#Almost wanted to post this for the 'in over his head' day

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Era: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

[hearts4chriss]

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍.

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐁𝐒𝐅! 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐏𝐎𝐂 𝐛𝐬𝐟

prompt by this request: "chris getting jealous bc his bsf seems flirty with matt so he confesses his feelings and it ends with smuttttt”

contains: HELLA SMUTTT, Chris confessing his feelings, mad jealous Chris, dom!chris, suggestive, “flirting” w Matt??, Chris and yours first kiss, choking, spanking, degrading names (slut, whore yktv), MUCH dumification, use of pet names (mama, baby, sweetheart, good girl, pretty girl, sweet girl ), stomach bulge!, flashbacks of Chris fantasizing about you, overstimulation, cream pie, squirting, Chris having a massive cock obviously, missionary, slight m!oral, aftercare as always!! Heavy ( bath tg, praising, concerned!chris reassurance

a/n- this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so here it is

For years, since we were kids. I’ve always had a huge crush on my bestfriend.

I couldn’t get over her no matter how hard I tried and it grew more and more especially since she lives in LA now and we see her almost everyday.

It got worse. So bad. I needed her

I remember seeing her in an orange bikini complimenting her gorgeous features. The way the bottoms hugged her curves making her ass pop out was enough to make me finish in my pants.

She was gorgeous, I wanted to have her badly but it was Nearly impossible fo get her alone.

Especially with Matt around. It pissed me off when I’d see them laughing together or making tiktoks.

That’s my girl

I remember sitting in my room scrolling on instagram when I got the notification she posted on her story

Fuck she looked so good.

the way the grey shorts hugged her ass just how I liked, she looked so gorgeous too.

I, unintentionally started palming myself through my sweats.

I couldn’t help it she had such an affect on me.

I pulled my sweats down revealing my boxers with a wet spot where my tip was.

“Shit”. I groan pulling them down fully as my dick slapped against my stomach begging to be touched, wishing it was her hand and not mine.

I began to stroke myself with shaky hands imagining it was her lips wrapped around me and I throw my head back against the pillows as my mind wandered

She was irresistible, I had to have her.

We always had a flirty thing going on and I didn’t think it would get this far.

Until…

Today was on of those days where I was in the kitchen leaning on the counter drinking a Pepsi pretending to watch TV as I listen to her faint giggles as her and my fucking brother watched TV.

I felt my hand tighten around the can as I saw how close they were, knowing he didn’t like her but I didn’t care. I wanted her all too myself.

I sighed throwing my can out coming up with an idea to figure out a way to get her for me.

Matt and nick going to get food.

“hey Matt, wanna go get some food? Y/n likes this Chinese place it’s about an hour away, nick prob wants to go”. I say smiling with a cocky grin and he rolls his eyes.

“Okay fine I’ll be back in like 4 fucking hours nick let’s go!”. Matt tells and Nick comes downstairs.

“Y/n, you’re so lucky we love you”. Nick says sarcastically and they walk out the house but fuck something about the way Matt looked at her before he left just made me more pissed off.

“Chris?”. I stand up adjusting my shorts as the grey material rolled up my ass and my tank top hugged around my tits the watching Chris’s eyes wander.

“What the fuck are you trying to do to me”. Chris mutters into my ear, his hand wrapping around my neck and my breath hitches.

“W-what are you talking about?”. I shudder as his blue eyes pour into mine with an unhappy expression giving me a pity laugh.

“Flirting with my brother in front of me? Seriously?! Is it not obvious how much I want you?”. Chris confessed his nose touching mine making me gulp, my thighs closing together accidentally.

There was no doubt Chris was attractive but hell if I knew he liked me shit I’d probably let him fuck me or something.

“You? Want me?” I said slightly confused and utterly shocked and he takes a deep breath.

“you have no fucking idea how much I want you, and I have no problem showing him that your my girl”. Chris gave me a sly smile picking me up by my ass carrying me downstairs to his room.

“C-Chris wait-“. I was cut off by him kissing me and I melt into his touch. His hands grip my ass tighter making me gasp, his tongue massaging mine as I moan into the kiss.

“Strip”. He demands standing me up and I tilt my head. And he gives me those eyes and immediately comply beginning to peal of my clothes leaving me in a matching set of orange. Chris’s favourite colour.

“Fuck ma you look so pretty..all for me right?” He asks his hands playing with my bra strap making my panties dampen.

“Yes Chris- all for you”. I match his gaze and he smirked pushing me on the bed as I scooted back leaving him room to climb above me.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you”. Chris leaves a soft kiss to my cheek practically ripping my panties off me and I squirm.

“Chris! I liked those!”. I whine and he rolls his eyes pulling down his sweatpants and boxers in one movement and his thick, and painfully hard cock springs out hitting his stomach and my heart beat picks up

how the fuck was that supposed to fit inside me?

Chris took in my nervous expression and let out a soft laugh placing his hands on my thighs

“Spread ur legs for me”. He taps my legs and I spread them apart revealing my wet pussy, the arousal glistening on my inner thighs.

he runs a finger along my slit and I jolt slightly at the sudden sensation.

“shit- ur so wet, did i make you like this? Or was it my brother”. Chris asked tilting his head, his jawn clenched ans my breath hitched as he continued moving his finger.

“No answer? Guess I’ll fuck the answer out of you”. Chris pressed my legs against my chest before slamming his cock deep inside me, stretching me out painfully I almost couldn’t take it.

“f-fuck Chris! T-too much!”. I stutter trying to push his hand away but he quickly slaps it away, using my legs as leverage to begin pounding my inside me.

Chris didn’t give me time to adjust to his large size, tears already forming on my eyes from the pleasure.

“shit- your pussy feels so good, better than I’ve imagined”. He let out a deep groan watching how my pussy sucked him in, Chris’s hips driving into mine as I squint my eyes shut.

“Already becoming a mess on my cock? Should’ve kept matt here so he could see how much of slut you are for me”. Chris grips my neck angling his hips to thrust deeper and I squeal, my eyes meeting with his blues, an electric feeling shooting through me.

He wouldn’t let up his pace, his cock plunging into my tight hole as the pain turned to pleasure thankfully as my cunt morphed to fit his dick.

And Chris was fucking right, I was a slut for him and I has tried to hide it this whole time by being innocent and flirtatious with his brother but the second I was underneath him, I was begging for him to touch me

“Oh shitt- d-don’t stop- fuck”. I throw my head back on the soft pillows, moaning curses breathlessly, my tits bouncing with his quick and hard movements, bound to leave bruises between my thighs burning with sensation.

“mmph fuck- wasn’t planning on it pretty girl”. He moaned, completely infatuated with how I wrapped around him perfectly, like I was made for him. And shit- was he made for me.

She felt so good, almost as if her pussy and every thing about her was made for me.

I couldn’t get enough of her, the Moans and squeaks of my name leaving her swollen lips could’ve made me cum on the spot.

the way she could barley form a sentence as I fucked her, and I wasn’t even close to being done with her yet.

I was going to make sure she knew that she was mine, my fucking girl.

“Chris-you feel so good”. She moaned my name again, turning me on much more than it should’ve, the way her eyes barely opened, and how she’d bite her and stare at me grasping her breasts.

“yeah? you like when I fuck you dumb like this? Can’t even get a word out?”. I taunt, I gripped her neck tighter, her legs finding their way up on my shoulders crying out my name like it’s the only one she knew.

I couldn’t even answer, the things he were asking me required my full attention and shit- I was so far gone.

“I suggest you answer me ma because your about to to cum”. Chris presses his chest on mine, our noses touching as he breathed heavily into my mouth while I reciprocated the same action.

“mm-m I-fuck I-i love it”. I shudder on each word, praying he heard me because I really could not talk right now. I squeezed my eyes shut and he chuckled seeing how speechless he fucked.

“God I could listen to you like this all day”. Chris grunted into my ear as I felt the stomach coil I had began to burst unexpectedly from the overwhelming pleasure.

Chris made me squirt

“S-shit! I’m sorry I-“. I shook as the fluids made a mess over his lower stomach but gasping as he didn’t slow down.

“Never apologize that was hot as fuck- got one more in you?”. He pants resting his head on my shoulder quickening his pace and I whimper gripping his back.

“Oh god Chris- I-I can’t”. My nails run down his back making marks and he bites his bottom lip as I pulled him closer.

His hips pushing into mine, as my juices had coated his cock, leaking out of me creating a wet sensation of our sex.

“You can take it baby, being such a good girl, fuck just one more”. He let out a shaky moan throwing a my leg around his waist and I let out a loud moan at the angle Chris’s cock hit, brushing my g-spot.

“C-Chris ur so deep-“. I let out pornographic sounds and he gave me a deep kiss before pressing his hand where his dick was poking through.

his hand pressed down on the bulge in my stomach and I felt the tears run down my face from the overwhelming pleasure.

“that’s all me baby- fuck I love ur pussy so much-“. He stutters throwing his head as hair sticks to his forehead, the sight was more than appealing.

His slightly parted lips producing whimpers, curses and moans of my name. The way he squeezed my hips making sure I could feel every thick inch of him and the sweat coating over his body.

Her lips parted releasing pants and moans of my name and the occasional “fuck”, her hair now sweated out with hickeys along her neck and tits reminding her that she was mine now. The way her nails would grip my back drawing marks that showed how much she enjoyed it.

“Oh shit- ma- can I cum inside you? M’need you so bad-“. He moans into my neck and I shiver and chant yes’s.

Chris released his seed inside me triggering a second hard orgasm for me, creaming his dick as my body shook.

I turned my head to lay on the pillow before he could catch a glimpse of me, slowly sliding his cock out of me.

He took one look at me and his eyes immediately shifted to one of concern

“wait wait shit- did I hurt you?”. Chris started, seeing how my legs shook from the orgasm I just had.

“please talk to me”. He cupped my cheeks and I gave him a soft smile.

“I’m fine Chris that was- shit- the best sex I’ve ever had”. I let out a quiet sigh and a smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled me into a bridal style hold.

“Well come on let’s get you cleaned up, I wanna spend time with my girl”. He giggled like a child and I rolled my eyes as he carried me into the bathroom running a warm bath for both of us

“No seriously tho your okay?”. He said softly rubbing my shoulders as we soaked in the warm tub.

“Chris the way you put that dick on me I’m more than ok”. I kissed his cheek and his cheeks flushed a bit as he leaned back against the tub whilst I’m in his arms.

She’s really my girl.

@sturniolopowers @gdsvhtwa @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @worldlxvlys @chrisslut25 @princessbetsy123-blog @mattslolita @guccifrog @blahbel668 @mattsneezing @trickywritters @hearts4chriss @nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @hoesformatt @luv4kozume-deactivated20240512 @kikisturnioloo @itzdarling @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @vanteguccir @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @kqyslyho3 @imaslut4kehlani @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @sturniololoverr @gamermattsgf @lilyloveschris @dlyansworld @chrisloyalgf @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @ineedchriscock @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @luhsexcbihh @nickgetsmewetter @rubyjaneaxx @love4chris

[86espresso]

can I get the "too much communication" with jack?

I think that's what your last post was for 😭

shut up (with affection!) | jh86

sum: in which jack likes to hear himself talk

prompt: too much communication (💀)

warnings: smut, angst, fluff ☺️ use of y/n :/ ,use of she/her pronouns for reader, short

a/n: help yes, im sorry i wasn’t clear with what i wanted but if you haven’t noticed im pretty small on hockeyblr 😔 so i didn’t think anyone would actually ask but omg so happy you did ❤️ also not sure why im seeing this decades later.

—

LIGHT shone through the curtains in Y/N’s bedroom, though that wasn’t what woke her up.

An arm was slung across her waist, legs were tangled with hers, a face was buried in the crevice of her neck, and soft lips were moving up and down her shoulder. She felt something go off in her stomach. She could get used to this.

“Awake, angel?” Jack’s rough morning voice reached Y/N’s ears and could’ve just melted right then. He had been with her for close to ten months now; meaning they had practically moved in with eachother, she was at every home game, he was at every soccer match, she had a drawer at his, he had a toothbrush at hers. They were slowly intertwining in each other’s lives and neither of them wanted to stop anytime soon.

And then he started.

The endless rambling that half annoyed, half endeared Y/N.

“Wait no- I mean that I should use a different word instead of pretty because you’re so many things and you like when i use long words, don’t you ? I should-”

“Jack, my love, slow down,” Y/N says, facing him and cupping his cheek. His hair is tousled, eyes droopy, bottom lip jutted out, and brows furrowed. He’s shirtless and the sunlight bathes him in a soft golden light. Her heart skips a beat as she assures him that complimenting her in any way would melt her even if it was the same thing, every day, for the rest of their lives.

—

The room was dark and hot and the bed rocked with Jack’s movements. He had one hand loose around Y/N’s throat and the other supporting her leg that was thrown over his shoulder.

It was all going fine until

“Y’know what Trev told me the other day.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open. What the fuck???

His hair was falling in his eyes and a thin sheet of sweat covered his body. He looked so good and was doing so well.

“Jack? What-” she stopped short when he thrusted particularly roughly making her jaw drop and her eyes roll to the back of her head. Jack wasn’t phased though.

“He- told me how-oh fuck I’m so close, baby-” Y/N quickly shut him up by yanking his mouth down to hers. She really didn’t want to hear how fucking Zegras did whatever in her current position.

—

Y/N stood off to the side as Jack abruptly wraps up the post game interview after giving curt responses. She raised her eyebrows; normally it could get hard to not make him overshare.

Jack had already showered and changed into a delicious suit that was for sure coming off as soon as they got home.

“Hi, angel.” Y/N got on her tip toes to press a soft kiss against Jack’s lips. He wrapped his arms around her and sighed, pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. “Hey.”

It was short and quiet and so unlike Jack (even after a loss) and she hated it.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Y/N reached forward to cup his cheek and lightly caresses it with her thumb. He leans against her hand and his eyes droop.

“Nothin’, sweets. Just tired.” Y/N knew there had to be more, she could tell by the way his fingers were fiddling with eachother and the almost unnoticeable clinch of his eyebrows.

“C’mon, baby, talk to me,” Y/N softly murmurs, Jack’s new behavior doesn’t feel natural at all. He was so full of energy all the time (definitely because of the three hour naps) that she didn’t even have to match it if she was tired; he had enough for both of them.

“D’you-,” he pauses and steps back, removing his arms from her and running a quick hand through his hair. “Do you think I talk too much? Or I over share? Does it bother you?” His brows furrow deeper and Y/N’s heart stutters. She understood why he got so closed off all of a sudden. Her tough, strong boyfriend had such a sweet heart she could cry.

“Oh hon, well yes you do but it’s never bothered me. I actually really love it. You’re able to talk so much all the time and there’s nothing I love more than the sound of your voice.” Y/N watches as Jack’s expression softens. She steps closer and weaves her arms around him from the inside of his suit jacket.

“I love that you’re so expressive. I love how you just say anything no matter, I love how-” Y/N pauses. The three words dancing on the tip of her tongue, waiting and anticipating. She takes a deep breath and sneaks a glance at Jack, who had the hint of a smile that reached his eyes.

“I love you.”

He goes limp in her arms.

“Y/N I-”

“One second. Let me finish.” Y/N steps back and fully looks into his eyes. “And I know you love me too. You know why, angel? Because you tell me every single day. Every sweet nothing, all the random babbling about how I’m so sweet to you at any given time, gave me enough courage to say it right now.”

Jack looked like he could cry; Y/N didn’t get the chance to see it though, because of the soul crushing hug he just pulled her into.

“I love you so much more.”

“I might get dry as fuck during sex though.”

“Yeah? Wanna take me up on that?”

[aothotties]

Telling Toji you want a baby

Hello beautiful people! I wanted to post this yesterday, but I was busy celebrating mothers day myself! Happy belated mothers day to all the sexy moms out there!

Warnings: mentions or pregnancy, fluff, sought angst, mentions of mama fushiguro, creampie, overstimulation,

Word count: 1690

~~~

You and Toji are on your way back from visiting your sister and her family. She just recently had her third baby and you decided to stay and help her around the house.

During your visit, you couldn’t help but develop a bit of baby fever being around her children. Those cute chubby cheeks and the random babbling was enough to convince you to make one yourself.

You and Toji have talked about starting a family of your own in the past but decided you wanted to wait until his son, Megumi, was older.

You’re pulled out of your deep thoughts when you hear car doors closing outside, indicating that your husband and son are home. You greet them at the door and Megumi runs into your arms.

“How was school munchkin?” You ask, picking the small boy up and resting him on your hip.

“It was good, I missed you today.” He rests his head on your shoulder and you rub his back soothingly.

Your baby fever is getting stronger by the damn second and your husband standing in the kitchen watching you two isn’t helping one bit.

“I miss you too gumi, you want a snack?” He shakes his head and closes his eyes instead.

“He had a long day of playing so I’m sure he’s tired.” Your husband says, walking around the island in the kitchen to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“I can tell, I’ll go and lay him down.” You hold Megumi close as you make your way to his room.

You smile at the sound of his light snore and loosened grip on your shirt. You lay him down slowly and plant a kiss on his forehead.

“Love you, mom.” He mumbles sleepily and your eyes widen.

Megumi has never called you mom before, he’s only ever called you by your first name. You and Toji agreed that you would let Megumi decide what you were to him, and it’s clear he has.

You press a kiss to his forehead and close your eyes as you feel tears build up.

“I love you too.” You whisper back and step out of his room.

You quickly wipe your tears and clear your throat as you walk into your and your husband's shared bedroom.

To your surprise Toji is already in there, his headset is thrown over his ears and he’s lounging back in his chair.

“Hey cutie pie, why the long face? Did another animal die in a book or something?” He teases, and you roll your eyes.

You force yourself into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. He looks at you in pure confusion and sets his controller and headset aside.

“Megumi called me mom.” You mumble against his shoulder silently.

Toji freezes in his chair and isn’t exactly quite sure how to react. You both have talked about his wife in the past, but you try not to since you know it’s a bit of a tough subject.

“I’m sorry this is out of nowhere, I just felt like you should know.” He wraps his arms around you tightly and you relax in his embrace.

“Don’t apologize, he’s right you are his mom. You’ve been here since he was one. You’re all he knows.” He rubs your back and rests his forehead against yours.

“I wanted to talk to you about that. So you know how my sister and her husband just had a baby?” You ask, you nervously play with the collar of his shirt.

“Yeah I’m aware, your mother wouldn’t stop asking when we were gonna have our own, why?” He raises an eyebrow and you simply smile at him.

“Oh my god are you pregnant!?” He sits up quickly and you almost fall from his lap.

“Jesus Christ Toji, no I’m not, but I’m hoping I soon will be.” You quickly throw in the last part and await his response.

“You’re serious right now? You want a baby?” He asks looking into your eyes for any signs of doubt.

You nod confidently and straddle his legs while he sits back. You rub your hands up and down his arms and chest slowly.

“Don’t you wanna make a baby with me, Toji?” You seductively ask, lips kissing up his neck gently.

He smirks at your antics and grabs a handful of your ass in his large hands.

“If you’re serious about this then so am I, I’m never gonna say no to coming inside your sweet pussy”

That’s the last thing you remember before you end up bent over the mattress with your face stuffed in the sheets.

You don’t wanna wake up poor Megumi down the hall, but it’s getting harder not to scream with the pounding your poor cunt is receiving.

“Be quiet mama, I see I’ve got to teach you some things. Can’t be waking up the new baby with your screamin’.” He teases, and his rough hand rubs up your back.

He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you so your back is flush against his chest. The new angle has your eyes rolling back and your head resting weakly on his shoulder.

“T-Toji, f-feels good!” You whine as his thick bulbous tip abuses your sweet spot.

“Of course it does baby, you can’t stop coming and crying on my cock.” He smirks and holds onto your hips with both hands as he picks up his thrusting.

Your walls tighten around his thick shaft and your orgasm courses through your entire body. Toji wraps an arm around your waist as you convulse on top of him, he uses his other hand to rub quick circles on your swollen nub.

“Fuck! Fuck! Daddy, t-too much” You gasp as another orgasm builds up quickly, your lower belly warming up slightly.

“You can take it, Daddy’s so close princess. I want you to take all of me, can you do that baby?” He grunts out in pleasure, and the feeling of your sopping pussy begins to catch up to him.

His hips start to lose their rhythm but never their force, you nod your head in response to his question.

The hand gripping your waist slaps over your mouth and you scream into it as another climax approaches.

This one wetting the man and bed below you, tears begin to stream down your face and your body goes limp.

Toji replaces his hand with his lips and thrust up into you and few more times before pumping his warm cum into you.

You whimper against his lip with each twitch of his veiny cock, his large fingers finally give your clit a break.

He pulls away from the kiss and rubs his hand over your belly. You open your eyes and look up at him, the need for sleep is very clear on your face.

“You’re going to make an amazing mother.” He plants one last kiss on your forehead before he maneuvers you both to lay on your side.

You smile at the compliment and attempt to sit up so you can go and take a shower.

“Baby, we’re done now. I need to clean up and take a shower.” You look back at him and he raises an eyebrow in confusion.

“Oh no baby, we’re not finished. I was just giving you a break. We need to make sure you get pregnant, don’t we?”

~~~

“Happy Mother’s Day mama!” You hear from above you.

You open your tired eyes and are met with your son and husband standing over you with gifts and breakfast.

“Oh my goodness, thank you guys!” You sit up as quickly as your large belly will allow and rub the sleep from your eyes.

You pull Megumi into your lap with the help of Toji and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. Toji sets the food next to you as he sits down and you kiss him as well.

“Daddy told me to tell you that he cooked.” Your son gives you a bright smile as he tells you the surprise and you hold in a laugh.

You can hear the older man suck on his teeth and can only assume an eye roll came after it.

“Well, I can’t wait to try the food Daddy cooked. I’m sure it’s delicious.” You reassure Toji and he gives you a small smile.

You hum in satisfaction at the taste of the food and also end up feeding your two boys in the process.

“When will my brother get here?” Megumi asks, well you assume that’s what he asked because his mouth is full of eggs.

“Well, baby the doctors said any day now, it’s up to him.” You wipe his face with a napkin and he giggles at the feeling.

“You can come out now, It’s okay!” Megumi lays on the bed and pokes at your stomach as he talks to it.

“Alright boy that’s enough, stop poking your brother.” Toji feeds him another piece of bacon and the little boy jumps off the bed quickly.

You laugh and shake your head while Toji just sighs.

“I don’t know where he gets that from.” He mumbles, stuffing eggs in his mouth now.

“Yeah, I have no clue either.” You say as you stare at the adult version of your son.

“How are you feeling? He doesn’t seem to have much space in there.” He looks down at your belly and tries to massage away any soreness.

“I’m doing alright, he’s ready to come out now. I haven’t had any more contractions within the last hour so I think I’m good.” You continue to eat more food and Toji just stares at you.

“Have you been having contractions and didn’t tell me?” He gently turns your face toward him and you nod your head.

“I woke up and you guys were gone so I laid back down, it’s not like my water broke or anything.” You shrug your shoulders only to realize that you may have spoken too soon as your bed dampens under you.

Toji’s eyes widen in pure shock and you smile nervously at him in return.

“Oops?”

Ari

[homestylehughes]

boyfriend jack headcanons

jack hughes x fem!reader 

summary: how i think jack would act as a boyfriend!

warnings: sfw and nsfw 18+

wc: 642

an: hiiiii loves!!! i thought since i already did luke, and quinn boyfriend headcanons i thought i should finish off the hughes brothers and do jack!! i'm currently going through jack withdraws and tmr is his birthday... HE NEEDS TO MAKE HIMSELF KNOWN AGAIN!! anywayssssss! hope you enjoy, like and reblog if you do, much love<3

happy reading <3

Sfw: 

bf!jack:  jack is a big cuddler. It doesn't matter if he's the big spoon, little spoon or just laying flat on top of you, he just likes being around you in general. He loves cuddling after a long day on the boat during summer, your warm skin always invites him in.

bf!jack: jack loves cooking for you, a lot of people poke at jack for not being able to cook, but in reality he can cook very well. You never get tired of the smell and sight of Jack looking for you after a long day or just randomly. Institing that you sit down and drink a glass of wine, saying he’ll take care of everything.

bf!jack: jack hates horror films, but you love them. You never make him have to watch them with you but he does anyway. You'll never forget the time that you guys were watching halloween on halloween and he stayed up all night talking about michael myers and how if he came face to face with him, how he would take him down explaining his strategies to you in extreme detail. 

bf!jack: oh buddy, is jack a yapper. He loves to talk, he can talk about everything and anything with you. He never runs out of things to say, his favorite time to yap is when you both get settled into bed, you both go back and forth about most random things before you sleep, making for the best laughs and memories.

bf!jack: jack is obsessed with you. Completely whipped, his brothers and friends would say, he can never get enough of you. He loves being around you, posting you on his social media, showing you off at any event he has to go to, you are always his plus one. He loves when people ask about you, he talks about you so sweetly and lovingly. He loves everything about you.

nsfw: 

bf!jack: jack loves to fuck you everywhere, even in the most risky places where theres a high chance that you can get caught. His new favorite place to fuck you at is the balcony of your guys apartment, where anyone could see you at any moment. 

Bf!jack: your moans have to be jack's favorite sounds. He loves hearing how responsive you are to everything he does. The way your mouth falls open as you try and talk but nothing comes out, or when you drop your head back and moan his name loudly, telling him not to stop.

bf!jack: jack loves giving you hickey to show everyone that you're his. I'm not talking about the ones that are hidden, I mean the ones that are bright purple and red, the ones that you can't cover. Covering you in them, then parading you around like you're the stanley cup in front of everyone.

bf!jack: jack seeing you with his number on your back, really does something to him. After almost every home game, he bends you over the couch and fucks you with the jersey on your back, hes convinced its the hottest sight hes evet laid his eyes on

bf!jack: loves loves loves cockwarming, sometimes he does even crave a release, he just wants to be close to you. The way you wrap around him so warm and snug as you guys sleep or just laying in bed contempt with each other.

bf!jack: jack loves to edge you. He loves hearing and watching you beg to cum. The sight alone of you fucked out on the bed, sweat covering your body as your hands are tied up above your head so you cant touch. Jack thrusts his fingers in and out slowly, alternating between his mouth and finger, maybe both at the sametime. Hearing you moan and beg to come from above him.

[pomefioredove]

fav twst writer btw!!! i read your posts religiously

can i ask for octavinelle + silver, ruggie, & epel (my 3 favs) with a reader whos prince rielles sibling, same year as them obv, and is based off of ponyo?

thank you so much!! my knowledge on ponyo is somewhat limited, hope this turned out okay nonetheless

summary: prince rielle's sibling type of post: headcanons characters: ruggie, azul, floyd, jade, epel, silver additional info: short, platonic or romantic, not proofread, reader is gender neutral, reader is not yuu

𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢

the whole "merperson" thing goes completely over his head

you're royalty, you like him, and you're not making him work his tail off for the time of the day?

oh, he's hooked

...pun not intended

it might even get to the point where he starts doing nice things for you out of his own free will!

if only to stay on your good side, but hey, it still counts, right?

𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨

Azul, ironically enough, sees Prince Rielle as an airhead

...and for good reason

based off what he remembers of Rielle, he's a hopeless romantic, insanely gullible, and always has his head in the clouds

...and he can certainly see the family resemblance in you

though, at least you're... kind of endearing, and have some impressive magic skills to back you up

maybe he'll hold off on scamming you for now

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡 + 𝐉𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

the two have a vaguely similar impression of Rielle, though, unlike Azul, they try not to make assumptions based off of family resemblance

(they've had their fair share of that between the two of them)

after all, Prince Rielle has many siblings

all varied in personality

and you're quite the curious one, aren't you?

with quite an appetite

the duo always welcomes you inside the lounge with open arms, eager for a piece of Coral Sea nostalgia you always seem to offer...

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

Epel supposes he knows what it's like to feel out of place

...even if you do seem to blend right in

he's almost jealous of how eagerly you adapt to life at school when he's been struggling since he got here

and your magical abilities are nothing to sneeze at

which is especially impressive to him, considering that you're actually smaller than he

he would never in a million years ask for advice from someone who's been walking on land for less time than he has... but... maybe, if you want to chat, he'll be around

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫

he'll acknowledge your magic is rather impressive for a first year student, and he doesn't doubt your abilities for a second

he knows better than to underestimate the cute and friendly type

Silver is also somewhat familiar with Coral Sea culture... though, his knowledge may be a little outdated, since it comes from his father

oh, well

this might serve as a valuable learning experience for him, anyway

...while he's presently awake and listening, that is

[idleoblivion]

"Yes, Professor" Crewel x GN Reader

Synopsis: The allowance Crowley gives you just isn’t enough. Maybe you can convince your alchemy professor to assist you somehow…

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: Literally the first smut I've ever written so I'm so nervous to post this, I don't know what possessed me to write this but here we are lol.

Warnings: Teacher/student relationship, gn reader, shy/nervous reader, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, unprotected sex, overuse of the word 'puppy'

You knock on the door to his office three times and hear shuffling for a moment on the other side. 

“Come in.”

You open it and take a few steps in before spotting him at his desk. Divus Crewel, your alchemy professor, as he sorts through a stack of what you assume are the lab reports you turned in earlier that day. He stops what he’s doing and motions you to a chair in front of his desk. 

“You said you wanted to speak to me, yes? I hope you weren’t lying about it being important.”

You swallowed and tried to straighten your posture as you sat down. “No, I wasn’t. Thank you for meeting with me.”

He looks you over and you feel your resolve weakening. Maybe this really wasn’t a good idea after all. 

Crewel meets your eyes expectantly. “Well, what is it then?”

You can barely continue to make eye contact with how tight your chest feels with anxiety. You play with your hands anxiously in your lap. After a few seconds of silence, he continues. 

“I don’t have all evening, pup. Tell me what you’re here for, quickly.” His tone became more sharp, prompting you to nervously begin. 

“So you know, about my…. um, living situation and uh, money… I, uh, I don’t really have a lot and m-my clothes and uniform are a wreck, and…. and my friends talk about seeing movies and going out but I-“

“Puppy,” he interrupts you, “I am aware of your circumstances. However, I am also aware that the headmaster does supply you a small allowance for food and clothes, even if they may be….” He stops himself from finishing his sentence as he looks at your uniform on you. “Never mind. I won’t lie and say I feel no sympathy for you, but if you’re about to ask me to start funding you as well, the answer is no. I could not allow myself to freely spoil every puppy who is less fortunate in my class.”

“I…well, I-“ you stutter, but will yourself to continue, “I didn’t say it would be for free.” The last part barely comes out as a whisper, but the look on his face tells you he heard it well. You shift in your seat at his change in expression. 

“Oh? Well, it still wouldn’t be considered appropriate of me to take bribes or favors from students, but…” he trails off for a moment, and you notice an increasing intensity in his gaze, “I suppose I can hear you out.”

If you were anxious before, you were almost panicky now. You hadn’t expected to actually get this far, for him to actually consider your offer and not just scold or report you, but you couldn’t deny the building excitement inside you either. 

“If… if you help me, I’ll, um… well, uh, what would you want me to do?” Struggling to find the confidence yourself, you try to make him spell it out, but he must realize what you’re doing as his smirk only grows. 

“I think you had something in mind to offer me, puppy, and if you really want my help you’re going to have to say it.” He stands up and removes his oversized fur coat and lays it on his chair behind him. “That’s an order, from your master. Tell me what you’ll do for me.”

He leans over his desk, looking at you smugly. Part of you wonders if he knew this is where your conversation would head, but you quickly disperse that thought and stand up yourself. 

“…Anything. Anything you want, I’ll do it.” You hesitantly step towards his desk and lean in. 

He laughs lightly under his breath, then looks back at you. 

“We’re just going in circles, aren’t we? Alright, puppy, I’ll be generous today and help you. Come here.”

You walk around the desk to stand in front of him directly. His gloved hand comes up to your face and holds your jaw gently. He leans down some, and speaks to you in a low voice. 

“You know, there’s that Al-Asim boy and Kingscholar, among others, who have plenty of wealth to throw around at this school. So, what brought you to my office and not their dorms, puppy? If you can say that, I’ll give you a reward.”

His hand on your face forces you to keep looking at him. You take one more deep breath before quietly answering. 

“I…I want you. Not them. You.”

He smiles at that and gives you a quick peck on the forehead. “Good puppy. Now sit on my desk.”

You lift yourself onto his desk and he walks forward, caging you in with his arms. He leans down and kisses you gently at first. Just his lips on yours has your body burning up as you wrap your arms around him. You let him slip his tongue in and he groans into your heated kiss. 

“You know,” he pauses and takes a step back, “I think I’ve still let you get your way too easily.” He pulls his desk chair back up and sits down while removing his gloves. “So, be a good puppy and get rid of these.” He grabs and tugs on the pants of your uniform. 

You feel your face get even hotter but comply, taking them off with your underwear and tossing them to the floor. You instinctively try and keep your legs shut, but he tsks at you and pries them open. 

He bites his lip as he looks at you, then meets your eyes with a predatory look. “Touch yourself for me.” 

You begin slowly, nervous and self-conscious under his stare, but the bulge straining against his pants tells you you have no reason to be. You try to look away from him but he calls your attention back immediately. 

“Eyes on me. That’s an order.”

You hesitantly obey and fix your gaze back on him. He undoes his belt and frees his cock from his pants. Your hands slow as you watch him intently. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop, puppy. Keep going.”

You’re both touching yourselves now, his eyes following every desperate movement of your fingers as you get more and more aroused. Watching him stroke himself to the sight of you adds to your embarrassment and pleasure. You bite your lip to stifle your voice. 

“Puppy, you want to me to fuck you?”

You’re ashamed of the whimper you let you out when he says it, but nod vigorously anyway. 

“Say it.”

“Yes professor, please fuck me.”

“Stop then. Hold your legs open for me.”

You obey and he walks back over to you. He kisses you again, deep and passionate while he undoes the tie of your uniform and opens your shirt. He gently pulls it off of you before his hands come up to grope your chest. 

He pulls your hips closer to the edge, and you can feel him start teasing you with the head of his cock. You bury your face in his shoulder as he starts inching himself into you. You moan feeling yourself stretch for him. He grunted as he bottomed out in you, then held still for a moment. 

He pulls you back away from his shoulder to look at you, and smirks at your lustful, blissed out face. He gives you no further warning before he starts moving, feeling you clutch onto him as he thrusts. 

You can no longer stop yourself from moaning loudly, with how deep he feels inside you and him nipping at your neck while his hips never slow or stop, he fucks you steady and hard. 

“Look at you, getting so loud. Is it good, puppy? You like it?”

“Ah- yes, yes professor, so good I-“

You nearly squeal as a particular thrust leaves you reeling, and he moans as he feels you tighten around him. He sped up, fucking you faster and harder until you felt tears welling up in your eyes. 

“Crying for me, puppy?” He smiled and licked a tear that had fallen down your cheek. The pressure building inside you was getting to be too much. 

“Professor, p-professor I’m-“ you gasped as he bit you on the shoulder and grabbed your hips roughly.

“Cum for me, puppy. You can do it, be good for me.”

With a wail, your orgasm hit you hard, making you keel over and grab onto Crewel for support. Your body was on fire and he didn’t stop for a moment, he just kept holding your hips with a tight grip you while he pounded into you harshly. He cursed under his breath, praising you in your ear as he chased his own release.

“Fuck puppy I’m close, take it, fuck-“

He finally releases and you feel his cock twitch as he cums inside you. The warm feeling has you softly moan again, despite how absolutely exhausted your body was. 

You both took a few moments to finish coming down from your highs. He makes you look at him again, and smirks at how fucked out you look. 

“So, we’ll get you some new clothes this weekend, puppy? That sound good?”

You tiredly nod, and he kisses you again.

[zukosdualdao]

and if you feel like night is falling, i wanna be the one you're calling

zutara month, day 12: kiss at midnight, @zutaramonth

summary: around midnight, katara realizes zuko has disappeared from his own post-coronation celebration and goes looking for him in the palace gardens.

other notes: yes it's another secret relationship fic god bless <3 it's still very New though, and this fic might be better titled Zutara Having The Relationship Talk. as it stands, the title are lyrics from someone to you by banners.

"What are you doing out here?" Katara asks as she finishes traversing the path to the palace gardens where Zuko stands. Between his thumb and the forefinger of his right hand, he is holding a pale pink petal. After months of seeing him in his casual dayrobes, finely made and threaded with traces of gold but looser, more casual, and worn over time due to their travels and battles, it's strange to see him in his Fire Lord regalia, especially with his hair pulled back into a top knot. She's gotten used to not just looking, but placing her hands against the soft, worn fabric of his shirts as they kiss in stolen moments, and to constantly pushing that wild hair out from his eyes before glancing around to see if anyone caught the too-intimate gesture.

It's not a bad look on him—nothing would be—but it is taking some getting used to.

"It's cold, you know." It is, surprisingly—colder than she thought it could in the heart of the Fire Nation, but then, it's nearing the end of the summer, and it's nearly midnight at that. It's strange for Zuko to be out here, too. "Are you alright?"

It's almost strange to look at him as it is strange to be wearing the clothes she's in, formal dress robes in the cut and style of the Fire Nation, yet in a grey-blue shade that reminds of her father's old whetstone.

Somewhere inside, her father and her brother and her friends are still laughing and eating and celebrating in the wake of Zuko's coronation. Soon, there will be much different trials to bear—Katara's dreamt bout the end of this war for as long as she could dream, but now more than ever, she knows that just because Ozai's been defeated, that doesn't mean the aftermath will be easy.

Katara wonders if that's what's on Zuko's mind.

She wonders a lot of things. Like how this... thing between them will work, now that the war's won. If it will at all.

"I just needed space for a minute," Zuko says, turning to her, lip half-quirked. "All of the... people, and everything, it was just a lot. Everything's fine."

"I can go," Katara offers, feeling sympathetic. She's not as introverted by nature as he seems to be, doesn't get as overwhelmed, but she definitely has moments when she just needs to be by herself. She doesn't want to leave, but she will if he asks it of her.

Zuko's smile grows, and he shakes his head. "That's not—I don't need space from you," he promises.

Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Katara laughs a little. "I don't count?"

"No," he says bluntly, looking her straight in the eyes as he does. "I always want you around."

Katara's breath catches. He has this charming, ridiculous, earnest way of saying things that always manages to catch her off-guard. And like a dam that breaks, Katara is taking one long stride after another to reach him. When she does, he drops his hand from where it had been holding the flower and places it on the small of her waist, gasping as she kisses him with urgency, rubbing small circles against the fabric of her dress with his thumb.

Katara pulls back, remembering he's still injured when he makes a small wounded noise—there are bandages underneath those fine robes he now wears—"Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" Her hands hover by his sides as she scans his body up and down.

"I'm fine," he insists, eyes sparkling. "Come back?"

Katara huffs but relents for a moment, placing another gentle kiss against his lips. The touch warms her up from the inside out.

"We really need to figure out what we're going to tell the others," Zuko says after a moment. "About us, I mean."

It's going to be an awkward conversation for more reasons than one: Toph will gloat and make constant jokes, Sokka will be happy only after he's been ridiculously overprotective (which Suki, probably her most reliable ally in this, will point out to him), she has no idea what her father will say, and Aang...

She knows he'll be hurt. That might be better as a private conversation.

Still, despite herself, Katara lights up a little. He's thinking about this long-term. "There's an 'us' to tell them about?"

Zuko exhales something that's almost a laugh and leans forward to gentle a hand against her cheek. She blinks up at him.

"There's an 'us' for me," he promises, his eyes shining with affection, "if there's an 'us' for you."

Katara has to kiss him again, then. It would go against the laws of nature not to, she's pretty sure.

They can figure out the rest of it later.

[nalgenewhore]

storm in the castle

elide x lorcan + baby oc, post-canon/domestic/family feels, word count: 2353

Stella looks up at him when he walks into their family’s private living room, but she turns her head aggressively the other way a second after. Her little body twists as she folds her arms. 

Elide eyes the way her husband deflates. It’s almost comedic, how much her five-hundred-year-old demi-Fae warrior cares about their daughter’s quickly-changing moods.

Today, Stella Luna has decided she no longer likes her father because he wouldn’t let her stand on the table and dance while he helped her eat her oatmeal. And then, later, he stopped her from running around the stable and the jumpy war horses.

Lorcan crouches by the toddler. “Good evening, Stella,” he starts, watching her sweet face. Her lips push out in a little pout as her brows scrunch down to touch her nose. 

She doesn’t make a sound.

He tries again, this time reaching out to touch her soft curls. “Have you been playing all day, little one?” Her toys are spread out on the carpet. Two groups are clustered together and separate, facing one another. He thinks that she might be recreating a battle. 

She doesn’t make a sound.

The lord holds in his sigh and kisses her forehead, whispering something in the Old Language. Elide thinks it’s a nickname. Stella wipes her forehead to get rid of his kiss.

He stands to make his way to Elide. She’s stretched across a couch with a book laying on the cushion. She looks up at him, her finger resting on the page to keep her place. “You missed dinner,” she says directly. “And you didn’t send word.”

Neither lady nor lord have an affinity for small talk or mindless greetings. They speak to the point, rather than around it.

Lorcan leans over her with a hand braced on the back of the couch. “Meeting with the guards went late,” he explains in a low voice. He kisses her chastely. “How’s Stelle been?”

“Sulky,” Elide sighs and brings a hand to his cheek. Her eyes glint before she whispers, “Just like her father.”

He rolls his eyes at that but admits to himself the accuracy. Stella, in many ways, takes after him. The ability to hold a grudge comes from Elide, though. Lorcan’s sure of that, even if he will never say that aloud. He kisses his wife again. “Will you have my dinner brought up? I need to bathe.”

She says that she’ll fetch his dinner, and he walks towards their bedroom, his gaze settling on Stella Luna who still doesn’t acknowledge him. Something in his face shutters. Elide presses her lips together. She wants to tell her daughter to be nicer, but she can’t force Stella into behaving differently, and Lorcan thinks their daughter should express whatever she’s feeling.

Elide slips her bookmark into place, setting her book aside. Slowly, she uncurls from the couch and pads over to her daughter. “Little star,” she picks Stella Luna up to place her on a hip. “Shall we visit the kitchens? And see how our treat makers are tonight?”

She nods, subdued and pouty. 

Being mad at her father takes a toll on her as well. Usually from the minute he comes home, Stella is in his arms till she goes to bed. He wows her with stories of the epics he’s lived and plays with her, always following her lead. Missing her routine makes her untethered.

Elide takes Stella to the kitchens to have a plate made up for Lorcan. They pass by manor staff and a stray knight or two that all wave at the toddler. She angrily shoves her forehead against her mother’s shoulder. “Mama,” she growls.

“Why is my baby so upset, hmm?” Elide pats her back. 

“They looking.” Stella flings an accusing hand towards a gaggle of maids. 

“Ah,” Elide nods sagely. As they pass by others, she smiles pleasantly and shrugs when they eye Stella with confusion. Normally, the girl gives an effusive greeting to each and every one. 

Stella moves her face to the crook of Elide’s neck and clutches the loose collar of her shirt. The toddler doesn’t make another peep while they’re in the kitchen. She isn’t even enticed when the baker offers her a fresh, warm cookie. It piques Elide’s concern, but Stella’s been off all day. She couldn’t settle down for a nap, either, so she must be beyond exhausted.

One of the maids offers to carry Lorcan’s plate. Elide smiles, and they chat quietly as they walk back to her chambers.

Stella fusses the closer they get to their room. She squirms as Elide carries her over the threshold, mumbling something. With a huff, she lifts herself up, hands braced on her mother’s shoulder. She arches her spine in an attempt to stretch herself out of Elide’s arms. 

“Stella, don’t,” Elide tuts, cupping the back of Stella’s head to prevent her fall. “I can’t hold you like this.”

“No,” the toddler whines. “Ma, I wan’ down…”

“Not yet.”

The maid, a young woman called Aisling, sets the lord’s plate down. She asks if there’s anything else for her, and Elide dismisses her gratefully. 

The very moment Elide sets Stella down, she runs across the living room to a chair by the fireplace that holds a selection of stuffed animals. She clambers up on the cushion and sits so her back faces the room.

Elide almost gawks at her child. 

The bedroom door opens, and Lorcan steps out in a pair of loose pants as he tugs on a shirt. His hair still drips water even though he’s braided it back. He looks a lot less dirty and marginally less tired than earlier. Elide watches him look to Stella Luna once more. He pivots to her. 

Crouching by her chair, Lorcan smooths her hair down. He loves her little wispy curls. “It’s almost time for you to sleep, isn’t it?” Stella sticks out her bottom lip, shaking her head a bit. He thumbs her little ear. “I think so.”

“No, da, I’on wanna,” she denies his accusation. “Go ‘way. Go!”

He shakes his head, kissing her temple. “My little storm,” he murmurs. Then, he stands and lets her be the way she wishes.

Maybe he’s too indulgent. 

She’s his only daughter.

His wife has returned to her reading couch. He lifts her legs so he can sit down and rests them on his lap. He asks Elide, “Did Stella nap?”

“Not a wink,” she says. 

“Well…” he tilts his head to the girl in question. Half of Stella’s behaviour is explained by that. Elide nods. Lorcan starts eating his dinner, a hearty affair of roasted vegetables, lamb under a gravy with fresh, crusty bread. He washes it down with a tea she makes him drink for his sleep.

Elide switches between reading her book, checking on her daughter, and watching her husband mow through his dinner. She marvels at the amount of food he can put away. He watches Stella playing quietly with her toys, making them talk to each other and walk by bouncing them against the chair.

A relative peace settles over the room. It’s the calm before the storm where Stella will hit a wall. Lorcan pushes his plate aside and leans back with shut eyes. He sighs with content, the loudest sound in the room. 

In a minute or two, he wraps his hands around Elide’s foot and ankle. He slips off her rabbit-fur slipper to knead away the soreness of her injury. She uses a brace these days, built by Yrene. They’ve discussed in length the prospect of fixing it. Before her pregnancy and since Stella, they had a few sessions to lessen the burden of pain. She says she’ll go again someday but right now, the pain is manageable with a brace and diligent conditioning exercises. 

Slowly, Elide puts her book aside, fitting the pillow beneath her head.

She holds her breath, his thumb meeting where bone grinds against bone. It’s tight, and it hurts, yet he persists past the initial pain. She groans in satisfaction when there’s a little pop that pacifies the knot. 

They talk about their days as he tends to her ankle. Usually, this discussion happens over dinner. She met with the board of merchants like every month, and Lorcan assessed the Perranth infantry. In the afternoon, she pushed her meetings for another day so she could have Stella Luna. They went to the library when she wouldn’t sleep. He was working on reports for the queen and king, scowling at the irreverent letter Aelin had sent him. 

He complains to his wife about it now.

She laughs and pokes his thigh with her foot, “I thought you two were getting along.”

“She’s impossible, though,” he mutters. “And has too much time on her hands if she can write letters that-“ he’s about to detail what the letter contained, but impressionable ears are listening. He settles on, “Vulgar.”

“She has a large imagination,” she says. “And I’m not sure that you of all people should be criticising someone on how vulgar they can be.” 

Hands pause on her ankle, and Lorcan smirks. He shrugs, “Maybe.”

She tuts her tongue at his non-answer but doesn’t push past it.

Across the carpet, Stella Luna has moved to the floor. Her toys have joined her, though now they’re scattered around her. She plays like she’s fighting against some invisible force, every move sluggish. Elide nudges Lorcan, who’s already aware. He moves her legs to stand after they share a look.

He crosses the carpet in two steps. “My girl,” he sits himself beside her. “Can I have that?” Gently, he takes her stuffed animal, her wee fingers unable to grasp anything.

A yawn erupts from her, stretching her chubby cheeks. Stella’s eyes squeeze shut. She wobbles, and Lorcan balances her. “We have to sleep now,” he says. He scoops her up. She’s too exhausted to fight it, but her grudge rears its little head. A curled fist presses against his jaw like she’s trying to push him away.

“No-no, da,” she mumbles. “I play.”

“You will play tomorrow,” he whispers against her brow. “And we will sleep for now, yes?”

Stella screws up her face, expelling a short cry. “Noooo, no wanna sleep,” she whines. “Da, go!” Her breath hitches. “Go…” Between one second and the next she’s dissolved into great big sobs. She can’t control herself as it comes. Her cheeks turn cherry red and sticky tears make tracks over them.

Lorcan winces at his angel howling in his ear, but she doesn’t mean to. He shifts her so she’s upright against him. She gets like this when she’s so tired that she can’t think straight. One little thing happens, and she’s a puddle. He rubs his thumb over her back, the other hand cupping her head. He kisses the spot above her ear. “It’s alright, I know, I know.” 

Stella Luna clutches his collar, her snot staining his shirt. She cries on with a blubber of ‘Da-da’. 

He stands to sway with her because she likes the back and forth motion, it’s soothing. Lorcan lets her cry it out against his shoulder. 

“Da,” Stella’s chin wobbles with her high-pitched snivel. 

“Oh, Tiny,” he whispers. He picks her head up to lean her cheek against his, his fingers a gentle crutch for the weight. There’s a kind of magic in that position. In seconds, she goes from wails to trembling breaths and sniffles. Lorcan hums as he continues to sway. Stella puffs out little breaths. 

Silently, Elide disappears to somewhere else.

He walks with the baby back and forth across the room. She cries intermittently until something unseen sets her off again, and she bawls. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he calms her rhythmically. 

She tries to say something, but he can’t understand her through her sobbing. 

 Lorcan shifts her so she’s cradled across him. With a soft touch, he paints his thumb around her face. He wipes the incessant tears and smiles when her chubby hands grasp his fingers. Tears clump together her lashes. 

Elide comes back with a damp cloth in hand. She stands at his side and peers over their baby. “Hello, my darling moon,” she coos with a warm smile. Stella flaps her hands. With the cloth, Elide lovingly cleans the baby’s sticky cheeks.

Almost instantly, Stella sighs in contentment. The sound seems so grown up to Lorcan; he chuckles a bit. “Does that feel good, Tiny?”

She reaches a chunky hand out, so Elide presses it against her face some more. 

Lorcan dutifully rocks and bounces her, then starts humming a lullaby. Their girl doesn’t have the strength to fight sleep anymore; maybe five minutes pass before she’s snoring.

Elide softly brushes her hair back. “She’s so stubborn,” she sighs. “And she’s barely two.” She kisses Stella’s brow.

“Tiny’s strong-willed,” Lorcan amends. He gazes down at Stella Luna and after a minute confesses, “She’s just like you, and being stubborn kept you alive, my heart. If she never grows out of this phase, it’ll serve her well.”

It’ll keep her safe .

“She pushes you away.”

Lorcan shakes his head. “She's still young. She doesn’t always know what she wants.” He looks at his wife, asking, “Does it worry you?”

Elide has a grave expression. “This world does not make life is not easy for stubborn girls, Lorcan.”

He nods slowly, then says, “I cannot control the world, Elide. In our home, I will learn to take her anger, to weather every storm she throws at us. Our daughter will never cater to my needs or wants first.”

For a moment, she does not answer, merely stares back at him, assessing.

“I promise it,” he tells her.

She nods finally.

When it’s time to put her down, Elide suggests they use the bassinet in their bedroom instead of her nursery. He agrees with a knowing smile, not one to argue that their daughter be further from them. 

And if neither lady nor lord manage to sleep, choosing to watch over the greatest thing that’s ever been theirs, then it is a worthy sacrifice.

✵✵✵✵✵

an: i hope u enjoyed ! i have missed my girl <3

tag list: @sassyhobbits @empress-ofbloodshed @celestialend @the-regal-warrior @shyvioletcat @icecream52 @elentiyawhitethorn @goddess-aelin @julemmaes @sunshinebingo

[freelancearsonist]

all that we see or seem

➔ Dieter Bravo x AFAB!Reader

➔ 5.7k words

➔ You moved to Hollywood in hopes of chasing your dreams; you get a lot more than you bargained for from your new boss, Dieter Bravo.

➔ Rated MA // dark fic, reader is afab (female anatomy, no pronouns used) and generally able-bodied, age gap (unspecified, reader is younger than dieter), vampire!dieter, blood/both consensual and non-consensual blood drinking, knife use, slight self-harm, gore of the mouth variety, pet names, takes place in 1983 bc i’m a sucker for changing settings

➔ this was requested from this prompt list by the very lovely @sp00kymulderr!! happy birthday darling, sorry this took so long but i hope it's worth the wait <3 thank you so much to @missredherring for this AMAZING header graphic ily 🖤

Los Angeles is a far cry from the little town you grew up in. It’s a seemingly endless maze, with more possibilities than you ever could’ve dreamed. It’s a little daunting, really. You step off your plane with your suitcase in hand, and you feel like the world is in the palms of your hands.

The harsh reality comes crashing in without warning.

LA is expensive, especially on your own. As the money you’d saved up to get you started dwindles much quicker than expected, your dreams only get further and further out of reach. Life always finds a way to fuck you over, and the city of angels does it quicker than anywhere else. The glitzy neon nightclubs and the glamor of Hollywood swiftly become an omen of doom rather than a beacon of hope. You’re in over your head, but it’s too late to back out now.

Auditions get put on the backburner. You work yourself to the bone as a server in a dumpy little diner, but it’s still barely enough to cover your basic expenses.

You wake up, you go to work, you come home, you go to sleep. The cycle repeats itself so quickly that your days all merge together into one, long, neverending nightmare.

The light at the end of the tunnel appears shortly before the first anniversary of your move. You’re scanning through the paper during your meal break when you see a help wanted ad. It’s normally the type of thing you would ignore, but a few things about it draw you in. The part that really catches your eye is the large, bold letters that proclaim “work closely with one of the biggest names in hollywood!” It seems too good to be true, and certainly something you’re not qualified for. But it could be a start–a way to get your foot through the door of the industry that brought you out here in the first place. Really, what’s the harm in trying?

You go to the library, type up your resume, and mail it in to the address listed in the ad. Realistically, you know that there must be hundreds of other applicants and you probably won’t get so much as a rejection letter back; but the needling little ‘what if’ in the back of your mind gives you a boost of hope that you’ve lived without for an achingly long time.

You get better than a letter–a broad, handsome man shows up at the diner late one night asking for you three days after you drop your resume into the local mail slot at the post office. Janine, the shaggy-haired waitress you work with almost every shift and have sort of become friends with, nudges you excitedly while you’re handing a ticket back to the kitchen.

“Honey, do you know who that is?” She nods her head over her shoulder towards a table in the corner of her section and you try to look over as nonchalantly as possible.

Of course you know who that is. His face is everywhere in this stupid town–magazine covers, billboards, movie theaters. Even with sunglasses obscuring the dark brown eyes that have made thousands swoon, you recognize Dieter Bravo. He’s bigger than Hasselhoff and Swayze combined.

“He’s asking for you,” Janine whispers. “By name. You know him?”

“Not yet,” you answer truthfully. You know without a doubt that he’s here because of your resume and that your entire world is about to change.

You’ve seen him on the big screen before and now you can definitively say that it doesn’t do him justice. He’s more handsome than any man has a right to be. He’s wearing a black hoodie and black trousers, an ensemble that stands out in the brightness of 1983 but yet perfectly complements the tanned tone of his skin. His shoulders could fill a doorway and his smile might actually melt you into a puddle. You can’t help but notice–with a hint of trepidation–that his canines are the sharpest you’ve ever seen, although that thought is quickly pushed from your mind when he greets you by name.

“Your resume is impressive.”

“No it’s not,” you respond with a little laugh before you can stop yourself, then you have to refrain from banging your head into the wall. What a great start to an interview.

But he laughs, and you can’t help feeling you’ve done something right. You’d do a hell of a lot worse just to hear that gorgeously deep, hearty chuckle again.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase. You said all the right things. You’ve got exactly what I’m looking for as an assistant.”

You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, because this is much too good to be true.

“You’re not from LA,” he states factually. “What brought you here?”

You consider lying–coming up with some story that’s less pathetic than the truth. He’s appreciated your honesty thus far, though, and you don’t want to break a streak. “I wanted to act, but… it’s hard to get started when you don’t have any connections. So I’ve just been kind of… getting by.”

He nods and gives you a look over–assessing, you think. “We all have to start somewhere. But this isn’t an easy job.”

There’s something unreadable in his voice, but you choose to ignore it because you want nothing more than a chance to impress him. It’s not about ‘making it’ anymore; it’s about proving to Dieter Bravo that you’re worth taking a chance on.

“Neither is this,” you reply with a vague wave at the diner around you. “If I’m not covered in fryer grease at the end of the day, it’s a good job to me.”

He chuckles again and it washes over you like fresh water after years of drought. You want more of him–more of his charm, more of his warmth.

“When can you start?”

You ask for two weeks to leave your diner gig on good terms, and he’s gracious enough to accommodate you. As the days tick past, the anticipation ramps up and time seems to move slower. You’ve never been so excited for a new job. Normally, your gut twists with anticipation and your mind swirls with every little minute detail that could go wrong–but not now. No, now you’re just excited. The possibilities of Hollywood finally seem to be within your reach again, and it all starts with this job.

You learn a lot about Dieter within five minutes of starting on your first day. For one, he’s incredibly personable. He greets you himself and vows to show you the ropes. There’s no third party to teach you everything you need to know, it’s just him. Just the two of you. You appreciate that immensely, because you’ll be serving him directly as his assistant. There’s no better person to learn from when it comes to his desires and routines than the man himself.

Two, he wears many different masks. It’s a little spooky, the way his demeanor changes depending on who he’s dealing with. He can be the sweetest, most charming man you’ve ever spoken to, then turn to a producer and be a complete hardass all in the name of getting things done. He knows exactly what persona he needs to wear for each person he interacts with–it’s all very calculated. You suppose all actors have to be capable of that; the mark of a good thespian is being instantly able to pretend you’re someone you’re not.

Still, it’s a little chilling. If you didn’t see it in some form or another with every person you meet on set, you’d be a little concerned. Dieter just makes it look like adaptation–fitting into his surroundings as a means of staying afloat. He’s been in this industry for a long time, he knows what works; and, subsequently, what doesn’t.

As far as the job goes, it’s a nice change of pace from what you’ve become accustomed to. You spend nights on set with him, fetching his coffee order or running little errands while he’s busy shooting. The hours aren’t unreasonable, and it pays double what the diner did. Now that you’re not struggling to get by financially, you have the free time you need to start pursuing your dreams again.

You have only Dieter to answer to, which is a definite learning curve. Directors, producers, and even other actors chase after your favors, but Dieter tells them unequivocally to fuck off. You’re his–it’s a heady feeling each time he  reasserts it. It makes for easy work when you’re not being pulled in thirty different directions simultaneously. He asks for what he needs when he’s around and he gives you a list of tasks to complete when he’s not. He’s a little eccentric–he tells you he can only work after dark because his eyes are sensitive–but it’s nice, falling into a routine after so long of working unconventional hours at a job where no two days are the same.

Still, as days turn into weeks by his side, you wonder exactly what version of Dieter he’s presenting to you. Which face is the most authentic? You want to believe he’s himself with you, but you’re not quite naive enough to convince yourself of that. The thing that bothers you the most is that you want him to feel comfortable enough to drop the facades around you. You want to get to know the real Dieter Bravo, underneath all the masks. But you also swore to yourself, when you accepted this job, that you would be nothing but professional–and wanting to get to know him so intimately is definitely a step beyond just being his employee.

To his credit, he’s strictly professional–even if you wish he wasn’t at times. There’s a lot of rumors and gossip about him, about his hedonism and the life he supposedly leads at night, but you don’t see that facet of him. With you, he’s friendly, kind, and respectful. He’s the perfect gentleman–and that’s how you know that you’re not getting a full glimpse of the real him. There’s too much contradiction between the rumors and the Dieter that you interact with. 

No matter how straight-laced you try to be, you can’t help wondering what it’ll take to get a look at the real Dieter Bravo.

You think he starts to peek through when Dieter asks if you would be willing to work longer hours and be more of a personal assistant than a production assistant. You know him inside and out, he tells you, and it would be a pain in the ass to teach a whole new person how to deal with his errands. He even offers you a sizable raise when you pretend to be contemplating it, like you weren’t bursting at the seams to say yes before he even finished asking. 

The sad–maybe even pathetic–truth of the matter is that you’re falling for him. Every facet of his charm, from his darkly passionate eyes to his easy humor, have you completely bewitched and ready to ignore the way your hair stands on end each time his gaze meets yours. You’ll take any small fraction of him that you can get.

He eases you into your additional duties, at least; that much can be said in his favor. He starts you out with small tasks, like ordering his groceries and picking up his dry cleaning. Dieter’s so kind and patient as he explains how he likes everything done–he’s particular, but not unreasonable. He even gives you a grand tour of his home so you can see exactly where and how he likes everything done–it’s like finally getting that real glimpse of him that you’ve been hoping for.

His Sherman Oaks mansion looks like something straight out of a Bram Stoker novel on the outside, yet the inside is a testament to the warm side of his personality that you’re more familiar with. It’s decorated in shades of orange and red, with patterns that are a little out of date but still manage to feel intentional. It gives the impression of someone who was more comfortable and sure of himself in the 70’s, or at least someone who hasn’t quite adjusted to the new trends that came with the turn of the decade. The walls are covered with art–most of it signed with his familiar “DB” in the bottom right hand corner. It’s neat, but not so neat that it feels staged. It fits the Dieter Bravo that you know perfectly, and it even starts to feel like home to you when you start spending more time there with him.

There’s never anyone else around when you’re there. For someone who has a reputation for throwing the liveliest parties in all of Hollywood, he doesn’t actually do a lot of partying. Not when you’re around, at least. It’s almost like he’s trying to hide that aspect of himself from you. If he has to host, he sends you home early or lets you know in advance that you’re getting a paid night off. You’re almost disappointed–parties have never really been your thing, sure, but you feel like you need to experience at least one of his.

Plus, people are starting to talk. You hear it on set first; his co-stars whispering about how he’s gone soft, how he’s gotten boring. Even the tabloids are starting to wonder if they’ve seen the last infamous Dieter Bravo party, which were once highly coveted and exclusive events. The few times he’s hosted lately have been small, quiet affairs–definitely not the big, star-studded shebangs that he’s gained a reputation for.

A rumor even starts circulating that he’s finally decided to settle down with a nice girl, which makes your stomach twist with a little green monster that shouldn’t be there. He’s your employer, you reason. That’s all. No matter how friendly he is, no matter how much he flirts with you, no matter how much he compliments your perfect cup of coffee, that’s all he is. Your boss. And yet, despite your constant self-assertion, your brain just can’t seem to accept it. You know you shouldn’t want anything more than that, and yet you just can’t seem to stop yourself from hoping.

“What’s going on with you?”

You’re in the midst of trying to sort through the files in his upstairs home office so you can find out when his insurance needs to be renewed when you hear the voice, loud and clear due to the open floor plan downstairs. Sound travels like crazy up the double-wide staircase with Dieter’s office door right at the top. You couldn’t shut it out even if you wanted to–and you don’t. God help you, you’re a little nosy and a little curious.

“Nothing.” That’s Dieter’s voice, but you don’t recognize the other.

“Bullshit. You’re not yourself.” It’s a deep, rich tone that you’ve never heard before and it immediately has your interest hooked. Dieter doesn’t get many visitors, much less such purposeful ones. Most people like to schmooze him, but evidently not this unidentified man.

“I’m trying to be different,” Dieter explains half-heartedly. “It’s time I cleaned up a bit.”

“No. Cleaning up your act is nothing more than a good way to get yourself caught. Things happen in the party climate, that’s how you fit in. Things don’t just happen to nice rich actors.”

Caught? Caught doing what, exactly? You creep closer to the open door on light feet, curiosity peaked.

Dieter sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I’m tired.”

“So what are you going to do? Just give up? Waste away after… how long?”

“Maybe I should,” Dieter retorts–there’s grit in his tone now, maybe even bitterness. “Maybe I never should’ve taken the deal in the first place. You don’t see how fucked up this all is?”

“So, what? You’ve gotten everything you could’ve possibly wanted, and now you’re tired of playing the game? Pathetic.” There’s a sneer in the tone of this unidentified speaker and you don’t like it. You want to jump to Dieter’s defense, but something tells you this is a conversation that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on.

“Whatever, man,” Dieter scoffs dismissively.

There’s noise downstairs now–a slight thud and what sounds like Dieter grunting as if the wind has been knocked out of him. 

“What changed?”

“Fuck off,” Dieter spits.

“What. Changed?”

“You weren’t fucking honest with me.”

“Bullshit,” the stranger growls back. “You knew exactly what you were getting into.”

“No, you said everything I wanted, that was the deal. Remember?” It’s quiet for a long moment, and you wonder if Dieter’s pacing. He does that, when he starts to get stressed. “I’m still alone, though.”

“That’s your own fault,” the stranger replies–voice a little softer now. “I didn’t say I would hand you your dreams on a silver platter. You make your own destiny. Surely it hasn’t been so long that you’ve forgotten that little qualifier.”

“I can’t bring someone else into this shit and you know it,” Dieter replies. The venom is gone from his voice now–he just sounds done. Exhausted and spent.

“You can, but you won’t.” There’s a moment of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Start acting like yourself again before you raise too much suspicion.”

“Fine,” Dieter sighs heavily. 

There’s a few long moments of silence, and then you hear the heavy solid oak front door shut. Presumably the guest has gone, and while you’re eager to sneak down and see if you can catch a glimpse of who it might’ve been, it’s far too risky with Dieter down there. Something tells you that he should never find out about the way you just eavesdropped on that conversation. You don’t know who he was talking to, or what kind of deal they were discussing–you just know that it’s serious, and definitely above your paygrade.

“Did you find that paperwork?”

You didn’t hear Dieter come upstairs–his sudden question from right behind you makes you jump and whirl around to look at him. You fight to keep your calm as you catch your breath; the last thing you want to do is clue him in that you overheard his conversation with his unknown guest.

“Yeah, I’ve got it right here,” you answer after a thick gulp.

“You’re a doll,” he proclaims with a wide smile. How easily he picks up the face he wears with you after a conversation that clearly upset him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you hum with a smile. “This entire room is a nightmare. It’s a miracle you ever find anything. You need to get, like… some filing cabinets. At the very least.”

“I’ll, uhh… get right on that,” he says in a way that makes you sure he definitely won’t get right on it.

Despite the nerves still thrumming through your veins, you laugh. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re a doll,” he repeats with his trademark grin. “Oh! Hey, uhh… you have tomorrow off. Paid, obviously.”

“Why?” You ask before you can think better of it. 

He seems surprised–you don’t normally ask questions, especially about paid vacation days. “Work stuff I gotta take care of. No big deal.”

“Okay,” you answer with a slight frown. “Sure I can’t help?”

He actually does seem to be contemplating it for a moment–his eyes scan over your body, and it’s like he’s considering you more than the actual offer. “No, honey, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” You take a short breath, then head towards the door–this was the last task on your list for the night. “Anything else you need before I head out?”

He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he follows you down the stairs. “No. Thanks, sweetheart.”

You feel heat fluttering underneath your skin at the pet name–he uses them often and they never fail to make your heart pick up pace. It’s like he can tell, because his eyes linger on your lips for a moment before trailing down to the pulse point on the left side of your neck. You wonder for a second if he can actually see it beating, but you quickly push that ridiculous thought away.

“You’re sure there’s nothing I can do for you tomorrow?”

His eyes are still trained on your neck like he’s completely zoned out or something. You watch as his tongue slowly glides over his bottom lip, trance-like; it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

“Yeah,” he whispers after a long moment–he’s standing so close now, you didn’t even notice him closing in. “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“Okay.” You want nothing more than to grab him and pull him in, to kiss him like your life depends upon it. He sounded so upset and every bone in your body is screaming to comfort him. The way he’s looking at you right now, you don’t think he’d mind at all. 

Instead you take a deep breath, grab your bag from the bench next to the door, and bid him goodnight.

Dieter doesn’t seem to realize that you’re always working, whether you’re on the clock or not. Even on ‘off’ days, you get loads of calls for scheduling requests and other tasks. Your saving grace is your trusty day planner—it holds both of your schedules, all neatly color-coded for maximum efficiency.

The worst thing you could’ve done on a weekend leading up to awards season is leave it in Dieter’s home office—and yet, as you frantically dig through your tote bag and your desk, that seems to be exactly what you’ve done.

You know Dieter’s got whatever event he’s hosting at home, but you can’t keep taking calls and scribbling notes on napkins without your schedule in front of you. The last thing you want to do is overbook him at a time where every single interview counts.

With a heavy sigh, you dial Dieter’s home number. It rings for what seems like eternity, and just as you’re about to hang up an unfamiliar voice answers.

“Hello?”

With a sigh of relief, you ask, “Hi, is Dieter there?”

“He’s busy.” The voice is high and sweet, yet her tone says she couldn’t be more irritated.

“Okay… umm, it’s kind of important.”

The stranger sighs dramatically. “I can take a message.”

“I just… I left something there, and I need to come get it as soon as possible. But I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

This time when she speaks, her tone is considerably more friendly. “Oh! Yeah, come on over. The more the merrier!”

You can’t help your intrigue, although you really don’t want to intrude without Dieter’s say-so. “Are you sure? I could always come tomorrow, I guess.”

“No no, come! It’s a party, everyone’s welcome!” Then the line goes dead without any further discussion.

You consider redialing in the hopes of speaking and clearing your visit with Dieter, but you doubt you’ll actually get through to him–and really, what harm would a quick visit do? You know exactly where you left it, on the desk in his office. It’ll be five minutes tops, a quick in and out. He might never even know that you’d been there.

You shake off the curious sense of foreboding that overtakes your mind as you grab your keys and lock your apartment door behind you.

It’s a twenty minute ride to Dieter’s house–a lot of time to spend thinking. At the forefront of your mind is that peculiar conversation you overheard last night; you’re not entirely sure why, really. Whoever that man was sounded almost as if he was in some kind of position of power over Dieter, and you don’t have even an educated guess at who that could possibly be. Dieter’s his own boss and he doesn’t take bullying–you’ve never heard someone get away with bossing him around like that before. He’s constantly in some weird form of pissing match with the directors and producers of whatever film he’s working on; he’s never seemed to be good at taking orders, even when he’s supposed to. You’ve heard many a rant about how much he values the ‘freedom of expression’. It all serves to make the mysterious visitor more confusing. Who does Dieter have to answer to?

The cab pulls up in front of his gated home before you’re able to find a plausible answer. You instruct the driver to keep the meter running since you’ll only be a minute before you step out into the crisp late-January air.

The grounds are a lot quieter than you expect them to be as the guard on duty opens the gate and closes it behind you. One thing Dieter’s famous for is noise–his parties are always reported as loud and exciting affairs akin to the fraternities in his favorite movie Animal House. There's no noise at all today, though, and it makes you curious. Is it really a party? Or was the stranger who answered the phone maybe his only guest? If the latter is the case, why would she want you to join in?

There’s a pale man in a cheap-looking suit waiting just inside the door, a tray of filled wine glasses in his gloved hands. “Take one,” he instructs, his eyes distant like he’s looking through you rather than at you.

“Oh, no thank you, I just need to–”

“Take one,” he repeats. “Master’s orders.”

Master? Of course Dieter would be into that. 

The wine is a deep red, probably that expensive vintage shit that he’s always raving about. You prefer the grocery store stuff yourself, not just because it’s all you can afford. A drink never hurts, though, and you could certainly use something to take the edge off–because that tingling sense of foreboding has only gotten stronger since your arrival.

You take a glass and swirl its currant-colored liquid around. It seems more viscous than any wine you’ve had before–probably a mark of its age, but that’s just guesswork on your part. You take a small sip, then nearly gag. It’s like drinking a pile of melted pennies. You swallow it down with a grimace anyway since you don’t want to make a scene of spitting it out in front of the server. It leaves a metallic taste in your mouth that you’re eager to wash out–thankfully, the kitchen is on your route to the stairs. You quickly deposit the glass on a table once you’re out of the server’s eyesight, then head down the hall in a desperate search for water.

Once you’re out of the foyer, there are people everywhere. Very subdued people, at that–draped over furniture like throw blankets, some even laying on the floor. You consider checking one’s pulse until he twitches and lets out a muffled groan. Clearly high on something, you’re just not sure what. You nearly trip over one person and they actually hiss at you like some kind of feral cat. Your skin starts to crawl with every step you take. Even more important than your discomfort, though, is finding Dieter. What if he’s like this, too? Do you need to call someone?

You notice a dull ache starting in your gums as you make it to the kitchen–thankfully you’re familiar with his home, and you have a glass of water in your hands within no time. It seems that no matter how much you drink, though, that coppery-bloody taste never leaves your mouth. What the hell was that stuff?

There’s a short-haired blonde woman propped up against the wall underneath the mounted phone; she reaches out a lazy hand in some sort of greeting. She looks vaguely familiar, like someone you might’ve seen on the set of one of Dieter’s films.

“You made it!” She says with a lazy smile. She must be the woman you spoke to earlier, although you’re not sure how she can identify you.

“Yeah. Where’s Dieter?” The longer you’re here, the more worried you become. Something isn’t right, and your skin is prickling with apprehension.

“Upstairs,” she murmurs, then her eyes flutter shut and she slumps a little further down. She’s visibly breathing, at least. 

For a moment, you consider picking up the phone and ringing the police. Would that cause more harm than good? Dieter must be aware of what’s going on here–you know you should talk to him before you do anything.

Your mission to find your planner momentarily forgotten, you make your way through the living room towards the stairs.

You check the office at the top first–there’s a few bodies zonked out on the couch, but none of them are Dieter. With trepidation in your very soul, you make your way down the hall. Each room is more of the same–people in varying states of unrest, no sign of the man you’re looking for. Most of them have red-stained lips and you eye more than one smashed glass along your journey. Your own mouth is starting to get alarmingly sore, but you ignore it in favor of finding Dieter.

Each step you take drives your worries deeper into your skull. What if something’s happened to him? What if he’s knocked out like all of his guests, or hurt, or something worse?

This is the first time you’ve breached the bubble of his bedroom. None of your work has ever involved this room, and while you’re a naturally nosey type of person, there’s something deeply personal and sacred about the space someone sleeps in. 

Ignoring the steady throbbing in your gums, you knock once before pushing open the door.

Dieter’s alone in his room, sprawled out like a starfish in a sea of rumpled sheets at the center of his massive bed. Something akin to a groan of horror escapes your throat as you see the state he’s in. He’s paler than a corpse and drenched in sweat, chest barely rising and falling with breath.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place. Your entire body breaks out in a cold sweat as you notice the knife in his right hand and the deep gash in the crook of his left arm, right where an IV would normally be set. You can smell the blood draining from him, you can even taste it in the air–or maybe that’s just the lingering taste of whatever you drank downstairs.

Your stomach churns violently with the sudden realization of what you’ve done, of what you’ve drank.

“Dieter!” You manage to choke out while your brain tries to remember how to send the signals required for your body to fucking move. 

He lifts his head shakily, brown eyes widening after a long moment of trying to recognize the face he’s looking at. “No no no,” he whispers hoarsely, “you’re not supposed t-to be here. You’re.. y-you’re supposed to be a-at home.”

A sharp, shattering pain in your top gum snaps your brain back into action. In a flash you’re crawling across a seemingly endless desert of mattress and it feels like you’ll never reach him. Everything is moving so slowly–each movement seems to take a hundred times the effort it should.

You spit out a mouthful of blood as the pain heightens, barely registering the two upper canines that go with it.

“What the fuck have you done?” You sob, uselessly pawing at his slashed left arm. It’s a precise cut straight across the artery–your hands are sticky and soaked with red the moment you touch him. Pressure, your brain screams at you. Put pressure on the wound.

“A real artist must suffer,” he mumbles weakly–then, even quieter, “I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re dying.” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own anymore. It’s higher, breathier. 

“You drank it, d-didn’t you?” He asks, ignoring your statement. His distant eyes are trained on the sharp fangs that have pushed your canines out. “Fuck. Fuck! You were n-never supposed to…”

“Shut up, shut up,” you plead. Every shaky breath seems to cost him years. “How do I fix this? How do I fix you?”

“Thirsty,” he mumbles. There’s water on the sideboard, your brain reminds you. You don’t even remember bringing the glass with you, much less setting it down. Everything is so fuzzy. Your arm doesn’t move nearly as fast as it should when you reach for the glass, and Dieter’s hand weakly comes up to stop you.

“Not water,” he croaks. “Need… need…”

He can’t seem to form the words required to tell you what he needs. He doesn’t have to, though. You know.

“You’re not dying on me, Bravo.” You take the knife from his slack right hand before he can stop you and grit your sore teeth together as you slash it across your palm.

“N-no, don’t…” But he doesn’t resist as you hold your bleeding palm to his mouth. His empty eyes flash back to life with the first taste, and then he takes your hand in his own and drinks greedily. You watch with nothing short of disbelief as the cut on his arm seals itself right before your eyes.

“You were supposed to stay away from this,” he murmurs as his tongue sweeps across your palm. “Why the fuck are you here, baby?”

You don’t even remember anymore. Everything is hazy, everything hurts. It’s a chore just to keep your eyes open.

“Damn it,” he growls–pushing your hand away from his blood-smeared mouth seems to take all his willpower. “I never wanted this for you.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur as you slump down against his sheets. They’re so soft and light, and you want to cocoon yourself in them for the rest of time. “It’s just a dream.”

“Why’d you have to come save me? Huh?” His voice sounds so far away that you’re not even sure he’s really speaking. 

“I love you.” It’s okay to say that, because he’ll never actually find out. It’s just a dream, after all; you’ll wake up in the morning confused but totally okay.

“You were never supposed to,” his voice echoes from some plain of existence far, far away. “Damn it honey, stay awake just a minute longer.”

You try, but your eyes are so heavy. He sighs heavily, as if he knows it’s useless.

“Promise you’ll still love me when you wake up,” he pleads through the tunnel that separates you.

Nodding saps the last of your strength, so you let your eyes flutter closed. “Okay.”

You feel his lips against yours and his coppery kiss nearly brings you back from the verge of sleep. In the end, though, your throbbing head wins. Sleep takes hold quickly despite your feeble resistance. 

How strange it is to fall asleep in a dream.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my lovelies <3

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[the-whispers-of-death]

Transfer Him (Or Not)

A/N: For context, here is Python's introduction Ghost. And here is Python's basic info post.

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

It took Ghost two days of putting up with Python before he stomped towards Price's office. He practically threw open the door, glowering at the captain for what he has had to put up with from the American medic.

"Transfer him." Ghost growled out as he stalked towards Price's desk.

Price looked up from where he writing a report. "'Him" who? Be more specific, there's all men here in this task force," he replied, amused with his own joke. He chuckled for a bit before turning serious, raising a brow at his lieutenant. "Is it Soap? I thought you liked him now."

Ghost scowled beneath his mask, crossing his arms. "I do and I was talking about that bastard American medic," he grumbled.

"Python?" Price couldn't help it, he burst out into laughter, which only made Ghost more irritated. He had his laughing fit for a whole minute before he wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes, his smile forming on his face. "You want me to transfer Python?"

"Yes," Ghost said gruffly, not understanding why Price found it so funny.

"No."

"What? Why not?"

Price's amusement was gone now, his hands moving around some paperwork on his desk. He waited until he was sure Ghost was seriously asking the question. "Ghost, I can't transfer Python," he explained, his words careful. "For one, I didn't transfer him to us in the first place, Laswell did, and secondly, a medic would be good for us. You and Soap barely made it out alive in Las Alamas. So he's staying, no matter how much you don't like him."

Ghost growled at that, very upset by Price's logic. "I don't trust him. The last American we trusted was Graves, and we all know how that turned out," he said.

"Do you trust me, Ghost?"

"Without question."

Price smiled at that, knowing he could always count on his lieutenant to trust him. "Then trust that I know you'll end up liking Python," he replied. "Besides, you don't even know him well enough to hate him. He's only been here for two days."

Ghost grumbled again. "I know him enough to know he's a mysterious bastard."

"Ah, so you two have that in common," Price said, his smile widening into a grin at the playful glower Ghost threw his way for that comment. He chuckled. "Just... Try to be nice, okay? You wouldn't want to piss off a medic, Ghost. Trust me."

Ghost nodded and then left the office so Price could get back to work. He decided to head to the base hospital, heading out of the building he was in and making his way over to the base hospital.

He walked inside the base hospital and made it to the office that was designated as Python's. As he walked there, Soap came out of the office with Gaz in tow, Soap having his hand bandaged.

"What happened to you?" Ghost asked, frowning at Soap's bandaged hand. He went to grab it to get a closer look but Soap pushed his hand away with his good one.

Soap gave Ghost a cheeky grin. "It's nothing, mate. A simple second-degree burned from a cooking accident," he told Ghost nonchalantly. "I just went in to see the doc to get it bandaged."

Gaz interjected, rolling his eyes. "I brought him to Python," he explained his presence there. "Soap wasn't even going to treat it and I had to drag him to Python's office."

"You're such a tattletale, Gaz," Soap complained, his voice almost a whine. He then turned to Ghost, a curious glint in his eyes. "Why are you on your way to Python? Injured, aye?"

Ghost playfully pushed at Soap's chest. "My business is my business," he said, warning Soap not to push for details.

Soap merely smiled, used to Ghost's evasiveness. "You and Python are similar in that respect. A pair of men who want to remain as mysterious as possible."

Ghost rolled his eyes and bid goodbye to Gaz and Soap, Gaz playfully dragging Soap back to the barracks. He watched them leave before walking up the office door, knocking, and entering.

"You injured?" Python asked as soon as Ghost stepped in, lifting his head up from where he was putting away the bandages and gauze back into the drawer of his desk. "And on a scale from one to ten, how bad is it?"

"You know, most medics are less harsh when it comes to asking how bad an injury is." Ghost couldn't help but have a little bite in his voice, feeling annoyed whenever Python was in his vicinity.

Ever since he met the man, Ghost had this need, this itch, and he could only assume it was because they were so similar that Ghost hated it with a passion. And yet, Ghost found himself wanting to be closer.

He pushed down that sudden urge, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Anyways, I'm not here because I'm injured," he said, eyeing the taller man.

Python finished putting away the bandages and gauze back in the drawer of his desk, closing the drawer before giving Ghost his full attention. He still had on that damned mask and balaclava that made Ghost all that aware of how similar they were. "Okay, why are you here then?" he asked, moving around his desk to sit on the edge of the surface of said desk.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm... I'm going to try to get along with you," Ghost blurted out awkwardly, at a loss for words. He was never a talker anyways.

"Okay," Python said after a minute of waiting for Ghost to say more.

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

And there Ghost was, getting irritated with Python all over again. It was like there was an inferno in his chest, an emotion he couldn't describe but was so intense that it made him so irritable to the way Python was so cagey.

"Bloody hell," Ghost exclaimed, unable to help the rush of emotions. He threw his arms up in the air in a "I give up" gesture and turned away from the infuriating man. "It's like talking to a wall! Fine, keep yourself locked away, see if I care."

With those words, he stomped out of the office, slamming the door shut. Despite his irritation, Ghost's lips couldn't help but twitch into a small smile when he heard Python curse at the door being slammed shut.

So the medic does express some emotion, Ghost thought to himself. Interesting.

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

A/N: This was longer than I thought it would be. But have this, Ghost not understanding what emotion he's feeling. He doesn't like his questions being brushed off by Python, but he doesn't understand that he too does that to others. But also, what was Python supposed to say in response, Ghost, huh? I still love Ghost, it's fine.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and request something! (Check the rules in "Rules for Requesting NSFW" before requesting.)

[crxssjae]

Worship, Caresses, and Tattoos

Summary:

Tattoos are elegant. Jey understood why they were perfect, thanks to Sami.

a/n: This fic is inspired by WWE: Tattooed when they show a focus on Jey and his explanations on his tattoos. I gotta say, those are amazing ink details and made me wanna write a body worship/tattoo worship.

Also posted on AO3 (here) and Wattpad (here). These belong to my samijey/jeysami short and long stories collection called "All Night."

Other WWE fics and samijey/jeysami fics are posted on my WWE masterlist here.

Word Count: 835

Warning(s): 18+, NSFW, explicit language, slight smut (still minors DNI), body worship, first time writing a tattoo worship.

__________

Never failed to confirm excuse after excuse Sami spoke. An enthusiastic tone, curious glimpse across the room with a head peeked behind the door. Jey knew while unbothered to ask.

He let him. He didn't waste breath. He acknowledged why Sami had to do what he had to do to receive Jey's attention. Every morning, every night, those lips featherlight on his skin, stress vanished elsewhere.

On his stomach lying flat on the bed; his expression etched exhausted from a busy day. The nape of the neck to the back, almost tatted all the way, peeped through the blankets along his rear. Jey doesn't care. Being free from clothing gave fresh air help unless remained in a boxer.

Muted footsteps approached the bed, simple to sense who it was since both are alone. One of Jey's eyelids cracked open, awaring Sami left the bathroom after a shower, wrapped in a white robe with slippers. Jey quirked a smile, motioning him to join.

Those admired, hazel eyes took a moment to wander Jey's features. Sami lay next to him, shifting his position with a comforted sigh. Fingertips ghosted over the left inked arm— the tenderness seeped Jey's veins.

"Still naked for a surprise, huh?" The velvety danced in Sami's tone along with a giggle. His index finger trailed the lines on the bicep.

Jey turned his head to the side, giving Sami a playful look. "Y'want me to, mister 'Lemme take a shower n' be naked in a robe'. Don't think y'slick 'cause I know you."

"What makes you think of that?" Sami teased with a hum, a tiny lie was there. Feather-light smooches on Jey's shoulder, then on the side of his back. Sami's head perked up in question when Jey let out a huff. "Was that false, too?"

"Maybe? Y'know what I'm talkin' 'bout."

"No, no, seriously. What do you mean?" Sami tried to play it off.

"Y'know, baby." Jey's voice dropped husky. "Y'know."

Gliding one of his hands to cradle Sami's face, Jey noticed him nuzzle his cheek on the palm and peck with an exhale. Wrist, forearm, back to the shoulder, to the collarbone. Fondness blew his mind in a single passion adored to him only.

He ruffled Sami's mane while his other hand still grasped the cheek, signaling to keep going before turning onto his back on the bed. Traces of pleasure tingled head to toe. Sami worshiped tattoos on Jey's body in a murmur, as he planted kiss after kiss on curved neck and pecs.

It felt right. It felt perfect like Jey wanted.

Breathed a sudden, sweet whine, Jey couldn't help but splay his legs and gripped the sheets. Those whines quickened into ragged gasps as Sami's tongue lapped his stomach before swirling the belly button. The thirst for thrill took over, forming the desire to reel the addiction between them.

Lower until halted to Jey's crotch, Sami does the same method on the inner thighs. Jey arched his back, tugging his hair, setting his legs on Sami's shoulders. His dick throbbed with arousal; a bead of pre-cum leaked from the tip smeared on Jey's belly.

"Damn," Jey's chest heaved, mouth gaped when Sami bit on the spot jolting his veins. "Dat feel good."

Sami paused, glancing up at him with a coy smile. "What can I say? I'm an expert on loving addictive tattoos and masterpieces like you."

Those words fluttered Jey's heart. Squirmed side to side, unable to avert Sami's gaze. "S'this a flirtin' contest or somethin'?" he mumbled.

"It's not a contest. I'm telling the truth. You're still magnificent."

"Shit. I guess… I guess this is true. For real, though, I'd never thought seein' myself bein' perfect or... magnificent, whatever dat word y'said."

Sami's eyes sparkled. "To me, you're still you. Your tattoos, your personality, your body, everything. Even if everyone looks at you differently, thinking you're perfect and all out uncaring, you followed your heart to be who you wanted to be."

Jey stared. Awe, disbelief, appreciated. Feelings spiraled all over, he couldn't tell which.

"I, uh," Sami shook his head, thinking there was a misunderstanding that put Jey in confusion, "forget what I said. I'm sorry—"

"Don't be." Jey cooed, patting Sami's head. "Y'way too kind apologizin'. Would be bad to be sad all day n' not kissin'." he grinned and did a sultry wink.

Both exchanged their happiness. Sami winked with a mischievous glint, crawling upward, then leaned to his ear. His low whisper flustered him, stumbling words out of Jey's mouth. Jey had no choice but to watch his boyfriend go back between his legs before Sami swiped a tongue on the tip of Jey's dick.

One time, Jey admitted when he was alone. Ached for his bare skin and tattoos to be loved throughout each morning, each evening. He got his wish, received by Sami.

"There you go, baby." Jey moaned in a pleased tone. "Fuck, you naughty."

Accept any excuse Sami told as long as he is treated and worshiped.

__________

Thank you for reading!

Tagging: @southerngirl41, @coolpandasblog, *@bbkquartz, @rosiel77, *@katiewayne2020, @afterdarkprincess, *@invictusrey, @harmshake

If your username is in bold with an asterisk, it means Tumblr won't let me tag you.

Taglist for samijey/jeysami shippers those who wanted to be tagged for my future fics of samijey-> here

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Homeboy

Requested by the wonderful @harlowcomehome

Warnings: language, suggestive talk

A/N: based on the TikTok trend where you call your boyfriend your husband or in this case, your homeboy lol

You propped your phone on the dash of Jack's Jeep as he approached a red light. He rung the leather of the steering wheel between his hands as he watched you fix your hair and makeup in the camera, a little on edge from a stressful day in the studio. You were headed to dinner at Black Rabbit to celebrate your third wedding anniversary.

The last couple of weeks had been stressful in their own right, with Jack's schedule occupying almost all of his time, and taking care of a newborn Brooklyn, so even though both of you just wanted to do nothing but sleep for the next 48 hours straight, you knew you needed to get out to celebrate, even if it was just a quick dinner.

Still, Jack just seemed out of it, and you knew he needed a laugh to get out of his head.

You decided to pull a harmless prank on him that you'd seen on TikTok, where a partner calls their husband their "homeboy" when recording a video to get their reaction. You weren't exactly sure how Jack was going to react, but you were willing to try anyway to get your goofy best friend back.

"What're you doing?", Jack asked between gritted teeth as he floored it at the green light. "Just recording a video", you bit your lip to stifle a laugh, "something quick for Insta."

"Just post a photo or something", he said with a sigh, his eyes darting between the road and your setup.

"That's no fun", you were this close to breaking so you quickly pressed record on the screen.

"Hey everyone!", you addressed the camera, "I just wanted to do a quick outfit of the day. I'm on the way to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants with Jack." You made sure to point to your husband, who was in view. "Its crazy to think that I've known my homeboy for almost a decade, and that the two of us-".

The laugh that left Jack's mouth startled you. "Homeboy?" He looked at you, straight faced, with an eyebrow cocked. "Yeah, please don't interrupt", you popped your lips as you turned back to your phone. "The dress is from Dior-"

"I'm your homeboy?!", Jack repeated in an incredulous tone. "What does that make you to me?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I dunno, I'm your homegirl", you couldn't even make eye contact you were trying so hard not to laugh. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that I don't remember saying my vows to one of my homegirls." Jack ran a shaky hand through his messy curls. "Best friends, partners for life, maybe, but homeboy, definitely fuckin' not." You knew he was getting irritated, the back of his neck turning a dark red, but you were also thoroughly enjoying him putting his foot down with you.

"Yeah, but that's what we are. I'm your homegirl, you're my homeboy."

"Homeboy", he kept repeating the word in between scoffs, it didn't make any sense to him.

"Why do you keep repeating it?" At this point you couldn't hide the smile creeping on your face. "You're the love of my life. I don't love any of my "homegirls" the way I love you", he bit back, trying to remain calm.

"I love you too", you leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I got love for all of my homeboys." You stopped the video before Jack could get another word in.

****

Dinner was quiet, and you could tell that your joke didn't land with Jack the way you thought it would. His focus was on his phone for most of the night, scrolling through emails. He broke the silence when the waiter came around with the check. Just as they laid the bill in front of Jack, he placed a hand down on the table.

"My homegirl's got it." He quickly muttered the four words, his face illuminated by the backlight of his phone as it captured his attention again. You quietly pulled out your credit card, giving it to the waiter with a small smile.

****

The house was eerily quiet as you took off your makeup in the bathroom mirror, getting ready for bed. You tracked Jack's movements as he walked in behind you, Brooklyn in his arms. He peppered kisses on her tiny face as he threw his laundry in the hamper and walked back out. Jack had been giving you the silent treatment since dinner, and you knew it was time to come clean and apologize.

"Jack, baby?" You waited for him to put Brooklyn in her bassinet by the bed before continuing. He hummed for you to speak as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry about this evening. I saw this stupid trend on TikTok and thought it would be funny to pull a prank on you. I was just trying to get you to loosen up, but it backfired and I'm sorry."

He pinched the bridge of his nose before looking at you. "Ok."

"That's it? Okay?"

"What else do you want me to say?" He moved to stroke at his beard and you could tell he was still upset. "I don't know, that you forgive me?"

"I forgive you." He gave you a hard lined smile. "I forgive all of my homegirls."

"Jack", you whined, "it was a joke! I don't really think of you as one of my homeboys."

"Am I supposed to believe that?" His voice rose an octave. "That the mother of my child doesn't see me as more than a friend? That I mean more to you than that? That you sent me that video yesterday so I always knew you were pulling a prank on me?!"

"Yes", your stomach turned. "Of course! Wait-", you held up a hand once you realized what he said.

"Wait, what?" You shook your head as Jack let out a loud chuckle. He crossed the room to you in two steps and pulled you into his body.

"Baby, you send me like 100 TikToks a day, one of those being that prank trend. I knew what you were doing from the start." You playfully swatted at his chest. "Fuck, that's not funny!" He pulled you in for a hug, your hands wrapping around his neck, his finding your lower back.

"So you're not mad at me?" You mumbled against his shoulder, your lips pressed to his skin. "No, I thought it was funny, but I had to dust off those acting skills and show you who can really pull off a prank." You felt a sense of relief wash over you that he wasn't mad.

Jack pressed a kiss to your temple. "Plus, you weren't very convincing." You felt his hot breath against your ear as he ducked down, pulling you by the back of the neck closer to his mouth.

"I know none of your "homeboys" are fucking you like me every night."

[starwurldd]

ORAL FIXATION ☆ FT MIGUEL O'HARA.

★. masterlist ᡣ𐭩

☆. headcannons for miguel ! coming soon…

★. currently listening to… ON DAT BXTCH - LUMI ATHENA

☆. this fic contains… intentional lowercase. everyone is 18+ ! miguel o’hara x reader. fem bodied reader. blackcoded but anyone can read it. chubby!reader. spiderwoman!reader. reader wears a pink spider suit. miguel calls you spiderbarbie as a insult because of your suit. miguel o’hara. miguel has a nose piercing. also has salt/pepper brown hair because he be stressin’. miguel speaks spanish. masterbation (fem.) kissing. pet names. hair pulling. throat fucking. heavy dirty talk. not proofread so mistakes are def present .

★. summary… you’ve always had a persistent oral fixation. since you were small you always had your mouth on something, but miguel wants to help fix that nasty habit once and for all. (I’m terrible at descriptions.)

☆. word count aprox… 2k.

★. notes… hi! I’m kinda back into the writing scene? I originally posted this on a03 but decided to also move it here for some reason, just with a couple of tweaks. Hopefully during the summer I can write more and produce some more fics/head cannons or whatever. Main goal rn is to clean out my drafts to declutter. Until then, see ya later ! <3

one of the many, many strange things about miguel o’hara was his attention to detail. his keen observation and good memory grants him the ability to notice even the smallest, minute changes. doesn’t matter if something is slightly moved from its original spot or if old paint starts to lose its tint, it never escapes his vigilant, hawk-like eyes, not even you. to him, your sucker seemed like an inseparable part of you, which he was absolutely right about. ever since you were little you’ve always had a knack for putting things in your mouth—chewing pen caps, biting water bottle tops. your bad habit offered a bit of comfort, especially during anxiety inducing moments. gum became a temporary solution, always at hand to help your needs, but over time gum became boring so you moved on to the next big thing: candy. a sweet, textured solution of various sizes that seemed to be helpful. though, out of the millions and millions of options, only suckers stuck: a pink lemonade flavor. the taste left a soft tingle in your mouth which you couldn’t get enough of. you weren’t exactly new to the world of suckers but this one you really liked a lot. like a lot, a lot. the first time you let the ball of sugar rest on your tongue you bought almost $133 worth of suckers off amazon and almost finished them in the same week. between battling villains to regular day job hours, you always had one in your mouth. the feeling of something so heavy and so sweet resting on your tongue just felt so good.

your obsession soon extended to the spider society, stashing suckers in your spidey belt or around the base. there was even a time miguel found some taped under his control pad, which he was obviously not happy about. when you arrived at headquarters your mask was pulled over your nose to expose your mouth at work. signature lollipop hidden between your soft, glossed lips. the candy’s hue stained them a charming baby pink, a shade that complimented you cutely. as you traversed the corridors you greeted a couple of members you happened to pass by—some familiar faces. others new arrivals. flashing them with your gorgeous smile and a wave you continued your way towards the meeting room, you knew gwen, peter b, jessica, patrick, and of course miguel were all gonna be discussing something important. the moment you enter you catch miguel’s gaze immediately. a viscous glare that shows his impatience clearly. "well look who finally decided to show! oh don’t mind us, spiderbarbie," he says, voice oozing with mockery, "we were just y’know, waiting here for you so you can grace us with your presence!" a mean smile sits crookedly on his handsome face. afterwards he formally greets you with a venom laced "you’re late." before rubbing his temples with the pads of his fingers. still standing in the doorway you mock his expression. “i’m not late, you’re just early.” your remark causes some of your coworkers to snicker.

of course, miguel doesn’t like your snarky tone. with a scoff of irritation he rolls his scarlet eyes with a disapproving smack escaping, a sound that’s unique to him. “if you’re just gonna show up late, why do you even—you know what? whatever. it doesn’t matter just get in your seat.” he just bears his vampire-like teeth in hope of being more authoritative but it never works, especially not with you. you move away from the closing doors to your assigned spot at the meeting table. miguel says nothing, his towering presence does all the talking for him. tough, broad shoulders squared in a stance that radiated his disappointment, strong arms crossed firmly over his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit as if channeling his discontent into a physical grip. as the others dived into details of the mission, you found yourself becoming more and more bored with the conversation. It wasn’t long before your focus turned to something else, something more fun. subconsciously, your hand reached for your sucker, the vibrant swirl of sweetness was your favorite diversion. the plump rim of your mouth wrapped sensuously around the candy again.

as minutes stretched into an eternity of plans and contingencies, miguel's authoritative voice droned on. anomalies here, some dimension rifts there with the occasional bickering with lyla about the shared info. you, however, were busy letting your mind wonder, sucking and savoring that not so subtle, lemonade escape. miguel catches the shift in your attention. slowly but surely frustration began to etch its way across his features once again. it was that stupid, rose colored candy twirling in your mouth. while lyla was keeping the others engaged miguel crumpled a old sticky note behind his back and with a swift, precise motion, he balled up a piece of paper in his hand tightly. the tension between you two momentarily thickened as he aimed and then, without a second thought, he flicked his wrist, sending the paper flying across the room. the paper sailed through the air, landing with a soft thud on the side of your thigh. your eyes followed the trajectory back to its source, meeting miguel's intense gaze, his eyes speaking volumes as they bore into yours, he quietly formed the words “pay attention.” but instead of complying, you stuck your middle finger up at him before casually shifting your attention to the projections, a sly smile spreads on your lips. soon the sucker became more like a prop. a deliberate instrument of play. you trace the outline of your lips in a teasing manner, your slow, deliberate movements contrasting with the urgency of the discussions.

throughout the whole meeting miguel tried his best to focus on the conversation but of course he found himself entranced by the dance of candy and saliva. his eyes couldn't help but follow the slick trail the drool left in its wake, tracing its glistening path over your luscious lips. It was an act that blurred the line between innocent indulgence and tantalizing seduction. you shoot a side glance at him, loving the way his nose scrunched up at you and that gorgeous vein on his forehead getting more and more taut. miguel clenches his jaw, trying to maintain his composure in the face of your teasing. as you finally withdrew the sucker from your mouth, his hand instinctively rose to rub his forehead, a feeble attempt to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. the telltale signs of his embarrassment were evident in the deepening hue of his ears, glowing a dark shade of red. as the meeting pressed on, miguel's patience wore thin. clearing his throat, he shifted his gaze away momentarily to the rest of the group. lyla gives one more rundown on the situation at hand before miguel creates pairs to help with the investigation. peter and gwen had been paired off to place more anomaly trackers. jessica was tasked with helping close up rifts between universes. however, when she suggested a partnership with you, miguel's voice cut through like a whip-crack. "i got her." he asserted, his tone firm, leaving no room for negotiation. "patrick can go with you. barbie—" his gaze shifted to you, “you’re with me.” with the decision settled, a swirling portal manifested, miguel took the lead, beckoning you to follow. you were in a futuristic city, similar to miguel’s but this one felt more ghostly. it was quiet, tranquil. rain lashed down in sheets, the droplets hitting the ground with a force that sent up sprays of water. soft lightning forked across the dark, brooding sky, illuminating the scene in stark, brief flashes. the only thing that protected you from the onslaught of water was a rust torn metal sheet hanging about you attached to a brick wall, a dry halo surrounds you that ends at the tip of the roof. the moment the portal closed behind you the proximity changed the tone between you two. miguel turned to you, his eyes no longer weighed down by sternness, but instead ablaze with a different intensity. eyes fixed on the sucker, now sticking to the side of your mouth, he speaks up.

"I see you have a bad habit," he taunts. "and I need to fix it."

miguel tucks some of his silver colored strands behind his ear and wrinkles his pierced nose. “you’re so fucking annoying,” he growls, “you and that stupid sucker.” that's when miguel takes his time, eyeing you as he torturously drags his clawed hand against his stomach, the holographic layer slowly rippling apart. the disturbed film revealed parts of his muscular thighs and already semi hard cock, bulging and twitching. he was huge, veins strewn about like vines, if dick analysis was a club somewhere you would be the ceo of it. using a wave of his hand, miguel was able to remove his hologram suit completely, “i don't like you. you never listened to me, did whatever you wanted…” your legs clenched tighter together where you sat, “but I liked it. still do.” you softly moan to yourself when his hard cock hits his stomach. you needed to lick him up real soon, it’s almost inhuman the way he looks down at you. “keep looking at me like that, amor,” he huffs, “keep those pretty eyes on me.” he guides your face a bit closer to him. you place your hands on the cold, concrete floor for a bit of stability, still sitting on balls of your feet . miguel grabs the base of his cock and rubs the tip on your lips. spreading a mixture of precum and drool across them. “ngh—just fucking—” miguel stretches his arms out as a force of habit, holding each side of your head so he can work his pretty cock in nice and easy. “don’t move your head, please, just stay here,” you can see his earlier irritation start to crumble, turning him into a desperate mess. you keep eye contact with him, placing a couple of kisses on the head before wrapping your lips around the tip with a smile. he was fixing to say something (probably something that helped him fake some control) until you take him further down your mouth.

his thighs twitch as he lightly moves his hips, trying so hard to meet your lips, and when you let him a gasp flees from his agape mouth as you gag and suck. releasing him with a wet pop and maintaining eye contact you ask, “so you like me?” you watch him look around for a couple of seconds before he closes his eyes with a sigh and whispers a soft “yes, yes I like you.” you could barely hear him over the rain but his confession made butterflies dance around in your tummy. with a devilish smirk you slick your puffy lips along the sides of his cock, darting your tongue out and moaning deeply. you remove both hands off the ground to wrap one around the base and the other on his balls. you place on your lips to start sucking on the tip as you work both hands simultaneously. saliva building, bubbles forming the quicker you bob your head and stroke his dick. you heard him huff out soft whispers of ‘si si si, buena chica’ before you switch gears. you release his cock with a loud pop before going lower. the hand that was once massaging his balls was used to support you. you nudge his balls with your tongue before sucking one of them into your mouth, keeping your rhythm stroking mostly the tip, a low growl escapes his pretty lips. “no pares por favor no pares! dios mío, te amo.” from the way he’s howling you know that's his most sensitive area, his breathing is frantic, a waterfall of drool drips down his jaw and some droplets land on you nose.

you spread your fingers languidly, sticky with his precum and your spit, you can feel the blood pulsing in his cock, rotating your hand and sucking the heavy sack as the whimpers that vibrate in your throat travel to him. “dios mío, lo estás haciendo muy bien, amor,” he babbles, “sigue así, sí, sí, sí just like that.” miguel’s eyes are scrolling back. if the universe didn’t know any better you could say that he was possessed. the sound he makes is so needy that it makes your clit throb even harder, you slip a finger inside your spider suit, going lower and lower until you reach the elastic of your laced panties, slipping inside. Using some of your arousal you rub tiny, tight circles on your clit to help the ache go down and your legs begin to shake. you have to clutch onto miguel’s thigh so you don’t lose your sense of reality.

when it becomes too much and your clit gets super sensitive, you know you’re close, ending the fun too soon, and so you stop. You let him go, you take a step back to lock at your work. miguel was a mess, hair wildly laying on his head, face decorated with drool and sweat, his eyes are all on you. you could have sworn you saw some hearts beating in his irises. “what- why’d you stop?” you give him your most innocent look. “wanna play with you some more,” you whisper. you go to wipe your jaw with your forearm but he stops you, a firm grip on your wrist. “don't fuckin’ tease me, mocosa or i swear-” but before he could finish you giggle, purposely pissing him off further. the vein on his forehead goes taut again. “f-fuck!” he curses angrily, groaning with pain and pleasure stirring inside. his dick jumping for attention. you pout, voice oozing with mockery, “you want it?” reclaiming your position previously with your hand wrapped around his cock again, tightly gripping the base, miguel’s jaw clenches, sharp nails balling into fists as he tears into the wall behind him. “please, fuck just please- please let me have it. I need it. I need you, fuck, just-” he rambles, pratically growling. without another word you decide to ease the teasing and suck him off as you rub your clit again. you moan out with each rotation, alternating from circular motions to flicking motions. you’re trembling again. your breathing is sporadic, heart is pounding in your chest, you’re close. “f-fuck, { ur name }. g’na cum. voy a correrme en tu maldita garganta, fuck!” he grips the wall even tighter, the bricks slowly turning to powder from the sheer force. he could feel the hitching in your breath, “ joder si, cum with me, cum with me yeah? please cum with me.” and you do. your orgasm almost knocks the wind out of you, and the cherry on top was when miguel released a deep, guttural moan as he came down your throat. after you fully come, you remove your slick webbed fingers from the front of your panties, wiping them on your thigh, before you slide down to your knees. miguel, tired and slumped against the wall, reached out, his hands gentle as he cupped your cheeks. his touch was gentle, caring. "lo hiciste muy bien, amor" he murmured, voice soft, his words a caress against your ears. "you did so, so well for me, moscota." miguel, who’s usually stern and serious, found himself softening in your presence, a strange yet relaxing thing to witness. a small, appreciative smile tugged at the corners of your lips. his exhaustion momentarily forgotten, he leaned down, his lips first brushing against your nose in a sweet, lingering kiss before finding their way to your pretty mouth. It was a soft, tender moment."¿Quieres agarrar algunas empanadas?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting, suggesting a moment of shared comfort in a simple meal. When your head cocked adorably to the side he rephrased his sentence, “wanna get food? know this good spot back home.” before you could respond, jess interrupted, her heavy sigh drawing both of your attention "you forgot to turn off the voice receiver," she said, her tone a mix of annoyance and amusement.

how in the hell were you gonna explain what just happened?

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© SATOTOKii 2022 — All rights reserved. do not modify, copy or claim my work without permission. oh ! and don’t you dare copy my layout, i will get someone to eat ur house ‹𝟹

[fictionalsownme]

"Whump" | connor rk800 x reader | WIP BLURB

I don't post him all the time, but the connor brain rot is pretty bad lol I also really like whump and I saw this pin on pinterest and that's how this was born hehe. again, not really finished! abrupt ending but you can guess where it goes, established friendship, in my head the reader is a secretary at the DPD but it's not referenced. female reader, reader uses she/her pronouns.

disclaimer: this blurb is unedited and unfinished. just wanted to share some WIPs! Enjoy!

"Connor!"

You found his body slumped on the floor against the wall, his head hanging at an awkward angle.

There was blue blood… his blood everywhere. It was so bright against the blackness of the dirty floor that it almost seemed to glow.

"Oh my god--"

You ran to kneel at his side, nearly slipping on the thirium under your shoes. His legs were straight out like a broken doll's, you could see patches of his plating where his skin had retracted in the damage. Trying to manage your breathing, you gingerly cradled his head, lifting his face to meet your gaze. It was worse than you thought.

Retracted skin revealed massive damage to his white under-plating. Scratched and dented and caved-in. Blue blood was splattered across his face, it poured from his nose and over his lips to drip off his chin. It was immediately clear he wasn't conscious, with glazed over eyes and a slack jaw.

Whether he was in a sort-of standby or already dead you had no way of knowing.

You peeled open his jacket to reveal the center of his chest where thirium pooled the thickest in a gaping, mangled crater. Down to his lap and spilling over the dusty cement. You had no idea what his inner wiring was supposed to look like, but you knew it wasn't this.

"Fuck-- Connor?" You held his cheeks, your crying already starting up fresh once again. "Connor, can you hear me? I don't-- I don't know how to fix you! Connor?"

No signs. No light from his LED, no flickering of his irises, nothing.

You were sobbing in earnest now. Hiccupping and shaking and breathing in harsh, shuddering breaths. You grabbed your phone, trying not to scream when your realized your hands were covered in blue blood. Connor's blood. Your best friend's blood. It took you too long to use your phone, with multiple pauses to wipe your sticky hands on your jeans.

When it finally began to ring, you cradled it between your ear and shoulder. You weren't sure what your hands could do, so you started wiping the blood from Connor's face. Away from his eyes, off his cheeks.

"This is Markus."

"Markus! It's me, you gave me your number in case of emergencies-- It's Connor, he's-- Connor's hurt, he's not awake and there's blue blood e-everywhere and I don't know what to do, I don't even know if he's--"

"Wait, wait-- slow down, where are you?"

"I-I don't know! Some random abandoned building off of— fuck— Riverbank Drive? Connor's been missing all day since he picked up this case by himself and I retraced his steps and I-- fuck, Markus-- I don't even know if he's alive!"

"I need you to tell me his condition so I can get some biocomponents for him-- can you tell anything from what you see?"

You balled the fabric of his jacket in your fist. You swallowed hard, "His chest looks really bad-- it’s all m-mangled and, and empty? He… He's lost a lot of blood— God, Markus, tell me he's not dead."

"I'm on my way with some help, alright? Send me your location and stay with him. If he wakes up, keep him still until we can get there, you got it?"

You sobbed again and nodded, covering your face with a blood-drenched hand. "I'll be here, I promise."

After Markus hung up and you sent him your location, he assured you he was coming as fast as he could.

You kneeled there, clutching the material of Connor's sleeves and crying. You were so useless. For all you knew, Connor was already dead, and you were here, holding his empty body. Androids were more resilient than humans, sure, but all living things had a limit. You'd never stopped to consider Connor was anything other than indestructible.

You heard Markus' footsteps echo through the empty structure some minutes later. You had managed to reel back your hysterical sobbing down to silent tears with some measured breathing but your resolve was… precarious.

"Markus! Over here!”

You didn't see him until he rounded the corner, Simon in step behind him.

"Jesus Connor--" He hissed as he ran to join you at his side. He had a case with him, which Simon got to work opening. Parts and tools, packs of blue blood.

"What happened?" Markus asked you as his eyes flickered over Connor's form, no doubt scanning his injuries.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the tears streaking down your cheeks and the blood on your hands, legs, face. You couldn't take your eyes off of Connor. "I don't know."

"Someone must've taken him by surprise--" Simon began, beginning to dig through his supplies. "Could've been some kind of electrical signal, got the jump on his hardware, lagged him out before the fight even started."

"Is he gonna' be okay?" You asked, now just holding onto the edge of Connor's jacket sleeve while Markus and Simon got to work.

"I don't know. Could depend on how long he was shut down."

Markus' hand reached deep into the cavern at the center of Connor's torso. He pulled out what must've been a biocomponent, mangled beyond your recognition. He passed it to Simon, before grabbing what you hoped was a new one from the case.

He swapped out a few pieces like that, all unrecognizable to your untrained eyes. Until finally Simon was holding one you knew. You'd forgotten it's name, but it belonged in the center of Connor's torso and regulated his heartbeat. That's how Connor had explained it anyway.

Before he situated the final part inside his chest, Markus spent some time repairing Connor's plating and wiring. Adjusting placements, bending pieces back into place, sometimes welding seams just enough to function. You stayed quiet, staring blankly at Connor's limp hand resting on the floor next to yours.

Useless.

You were utterly useless.

You started when Markus kur-chunk-ed the regulator into place in the center of Connor's chest, his hands angling back and forth to ensure the connection.

The faint sound of machinery blossomed out from his center. Quiet humming and whirring, like a computer booting up.

His face was mostly angled toward you but you couldn't see his LED. Markus and Simon were still at work. Connor's eyes still looked glazed over and empty.

You eyes caught on some movement toward the cement. His fingers twitching.

"He's awake," said Simon suddenly. "Keep him calm."

You looked back to his face, and while he still had that unfocused expression, there was something in his eyes. A clue that he could see you. Well, maybe sort of see you.

"Connor?" You tried softly. Your throat was tight with the promise of more tears. That familiar tingling in your nose, the watering of your eyes. "It's me, I'm here with Markus and Simon. You… You're safe."

"What…" His voice came out staticky and metallic. Like it was passing through an old radio. He blinked, slow. "What happened…?"

You swept a hair away from his brow. You hoped in his state he couldn't feel your trembling. As scared as you were, you didn't want to frighten him any further. His head turned just that little bit more towards you. His LED was a dim crimson.

"You got hurt. But you're gonna be fine. We're gonna take care of you."

His eyes fluttered, and he was that little bit clearer.

"You found me?"

You wanted to say 'barely', wanted to say 'by sheer dumb luck', wanted to say 'I almost didn't. I almost killed you'.

"Always."

"Alright, Connor, you're going to start to stabilize a bit,” said Markus finally as he seemed to finish up the last of what work he could do.

He slowly, slowly, turned his head to meet Markus' eye. Like a ghost.

"When you can stand, let us know. We need to get you back to Jericho for more repairs."

"Is he going to be okay?" You couldn't help asking again.

"Now that he's awake, as long as we get him to Jericho soon, he should be fine," Simon reassured. "You're going to be fine, Connor."

“Someone attacked me… I didn’t see their face… don’t remember…”

“It’s okay,” you added gently. “Take it slow.”

“They could still be here.” And his hand took yours in a staggering motion. Weak and slow and disjointed.

“We’re here, Connor.” Markus put his hand on his arm. “We won’t let anything happen to her.”

Even like this… Even with all this pain he was still worried about you.

“I can stand.”

You wanted him to take it slower, to not push himself too hard, but the sooner he got to Jericho the better.

You stumbled back, dropping his hand as Markus and Simon went to either side of him.

They slotted their arms under his and behind his back, helping him to his feet. He actually groaned a bit at the effort. It was a deep, staticky sound you’d never heard from him before.

You walked with them like that, trying not to start crying again. You went a few paces ahead of them to open doors and check around corners as the four of you made your way out.

Every time you glanced in Connor’s direction, he was already watching you with a clouded expression. The look was only made more intense by the smeared blue blood across his face and in his hair. You prayed you’d never see him this hurt again in your life.

“What’d you get yourself into now, my friend?” Markus’ voice carried a slightly teasing tone.

“Bad day at the… office… what can I say?”

When you made it outside to the crisp Detroit air, a car was waiting. You practically jumped in, punching in the destination to Jericho while the two men helped Connor into the car as delicately as they could. You eased him in from your side, bracing him against you. Another strained sound fell from his lips. He was still bleeding, and his lap quickly started to pool with blue blood once again.

“Fuck, Connor…” The whisper escaped you before you could stop it, your hand bracing against his dented plating where the thirium seeped from the seams.

“I’ll be alright… please, just… stay close…”

You pressed your lips together to stop more tears from surfacing. “I will, I promise.”

In some weird way, you’d never felt so close to him before. The two of you were just friends obviously, maybe even best friends, but right now… You felt like he could ask you anything— anything in the world— and you’d do it.

You thought about helping him sit up straighter, but instead kept him held against you. And he leaned into the hold.

The ride to New Jericho couldn’t go fast enough. It wasn’t a boat anymore, so at least you didn’t have to go as far as the docks. The now embassy-style building was closer to the heart of Detroit, and fully fitted with an android hospital, outreach programs, offices for the new android officials (the most prominent, of course, being Markus). A base of operations of sorts.

You’d been once before with Connor, hence how you got Markus’ number. You would never be able to thank him enough.

[toshisurtsdottir]

Rape and Retribution - Chapter 1

Yesterday, I asked if you'd like to read my Turpin fanfic. I decided that I'd upload it, see how it goes and if it goes well I'll keep posting it :) Technically, it's finished BUT there are a lot of scenes in between that are missing which I might add - we'll see. OH AND: It's kinda fluffy?? But also pretty dark. Idk. Find out I guess haha WARNINGS (for the entire fanfic): mentions of rape, rape, mentions of violent torture, violence, death, murder, NSFW ... and many more

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Summary: Toshi Vernier has a plan for her future. To gain her freedom, she has to get in contact with the ruthless Judge Turpin. He has other plans for her.

On the bustling streets of London, a thief could easily walk past dozens of people unnoticed by any of them. Today, Toshi had no intention of stealing, however. She had something else in mind entirely, something that was part one of her big path to freedom. The young woman was dressed up in men’s clothes: grey pants, an off-white blouse and a grey vest. Her long, white hair was hidden beneath a hat that had seen better days, but it served its purpose. From afar, one might say that she was just a small man going about his business. A bit shady looking perhaps, but that was the usual.

She was stalking around the courthouse, waiting patiently for Judge Turpin to emerge. She knew he would sooner than later. She had studied his behaviour for a few days now, finding out his schedule. Right on time, the heavy doors swung open and two men emerged. The tall judge, wearing a long coat that would make anyone else who wore it seem small. It seemed to be working the opposite on him, it just made him taller. Next to him, the Beadle. Beadle Bamford was a small man, rattish and always on the judge’s heels. Toshi eyed the Beadle angrily. He was one of the men who had, once or twice, taken her father’s offer to use Toshi’s body for their own pleasure. Toshi didn’t remember how often he had had her, she usually erased these encounters from her memory. But she knew he had taken her at least once. As she stared at him, her jaw and fists clenched, she failed to notice that the Beadle had bid the judge goodbye and was now headed the opposite direction. She almost wasted her chance as Turpin made his way down the main street, nearly getting swallowed in the crowd. Toshi snapped out of it and shook her head, snaking her way through the masses of people until she could almost reach him. She would follow him until he was in a more secluded place, then she would talk to him. She had trouble keeping up with the man. People got out of his way (he was a person of power after all) but they kept getting in Toshi’s. Finally, after a few minutes of her struggling to keep up, Turpin turned into a less frequented street. This was her chance.

“Judge Turpin! My Lord!” She called out, quickly jogging up to him. Clearly irritated, he turned around, his eyes instantly fixed on her figure. His nose scrunched up in disgust and he was about to turn and walk off when Toshi spoke a second time. “Please Sir, hear me out! I have important news you must know, my Lord!” She wasn’t one to address people by their titles, or show any kind of manners, but she needed to in this situation. She knew about Turpin that he saw everyone else beneath him and wanted them to treat him accordingly. “Spit it out, boy.” He hissed, albeit he didn’t stop walking or slowed down. Toshi was already out of breath, keeping up with him and speaking at the same time was a hard task to do. “My Lord, your life might be in danger! I came to –“ she stumbled over a small rock “- to warn you!”

Turpin then stopped dead in his tracks, causing Toshi to almost smack into him. He turned around, slowly, his eyes wandering from her face down to her chest (where they seemed to linger for a while), then down to her feet and finally flicked back up to her face. “And what, may I ask, makes you think so? The scum that inhabits these streets usually wants me dead. These are not news. You are wasting my time, child.” He hissed in a low tone, his jaw clenched. “Please, Sir. I am referring to a man known as Sweeney Todd. You see, my Lord, he is not who he seems. Or so they say.” She fumbled with the buttons on her vest nervously. She wasn’t one to get nervous in front of men. Her usual feeling towards them was rage. But he was dangerous, truly dangerous. And she was playing an even more dangerous game right now. “Todd?” He tilted his head, waiting for her to go into detail. Toshi didn’t want to let him wait.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve heard people say his true name is Benjamin Barker. Lost his wife and daughter… say he’s out to get revenge, my Lord.”

The last month, ever since getting that information, she had done a lot of research on Barker and Turpin. She knew that Turpin was responsible for Barker’s ruined life. She needed to get on the Judge’s good side (a vital bit of her freedom plan) and since she had no money to bribe him (unlike others), she hoped vital information would suffice.

Turpin’s eyes remained fixed on hers, a tired expression on his face. If this news worried him, he certainly didn’t let it show. “Benjamin Barker you say?” He raised an eyebrow, his voice a long drawl.. Toshi only nodded in response, hoping that he would like the information she had just given him. “He is supposedly back in his old home currently, in Fleet Street, working as a barber as he did before.” And after a pause: “My Lord.” Something then changed in Turpin’s expression. It seemed to be a mixture of worry, anger and something that Toshi couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Who are you?” He frowned, his eyes flicking down to her chest again.

“My name is Toshi Vernier, Sir.” Clearly, her name didn’t give him more insight on her gender, as his eyes kept flicking from her face to her chest. “I’m dressed as a man, so you’d listen to me, my Lord.” She quickly added. His expression softened as soon as he heard her say that. The fact she was female somehow changed his demeanour. “I see.” A long pause followed as he once more eyed her as if to confirm what she had just said. “I assume, given your disguise and secretive manner, that you want something in return for this information.” He sighed. Toshi wondered if he was used to this kind of exchange. She could imagine that most people would approach him to gain his favour. She wondered how many people actually got it.“I might, my Lord. If this information saves your life, I would like you to remember that I was the one to give it to you.” She nodded, taking off her hat, looking up at him hopefully.

Turpin walked closer to her, causing her to back up a little. Before she could get too far away, however, he grabbed her by the collar and roughly pulled her closer to him, his face only inches away from hers.

“If I find out that you’ve lied to me, that you’re somehow involved in this, I will make sure you’ll rot in a cell for the rest of your unworthy life.” He hissed, shook her and then pushed her away from him. She stumbled back into a nearby wall. He smirked, satisfied by his action, and turned around to leave.

Toshi’s heart was beating out of her chest as she watched him leave. This had gone exceptionally well in her mind.