukuna looks for reader and they talk and eventually he express his feelings for reader :)

Dorm mate Sukuna: storming brewing pt.2

A/N: my brain is still fried from partying so pls ignore any gaps in the plot or spelling mistakes 😭

You trudge sadly across the busy roads. The raining poured down at you and you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella. It was usually Sukuna who would remind you to get your umbr-

Fuck. You hated how you couldn’t get him off your mind. He was the only thing you could ever think of, but it’s a shame right now you could only think of the argument.

And as you thought of him, you see a familiar black car pull up in front of you, and you scoff as the window rolls down to reveal your dorm mate.

“Get in, you’re gonna catch a cold” his deep voice said.

“No” you reply stubbornly.

You hear him sigh as his car slowly follows you from the side. “Y/n come on, I just want to talk”

“There’s nothing left to say”

“There is. There’s a lot I need to say”

You side glance at the pink haired man at his statement. Maybe he was willing to fix things? The soft spot you had for him in your heart really hoped so, and damn it, this rain was getting heavier too.

“Fine, but only because I’m feeling cold” you lied as you enter the car that you had sat in many times before.

Silence followed as you sat down in the warm passenger seat, and he helps you with your seat belt, but you face away from him as you felt his breath on your neck and his piercing gaze on you.

Once he leaned back, he wordlessly passes you a bouquet of flowers, an apology gift you assume, you accept it nonetheless.

You notice purple hycacinths in the bouquet. You remember telling Sukuna once about how it’s represents sorrow and apologies. You wonder if it was a coincidence or he actually remembered.

Once the car was parked in the dorm’s empty car park, you watched the usually confident and scary dorm mate sigh sadly before his large tatted hand reached out for your smaller ones.

“I .. wanted to apologise” he says, his red gaze softening as it meets yours. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you y/n” he attempts to say softly in his gruff tone.

And you were almost stupidly swayed. Key word, almost. You cross your eyebrows in annoyance. “Is that all you’re sorry for?”

Now it was Sukuna’s turn to furrow his brows. “What else would I be apologising for?”

“For beating up my friend Sukuna”

The man cringes as he hears you address him by his full name instead of the usual sweet ‘kuna’. It annoyed him how you were yelling at him over some random guy but he was smart enough not to dig a deeper hole.

He sighs as he looks out the window. “Ok fine, yeah.. I didn’t have a good reason to beat him up sorry” he grumbles.

You scoff annoyed, “you don’t even mean it”

He doesn’t reply to your comment, indicating you were right. “Sukuna-“

“What else do you want me to do? Go apologise to your little boyfriend?” He says rudely, as he leans in close to your face angrily, his nose almost touching yours.

“What do you mean ‘boyfriend’? just because I’m defending an innocent person doesn’t mean I’m with them!” You snap, you felt frustration tears build up in your eyes but you refused to let him see it. You hated this, you hated arguing with him, you hated this feeling.

“You know what, I should’ve never got in this car” you say as you open the car door and shut it behind you.

“If he’s not your boyfriend, then why are you getting so defensive huh?!” Sukuna yells as he quickly leaves the car too and starts following you.

“Because I have morals and values and I care about other people unlike you!” You yell back, but you stop in your tracks when you detect the hurt on his face. Too late.

Red eyes look at you in shock and disappointment at your words, which quickly turned into anger as he furrowed his brows.

He was always like that, quick to conceal real emotions and transfer it into anger instead.

“Sukuna I’m sorry didn’t mea-“

But your sentence is replaced with a yelp as the bigger dorm mate shoves you against his car and traps you in between the car and his sturdy, heaving body.

“I don’t care?! You think I don’t care?! You think I just beat up that fuckboy because I felt like it and not because I care about you?!”

His grip on your waist tightens as you look up at him with teary angry eyes. “Then why did you do it? Why are you being like this?” You sob pathetically.

He stares at you without a word, he looks taken aback. He doesn’t answer your question, he can’t. The truth struggles to be expressed.

You try to walk away but he grabs you by the elbows to pull you back.

“I’m sorry”

“Why did you do it ‘kuna?” You whisper.

He feels his resolve melting at the nickname, at the big dreamy eyes that stares up at him, at your smaller hands grabbing his collar in desperation. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t even know it.

“Because I like you y/n, I always have”

You freeze at his confession, and you’re left stunned, but before you could even process it, he smiles sadly before walking away, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket as he does.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to like me back, I wasn’t expecting you to”

“Yuuji’s waiting inside for you, you should head back in before you catch a cold” he adds as he walks away from you and opens his car door.

A tear escapes your eye as he watch him drive off. Driving away, running away from his feelings. You feel like slapping yourself for being too shocked to tell him how your heart yearned for him too.

You stare down at the flower bouquet he gave you. You hug it to your chest, as your teary eyes take in every single beautiful petal.

You notice the dicentra flowers hanging from the sides.

Dicentra flowers (/aka./ the bleeding heart flower) represents passionate, romantic love, but a broken heart, and unrequited love..

1K notes · View notes

sk2lton · 3 years ago

Note

hello, how are you doing~? can i ask for hcs on riddle, ruggie, and idia with an s/o who's basically their opposite?

(ex: lazy and troublemaker for riddle, then spoiled and rich for ruggie, then a social butterfly for idia lol it's only an example! it's up to u on how 'opposite' u want them to be dksjdjd) thank you so much!! 💞

✿。OPPOSITE — ꒰ TWST ꒱

riddle, ruggie, and idia with a s/o that’s the opposite of them.

— warnings/reader: gn! reader, not proofread

— characters: riddle, ruggia, and idia

✿。 riddle — there is not a day that goes by where riddle does not question why exactly he's dating you. don't get him wrong, you're his significant other, of course, he cares for you, but you two are just so fundamentally different that not only does it confuse everybody around him, but it also confuses him too. — before you both began to date, you probably would bicker, mainly riddle who would do the bickering because you couldn't really be bothered. everybody assumed that riddle and you would never get along, but when you two did? it shocked everyone. trey and cater were just watching from the sidelines in utter surprise when you had first told them about your relationship.

— at first, riddle did struggle with your laziness and trouble-making, he found it irritating and would often reprimand you for it. but over time, you're able to meet each other in the middle, with adhering to more rules and being rather productive with the help of riddle, while he'll be less harsh and authoritative with you. — honestly, riddle probably was drawn to you due to how different you were from him. the entire opposites attract thing was something he always thought was just stupid, why wouldn't somebody just date someone who shares the same values and interests? anyway, you had proved that ideology wrong. you were different than what riddle was used to and that challenged his norms.

✿。 ruggie — when he became your boyfriend, he surprised himself. sure, he was friends with leona who was also rich and fairly spoiled, but a relationship required you two to be around each other a lot more than friends would. hence his surprise when you both started dating. — although he's never bitter about your wealth because it's not like you had chosen to be born into wealth, he does sometimes have an issue with your spoiled attitude. he likes treating you like how to deserve to be treated which is nothing less than royalty, but when that spoiledness causes you to be overdemanding, it irritates him. he'll have no problems with confronting you about it. — due to how different you two are, he would be very hesitant to share about his past. not only does he not like talking about it, to begin with, but he also worries that you won't understand or sympathize with his experience. he would prefer to be open with you, but his worries do get in the way. — he'll spoil you to a certain extent, though it's usually with his affection or acts of service! he definitely wouldn't mind if you also decided to spoil him. he won't ask for money or expensive gifts, but is very grateful when you give him either one of those. unlike with leona, he won't take valuables even if he knows that you don't use it, or wouldn't even realize its disappearance. he wouldn't want you to distrust him.

✿。 idia — just like the other two on this list, it was unexpected but at the same time somewhat expected. since you were so friendly, and social, it put you at an advantage for forming a bond with idia, but because you were so social, your relationship was considered somewhat comical by others. — the positives of having a s/o that's a social butterfly, idia notes, is first, how easy is it to talk to them and how easily they can become friends with other people. while the downside is... well, think, date night! what should you two do? one usually wants to stay in while the other would prefer to go out. — also, because you're so social and seem to befriend anybody, anywhere, by association, idia is now friends with that person too whether he likes it or not. even when he just sits on the sidelines, silently listening to your conversation (with some jealousy), but next time he sees this person, they'll call out to him as if he was the one who had a nice and long conversation with them. — in general, though, he doesn't mind your friendliness. he actually does appreciate it when you push him out of his comfort zone, only when it's done slowly. you're beneficial to idia because of how social you are.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanon #twst #twst hcs #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst idia #twst riddle #twst ruggie #twst x reader

183 notes · View notes

invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years ago

Text

Father of Mine – 1/2

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: With the tragic passing of her mother, Y/N learns to the truth of who her father is.

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: Family death, cancer, absent father, cremation

A/N: The reader is described as tall in this fic. Bruce Wayne is 6′2 and I’m tall, so I’m indulging myself with no apologies. Read it or don’t.

“Do you want to say anything before we…” the operator asked her.

“No,” Y/N answered quickly.

“Oh, my assistant forgot to give you this,” the operator gave her a shy smile as he handed her a small cardboard box.

She opened it to find all of her mother’s jewelry that had been on her body at the funeral.

“Thank you,” Y/N told him.

“Ready?” The operator asked.

He had been so kind throughout the whole process. It was obvious he was used to people breaking down and being extremely emotional.

But Y/N had been stoic, almost concerningly so.

Though he wasn’t one to judge. Everyone grieved differently.

With the pull of a handle, Y/N watched her mother’s body going into the chamber.

“It will be a few hours,” the operator told her.

He meant it will it will take a few hours for her mother’s body to burn to ash. Then they would hand her a tacky vase with her remains.

Y/N just nodded. “I’ll go for a walk.”

As soon as she was outside, Y/N called her mother’s executor.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I was just about to call you.”

“I’m at the crematory,” she told him. “I figured we should discuss the bills that still need to be paid for.”

“Yes, of course. As I mentioned to you before, your mother’s life insurance covers quite a lot of it…” his words died out.

“But it’s still not enough,” Y/N finished for him. “I’ll get the money.”

She wasn’t exactly rich, but she also wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck. But people never realized how much money it cost for loved ones to die. It was honestly ridiculous.

“You might want to consider taking out a loan,” he tried to suggest gently.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Another thing, Ms. Y/L/N. There was an envelope with a name on it. And your mother left instructions on delivering the envelope to them.”

She stopped her pacing.

“What name is on the envelope?” Y/N asked.

There was a pause.

“Bruce Wayne.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed.

Of course she knew who Bruce Wayne was – everyone in Gotham did, as well as most of the country. He was a billionaire playboy, only making headlines when he was a mess. But every once in awhile his philanthropy would sneak in there. Y/N always assumed those were only to help recover his image and not because he was a good person.

“You still there?” The executor asked.

“Yeah. I’m just a bit confused. But please pass it along to him, if that’s what my mom wanted.”

“I can’t. The instructions specifically say for you to deliver the envelop to him in person.”

“In person?” Y/N groaned in annoyance as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why did all of this have to be so god damn complicated?

“Yes. Her instructions are…oddly specific."

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll pick up everything from your office before the work day ends.”

——————

Y/N stared at the envelop that she’d tossed on her coffee table as she sipped a rather large glass of red wine.

She was wracking her brain trying to think of a time when her mom mentioned knowing Bruce Wayne. But Y/N would’ve remembered her mom saying his name – even in passing. It’s not a name that one can drop casually.

Y/N pulled up her phone and googled him. But she looked at his history. Yes, he was from Gotham, as was her mom, but so were 10 million other people.

But then Y/N’s scrolling paused when she realized they went to the same high school: Gotham Academy. Not only that, they graduated in the same year.

‘Were they friends?’ Y/N wondered.

But just classmates or friends still didn’t seem to warrant a handwritten letter to be delivered after one’s death.

Y/N didn’t open the envelope.

Her mother’s instructions specifically told her not to. And if she put in that much of an effort to get this done after her death, Y/N wasn’t going to ignore such a request.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.

“Fuck,” Y/N sighed before throwing back the rest of her wine.

——————

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t grant you access to the building without your name being in the system by the company you’re visiting,” the building receptionist told her for the third time.

“I understand. But I called his office 30 fucking times and they refuse to put me through to him or get me an appointment,” Y/N practically growled.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I already called their office to say you were here and they didn’t recognize your name. I can’t let you through to the elevators.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to the security guard who stood a few feet away. He was eyeing her now that there was clearly an argument going on.

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes. She had a good foot on him – even without her heels on. And he looked like he couldn’t run a 50 yard dash without passing out or vomiting. If he thought he was going to physically stop her, he had another thing coming.

“Listen, I am not some crazy fucking stalker. My mom knew Bruce Wayne and in her will she asked me to deliver this to him,” Y/N’s voice lowered and became disturbingly calm. “I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down,” the security guard finally stepped forward.

“Oh, fuck off,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the rent-a-cop.

“Ma’am, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” he continued.

“Call me ma’am one more fucking time…” Y/N growled.

But the security guard was taking a step to her.

“Excuse me. What seems to be the problem here?” A voice suddenly interrupted.

Everyone turned to see a young man – younger than Y/N – glaring at the security guard just as he was about to grab Y/N.

“M-Mr. Drake, we were just escorting this young woman from the premises,” the guard stuttered out.

Everyone at the building knew every member of the Wayne family. But unlike his siblings, Tim Drake was at the office almost every day. As one should be when they’re the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company.

“For what reason?” Tim Drake asked.

“She insists on seeing Mr. Wayne. But she doesn’t have an appointment. For security reasons, I cannot let her through, obviously, unless the company she is visiting has put her into their system and the building’s system,” the receptionist explained nervously.

Y/N frowned as if she was bored of the whole thing.

Tim stepped forward. “May I ask what your business with Bruce Wayne is?”

Now that he was closer, Y/N noticed how exhausted he looked. He was handsome still, of course. But she wondered when he last got a good night’s sleep. He was shorter than her, probably standing at 5’5. And she still believed he was younger than her, which was wild seeing as he was already the CEO and couldn’t be older than 24.

Y/N sighed before she grabbed the envelope from her black leather satchel, and showed that Bruce Wayne’s name was handwritten on it.

“My mother wished me to personally deliver this to him.”

Tim tilted his head slightly. “Why isn’t she doing it?”

“Because she’s dead,” she shot back without emotion.

But Tim’s face became sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve assumed…”

“It’s fine,” Y/N quickly cut him off before he could continue.

She was so tired of being on the receiving end of people’s sympathy. It didn’t help. And the words stopped holding any meaning to her.

“But I’m sorry. Bruce isn’t in today. And he probably won’t be coming to the office for the rest of the week.”

“Oh,” was all she responded with.

Of course Bruce Wayne didn’t come to work. Why would he?

This was a stupid idea. And now she had made a scene because of it.

“But if you give me your information, I will personally let him know that you are trying to reach him.”

“Really?” Y/N asked in shock.

Tim smiled at her surprise. “Of course.”

“Here’s my card,” she quickly grabbed one from her wallet and then a pen. “All my info is on that.” She wrote something on the back. “And that’s my mom’s name.”

He took it from her and nodded. “What was your mother’s relationship with Bruce?”

Y/N shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure it out. Apparently they graduated in the same high school class. But that’s all I was able to find.”

He nodded.

“Thank you…Mr. Drake. For your help. Really,” she urged.

“Please, it’s just Tim.” Then he glared at the receptionist and security guard. “For you it is, at least.”

“Thank you again,” Y/N felt like saying it 30 more times still wouldn’t be enough.

“You don’t have to thank me. Someone will be in touch. Have a good day, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Y/N,” she corrected with a smile before she nodded and started backing away.

He smiled at her correction and gave a final nod.

——————

Y/N didn’t expect to hear from anyone for at least a week.

If the Wayne family was one thing, it was busy.

They probably had parties to go to, meetings to attend, private jets taking them around the world whenever they wished.

Why would they ever prioritize a meeting with her, a stranger?

So imagine her surprise when she received a call from an unrecognized number the same day she gave Tim Drake her card.

“Hello?” She answered.

Usually she would let any unknown number go to voicemail.

“Hello,” a British voice answered. “Am I speaking with Ms. Y/F/N Y/L/N?”

“This is she,” Y/N sat up straighter on her couch.

“This is Alfred Pennyworth. I work for Master Wayne and manage all his personal appointments. I was told by Master Tim that you wished to meet with him?”

“Uhhh. Yes. Yes, I do. Is that…is that possible?”

“Would you be able to stop by Wayne Manor on Friday afternoon?”

Y/N already knew she had nothing going on that would stop her from getting this done. But she still paused to pretend to think about it.

“Yes, Friday afternoon should be fine. Are you sure he doesn’t just want me to stop by Wayne Enterprises?”

It felt oddly intimate to stop by Wayne Manor. Wouldn’t they want to meet her in a more secure location like a corporate building with security that already hated her?

“He is quite certain. Should I send a car for you Ms. Y/L/N?”

A car?

Y/N felt even more out of her depth now.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary. I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Thanks,” she answered before hanging up and realizing that probably wasn’t the proper response to such a polite goodbye.

——————

“I haven’t heard that name since high school,” Bruce had muttered as he stared at the business card for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Yes, and the end of your relationship did not end on the best of terms,” Alfred commented.

Y/M’s/N Y/L/N had been Bruce’s high school sweetheart.

An she had seen the last moments of Bruce’s normal life.

Upon graduation, Bruce decided to leave Gotham and that’s how his second life was founded. The two of them broke up before the summer after graduation had even ended.

Well, “Breakup” was a strong word.

Bruce stopped answering her calls.

She was his first love and he continued to love her.

But once Bruce realized where his life was going and who he wanted to be, he knew he couldn’t drag her into it. She deserved better.

And Bruce was a coward about relationships then. Maybe he still was.

“I am certain you did a thorough background check on her already,” Alfred commented with a smirk.

Bruce took in a breath before listing off all of her accomplishments. “Y/F/N Y/L/N. Graduated number one in her class at Gotham Academy. She was the star of the track team, breaking the regional record for fastest time in 100m, 200m, and 400m races. Also captain of her soccer team. Attended NYU’s photography program before dropping out after a year. Now she’s a professional photography. Her work’s been featured in Vogue, New York Times, National Geographic…amongst others.”

“Rather an impressive woman,” Alfred said.

Bruce nodded.

“I should get the tea and coffee ready for her arrival.” And with that, Alfred left Bruce in the drawing room.

30 minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Bruce glanced down at his watch: she was right on time.

He heard Alfred saying his pleasantries before he heard the clicking of her heels as she rounded the corner to enter the room he was waiting in.

For being a famous photographer, she could’ve been a runway model with her height and the way she walked into the room, completely owning it. She wore four-inch heels, only adding to her natural tallness. And her bright, red coat only added to her presence.

For a split second, Bruce was convinced that he was looking at an Amazon. Diana immediately flashed into his mind for a split second. Perhaps that was what Y/M’s/N needed help with: to get her daughter to her real people. But how would she have known Bruce Wayne had such connections? Unless she knew Batman’s true identity…

As soon as Y/N spotted him in the room, he rose from his seat.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Bruce greeted.

He took a step forward and held out his hand.

“You guys really love the formalities.” She said it with a dark evenness, but it was clearly a joke. “Y/N is fine, Mr. Wayne,” she added as she shook his hand.

“In that case, it’s Bruce,” he countered with a soft smirk.

There was something so familiar about her. But Bruce knew they’d never met.

“Thank you for seeing me. I don’t want to waste anymore of your time,” Y/N quickly got to it. She opened her purse to grab the envelope.

“My mom wanted you to have this. And she wanted to make sure I was the one to give it to you,” Y/N explained as she offered it to him.

Bruce took it carefully, but didn’t open it. “Yes, I heard about her passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said hurriedly, making it obvious to Bruce that she did not want nor need his condolences.

Bruce nodded slowly.

There was a pause.

“Do you know what it says?” He asked her lightly.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t supposed to read it.”

“I see.”

“I should really be going. I have a flight to catch later tonight.” Most people that visited Wayne Manor wished to stay there forever. Or their curiosity got the best of them and their eyes took in every little detail.

But Y/N looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. And she wanted to get out as soon as she possibly could.

“Thank you again for seeing me,” she rushed out.

Without waiting for his answer, Y/N turned and started walking out of the room.

But she only got a few steps before she stopped.

Bruce watched her shoulders tense and her body move as she was clearly taking in deep breath.

Slowly, Y/N turned around to face him.

“Were you friends?”

Bruce gave her a watery smile. “She was my girlfriend in high school.”

Y/N seemed annoyed by that answer. “She never mentioned you. Not once.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed at that and his eyes zoned out as if he was revising the past in his mind. “I’m not entirely surprised. Things didn’t really end well between us.”

She nodded slowly. “Goodbye, Mr. Wayne.”

And Y/N turned and strutted out of the room without looking back.

As soon as Bruce heard her cab drive away, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out a letter.

He barely noticed that Dick had walked into the room. “May I ask…Who was the extremely attractive and tall woman that just walked out?”

But Bruce didn’t hear him as his eyes raced across the letter. His heart sped as he continued reading.

“Bruce?” Dick asked after being ignored. “Is she your next conquest or what?”

It wasn’t until Bruce was done reading the letter for the third time that he finally looked up and acknowledged Dick.

Alfred had also walked into the room, unbeknownst to Bruce.

“You OK?” Dick asked, now concerned with how silent Bruce had become.

“Master Wayne?” Alfred also urged.

“That was…my daughter,” Bruce finally muttered.

Dick blinked before his eyes grew wide in shock.

Alfred seemed less surprised, almost as if he had already put that together.

“Excuse me,” Bruce told them and exited the room.

———

Dick and Alfred must’ve warned the rest of the family not to bother Bruce in the cave. Usually he would’ve been disturbed by now.

Bruce had been at the computer for hours.

Alfred was the first person to come down, carrying a tray with dinner and tea.

The butler wasn’t surprised to find Y/N’s face all over the screens.

If Bruce had left any available information hidden before inviting Y/N to the manor, it was all out there now. Bruce knew everything about Y/F/N Y/L/N that was public knowledge – probably even some things that were not.

“You know, you did not seem all that surprised,” Bruce said to Alfred as he put the tray of food down next to him.

“Seemed rather obvious, didn’t it?”

Bruce quickly turned to look at him. “It did?”

Alfred smirked. “Her eyes,” was all he said.

“The color?”

Alfred shook his head. “As soon as she walked into the manor, they were reading me.” He tilted his head in Bruce’s direction. “Observation. Perception. Attention to detail...That is all you, Master Wayne.”

“The way she held herself,” Alfred continued, "Shoulders held back, head high, walking with purpose. No hesitation.”

“Also me?” Bruce asked.

Alfred simply nodded.

“I don’t think she liked me very much,” Bruce sighed.

He didn’t know how he felt about that yet.

“A lot of people think you don’t like them when you first meet them,” Alfred countered. “Because I don’t trust them yet.”

Alfred raised his brows and silently ask him, ‘Don’t you see my point?’

Bruce rubbed his face and reached for the tea on the tray, ignoring all the food.

“I don’t know why you’re so entertained by this, Alfred.”

“Yes, I was entertained. I just saw a younger, female version of you, Master Wayne.”

“I abandoned her,” Bruce shot.

“You didn’t know she existed,” Alfred corrected.

“And why do you think that is?”

Alfred’s face dropped a little bit when he noticed the envelope discarded on the far end of Bruce’s desktop.

He looked down at the ground as he asked, “Might I ask what the letter said?”

Bruce glared at the letter as if touching it would burn him.

But after a moment, he grabbed it and quickly handed it to Alfred.

Bruce,

If this letter has finally reached you, it is because I have passed.

I must admit that I wrote this letter mostly in the event that I leave my daughter before she is an adult. But once Y/N turned 18, I decided to still pass this along to you.

There is no easy way to tell you this, so I will get to the point.

The young woman who delivered this letter to you is your daughter, Bruce.

Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.

When I found out I was pregnant with her, I was only 18. We had just graduated high school. You had started traveling. You called less and less. And you grew more distant – physically and emotionally. Eventually, you stopped answering my calls altogether. I left you a voicemail, only saying that I so desperately needed to talk to you, that I needed you.

But you never called me back.

With no words at all, you made it very clear that you no longer wanted anything to do with me.

But there I was, a teenager who was pregnant with our child.

I would be lying if I said I never considered terminating my pregnancy. I was scared and you broke my heart. All I wanted to do was erase you from my life.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Once I decided what my future was going to be, I also decided that I did not want you to have any part in it.

I knew even if you pretended to play the doting father and the committed partner, you would grow tired of us eventually. You would resent me and our child for bringing you down. And you would brush us aside for yourself.

I realized I would rather Y/N have no father at all than one who would only disappoint her over and over again.

To this day, I truly believe I did the right thing for all three of us.

There are not enough words to explain the complicated woman that Y/N grew up to be. But I will try my best. I think I owe you that at least.

Or maybe you have no interest.

I don’t know how she became so much like you, even when I never so much as showed her a picture of you or uttered your name.

She enjoys being alone – almost to her own detriment. I constantly catch her repressing her feelings, always staying strong for everyone else. It reminds me of you. She’s assertive and confident, never letting anything stand in the way of what she wants. Sometimes I don’t think she’s scared of anything. It worries me, just like it worried me when I thought the same of you.

I truly don’t know what you will do with this information.

But…if you have any desire to form some sort of relationship with her, then you should know this: she will not make it easy for you. She will push you away. And she might even hate you. I raised her to never need a man in her life, and she’ll make sure you know that.

I don’t expect anything from you. I never did.

But I would just like to know there might be someone who will be there for her should she need them.

Goodbye, Bruce.

Alfred slowly handed the letter back to Bruce when he was finished.

“I pushed her away because I knew what I was about to become,” Bruce explained darkly. “And I didn’t want her anywhere near it. She would’ve been in danger.”

“Y/N, as well,” Alfred added.

“But had I known…if I just listened to her–”

“Master Wayne, I thought we had agreed to never linger on the ‘what ifs.’”

That sure silenced Bruce.

“Now, what do you plan on doing, Master Wayne?”

———

Y/N frowned when her phone started vibrating and she recognized the name of her mom’s executor on her phone screen.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, how are you?”

“Fine. How are you?” She was quick, wanting to get this over with. Surely, he had bad news. Another medical bill came in or some other expense that slipped by them.

“Good, good. Just curious…have you placed any payments to our various claims?”

“Uhhh…no. But I’m working on it.”

Y/N hadn’t expected to get a call nagging about paying bills.

“No, no, no. You misunderstand. They’ve all been paid,” the executor explained.

Y/N sat up straighter in her chair. “What? That’s not possible.”

“An anonymous donor. They somehow got record of all your outstanding payments and covered all of them.”

Y/N was stunned to silence.

“Ms. Y/L/N…this is a good thing.”

She blinked and shook her head. “Right. Yes, of course. I just…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank this guardian angel of yours.”

---------------------

Part 2

Let me know what you think!!!

#bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #bruce wayne reader insert #batfam #batman #batman x daughter!reader #dad!bruce wayne #dad!batman #batman family #batman universe #batman angst #bruce wayne angst #alfred pennyworth #father!bruce wayne #father!batman

2K notes · View notes

yanderechuu · 4 years ago

Text

Shower Thoughts

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[3.2K]

Summary: Momo wasn’t as trustable as you had presumed.

Warning: Larceny, nonconsensual touching, masturbation

│

You used to spend roughly ten minutes in the shower, only ever needing to soak your body in the water, apply shampoo and body wash before rinsing all the foam of products from your skin and scalp. Shower thoughts simply consisted of the day’s agenda or any special occurrence that had happened the past week, never really drifting off to existential questions and dark notions that would keep you from leaving the bathroom later than usual. You neither necessarily liked taking a shower nor did you dread it, as to you it was only ever a mandatory routine of the day which you handled with a neutral mind.

But now, ten minutes were already a slow thirty, and majority of the time you bothered not to move your arms to make work of your hair, or lather your skin with soap as you normally would do had it not been for the questions plaguing your mind like how your classmates would terrorize your time and space.

Right, your classmates - who would spend every hour of the day with you as if they didn’t have anything better to do. As if you were an important subject of matter next to hero training. You never appreciated it, because from the start, you did not want to have anything do to with them. They smothered and coddled you as if air wasn’t that important to you, disregarding the way you felt about personal space, how it was very significant to you. Rare were the moments of peace as a few of them were always by your side, ‘ensuring your safety’ as they would like to quote it. Why ensure your safety? You had not been a prominent figure in the sports festival, neither did you have a quirk that could be of great utility for the villains unlike Bakugou or Tokoyami. You weren’t a problem child, either. Their justification of following you around like you were some sort of high-maintenance prisoner made no sturdy sense to you.

“There’s this new package of green tea my mother had sent me this week! Would you like to try it, (y/n)?”

“Sure.”

But if you had to choose among your classmates one whom you would tolerate for the following years you’d be in U.A., that would be Yaoyorozu Momo. She was kind and considerate, often determining your feelings before you could voice it out (not that you really had the courage to, most of the time). She was organized and pristine and never had you met someone more befitting for the definition of ‘mom friend’ than her. She was perfect in nearly every way, and even though you’d have the occasional pang of jealousy at some times her perfectionism was displayed (gender envy, isn’t it, (y/n)?), she never seemed to bear mal intent, so you would let the emotions slide. You’d see the galaxy in her eyes if you would stare long enough. Her tea was best substitute for coffee, too.

You never considered her more than a very great friend, though, and to her, that was a problem.

As you sauntered your way over to your dorm with her, you shuffled your bag to take your room key buried in the side pockets. “I’ll go down in a while, but you better make sure you’re in the common room before me.”

You wouldn’t allow your classmates to take advantage of your lone self simply because Momo wasn’t there to fend them off.

“Mhm! Lemon green tea as usual, correct?”

“Yeah. Thanks again, YaoMomo.”

Your use of sotto voce tone on her nickname gave a pleasant shiver down her spine; her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head had she not restrained herself. Having been always kept to yourself, you never felt the need to adjust your volume for others to hear properly, so oftentimes your voice came out in a whisper - not that she minded, of course. You sounded more sensual that way.

“Are you going to take a while or will I have to brew tea right away?”

“Training was more strenuous than usual, and my muscles can’t seem to relax,” you explained, “so I’m going to take a quick shower.”

From your peripheral vision as you were focused on your bag to fish out the key, you saw Momo’s jaw slack upon hearing your plan to take a bath. It was odd, but you didn’t give particular attention to it when you finally took out your desired item. You failed to notice the way she abruptly settled her gaze on the key, inspecting it as if she was deliberating its shape, form, and material, and installing it to memory.

“Oh- oh!” She exclaimed. “I do remember having some body wash that help soothe muscle strains and body aches. I can hand them to you if you want.”

You shook your head, smiling lightly. “You’re too kind, YaoMomo. But I think just hot water will do for me.”

She watched as you opened the door to your room, giving her one more smile before disappearing inside and locking the door with a distinct click. As soon as you did so, she pulled the sleeve of her wrist up, developing with her body lipids a key the exact copy of the one you had held.

You certainly lied when you had said you were going to take a ‘quick’ shower. Already ten minutes into it did you only decide to sleek yourself with liquid body soap, initially absentmindedly rubbing it on your body, before you gradually got rougher with your movements and soon you found yourself scuffing your own flesh with vehement motion.

They were excessively touchy again, your classmates. Denki got too close to your face while delivering a pick-up line that made you wish you didn’t exist in order to hear it, and upon nearing you did Bakugou pull you away from him, cursing at him to buzz off. He took his time feeling up your waist - the part he used to grab you - while at it. During lunch, as you were once again coerced into joining his group to the cafeteria, Izuku refused to let go of your hand as you walked, and Uraraka as adamant with hugging you by the hips with one arm. It was what girlfriends did, she said, and you were not entirely sure whether or not she referred to that word romantically.

And if not, then did girlfriends also normally touch the parts of which you did not want to be touched on? You felt, clear as day, a bare hand resting on your thigh when you sat on your usual spot, dangerously close to lifting your skirt for everyone to see, and when you gave Hagakure’s faceless face a questioning look, she asked you what was wrong. Her uniform sleeve was literally floating on top of your lap, and still she had the gall to pretend as if she was not touching you with lacking consent.

You were not safe from Shoto, either, when he offered to readjust your uniform tie and you were in no place to decline (you had the right to, but they just stripped you off of it), his breath hitching in ecstasy as his fingers brushed your chest; he was, audaciously enough, not hiding his bliss. Then he rubbed your shoulders to ‘warm you up,’ when all he really intended to do was motivate his own fantasy that you were his and he was simply scenting you like some fucking alpha to his omega.

You turned no blind eye to their gesticulations. You never once found it endearing, and wished they would stop with whatever the hell this was called, because you were quite sure this was past the border of molestation and could already be rendered a form of bullying.

But not once did you consider the possibility of having a class obsessed with your quaint self.

So you supposed that until you’d find a way to deduce their idiosyncratic actions and tendencies then you would have to make do with your own bathroom as your safe space. Momo was the only classmate you could confide to, so at least she was there.

Unfortunately, you had yet to see the other side of her coin.

Because as she was just right outside your bathroom door, obsessively taking in every bit of item you owned inside your dorm room like a madman, you were left with the impression that she was all you could ever ask for in a friend. You didn’t know how she was not any better than the rest of your classmates, adoring your very existence to the extent of insanity; how she’d crave for you so often and so terribly that she’d feel herself clench when you do so much as merely spare her a glance. And you had done that a lot today - she would have to relieve herself for it.

She spotted the heap of clothes right by your bed; it became apparent that you had stripped yourself off of it before entering the bathroom and taking a shower. Walking towards it, a portion of your seamless underwear came to view, and she resisted the urge to render into a mound of horniness in order to pick it up and inspect it closely.

It was a lighter color of (s/c). A plain, simple, modest undergarment item, still it evoked a particular feeling on the bottom center of Momo’s hips. The heat came rushing along her midriff and instigated the muscle of her legs to falter, and as soon as she felt it, a hand of hers drifted past her skirt, feeling up the slick accumulated on the fabric of her own panties only with the knowledge that your panties were currently in her possession. She needed release, but you were nearly finished with your bath, and she was still inside your room.

You walked out of the shower the moment she shut the door of your bedroom. You saw it closed, but you didn’t catch the culprit.

This unnerved you to no end. Undoubtedly, you thought, this had to be one of your classmates. Who else was it supposed to be? Aizawa-sensei (...)? You had yet to know their ultimatum, but you were sure this occurrence was another one of their schemes. You had assumed that all their weird, unappreciated antics were just to get you to socialize with them, but now you didn’t understand why it had gotten to the point of entering your room without permission.

You couldn’t keep this to yourself.

So you planned to bring it up to Momo, a representative of your class and someone whom you deemed trustable enough to share it with. Quickly, you dressed into your casual indoor attire, and rushed outside your room to head to the kitchen, where you presumed she’d be in the process of making your tea. But she wasn’t there.

Instead, she was in her own room, your panties muzzled right into her face and her own fingers buried deeply inside her cunt.

“Oh- oh, god- Ah! (Y/n)!”

Oh god, your panties. Oh god, your panties. The object most intimate to your parts of intimacy, soaking every bit of womanly secretion from your genitalia. Of all the masturbation sessions she had done to the thought of you, this was the hottest. She wasn’t quite sure whether to imagine your cunt on her lips in a position of mutual cunnilingus or your fingers thrusting into her in place of hers. She wanted both.

A whine slipped past her lips. To think that moments ago, she was in the same space as you were nude. Oh, to join you in the bathroom, doing inenarrable things to each other with the use of the showerhead. To touch your skin selfishly rather than only watch as she would do during class hours.

She came with a squeal, falling face-down to bite the duvet of her large bed. Gone in her hazy mind was her promise to you of lemon green tea, and as she still basked in the pathological euphoria of getting off, you were in the common room, anxiously waiting for her return.

But just as you had expected, someone was bound to spot you alone and take this as an opportunity to be with you, and they just so happened to be-

Oh. Aoyama.

He offered you a slice of cheese with his usual grin before settling down a few feet beside you, enough to leave you be in your personal bubble. You gave him occasional glances, unwrapping the cheese from its casing and he just sat there, eating his. He was alright, you guessed - another tolerable classmate of yours next to Momo. Perhaps it was because you used to always be alone in the classroom with him during break time that you were at ease with his presence. Or maybe he just seemed so gay and that, for some reason, comforted you. One gay presence could comfort another lol.

“It’s delicious.” Your comment came out inadvertently.

“Oui. Only the best quality for the best person.” He flaunted.

You weren’t exactly sure whether he was referring to you or to himself, but you paid little attention to that as the cheese was certainly delicious; you were not lying.

“It’s odd how your chose to take a bath at this time of the day.” He spoke.

You stopped chewing.

He meant to refer to your damp hair, but having just suspected your class of breaking and entering your room, you thought otherwise.

“I-” You choked on the cheese, ending up needing to gulp it like liquid content instead of breaking it down to fit your throat.

Immediately, he sprang up in concern, stepping over to you to gently thump you on the back. “Are you alright?”

“No- I mean- I just-!” You wheezed, occasionally having to clear your throat. You swatted his hand away from you; you hadn’t meant to appear rude, but you did. You stood up in a rush. “L-look, I have to go.”

“Don’t you want to drink water?”

“I’m- fine,”

With your words, you took off from the common room area and headed back to your room. There were two sets of emotions that mixed to form the bile in your throat. One was wrath and humiliation upon the discovery of Aoyama’s actions. The other was betrayal and confusion from Momo’s absence when she had said she’d be brewing tea for you, and it wasn’t the tea that disheartened you. She knew of your issue with the class, and if she were busy, couldn’t she have texted you a heads-up?

She shouldn’t be surprised when at the next time she saw you, you interacted with her less. Your intention to distance yourself from her was most prominent, and it didn’t help that your classmates took notice of this, because now they were taking advantage of the situation, tagging you along with them in spite of your futile attempts to decline now that Momo was nowhere to tell them off. When she’d talk to you, you would answer, though your voice was back to speaking to her like she was a stranger.

Resentment was stronger than ruing the lack of intimacy between you two. It was as if she had received your panties in exchange for the time she’d be spending with you, oddly enough. After much deliberation, she came to realize that this was your little ‘tantrum’ after not being able to meet with her the other day.

It was pretty cute, she thought, that you’d try and make her acknowledge the fault on her part by ignoring her.

You didn’t walk with her back to dorms as per usual that dismissal. Instead, just like what you had used to do before finding consolation in her, you walked alone, accomplishing being able to avoid your classmates as you did. By the time she reached the dorms, you were in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water to satiate your throat. She took a hold of your wrist before you went back to your room.

“(Y/n),” she pleaded, “tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked at her with a reluctant expression. Perhaps you should. After the short while that you had been hanging out with her, her presence turned into something you came to miss. You wanted her back, but not in the way she wanted you.

“I-it’s just,” you stammered out, “y-you know how I feel being alone in the common room without you. I... I’m not comfortable with our classmates when you’re not around.” She took pride in this. “I don’t take it lightly how you left me alone the other day...”

Your voice faltered out the longer you spoke.

So she was correct; you were certainly having your little ‘tantrum.’ With a guilty smile, she left your wrist to hold your hand tenderly, and suddenly it dawned upon you the feeling of whenever Bakugou held your waist, Shoto nuzzled his face on your neck or Izuku invaded your personal space.

Fear and apprehension.

Before you could preach your objection to whatever she had planned ahead for you, she dragged you along with her and you both reached her dorm room before you could comprehend where she was taking you.

“I’ll make it up to you.” She said, making you sit on her large bed.

Then she proceeded to make you tea, boiling water with an electric kettle situated on top of her study desk; there also laid a tea set next to her three books, which you assumed were those of which would aid her in the utility of her quirk, like encyclopedias. Beside those was a piece of cloth, unfolded, unkept - a (s/c)-colored silk fabric.

Your face drained of color.

She pushed the books towards the cloth, completely obscuring it from your view and leaving the table disorganized. You knew Momo, neat and orderly as much as possible; she wouldn’t do that without reason.

Now that you thought about it, the same day someone had barged in your room, your underwear had been missing from your set of laundry garments. You spent the next whole day actively avoiding Aoyama, thinking he was the culprit to this felony. At the present moment you were reconsidering your allegation.

“U-um, Momo, I need to go-”

“Here!”

She yelled it so giddily, so uncharacteristically, as she pushed the cup of tea towards your way. How she did so was very quick that you had not the time to take it properly, and steaming liquid fell to your décolletage, past the cotton of your uniform and streaming down the valley of your breasts. It was a moist mess. She loved every bit of it.

“Oh! Oh, my bad. I’ll- I’ll clean you up!” She exclaimed, all flushed and excited.

You didn’t find it in you to push her back when she began to do exactly what she had said, taking your blazer off, loosening your school tie and unbuttoning the dress shirt underneath, only ever being able to stare at her with eyes that evinced betrayal, because it slowly occurred to you that she was satiating her own selfish obsession with you all under the ruse of maintaining a decent friendship.

“(Y/n),” She breathed out, “I adore you.”

She was no different than the rest of your classmates, and you were a fool to think otherwise.

#bnha x reader #bnha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #yandere x reader #yandere class 1a #class 1a x reader #reader insert #x reader #yandere bnha #momo yaoyorozu x reader #momo x reader #momo x y/n #yandere #yandere momo yaoyorozu #yandere momo #yanderechuu

1K notes · View notes

erodasfishtacos · 4 years ago

Text

Not So Easy

prompt: Harry and Y/N have both had a rough week. Ivy is in the prime of her terrible twos. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

word count: 6.2k

warnings: swearing, smut, a little angst

AN: Fulfilling this request ***. This is part of the CEO!Harry verse. If you enjoy please like, reblog, and come chat with me about it x

*** <--- click for visuals

-----

It was a gorgeous, cool Saturday evening and Y/N had been cooped up in the house all week due to nasty rainstorms that lasted the whole week. All of Y/N’s friends had canceled plans for one reason or another. Anne came down with flu and couldn’t visit like she was suppose to.

Harry had an extra awful week at work - which was saying something - and hadn’t been able to let it go. The frustration and irritation he usually was good at leaving at the office at the end of the workday hadn’t been happening.

Ivy was in the midst of her terrible twos and quite frankly it was disaster for all of them.

They decided on one of their favorite restaurants about an hour outside of London near the beautiful, green countryside. ***

It was a family-owned Italian establishment with outside seating on the patio. The tables were filled but Harry always managed to squeeze himself into a non-existent reservation with his charm (and wallet).

When they’re escorted onto the deck, Ivy had Harry hitched up on his hip and wriggles her into her wooden high-chair with little difficulty - she had just woken up from a nap and was in a seemingly okay mood.

Y/N notices a few pairs of eyes watching them from the table close to theirs but decided that she was just being paranoid. And if she brought it up to Harry she knows he’d immediately tell them to fuck off and mind their business.

They get Ivy settled with her favorite little sensory book and her plush baby doll ***, as they look at the menu, “I’m so hungry,” Y/N grumbles, unable to decide what she wants to eat, Ivy literally running her around all day with no time for refueling.

“Me too, y’didn’t let me finish my meal earlier,” Harry murmurs cheekily, looking at his wife over his menu with a raised eyebrow, “Guess I’ll just have to wait for dessert.”

“Baba’s asleep, she was out as soon as her head hit the pillow,” Harry tells his wife, trotting in their bedroom. He’s already stripping the shirt off his head and wriggling his running shorts down his narrow hips.

Y/N’s laying on the bed, too distracted by her romance novel to notice Harry’s actions - well until he yanks at her ankles until her bum skids towards the end of the bed, she lets out a surprise yelp at her husband’s strength.

He plucks the book from her hands and tosses it to the floor with a thump. His hands are hurriedly reaching to pull down her shorts and panties with impatience at having his wife bare before him.

“Someone’s a bit horny,” Y/N teases, raising her hips to let him slide them down before they join the book on the floor. He ducks down to bite at the soft skin of her hip bone, suckling a dark mark there in ownership.

“Have y’seen yourself, pet?” Harry replies lowly, unable to help himself as he dips down and swipes a long, languid lip up her center with no warning. It has her moaning and pushing herself into his mouth.

“We don’t have long, H. Need you in me,” His wife whines, pulling him up by his hair until he’s slipping his tongue right into her mouth, wasting no time to hike her hips up around his waist and pushing in with one strong, directive thrust.

Y/N blushes and darts her eyes back down to the menu, “If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you.”

Harry laughs, eyes wrinkling around the corners, “Y’know even when I’m not good, y’let me.”

It was very very true.

“Oops!” Ivy squeals when her doll falls to the ground. It was one of the new words she’s finally understood in context and it’s unbelievably cute to hear her high, little squeaky voice.

“S’alright, here you go bab,” Harry titters, reaching down to toss it back onto the table for his daughter. She looked so fucking adorable tonight in what Y/N had dressed her in a little Gucci jean jacket with matching jeans. ***

Ivy manages to keep herself pretty occupied until she needs a diaper change. The meals had just arrived, steaming hot and smelling like heaven, but Y/N slings their diaper bag over her shoulder and totes the baby off to the bathroom.

Harry watches them, like the protector he is until they make it to the bathroom safely. He can sense eyes on him (the same group Y/N thought was watching) but unlike his wife, Harry makes eye contact with the table who were staring directly at his wife and then him.

“Can I fuckin’ help you?” Harry asks bluntly, not hesitating to stare down every single person at the table. He didn't want anyone staring at them, staring at Y/N, staring at Ivy. He wanted to enjoy his dinner in peace with his family. He assumed they probably worked for him.

They avert their gaze from the intense man, acting nonchalantly and sipping at their glasses filled with wine as if they weren’t just staring at them. It makes Harry scoff loudly enough so that they can hear it.

When Y/N appears back with Ivy and attempts to plop her back into her seat, her limbs go wiggly and her eyebrow knits with refusal, letting out little kicks, “No mummy, no!”

“Baby, we’ve got to eat now. How ‘bout after we’re done?” Y/N hums in her daughter’s ear, attempting to steady the toddler’s legs to slide into the slots of the chair.

Y/N knew it was going to be a struggle since Y/N told Ivy she couldn’t have the big stuffed animal that was in the gift shop on the way to the bathroom.

“Mummy! Don’t wanna!” Ivy protests loudly, her face pinched with her terrible twos anger as she squirms and twists in her mother’s grip.

“S’okay, give her to me,” Harry tells his wife, taking Ivy in his lap. She smiles with deep dimples up at her father before going to reach her little fingers into his pasta. “No, Ivy. S’hot, it’s goin’ to burn you.”

Ivy pulls her brows together, decidedly not liking what her dad had to say, because she’s reaching out once again. “Ivy, daddy said ‘no’. Be a good girl and listen.”

“Mine.” Oh god, her favorite word at the moment.

“Ivy Elizabeth, s’not yours. S’daddy’s. Mummy ordered you chicken, which she very nicely cut up for you. You need to eat that, lovie,” Harry uses a bit of a firmer voice with the little girl, pulling her plate of cubed of food over.

“Here, bub,” Y/N takes a small piece, bringing it up to her daughter’s full lips. Only to be met with a hand batting it away until it’s being flung limply to the wood floor with a screech.

“No, want that,” Ivy huffs, once again reaching for her father’s steaming plate. She’s nearly close to getting her finger into the burning sauce so Harry has to scoot his chair out a bit so she can’t reach it anymore.

The parents give each other a knowing look because of what is surely about to come. The baby was struggling with being told ‘no’ as of late, as well as claiming nearly everything as ‘mine’. Tantrums were in their prime right now and they thought the pre-dinner nap would have helped.

Spoiler Alert: It doesn’t.

When Ivy realizes she’s no longer able to reach the food, she furrows her brow and pulls back her little fist, hitting at her father’s shoulder. It wasn’t often she tried to hit, likely because most times it landed her on the step for two minutes, but it’s like she knew they couldn’t do that here.

“Ivy,” Harry takes her small hands between his, “We do not hit, do you understand Daddy? S’not nice. If you can’t behave, you’re not getting ice cream before we go home.”

At that point, the little girl would normally calm down a bit and readjust because she really loved ice cream but it didn’t do anything to quell her anger tonight. She shakes her head, curly hair bouncing, before the tears start rolling.

“Should we just get this to go?” Y/N asks, knowing that the whole restaurant doesn’t want to hear the sobbing baby throwing a fit over not being able to dig her hands into her father’s dinner plate.

“Probably best,” Harry grunts when Ivy wriggles and twists in her father’s grip with a frustrated whine, “She’s not goin’ to settle.”

“Down, let me down!” Ivy demands against her father’s grip, like she’s the one running the show.

“Here, give her to me,” Y/N mutters, wrangling the toddler into a tight hold while Harry gets the waiter’s attention to get take away boxes and the check. He’s pulling out his wallet to slide out his black amex and put it on the table.

“Ivy, I’m going to put you down so I can get the diaper bag and your toys. Are you going to stay right next to mummy?” Y/N asks her daughter firmly, making sure her daughter’s little green eyes are meeting hers.

Ivy nods but as soon as her feet hit the solid ground, she lets out a giggle and dashes from beside her mother. She doesn’t get very far because she’s running straight into the legs of another patron and tumbling on her bum.

She’s not at all hurt but takes it as an advantage to throw herself onto the floor, screaming and tears - the whole dramatic show because she’s not getting her way and well....she’s a two year old - that’s all the reason she needs, right?

Harry’s in full dad mode now, “I’ll get her to the car. Y’got this, love?”

Y/N nods, sighing at the loss of their nice dinner as her daughter has all eyes directed on their family - the last thing she wanted to happen. But she just focuses on shoveling the still hot foot into the plastic containers to take home.

“S’enough of that, Ivy. This isn’t how we act, hmm?” Harry hums, pulling his daughter off the floor and into his arms - “What’s gotten into you, bug?”

Ivy sniffles, knuckling at her wet eyes, “Home, daddy.”

“We’re taking you home, don’t you worry,” Harry chuckles, smiling softly when she tucks her head into the crook of his neck, thumb finding her lips. His large palm came to rub at her back and bounce her lightly.

When Y/N finally gets everything together, one of the waitresses - an older woman, stops by the table, “How old is your daughter?”

Y/N smiles, “Just turned two a month ago.”

The grey lady has a kind, knowing grin on her face, “What an age, huh? She looks like a little replica of your husband.”

The girl laughs, they can’t go anywhere without hearing that from someone, “Oh, believe me. They have the same attitude too,” She jokes, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

“I wish you two luck. Two is a very hard age, I have five kids of my own. Just appreciate it, even though the tantrums are a pain in the arse,” She says, patting Y/N on the shoulder before heading back to a table who was waiting on her.

---

Both the parents were frustrated, more so than they usually are with Ivy’s tantrums. They thought she’d simmer down once they’d gotten home but it had just revved up again when she realized she really wasn’t getting any ice cream.

“Shouldn’t have even promised her ice cream in the first place,” Y/N mutters with frustration as they stand near the staircase. Ivy sat on the step for two minutes in timeout, kicking her little feet against the marble.

“Right, because I knew she’d decide to have tantrums all night,” Harry shoots back, matching his wife’s tone. The screaming was echoing through the house, high-pitched and it just made you want to cover your ears from it.

Y/N rolls his eyes at him, motioning towards their daughter, “Well, this is your doing because you reminded her that she wasn’t getting it. You deal with it, I’m going to shower.”

“You’re not doing much to help anyways,” Harry hisses, their voices both low so that their daughter doesn’t hear - not like she would over the screaming match she’s having with herself.

They rarely fought to be honest. This wasn’t even a fight - really. It was hard raising a two year old and they were learning as they went along. The couple was good at communication and working through their problems most of the time.

“I’m not doing much to help?” Y/N asks in disbelief, “Then if I’m no help at all, why don’t you put her down for bed? You don’t need me, obviously.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, his hand gripping the railing with a hard grip, “Don’t go twistin’ my words, that’s not what I said. Now you’re just lookin’ for a fight.”

“Yeah, because on top of a fussy two year old - I want to deal with a childish husband. I’m surprised you're not on the stairs, cryin’ about ice cream too with how you’re acting,” Y/N laughs - the sound crawling under Harry’s skin with irritation at her fake carefree attitude when she’s just as annoyed as him.

“You’re being an even bigger brat than our daughter right now,” Harry tells her, trying to keep his voice at a low volume but it comes out louder than intended. He felt himself straighten up and kept direct eye contact with his wife.

Y/N’s lips form into a tight line before gritting out, “Do not raise your voice at me. We agreed that no matter how frustrated we got we wouldn’t do that in front of our daughter.”

“Then don’t act so immature, ever think of tha’?” Harry bites, hating the he hears his work voice being directed at his wife when he never wants that.

“How am I being immature? You promised her something that she didn’t get, then reminded her that she’s not getting it. I’m allowed to be frustrated with you!” Y/N whisper-shouts, Ivy is now distracted by taking her little shoes off and watching them tumble down the stairs.

“I have so many better things I could be doing right now than stand here and fight with you over our daughter having a stupid tantrum. I’ll be in my office,” Harry replies, because when he doesn’t know what to do and refuses to admit he’s wrong - he falls back to his best excuse, work.

And he automatically regrets it when he sees a flash of hurt cross his wife’s face. Harry wants to swallow back those words and wrap his wife up into a hug. Never wanting to make her feel like his work is worth more of his time.

Deep down, they both know she knows that it’s not the truth but in the midst of the fight it doesn’t sting any less. He opens his mouth to apologize, to tell her that he’d rather put their daughter to bed together any night than be in his office.

But he can tell she’s already past the point of being pissed when she replies calmly, “I’ll put our baby to bed. Go work on whatever is more important than us, Mr. Styles.”

Harry wants to reach out and grab at her arm, tug her into his chest, and murmur in her hair how much he loves her more than anything. He said that because he knows it’s hurtful and it’s his only way to win an argument with her.

However, she’s moving up the stairs, scooping the somewhat calmed down baby into her arms and trudging up without another look at her still brooding husband.

Harry hears Ivy shout back down the stairs, “Daddy, come on!”

He hears his wife tell his daughter, “Daddy’s too busy with work, Ivy. S’just mummy.”

But that has Harry absolutely fuming, storming up the stairs after then, “Do not make it seem like I’m ever too busy for my daughter. That’s completely uncalled for, Y/N.”

Y/N doesn’t turn back to face him, instead keeps walking, and says with a monotone voice, “Oh, but you just said you had better things to be doing than dealing with your family. So go take care of your work, hot shot. I’ll take care of our daughter.”

“Why are you making it seem like I put my work before Ivy? I’ve literally never let that happen and you know that. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion because Ivy’s been having tantrums and you can’t put on your big girl pants and deal with them.”

That’s when Y/N spins around on her heel, letting Ivy down and encouraging her to go play in her room for a little before bedtime. Her face is turning red - which rarely happens unless they’re really about to get in an argument.

“Big girl pants? Really, I’m at home dealing with her tantrums twenty-four seven. You get to come home from work and only deal with it half on the time. Do not act like you know how stressful it is to stay at home with a toddler in their terrible twos all day.”

“Do not act like it’s harder than running a multi-billion pound business,” Harry scoffs, his voice becoming lower with frustration with an argument that was going nowhere. He had a cocky lift to his voice that made her want to scream.

“Oh, because it’s so difficult half the time? Last week, you got to go on your private jet to Paris for three days for business aka dinner and golfing while I sat at home alone!” Y/N raises her voice, angry tears forming over her lids.

“Sat in our 35 million pound house with a pool, playground, plenty of shops in town, unlimited money doesn’t sound like a hardship, love,” Harry replies, jaw clenching but his fingers itching to brush the tears away.

“You know what? It’s Sunday tomorrow. I’m going out. You watch her for the whole fucking day and see how easy it is. For now, enjoy the guest room,” Y/N spits out, storming down the hall to Ivy’s room to get her ready for bed.

“With pleasure,” He tells her, retreating back into his office and slamming the door. He wasn’t a fucking inadequate father.

He never put work before his family. He knew it wasn’t easy being at home and as soon as he sat his arse in his leather chair - he realized what a douchebag he was being to his stressed out wife.

Harry didn’t want to sleep in the guest room, he wanted to be spooned up next to his wife, whispering apologies for letting the stress of the week get to him. Remind her what an amazing partner and mum she is to him. How lucky he is.

The issue was - Harry had pride issues. He wasn’t one to admit defeat even when he should. He thrived on challenges so he was eager to show his wife that he’d have no problem taking on his terrible twos daughter.

He sneaks into his daughter’s room after she’s fast asleep in her crib, checking on her to make sure she’s okay before hesitantly entering their bedroom where his wife is fast asleep but a pile of clean clothes for him on the floor tells him she was serious about him sleeping in the guest room.

It was torture, not being able to be in the same bed as his wife. The love of his life. He thought about it multiple times - going in and groveling but his stubborn brain wouldn’t allow it. After such a long week, he was looking forward to sleeping in and his head hit the pillow in no time.

“Rise and shine,” His wife's voice wakes him up, it wasn’t with her normally cheery tone but with the same irritation as the night before. She definitely hadn’t magically forgiven him yet - dammit. Her voice is nearly drowned out by a fussy curly-haired baby.

“Wha’s wrong?” Harry grunts, sitting up to see Ivy still in her pajamas with sheet wrinkles across her face. Skin pink and warm from her nice, peaceful sleep.

However, she decided to wake up today with a massive chip on her shoulder.

“Ivy’s upset because she can’t find her ballerina doll,” Y/N replies.

Harry notices she is already fully dressed *** and made up for the day. “Might want to get up and help her find it. I’m heading out like we agreed on.”

“Fine,” Harry replies with a tight lip, rubbing his eyes as he’s still half asleep. “Y’look pretty.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replies nonchalantly, leaning over to kiss Ivy on the forehead, “I’ll see you later bug, I love you.”

Ivy looks at her mother in betrayal as she leaves Harry to manage their little ball of fury. He tries to tug her in for a big, warm hug but she shrieks and screams at her father, “Ballerina!”

“Ssh, okay. We’ll go look for y’ballerina, dove. No need to yell, s’too early,” Harry grumbles, sitting up and automatically being pulled by the hand off the bed to search for this doll that could be anywhere in this thousands upon thousands of square foot home.

After extensive searches, Harry realizes that he’d left it on the roof of the car when he was tucking her into her carseat last night. The cute little plush doll is now mostly likely roadkill on the country stretch.

“Ivy, y’literally got a whole room dedicated to stuffed animals and dolls. Let’s go pick somethin’ from there, yes?” Harry tries, his daughter’s arms crossed and glaring at Harry like he had just killed her hopes and dreams.

“No! No!” The toddler absolutely wails, plopping her little diaper-clad bum on the ground before kicking her feet against the marble. She had herself worked up until her cheeks were cherry red and tears were staining her shirt.

Harry couldn’t lie - he’d only been watching her for about two hours and he was starting to feel anxiety creep up in his throat over what to do. It wasn’t that he couldn’t parent her, but it was a lot of crying and he hated seeing her upset.

“Why don’t we go eat some breakfast? Does that sound good, lovie?” Harry offers hopefully, having to contain a laugh at how much she looks like him when he’s angry. The little crease between her eyes, the green in her eyes sparkling a little darker than usual.

Her eyes peek up at her father, “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry sighs in relief, scrubbing at hand down his face, taking her into the kitchen, strapping her in the highchair before whipping up some cheesy eggs for her.

When he puts down the plate in front of her, he has to say she’s surprised when she slaps it off the tray and onto the floor, spilling everywhere. “No, want mummy’s breakfast.”

Her father looks at her with a comically bewildered expression before turning on his dad voice, “We do not throw things on the ground. Do you understand me, Ivy Elizabeth?”

Her full little lips are drawn into a tight pout as she tosses her baby fork on the ground to join the still warm eggs in a heap.

“Mummy’s breakfast.”

The scolding goes in one ear and out the other, she doesn’t acknowledge her father but continues on her demands.

He caves after trying to no avail to decipher what ‘mummy’s breakfast’ means.

Ivy threw her eggs on the ground. She’s demanding mummy’s breakfast.

She’s hated eggs for the past two weeks now. Vanilla yogurt with diced strawberries and blueberries in her red baby bowl.

He does as she says, arranges a nice little bowl of yogurt with the fruit. He couldn’t find the red bowl so he substituted for a blue one.

It results in the yogurt also being smacked to the ground.

She threw that on the ground too.

Did you put it in a red bowl?

I couldn’t find it, just put it in a blue bowl

She only wants to eat breakfast out of red bowls right now

Harry groans, he didn’t know his daughter was this difficult about breakfast time. He was usually gone by the time she’d woken up for the day. Y/N usually let him sleep in a bit on the weekends until ten or so.

After digging for the specific red bowl, doing up her breakfast again - Ivy happily begins eating until it drips down her sleep clothes, rubbed all over her cheeks, and it even manages up in her tangled locks.

“S’that just so yummy, Vee?” Harry hums after she’s finished. “Looks like it’s bath time.”

He really should have guessed at this point when she shakes her head and squeaks, “No!”

“Yes, s’bathtime,” Harry says sternly, traipsing upstairs with the wriggling toddler who is doing everything in her power to fight against her father’s hold.

“No, no, no. Ballerina,” Ivy brings it up again, making it a near impossible task for Harry to wrangle her out of her clothes and diaper.

While he’s running the bath, she darts from the bathroom and through the hallways, right towards the grand staircase where the baby gate isn’t closed. Harry really really didn’t want to yell at his daughter but she could seriously get hurt.

“Ivy Elizabeth Styles, if you don’t get your little bum over to Daddy right now, you’re going on the step and y’not having playtime at all,” Harry orders loudly, but breathing a sigh of relief when his daughter skids in her tracks to a halt.

The little girl turns on her heels, eyes wide in fright at her dad’s raised voice - which rarely ever happened unless she really wasn’t listening. She begins to cry but not in her now typical anger-induced haze but in a legitimate sad wail.

His heart aches as his daughter toddles obediently back over to him with her little head hung low in regret, “Daddy, hold me?”

Harry can’t deny her so he scoops her up into the crook of his arm, “M’sorry for yellin’, bug. But y’need to be good for Daddy? You could have gotten really hurt and that would have made Daddy sad, okay?”

Her eyes are watery as she looks up at him, her hand curling around his neck before burying her still yogurt-sticky face into his skin, hiccuping with sad whines, “Sad Daddy.”

“Mhm, now are you going to be nice and get a bath f’me? Y’dirty, bubby,” Harry smiles down at her to brighten back up her mood and it works because her dimples pop out of her cheeks and she flashes her small blocky baby teeth.

Ivy surprisingly does well in the bathtub, allowing her father to get her all cleaned up until she accidentally opens her eyes and gets baby soap in them, it’s another round of tears that cannot be controlled.

Harry totes the sobbing toddler into a cute little Moschino onesie and brings her into their bedroom. He’s so fucking exhausted and it was barely noon. His stress level was near a hundred as he couldn’t keep her from being pissed off for more than twenty minutes at a time.

Luckily, it seems like the screaming and crying for the last how many hours had taken a toll on her because as soon as she sprawled on her stomach on Harry’s chest, she’s out like a light. The cutest small snores coming from her as she smacks her lips together while she dreams.

He gives her a few minutes to fall into a deeper sleep before tiptoeing her into her nursery and laying her very carefully into her crib. She doesn’t wake, just whimpers softly and turns on her side, away from her father.

When he’s sure she’ll be okay, he goes back into their bedroom, and well...he just breathes. He didn’t realize how high his anxiety had been up to this point and his whole morning had been nothing but trying to get his daughter calm. He didn’t even have one moment to think about himself.

It really wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Y/N being a stay at home mum - of course, he did. He already knew how bloody amazing and strong she was as a person, he didn’t need this to prove what he already knew. It was his stubbornness to not decline a challenge and they both knew that was the case.

Y/N really didn’t think that Harry doubted her abilities. He nearly spent most of his days telling her how proud he was of her and her abilities as a partner and mum. It doesn’t mean it didn’t sting when he brought up his job compared to hers.

Harry’s in his own world of thoughts that he doesn’t notice a figure leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, “You got everything under control, H?”

His eyes darted up to meet his wife’s, “Not really. She’s a little terror,” He jokes (kind of).

“It’s easy compared to your job, right?” Y/N asks but it’s obviously rhetorical. She drops a few shopping bags on the floor before leaning down to unstrap her high heels, kicking them off along with throwing off the blazer to the floor.

“I never said your job was easy. Y’puttin’ words in my mouth,” Harry argues, sitting up straight and moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No, you’re right. It’s just not as hard as your job,” Y/N huffs, unbuttoning the tight jeans and shucking them off her thighs. She didn’t have any idea what she was doing to him right now, his mouth nearly watering when her thighs jiggle a bit.

“You’re right, it’s not as hard as my job,” Harry replies, studying his wife’s face when she looks up in surprise - that he was really going to take the fight that far.

“Wow, you re-”

“It’s not as hard as my job, it’s harder,” Harry murmurs, reaching out to pull his wife to stand between his legs, her looking down at him with her hands on his shoulders. “

What I’m doin’ is nothin’ compared to your job. Y’raising our little baby, shaping her into a good person, spending every moment of y’day with her, giving up a lot of who you are for her. That’s more difficult than what I do any day.”

“Har-”

“M’sorry, lovie. Y’know I think you’re the most amazing mum and wife. You do everything for the baba and I. I shouldn’t have taken my anger from my week out on you yesterday and then said the things that I did,” Harry apologizes, his face sincere and open as he leans forward to nuzzle at his wife’s stomach.

When her hands come to run through his unruly locks, he knows he’s forgiven, “I appreciate how hard you work too. I really do, H. You’re the best husband and daddy to Ivy we could ask for. I’m sorry I took my frustration out on you as well.”

“Do you ever feel like I put work before you or Ivy?” Harry asks softly against her thin tank top, his hands come to massage at her full hips. There was a hint of insecurity in his tone that made Y/N’s heart sink a bit.

“No, I really don’t. I was just...I was just upset and I knew that would upset you. I’m sorry, baby,” Y/N murmurs softly, leaning down to kiss at the top of his head.

“Y’going to let me show you how sorry I am, how good of a wife and mum you are?” Harry drawls, his hands going to tug up the fabric of her top and humming appreciatively when she lifts her arms to let him do so.

“Yeah, remind why I married your crabby ass,” Y/N teases playfully, reaching behind herself to let her bra fall down to the crooks of her elbows before tossing it to the floor with everything else. As she’s doing that, Harry takes it upon himself to shimmy off her panties.

“Y’sayin’ you just married me ‘cause I fuck you good?” Harry grunts, standing up suddenly and pulling her up into his arms until her legs are wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck.

“Mmm, mostly. Also for your bank account was pretty good-looking too,” She lies blatantly but he still rewards her with a bruising kiss to her lips as he backs her against the wall so he can use one hand to tug down his running shorts.

“I’d still have married you, best decision I’ve ever made,” Harry says, sobering up from their playfulness. He slows down to be careful as he slides up into her warm heat, her head falling back with a thud against the wall.

“Harry,” She moans approvingly, heels of her feet digging into his backside to goad him into moving faster, “Right there.”

“So bloody in love with you. Please tell me y’know that baby, c’mon, tell me,” Harry begs, leaning down to smear kisses against her collarbone.

“I know, H. You’re so good to me, I love you,” Y/N whines and Harry knows that whine like the back of his hand, she needs more. He reaches down to rub tight, rough circles against her swollen bud until she’s tensing and coming.

“You feel so good, every single time. Don’t know how you do it, s’like you were made just for me,” Harry chokes out, stuttering and coming with his lips suckling a deep spot onto her breast as he rides it out.

After they redress and are cuddled on the bed, murmuring sweet little apologizes and affirmations of love, they interrupted by an angry squeak from the baby monitor - signaling their daughter’s woken up.

“Ballerina!”

hope you enjoyed. please inbox me what you think, like, reblog.

1K notes · View notes