trials-of-vj · 1 year ago
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Hello Pari! I'm not very good at telling pokemons' genders apart without being outright told, and I don't want to hurt any feelings, so; are you a guy or a gal? Nice to meet you, either way!
I'm a gal~ ^w^
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Thanks! ^w^ It's very comfy!
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Hmmmmm...
Well... Cody's always told me that Mews like myself are often hunted... My own mother was hunted...
So you'll have to forgive my wariness. It's... not always easy to tell if we can trust people. Especially since I can't sense you.
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Jovie was here before I came with Cody. We were thrilled to find out I'm not the only Mew! Even if it's just one other.
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@madamemaya @doughbrainer @tenshineko01 @willohwist @venomatemychocolate @novablaze015
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asurrogateblog · 2 months ago
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does these insane connections of your life with beatles and pink floyd lore ever scare you for real?
I try not to think about it too hard due to the absurd and ominous implications but clearly its some sort of hereditary curse that's not even worth fighting against. I swear to god I'll die from being hit with a hammer and I won't even be surprised
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lucimaaie · 1 month ago
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we ✧.* tlou
pairings - santa barbara!ellie x reader
summary - ellie promised herself she wouldn’t get attached to anyone after santa barbara, look how that turned out.
warning - angsty, not proofread cause i wrote this pretty quick, short (as always),
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After Santa Barbara, Ellie had no plan for the future. She’d left Dina and JJ and let Abby go. She knew would still have nightmares and the pain wouldn’t leave her. What else was there to do?
Maybe that was the reason she fought you as you tried to take care of her. “Leave me alone!” She said as you’d tried to help her up from the water, raising her arm around your neck. Thinking about it now, the memory of her weak attempt to tussle you made her laugh.
You fought as hard as she did despite being starved and traumatized yourself. She didn’t know your story, just that you were the only one who didn’t want to kill her as soon as you came out of that crowded cell. You knew that she was immune and that was it. Nothing else was important in the moment. Nothing she wanted to tell you anyway.
You took care of her so much she started to feel guilty for not returning the favor. Cleaning her wounds, taking first watch, giving her whatever food you two had left. Ellie questioned whether it was pity or too good to be true, that you’d try something the moment she relaxed. But as she got stronger, nothing bad happened. You cared for her all the same.
So she cared for you. She watched your back and let you sleep a bit longer since she knew her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. She held you the way you held her when she awoke screaming. Gave you light kisses everywhere to distract you (and her) from a haunting past she knew nothing of. Conversations weren’t your speciality. You didn’t know a lot about each other, but you knew each other.
Eventually, you got lucky and found an abandoned cabin far away from Santa Barbara and quickly settled in. It wasn’t big and there was one bed, but it was shelter. Ellie didn’t want to call it home just yet.
“We should move south.” Ellie blurted, shaking the snow off her boots onto the porch. She could already hear your lecture about letting the cold in, but that wasn’t her focus. Did she just say we? “I mean, nevermind. Here’s fine.” It wasn’t. It was cold as hell and she was tired of the cold she’d been in her whole life.
“No, why south?” You said as you adjusted the small sticks that provided at least a little warmth in the small space. Ellie came to sit down next to you, leaving no space between you. She looked at you, admiring how the orange light shone on your face.
“It’s hotter.” She held your gaze as you listened intently. “Probably make hunting easier.” Ellie knocked her shoulder into yours without much force.
“You ever been south?”
She shrugged before shaking her head. “Nope.” She looked at the fire. That might be a downside of south. No more needing to snuggle up to you to not freeze to death. South you probably have to give each other some space to cool off. “Was just a thought.” She scratched her ear. “What’d you do while I was out?”
“Counted our supply. put on the fire. cleaned our clothes. a bunch of nothing.”
“What about eating?”
“uh-no. forgot that part.”
“Course you did.” She sighed, rising to her feet and look around for the bag you two stuff all cans in. All your belongings in the cabin were generally pre-packed in case you had to run, but still the fact that you’d been able to accumulate these things together made her feel something she couldn’t describe. Annoyance was part of it. that she got so attached to you after she promised herself she wouldn’t. that it just complicated things. But that already happened the moment you’d kissed and let things go further.
“here.” She used her knife to open the can of beans and sat back next to you, handing them over.
“you do know we sleep in the same bed, right?” You hesitantly took the can and swished them around with the spoon.
“trust me i know, but i don’t need you losing body fat and clinging to me like a koala.”
“you’ve never even seen a koala.” You said, taking a bite of the beans. not bad but not good and most importantly not expired. You set the can down in the middle of you, signaling that you wanted to share. She shook her head and sighed as you pushed the can closer to her, your eyes saying ‘please.’ She took a small bite just to appease you and shoved it over to you. “just shut up and eat.” she swiped her thumb over the edge of your lip. “and stop eating like that. we’ll get you more food tomorrow.”
Hours later, ellie shot up in the middle of the night, her heart feeling like it would burst out of her chest at any moment. She choked on her own breaths as she buried her head into her knees. “it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real—“ She mumbled the same words you did when you saw her like this.
“ellie?” You sat up as well, watching her with concerned eyes. She started to sob as she heard your voice, whether out of fear or relief you didn’t know but you didn’t give it much thought as you ran your fingers through her hair, letting her cry in your lap.
Eventually her tears stopped, leaving her with a pounding head and the comforting silence you provided. Her head rose from your lap and she pulled you into her, not willing to let go. Her head rested on your shoulder as her hands roamed under your shirt. There were no words for a while.
When there were words, they came quietly. “el?” you whispered. She didn’t respond for a while, still stuck in her swarming thoughts. “yeah?”
“where are you from?” It felt like a random question to ask, but there was no way you were gonna ask what she dreamed about.
She blinked for a few seconds, surprised. It was a simple question, yeah, but it could lead to other questions. she was scared to answer and ask back. “boston, i guess.”
“oh.”
“why’d you ask?” She let her head fall back on the pillow and tugged on your shoulder, silently asking you to turn around. And you did, facing her.
“i guess i just realized i never knew that stuff about you.” You said, fidgeting with her hands as you awaited her response. It felt like some dangerous territory, you weren’t supposed to cross. That was weird, you already crossed other, farther lines. “should i have not asked?” You whispered, tentatively.
“no, you..” She cleared her throat. “you can ask.” She finally looked at you, eyes soft with fear, pain. “i just..i don’t wanna talk about it all.”And go back there, she wanted to say.
“you don’t have to.” You scooted closer to her, laying your head on her shoulder.
Elie wrapped her arms around your back, her legs around yours, and looked at you. She let out a deep sigh as her heart beat for a different reason this time. “we don’t have to talk about it all. not right now.” we, there was a we. she wasn’t making it up. “okay,” She kissed your forehead.
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thank you for reading!
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dilemmaontwolegs · 10 months ago
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Ghost Whisperer || CL16
AN: another one from the archives of forgotten fics.
Summary: gifted with the ability to talk with the dead, you meet a man who wants you to take him to Monaco to check on his godson.
Warnings: mentions of death
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Your family holiday had taken a turn when you reached Nice, France, and found the apartment that they had rented was already occupied. They were oblivious to the man who had lived there a decade earlier but your sixth sense had spotted him the moment you walked in the door.
“You’re going to love him,” Jules repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.
“This isn’t Tinder,” you said to the apparition sitting in the passenger seat of your rental car. “I’m just going to find your friend so you can finally rest.”
“What’s Tinder?”
“Nevermind.”
“And he’s not just my friend,” he corrected. “He’s my godson, he’s family.”
You sighed as you imagined how the conversation would go with a child. It was hard enough trying to explain your gifts to adults who understood what you were saying, they just didn’t believe you. Everyone thought you were just trying to scam them when you said you had a message from a loved one.
“He’s the kindest kid you’ll ever meet. You’ll see.” Jules smiled as you followed his directions and crested over the mountain range to see Monaco in all its summer glory. “Beautiful, right?”
You were awestruck by the sight of the sun on the sea and his smile grew at your loss for words. It was a shame you had to drive when all you wanted to do was sit and watch the city grow before your eyes. Unfortunately it took a huge amount of energy for a ghost to even move a feather so there was no hope of Jules taking over the steering wheel for you.
Once inside the city he directed you to a home that the family had lived in and hopefully still did. The white door had a large brass door knocker in the shape of a lion and it was cold to the touch when you grabbed it.
“Bonjour,” a friendly middle aged woman answered and Jules breathed her name like prayer. “Puis-je vous aider?”
“Do you speak English?”
“Yes, is there something I can help you with?”
You looked to your left and Jules gave you an encouraging smile. “I was hoping to speak to Charles. Is he here?”
You were aware it was a weekday and he was likely at school but it was still disappointing to see Pascale shake her head. “He hasn’t lived here for some time, are you a friend of his?”
She was already growing defensive, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for your answer. “No, we don’t know each other but a mutual friend asked me to pass a message to him.”
“Aw, we are friends,” Jules chuckled and you had to fight to resist rolling your eyes.
“Perhaps I should call my son,” she murmured as she held a hand up. “Just wait here a moment.”
She closed the door behind her and you waited impatiently as you shifted on your feet. “What happens if she doesn’t give up his address?”
“The city isn’t that big, I’m sure we can find him.” His attention turned to the door and he went to nudge you but his elbow went straight through, causing goosebumps to travel across your skin.
“Stop doing that,” you growled as the door opened. Pascale gave you an odd look as she found you alone waiting, but she didn’t ask who you were talking to as she held a phone out.
“He wants to know who this mutual friend is.”
You took the phone and raised it to your ear. “Hello, is this Charles?”
“Yes, now give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police and have you trespassed?”
You reeled back at the animosity, but also the depth of his voice. He was not the child you had envisioned. “I have done nothing wrong.”
“I understand you are a fan and I appreciate that, but you cannot just keep showing up at my mother’s house and expect to find me. There is a boundary and this is crossing it.”
You pulled back the phone to look at it in disgust before you turned and took a step away from his mother. “I don’t know who you think you are, hot shot, but I was only doing this because your friend asked me to. For some reason he thinks highly of you, but I can’t say the same.”
The seconds dragged on and if it wasn’t for his soft breathing you would have thought the call disconnected. “Who?” he finally asked.
You took a steadying breath knowing this was almost always the point that you lost their interest. “Jules.”
“Goodbye.”
“Charles!” Your ears rang with Jules’ outburst and the screen pixelated before returning to normal to show the call was still connected. Charles’ breathing turned ragged as he choked on his tongue knowing the voice he had heard. Doubt and other emotions roiled his insides but he couldn’t hang up no matter how much he wanted to.
An address rattled off his heavy tongue and Jules recognised the street name, giving you a nod. “I’ll see you soon,” you said as you handed the phone back to his mother.
“Please don’t hurt him,” she asked as she pocketed the device.
“I just want to pass on a message and go back to my holiday,” you promised, though she frowned at the evasive words that created more questions she held back.
By force of habit, her frown deepened when you nodded your head to the empty space beside you and muttered, “Come on then.”
Jules lingered another moment, his hand reaching for Pascale’s only for her to shiver and wrap her arms around herself. With a sigh, he turned away and heard the door click shut behind him.
“She was like a second mother to me,” he said quietly as he caught up. “The kindest woman I knew.”
“You also said Charles would be great but so far that is not how I am feeling.”
Jules had nothing to say to that, but it had been 10 years since his death. Perhaps a decade had changed Charles while Jules remained the same.
The apartment building was as pretty as the rest that you had passed but the afternoon sun left a shadow climbing its walls and you couldn’t help feeling like it was an omen as you buzzed his apartment number. Instead of answering, the front door unlocked and you stepped inside apprehensively. Each step on the tiled floor echoed and you followed the apartment numbers as you climbed the stairs to Charles’.
His door was already opened, a handsome man leaning against the doorway, and his eyes narrowed as they scanned you with each step closer. You wanted to elbow Jules for not telling you his godson was Adonis reincarnated but Jules was in his own state of shock seeing Charles grown into adulthood. The boy he knew was long gone, this was a man.
“My mother said to listen to you, that is the only reason you are here.” He stood up straighter, blocking you from seeing the inside of his home. “Say what you need to then go.”
You looked at Jules but he wasn’t any help as his jaw still hung open. You decided to go with honesty but really you were just taking a shot in the dark, he didn’t seem like the type to believe anything that was going to come out of your mouth. “My AirBnB in Nice came with a ghost named Jules and he wanted me to find you.”
Charles' hands dropped limp at his sides before a sharp laugh erupted and he stepped back into this apartment. He reached for his door, ready to slam it closed when Jules emerged from his stupor and whispered a few words for you to repeat.
“Bring it home, underdog.”
Charles froze at the words and nearly stumbled as he spun around. Anger painted his face and he closed the distance in a few strides as he shoved a shaking finger in your face. “What did you say?”
You swallowed at the animosity in his tone before straightening your spine and looking him in the eye. “The only way you show these guys you’re not a charity case is to prove them wrong and win, kid.”
His nose twitched as he struggled to understand the words he had heard once before. “Who told you to say that?”
You jutted your thumb at Jules. “You know who, the same man that told me.”
An array of emotions flitted across his face before settling on disbelief. “That’s not possible.”
“I wish,” you murmured before looking at Jules, and you felt bad. “Sorry.”
“I wouldn’t want that gift either,” he admitted. “Can you tell him he looks strong? And he finally grew into his big head.”
“Jules says you look good.”
“I said strong.”
“Strong, whatever,” you corrected. “He thinks you look strong. And you had a big head. Are you still racing?”
Charles followed your eyes to the space beside you but no matter how hard he tried to focus he couldn’t see anything. “I must be crazy.”
You snorted a laugh at what Jules said before repeating it. “No, you were crazy when you drove for years without knowing how to use the brakes.”
“I was eight,” Charles defended himself before realising that was not something widely known and something akin to wonder brightened his face. “Jules?”
“Yeah, kid, I’m here.”
Charles stepped aside and waved a hand in, urging you to follow him to the dining room table. He grabbed three bottles of water without thinking and then frowned as he put one back, a look of sadness washing over him.
“Don’t feel sad,” you said as you accepted the water. “Good things came about because of his death.”
Charles scoffed and untwisted the bottle cap with more force than necessary, spilling water over his hands. “Not for me.”
“You’re alive because of him, and that makes him happy,” you said, taking his hand across the table and squeezing it. “Because of Jules they made the halo and that saved your life, and others too. He would take the sacrifice any day.”
“Always,” Jules echoed. He placed his hand on top of yours and it drifted through, sending goosebumps up yours and Charles’ arms.
“Jules,” you growled as you shook your hand out, but Charles stared at his in wonder.
“I felt him,” he whispered in amazement. “Mon Dieu!”
The next few hours passed by with an onslaught of questions, mostly ‘how’. How do you do it? How long have you seen them? How did you find out?
Slowly the questions became more personal.
“Do you do this for work?”
“No way, well kind of, maybe…I’m studying history. It does help when the old professor still hangs out in the library. He’s happy to help whenever I have questions.”
“Isn’t that cheating?”
“It’s no different to a tall person playing basketball. Success is just playing to your strengths.”
“Is talking to the dead really a strength?” Jules asked as he crossed his legs and drummed his fingers on his lips, pondering. “Surely you are just missing out on life.”
“I don’t think you’re one to talk, you’re still here when you could be enjoying whatever afterlife awaits.”
“I wish I could hear him,” Charles sighed. “Why hasn’t he moved on?”
You shrugged and looked at Jules for an answer.
“I promised Hervé I would watch over him.”
Charles’ eyes misted and his head bowed as he tried to hide how he wiped the tears away. “I’m an adult now, Jules, you don’t have to stick around for me.”
“I see that now,” he said with a sad smile as he stood up and ruffled Charles' hair. “I love you, kid.”
Charles’ breath shuddered from his lungs as he felt the large hand on his head for a second before it disappeared. “Is he…is he gone?”
You watched Jules step out onto the balcony and warmth flooded the room as he faded into the shimmering light.
“Now he is,” you swallowed the lump in your throat that always came with the final goodbye. Standing up, you looked to the door and wondered if you should quietly leave but when you looked back at Charles, his eyes red and cheeks wet, you knew you couldn’t leave him that way.
Walking around the table, you took a seat next to Charles and took his hand. He broke away from staring silently at the wood grain and knots in the table and sniffled. “Thank you.”
“I would say anytime but…”
You smiled as Charles managed a small chuckle. “I think once is enough, but I wonder…” he looked around the room. “You haven’t seen my father have you?”
You shook your head. “There wasn’t anyone at your mother’s house either. It’s likely if he was at peace then he’s already moved on.”
“Good, that’s good.” He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes, wincing at the dampness on his hands. “Sorry.”
“I’m used to it, you cry as much as you want. There isn’t exactly a right way to feel when it comes to this,” you admitted as you looked out of the balcony to see the marina looking even more beautiful.
“I don’t know how to thank you.” He caught your lingering gaze and cleared his throat. “Maybe I could show you the city?”
“You’re probably in shock. You should rest,” you said with a shake of your head. “But I’m pretty sure I saw Monaco on my mum’s itinerary for next week. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. “Or maybe you could call me?”
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targaryenrealnessdarling · 10 months ago
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Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader
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Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!
Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici
warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting
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If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.
She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.
Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.
Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.
“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!” 
“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.
“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”
She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”
“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”
“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”
“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”
She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.
Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place. 
The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.
Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding. 
As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.
And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.
All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.
In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.
The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.
It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.
What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.
Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.
Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.
So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to  theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.
She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.
She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.
It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.
The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.
The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.
Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.
She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.
“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.
She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.
“Not particularly, no.” 
His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.
“Why's that?”
This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.
“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”
Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.
“So you're lurking about in here instead.”
He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.
He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.
“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.
She smiles lazily and shrugs.
“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”
He seems to consider her statement for a moment.
“Why come then?”
She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”
“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”
She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.
There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.
“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.
“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.
She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”
There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.
“Modern Languages.”
“Fucking hell,” he groans.
She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.
“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”
She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”
He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”
For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.
He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”
She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”
She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.
“Okay, okay, Michael.”
She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”
It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.
“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.” 
The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.
“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”
He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.
“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”
She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.
It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.
“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.
They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between. 
“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.
“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room  having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”
She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.
Was he checking me out?
As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.
“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”
He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.
“Can’t say there is.”
She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.
“And why not?”
He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”
“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”
He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.
“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”
The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.
Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.
“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”
He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”
She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.
A warmth swirls in her gut at that.
She circles the table, “what about in the past?” 
He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.
“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”
The way he says it.
She wouldn't be surprised if he was…
Oh.
“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”
She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.
He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”
She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.
“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”
He seems to miss what she's trying to say.
“Have you been with a girl?”
At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.
She knows she has her answer.
“Well…I…no, I haven't…”
At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.
“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”
His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”
It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it. 
“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.
This isn't normal in his world.
Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”
She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”
For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.
She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.
“What if what I want is…you?”
The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.
So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.
The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.
The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.
For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.
The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it. 
One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.
He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.
Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.
“Shit - sorry-”
“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”
The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.
Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.
“If you don't want to-”
“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.
She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”
He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.
“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”
He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”
She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.
It's always the skinny white guys.
“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.
She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.
Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.
She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.
She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.
And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it. 
Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.
He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.
When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.
The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.
It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.
“Fuck-”
It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.
His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length. 
“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.
If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.
Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.
His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.
When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.
“Fucking hell…”
She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.
And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.
“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.
“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.
“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”
His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.
She bites back a grin.
“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”
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minami-ff · 11 months ago
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I Want My Kids to Have Your Eyes
Levi x Reader (fluff, sfw)
what a bold thing to say to your captain.
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Moonlight hung over the hill like a comforting blanket as you both reclined an arm’s length apart on the soft grass beneath, bodies sinking into the earth. The day had been relentless, a gruelling mission that tested every ounce of strength. Now, in the quiet aftermath, you two found solace gazing upward at the summit’s view, shimmering like scattered diamonds against the canvas of the night sky.
The shared stillness remained comfortable, before you posed a soft interruption to the quietude, "Captain, do you ever think about your future?"
Levi's eyes briefly left the constellations above, attention shifting to you. "Yes, it usually ranges from the next second to the next few months. Which area of land outside the walls to explore, how defensive operations should alter for the next month, which day certain intelligen-”
“Captain-” You interrupted, then hesitated, the vulnerability of the topic making your heart race. "I meant a peaceful future, like having a family, kids?"
Levi's brow furrowed slightly. The thought of it was unfamiliar, impossible. "In this war? That’s far-fetched," he remarked, gaze returning to the stars.
A subtle smile grew on your lips as scenarios played at the back of your mind. "I know, of course, but don’t you ever imagine it? A life after the war, a future where Titans are just stories we tell our children." Levi's expression softened, a fleeting hint of wistfulness in his eyes.
"Like sometimes I think if I had children, I’d take them to play by the oceans, make adorable lunch sets," you continued, "how beautiful they would look if they had your eyes…" Embarrassment started flushing up as you realised you rambled on way too far.
His eyes widened imperceptibly, caught completely off guard by your comment.
"WAIT, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean having them with YOU, of course... definitely not…" You trailed off, a splash of pink painfully obvious on your cheeks. Get yourself together y/n, what on earth are you saying to your captain?
“Ouch.” A flicker of disappointment crossed his features. Levi cleared his throat, seemingly caught in the unexpected turn of the conversation. "Well aren’t you very in objection to that idea." he snickered, hiding a trace of sorrow beneath his face.
“Nevermind, I’m sorry, please forget what I said." You apologised in the tense atmosphere.
But Levi didn't dismiss it. Instead, his mind seemingly remained lost in contemplation. "How will your children have my eyes, if they don't have my genetics?" Determined to disprove your faulty reasoning.
You chuckled nervously, "I just mean I hope they’ll be a pretty colour, and delicate shape, like yours."
Levi displayed a rare vulnerability in his expression. He had never given thought to the aesthetic of his eyes; they were simply a part of him, a feature he never considered noteworthy. This was the first time he had received a compliment about them, and it left him momentarily speechless.
"At this rate, my most optimistic guesstimate is that I’ll be slaying titans till I’m 60." You broke the awkwardness joking, "in that case I might not be able to have kids, doubt any man would still take my crinkled self on a date anyway."
"Why not?" Levi replied seriously, his voice a soft echo in the tranquil night. "I won't be even a tiny bit surprised if you're still this beautiful at 85."
A blood-bathed blush adorned your complexion, stomach filling with butterflies and warmth, brain connections zapping around - wondering if he really thought that way, or,
“you’re just saying that.”
Levi sighed, “in all your years of knowing me, when have I ever felt obliged to tell a white lie, Comrade?”
"Right…” You muttered, with all sorts of thoughts doing laps beneath your skull, trying to continue the conversation as level-headed as possible. “Perhaps I'll meet my first love at 99,” a giggle escaping your breath as you joked.
Unexpectedly, Levi's response carried a weight that belied the casual banter. "Well. I think people can be in love without being in a formal relationship. You could easily have your first love now."
Your gaze laid upon his side profile, slightly puzzled by his logic, "but how can you be in love with someone without holding hands, saying mushy things, and all that?"
His head turned towards you, a moment of silence filling the air with eyes drilling into yours, revealing a sincerity that tugged at your heart. "I definitely can."
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honeyed-hedonist · 4 months ago
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Parings: Jason Todd x afab!Reader Word Count: 4.4k Warnings: SMUT—MINORS DNI. mentions of blood, gore, and violence, oral (f & m receiving), lots of teasing, degradation (jason todd is a big meanie), a lil bit of a size kink if you squint (hims a big, big boy), an obscene amount of dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, jason has multiple orgasms (he’s got stamina, baybee), creampie, cum swapping, and, as always, declarations of love (barf). A/N: I wrote this for my sweet baby angel @heli0s-writes in a little fic swap we’re having because we like to scream at each other about all the fictional men we want to rail us into a pulp. I love you! I hope this makes your brain melt. Tehe 😈 (Reposting from my former blog)
IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY, PLEASE REBLOG IT.
Jason Todd is a menace. The absolute bane of your existence. 
Who does he think he is banging on your door at 3:45 in the morning? As if your neighbors needed another reason to gossip about you. Nevermind all the probing questions that were poorly masked as casual conversation when you were using the on-site laundry room or grabbing your mail. If you had to hear “So, you and Red Hood, huh?” one more time, you were going to rip your hair out. 
But Jason has always been brazen—not much has changed since the day you found him bleeding out in an alley between your apartment building and the pet shelter next door. He had a gunshot wound, lacerations over damn near every square inch of him, his mask all but shattered and exposing most of his face to you as you did your best to haul his massive frame up from the ground to drag him inside and patch him up. He had grinned at you the entire time, flirted with you while you fished the bullet out, asked you to dinner as you wiped the grit and grime off of his neck and chest. He hasn’t left you alone since.
You love him, of course. How can you not? He’s 6’4” of muscled steel, all wrapped up in a handsome, roguish bow with a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind. Any woman alive would be hard-pressed to resist his charms and you’re no exception, but it’s difficult to remember those warm, fuzzy feelings when he’s pounding on your door hard enough to wake the dead.
With bleary eyes, you unlatch the locks and yank it open, hissing at him as you fist your hand into the lapel of his jacket and tug him inside, ignoring the wide-eyed look on your neighbor’s face from across the hall. Your annoyance is overshadowing the rest of your senses, so you don’t see the tent in his pants, don’t notice his lust-blown pupils when he shucks his helmet off and throws it aside. Instead, you whirl on him, an accusatory finger pointed squarely at his chest in preparation to scold him.
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why couldn’t you just come in through the window? I keep it unlocked for this exact reason, Jason! You stubborn fucking ass—mmph!” His mouth is on you instantly—demanding and desperate as he crashes his lips into yours, uninterested in hearing your lecture. His gloved hands lift you off the floor in one fluid motion that has you instinctively wrapping your legs around his hips. You feel it then, the heavy, hard length of him trapped between your bodies and you gasp, an action that he capitalizes on by shoving his tongue past your teeth and into the back of your throat.
The tang of coppery blood fills your mouth and has you retreating, pushing back on his chest to look at him, but he’s right there chasing your mouth, walking blindly towards your kitchen table to set you down. “Jay—honey, wait. Are you—fuck!” His teeth are sharp against your throat, silencing your protest with the harsh sting of pain, grunting as he grinds his hips between your spread thighs. 
“Shut up,” He growls, voice low and dangerous, sending your synapses into overdrive, drowning out what little restraint you have left. “Need to be inside you. Need to hear those sweet sounds, baby, just—let me.”  Jason’s fingers are shaking when he moves to peel your shirt off, and you know it’s the adrenaline, that he’s high from the violence of his nightly patrol, teetering on the edge of losing control. These nights, you think, are the ones he needs you the most—seeking salvation with your body, tunneling his way to absolution with powerful thrusts of his hips, because if you can love all the fucked up parts of him, can love him even after all of his mistakes, then maybe, in his mind, he’s worth something afterall. 
So you nod, your own hands making quick work of the kevlar and leather he’s covered in, helping him shed layer after layer of it off until he’s bare chested and heaving with labored breaths. It’s then that you notice the gashes that cut diagonally across his collarbone, the skin ripped in a way that makes you shudder. Claws? A serrated knife? You can only imagine the kind of monsters he grappled with tonight. His chest is smeared with congealed, drying blood, a trail of it leading down his stomach, seeping into his briefs and tactical pants, staining the tuft of coarse, dark hair that leads to his pubic bone an ugly shade of rust.  
His eyes have turned shark-like—a depthless obsidian that makes him look possessed, the usual crystalline blue almost completely eclipsed by his blown out pupils. You should be terrified by the sight, the danger lurking within that endless dark, but your demons have always called to his, so all it does is stoke the flames now licking their way down your spine to pool between your legs. His gaze shifts the second your hands fall to your panties, exhaling a shaky breath as you try to wiggle out of them, to grant him access to the part of you that only he gets to explore.   
Jason snarls then, swatting your hands away to rip the flimsy strip of cotton clean off, tossing it over his shoulder where it floats delicately to the floor in shredded ribbons of fabric. And then he’s on his knees, dropping to your floor with a loud thud that has the knick knacks hanging on your walls tinkling with vibration from the force of his herculean frame hitting the laminate. He scoots closer, boots scuffing your floor, the heat of his stare now focused on your puffy slit. Every exhale is a rumbling growl, hot breath fanning out against your pussy as he inches closer and you bite your lip, ready to muffle the sound you know he’s going to tear from your throat the second he puts his mouth on you.
Warm, calloused hands skate up the insides of your thighs, throwing them open even wider to accommodate the width of his shoulders when he leans in. Jason’s nose settles against your slit and he inhales, breathing in the musky scent of your arousal. It leaves you frozen in place, barely breathing when you watch his eyes roll back with pleasure. It sends your pulse straight to your clit and you whimper, the sound acting as a catalyst for him to dive in tongue-first and lick a wet stripe through your folds. He moans at the taste of you, a deep, salacious vibration of sound that rattles your bones. It has you hooking your hands around the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip, mouth slack when Jason’s deft tongue and plush lips begin to work you over.
He’s precise and purposeful when he eats you out—applying just the right amount of pressure, finding the perfect moments to snag that bundle of nerves with his teeth, gumming at your velvety cunt with his mouth, his tongue attuned to your every need. It takes him no time at all until you’re whining, begging like a god damn harlot, your fingers wound harshly into the roots of his hair, pulling him in, fucking yourself on his face. His girl. Perfect and needy, just the way he likes you.
But, again, Jason Todd is a fucking menace, glancing up at you with that wild look in his eyes, clocking the way your eyebrows are knitted together, the way you’ve got him pressed so deeply between your legs that he can barely breathe—he knows you’re close, can feel your thighs trembling against his ears. He waits, feasts on you until your eyes roll back into your skull, until he knows you’re about to rocket into a release—and then he stops, withdraws his mouth—a mouth that’s glistening with evidence of your pleasure, and offers you a sadistic smile.
“You thought I was gonna let you cum, princess?” He goads, swatting at your pussy hard enough that it sends you reeling, your body jerking with a yelp. “Nah…Tonight you cum on my cock and nowhere else.” Jason rocks back on his heels and stands, towering over you, crowding your space as he takes your jaw in his hand, his grip hard and unforgiving. “Do you understand me?” 
There’s a war happening in your mind, because you know he needs this control, know he’s standing on a very dangerous ledge and you have to tread carefully, but fuck if you don’t want to cop an attitude, push him right off that cliff just to see what he’ll do. Seconds tick by like minutes, his eyes bouncing between yours, expectancy evident on his handsome face while you contemplate how much you value the use of your legs and whether you’ll need them tomorrow. 
“I don’t take orders from you, Todd,” You spit, jerking your chin free from his hold. Curiosity has clearly gotten the better of you, and the fire your response sets ablaze in Jason’s eyes has your stomach flipping. His mouth curls into a wicked little smirk, and then you feel that same hand of his wrap around your throat and squeeze; hard. 
He bends forward, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear, tongue tracing the edge of the cartilage. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, hmm?” Your breath hitches at the gravel in his tone, and now you know without a doubt that you won’t be doing any walking tomorrow, let alone moving. Thank god you have some PTO saved up. 
Jason’s spine straightens when he yanks you off the table, the movement so fast you don’t have enough time to process what’s happening until your ass hits the floor and you wince. “Well, would ya lookit that.” He mocks, palm slapping against your cheek before he’s hooking two fingers into your mouth to suppress your tongue. “Since you’re down there already—might as well make yourself useful, yeah?” 
Fuck. Sometimes you forget the cruelty he’s capable of, the way he can talk so mean, degrade and embarrass you for the sake of your shared pleasure. It’s exactly what you asked for, and he always delivers. With blush stained cheeks, your face pinched in a glare, you reach for his pants, popping the button open, tugging the zipper down, and shucking the blood-stained bottoms and cotton briefs to his knees. What you’re met with has your jaw working, saliva pooling behind your teeth because goddamn is he hung. 
Jason is fucking massive everywhere, so it goes without saying that his dick would carry some weight, but it still astonishes you every single time you see it. Bobbing invitingly in your face, angry red at the tip and oozing precum, veins prominent and pulsing along the shaft just begging for attention, his cock sits proudly above an even heftier set of balls, and you clench remembering just how good they feel smacking your sensitive clit when he pounds you out from behind.
His fingers are still playing against your tongue, sliding over the wet muscle until he breaches the back of your throat and you choke. There’s drool seeping past his knuckles, dribbling onto your chest, and he hums his approval, eyes glittering with the promise of what’s to come. One last pass of his calloused digits before he’s angling his tip and pushing his length into the wet heat of your mouth with a grunt. “This is a much better use for that mouth of yours, don’t you agree, princess?” Jason coos at you, pressing forward until your eyes screw shut, tears trickling down your cheeks when his cock seats itself deep in your esophagus. “That’s a good girl—open up that throat for me. Yeah, just like that—fuck.”
Soggy, spit covered fingers curl against the crown of your head as Jason begins to thrust, fucking your mouth. Your eyes are blurry, crossing each time he bottoms out, breathing harshly through your nose with every withdrawal, your palms digging into the meat of his thighs to keep you steady, to keep you rooted enough to take his assault. Over and over again he drives his hips forward, the slippery sound of the suction of your lips is so fucking obscene it makes you moan. That filthy, wet squelch ringing out as more saliva trickles from the corners of your mouth, bubbling up in sloppy arcs that web between your chin and his cock, matting into his pubic hair, commingling with the remnants of his blood. 
You’re sure your face is stained pink from it by now, and you couldn’t care less, not when Jason’s face is twisted so beautifully above you—jaw slack and cheeks red, sweat marring his brow, hair curling at his temples and the nape of his neck. He looks so goddamn pretty when he loses himself in you like this that it makes the ache in your throat worth it, makes tomorrow’s hoarseness a welcome battlescar if only for the vision of him lost in the throes of violent passion above you right now. “Shit—m’gonna cum, princess. S’too good, I can’t—”
You slip your hand beneath your chin, between your bodies, cupping his balls, teasing them, rolling them in your palm, and he roars, bottoming out to cum down your throat. His cock pulses against your tongue and you wiggle it against his length appreciatively, humming while you swallow down spurt after spurt of milky semen until he’s pulling out with a hiss. Jason’s big hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up while he huffs. “Best little cocksucker, baby, but I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”
Before you can blink. Jason hauls you up and deposits you right back onto the kitchen table, throwing your legs open. Letting out a low whistle, he drags the pad of his thumb up through your folds, swiping over your throbbing clit with a chuckle. “Such a pretty little pussy, hm? So eager, so fuckin’ desperate, clenching around nothing at all. You just wanna be full, don’t you?” He goads, slotting his hips between your thighs, letting the heavy weight of his dick slap against your sensitive pearl until you’re mewling, fingernails biting into his forearms.
“Jay—please,” You whine, your voice scratchy and rough, and he shakes his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth while his eyes make a slow trek up to meet yours. 
“After your little performance? Not a chance, sweetheart. I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready, but for now? For now you’re gonna put on a show for me. Let me see how you stuff that needy cunt when I’m not here.” He smirks viciously down at you, wrapping his fist around his length, pumping slow and languid while your face heats with embarrassment. 
The weight of his stare presses down on you, hot and heavy, as you guide a trembling hand between your legs, fingers dipping through your slick, peeling your lower lips apart with a breathy sigh. Despite his bravado, you know how bad he wants to be buried in your heat, cock shoved so deep that the tip batters against your cervix. It’s that thought alone that spurs you on, two fingers pushing into that wet, hungry hole with a moan. You hook them upwards, seeking, pressing against that tender little spot that makes your back arch, fucking yourself while he watches, his muscles coiled in waiting like a predator about to strike. It’s maddening—no matter how fast or how hard your fingers work into your pussy, it’s not enough, it’s never enough and he knows it.
“Feels good, huh, princess?” Jason huffs, pumping his dick while he watches you, taunting you with his words. “But you want more—can see it on that pretty face. Those little fingers just don’t cut it, do they? Course not, you need more. Need this fat cock, don’t you?” The whine that pours out of your throat is meek and pathetic, because he’s right and you can’t hide from him—not when you’re splayed out so beautifully like this. 
How many nights have you spent lying on your sheets chasing an unsatisfying release at your own hands. It’s never as good as it is with him, because Jason knows you. Knows all the ways to make you keen and writhe and burst. “Go on,” He says, “let me hear you say it. Beg me real nice and I might give you what you want.”
God damn him, you think, because he never makes it easy, not on nights like this when the battle is still fresh in his mind, when the adrenaline is still plowing through his veins. And god damn you if it doesn’t light you right up, heating the already charged air between you both. Your head falls back with a thud against the table and he tuts at you, pulling your gaze back where he wants it—on him. There’s a lump in your throat despite your fingers still working your cunt, the shame of having to beg both igniting your desire and stoking the fire of your petulance. Gritting your teeth, you spit the words he wants to hear at him with indignant venom. “Please, Jason. Want—need your cock. Fuck me, baby, just—” He chuckles darkly, free hand moving to grip your chin, his thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw.
 “Oh, I think you can do better than that.” Jason sucks a breath in through his teeth, his handsome face scrunched up with pleasure, and you catch sight of his other thumb swabbing over the tip of his cock, still rock hard and leaking between his clenched fist. “Try again.” 
“Fuck!” You spit, fingers soaked as they dive in and out of your pussy with delicious friction. Swallowing what remains of your stubborn pride, you gaze at Jason from beneath your lashes, your eyebrows furrowing, features turning soft and pleading. “Please, baby,” Your voice lifts an octave higher—whiney, simpering—and it works. Jason groans, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Fuck me, baby. Please fuck me. Need you, need that cock—please? M’so empty without it. Wanna cum all over you, Jason. Please!”
“That’s my girl,” He croons, tilting his head to capture your mouth in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else, distracting you enough that you cling to him, fingers carding through his hair while the head of his cock prods through your slit until it catches on your opening and he drives his hips forward, stretching you apart in one powerful, rough thrust.
It forces a scream from your throat that he swallows, bottoming out until his pelvis rests flat against the pocket of fat above your pussy. “Fuck—give me your fingers, baby. Put ‘em in my mouth.” Jason commands, and you know exactly what he wants, bringing your damp middle fingers up to his face, letting him suck the remnants of your efforts from your skin. You watch, hypnotized, as his eyes roll back and he starts to move, his teeth sinking into the digits while he fucks you. 
There’s nothing quite like having a cunt full of Jason Todd. The sting that comes from the sheer size of his dick, the way it stretches you to your very limits, those gummy walls forced open wide to accept every angry stab of his length. He bullies his cock into you, pounds hard enough that your kitchen table slides across the floor with each stroke. But he follows right along with it, hammering into you while his tongue slides between your fingers, sucking on them like a damn pacifier. It’s sinful, filthy, and raw—makes you absolutely feral, crying out for him over and over again, free hand dragging harsh lines down his muscled back so hard you’re certain you’ve broken the skin. 
“Mhmm,” he hums, letting your fingers fall from his mouth. “I know, baby. I fucking know—swear to god you were made for me. Take my cock so fucking well—shit!” He growls, righting his posture and reaching for your ankles. Jason locks both of them in one hand, closing your thighs together, making you even tighter, the fat lips of your pussy peeking out between your legs. The sight has Jason grunting like a wild animal. “That’s my pussy, huh?” He asks and you nod, completely lost to the mind-numbing pleasure he’s supplying. “Know it is. Always gonna be mine, baby. Gonna ruin this little cunt for anyone else. Gonna wreck it.” 
The world shrinks until it’s just you and Jason, no concern for your neighbors who can undoubtedly hear the way your kitchen table knocks against the wall every time he pounds his dick into your pussy, not a single care other than him and the way he loves you—the brutal way he fucks you. Resting both of your legs against the side of his chest that isn’t cut open, he hugs them close, looks down at you, and god, you’ve never seen him quite like this. It’s mesmerizing. 
And then he’s spreading your legs, pushing your shins up and into your chest, folding you in half. The new angle sends his cock even deeper, and you let out another rapturous cry, each stroke pummeling your cervix. He shushes you, fingers mashing your cheeks together in a tight grip. “Eyes on me, princess. Wanna see you fall apart.” 
So you watch, helpless and at his mercy, when his free hand wedges between your legs, fingers seeking out the place where you’re stretched around his dick, stroking it lovingly before moving his attention to your stiff, aching bud. Jason tilts his head, dropping his chin to his chest, letting a drizzle of spit cascade down between you. It hits its mark, splashing against the hood of your clit and rolling down until he catches it with his thumb, sluicing it up and over your pearl. 
“Don’t you dare hold back.” He commands, and all you can do is nod, tits practically tucked under your chin, body jolting from his incessant, endless assault. And then his fingers start to move and you wail. The friction is a welcome respite from the brutal way he’s handling you. Jason plays your clit like he knows what you’re feeling, flicking and tugging, applying enough pressure that the heat beginning to bloom in your belly burns hotter, a blazing inferno that’s about to consume you. “That’s it, let it out. Come on, angel, give it to me. Soak my fucking thighs.”
There’s always this brief moment before you cum—the universe stilling for the tiniest of seconds right before you unravel. You lock eyes with Jason in that instant, lip pinched between your teeth to try and muffle the noise you’re making. He nods at you, encourages you to let it go, tells you that he’s got you with just the look in his eyes, and it’s the truth. When time catches up to you in the next blink of your eyes, you fucking explode. Your back arches, knees slamming into your chest while you scream and quake beneath him. Jason wrangles you through your convulsions, pins your limbs to the table, coos and hushes you, lavishes you with praise while your cunt gushes around the intrusion of his cock. And what a fucking mess you’ve made. 
His teeth grit when he feels your cum wet his stomach and thighs, dribbling down his balls, and that’s the final nail in the coffin for Jason. With a roar of your name, he pumps into you a final time before he, too, loses himself. Jason cums hard—so hard that he damn near goes blind and deaf, vision whiting out, ears ringing as he empties himself into your swollen, fucked out pussy. It’s endless, the thick ropes of spend that now paint your insides. So much that you can’t contain it, a few errant, creamy strands dripping out of the place your bodies are joined. 
When he blinks his eyes open again, he catches as much as he can on his fingers, licks it into his mouth, and yanks you into his arms to kiss you. You’re barely conscious, but you kiss him back anyways, and Jason can’t stop the smile that curls his lips as he feeds you his cum from the tip of his tongue. Brushing your sweat matted hair off your forehead, his smile widens, peppering your reddened face with kisses. “You still with me, baby? Or have I fucked you stupid again?”
A halfhearted swat to the side of his head is your answer, and he laughs, the sound warm and infectious. There’s something so sweet about his laugh, it’s always made your chest swell, deep and gruff and perfect—just like him. You both stay locked together, his arms around you in a tight embrace, until your mind finally floats back into your body enough for you to remember how to be a person again. “Hey—as incredible as that was, and don’t you dare get an ego about it—you’re still very fucking injured, Jason.” 
Another laugh, his lips smacking against yours in a final peck that has you grinning right back at him. “Yeah, alright, I hear you, boss.” Jason teases, right before easing his softening cock from inside you. There are wounds that need tending, but he’s not quite ready to let go of this moment, feeling whole with your body wrapped up in his arms. He presses his forehead to yours once more, warm breath fanning out against your heated skin. “I love you, baby.” He whispers it, soft and sweet, your heart melting at the declaration. 
It’s a sentiment you return without hesitation, arms moving to cup his face—your whole world now held between the palms of your hands—and tilt his face back to level him with your stare. “I love you,” you answer, conviction heavy in your voice as you brush your nose against his “always.” Jason’s breath hitches in his chest, because nothing on this earth could have ever prepared him for the peace, the utter tranquility that loving you and being loved by you has brought him. Despite the lump in his throat, the tears misting his gaze, he echoes “always,” right back to you, kissing you tenderly until you’re both dizzy, until the world around you fades once again, until all that’s left is you and him. Just the way you like it.
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mythicmanuscripts · 3 months ago
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PLEASE more aemond PLS i am on my knees begging for scraps. ur one of the only writers who actually GETS him
Thank you so much!! One of the main reasons why I started this blog is because I couldn’t find much content of Aemond and how I picture him so this means a lot!! I have a few little ideas that aren’t really long enough for full imagines that I’m just gonna babble on about here for more sub!Aemond content :)) also, you guys are more than welcome to send more requests and to send more specific requests!! Anyway, here’s some random disjointed sub!Aemond babble
I didn’t intend for this to all be SFW thoughts it kinda just happened?? Honestly I have no idea how but yeah this is all SFW, I am happy to write more NSFW though! So if you have any ideas for NSFW sub!aemond then let me know :))
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The first time you ever give Aemond anything resembling an order is at your first dinner after your wedding. Aemond is stiff and formal, barely entertaining conversation, you get the impression that he wishes he were anywhere else.
There’s a pitcher of wine next to Aemond, and you ask to have more wine. You say this out loud, and as expected a servant immediately takes the wine pitcher and fills your glass. You thank them, but then to your surprise when you look back at Aemond he looks angry, and maybe even tells the servant to get lost?
So now obviously you’re beyond confused and you ask him what’s wrong. Which leads him to blush. BLUSH?? And he softly mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like “you asked me to do it and they did”
You press him and eventually realise that for whatever reason, Aemond thought you were asking him to refill your glass and he’s upset that a servant did it before he could. Which… you’ve never been so confused in your life because you what?? He’s barely even speaking to you and then he’s upset he couldn’t fill your glass?? He’s upset he couldn’t do that has always been the servants job?
So without thinking you get up, put your now full wine glass on the cabinet and grab an empty one. You sit back down and ask Aemond to fill your wine glass. You expect him to roll his eyes but he immediately takes the wine pitcher and fills your glass and then gets up and carries the glass to your side of the table, putting it down for you.
You thank him, and to your shock he… smiles?? So then you decide to lay it on thick and say “thank you very much Aemond, I appreciate it” and then he just… actually starts a proper conversation with you and seems very pleased with himself??
So after that you start experimenting, asking Aemond to do things for you, thanking him when he does and praising him and well, he now follows you around everywhere you go and will fire any servants who dare to try and do whatever you’ve asked him to do.
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When Allicent first met you, she was beyond relieved because she very quickly realised how much influence you have over Aemond. She thinks that she’s finally found a way she can control Aemond and ensure he behaves and does what she wants.
Unfortunately she very quickly realises how wrong she was when she tries to form some sort of pact with you and you shoot her down immediately. You tell her that you have absolutely no interest in being a tool for her to use to control Aemond.
And well, now allicent is in even worse a position because before Aemond would at least mostly listen to her and now? Now Aemond doesn’t even look at her, nevermind speak or listen to her.
Aemond gets all the love and affection and guidance he could ever need from you. Allicent could be on fire next to him and he wouldn’t even notice.
————————————
The first time you suggest kneeling for Aemond, he’s mildly offended. He thought you understood how much he needed to be cared for and loved and never degraded and now you want him to kneel for you?
But, Aemond trusts you and he knows you always know what’s best for him so he agrees to try it once. You put a pillow down on the floor in front of a chair by the fire in his chambers. You sit down on the chair with a book, and have Aemond kneel on the pillow. You let him rest his head on his inner thigh.
Within 2 minutes Aemond is obsessed. He just…. He feels so safe?? You’ve got your hand in his hair, the fire is providing warmth, and it’s just the two of you. Very quickly he closes his eyes and just lets himself drift, the sounds of the fire and of you turning pages lulls him into this calm, almost half asleep state.
So obviously from there kneeling for you becomes common place. And maybe he even starts to tell you things while he kneels? It’s like once he’s there, his head on your thigh, all nice and safe, he’s able to just vent and complain and tell you everything that’s been on his mind.
As much as Aemond loves hearing your counsel and always asks what you think of things, you don’t give him any advice while he kneels for you. That’s not the time, he only wants to be allowed to vent and feel safe when he kneels.
And then maybe you also start reading to him? And god Aemond is just in heaven, not a single one thought in his head. He vents to you, gets all his frustrations out and then gets to just close his eyes and listen to your voice until he’s about to fall asleep right there. Then you help him up and crawl into bed with him, he’s asleep before you can even blow out the candles.
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deadsetobsessions · 6 months ago
Text
Pt. 3
Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.
——
Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.
He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.
A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.
At least this time, the conception was consensual.
Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.
How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?
It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.
His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.
He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…
How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.
The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.
“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”
“Go to sleep, Bruce.”
“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.
“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”
Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.
Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.
…Nevermind.
He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”
“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”
Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.
“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”
“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”
“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”
Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.
Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”
“Please. Always.”
Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”
“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”
“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-
“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’
“But…”
“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”
“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”
“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”
“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.
“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.
“Thank you, Alfred.”
“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.
——
Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.
She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.
“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.
“You as well, my beloved daughter.”
‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’
Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”
The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.
——
A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.
She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.
“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.
The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.
She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.
She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.
“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.
(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)
“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.
(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)
“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”
She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’
“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.
‘No, you were smarter.’
And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.
“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”
Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.
On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.
“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”
She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.
She offered him a short nod.
——
“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.
The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.
But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.
No.
It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.
It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.
Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.
It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.
From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.
Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.
Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”
She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.
“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”
‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.
Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.
“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.
Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.
“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”
Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.
“I will bring your bags up to your room.”
She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.
‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’
“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.
“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”
Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.
Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.
Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)
“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”
Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.
Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.
Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.
——
She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.
“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”
Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.
“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.
She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.
(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)
‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.
“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”
Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.
No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.
‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’
“….you do?”
‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.
Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”
She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.
“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”
She waited.
“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”
‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’
Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.
“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.
——
She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.
‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.
It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.
Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.
She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.
——
“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.
‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.
“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”
His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.
An implicit challenge.
“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.
“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”
Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.
——
Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.
Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.
Alfred made a note to study some more magic.
“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”
“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”
“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.
Alfred made another note.
‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.
Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”
‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.
They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.
Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.
‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’
“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”
Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.
“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”
She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’
She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.
She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.
His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”
She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’
Alfred stiffened.
“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.
‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’
Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.
“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”
She nodded.
“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”
‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’
Alfred itched for his gun.
“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.
‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’
“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.
“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”
“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”
‘I have never tried it before.’
“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”
Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.
——
Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.
Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me
——
Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?
Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP
——
Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.
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lipringlrh · 1 year ago
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race for your heart | mv1
summary: you’re not meant to be there, but you can’t stay away, especially not from the racer who can’t stop winning.
pairing: illegal street racer!max x fem!reader
an: might be my fave thing i’ve ever written. thinking of making this a mini series, thoughts? i’m also not an illegal street racer and have never seen one so might not be accurate x
word count: 3.7k
warnings: illegal, police chase, speeding, mentions of drugs and dodgy men
feedback appreciated and requests open!!
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You'd been here a few times before, not regularly, never more than twice a month, but enough times to know how everything goes. You weren't meant to be here the first time, you found it by a complete accident but you were grateful now. It filled you with both excitement and dread to be here. It was illegal and wrong, nevermind the fact someone could die.
The place was crawling with creeps and criminals everywhere, one wrong move or one wrong sentence could get you on the wrong side of some dangerous people, but you lived for the thrill. The danger of the drive, and watching the drivers do it. In brand new sports cars you could only dream of affording. You didn't really know much about the drivers, except one.
Max.
He caught your eye instantly when you'd first shown. He was stood there, head to toe in black, his arm placed carefully on his car, showing off all the right bits. He was the reason you kept coming back. He was fast, quicker than all the other drivers, and everyone knew it. He was the one people wanted to challenge, to beat, but they never seemed to.
You'd seen the bets. The money people were giving to the winner after every race. More money than you knew what to do with. You craved it, the luxury and the lifestyle, but it seemed impossible. You weren't a fast driver, and you weren't a criminal by any means yet you still found yourself drawn here every time. And drawn to the driver everyone deemed untouchable.
He was the same today: a winner. You never expected any different, no one did. All the prizes were handed to him on a gold platter. Crowds cheered for him, men patting him on the back as he got out of his car to grab a beer. He met your eye again as he sat at the bar. He was left alone now, the crowds already moving on to the next big thing to talk about. He didn't look away, and for the second time, he found himself walking over to you.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone, again?" He grumbled, taking a sip of his beer. He changed his clothes after the race, now dressed in a white button-down and jeans.
He was weary of you the first time you met. You looked lost, you were, and you were not the kind of person to be here. You looked too pure and good to be surrounded by lousy criminals with more money than they knew what to do with. He wondered if you were with the police, trying to scope out the area and shut it down, but he learned quickly he was wrong.
You explained you were lost and he blindly believed you. He was worried once you figured out what you were doing that you would go to the police but he made you promise you wouldn't, and after he watched how your knees went weak after he called you a "good girl," he knew you wouldn't.
He saw you the next few times you went, looking less and less lost every time, but he never caught your eye long enough to feel confident in walking over. "Can you imagine that?" He thought to himself, "I'm treated as though I'm a fucking god around here and I still can't talk to a girl." He beat himself down over it, watching you interact with people he never wanted you to talk to, in fear they'd ruin the pure image he'd created of you in his head. So he watched from afar, giving creeps the eye long enough to scare them off. Of course, you didn't know it was him sending these men away, but sometimes you were grateful and other times you weren't. He felt bad for a moment before not caring again. "It's to keep her safe," he promised to himself every time.
You didn't reply to him immediately, instead drinking in his appearance: the way his face looked under the moonlight, the way his jaw locked when you didn't reply, and the way his shirt stretched over his muscles perfectly, letting you see everything.
"So?" he replied, smirking, watching you look him up and down more times than he could count, "are you going to answer me?"
You're eyes flew to his face again, watching as he became more confident the longer he saw you looking.
"What did you ask?" you mumbled, holding eye contact.
"I said: "What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone, again?" Think you can answer that?" he challenged, taking a step closer. He saw what he did to other girls, how he made them crumble, but nothing compared to you, and how he loved watching his effect on you.
"I- well, I just came for a beer?" you answered, sounding more unconfident the more you went on. You knew why you were here: because you liked it, but you didn't want to. It was criminal yet here you were, enjoying the thrill and the danger. And watching Max, racing or not.
"And the last time? And the time before that? You don't seem like the type of girl to go out drinking alone, especially to the type of place so dirty and illegal." He asked, teasing, stepping closer once again. His voice was growing louder even as he got closer until he was touching you and leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I think you like it, don't you?"
Your body shuddered at the closeness, your hand flying straight to his arm to keep balance. Instead, you made it worse for yourself, grabbing straight onto his muscles, and turning your face the slightest shade of red. You hoped Max wouldn't be able to see - you were too close and there wasn't much light, but you were very wrong. Crowds moved everywhere around you, but all of Max's focus was on you. It was impossible for him not to notice, he was trying to pick up on every detail that he could about you.
His head lifted back up so you could see him fully like he could see you. Your faces were barely apart, a few centimetres at best, but it still messed with your head, a million thoughts flying everywhere at once until there were none. None other than Max and what his lips would feel like pressed against yours.
You let out the slightest nod as a response to his question. You didn't want to admit you liked it but with Max so close to you it was the only reaction you could even fathom of giving. He was messing with your head and he hasn't even done anything yet.
"Are you going to answer me like a good girl or just stand there?" he says, with the cockiest attitude you'd ever seen. He knew what he did to you, and what else those two little words would do, and he loved it.
Before you got the chance to reply, you felt pressure on your back and you were pushed into Max. He grabbed you and kept you upright, but he couldn't miss the sudden uproar of the crowd and the fact they were all running in the same direction.
He gave you a once over to make sure you were alright before looking forward to try to see what was happening. People were screaming and running and he couldn't tell why. His arms wrapped around you in a protective manner, pulling you closer in an attempt to keep you safe.
So many people were shouting at him and he couldn't make out what anyone was saying. He was trying to figure it out but it seemed impossible. You were almost pushed again but the person managed to stop themselves. Max didn't care, he was almost starting to shout at them for their recklessness until he finally found out what was happening.
"Police! Run!" the man screamed at him before carrying on running himself. It was like his fight or flight mode kicked in and he wasn't going to get caught.
"My car," he said as he realised an escape plane, telling you at the same time. He found your hand and took off running, dragging you with him. He led you both to the side of the crowd so that you wouldn't get lost and led you quickly to his car.
Police were everywhere, especially near the cars. They were parked on the road but out of the way of the runners. Many of them were unregistered or stolen, and others held bags upon bags of drugs. Police were stood by his car, trying to look inside the windows for anything immediately suspicious. They were covering the drivers side and he knew he would have to be fast.
"When I jump across to the drivers side, get into the passenger seat and shut the door," he called back to you. You processed the information, barely, and nodded, but Max was already focused on using his free hand to find his keys.
He got them, twisting them around, and unlocking the car just as he was about to reach it. The police were looking in the backseat, but were too slow to process the flashing orange lights and the doors at the opposite side opening.
Max leaped in and switched sides like a machine, doing it with so much ease it seemed impossible. He grabbed the driver's side door, holding it close as officers tried to open it.
"Get in," he screamed, watching as you paused for a moment. You made eye contact with an officer whilst quickly overthinking your whole life up until this moment. How did this happen?
You couldn't think much longer and you got inside, shutting the door shut with a slam. You let out a sigh of relief much too quickly as your breath hitched with the speed the car had just started.
Max locked the doors and took off in a flash. The car sped up in an instant, going to speeds you never dreamed of. Max was absorbed into the roads, dodging people and officers as he tried to escape.
Your hand gripped the seats until your knuckles were white; this was not a situation you ever wanted to be in. Max noticed, taking his eyes off of the road every few seconds to double-check you were okay.
"I do this every day and I've never got hurt," his eyes flicked back to your face after trying to reassure you, which was obviously failing.
"You won't get into trouble with the police either." he tried again. After looking at you again, he realised how badly he was failing. He didn't know what to do. He was fine in situations like these and had never had to comfort anyone. Every solution was running through his mind, not only to get out of here safe and alive but to make sure you knew that.
"Hold my hand," he ordered softly, holding out his hand for you to grab.
"Don't you need to focus on driving?" you questioned, worried. He laughed and lifted his other hand off of the wheel too. When he saw your face he immediately put it back on but kept the other outstretched for you to grab.
You looked at it for a second before grabbing it, interlacing your fingers together, and bringing your hands to rest on top of your thighs. His thumb immediately started traveling back and forth along the back of your hand as you decided to focus on that rather than the road in front of you.
"I promise you I will keep you safe. Nothing bad will happen," he spoke gently. He smiled at you, not that you were looking, but he thought that it might lift the mood anyway. "Trust me," he added, in the softest tone he thought he'd ever spoken with. He shook his head - he was going soft for a girl he's only ever spoken to twice.
You nodded gently, genuinely trusting him for a moment. That all faded when you started hearing sirens in the distance, getting closer and closer.
Max looked through the wing mirrors before speeding up the car even more. You subconsciously squeezed his hand more, gripping it like a vice.
"Okay, pretty girl, I'm going to need my hand back but it's only to keep you safe. I promise I'm going to keep you safe." You didn't believe him but you tried anyway.
You let go of his hand reluctantly, going back to squeezing the seats. You let out a shaky breath and tried to see what was going on behind you. You were on a motorway, going much higher than the speed limit. You could see three police cars in your view, all trying to catch you up.
Max hit the pedal again, speeding up impossibly faster. His eyes were on the road, occasionally on the police behind him and occasionally on you. If he had it his way, they'd be always on you, but he promised to keep you safe and was doing his damn best to keep it.
"We're going faster than their cars can physically go. We'll lose them in no time." He did another once over of you, taking in how petrified you looked once again. "Sitting so tense is going to make you more tense. I don't want you to worry yourself sick."
"Sorry," you mumbled, taking a quick look in the mirrors to see the police much further in the distance than you thought they would be.
"Don't apologise, pretty girl." he spoke, moving the car to the first lane.
He went round a sharp turn, almost heading onto a junction exit but only just missing it. He sped up again, heading around the next corner with flying speed.
"The police will think we just turned off, we'll turn off at the next one." You just nodded, going along with everything. You barely knew the man yet you were on a literal police chase with him.
He slowed the car down to a normal speed, placing his hand back into yours, "see, we're okay."
"We're okay," you repeated, trying to reassure yourself. His thumb was back to tracing lines on the back of your hand and it was helping you more than you'd like to admit.
It wasn't long until you turned off, traveling at a normal speed down some city suburb roads. You headed into an area you'd never seen, full of some of the biggest houses you imagined the city had to offer. You didn't even know where you were going yet you trusted Max blindly.
He parked in front of a huge residence, with all sorts of fancy cars parked in front. You imagined multiple massive families could live there with tonnes of spare space due to the sheer size of the front alone. It was truly extraordinanry.
"Where are we?" You questioned. Max had turned off the car and leaned back in his seat. His hand never left yours, and his thumb never stopped brushing back and forth.
"My home," he spoke, watching your face convey more emotions than he thought was possible. Your mind was racing a mile a minute: what did he want from you? was he kidnapping you? did he want something in return for saving you? You didn't like the thought of what was happening at all but Max read you easily.
"I can drive you back home if you'd prefer. Or take you somewhere, get you a hotel, anything," he spoke sincerely. He fully believed anything you'd want him to do, he would do for you, and he would go to the ends of the world to do it.
"I don't think I can be alone right now." You said, training your eyes onto yours and Max's hand.
"I can take you to a friend's? I can stay with you? I can take you somewhere crowded? Whatever you want me to do, I will do." He said, promising himself he would do whatever you wanted.
It was stupid - so stupid - the way Max had made you feel safe and the fact you wanted to stay by him. Not one thing led to the conclusion that he was a good man yet you still wanted to stay.
"My house is probably over an hour away." You knew Max could drive fast, you knew he could get you there much quicker but you didn't want to leave him. You looked out the window, at his house.
Max saw the way you looked at it, longingly yet worriedly. He didn't want to push you to make a decision, he wanted you to say it himself. He gave you hand a few reassuring squeezes, urging you to say what you felt.
"I want to stay with you," you whispered. You still stared at his house in horror and amusement. Max could see you in the reflection and could feel the worry radiating off you - he wanted nothing more than to make you feel safe.
"Let's go to a hotel." he said, your head immediately flicking back to look at his, "We can get different rooms if you'd like, but if you'd feel more comfortable there, we can go. It's no problem at all."
"Yes please," you nodded, grateful for Max's thinking. The more he was talking, the more comfortable and safe you felt around him. Past you would probably be calling yourself stupid in every way you knew how, but you felt like it'd be okay this time.
He drove off carefully, sticking to all the speed limits, something he rarely did when he was alone. He took you to a nearby hotel, only a ten-minute drive away. It was a lovely-looking hotel, something you'd never check yourself into though when you could just get the classic cheap ones that always worked fine.
"You okay?" Max asked carefully as you peered outside.
"This looks expensive, Max."
God, he loved when you said his name. You hadn't said it a lot but he felt like he could get addicted every time.
He chuckled in amusement, "I've got more money than I could use if I tried, it's on me."
You nodded and opened the car door, unfortunately dropping Max's hand in the process. Not for long though, as Max whipped around the side of the car to grab it again after muttering a small, "let me open it for you next time," to you.
He ordered two separate rooms but made sure they were next to each other and handed you both keys to your room and the spare keys to his, making you promise to let yourself in of you needed anything.
You felt yourself drawn to him, becoming disappointed as he left you to your own room, longing for more. You led in bed, in the same clothes you'd been wearing all day, wanting nothing more than to just be with him again.
You also couldn't stop thinking about the night that passed and how it could've ended much differently. You were reckless and a complete disaster of a person but you didn't think you would change it if you could.
So you left. You got all your belongings and you knocked on Max's room. He opened the door rather quickly, with a sudden look of confusion on his face when he realised it was you.
His hair was messy and stuck up in every direction but he still looked flawless. He had no shirt or pants on, just boxers, and you couldn't help but admire his whole body.
"Are you okay? Just let yourself in next time. What happened?" he asked frantically, worry laced all over his voice.
"Can I stay with you?" You asked nervously, refusing to look at his face.
"Of course, pretty girl," he replied with no hesitation, he would do anything to have you nearby. He stepped aside and welcomed you in, taking everything out of your hands and placing it on a table.
"You take the bed. I can either join you, take the sofa out here or take the chair in the bed room. And here," he said, picking up the shirt he'd changed into after racing, "take this, you can't be comfortable sleeping in that."
You took the shirt with a "thank you," and got changed in the bedroom. The shirt was long enough that you couldn't see anything if you tried, and it was incredibly comfy.
You poked your head out of the bedroom to see Max half asleep with his head in his hands. You gently called his name, his head jolting suddenly towards you.
"Will you stay with me?" you asked, a lot more confidently than before, but still a little shaky.
Max got up with a nod and headed inside the bedroom. He watched you get comfortable in bed and snuggled into the side you hadn't chosen.
You immediately moved towards him, throwing a leg over his, and your head on top of his chest. His arms moved instinctively around you, pulling you impossibly closer. He was so tired but wasn't going to waste an opportunity of staring at you a little longer.
"Sorry the night didn't turn out how you planned," he mumbled, wanting so badly to kiss your forehead but didn't want to overstep boundaries, "and sorry for scaring you."
"It's okay Max," you whispered, turning your head to kiss his chest ever so delicately. He decided to kiss your head in retaliation, smiling all the way through it.
"Tell me if you want to go again and I'll be there," he chuckled against your head, "goodnight, pretty girl."
"Goodnight, Max."
this might be my favourite thing i’ve ever written so reblogs and feedback would be really appreciated !! :) also thinking of making this a mini series, thoughts?
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theoriginalkaminari · 5 months ago
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Attention span of a squirrel
Shoto Todoroki with an S/O who is very silly
Also seriously pls do not repost or reblog
Warnings: swearing sorta? Uh reader is GN and stuff.
Also the reason I call this 'Attention span of a squirrel' is bc squirrels have the attention span of uhhhhhh
Shoto was hanging from a rope, ankle first and upside down. The rope made him spin around the room very slowly as he felt the blood go to his head.
To make things worse, Shoto was dangling over a pit. It was foggy down there, so he wasn't able to see the bottom.
You both were chosen to go against Aizawa for this project, to see how well you did in a real villain situation.
So far?
Not so great.
Shoto was beginning to feel lightheaded, so he called out to you to try and bring your attention back to the situation.
"L/N." He calls, making you jolt out of your distracted state and back at him. "Hm?" You look up at him. "Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot." You laugh nervously, scratching the back of your neck.
"Okay...so..." You tap your chin in thought as you stare at the rope wrapped around Shoto's ankle. "If I were me...which I am...then how would I get Shoto out of here?" You jut out your bottom lip slightly, narrowing your eyes as if it would make you think harder.
"I don't mean to rush you," Shoto begins in his usual monotone voice. "But Mr. Aizawa could be approaching." He says, spinning slowly as the rope clings to his ankle.
You don't seem to hear this, as you're staring down at the pit. "Aha! I've got the situation!" You grin confidently, stumbling slightly as you take off your right shoe. Shoto raises an eyebrow, confused to what you were doing.
Then you suddenly throw your shoe into the pit. "One..." And you begin counting. "Two...three....four.....five..." You continue. Shoto feels confused as he stares at you. What the hell were you doing?
"L/N. What are you doing?" He finally asks, eyes still trained on your every move.
After you count to ten, you beam proudly, like you made a shocking discovery. At least, you thought you did.
"Well my icy friend," You begin as you point down into the pit. "We have discovered a bottomless pi-" You were interrupted by a soft 'thud' of your shoe finally hitting the bottom of the pit.
"Oh. Nevermind. Not bottomless, just ten seconds deep."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Shoto asks, tilting his head as best he can. You just turn back and grin at him.
"Well, if I cut you down from there, at least I know how long you'll be falling for!" You beam, like you've solved all world problems.
"Okay, now hold still." You try to reach for the rope, but stumble and almost fall into the pit. "Whoa!" You yelp lightly as the dirt crumbles beneath your feet. Luckily you got out of the way in time.
"Okay! New plan." You clap your hands together. Then, to Shoto's dismay, you begin to pace around the pit. After a while, you grin. Its not an innocent grin, but a mischievous one. Almost Bakugo like.
You suddenly run backwards. Shoto sighs in disappointment, thinking you've given up on him. "How do I-" He stops himself when he looks back at you, now charging at him. "L/N! What are you-"
You grin as you jump off the ledge of the pit, jumping up to grab him. You use a pocket knife to cut the rope in the process so you both don't get stuck.
You and Shoto tumble onto the otherside, landing into a pile of eachother.
Sort of a 69 position.
Quickly, you both pull away and stand up.
Shoto feels embarrassed, looking away from you and not knowing what to say.
That is, until you clear your throat. "So...here." You hand him a small amethyst rock. Maybe you collected it a while ago, or you found it somewhere. Eitherway, you don't really remember.
Shoto tilts his head, looking at the amethyst in your palm, then back at your face. "Whats this?" He asks.
You smile softly, finding his confusion amusing. "A gift! See? Its pretty, like you." You beam. Shoto swears he sees light emitting from you as you smile at him. Shoto gives a small smile in return, and takes the amethyst. "Thank you, L/N." He says, his voice soft.
You laugh softly and place your hands on your hips. "And since I gave you a gift, we're friends now. Is that okay?" You say, even though Shoto doesn't have a choice in the matter.
Shoto puts the amethyst in his pocket. "Okay."
You grin and give him a small thumbs up. "Great! So you have to call me by my first name now, okay?"
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay, Y/N."
"Atta boy!"
Shoto smiles softly. He feels a sudden feeling in his chest, snapping him out of his thoughts. He places a hand on his chest, suddenly very confused.
Did my heart skip a beat? Do I have heart problems? Perhaps I should see Recovery Girl after this.... He thought.
Eventually, the day ended, and everyone was heading to their dorm rooms to finally get some sleep.
All except Shoto. He stayed on the green couch in the lounge, staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought.
"We're friends now, so you have to call me by my first name!" Your voice rang in his head like a lullaby.
A week passed, and you and Shoto stared hanging out more. You would say things like:
"Shoto! Do you ever thinks ants get lonely?"
"Shoto! Did you know worms have an asshole?"
"Shoto! Whats your least favorite animal?"
Things that would make him smile, or things that would make him confused. Things that would make him think, or things that would make him surprised.
Every little thing you did made him have a soft and warm feeling in his chest. Shoto, completely oblivious to these feelings, decides to confront his friend, Izuku. One night, everyone is staring to head to bed, when Shoto approaches Izuku.
"Midoriya." He says, staring the conversation. "I need your help."
Izuku tilts his head, looking up at his friend. His green eyes fill with curiosity. "What is it, Todoroki? Is everything okay?" He wonders.
"I think I have heart problems." Shoto says, in earshot for Mina and Ochako to hear.
"WHAT?!" Mina gasps, suddenly very interested to Shoto's conversation with Izuku. Mina and Ochako rush over to them, their eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay, Todoroki? Should we get you to the hospital?" Midoriya asks, standing up as his expression turns to one of concern.
Shoto thinks for a moment, before speaking again. "No. I just feel a warm feeling in my chest, and sometimes my heart skips a beat. Sometimes my face gets hot, even though I try and cool myself down with my left side."
Mina and Ochako's eyes widen. The two beam, leaning ever so closely to Shoto. "Do you feel this way around a certain someone?" Mina says, her voice giddy and excited.
Shoto nods. "Yes, it happens around L/- I mean, Y/N."
Mina and Ochako squeal, while Izuku sighs in relief, glad his friend isn't suffering from any heart failure.
"What? What is it?" Shoto looks at them all, very confused. Did he really have heart problems...?
"Its love!" Mina grabs Ochako's hands, the two of them bouncing around in circles.
"Love..?" Shoto tilts his head. "Yes, Y/N is my friend. I care for them deeply." He nods, confused to why Mina and Ochako were makeing a big deal about this fact.
"No, Todoroki!" Mina looks at him in the eyes as she stops bouncing. "Romantic love." She corrects.
Something in Shoto's brain clicks. "Oh." He says quietly, a soft dusty pink tainting his cheeks.
Shoto began to hang out with you more, staying by your side as you ramble about silly things, or smiling as you show him silly things.
Until one day, Izuku encouraged him to confess.
Shoto asked you to meet him at the courtyard after school, and you did. Shoto took a deep breath, trying to gather his nerves before he spoke to you.
"Y/N." He says softly as he looks into your eyes.
Your beautiful eyes...the ones he could get lost in for hours. The ones he loved staring into.
"I have feelings for you. Romantic ones." He finally says after a moment of silence.
You, being the person you were, holds up a hand for him to high-five. "Dude, no way, that is awesome sauce!" You say.
Shoto looks at you in confusion and disbelief. You suddenly cover your mouth in embarrassment, muttering quiet apologizes.
"Oh god, I'm really sorry, Shoto! It just popped into my head and then my mouth talked and then it all fell apart but what I ment to say was..." You take a deep breath, and look at him in the eyes.
"I love you. Like a lot." You hold out your arms as far as they could go. "If I was able to, I would stretch my arms pur way further but this is as far as they can go. But I really do love you!" You beam.
Shoto chuckles softly at your antics. He suddenly feels...complete.
You smile as well, and lower your hands. Then, you slowly extend your hand out to him to take. Shoto's eyes light up slightly. He slowly take your hand, and you intertwine your fingers with his.
"Now I get to tell people I have my own furnace AND my own cooler!" You grin brightly, making Shoto chuckle again.
He kisses your cheek gently. "Your pretty." He whispers.
And so doofus and doofus 2.0 relationship begins.
305 notes · View notes
604to647 · 23 days ago
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Red Herring
3.3K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader
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Summary: You make Detective Rockford a Halloween costume.
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please).  Established relationship, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), lingerie, semi-public sex, desk sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected PiV, bad puns, half-assed costumes.
A/N: Since The Rockford Portfolio was born from @mermaidgirl30’s Ocean Challenge this summer, I thought it was only fitting to write the same couple for Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge (as always though, the stories in the collection can be read standalone ☺️)! Tim's hatred of Halloween is heavily influenced by Amy Santiago from Brooklyn 99 🤭🤭 Happy Halloween and spooky season everyone!
Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘 / Series Masterlist
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Tim was right.  Halloween at a police precinct is a mess.
The streets outside are absolute mayhem, crawling with costumed Halloween revelers stumbling and celebrating in various states of undress and inebriation.  No one seems to care that they’re causing a ruckus right outside of a building full of cops.  Even walking up the stairs to the main doors, you had found yourself side stepping at least two incidents of vomit, and you still feel a little worried about leaving the trio of drunk Power Puff girls on the bench outside even though they had giggled that they were fine when you asked.  There’s no safer place for them to be, you suppose.
The inside of the precinct is no less chaotic than it is outside.  It’s exactly as Tim had described.  You chuckle to yourself as you pass a couple of patrolmen headed out as Jedi Knights and think back to your conversation earlier this month when Tim told you he would be working on Halloween.
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Curled up in Tim’s lap, you’re scrolling through TikTok as he watches some police procedural on the TV that he keeps grumbling at when you come across a few spoopy videos, “Do you think you might want to do a couples costume for Halloween, Detective?”
Tim actually grimaces.  He hates Halloween with a passion, “Oh Shutterbug, I’m so sorry – I have to work Halloween.  I work every Halloween.”
“Every Halloween?”
“Yeah - ugh. Halloween is honestly such a gong show.  People think costumes make them invincible for some reason,” he closes his eyes and scowls at the memory of Halloweens past.  “Every patrolman works overtime and is out on the streets breaking up fights, putting people in the drunk tank, getting drunk drivers off the streets.”
He’s not done; Tim brings his paw of a hand to his face and massages it in irritation, “The entire detective squad comes in to help process every idiot that’s brought in: DWI.  Underage Drinking.  Disorderly Conduct.  Assault.  Vandalism.  Trespassing.  Theft.  You name it, gorgeous.  Halloween is a fucking mess.”
You chuckle a little, you’re not used to seeing your normally unflappable detective so out of sorts, nevermind at the mere thought of a children’s celebration.
“Does everyone hate Halloween like you?”
Tim cracks a smile at this, “No one hates things the way I hate things.”  This has you giggling – Tim can be terribly grumpy.  “I guess not everyone.  The precinct gets decorated and there is a costume contest.”
“Oh!” You perk up at this, “And they arrest people in costume?”
“Might as well,” Tim’s face screws up in annoyance again, “It’s not like anyone respects the uniform on Halloween.  You have better luck getting compliance as Godzilla.”
For a second, you imagine Tim sulking behind his desk, filling out public intoxication reports dressed as Batman and you have to stifle a snort of laughter, “But not you though?  You don’t dress up?”
“Nope.”
“What’s the costume contest prize?” your eyes twinkle.
“No, nope,” Tim kisses the nose that you’ve scrunched up in mischief, “What do you plan on doing for Halloween, Shutterbug?”
You look thoughtful, the truth is you’re not really up for anything too exciting this year, “I’m probably going to volunteer at the library to give out candy, then I told the girls I’d meet up with them at a pub for some food and drinks.  Then they’ll head over to a bar or club or something that’s hosting a Halloween party and I don’t really want to do that.  Maybe I could come hang out with you?”
“Of course you can, baby.  But just be prepared, it’s going to be messy.”
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The bullpen is loud – every desk is occupied by a dog tired, costumed detective taking down statements, yelling into their phone, or typing aggressively away on their computer – some of them doing all three.  The holding cell is overflowing, and the occupants are either wildly indignant about their detainment or completely unphased and appear to be continuing whatever reveries that had brought them in from behind bars.  There is no in between.
The commotion is so much more unruly than it usually is; it might be unsettling, except for how comical it is to see Tim’s colleagues in various costumes doing their very serious jobs. At a quick glance you see: a bumblebee, a Pikachu, two pirates, an Aquaman, and three Howls from Howl’s Moving Castle.
The juxtaposition of these outfits to the cacophony in the room is hilarious.  You spot and wave to Tim’s partner, Detective Arnold Calloway, who’s dressed as Elvis on your way to Tim’s office.
Tim’s door is open but before you announce yourself, you take a moment to ogle your handsome boyfriend as he types, brows furrowed in concentration at his computer.  He’s not in costume but you can’t complain – Tim's usual crisp white dress shirt stretches taut across his broad frame, his hunched shoulders restrained slightly by the unforgiving leather of his gun holster. His tie is loose but it’s the only thing that’s loose - Tim’s rolled up shirt sleeves strain to contain his beefy arms, and from where you stand, you can see his exposed forearms flex tightly with every furious punch to the keys on his keyboard.  Even without a costume, Tim Rockford looks like a superhero.
“Happy Halloween, Detective.”
The smile that breaks across Tim’s face when he looks up and sees you is nothing short of breathtaking, it sends a blooming warmth through your chest that quickly winds its way down between your legs.
“Happy Halloween, Shutterbug.  How’s your night going so far?”
“Pretty fun!  The library had so many kids coming in – I gave out so much candy!  And dinner was good – the girls say hi.  What about you, baby?”  You walk around Tim’s desk and lean down to place a sweet kiss to his lips before massaging his weary shoulders.
Tim sighs, “As good as can be expected for this godforsaken holiday.  I’ve been to the hospital for interviews twice, and now I’m processing a mountain of misdemeanors.”
You ghost your lips behind Tim’s ear and smile when the little puff of air you blow makes him groan.  Planting chaste kisses to the back of his neck as you continue kneading the hard muscles of his back, you chirp mischievously, “I have something that could make your evening more fun, Detective.”
Tim leans back and spins his chair around to face you, smirking, “Oh yeah?  What’s that, Shutterbug?”
Chuckling, you reach into your purse and take out a headband with two springs coming out the top like antennae and hold it out to Tim.
“What’s this?”
You point to the tops of the springs: on one you’ve glued an empty packet of Trident gum, and to the other is affixed a small dog toy in the shape of a shoe that you had found at the dollar store.  Giggling, you place the headband over Tim’s head and tuck the ends behind his ears, “It’s your costume, Tim.  You’re a gumshoe.”
Tim groans and drops his face into his palm.  The resulting bounce of the little objects over his head makes you giggle even harder, “See?  You were already dressed up and you didn’t even know it.”  You wave you hand over Tim’s body.
Detective Rockford peeks through his fingers and when he sees your impish grin and how much joy your mischief is bringing you, he can’t help but grin himself, “Alright, gorgeous.  Where’s your costume, then?”
Delighted at how easily Tim’s given in to your silliness, you reach back into your purse and pull out your own headband – a red one with similar antennae to match his black, but at the end of each of your springs is a little plastic fish, swaying and jiggling erratically as you slip the band onto you head and jovially announce, “A red herring for my dashing gumshoe to chase!"
Tim lets out a low gruff of a laugh, one that crinkles the eyes that are already always soft for you, his smile as relaxed as his shoulders now are, “Where’s the rest of your costume?  Shouldn’t you be wearing red?”  He teasingly does the same waving motion you did to him earlier over your closed trench coat jacket.
If possible, your smile gets even wider when you reply, “I am!  You want me to show you?”
“Sure, baby.”  To Tim’s surprise, instead of opening your jacket, you coyly saunter over to his office door, closing then locking it.  On your way back to him, you start to undo the knot of your jacket belt, letting the lapels of your jacket fall open to reveal the sexist red lace lingerie set Tim’s ever seen in his life.  As you slide between Tim and his desk, perching gingerly on the edge, you snicker at your boyfriend’s drooling expression. 
“Trick or Treat, Detective Rockford?” you flirt, fingers hooked under the warm leather straps of Tim’s gun holster, lightly tugging to beckon him closer.  He obeys.
Hypnotized, Tim slowly brushes his fingers over the frill of the delicate fabric that lays tantalizingly over your delicious curves – leaving goosebumps on your supple skin everywhere his hands graze, and even places they don’t.  He unwittingly licks his lips at your pert nipples, already at attention and tenting the crimson red floral lace that hug your tits so prettily – Tim can’t help himself; leaning forward in his chair, he takes one in his mouth.
The soft gasp that you let escape exhales to a throaty groan as you feel Tim’s hands travel down your body; they come to a momentary rest at your hips - tugging teasingly at the ruffled skirt of the garter belt before trailing down the straps.  As he rubs the bands that loop around your mid thighs between his thick fingers, Tim chuckles into your chest, “Is that what you wore at the library, baby?”
You giggle uncontrollably and shake your head, little fish above your head dancing wildly on their springs as you push back a little to show Tim how you’re still wearing your modest, library appropriate red dress, but that it’s been unbuttoned and left open under your trench coat.  Eyebrow cocked in amusement, Tim hooks his fingers into and pulls down the cups of your bra before diving back in, and you think you hear him mumble something like Dirty girl, through his mouthful of your breasts.
“You never answered my question – trick or treat, Detective Rockford?”
With some reluctance, Tim parts from the softness of your tits to lean back in his chair, ogling your near naked form shamelessly while he pretends to contemplate his response.  Finally, he scootches his chair forward and cups one of his powerful hands beneath your boobs and presses so that you lean back – his other pries open your legs so you can accommodate the expansive width of his shoulders.
“I think you already chose ‘treat’ for me, Shutterbug.”
Your girlish squeal as Tim lays a sweet kiss to your clit through the thin fabric of your panties is louder than you’d like and you quickly cover your mouth with a hand in order to muffle it.  As Detective Rockford open mouth kisses your panty clad cunt, your eyes roll to the back of your head and the flatness of your palm becomes insufficient to contain your escalating moans – when Tim pulls the gusset of your underwear to the side, the snap of cool air hitting the wetness of your exposed core pulls a cry from your throat that can only be stifled by biting down on the heel of your thumb.
The sting from your teeth causes you to buck into Tim’s face and from that moment forth, there’s no holding back his animalistic lust.  Tim licks fat stripe after fat stripe through your folds to the tip of your hardened nub – every new path made by his tongue dug deep and true.  Your pooled arousal is collected and swirled over your sweetest dips and waves, then sucked and savoured in his mouth like his favourite whiskey.  It might actually be.  Tim’s own groans and growls at the sweetness of your taste vibrate right into your cunt and straight to the tightening band beneath your belly.
Eyes taking in the lascivious sight above him, Tim’s dick strains painfully in his pants: his pretty girl is laid near bare and gorgeous, tits bouncing while her face screws up in pleasure, mouth stuffed with her own fist. You're a true heaven that contrasts starkly to the hell of mundane paperwork that Tim thought would make up the bulk of his Halloween shift, still sitting next to you on the very same desk you’re currently writhing on.
With a feral grunt, Tim tongue fucks your slit while his nose and the elastic hem of your pulled back panties work your slippery clit in tandem.  He builds and builds until he knows you can’t take anymore, then pushes you over the edge with the tenor of his baritone command to come.
You crest with a wild cry that’s barely contained by your now aching and wet hand, drool running down your wrist as your body shudders with wave after wave of indescribable pleasure.   
Only when he feels your lithe body settle does Tim rise to his feet and undo his belt.  Lips and facial scruff still shiny with your release, he grins a wolfish grin, “Now it’s time for 'trick', gorgeous.”
Kissing you roughly, Tim busies himself with pulling out his leaking cock as you return his affections just as fiercely, spurned on by the taste of you in your own mouth.  He pulls back to clean his face with the back of his arm, and you whimper when you unsuccessfully chase after his lips.
“No need to be greedy, Shutterbug. Your Detective is going to fuck you now,” smirks Tim, notching himself at your entrance and sliding in with ease.
The heft of him still leaves you breathless every time.  When you look up at Tim, you find his face relaxed in a look of reverence that tells you he feels the same about the welcome of your warm walls.
“Going to fuck you hard and fast, 'kay baby?  Don’t have much time.  Can’t have anyone coming in and seeing my pretty girl split on my cock” Tim’s mouth slots over yours and he drinks in your moans at his dirty promise.  One of Tim’s meaty hands grips your hip so hard you know he’ll leave a bruising imprint of his desire for you to find tomorrow, the other grabs your lacy garter belt like a cowboy would the reins of his horse; as he starts to ride you, every punishing drive of Tim’s cock leaves you marveling that the delicate fabric doesn’t rip to shreds under his efforts.
“Fuck me, Detective,” you breath, nipping and sucking along Tim’s strong jaw to behind his earlobe where he’s most sensitive.  Sticking out your tongue to lick down the column of Tim’s throat, your mouth jolts against Tim’s bobbing Adam’s apple as he continues to thrust into you like a man possessed.  The scrape of your teeth and the soothing lave of you tongue over the responsive skin at the base of his neck, cause Tim to groan, low and throaty.  When your fingers thread through his soft curls and yank down so to expose more of his neck to your sinful mouth, he retaliates by reaching for your breasts, roughly kneading and worshiping before directing his attention to your nipples.
Without letting up on your sopping hole, Tim rolls and pinches, pulls and tweaks your pert peaks, all while gritting out dirty words of praise:
Pretty thing came to a police precinct tonight to get fucked, didn’t she?
So fucking hot in your little outfit, gorgeous just for me.
This pussy's made my whole fucking night, baby.
You can only hope that your near pornographic wails are adequately buffered by the thickness of Tim’s chest, as you bury your face against the wall of him.  The combination of your tight and slick cunt and the added friction of your panties, now soaked with your cream and pressed taut against his cock, has Tim on the expressway; when his pace starts to grow frantic, he leaves your perfect tits to press his thumb down on your clit.
“Oh fuck, Tim!  Fuck, I’m going to c-” Tim’s solid and comforting circles on your crying nub are enough to send you over the edge again.  Your heaving breaths against his neck and the fluttering of your walls as they clamp down on his length send Tim barreling to join you soon after.
Hands still in Tim’s hair, you card through his dampened waves as the two of you rest forehead-to-forehead, exchanging tender butterfly kisses and soft words of devotion during the comedown from your twin highs.
Knock, knock.
“Rockford.”  It’s Arnie.
Tim slips out of you and tucks himself back in before walking to his door, waiting with his hand on the handle to make sure you’ve had time to right and button up your dress before he opens the door to see what his partner wants.
“Rockford, do you have that repor- What’s that?” Detective Arnold Calloway’s eyes widen and he points to the still bobbling springs on the headband that Tim never took off his head.
Tim has no words.
Your hand flies to your mouth and you barely contain the hysterical giggle that threatens to escape.  Arnie looks past Tim right at you, and his face breaks out in the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen.  His eyes dance with mirth and you can’t help but blurt out the answer to his unspoken question, “He’s a gumshoe!!!”  The two of you shriek in laughter as Tim stands stiffly, eyes closed in disbelief, willing himself to disappear. 
You bound up to the door and loop one arm around Tim’s waist, the other you arch to point to your own headband, beaming, “I’m the red herring in his case!”
Arnie nearly drops the files in his arms to hold his stomach as he cackles, “Perfect costumes!  Never thought I’d see the day when Rockford dressed up for Halloween!  Forget the report – I need a picture.”
“No pictures,” Tim practically bellows as he storms back to his desk in a huff, headband adornments swinging wildly.
Winking at Detective Calloway, you whisper, “I’ll get a picture,” before you walk back into Tim’s office and settle in on the couch.  Tucking your legs under your bum, you pull out the book you checked out of the library earlier before looking up to your sweet boyfriend who's gone back to typing his reports as if he wasn't just ravaging you on that same desk minutes earlier, “Love you, Detective Rockford.”
Tim glances up at the sweet angel who willingly keeps him company on this horrid night and makes it decidedly less horrid; giving you a soft smile, he winks, “Love you more, Shutterbug.”
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The Monday following Halloween, you’re putting the finishing touches on dinner when Tim comes home, carrying a large box that he deposits on the kitchen counter with a look of pride and amusement.
“What’s this?” you ask with curiosity, giving Tim a deep welcome home kiss before opening the package to discover a case of wine.
To your gleeful howl of laughter, Tim tells you that he won the precinct Halloween costume contest this year. 
You’re looking through the box, picking up the bottles and reading the labels.  Malbec.  Gamay. Beaujolais.  Barbarossa.  You take out a bottle of Nebbiolo that you think might work with dinner and exclaim in delight, “Congratulations, Detective!  This is a great prize!”
Tim sweeps you into his arms and presses his lips to your pretty pout for a searing kiss, murmuring, “I got a better one right here.”
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175 notes · View notes
wisteriaiswriting · 9 months ago
Note
Can you do an autistic trans(if you do that) male reader who doesn’t really get social cues but is overall pretty quiet and reserved with the people from the Hazbin hotel?
𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝔽𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕝𝕪
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𝔸𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣:
He will be unaware at first, so his first impression about you is not good. Thinks you’re being rude on purpose, but when he finds out that's not the case he’ll feel slightly bad.
For his assumptions he’ll subtly apologize by dropping presents in your room (Unnamed of course.) and lending you a helping hand.
If you two become close he will take you to his tailor to get matching suits, different colours obviously, can’t have you taking his signature colour now, can we?
***
For the first few days you’ve been at the hotel Alastor has been weirdly stand offish. Others didn’t mind, often glad he’s staying away rather than closer. But you wanted to know why, so you asked Charlie.
Who asked Alastor, to which he gracefully answered.
“Well, I don’t enjoy seeing terrible manners around the hotel, surely you don’t either?” At his words the reason for avoidance clicked in her head.
“Why didn't you say so? Well knowing you, you wouldn’t… But Y/N isn’t that good with social cues, so he doesn’t mean any of, whatever he’s been doing.”
“Oh…” At her words he left the room, finding you. “Well hello my Handsome fellow,”
“Hi?” After his most recent actions you didn’t expect him to just waltz up to you.
“Unfortunately someone has ruined my suit,” Correct, a good chunk was missing. “And hopefully you would accompany me?”
“Sure, I guess?”
“Perfect!”
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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕖:
She's unsurprisingly similar when it comes to social cues.
When it comes to you being autistic or trans she won’t notice, that’ll be the last thing she knows.
You two can not be left alone, someone will need to supervise you both.
***
It has been barely a week since you fell into hell and it’s been terrible. There were too many things happen that you could say or even recall, so today was meant to be relaxing. Or at least somewhat close, until someone pulled you around.
They were your only friend here, so of course you had to follow. After a few hours walking around you found you both in front of a hotel, one called the ‘Hazbin hotel.’ Excitedly knocking at the door while you watched.
Within seconds the door swung open revealing an excited blonde.
“Oh my, hi!” Pulling you both in as she spoke, which allowed you to see other people hanging around. “I’m Charlie, and welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”
“Told ya you’d like it here.”
You were both aware nothing was said beforehand but you didn’t confront them. Seemed like the others knew something was up, so they had Charlie pull you away.
“Since you're new, how about a private tour of the Hazbin Hotel?”
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𝕍𝕒𝕘𝕘𝕚𝕖:
Compared to the other hotel residents your quietness is a surprise, but a welcome one at that.
If you ask or signal at all to her she’ll be at your side to subtly help you with social cues and anything else needed.
Especially if you’re new (Also if not) she’ll help you get masculine clothing, although she might have to get others help as she isn’t the most masculine either.
***
Charlie had just brought you to the hotel in a… not so good condition. She wasn’t sure what you went through to look like that but she knew you needed some help, and she was going to help where she could.
“Alastor, I need your help”
“Hmm?”
“You know the newbie, I have to get him some clothes. Problem is I have no clue where to go.” At her words his smile increases slightly.
“I could help, for a price…”
“Nevermind.”
While she wanted to help she wouldn’t risk anything with Alastor, maybe Angel would be better.
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𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝 𝔻𝕦𝕤𝕥:
He’s seen some shit during his time down in hell, so your actions and attitude isn’t seen as weird to him.
To a degree he’ll take advantage of you. Never anything you wouldn’t want, but to keep him safe from Vaggie or Alastor.
But only he can do it, if anyone else even tries he’ll be there to protect you.
***
“Vaggie, why would I do that?”
“Oh I don’t know, maybe you–”
“Doesn’t matter, I would never when Y/N is with me!”
At his words Vaggie looked down at you, finding you wrapped in Angels pairs of arms. You had a few blooming bruises around your face but otherwise seemed alright.
“Just… Don’t do it again, I don’t want to see Y/N or Charlie get mad at you.”
“Really, Y/N mad at me? Never!” One pair of hands had come up to cup your cheeks, able to leave multiple kisses. Causing Vaggie to leave quickly.
“Now, let me take care of those bruises.”
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𝕊𝕚𝕣 ℙ𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤:
He’s been thrown into the same boat as you, has absolutely no understanding of social cues.
If anything the eggs make it worse, as they are somehow worse than sir pentious.
He has accidentally hurt the both of you at once somehow, no one is sure how that happened.
***
The streets didn’t seem too busy, which was weird for hell. But it might’ve been the fact you and Sir Pentious just weren’t aware of them walking. His tail was swaying dangerously behind him, knocking over any people.
During this his eggs were scattered around the both of you. Some stayed behind, in between and some strayed next to you. Which caused an even bigger barrier to form, now people had to step off the path.
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ℍ𝕦𝕤𝕜:
When he first meets you he won’t really care, he’s had worst people hang around.
If he’s being honest he understands and gets social cues, but majority of the time he just doesn’t care about them.
Even then he knows with your lack of awareness you’re likely to get into some unwanted trouble, so he hangs around a lot more.
***
Husk never had the heart to blame you for any trouble, he knew you never meant it. So tonight he accompanied you to a nearby bar, intending for at least a semi-nice night out. But of course someone had to ruin it.
A drunk demon decided he wanted to bother you for the night, ignoring Husk the whole time. But over time his anger rose, you weren’t even looking at him and you didn’t seem interested.
In which you weren’t, but he seemed so incessant that you spoke, even if you didn’t. His attitude quickly became clear very quickly, except you didn’t notice. As he reached for you Husk was quicker, sending a card flying into his head.
That caused everyone to start their own fights. Which gave you two the chance to leave, with minimal injuries of course. Taking the chance you both ran out, luckily no one else was waiting outside.
“We’re going back.”
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imaginidol · 1 year ago
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Hongjoong: The Dressing Room
!!mentions of NSFW!! 18+!! Please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with smut :) i have no idea why I even wrote this and I hope this is the last time I ever put something out like this into the world again. here’s a hongjoong ver. if you enjoyed the san ver. smut. I’ve also made a yunho ver. smut wooyoung ver. smut and a mingi ver. smut jongho ver. smut here :3
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"Hongjoong?" You knock lightly against the door of the KQ artist's dressing room, holding a hot thermos of tea in one hand and turning the doorknob with the other.
"Come in," the boy calls, his eyes fixated on his phone screen as you approached him. He was calmly sitting at one end of the room, patiently awaiting your arrival.
"Here's the tea you asked for," you say, motioning the thermos toward him. "Careful, it's hot."
"That's fine," he shrugs, taking it from your hands. "Thank you."
You meant to leave the room after, but the slight tension made your feet feel like they were glued to the ground.
"Can I help you?" The boy annoyedly looks up from his phone, his eyes furrowing slightly at the sight of you.
"You're upset," you mutter, squinting your eyes at him. "Why?"
"I'm not upset," he says, putting his phone down and hunching over to place his elbows against the chair's arms.
"You can talk to me," you insist, leaning against the edge of a desk behind you. You and Hongjoong had been close friends at the company since you'd started working, and seeing him upset only raised your eyebrows in question.
"Fine," Hongjoong exhales heavily, reaching for his thermos. He takes a slow sip, then rubs his eyes in annoyance as he ponders over the words he wants to say. "I'm too stressed over this upcoming comeback, I found out my now-ex cheated on me, and I haven't been taking care of myself the way I should because of it all. I haven’t slept well in almost two weeks!"
"Damn," you scoff, Hongjoong flashing you a stern glare and wiping the snarky smile off your face.
"I'm sorry I'm being rude," he says, leaning back against his chair, placing a tired forearm over his forehead. "I'm just so fucking stressed."
"That's alright, as long as you don't hold it all in. It's good for you to let it out," you offer your warmest smile.
"Yeah?" He peeks from under his forearm, flashing you a smile. "I could use some of that, honestly."
"Venting?" you ask, nodding your head. "It's real good when you vent your frustrations."
"What? No, I was thinking of... nevermind," he smiles, tiredly closing his eyes and leaning back against the chair.
Your eyes light up and a small gasp escapes your mouth as a horrifying thought crosses your mind.
"What do you mean 'nevermind'? Now you've gotta tell me," you insist, nudging his shoe with your foot.
"You wouldn't be down like that if I did," he mumbled, hoping you wouldn't catch on.
"How would I know if you don't say it?"
He lifts his head and locks his eyes with yours, not saying a word.
"You're not down," he finally mumbles, lowering his arms and bringing them down against the chair's arms again. “So drop the subject.”
Your heart skips several beats as you notice his eyes grow slightly hooded, a deep hunger settling in far beyond his gaze.
You knew for a fact from Mingi that Hongjoong had liked you way before he had started dating his ex, and the only reason he hadn't pursued you was because you had some boyfriend already by the time you both had met. Now, though, your boyfriend was long gone out of your picture, and Hongjoong was, safe to say, back on the market as well.
Your thoughts on Hongjoong had changed slowly since your breakup. You loved the way he lead his group, the way he worked forcefully towards his projects, and the way you felt safe and cared for around him. Needless to say, you found him incredibly attractive and a total catch by all means possible. And now that he was allegedly single again, a few consensual advances wouldn’t hurt, would they?
You smile devilishly as you feel yourself walk up to the boy sitting in front of you, slowly leaning in and wrapping your arms around his neck.
"You're not down, Joong," you dare, feeling yourself pull away from him as you drop the smirk off your face.
Hongjoong stares at you in a moment of disbelief, unable to immediately read the invitation you had just sent.
"Are you gonna say it, or should I clock out for the night?" you sneer, smiling nefariously as you watch the boy's eyes search you and your body for more invitations.
You take a step back and begin unbuttoning one of your blouse buttons, testing to see where he’d follow you next.
In a mere flash, he’s already standing over you with his curious hands around your waist.
“What are you doing?” He whispers, searching your eyes for more signs.
“Fuck around and… find out,” you stick your tongue out playfully at him. He makes no hesitation to shove you backwards, your ass bumping against the edge of the desk where you were leaning on earlier.
He lifts you on top of it, enclosing his mouth around your bottom lip, his hard fingers clenching your jaw as the echoes of several pencil holders and staplers were flung from the desk in the process.
"You don't know what you're in for, if you seriously wanna do this," he breathes hotly into your mouth.
He takes a moment to hold back from doing anything more, searching your face for any signs of possible regret and resign.
"So, you're saying you wouldn't wanna relieve your stresses?" you tease, pulling into his face and smiling into his lips.
"Fuck off," he sneers, tugging at the hem of your blouse and pulling it over your head.
In a few swift motions, your blouse and bra are flung somewhere across the room, followed by the wet echoes of shared, sloppy kisses bouncing off the plaster walls of the dressing room.
From his peripheral vision, Hongjoong turns his attention towards an L-shaped couch sitting at one end of the dressing room. He grabs and carries you by the hips, advancing towards one end he of the couch as he slammed your body into the plump cushions.
He leans over and traces a delicate line of soft pecks from your jaw to your breasts, nibbling gently against your skin as soft moans escaped your lips.
"Hongjoong," you breathe, tugging at the collar of his shirt.
"I'm not fucking you if you can't keep quiet," he sneers, trailing another line of kisses from your chest down to your hips.
He began to unzip your slacks, quickly undressing you fully and bringing your legs to an outward stretch as far as they'd go.
He slowly dives his face in between your legs, and soon enough the gentle pushes of his tongue against your clit begin to set your nerves ablaze.
"Hongjoong, please," you moan as you feel his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, making swift, deep motions before proceeding to eat you out. You clench your jaw and outstretched your neck as far as you’d go, tugging fiercely against the cushions beneath you in a horny and wet despair.
"Fuck, you need to shut it," he growls, diving back into you as your groin dampened with every feel of his touch.
"Fuck you, Joong," you snap, grabbing ahold of his left hand off your waist and tugging at his fingers.“Use these!”
At the very least, the boy was obedient.
He quickly shoved his middle and index finger into his mouth before diving them deep between your legs, stroking back and forth in a steady rhythm inside of you. With each deepening stroke, you felt a wave of heat overtake your body as you so desperately wanted to plead for more. He reached to clasp your jaw with his free hand and clashed his hot mouth against yours, fingering you steadily with each moan you delivered for him.
The kisses could only muffle so much of your loud moaning, and eventually the precious sounds you’d made had gotten the best of him.
"Fuck," he moaned, roughly unzipping his jeans and stepping out of them and his boxers. He revealed a hardened member progressively leaking more and more as he began jacking himself off, eventually giving up after a couple desperate blows before deciding it was best to insert himself inside of you.
He placed his hands around your hips and proceeded to flip you on your stomach, plunging your head into a plump cushion with one hand while thrusting his hot member into your wet groin with the other.
"I told you to... fuck, keep quiet!" He couldn't resist the few moans escaping his own lips as he held onto your outstretched legs on both sides of him, the warm walls of your insides beginning to loosen with each push.
Your back arched farther out with each of his blows pounding deeper inside of you, your moans steadying as you bit desperately into the soft couch cushions beneath you. At this point, all sweat glands of your body had completely dampened every inch of you, and the boy behind you wasn’t far from the same fate, either.
"Hongjoong, Hongjoong," you cried out, the vivid hot tears now streaming down your face as you felt the throbbing sensation of the boy’s pounding member inside of you. At this point, Hongjoong had been concentrating so hard that he hadn’t noticed how far back he’d slid the couch against the wall behind it. With every hard thrust came a loud thump! as one end of the couch slammed repeatedly against the wall behind it.
"Hongjoong," you exhale as your body is set ablaze in hot sweat, irresistible groin pain, and your senses completely hightened. Your fists ball up tighter into the cushions surrounding you as you desperately sink your teeth deeper into the fabric.
I’m about to cum, fuck, I’m about to—
"Shut.. the.. fuck.. up.." Hongjoong breathes in between thrusts, scrunching his face towards the ceiling as he felt himself about to release.
In a quick, sudden instant, a loud, familiar echo erupts through the room as the doorknob turns and the door swings open, inside walking Wooyoung.
"Hongjoong, what's all the noise--SHIT!" the boy's face turns as pale as a ghost, and he immediately slams the door shut, the shadows of his feet under the doorway disappearing back down the hallway.
Your eyes unfocus hazily as you feel your body tightening up in shock, but the only reason Hongjoong didn't immediately stop at the interruption of his younger friend was because was already coming, and he was coming hard.
"Fuck it.. I'll.. I'll.. apologize.. to that.. fucker.. later," he groaned, feeling the final rushes of joy as he finally came inside you.
He defeatedly pulls out, warm fluids seeping all over your lower back. He sighs, looking up towards the ceiling for a short moment to take in the events of the last fifteen minutes. He pulls his black shirt over his neck to take it off, reaching towards a corner end table closest to him to grab an unopened water bottle.
You feel a soft wet cloth wiping you away as you realized Hongjoong had dampened his shirt with the water bottle. Once you were done, you giggled as he helped turn you over and began dressing you again, this time offering you one of his own t-shirts and sweatpants that he thankfully kept in a closet.
Thank fuck we're in my dressing room, he thought.
Once he made sure you were completely comfortable and clothed, he then proceeded to clean and dress himself up, too.
You smiled lazily as your eyes followed the tempered boy across the room, noting the drenched locks of dark wet hair curtaining over his forehead.
He walked back to the couch and plopped himself next to you, wearing a new shirt and sweatpants that he’d also pulled from his closet.
You comfortably reposition your bodies, placing your head warmly against his shoulder. As you crossed your legs, you wince at the raw feeling of Hongjoon’s imprint that still lingered inside you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tucking a gentle finger under your chin to turn your face as he placed a gentle kiss against your lips.
"Joong?" you look up from where you leaned against his shoulder, lazily running your fingers through his dampened hair.
"Hmmm?" he groggily looks down, fighting to keep his eyes awake.
"Do you... do you think we'll get in mega-deep trouble for this? And because of Wooyoung?"
Hongjoong scoffs, realizing he would need to have a gentle conversation with his younger friend after.
"That boy won't say a thing, I can promise you that," he whispers, leaning over to plant a soft kiss against your forehead. "Although next time, I'll make sure the door is locked."
"You mean you'd wanna do this again!? Here!?" you look up at him in disbelief, a sly grin threatening to cross your face at the mere thought of Hongjoong’s new method to relieve frustration again.
"I mean, unless you don’t want to end what you've just started, we don't have to," he smiled assuringly.
You frowned. "I didn't say I wouldn't want you all over me like that anymore," you grunt.
"Good," the tired boy grins mischievously, "because believe me, my life never stops stressing me the fuck out."
2K notes · View notes
sturniqlo · 4 months ago
Text
Something You Aren't- C.S
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summary: Y/n wants something serious with Chris, but Chris only likes the thought of having someone next to him.
cw: angst, cursing, crying, toxic!chris (he gets slapped)
an: based on this ask (i changed a few things tho), very short, honestly it's a blurb :/
masterlist
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"Hey, where's Chris?" Y/n says, as she comes up the stairs from Chris' room. She had arrived about an hour ago, laying in Chris' bed as he gamed in his corner. However, while she was in the bathroom, Chris had left. "I actually don't know." Matt says from his spot on the couch. "Oh, well, I think I'm heading out. It's getting pretty late."
That encounter happened about a month ago. Things between Chris and Y/n only went downhill from there. Chris would leave to who knows where half of the time Y/n went to visit him. They were both messing around with each other for about five months at this point. The girl wanted something serious but, Chris didn't let that happen. He wanted to stay with his things were. So that he'd be able to do the things he was doing behind her back. At the end of the day, he had someone to go back to. He knew she wouldn't leave him, she was in to deep. Or so he thought.
When Chris would leave randomly, she was always embarrassed to walk up the stairs to retrieve her stuff and walk past his brothers. They always gave her a smile of pity. She hated it. But, she never left him. Until, she found out what he was doing.
"Hey, where are you? I thought you were coming over?" She says into her phone. In the background she can hear loud music and people talking. "I got caught up in the meeting." Chris says unbothered. "A meeting? You mean a party." She scoffs. "Do you not believe me?" He defends himself. "Just- nevermind. I'll see you another day." Y/n hangs up the phone and sighs in defeat. Trying to not let her tears fall. She angrily gets up off of her couch and goes straight to her kitchen. She had spent hours making them a dinner and baking treats only for Chris to go to a fucking party.
Grabbing what was supposed to be Chris' plate she goes to the trash and scrapes off the food into the garbage. "Asshole." She mutters. Going to her sink she places the glass plate down gently. She decides to eat dinner later. Y/n changes into some comfy clothes and heads to her bed to scroll for a while. Opening instagram, she sees one of her mutual friends she has with Chris posted something on their story.
It shows their friend and a couple of people taking shots. However, in the corner, she spots a bright light blue hoodie that belongs to Chris. She replays it and sees that he's coming out of a room with a blonde girl fixing her smudged lipstick and fixing her excuse of a skirt and Chris fixes his pants and runs a hand through his hair. It was posted an hour ago.
Y/n begins to sob. How could he? She knew he wasn't ready to commit, the reasons? She didn't know. But now she did. He wanted to be a 'single' man. He wanted to fuck other girls. She now knew that Chris never broke it off with her because he knew that she was too attached to him and wouldn't leave his side.
Suddenly her doorbell rings. Rubbing her tears she goes out and opens it only to reveal Chris in the same hoodie as the video. "Leave." She says, not letting him speak a word. "Hello to you too. Why you cryin'?" He lets himself in closing the door and gently grabs her chin to kiss her. As his lips touch hers she nearly gives in, nearly. "No, stop it! You don't get to kiss me!" She leans away and pushes his face away. "What wrong with you tonight? Thought you wanted to have a date night here." Chris argues. "You don't think I don't notice those hickies on your fucking neck? That lipstick on your mouth? The fact that you reek of cheap perfume? I know you're fucking other bitches behind my back."
Chris' face drops but, he tries to play it off. "What are you talking about?" He suddenly feels a sting on his left cheek. "Fuck you, Chris! We're done! I'm done following you around like a fucking puppy! I'm tired of the lies! If you didn't want to commit to me you should've let me go instead of having sex with god know how many other girls."
"You're being a fucking baby! Childish, even. We're not together, okay? We're fuck buddies." Y/n only grows angrier. "Really?" She pathetically laughs. "Seems like you have many fuck buddies then. I guess losing one won't hurt right? Because I'm done with you. Get out of my house." She tries to stay calm. "Don't be like that, Y/n. I'm sure you've fucked other guys too." Y/n moves behind him and opens her front door. "Leave." She makes eye contact with him and sees he grows furious. He walks out the door and grabs the door knob and slams the door behind him.
All Y/n can do is lock her door and slide her back down burying her head in her knees.
It had been two weeks since they both saw each other. Chris grew antsy at the fact that Y/n wasn't answering her calls or texts. He thought she would eventually break the silence and come running back but, he was wrong. Both Matt and Nick had noticed that Y/n hasn't been over their house in well over two weeks. They questioned Chris about it and all he told them was 'she'll come around.' During his alone time in his room, he missed her. Although he never admitted it out loud, he missed her so much.
Over the two weeks, he had realized that what he did to her was wrong. He betrayed her trust and he hates himself for it. She was someone he's never had in life ever. She's the most kind, loving, and caring person ever. And he took her for granted.
He grew impatient. Tonight, he grabbed his home keys, phone and wallet and walked to her home which was a fifteen minute walk. He had texted her but, like always she didn't answer. Walking to her house, he thought of all of the possibilities that could happen. She could forgive him and they can return to normal again, or she could slap him again and tell him to get out of her life and not want to do anything with him ever again.
Knocking on her door, he waits a few minutes before he hears the door unlocking. "Chris- what are you doing here." Y/n opens the door and sees him. Chris takes in her appearance, her hair is in a messy bun, and she's wearing her lounging clothes. Something she always wore around him. "You've been ignoring me." He says lowly. "Didn't I tell you we're done?" She scoffs, opening the door more so she can stand in the doorway. "Baby, you can't mean that. I'm sorry, ma." Chris says, going to take her hands in his but she moves them behind her back. His heart breaks.
"Chris, I- I can't do this right now. I don't care how sorry you are. I'm sorry you just noticed how you've been towards me. But, I want something serious. And you're not ready for that, maybe you don't even want that. I want someone who loves me for me. Someone who won't go behind my back and sleep with other people, knowing that I'm waiting for them back at their home. I really did like you, Chris. So much. So fucking much. But what you did to me is so unforgivable. Maybe you don't understand where I'm coming from. But, I just can't be with you, if you're going to be like this." Chris can only listen and feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. "Y/n." He whispers.
"I think you should go." She whispers, trying to blink her tears away. "Y/n, please. I- I love you." Her tears escape her eyes. "Chris, no. You don't. You love the idea that I was always there for you no matter what after you came back from who knows where. You love that I would always follow you around, no matter how long it had been since you've spoken a word to me. You love that we would always go back to normal after fighting. But, you don't love me. You don't. You only love the things that benefit you that come from me. And I don't want that." Chris feels a lump forming in his throat after hearing her words. "Just go, please." She pleads, not looking at him.
"Okay, okay, I'll go. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I can't be who you want me to be."
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daistea · 3 months ago
Text
𝕃𝕒𝕚𝕠𝕤 𝕩 𝕘𝕟 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 -
ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤
2,300 words
post-canon - spoilers
no tws
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You are being courted by the literal King of Melini. 
And he is only half aware of it. 
Laios is not oblivious concerning certain matters. However, his understanding of courting and romance are limited. It’s not an issue of intelligence, but rather his investment in the subject. He has relative awareness of what’s appropriate when dealing with a friend. He does not know how other people will interpret his actions with someone he fancies. Unfortunately, people notice him now more than ever. 
 Laios was considering the possibility of running away. 
 It was a feeling that he hadn’t experienced in years. Ever since entering the dungeon, the urge to run away had become rarer. Laios didn’t particularly seek out challenges, but he found ways to handle them. Callouses from the hilt of a sword and the stale air of underground cities had taught him the importance of standing his ground. Dragons, mad sorcerers, canaries, lions with wings and the all-consuming desire for desire— he didn’t run away despite his years of doing so before. 
 How odd that the fate of the world did not scare him away, yet rumors of his relationship with you were enough to turn him into a hermit. 
 “You haven’t made a public appearance in days.”
 Laios lifted his head to meet Marcille’s stare. She wasn’t smiling, but whether her frown was supposed to be a pout or a scowl, he couldn’t tell. He sat up straight and let his feet hit the floor, suddenly self-conscious of how he’d been sitting with his knees to his chest like a kid, scribbling on parchment. 
 “Yeah,” Laios offered a smile of his own, “that isn’t too long, I think. Plenty of people stay inside for days.”
 “Well, by days, I mean two weeks.”
 “Then why’d you say days?”
 “It’s just a— Okay, nevermind,” Marcille shut her eyes and waved a hand, “You haven’t left the palace in two weeks. There have been people showing up that want to see you, and Kabru’s had to be the one to hear out their complaints.”
 What was the issue? Kabru was probably having the time of his life. 
 From an objective level, Laios knew what Marcille was getting at. He was the King of Melini, he should’ve been publicly supporting the people. His recent shut-in behavior didn’t stem from a dislike of the job or his citizens, but rather a desire to hide from something invisible, devastating, and anxiety-inducing. 
 He gripped his parchment tighter, and his feet tapped on the wooden flooring of the palace library. “They want me to take a spouse.”
 Marcille squinted, “Yeah, what’s new? They’ve been wanting that from the very beginning.”
 “They’ve been, uh— I think it’s called shipping? No idea why. They’ve been shipping me and [Name].” Laios felt his cheeks go warm and his throat close up.
 Marcille’s eyes widened, “Oh?” Her voice went into a higher pitch, “You and [Name]? How interesting.” 
 He turned in his chair and gently set his bundle of parchment on the table. Someone, he wasn’t sure who, had very kindly made holes in the corners and tied small leather straps through the holes to make it into something resembling a book. He had the power to just make a real book, but the thought of giving these specific papers to someone else for that process made his stomach hurt. 
 “Yep,” Laios drummed his fingers up and down, one at a time, on the front page of his parchment collection. Looking Marcille in the eye suddenly felt like yanking out each and every hair on his arms for whatever reason. 
 She sighed and stepped further into the library. Closing the door behind her, she then neared his table and slipped into the seat across from him, “You obviously like them. Why not just go for it?”
 That hesitance to look her in the eye instantly disappeared as he met her stare, “I do?”
 “Obviously like them? Yes, you do.”
 Laois stared at the wood grains in the table as if they held the answers. “Huh. I don’t know about that.”
 “You drew a monster-sona for them.”
 In the specific collection of parchment that sat beneath his hands, yes he did draw a monster-sona of them. How she knew about that was a mystery, but all he could do was meet her gaze, excited, “What do you think of it?”
 Marcille’s nose scrunched, “I— I don’t think anything of it! It’s weird that you do that, actually! A normal person doesn’t make monster versions of their friends!”
 It wasn’t weird. In fact, it felt perfectly normal. Laios barely registered her outburst anyway. “I do that with everyone I care about.”
 “Right,” Marcille rested her forehead in one hand, “You do. That’s probably not the best example to use.”
 Your monster-sona was way cooler than the usual sonas he gave his friends, though— and he gave them some pretty cool sonas. Laios assigned the types of monsters and their qualities to each individual person based on what fit them. Or based on what looked the best, it depended on his mood. However, concerning you, he gave you the exact same qualities that he would have as a monster. Then, he drew your monster version and his monster version cuddling in a cave together and starting a monster family, simultaneously creating an entirely new species that would eventually reach the top of the Creature Pyramid. 
 But Marcille didn’t need to know that. 
 “I’m not ready to court anyone,” Laios said with a smile, “but I’ll try making a public appearance soon.”
 “And just ignore the rumors and pressure,” Marcille insisted. 
 “Yeah, I’ll do that,” he nodded, closing his eyes. He’d faced dragons and sorcerers and the literal embodiment of mana. He could handle a rumor or two. 
In his attempt to ignore the rumors and go about his life as he usually would, he unknowingly courts you. 
He enjoys dressing in normal clothes and going into town by himself or with friends. A lot of new restaurants have opened in Melini lately, and he wants to try them with people he loves. Including you. Often, it’s just you and him that go together. 
He makes very little effort to hide his identity. The people of Melini are hard-working and only half of them pay attention to what’s happening at the palace. The people who do recognize him are usually the residents of the Golden Country, and they treat him like an old friend. Any newcomers to the city either have no idea who he is, simply whisper about him from a distance, or awkwardly approach him. 
However, you’re often seen at his side. He looks at you when he says something he thinks is funny, just to see your reaction, your smile. He looks at you when he says something he thinks is smart, to see if you think it’s smart too. He looks at you simply to look at you. 
It’s the advisors and diplomats and delegates who notice this the most. Some people from other countries want to use it to their advantage, but Marcille and Kabru usually keep them in check. 
Laios sends you gifts often. They’re incredibly practical gifts. If he sends flowers, it’s because they have some sort of herbal-type of property that he thinks could be useful. If he sends you books, it’s because he liked them and wanted to share the story with you, so you could talk about it with him later. He sends utensils, interesting snacks, games, anything you could use for your hobbies, etc. 
Word about this only gets out because the palace servants notice and think it’s cute. It endears him to them, helping them forget about his usual blunt and out-of-pocket statements for half a second. 
The servants and other people who know Laios pity you. They often make that clear with how they treat you, as if you’re some saint for putting up with him. He ignores it, usually. With anyone else, he wouldn’t even notice it much. Yet, since it concerns you, he’s a bit more aware of their view about your relationship. He doesn’t particularly care how they see him, but the implication that you’re only close to him out of pity or charity is a bother. 
The original citizens of the Golden Kingdom genuinely like him. They’re grateful, and they accept your presence with open arms. Most of them are already assuming that you’ll be his consort one day. 
Courting from Laios, the King, also includes spending time with him at the palace. He has dogs, so many dogs, and he likes it when you play with them. 
He holds your hand a lot, seemingly at random. Yet, in his mind, it’s not random at all. He’s holding your hand because one of the dogs ran by and nearly knocked into you and you looked like you were about to fall. He’s holding your hand because the ground is muddy and he doesn’t want you to slip. He’s holding your hand because the floor was just mopped and— wait, you shouldn’t walk on the mopped floor, just stand here with him and hold his hand while it dries.
This is very normal. 
“That’s not normal.”
 Laios was starting to wish his friends would knock, or greet him with a ‘hello’ rather than out-of-the-blue statements and observations that flew right over his head. 
 He tangled his fingers with yours, casting you a glance with the intent to see your reaction. You simply looked confused at Kabru’s statement. Waiting for the floor to dry was perfectly normal, polite even. 
 “What’s not normal?” Laios asked as he returned his attention to Kabru. 
 The advisor stood in the doorway with several books nestled in the crook of his arm. He was making a face with some sort of negativity written on it, which was unusual because Kabru was usually very cheerful and polite. He didn’t often step into freshly mopped rooms and make random statements with no context. 
 “For friends,” Kabru sighed, then seemed to gather himself, putting the pieces of his mind back together. “I mean, for you and [Name] to hold hands all the time. Normal friends don’t do that.”
 Laios immediately looked at you for assurance. You shrugged. He looked at Kabru again, “What’s the problem?”
 “There’s no problem.”
 Kabru said it so genuinely, too. Every ounce of the conversation was only making Laios more confused.
 “Then why’d you just—”
 “Have you ever considered that the rumors about you two may be veridical?” Kabru asked. It was barely noticeable, but his voice went up slightly in pitch. He tilted his head and smiled as he held his books closer. There were only a few wet spots left on the floor, catching the light of the candle-covered chandelier hanging overhead. 
 Laios stepped into a dry spot and you followed without question. Your hand didn’t dare leave his, and the realization that you wanted to follow him, that you wanted to hold his hand, made his heart flutter. It felt as if there was a bird in his chest. It beat its wings with the desire to take flight. 
 The mention of the rumors kept the bird grounded, though. “Not really. We’re just friends, and we both know that.”
 “Friends don’t hold hands all the time.”
 “Falin and Marcille hold hands all the time,” Laios said, smiling as if he were proud to back Kabru into a metaphorical corner. 
 Kabru simply stared at him. He looked odd, a bit constipated. You tried to stifle a laugh, and Laios immediately turned his head to look at you, painting the image of your smile in his mind. His brain was an art gallery and you were the theme, the muse. He stared. You stared. Kabru smoothed out the constipated look and turned to leave. The floor was almost dry, but your hand stayed tangled with the King’s. 
Kabru and Marcille stage an intervention. They have the medieval equivalent to a power-point presentation with proof and observations, intended to help Laios realize that he is not just your friend. 
It does not work. 
Falin is visiting and wanders into the room. She takes a seat beside Laios, glances at Kabru and Marcille’s presentation, then innocently asks, “How is [Name]?”
Laios grins and perks up and starts to ramble, gesturing and tilting his head while he shares every thought concerning you.
Falin hums and nods. Eventually, she says, “I’m so happy you’ve fallen in love.”
And she says it so sweetly, too. 
Laios freezes. He presses his palms togethers and brings them to his lips, his eyes wide. Marcille and Kabru are staring. 
Later that night, Laios lays awake in bed and stares at the ceiling. 
He’s in love. 
He apologizes to Kabru and Marcille for all the trouble. Then, goes straight to you, and he takes your hand even though there’s no mud or obstacles or wet floors. As he kisses your knuckles— he saw Kabru do that to a diplomat lady once— it feels like a key unlocking a door. The bird in his chest takes flight when you smile. He is definitely, undeniably, irrevocably, in love.
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