#They need at least a LITTLE backstory before I can even think of getting inside their brains and swirling their thoughts like spaghetti

[dbphantom]

I'm going through some of my H2O fanfic documents for... reasons... and I fucking forgot that I gave every single one of Lewis's family members names that start with L ahsggsgss. Do you think that his parents realized as soon as they had their first kid that they could do something extraordinarily funny. I think that's what happened.

[feninina]

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

taglist: @lovesickxcherries @genini @ilunapb @ostricx @devotedlyshadowytheorist

if you want to be added let me know, it’ll be my pleasure🫶🏻

[holylulusworld]

Every Breath You take (1)

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, Bucky x Alpine (platonic)

Warnings: stalking, being stalked, loneliness, a man out of time, bitchy boss, secret admirer trope, voyeurism

A/N: We start slowly to get to know them and their backstory. In this part, we will get to know Y/N better.

A/N2: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Catch up here: Every breath you take (Prologue)

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

You’re chewing on your lower lip, humming at something your boss said. He’s boring as hell and so demanding. With his hands on his hips, he glares at your lunch as if he wants to turn it to ashes.

All you want to do is tell him to leave you alone during lunch break. You’re just too polite and nice to do so. 

He can bug you during work time, but not in the precious moments you use to catch up on the latest gossip on your phone. 

You were about to read about an affair Tony Stark had with an intern. Fake news, you’re fairly sure, but it’s still entertaining reading all the furious and stupid comments.

“Sure,” you nod and make a mental note, hopefully not forgetting about his next demand before you reach your desk to write it down. “Right after my lunch break.” You point out and give him a fake smile.

“You better hurry,” he snaps at you and storms off. “If not, you can look for a new job.”

He cannot fire you per se. Your boss is not as important as he thinks he is. One word to the HR and he can kiss his ass goodbye.

You’re just indifferent when it comes to your boss and his antics. You prefer to ignore his sometimes nasty comments.

The world is cold and unfriendly enough. You don’t want to be the kind of person adding more hatred to this world.

Bucky aimlessly strolls through the streets. He prepared everything for tonight, and now he’s a little lost because you are still at work.

It became his obsession to make sure you came home safely. He’d kill the time, window shopping or imagining how’d feel to hold your hand.

Time. Bucky needs more time to prepare himself to meet you for real. 

He wants your first date to be perfect. Therefore, he must watch you a little longer to get to know you better. – At least that’s how he justifies he’s following you like a shadow for the better of three weeks.

Bucky stops in front of your favorite bookstore, he looks out the window, wondering if he should buy you a book and gift it to you this week, or wait a little longer. 

He shakes his head. No. Bucky will start with the usual gift. Flowers. He saw you carry flowers inside your apartment over the last weeks more than once.

You love flowers, and he will find out which ones you love the most. Bucky doesn’t want to gift you the wrong flowers and disappoint you.

He already has a plan. According to your schedule – which he knows by heart – you will go to the little café close to your home. The perfect opportunity to sneak inside your apartment and get to know you even better.

Bucky will take any chance to make you see he’s more than his bad reputation. To the people out there he’s still the Winter Soldier. He doesn’t want you to think the same about him.

All he wants is to keep you safe and happy. Bucky’s new mission is the most important one he ever had. 

For today, he will wait patiently to follow you home, making sure you’re safe. There are many dangerous people out there, wanting to hurt or take advantage of a lovely person like you.

“Phew, home sweet home,” you sigh and plop down onto your sofa. You’re tired, and hungry and would kill to have someone to massage your shoulders. “What a shitty day.”

You hate to get back up, but you need a shower and search your fridge to find anything eatable. Your boss made sure you were working overtime, and you didn’t have the energy left to buy groceries.

Slowly getting back up, you sigh. You’d love to fall asleep right here on the couch, but it won’t do you any good.

Instead of sleeping, you walk out of the living room to have a shower. There’s still enough time left to watch your favorite show and eat leftovers from your fridge.

“She looks tired,” Bucky worriedly watches you with his binoculars when you walk back inside your living room. You yawn and rub your tired eyes. “She’s wearing cute pajamas, Alpine.”

Your secret admirer swoons. “Isn’t our girl beautiful?” He dips his head to look at Alpine sitting on his lap. The white cat meows and rubs his cheek into Bucky’s shirt. “She’ll be such a good mommy for you.”

Bucky pats Alpine’s head, gently murmuring the cat’s name. Alpine is his only companion, and he wants the cat to love you too.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers while lifting the binoculars to his eyes again, “she’s a wonderful and kind person. Y/N will love you too.”

Bucky inhales deeply as he presses your shirt to his nose. He’d love to take it with him, but for now, the top and panties he found under your bed must do. Bucky cannot risk taking more of your things right now.

In due time, he will take more of your things to bring them to the house he plans to buy for you and him. He’s already ahead of his plans, but Bucky never felt like this again. Not since Hydra turned him into a monster everyone still fears.

“Soon,” he hums and walks around your bedroom. Bucky takes his time, and even risks lying in your bed for a moment. He sniffs at your pillow, inhaling your scent deeply. 

Bucky sighs. He can’t risk leaving his scent on your sheets and must slip out of your bed too soon for his liking.

Time. He needs more time. Bucky tells himself all over again. He cannot risk scaring you off, or that you’ll be afraid of him.

He’s a protector, not a villain.

Bucky slowly walks out of your bedroom and inside your bathroom. He wants to know more about the products you like, and maybe sniff at your perfume too.

You’re still at work, and he has all the time in the world before he will pick you up from work and bring you home. In his mind. – He cannot turn up at your workplace and offer you a ride home. Not yet.

Bucky lurks around the corner to watch you walk out of the building. You’re angrily wiping your eyes and even cussing. Something you never did before.

“Who hurt you, doll?” He asks himself, and the person delivers the answer on a silver plate.

Your boss storms after you, calling you a dumb bimbo while throwing a tantrum like a man-child. 

Bucky squares his jaw. He clenches and unclenches his metal fist, ready to beat your boss into a bloody pulp.

No—not now. Not here. He will bring you home first and come back. Bucky will avenge you, and make sure your boss will never dare to raise his voice around you again.

Every Breath You Take (2)

Tags in reblog.

[vashtijoy]

why everybody is wrong about the unlock date for akechi's rank 6 (and why it matters)

So It Is Known that Akechi's rank 6 unlocks on 9/3, right? That's the first day he'll show up in Leblanc to go to the bathhouse and tell you about his sad backstory (again). That is his unlock date. R...ight?

Game says no.

This is the function that (usually) tests Akechi's rank 6 time lock, SUB_COOP_TIME_[L]OCK6(). What does it do? It sets a bit, 0x1 831, if we fail the check. Which we will unfailingly do on every single day within a specified date range. And what is that range?

That range is between 4/1 and 8/28.

Read that again. Not 9/2, the day before 9/3. 8/28.

The same 8/28 we all know and love for, uh, some reasons:

That's right. The reason Akechi's confidant is locked until 9/3, the reason he has not one but two "let me tell you about my backstory" events inside of a week, is that one triggers the other.

Akechi shows up at Leblanc on 8/28. He finds a listening ear, and a shoulder to cry on—because, remember, we're smack in the middle of Akechi Hate Month:

This kid, who is so desperate for attention and approval that he's become a mass-murderer over it, is now in the middle of a public hate storm. And on 8/28, you listen to him. You make him welcome. You accept him for who he is—at least, for a little part of who he is.

And so he comes back less than a week later. On 9/3.

if he unlocks on 8/29, why 9/3?

Akechi's availability is often quite limited. Between 8/28 and 9/3, he's only available on one day, 8/30—though if you're already at rank 5, you can't do anything with him then.

Why doesn't he come to Leblanc on 8/30?

The Leblanc field (areas in P5 are technically known as fields) calls a very long, very unedifying function called NPC_FLAG_SELECTOR(), to see which NPCs it should load when. In short? It does this by testing the day of the week.

GET_DAYOFWEEK() returns a number between 0 (Sunday) and 6 (Saturday). So, because Akechi will only come to Leblanc if GET_DAYOFWEEK() returns 6, Akechi will only ever come to Leblanc on Saturdays.

And the first Saturday after 8/29? It is, of course, 9/3.

why does this matter?

Does this change anything? In practical terms, no. Akechi is still always going to be inaccessible for rank 6 until 9/3. But does it confirm anything about him? Well, yeah.

Akechi's rank 7 unlock really is on 11/2, the morning he tells you "I was working last night, so I'm tired today"—that time lock terminates on 11/1. His skill checks (Knowledge and Charm) are all exactly what you think. He even has a hidden lock for rank 8 (still called a time lock by the code) which verifies that he's currently a team member and won't let you proceed otherwise; that, too, acts exactly as you'd expect.

It's rank 6 which turns out to have this secret, to truly be as closely connected to 8/28 as it always appeared. Akechi comes to Leblanc in his hour of need, and he finds something—and then, the next day, he wants more.

And so he comes back—the very next evening he can get away to spend time in Yongen-jaya.

(Incidentally, I'm pretty sure Akechi lives in Kichijoji, and this kind of backs that up. It's the sort of super-trendy place he'd make a show of liking, and in fairness, he clearly does like it. He can only come to Yongen on Saturday nights because it's a lot of travel, close to an hour each way in the early evenings. But Kichijoji? He can hang out there far more often—because it's right on his doorstep.)

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.0 (2023/12/26)—first posted.

[junegirl06]

Some spamton art and rambling

Spamton is a very interesting character. Anybody who had payed attention to Deltarune after chapter 2 would know this. And his sheer popularity makes sense. His odd way of speaking, the perfect mix of quirkiness and terrifying insanity, the tragic backstory. The elements are all there to make a insanely well written character. But uh- I'm not here to gush about how good of a character Spamton is. (I mean, technically I am) I'm here to look at his character specifically through the lens of him being a spam bot.

Despite what the addisons said about Spamton being "like the rest of us," I think Spamton always was meant to be a little different. The way his appearance is very similar to the addisons but not quite the same - I'm pretty sure his marketing tactics followed the same principle. Whether it was because he was simply a bit more pushy with his advertisements, or that there was something a bit unnerving about his character even before gaster/the mysterious entity came into play, I'm sure there was a reason the customers ignored him. Just like how people ignore real life spam emails. They're annoying, unsafe, weird, stupid. Spamton was always meant to be ignored. To be that one email guy popping up at people with advertisements on the streets. People just DON'T LIKE SPAM.

Then the mysterious entity came into Spamton's life. Somehow, defying all logic, they made spam emails popular. They made Spamton popular. But they also gave him knowledge on the nature of their world. That everything is controlled by the plot and other such unseen forces, and that nobody can truly make their own decisions in this world. With this, Spamton knew his popularity really wasn't supposed to have happened in the first place, but everybody already loved him, (well, the addisons left him- but that was just because they were jealous! He didn't need them!) and he'd ride the wave as high as it'd take him.

But it all came crashing sooner than even Spamton expected. Without the entity's help, the world corrected itself, and everybody went right back to hating spam emails. Spamton would go back to being that forgetful email guy. No, it was even worse now. At least back then he had some people that were friendly to him. Now... he had nobody. He didn't even have a house.

He was always meant to be this way, wasn't he? No matter how hard he tried, the world simply wouldn't let him be a big shot. Spamton absolutely hated that. He wanted to fight back against this cruel world. Now, he didn’t just want his popularity back, he wanted freedom. To escape the confines of this story and his role as a personified spam bot, to become something… more. To truly become a [BIG SHOT]!

But that didn’t change the fact he was still a spam bot. And what do spam bots do? They just keep sending emails to as many people as possible, just in the off chance somebody will click that link. That’s exactly what Spamton does to try to gain his freedom. He latched on to a ray of hope- that robot in the basement- and repeatedly attempted to sneak inside the queens mansion to get to it without regard for exactly how good his plans are, in the vain hope one of those attempts would succeed at one point. He just kept trying. Over and over and over… slowly losing his mind even more in the process. There is evidence that he tries multiple times to get inside the basement, with Sweet Cap’n Cakes mentioning a “funny little man” asking them for help to sneak in the mansion, and Swatch mentioning an impersonator- which is probably Spamton. Which uh… the image of the tiny dude dressing up as this huge bird guy and thinking it’s a clever enough disguise to get past everybody in the mansion in a funny thought- but kinda sad at the same time. Seriously- did Spamton really think there was a chance that’d work??? But I digress.

Even with his repeated unsuccessful attempts to infiltrate the mansion- there was one attempt that worked. When Kris and the player came into the picture. But even with the help of a lighter and a literal god-being on his side helping him with his plan… he still failed. That neo robot didn’t do anything for his situation. He was still trapped. And so he turned against Kris, and by extension the player, in a last ditch attempt to get his freedom. That was what fully solidified his utter failure. He was going against us. But even if he hadn’t attempted to fight the player, he would’ve have failed in any other attempt anyways.

From the very moment Spamton decided to oppose the rules of this video game world, to try to become something more than a spam bot, he was destined to fail. Even if he managed to get Kris’s soul. Even if he somehow became as powerful as Asriel in undertale, he still wouldn’t get the freedom he wants. Because he is a character in a video game, and he will never become anything more than that.

[lovewithkarma]

Can u do parent figure flags with a child reader who has a similar backstory to "My Eyes Deceive" (rblx game btw and plantonic yandere)

My child

Tw: yandere, major mention of SA

The flags were on a mission , apparently there was this guy who got involved with the port mafia. The flags were told that "He stolen some of my antidote's and other medicine" by Mori.

Iceman was able to find out where he lived just by spying on him for less then a day. He got the flags all together and went to the man's house. Iceman was holding a cigarette while chūya kicked down the door.

They heard a man rushing from the basement. He basically ran to them, tripping his on two feet. He felt the eyes of 6 men on him, next moment there was screaming and crying...

Iceman was returning from the car, he locked the trunk so the man couldn't get out

While doc was looking for the medicine he saw the basement door trying to go up. The door was on the floor so Doc kneel down tempted to see what's inside. Right as he was about to open it -he saw a little pair of hands trying to open the basement door.

Pianoman was overlooking doc shoulder. He saw the little hands and was confused. Did he really have a child? Pianoman walked to doc an kneel down.

"Doc, did you just see what I just saw?"

"A child hands? Yeah"

By then all of them flags were around the basement door. Pianoman slowly open the door to see a little child trying to lift the door open.

"What are you doing little one?"

The flags were surprised by seeing a child.  pianoman lift you up and put you close too the flags.

" Dear? Are you alright? "

You seemed to be sensitive to the light as you put your hands over your eyes. That or you were crying.

"What do we do? We can't exactly leave her?"

Chūya Said looking at pianoman.

"Im not sure."

In the end the flags decided on a  plan to take you, clean you up and take you to a orphanage .

Pianoman told albatross to let you wear his sunglasses because of how sensitive you are to the light. As soon as he put his sunglasses on you -you looked confused. Not knowing what to do.

Pianoman lift you up and took you to the car. Pianoman had to calm you down as you cried and cried.

He made it too the car with you crying a little less.

----

Doc was in his office. He was done with checking if you were okay. What he found was horrifying . He then turn to you

"(Name) did your father ever..."

Doc mumbled under his breath

" how could i explain this to a child.. Maybe if gave them a paper..."

Doc handed you a paper of human body parts,asking you to show where your father touch you . When you pointed at the places his face went cold.

" I'll be back"

---

Doc, pianoman and Iceman were talking about what to do with (reader)

Iceman took his cigarette and raised it near his lips

" It's none of my business whenever they goes or stays "

" hm, I think we should let them stay for a bit longer before sending them to the orphanage"

Pianoman looked at doc

" So tell me, how was their exam? "

"It was going good at first, they seemed to be really timid and sensitive to light. However at the end I found something rather.. Disgusting"

Iceman and pianoman both found look at doc

" We found DNA in them "

"Oh, you don't mean-"

"I do. That man who we kidnapped is a child rapist"

" well what do we do now? We can't exactly keep them"

" No but we can keep them till their safe"

-

(Name) has been in the port mafia medical care for days now. Even though they have gotten better (physically ) doc didn't send them out. He claim (name) needed to stay for longer and him being the Port Mafia's Medical Supervisor Doctor medical nobody question him.

It wasn't like you couldn't just lay in peace while albatross was talking non stop to you. You laid there as he talked for hours without end.

At least doc was always there to help, whenever you glance at doc he was quick to kick albatross out.

" Leave the kid alone would ya "

Iceman did come from time to time, he would always bring a gift with him too. Coloring books and anything that didn't cause a mess. He would just be there sitting on the seat as you played.

" ... "

Lippmann was the same as albatross but way more calm. He was always talking about his new shows

" So (name) I got a offer as a -"

Pianoman always had a smile on his face, with a gift too. Usually a homemade one that was beautiful. He was skilled with his hands from what you could tell.

" dear I brought something I made just for you "

While you liked all of the gifts, you wanted to leave. You slowly got up and gently pulled his coat.

" when could I leave?"

"When your back to Heath (name)"

Doc said with a smile

" but I feel perfectly healthy"

" your medical reports doesn't say the same now get back to your bed before I make you take icky medicine"

" awh "

--

While days passed it had almost been a month since you were took by the flags. You wanted to be free and you were sick of the "hospital" so one night you sneak out of the room. All you saw was red walls with beautiful designs. You heard some noises coming from a room.

" We can't let them leave , do you know what doc found out what their father does to them!"

"Yeah, well their father isn't exactly with us right now. But I agree I mean what if they do the same in the orphanage "

" See? Even Lippmann agrees"

"Albatross, you're yelling-"

Pianoman stop his sentence as he heard glass breaking. Pianoman open the door then Everyone went quiet.

"Hello (name)"

[wanderingaldecaldo]

I've been posting Ros and Val without any context or backstory because my brain has been going brrrrrrrr too much to write anything proper besides drabbles, and a couple of unrelated oneshots. I'm still figuring out their story but I've discovered some of the major beats and wanted to get it down for my future self, as well as anyone who's following along at home.

Their story follows PL fairly closely with a few places where I took some creative license. Val and Ros hook up at the safe house, and it takes Reed a little longer to get everything organized, giving them a few days together in Dogtown before Ros is spirited back to D.C.

Lemme just wipe off your cheek real quick...

Val needs family. She doesn't know it, but that's why she gravitated to Jackie and Lupe. It's why she calls Panam for help in her canon. Rosalind represents family in a different way. She's the mother who knows what's best, who cares about "her" people, and Val doesn't realize how much she needs that attachment. Several times during the rescue, Ros displays affection and concern for her—when the building collapses before the Chimera fight, during the Relic malfunction—and combined with the mission to keep her safe, it triggers something deep inside V, a loyalty that she doesn't understand.

Rosalind, on the other hand, just lost a lot of crucial advisors. While we don't know who was on board aside from So Mi, we can guess that there were high ranking staffers, such as communications, security, and campaign, plus her own personal assistant and Secret Service agent. She has no one. She is vulnerable with V, admitting that she doesn't know what to do, that she has no one; and V's response is to remind her that she's there, and she's determined to get her out of the situation. Loyalty is something Ros values highly, and here is this merc tasked with saving her, but who sees the situation as more than just another gig; who has become personally invested in protecting her. It's intoxicating to have someone who's unflinchingly loyal to you, and who has seen the real you.

Once they reach the safe house, things escalate because of the mix of all those emotions, plus all the adrenaline and endorphins from the escape. It becomes more than just a hookup, but because of their situations (Ros's, let's be real), they both know it's an untenable relationship. Their time is bittersweet because of that knowledge.

Just squint a little and the Dogtown apartment isn't that bad!

Continued after the cut...

Later after the events of PL, they stay in touch, and there is affection between them still. Ros reaches out by text for fashion advice on the magazine shoot. They both agree that V isn't the right person for the job, but Ros knows she'll at least be honest. Later the acting campaign manager thinks having Ros take photos with the merc who saved her life in Dogtown would be good ad material, so Ros recruits V to the photo shoot.

Note: add at least one eagle for the "real" patriots

V uses the photo shoot to her advantage and successfully lobbies for the dinner date Rosalind promised. They have it that evening at Embers, as it's easy to secure for VIPs. Ros wants to know what V expects, because surely she can't think there is hope for a real relationship; but V wants whatever she can have. At this point, she knows she's crazy about Rosalind, while Ros is in denial herself over how much she cares about V.

“Where do you think this will go, V?” Rosalind's voice is soft and melodic. She doesn’t know, doesn’t care. She needs something, will take anything. “Hopin’ the first stop is my bedroom,” V says and gives her cockiest grin, but it quickly fades. “After that? Kinda up to you, yeah?”

They spend the night together and Ros decides to give it a try. They officially start seeing each other, but in secret and only when Ros has reason to visit NC. The new mayor provides a good excuse, so Ros visits under cover of extending diplomatic ties, and providing an opportunity for date night with her merc.

It's good to have powerful friends, like the new mayor of Night City.

After a few months of this, they slip up and the media catch wind that the President is spending time with the merc who saved her life in Dogtown. The campaign manager wants to use the media frenzy by spinning it as Rosalind recruiting V as her personal bodyguard, while still encouraging theories about their secret romantic relationship so the screamsheets will go crazy over it.

Eventually people are gonna notice when AF1 keeps showing up in NC airspace.

At that point V is ready to upend her life for Ros. She agrees to the plan and moves to D.C. The media eats it all up, and suddenly the only thing the NUS cares about is whether the President and her merc are fucking (they are). Eventually they transition to openly dating, and the President's approval rating shoots up by having a partner who humanizes her and makes her more likeable.

[vespidphoenix]

Entirely at your service

Chapter 2: get to know me close

Sanji and Amy are excited, to say the least, to find their sexual attraction is mutual; but for Amy, there's more at stake than hedonistic pleasure. Lucky for her, Sanji takes his nickname 'the Love Cook' very seriously.

Notes: NSFW, minors begone, porn with even more feelings, chubby fem OC, more angst, more fluff, more smut, gratuitous use of French because ya girl studied that shit (affectionate) for eight years and will be damned if she lets it go to waste, oral (f receiving, m receiving mentioned), dirty talk, masturbation (m and f), praise kink, etc.; word count 5.9k

AN: I think the only recurring French Celestial word that's new in this chapter is 'dieux', which is 'gods'. 'Calisse' is only used once, but I feel like the author's notes is a more appropriate place than the main body to explain that it is a profanity in Québécois French.

AN 2: I should have mentioned this in the first chapter's ANs. While this fic is set before Whole Cake Island, Amy has partial knowledge of Sanji's backstory for reasons that will be explained eventually

Chapter 1 | Next chapter: coming soon | Masterlist | Read this chapter on ao3

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Tag list: @turtletaubwrites @fanaticsnail

When Amy’s awareness slowly extends beyond her pulsing cunt, Sanji is there, fingering her gently as she comes down from her high and cradling her neck with his other hand. His eyes are soft and his smile broad.

“Did you…did you just cum for me?” he asks, incredulous.

Amy turns away, grumbling, “I told you I needed you now.”

“Hey, hey, hey, none o’ that, none o’ that,” he coos, and turns her head back to face him. “Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, sweetheart. You were so lovely.”

The lovers say nothing for several deep breaths while Amy recovers her ability to think. Sanji removes his hand from between her legs and cleans his fingers on the smaller towel.

“What…what do we do now?” Amy finally manages to say.

“What do you want to happen now? We can get you cleaned up, we can keep going, whatever you’d like. I am still at your service.” He winks.

Mère bleue, his winking, his eyes never fail to set Amy’s insides aflutter. She frowns, though.

“But you haven’t finished yet.” She nods to Sanji’s painfully-obvious erection. “Don’t wanna leave you hanging.”

“Well, I don’t want to pressure you into doin’ anything you don’t want…”

Amy stretches her arms and back with a groan. Sanji is torn between concern about back pain from her leaning against the bench and drooling over the view of her breasts; Amy notices his internal conflict and giggles. She leans forward and kisses him slowly.

“Let’s move this to someplace a little more comfortable, shall we?”

———

“Sanji, no, surely you’re not going to fuck me in the galley?” Amy pants a few minutes later with her back pressed against the wall of Sunny’s kitchen. “This is a food prep and storage area. Chef Zeff would—ungh, that’s the spot—Zeff would feed your cock to the sharks.”

Sanji kisses her, deeply and hungrily, grinding his hips against her. “You don’t know how my old man runs his kitchen, and besides, he’s not here.”

“I just don’t want us to get cum in tonight’s supper or something.”

“Is eating you out still on the table?” the chef asks, before sucking a mark in the valley between Amy’s breasts.

She rakes her fingernails through his hair and down his neck. “It can be, mon amour, but the couch is much more comfortable…”

She shrieks with laughter when Sanji lifts her over his shoulder and carries her around the counter to the long, green couch. “I hope you didn’t leave my top over there!” she says when he sets her down and kneels before her, and holds the towel out to her.

“Which one?” Sanji replies, his voice theatrically sultry. “Your top is right in front of you.”

“The one you all but tore—”

The punchline finally clicks, and Amy groans as she seats herself on the towel.

“My sense of humor has been a bad influence on you,” she sighs, leaning against the couch.

“Good thing I’m hot enough to pull it off, right?” Sanji grins and presents the discarded garment with a flourish.

Another fond eye-roll from Amy. “Come here and finish what you started,” she orders him, draping her arms over his shoulders, “before I change my mind and make you put it back on.”

Sanji pouts—“You would never do that to me, would you?”—but nevertheless he leans in for another deep, slow kiss. He slides his hands down to the waist of her skirt and again pauses as he dips his fingers between fabric and skin; she encircles his own hips with her legs and pulls him close.

“You’re right,” she murmurs as she nibbles his earlobe. “I wouldn’t do that to you, because you’re going to be pretty busy taking off my skirt and showing me what you can do with your tongue.”

Not for the first time this afternoon does Sanji think it a miracle when he doesn’t erupt right then and there. 

“Je fais ce que la mademoiselle me commande,” he moans into Amy’s neck. [I do as the miss commands me]

Broad, strong hands plunge boldly under Amy’s sarong, under the cotton of her panties, to give her buttocks a firm squeeze. He kneads her flesh like so much dough as he works the layers of fabric down her body; like salt on focaccia he sprinkles kisses and little bites over her stomach. Forceful, yet also measured; gentle, but oh, so very thorough—such are Sanji’s touches, and Amy feels herself melting under him once again, until—

“Sanji, I—I just remembered…I haven’t shaved or anyth—” she begins to say, but he holds up a hand to stop her. His eyes remain closed, and he does not move his face away from the juncture of her thighs.

“Amy, if the notion of my being exposed to your body hair makes you truly uncomfortable, of course I will stop at once. But if you think I will be repulsed by something perfectly harmless and natural…”

Sanji sits up and presses his forehead to hers, and his clothed hardness to her sex. He’s every bit as aroused as he was when they were making out in the crow’s nest.

“Tu sens, t’as senti l’évidence de mon désir. C’est toi de qui j’ai tant besoin.” [You feel, you have felt the evidence of my desire. It's you of whom I have such need]

Amy looks up, and Sanji’s ocean eyes are troubled, darkened with lust but also disquiet; the thought occurs to her that this isn’t the first time he’s worn that look today—

Whatever…this is…

—and something in that fact feels inexplicably like the sensation of missing a step while walking down a flight of stairs, like she’s about to—

“Baise-moi, Sanji, j’ai aussi tant besoin de tes caresses,” she pleads in the hope that if her mind is overflowing with pleasure, she’ll never have to finish that thought. [Fuck me, Sanji, I need your touch just as much]

Sanji doesn’t need observation haki to tell that Amy is holding something back, something that is causing her distress. She has to know by now that he wants this, that he wants her—that his attraction to her is not in spite of her body but because of it—that he will stop at nothing to accomplish her satisfaction. He would do anything to make her feel as beautiful and desirable as she is; she deserves it, and he is the ‘love cook’. It’s what he does. But to keep going while she is upset feels wrong somehow, like he’s using her or being insensitive…on the other hand, though, she did just make her desires known in the most direct terms.

He’s overthinking this. He promised Amy she would cum on his tongue, and he will not let her down.

“I’ve got you, chérie,” he murmurs, kissing her. “I’ll make you feel good.”

His thumbs trace circles on Amy’s hips as he ever-so-slowly kisses a trail down her body, pausing only at the hickey he’d made earlier to suck at it again before soothing it with his tongue. She shudders and sighs, and lifts her hands to cup her breasts—and gives her lover an idea.

“That’s my darling girl,” Sanji rumbles. “Show me, show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone. Teach me your body, so I know best how to make you cum.”

Amy moans, and Sanji doesn’t think he’s ever heard so heavenly a sound as her desperate need for him.

“Fuck, Sanji, you don’t know how many times I’ve fantasized about you saying those words to me. It’s even hotter in reality than in my imagination.” While one hand continues to palm her nipples in turn, Amy’s left hand goes straight to her cunt—which Sanji realizes with wonderment is already dripping her slick onto the towel. He looks down to his own groin to find his shorts dampened with precum; very carefully, he slides his shorts and boxers down until his cock is freed. He takes himself in hand, moving slowly at first.

Amy’s fingers gather slick from around her entrance and move to swirl it around her clit. “I couldn’t get you out of my head after our first conversation on Mirror Ball Island,” she continues. “I had never met any man as beautiful as this tall, fair stranger who was so interested in hearing me talk about different accents of the North Blue…the prettiest blue eyes, the sharpest jawline, the smoothest voice…spirits, if I’d had the boldness, I would have dragged him outside and told him to fuck me right then and there. I just knew he would be an incredible lay.”

Sanji remembers that night well. How quickly the sting of rejection had turned to rapture when the lovely blonde med student at the bar declined his offer of a drink, only to insist that he was definitely her roommate’s type, that he might like to buy that drink for her instead—how right she had been! How charmed he had been by Amy’s sincerity and the intensity of her doe-eyed gaze! He’d have followed her anywhere, and he’d have satisfied her lust, had he been able then to read her aura.

Well, no time like the present to make up for lost time.

“Tell me, darling girl, what was I doing to your body when you couldn’t get me out of your head?” Sanji asks as he sits down, as his finger collects the sticky liquid leaking from his tip to spread along his shaft. “How did you imagine me touching you, fucking my name out of you?”

Gods, where to begin? Amy wonders. The enticing phase, the seduction, the foreplay? Does she begin with her longings, or with their blooming into sexual desire?

She’s overthinking this. He wants to know how she masturbates, so that he can get an idea of what feels good to her.

“Well, a lot of the time I’d imagine you reaching from behind me—easier to pretend that way, y’know?—perhaps I’d be wearing a halter top or that sleeveless jumpsuit, and you would just…slide your hands under the straps to cover my chest like this, yeah?” 

Amy opens her eyes, and—her jaw drops. Sanji is entirely bare to her now, and his thick fingers are massaging what is indeed a respectably-sized penis. He’s breathing deeply, trying to concentrate, but his cheeks are flushed and his hairline is beaded with sweat. Is he…might he be close to finishing?

“Please, Amy…” he breathes, “please, continue de parler, je ne peux pas durer longtemps…” [keep talking, I can't endure for long]

She shakes her head. There will be time to wrap her mind around the questions of how or why her later. She resumes her rubbing and squeezing.

“You’d feel me like this for a bit, feel my heartbeat and my breathing quicken, and after a while maybe one of your hands might just…slide the straps of whatever I’m wearing off my shoulders so you could kiss me there.” Amy traces a line down her upper arm and tilts her head back, letting her eyes flutter shut for a few moments. She hears Sanji whimper an “oh dieux” that makes her cunt pulse with fresh wetness. At this rate, neither of them are going to last very long…

“…and meanwhile your other hand might be drifting over my stomach, down, under my swimsuit bottom or my panties, right down here where I need you.” 

Her own hand reaches its destination, and she draws a sharp breath when she realizes there’s almost no friction at all. She gives herself one slow stroke, spreading her thighs, saying:

“This, Sanji, this is what you did to my body.” Amy draws a shuddering breath. “All for you, mon amour…”

And she finds to her amazement that the choked whimper, the quiet whine of her name, the bucking of Sanji’s slender hips, the spurts of semen from his cock are all for her.

It’s all too much, in perhaps the most pleasant of ways in which something can be too much.

It always takes him by surprise, somehow, to find himself the object of someone’s desire. Call it the ghost of his upbringing: as far as Vinsmoke Judge was concerned, other people were glorified props, with no desires to speak of until he deemed them relevant; and even when he did, it was a preposterous notion that anyone should want anything from the failure Sanji that they could not be persuaded to find elsewhere.

(More than ten years have passed since Sanji escaped from his sire, as Amy so aptly termed him; but from time to time, he can still hear German voices seeping poison into his ear. “If you lay down with dogs, you’ll get up with fleas,” his sire was fond of snarling at him—not realizing that he, Judge, was himself the dog of which he spoke.)

The surprising and preposterous is happening anyway, and Vinsmoke Judge is far from his third son’s mind. Amy Lajoie, in all her voluptuous glory, is right in front of Sanji, calling herself his lover, detailing the ways in which she wanted him of all people to feel her. It is all too much—and yet, as his mind goes blank with orgasm, he needs more.

All for you, mon amour.

He’s giving his cock a few more strokes when he hears noise from somewhere above him. Opening his eyes to find a still-naked Amy pushing herself off the couch, he protests weakly (“Darling, shouldn’t I—why don’t you let me get water—”), only for her to kneel beside him and brush the hair away from his forehead.

“It’s okay, sweet boy,” she whispers, earning a soft moan from Sanji. “You looked so gorgeous fucking your fist under me, and coming for me. If you want, you can clean yourself a bit with the towel while I get some water, maybe a fresh towel or two? We did get this one pretty wet between the two of us.”

Sanji makes a grunting noise like he’s about to protest again, and makes to sit up, but Amy is already moving toward the kitchen.

“Besides which,” she calls over her shoulder as she searches for the cups, “you did say you were going to do some eating down here, and most meals come with a drink, don’t they?”

Well, that certainly gets the man’s attention. 

“I am feeling a little thirsty, now that you mention it,” he replies with a grin. “If you give me a moment, I’ll show you where I keep the coconut oil as well.”

Amy feels the presence of a warm body pressing her gently against the stove. “The cups are right here, chérie,” Sanji’s smooth voice murmurs just behind her ear as he slides his hands from her shoulder blades to her breasts.

She snickers and hangs her head. “It’s a good thing you’re hot, because that was terrible.”

“Don’t lie, sweet thing, it still made you laugh.” He smiles into the back of her head and gives her a gentle squeeze. “The cups you’re looking for are on the drying mat behind us.”

“Let’s go and get those, then, because mine won’t hold any water.” She turns to face Sanji, still in his arms.

“They could hold milk, at least in theory.”

“Only if they have a reason to do so, and ah…I’d as soon they not have one, if you catch my drift.”

Sanji looks thoughtful for a moment, before moving away from Amy to reach for the water glasses. Amy herself looks for the kitchen towels, and finds them under the sink.

“That reminds me,” Sanji says, “what did you mean earlier when you said, ‘that’s gonna have to wait a few days per Chopper’s advice’?”

Amy straightens her back and laughs. “Hah! You had said ‘fuck me raw’ upon making your entrance to the crow’s nest, yes?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Where are you going with this?”

“Well, as is often the case,” says Amy, “I was cracking a joke, but my statement was also true in a literal sense.”

“Go on…”

“I finally went to a gyno clinic before we set sail and got me one of those birth control implants. That was five days ago, and Chopper says the kind I got is fully effective after a week, lasts for a few years.”

Sanji’s eyes go impossibly wide as he connects the dots. “So what you’re telling me is—”

“—is that in just a couple more days, I’ll be able to take your pretty cock into my drooling cunt and let it fill me with your hot, thick cum without thinking about anything except for how good it feels inside me.”

Sanji is speechless, utterly speechless.

Maybe it’s the calm confidence with which she said something so intensely erotic, or perhaps it’s the way her sparkling eyes never once wavered from his that takes his breath away. He knows Amy, for all her beauty and—well—amiability, is deeply uncomfortable performing to strangers, and even among her crew she is still very much the retiring sort.

You don’t know how many times I’ve fantasized about you saying those words to me.

I couldn’t get you out of my head.

All for you, mon amour.

His mind is reeling, but he’s present enough to fill two glasses with water. 

“…so hopefully Nami will be able to reallocate that part of the budget to the kitchen staff.” Amy winks at him as she sips.

“Hm? Yes, yes, that would be great.” Sanji blinks and smiles as if it were an everyday occurrence for him to be chatting so casually in the kitchen with his…crush? Girlfriend? Friend-with-benefits? Both of them completely naked, no less. Calisse, he’s overthinking again, and Amy’s stepping toward him—

She sets her cup on the counter and puts her other hand on his waist, lightly at first, waiting for him to object.

“Now who’s not listening while their lover is talking?”

Ah, yes. Lover. So he hadn’t been imagining that part after all.

“Sorry, love, I was just…taken aback, that’s all.” He smiles sheepishly.

Amy grins and pulls him closer. Resting her chin on Sanji’s chest, she says, “I was just saying that with the berry we save on tampons and prevention pills and whatnot, Nami might be persuaded to expand our kitchen budget…and, coincidentally, I will also be able to satisfy your request that I fuck you raw.”

Sanji groans and tilts his head back, and this time Amy does not hesitate to kiss his exposed neck, though she pulls back and frowns.

“Chérie, why did you stop?” Sanji whines. 

“I should have asked you before whether you liked me doing that. You deserve all the same consideration a-and caring you’ve shown me.”

(There will be time later, between waking up in Sanji’s arms and the snail call from Nami alerting her to the crew’s impending return, for Amy to dwell on her reluctance to say the word ‘love’ in front of Sanji—as if the word had only one meaning, as if she and Sanji hadn’t taken to calling each other ‘lover’ like fish to water, as if merely speaking the word aloud would turn to solid ground the ocean beneath her sea legs.)

Sanji pulls her closer so that their foreheads touch. In a way, the gesture feels more intimate even than his fingering her, and Amy can feel her heart pounding harder; but there’s a soothing sort of protectiveness in it as well.

“You deserve all of that and more, sweetheart, I hope you know that,” he says, “and if you do something I don’t like, I’ll tell you to stop, o-or we can pick a safe word—and of course you’ll do the same for me, right?”

“Like you said before, I want this to be enjoyable for both of us.” Amy’s right hand begins to scratch Sanji’s back gently, while her left stays just above his firm, toned ass.

He hums and replies: “And like you said, what would be really enjoyable right now is getting back to the part where we kiss each other senseless.” He presses her between the counter and his stirring cock, and Amy feels her knees threaten to give way beneath her.

“Don’t forget”—she gives a breathy moan, and feels a fresh wetness between her legs—“about your meal, darling…”

Sanji groans, grabs a handful of towels, and downs the rest of his water in a few gulps. With his glass in the sink, he lifts Amy by her thighs and walks her back over to the couch.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he moans, kissing her again with fresh hunger, “mais ça suffira comme apéritif.” [but this will suffice for an aperitif]

If Sanji’s mouthing at her breasts reminded Amy of a boy with ice cream, she thinks to herself while she still has the presence of mind, he might be said to give head as though he were savoring a popsicle. He licks long stripes up and down each side, spreading the wetness about; he laps around her glistening clit and sucks; he makes shorter licks along her folds to catch the drips that threaten to escape—only to end up with his face a mess anyway. His tongue is a warm, wet tickling thing punctuated by the blunt little tips of his piercing, leaving a swell as of the inexorable tide in its wake. He looks up, and Amy’s breath hitches in her chest: his eyes are the wine-dark sea of antiquity’s poets, and she could drown herself in them, just as he looks fit to drown himself in her.

“So fucking delicious,” he growls. “Goûte-la toi-même.” [Taste it yourself]

The faintly spicy tang which Sanji had smelled on Amy earlier dances now on his taste buds, laced with the delicate saltiness of her sex. He can’t help wanting to share—was it not Amy herself who told him that ‘a happiness shared is a happiness doubled’? And few things give him happiness quite like a woman’s pleasure.

For Amy’s part, the taste of her in Sanji’s mouth is peculiar, but not unpleasant—an acquired taste, she supposes, like alcohol or coffee. Vastly more delicious is the look on his face as he reaches for her, as he pulls back to gauge her reaction, as he dives back in to tangle his tongue with hers: equal parts bliss and longing, satisfaction and need, all for her.

So fucking delicious.

“There’s so much more where that came from, beautiful boy,” Amy whispers into the hair’s-breadth of space between them, “so don’t hold yourself back.”

“Tu me fais fondre, m’appelant comme ça, ouais?” Sanji moans, leaning into her upper body even as his hands find her thighs once more. “Dis-moi encore.” [You make me melt, calling me that, yeah? Tell me again]

Amy’s eyes flutter shut, and her fingers scrape lightly along his scalp. “My beautiful boy, my sweet boy, eating me like a good boy and sharing your food,” she croons. “So generous, my darling boy is.”

Sanji’s heart soars on the updraft of Amy’s praise, so freely given, without hesitation, that he could almost believe himself worthy of it; and to be called hers only sends him flying even higher. He nestles his head into the juncture of her legs and breathes deeply, her scent serving to ground him against going dizzy with longing. Jasmine, sweat, spice, salt. Arousal, so much arousal.

He grabs her by the waist, pulls her to the edge of the couch cushion, and dives right in. He kisses her mound, kisses the inside of her thighs, sucks marks into her skin and soothes it with swipes of his tongue; and the sight fills him with an unaccustomed warmth.

Our hidden treasure.

She’s so fucking wet for him, Sanji realizes, that he might have to swap out the towel before he and Amy are done—her slickness is dripping between her buttocks and along her thighs, and it covers surely half of his face.

“Keep talking to me, darling girl,” he rasps, “and don’t you dare be quiet. I wanna be able to hear you talkin’ me through how to make you cum.” He licks a stripe along the middle of Amy’s glistening cunt, teasing her nub until she whimpers. “I want to hear you coming undone for me.”

Amy smiles through her moan. “Ho-how’m I gonna be able to talk if you’re making me fall apart with your tongue?”

“An excellent point,” Sanji chuckles, his breath sending frissons of delight rushing over her skin. She moves her hands to massage her breasts, but is interrupted by a sudden grip on her arm.

“Hold on, chérie,” he says when Amy gives him a quizzical look. “I have an idea: you hook your legs over my shoulders”—he shifts each leg into position, pressing a kiss to each thigh as he goes—“and we hold each other’s arms”—he holds her elbows in a gentle grip—“so that you just sit back and enjoy while I do all the hard work.”

“Are you sure you don’t just like having me at your mercy?” she says with a smirk.

Sanji’s sultry grin mirrors hers. “Well, if it’s gonna be hard for you to pay attention to talking and what I’m doing to you and touching yourself, I just…want to take a bit of the load off you.”

“So considerate of you.” Amy rolls her eyes, but she is smiling, and she leans back nevertheless.

“Like I said: I’m at your service.”

“Well then, high time you get to servicing me—shit, baby, that feels good…”

Sanji has already resumed his meal. He seems to be savoring it, tasting her juices with a reverence Amy might expect him to reserve for a glass of Micqueot; and the swelling sensation that followed his tongue earlier is coming on faster, spurred by the vibration of his own moaning. 

Amy starts to writhe in Sanji’s hold, whimpering when the bucking motion and the jiggling of her breasts, rather than relieving her in the slightest, only turn her on more.

“Sanji, baby, please, please,” she begs her lover, digging her heels into his back, desperate to somehow pull him even closer. “Need you more, need you deeper, please, I’m getting close—”

Something roars with triumph in Sanji’s chest when he looks up and sees the desperation in Amy’s face. Ecstatic, pleading, vulnerable yet awash with bliss, and by the clenching of her walls he can tell she’s on the edge. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls, his breath ghosting over her entrance. He lets go of Amy’s arms and reaches for her breasts, and at the same time licks one long stripe along her pussy-lips, pushing his face and his tongue in as far as he can.

A swipe of his thumbs across sensitive nipples and a swirl of his tongue around her clit is enough to send waves of release washing over her entire body, cries of “Sanji, Sanji, Sanji” gushing from her mouth like the cum spilling from her pussy. She tugs at Sanji’s blond hair, grinding her cunt on his face, wishing her bliss would last forever.

Sanji’s tongue and jaw are just starting to ache when the spasms in Amy’s sex and her legs subside. It’s a small price to pay, he thinks when he straightens his back and takes in the display before him: glistening beads of sweat dot the woman’s flushed face, itself sporting a faintly dopey smile; her ample bosom heaves with each breath; her limbs are spread wide and her head is flopped against the back of the couch, framed by her sweat-dampened locks; and of course, there’s the absolute mess of slick and saliva between her thighs. 

“Ah, que tu es belle, comme une oeuvre d’art,” Sanji sighs, smiling affectionately. If he could paint with half of Usopp’s skill, he’d be minded to preserve this moment on canvas; but alas, the medium of his own art needs cleared away lest it go stale. He picks up a clean towel from the small stack beside him. “Are you able to stand?” [You are so beautiful, like a work of art]

“I’m still catching my breath,” Amy huffs, “after you took it away and all. Give a girl a minute.” She smiles, and Sanji chuckles. 

“And here I thought your sense of humor was rubbing off on me—turns out it goes both ways.”

She hums. “Speaking of ‘rubbing off’, when—when do I get to have my turn with that cock of yours? He looks like he could use a kiss.”

Sanji pauses his massage of his jaw joints. “Say that again?”

Amy lets her eyes drift downward to rest shamelessly on his hardness. “I won’t need to use my legs if you let me give your cock the attention it’s due from here.” 

Oh. He imagines her leaning forward and placing one kiss after another on the sensitive tip, down his shaft and back up its length, before licking her lips and taking him in her mouth—oh yes, he could very much use some of those kisses, and he feels his cock twitch in agreement.

“Can I swap this towel for a fresh one first, chérie?” Sanji asks. “I-I don’t know how long I can last before we’ll both need cleanin’ up.”

“I guess I can stand long enough for you to do that,” Amy pretend-mutters. “Help me stand, would you?”

He stands, takes her by the hand, and tugs.

Amy and Sanji have been naked in front of each other for several minutes now, they’ve masturbated together, they’ve put their hands and their mouths in some very intimate places—and yet, when she finds herself once again face-to-face with Sanji and skin-to-skin with the man of her lewdest dreams, part of Amy is oddly pleased to find that she is still capable of blushing.

“Can I see that for a sec?” she asks, and takes the towel from Sanji’s other hand. “You’ve got something on your face, lover boy.”

With both of his hands now unoccupied, Sanji wraps his arms around Amy. She dabs gently at his face, enough to wipe the greater part of her slick away, but leaving enough for her to inhale deeply and smell herself on his parted lips. 

“Puis-je t’embrasser?” she whispers, closing her eyes. [May I kiss you]

“You, ma chérie, are always welcome to kiss me.” He leans in, closing the gap as if sensing her sudden shyness, and cradles her head in his palms. “Sois généreuse avec tes bisous. Tu devras m’en donner beaucoup plus avant que j’en aurai eu trop.” [Be generous with your kisses. You will have to give me a lot more before I will have had too many.]

Amy smiles as their lips brush. “Sounds like a challenge to me…”

The thought occurs to her that perhaps she is being recklessly unguarded, as she all but pours herself into Sanji’s eager mouth. She shoves that anxious voice out of her mind, though, and allows the voice of the man embracing her to drown it out with his appreciative moans. There’s something about kissing Sanji that feels as natural as breathing, like the realization that she can breathe normally again after recovering from a cold—a cold she’s had for more than two years, come to think of it…

Amy’s thoughts are interrupted when Sanji pulls away from her without warning. She whines wordlessly.

“Darling girl,” he murmurs almost lovingly, “if we’re to explore each other here on this couch, wouldn’t you rather do so on clean bedding?”

Amy sighs. “I suppose you have a point…but on the other hand…”

Sanji tosses the soiled towel next to his shorts and looks up. “What’s that?”

“You wouldn’t need to worry about the towels if you were coming down my throat.”

Sanji flops, dazed, onto the couch, and Amy is just standing there, her expression neutral but her eyes twinkling. She’d said it so casually, as if she were talking about groceries rather than about sucking his cock that aches to feel her around it. And ache it does, all the harder now that he’s tasted her heat and felt the hunger in her lips; but now she’s climbing into his lap, straddling him much as she had not even an hour prior—

“Would you like that? Can I—may I taste you as you’ve tasted me?”

He throws his head back, and this time Amy neither hesitates to kiss every inch of his neck she can reach nor pulls away to apologize.

“Oh dieux, Amy, fuck—you’re—you’re not makin’ it easy to be romantic here…”

You’re not makin’ it easy to be romantic here…

to be romantic

romantic

Amy doesn’t even realize she’s frozen still until Sanji shifts in her embrace so that he’s looking into her eyes.

“Is everything alright, darling? Talk to me.” 

She blinks and scrambles to think of something to say. He’s making that face again, she realizes, the face at once doting and troubled.

“Why…do you keep looking at me like that?” she finally manages to whisper. “Like the sight of me makes you happy and breaks your heart at the same time? You made that face just before you started going down on me, and you made it when I told you I wanted to keep the fact of our, well, tryst to ourselves…”

Sanji pulls her down to sit across his lap and takes her right hand in his left.

“Truly, has no one ever tried to romance you or woo you in any way? Surely I’m not the only person in the world who isn’t blind to your many charms?”

Amy tucks her left arm around Sanji’s waist and her cheek into his shoulder. “I guess…a few have tried, but they never lasted very long. More often I would…develop an affection, let’s say, for someone in my circle of friends, and he might move away in search of greener pastures—or deeper waters, you might say—before anything had a chance to actually happen between us.” She pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath—why the hell is she still tearing up over this?—and adds: “That’s if I was lucky.”

There’s a long silence after Sanji’s hum of acknowledgment, during which he only rests his head on top of hers, and runs his right hand up and down her arm.

“I let them go,” Amy says darkly. “I’d rather live without them than have someone change their mind and be with me out of pity or guilt.”

Sanji nods thoughtfully and is quiet for several breaths longer. Just as Amy is about to beg him to say something, he speaks.

“I think you underestimate your own courage sometimes. Your integrity. The value of those qualities. Easy to do so when you’re not the first person to downplay those parts of you, yeah? Doesn’t make it right or true, though.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips and holds it there for a long moment. He twines his fingers with hers, and Amy stares at their clasped hands, transfixed.

“I meant what I said, Amy, when I told you that you deserve an eager lover,” Sanji murmurs. “I dunno what face I was makin’ in those moments you were talkin’ about, but I think that’s why I was makin’ it. You deserve someone who treats you like the treasure you are.” 

Another silence, which Amy breaks this time—

“I thought you said I wasn’t making it easy to be romantic.” 

“It’s not quite so hard when I don’t have a beautiful, naked woman kissing my neck”—Sanji grins and lightly pokes her nose—“not that I’m complaining.”

Sanji’s not complaining, no, but he does feel a pang of something when Amy steers the conversation back into the familiar territory of flirtatious banter. She’d gone from amorous to vulnerable at the mention of romance, evidently with good reason; and though he’d done his best to reassure and comfort her as befits a good lover—well, it seems Amy’s sexual needs aren’t the only things his predecessors neglected.

It looks like the Love Cook has his work cut out for him.

PS: this angst has been brought to you by the influx of posts about Bridgerton season three on my dash. Picture Nicola Coughlan as a brown-eyed brunette, and for purposes of OC art you basically have Amy.

Likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated, especially if somehow I fucked up post formatting or my French grammar. Let me know in the replies if you want to be on my tag list!

[daddy-dins-girl]

Kinktober 2023 Pt. 1 - Dave York (Somnophilia, Frottage, Virginity)

Masterlist

AO3 link

Summary: It's Dave's birthday, and you have a present for him. Then again, maybe it's more for you.

This fic covers days 2 and 7 of @absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 challenge.

Dave York x Virgin!Reader (babysitter)

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: Me: Ok, I can do this, I can write some smutty little kinktober drabble, no problem! Also me: Writes 2500 words of backstory and character development before a stitch of clothing even comes off.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Explicit smut. Cheating, infidelity (it's the York's y'all, come on, is it even Dave York fanfic if one or both of them aren't banging somebody else?). Age gap (Reader is 21, Dave is in his 40's). Virgin (but not inexperienced) Reader. Consensual Somnophilia. "Just the tip" (but like actually tho). Frottage. Vaginal and clitoral stimulation (aka pussy rubbing). Accidental creampie (whoops). Drug use, kind of? (just over the counter sleep aids). Dave York is his own warning. Uh.. if I've forgotten anything, lmk. I think I've given away half the story already in the tags! At least you know what you're in for ;)

There was an excitement thrumming through your veins as you sat in the living room waiting for the York’s to get home, not really paying any attention to what was playing on the TV because your mind was elsewhere.

The two children you were caring for, Molly and Alice, have long since been tucked into their beds and asleep and now you were just waiting for their parents to get home. They typically weren’t gone for more than a few hours. It didn’t need to be said that that was more than they could stand of each other if their children weren’t there to serve as buffers, that much was obvious to just about anyone who spent enough time around Carol and Dave. Apparently however just not to their friends who they had to go out with and appease, pretending their marriage was still perfect. That’s where the York’s found themselves this Saturday night, out with friends celebrating Dave’s birthday that was coming up in a few days.

It was a good job for you though, Mr. York always paid you handsomely. Anytime you’d come over to babysit he’d leave the same amount of money in an envelope on the kitchen counter for you. A fifty dollar bill for you to order food for yourself and the two girls (which was way more than enough, even with the delivery charges and tip, to cover anything the three of you could eat) and a crisp hundred for yourself for your services which you thought was way too high, considering they were never gone more than 2-3 hours. The first couple times you’d tried to give him the change from dinner but he’d shoved the twenty back into your own palm and told you to keep it so now you’ve stopped trying to argue and typically walk away with at least $120.00 a night, which was pretty good for a 3 hour gig for a 21 year old who lives at home while attending school. You didn’t know what Dave York did for a living - something in government, you think - but apparently whatever it was it paid extremely well.

The hard rain coming down outside was hitting the large windows of the York’s extravagant home in sheets and truth be told you were more than glad that there was practically a hurricane going on outside. It actually fit into your plans perfectly so you just watched the storm rage on outside from your comfortable seat on the sofa, a small smile on your face while you waited for your employers to get home.

Within minutes you heard the loud hum of the garage door opening up signaling the York’s arrival and you clicked off the TV, pretending to be interested in something on your phone and acting casually as a minute later you heard the door connecting the house to the garage open and Carol and Dave spilled inside.

“Oh my God it’s madness out there” Carol practically shrieked and Dave immediately shushed her loudly, reminding her of their sleeping children and Carol put a hand over her mouth but laughed uncontrollably still.

Yep, she was wasted, as usual.

“Oh hi, Mr. and Mrs. York” you greet them sweetly, standing up from the couch and coming over to the hallway leading to the entryway where they were taking off their soaked jackets, likely from their walk from whatever restaurant they had been at to their car.

“Oh hi sweetie. How were the girls?” Carol managed to ask, you’re not sure how she got the words out, given the way Dave was literally having to hold her up by her elbow just so she could kick her shoes off.

“Oh they were great, as always” you promise. And they were, Molly and Alice were rarely any trouble. This was by far the easiest babysitting gig you’d ever had.

“Pay the girl David, I need to go to bed” Carol groaned, leaning into her husband’s shoulder for support. Dave rolled his eyes. First of all, he had already paid you at the beginning of the night, like he always had and you’d think his wife would know that by now, and secondly he absolutely did not like how she was all but dismissing you without even thanking you or saying more than five words to you.

“Um, Mr. and Mrs. York,” you cut in, before Dave has a chance to say anything. “I was thinking, you know, the rain is coming down really bad and I don’t really like driving late at night as it is, I thought maybe I could stay over?” You asked politely. You’ve done it numerous times on occasions that they were sure they’d be home late, they had offered you their spare room in the basement so you could go to sleep once the girls were in bed if you had wanted to. Most times when you stayed over it was because you were already asleep when they’d gotten home, but on a couple occasions you’d stayed over even when you were still awake when they got in just because of how late it was.

“Sure, whatever sweetie” Carol waved a flippant hand at you.

“Of course you can” Dave finally spoke, his voice louder and firmer than Carol’s. Dave rarely came home with more than a drink or two under his belt because he typically drove. You also got the feeling that he knew he had to have all his wits about him when out with his wife so he could be a glorified babysitter himself.

“Thank you, Mr. York” you said his name sweetly, a coy smile playing on your lips that went unnoticed by Carol but intentionally noticed by Dave.

You left Dave to wrangle Carol up to bed and made your way down to the basement, getting ready for bed and then pulled your phone out to type out a quick text to the man of the house before you tried to get some sleep.

Cum see me l8r. Got a present for you to unwrap���. You know the rules. xxx

You took a breath. You were excited and yet nervous, never having done anything like this, specifically, before. You reach over to the night stand and pick up the small white tablet, pop it into your mouth and wash it down with some water before you lay down on the bed and wait (im)patiently for sleep to take over.

Dave’s phone pings in his pocket once he’s finally gotten Carol into bed. She was tugging at his tie and belt and trying to drag him into the bed with her, mumbling something incoherently about a “birthday blowjob” and he could do little but roll his eyes. He was in no mood to have his completely drunken wife undoubtedly fall asleep on him with his cock half way down her throat. Besides the fact that he knows exactly where her mouth has been the last eight months or so which had been the final nail in the coffin that was once their active sex life.

So instead he leaves her there and heads off into the ensuite to shower, pulling out his phone to check his text from you along the way and smirking to himself when he reads it. He doesn’t reply. He rarely does. Sometimes it’s a power move. He likes you to squirm, wondering if he’s read it, what he’s thinking, if he’s as insatiable in his desire for you as you are for him. Mostly he doesn’t reply though because he doesn’t like paper trails. Not that he thinks you would, but the last thing he needs is you screenshotting your conversations with him and sharing them around with your friends or something.

Dave brushes his teeth, gets into the shower, then heads down to the kitchen to relax for a bit, sipping a beer and catching some highlights on SportsCenter. He doesn’t want to seem too eager and part of him likes to keep you waiting. Finally after a couple of hours have passed since he received your text he clicks off the TV and goes in search of you.

He moves through the basement rec room and to the closed bedroom door, pulling the small key out of the pocket of his sweatpants and using it to let himself inside, ensuring to lock it behind him. He’s the only one with a key to unlock the door from the outside so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting anything.

He makes his way over to the bed where you’re lying on your back. There’s a bedside lamp that’s turned on to its highest setting so he has no trouble making anything out in the room, he assumes it's intentional.

“Naughty girl” Dave mutters to himself when he sees what’s waiting for him. You’re lying there perfectly asleep on top of the bedclothes wearing nothing but a tiny camisole and simple yellow cotton panties with a small pair of red cherries right in the center like a goddamn bullseye and a tiny little tied red bow at the top.

Got a present for you to unwrap. Your words ring in his head and he’s half hard already just from looking at you.

He assesses the rest of the room and his eyebrow raises when he sees what’s on the bedside table, a tiny blue box with the logo “Sleep-Eze” on it and a half drank glass of water.

“Jesus Christ” Dave huffs out a breath, pushing a hand through his hair.

You had a conversation recently one night when you were lying in bed together the last time you had stayed over at his house and he came to see you (as he always had). You had confessed that a fantasy of yours was to wake up to having an orgasm. Dave was hesitant at first, for multiple reasons. One he didn’t like the idea of getting off on someone who was effectively unconscious, and two he argued that you’d wake up way too easily if he was doing his job well enough.

You told him you’d figure out a way to help with the second problem which, Dave presumed, was the reason for the sleeping tablet. And as for the first, you told him if he really wasn’t comfortable he didn’t have to, it was just something you had always wanted to try but had never trusted anyone else to do it.

And you did, trust him. The last line of your text, ‘you know the rules’, he did know the rules. Well, rule. It was really just one when it came to you.

No penetration.

At least, not with his cock. You weren’t a total prude or anything but you were a virgin (hence the cherry panties he supposed… cute little vixen). You grew up in a very religious household and although you didn’t quite believe in waiting until marriage like your parents had taught you to, you did want to wait until it could be with someone you loved and that just hadn’t happened to you yet. Still, despite this, you were sexually active in plenty of other ways that certainly seemed to keep Dave satisfied enough. For now anyway. You worried he might get bored of you but it hadn’t happened yet and it’s been nearly six months. Despite his aggressive and controlling behavior in bed he always respected your one rule and didn’t pressure you to cross it with him. He probably knew that before long you’d be begging him for it anyway and he was probably right. Your resilience was waning a lot. And it wasn’t just the sexual desire, though that was obviously a huge part of it, but you felt a connection to Dave you had yet to find with anyone else you dated, especially boys your own age who were exactly that - boys.

Dave was sweet to you when you least expected it. When you’d aced your midterm paper that you had spent weeks agonizing over, a dozen roses showed up at your parents doorstep the next day with a card nestled inside with a single phrase written on it. “So proud of you. D.”

When you had briefly mentioned one night that you desperately wanted tickets to the Taylor Swift concert but weren’t willing to fork over your entire college fund to get them, the next time you had come over to babysit in addition to the usual $150.00 in the envelope on the counter there was a pair of tickets to the Eras Tour Boston show with a small note stuck to it in Dave’s familiar scratchy handwriting “take one of your girlfriends, and have fun sweetheart”. You idly wonder who he had to kill to get them.

Then there was the day your brother had been shipped off to his first tour of Active Duty and you couldn’t be emotional about it in front of your parents because you had to “be strong for your brother” (their words). You had texted Dave when you finally couldn’t be in that house another minute pretending your whole world hadn’t just changed and he had picked you up from the corner of your street, driven to a secluded parking lot and pulled you into the back seat with him where he just held you for hours while you cried in his arms. You told him stories of your childhoods growing up, how close you’d been and how he was your best friend and whole world; your port in the storm against your strict parents and the only person who truly understood you. Dave sat there calmly, listening to every word, brushing a comforting hand through your hair or occasionally pressing his lips to your temple when another wave of tears hit you. He promised you that you never had to be brave or strong in front of him if you didn’t want to be, he would be there to hold you up. Be your strength when you had none left to give.

And when you had told Dave about a guy that had gotten a little too “handsy” with you at a Frat party - despite you repeatedly asking him to leave you alone - well, come to think of it, you’d actually never seen Thomas again after that night. You safely assume Dave had something to do with it though.

So yes, Dave was much more than just a warm body to you, and you for him, you presumed, and there was no one else you trusted with your body like you trusted Dave.

“Fuck” Dave muttered, hand coming down involuntarily to palm over the bulge growing beneath the elastic waistband of his sleep pants. You looked goddamn adorable when you were sleeping, Dave noticed immediately. Little mouth half open, head rolled to the side with your hair spilling over the pillows, and the rise and fall of your chest putting your perfect round tits on display for him under the threadbare top.

Apparently getting over the first hurdle was going to be easier than Dave thought.

He pulled his sweats down and kicked them off, leaving himself in just his boxer briefs and t-shirt and crawled onto the bed on his knees until he was between your legs, sitting back on his heels. He began by experimentally running his left hand down your leg all the way to your calf and then back up to your thigh, waiting to see if you’d stir at all and - nothing. Your breathing never faltered, body never twitched, and satisfied, Dave moved on to what he knew you were waiting for.

He started slowly, gently. He brought his hand to rest on your hip and his thumb reached down to stroke you over top of your underwear, pushing all the way down into your slit and back up and repeating the motion over and over again for a minute or so until he began to feel the unmistakable wetness begin to pool behind the thin cotton barrier.

“Good girl” Dave hummed to himself, then brought two fingers down on top of where your clit would be and began rubbing tight circles around it. Your hips jerked slightly and he stopped immediately like a deer caught in headlights, eyes shooting up to yours only to find you still fast asleep and he let out a relieved breath. It was just your body reacting to his touch but thankfully he hadn’t woken you. He knew what you wanted and he wanted to give it to you and he knew he had a long way to go before he brought you to a peak so it was far too soon to have you waking up already.

“That’s it baby” Dave praised when a little whimper left your lips but you simply snuggled further into your pillow. “Back to sleep”

After another couple minutes of soft caresses of his fingers he took his hands away momentarily to grab for one of the decorative pillows that had been tossed carelessly aside and he carefully lifted your hips to settle it underneath you, raising you slightly for him so he wouldn’t throw his back out leaning over you for what he wanted to do next - for what he knew you were waiting for him to do.

Once he’s got you in the position he wants he hastily tugs down his boxers, shuffles closer towards you on his knees and groans when he takes his own length in his hand. He’s painfully hard already and his head is weeping precum and he hisses through his teeth when he loosely grips his cock and starts pumping his hips, effectively fucking his own hand while the head of dick pushes into your still clothed sex.

“Oh fuck,” he groans. The combination of your own wetness and his leaking tip have caused a giant wet spot on your panties, leaving them basically transparent as he continues dragging his cock through your folds over your underwear.

This had quickly become your favorite thing to do with Dave, once he had tried it once, promising you he wouldn’t go inside but just wanting to be close to you. He’d rub your pussy with his cock until you came - which never took long - and you’d practically begged him to do it every time you were together since. It was near fucking torture for Dave, being so goddamn close to burying his cock deep inside you like he so desperately wanted to. He could do it. It would be so fucking easy. Especially right now. But he wouldn’t. If there was one thing Dave had in spades, it was self control.

Dave checks in with you again, makes sure you’re still asleep and you are, though your face is a little scrunched up now, not as peaceful looking. It looks like you’re dreaming and are a little unsure of what exactly is going on. He knows he probably doesn’t have a lot of time left to get you to cum before you wake up so he moves on to the final stage. He slips his dick under the soaked piece of cotton through the side and continues his little thrusts with his hands now resting on the insides of your thighs and not able to help the moan that escapes him when his dick finally makes contact with your naked cunt.

“Mmmmm” you hum sleepily, somewhere between completely dead to the world and barely awake.

Dave vaguely hears you beginning to stir, the sound of his cock pushing in and out of your sopping core filling his ears and causing his brain to nearly stop functioning with how fucking turned on he is. His tip brushes against your clit with every push of his cock and he has to close his eyes and focus on his breathing so he doesn’t come before you do.

“Ohhhhhh” you whine breathily, being dragged a little closer to consciousness.

It’s the softest fucking sound he’s ever heard and he nearly comes at the sound of your desperate, meek little whimper.

“Oh fuck, Baby, wake up” Dave groans, slightly picking up the pace that his cock slides in and out of your folds.

“Dave?” you mutter, confused as your eyes try desperately to blink open. “Oh. Oh fuck, Oh Dave!” It hits you like a fucking brick wall. You're suddenly completely alert as the pleasure centers in your brain finally start firing on all cylinders again and you’re painfully aware of how incredibly turned on you are. Not to mention how close you are.

“Sweetheart, oh fuck” Dave is close to losing it himself from above you. His hand leaves your thigh to yank your panties to the side and then he grabs his dick with the other to control his movements. He watches his cock rub up and down through your swollen lips and push into your clit, repeating the pattern over and over and over and soon enough you're rocking your hips in rhythm with him.

“Oh my God, Dave. Fuck, fuck, fuck” You cry out. He feels fucking incredible and you’re desperately close to coming, you can feel it flooding your lower abdomen, the dam about to burst. You push up on your elbows, you want to watch as Dave’s cock slides through you.

“Fuck, wish I could be inside you” Dave groans. He knows it's not fair of him to say it when you’re both so worked up like this but he’s never wanted it more than in this moment.

“Yesssss, fuck, me too Dave. Wanna come on your big fat cock baby” you mewl desperately, clutching at the sheets.

“Fuck baby don’t say shit like that” Dave scolds. It was one thing to playfully tease, but saying that to him knowing full well he couldn’t do anything about it was downright cruel.

“Baby, fuck, I’m serious” you whine. “Wanna feel you inside me, just a little bit, please baby? Just the tip? I need it”

“Oh fuck” Dave literally growls like you’ve never heard before and then he pushes inside you for the first time, just the head, like you asked, and you instantly fall apart. Your walls squeeze around his tip like an unrelenting vice grip and your juices flood his cock and seconds later you feel his own hot spend painting your walls as he shudders over you and grips your hips so tightly you know they’ll be bruised tomorrow.

“Oh shit, oh shit shit shit!” Dave curses at his own stupidity and lack of control but can do little about it as he continues to spurt rope after rope of his cum inside you.

“Oh my god, Dave” you sigh dreamily, falling back onto the bed and not only unbothered, but blissfully pleased at Dave’s little indiscretion. You’ll take a Plan B in the morning, you’re far from worried about it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” Dave pants breathlessly as he finally pulls his spent cock out of you and runs his hands through his hair and then rubs them over his face and groans.

“Baby, come here” you insist, reaching up to pull him down on top of you and you’re surprised at how easily he allows it to happen.

“Hey, it’s ok” you assure him softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and petting a hand through his hair.

“I shouldn’t have-” he begins to protest as he pushes himself up on his elbows, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I wanted you to. Baby that was…” you trail off, literally unable to put into words how good he made you feel and so you opt instead to pull his head back gently and kiss him passionately. After a few seconds of trying to resist you, Dave succumbs to the kiss and opens his mouth to you, tongue pushing inside and melding with yours.

You pull apart only when the need for oxygen overwhelms you both and Dave rests his forehead on yours, gently shaking his head.

“You’re fucking incredible, do you know that?” He says sincerely and a blush rises in your cheeks.

“You’re not so bad yourself” you tease.

“I just had my dick inside you” Dave states like he’s reading the morning headlines.

“I remember, I was there” you giggle and he huffs a laugh in return.

“Are you um… ok?” He asks sincerely, bringing a hand up so his finger can lightly trace your jawline, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret.

“More than ok” you promise, raising your head slightly to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“You sure? You don’t hate me?” He asks and you can barely believe your ears, maybe you were still high from the sleeping pill.

“Hate you? Baby you literally just made my wildest fantasy come true”

“Really?” Dave asks, eyebrow raised. “It was uh… what you wanted?”

“It was everything I wanted and more” you promise.

“Come here” you murmur, pulling him down to kiss you again.

You kiss unhurriedly for several minutes, just reveling in the taste of each other and the closeness you feel to one another.

“Happy birthday Baby” you hum against his lips when you finally break the kiss and Dave lowers himself from his elbows to wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace.

“Best birthday ever Sweetness” he murmurs into your throat.

Tagging @nerdieforpedro, @chronically-ghosted @macabremads

[typicalopposite]

angsty Tommy backstory part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

And Tommy was careful.

He kept his new — albeit foolish and dangerous — budding relationship with Jay safe with the walls of their two apartments. He kept his guard up and head down at work; did what he could to blend in with his coworkers… even if that meant turning the frequent blind eye, and even engaging in the behavior to uphold the ruse he was one of them.

He hated it. He began hating himself. He felt like a fraud. But at least he had Jay to come home to, and he would hold and kiss away his worries… at least for a little while.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Jay says after a particularly tough shift. Tommy had been filling him in throughout the day about how bad it was going, and Jay had been waiting at Tommy’s place to help make him forget it. They had both just floated back down to reality when Jay suggested going out.

“Out?” Tommy asks.

“Yes, babe… Out. You know, that thing couples do.”

Tommy felt his insides twitch. “We- we’re a couple?”

“I’d sure hope so,” Jay says. “If not this is the most domesticated friends with benefits I’ve ever been a part of.” And the way the jealousy flares up in Tommy, thinking about Jay sleeping around with other people, confirms that this is definitely something more for him too. “Come on, you have the next two days off… we can go as far away as you need to feel comfortable.”

Tommy thinks about it. It’s risky, and he is supposed to be being careful. But maybe they can go up to his mom’s in NorCal. She knows about him, and she knows about Jay, and it would be nice to not feel like he’s living a double life… at least for a couple days. He lifts his head off Jay’s chest and smiles, “Okay.”

They cleaned up and began packing some bags; the fact Jay had enough of his things at Tommy’s only confirmed further they were really becoming serious. Tommy tried to ignore the annoyed sighs Jay gave when he scanned the surrounding areas for any onlookers before loading their bags into his Jay’s car. Then they climbed in and were off.

The trip was much needed. It was always nice to see his mom, but what was really nice was how freeing it felt to be out with Jay without feeling like he needed to constantly check over shoulder. “He’s seems nice,” his mom whispers. Tommy was standing at the back door staring into the yard at Jay who had apparently drifted off to sleep in his mom’s hammock.

“Yeah,” Tommy says and dips his head bashfully. “He is.”

“Is he good to you?” Tommy nods. “Are you happy?” Tommy… stalls. His mom’s eyes go soft, she hooks her arm around his and doesn’t press the question.

But Tommy is happy. He loves his job — he hates most of the coworkers, but he gets to help people and save lives and that has always been his calling. He has a nice apartment, and a fixer upper truck he loves working on. And he has Jay. And they are happy, right?

His answer comes when the little vacation ends. Tommy drives them back, and Jay is silent the whole way. They unload the car, and the silence has been so deafening he doesn’t even think to check for people watching as he opens the door for Jay, or when he sends him on up to the apartment and gets the bags alone. “Are you okay?” He finally asks mid unpacking.

“How long is it gonna be like this, Tommy…”

“Be like what?”

“This. How long are we gonna have to hide for your boss, and your coworkers… how long are we gonna only get to be together behind a closed door.”

Tommy swallows. He doesn’t know what to say, because he doesn’t have an answer to that. If he were being completely honest… he might have even said forever. He knows that’s not fair. “It— it won’t be like this forever,” he says.

Jay hums, bitterly. “I had hoped you would see how nice it is to not go around lying about who you are.”

“I’m not lying about who I am!”

“Oh? Then what do you call this?!” Jay all but screams, and it’s loud enough to make Tommy flinch and wonder is the neighbors heard.

“I don’t understand why I need to share my personal life with work,” Tommy tries, he knows it’s a pathetic excuse… he just doesn’t want to fight.

“Because you’re a big tough macho guy, Tommy… in a field where that’s kind of the requirement. But you’re also gay. And we both know small minded people don’t think those two things can coexist.”

“So you see why I don’t want to bring it up to any of them,” Tommy scoffs.

Jay sighs. “I know it’s scary, but maybe you can show them—”

“They won’t care, Jay. It not— they’re not— It won’t work.”

“I can’t keep living like this Tommy…” Jay says softly. Tommy stares at him. He wants to plead with him to drop this and just go back to before. When it felt like he had his cake and was getting to eat it too. When he was living a double life but he was enjoying both sides so it didn’t matter.

He knows that’s not fair.

“I— I’ll try.”

And he does, or well… he means to.

He had it all planned out. He would go to work and the day would be how it always is, and when someone asks him what his plans are when he gets home… he would say Oh I’m just gonna go cuddle up on the couch with my boyfriend and probably watch Love, Actually. And they would understand and leave it at that…

At least that’s how it worked out in his head. In reality when he walked into the station he was met with Gerrard, glowering at him from above; and Tommy just knew Gerrard knew about Jay.

Part Four

[hermannsthumb]

omg could we see #62 from the winter prompts list?

62. you’re my college roommate’s sibling/best friend and you’ve come to visit for a week since you’re done school but unlike some people, I have three more finals to study for so kindly fuck off

from winter writing prompts here

stuck on some of my other wips so i'm digging back through my old unfilled winter prompts!! from. well. 2018. can you believe i've been writing fic this long. insane.

enjoy some dumb (sort of?) college boys newmann! I decided to cheat with the prompt a little (a lot) so I could work it to be conceivably not an AU but instead set pre-canon, though I realize it techhhhnically screws around with the newt/herm penpal backstory just a tiny little bit....

------------------------------------

To be honest Newt’s probably paying more for year-round university housing then he would be in rent at an actual apartment at this point, but details like that get a little screwy when you start college significantly before your eighteenth birthday and grow up on campus. His dorm holds more sentimental value than his childhood home at this point. I mean, it technically is his childhood home. Newt did try the spring of his twenty-first birthday to finally move out, but he spent exactly two minutes poking through a Cambridge housing group on Facebook before it made him want to die and he gave up. At least this way he doesn't have to buy new furniture.

He has enough good will left with administration despite all the shit he's pulled to leverage certain things like that in his favor, and he struck a deal to keep his dorm in exchange for letting campus housing utilize it as an actual dorm from time to time. (Which is to say, Newt is kind of broke and needs to save money from his stipend every now and then for, you know, groceries, so he can grit his teeth and deal with a roommate when the time comes.)

His roommate at the moment is a German exchange student (maybe one or two years younger than Newt) who’s currently enrolled in a year-long study abroad program to mess around with electrical engineering—interesting enough guy with just enough neuroses and weird family issues to make Newt feel like the most well-adjusted twentysomething in the world. It's a great ego boost.

Anyway, it’s convenient. There are like three Dunks of varying quality to choose from at any given moment, and Newt only has to walk ten minutes max to any lecture hall to give class. This is especially nice on stupidly cold and snowy days like today where even a ten minute walk feels like too much.

The door to Newt’s dorm is slightly ajar when he finally gets home. In normal circumstances this would make Newt pause and think for a few seconds before stomping inside—rules of horror movies or whatever—because if his roommate is anything, it’s particular with things like that. Shoes off at the door, dishes left in the sink on a firm one-day-max limit, doors very much locked when they leave to protect all their super important possessions from being stolen, like the refurbished Playstation 2 Newt got off eBay or the Brita filter Newt also got off eBay. Very luxurious stuff.

But Newt’s cold and hungry, so he stomps inside anyway. He does kick his boots off, though—just because some people decided to stop following the dorm rules doesn’t mean Newt will—and makes sure to click the door shut behind him carefully. “Hey, dude, you home?” he calls down the hallway. Nothing. His roommate, Bastien, is usually in class at this time of the day, but finals have turned their schedules upside down, so who knows. He wiggles out of his winter coat and hangs it next to an unfamiliar green parka on the wall hooks (maybe Bastien went on a shopping spree?) and tries a second time. “Uh, you know you left the door open?”

Newt's glasses are splattered with melted snow, and he dries them on the hem of his sweater as he fumbles with the door to their room—and is more than a little surprised when he sees the blurry shape of Bastien sitting primly on the edge of his bed, smoothing out his clothing like he’s just woken up from a nap. His bed as in Newt’s bed. Newt startles backwards. “Oh,” he says. “Um. Hey?” Has he fucked up? Are they having a roommate talk about something? …Preceded by Bastien inexplicably taking a nap in his bed?

He pushes his glasses back on. The dark-haired blur on his bed comes into focus, and though the sharp angles, bad haircut, and vaguely sickly pale flush are reminiscent of Newt’s roommate, everything else about him is different, from the brown eyes to the wide frown. It’s a Gottlieb, no question, but which one Newt’s not sure. He knows there are at least three more of them, a concept which has always struck fear into Newt’s heart each time Bastien alludes to having siblings. “Hello,” the guy on Newt’s bed says. He nods. Very proper. “You’re Newton.”

“…Yeah?” Newt says.

The mysterious Gottlieb is kind of hot, which is the worst part. The whole stern professor look he’s rocking—big glasses, knit sweatervest, slightly too-big loafers—is doing him plenty of favors. Normal circumstances, Newt thinks again, coming home to a hot nerd lounging in your bed? It might almost make him believe in a higher power. It’s taking a significant amount of effort to not start flirting. Then again, he is in Newt's bed, and has been clearly been sleeping in Newt's bed, which feels like a flirtation in and of itself.

“Hermann Gottlieb,” the professor-dude says. He gets to his feet with the aid of a cane, which he’d hooked on one of Newt’s bedposts and offers a hand out to Newt like they’re both eighty years old. Mildly bewildered, Newt takes it. He's treated to a firm handshake. “I assume my brother told you to expect me? I let myself in. I hope that’s not too rude of me, but it was rather cold out.”

“Uh,” Newt says again. He’s a lot more…British than Newt expected. Very posh BBC-miniseries about posh English people with large country estates. Especially compared to Bastien, whose first language is clearly German and is very much not British—it’s just not exactly what Newt was expecting. “I mean—he didn’t totally tell me you were coming. Or, at all.” Hermann drops his hand. “I guess he could’ve mentioned it and I just forgot.” This is probably what happened. Newt’s been a little busy lately.

He decides to address the elephant in the room next, the bed thing, and determine if it was a deliberate choice or not. Maybe Bastien has made Newt out to be so irresistible in whatever he’s reported back to the Gottlieb family that Hermann decided to try his luck. This is definitely not the case, but Newt can pretend. “You’re on my bed,” he continues, and points across the room. “Bastien’s is that one.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. He looks mortified in a properly stiff-lipped way and almost trips over himself to cross the tiny dorm room, and for a split second Newt sees a different Hermann behind the dress shoes and exaggerated formalities: an awkward twentysomething probably barely older than Newt playing dress-up to be taken seriously. The belt he’s cinched to the last notch around the oversized waist of his tweed pants is stiff and cracked in places. Bastien mentioned once that one of his brothers is a math whiz who’s followed an accelerated academic path not entirely unlike Newt’s, and Newt suddenly has a strong hunch he’s looking right at him. “I’m—I’m very sorry. I didn’t realize. My flight only just got in, and the time zones—I was a bit tired.”

“No worries, man,” Newt says. He tosses his tote bag onto the Hermann-sized indentation in his bedspread and kicks his docs off one at a time, while across the room Hermann twists the handle of his cane between his hands. “You want some coffee or something? Bastien is usually out until late on Thursdays, so it might just be us for a while, sorry.” He pulls the sweatshirt he’d slung on his desk chair that morning down over his head and straightens out his glasses.

The offer for coffee is a somewhat-pitying lifeline Newt is decent enough to throw out, which he has a feeling both of them understand. Hermann seizes it desperately. “Coffee would be nice,” he says.

He trails after Newt into the kitchen. Apartment-style or not, it’s still a campus dorm, and the kitchen space is cozy at best and cramped at worst. Hermann plasters himself against a row of cabinets in a heroic effort to stay out of Newt’s way as Newt dumps some coffee grounds and water into his cheap pot and digs two mugs out of the cupboard. They avoid making eye contact at all costs while it percolates. “We have, like,” Newt gestures vaguely at the doorway, “a couch? If you wanted to sit? And not stand here?”

“I don’t mind,” Hermann says.

Newt kind of minds, but whatever, he can deal. He pours soy milk into one mug in preparation and offers some to Hermann, who shakes his head. The coffee drips slowly into the pot. Newt thinks about the stack of ungraded finals tucked into a binder in his tote bag, the other stack waiting on his desk, and the final final he still has to proofread and send off to Copytech for, like, seventy copies by tomorrow. “So, Hermann,” Newt says, and tries to think of a polite way to ask why exactly are you in my apartment during finals week? Does the guy not also have finals in England or wherever? “Are you just visiting your bro for fun, or…?”

Hermann’s face twists with a sour expression. “For a week,” he says. “Not all that willingly. I’m in town for a conference and I won’t have my hotel room until tomorrow morning. Bastien offered to let me use his couch for the night.” He adds hesitantly, “I’m due to give a presentation on Tuesday.”

A lecture: almost definitely the math whiz, then, unless overachieving is a family trait. Newt will circle back to that later. He’s not exactly a math expert, but you kinda can’t really pick up that many STEM doctorates without having at least a basic (or, you know, decently advanced) understanding of, uh, everything about math, and he’s keen to hear what Hermann plans to lecture on. “I’ll try to stay out of your hair,” Hermann adds quickly. “I know you’re busy with final exams and whatnot.”

“Ugh, no kidding,” Newt says. The coffee finally finishes with a few rattling huffs, and Newt carefully pours it into their mugs and shoves the less-chipped one over to Hermann. “I still have another left to go,” he continues. “I got stuck with three whole sections this semester, it sucks. I think they just wanted to get back at me for—well, um, I caused a minor fire in the lab last year and they had to evacuate a few buildings, and I put it out right away because I'm the king of lab safety, but whatever, everyone lost their shit anyway. It’s going to take me forever to grade everything.”

Hermann frowns at him, and Newt wonders exactly how much Bastien has shared about his American roommate—or in this case how little. “Not a student,” he explains. “Dr. Geiszler, technically, but do not call me that. I managed to convince the biology department head to convince student life to let me keep living on campus after I—well, I guess I technically graduated undergrad a while ago. After I wrapped up my first PhD?”

“Ah,” Hermann says, and the edges of his sharp cheekbones going the faintest shade of pink. “I’d assumed—Bastien didn’t mention that, is all.” His eyes flick over Newt twice, scrutinizing him and lingering on his oversized hoodie, a DIY screen-print job bearing the latest logo for Newt’s band that he tried valiantly to sell at their last show. “First PhD? Exactly how old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” Newt says. “I skipped a grade. Or ten. Would not recommend it. Anyway, Hermann, you’re some sort of super-genius, right? You were doing calculus in your crib or something?”

If Newt’s right about which brother Hermann is, that means—compared to the rest of his family—Bastien has alluded to Hermann’s existence in all but name three whole times. By familial standards Newt can only assume that means they’re practically BFFs and probably send each other birthday cards every year. If possible Hermann might be even more reserved than Bastien, though, and it’s making Newt want very badly to prod him a little more just to see what happens. Get him to poke his head out of his shell or something. “That’s pretty impressive, you know,” he adds.

Hermann flushes pink for real this time, obviously pleased with the compliment, and Newt’s equally pleased to see him hold his head a little higher. They’re getting somewhere. “It’s not precisely that dramatic,” Hermann says. “But, yes, er—I started university at a rather young age. Comparatively. Before that, my father sent me abroad when I was eight for my schooling. I’d shown a knack, I suppose, for mathematics, and…”

Abroad—Newt guesses that explains the different accent. Not unlike Newt himself. He wonders if Hermann’s family ribs him for the lapses in his German the way Newt’s family does (America is rotting your brain, Newt!), though maybe somewhat less gently. “And?”

“I’ll finish my doctorate in the spring,” Hermann finishes, with a small smile.

“Dr. Gottlieb,” Newt says. “Nice. I like the sound of that.”

Hermann suddenly spills a large amount of coffee down the front of his sweater. He doesn’t seem to notice, though his ears (which stick out just a little) do go red, so Newt doesn’t say anything.

It’s unfortunate how cute Hermann is. Newt briefly debates the ethics of hitting on your roommate’s hot British brother and whether or not it breaches some sort of sacred roommate code. On the one hand, Hermann is only here for a week, so it’s not like they can get up to too much, and Bastien himself will be packing everything back up for Germany in like, six months tops when his study abroad program ends in the spring anyway. And besides, it’s not like Newt and Bastien are tight or anything like that. On the other hand—I mean, that would be weird, right? You can’t just hit on your roommate’s hot British brother, especially not when he's sleeping on your couch for the night.

Newt has over a hundred final exams to grade, and a suitcase to pack for his own trip (albeit one that’s a maybe-thirty minute ride on the commuter rail) out to his dad’s for the break. He kinda wants to hit on Hermann.

He’s going to hit on Hermann.

“Sooooo,” he begins, “you got any plans, or—?”

And it’s then that Hermann’s cell phone begins to buzz in his pocket. “Ah,” Hermann says. “One moment—apologies.” He pulls out a battered flip phone that looks like it’s been passed down from at least two other people and squints at the screen. “My brother,” he explains, “at last. He’s finishing up at the library and wants to meet for dinner.”

“Oh, right,” Newt says. “Of course. Duh.”

Hermann closes his phone slowly and hazards a small, but considering, glance at Newt, and Newt has a fleeting suspicion he’s not the only one weighing the pros and cons of risky flirting. He might just be flattering himself, though. “…Would you like to join us?” Hermann says. “I’m sure Bastien wouldn’t mind. It might be…” He works his jaw a few times. It’s incredibly cute. He’s clean-shaven in a way Newt hasn’t managed to be since he turned seventeen (the Geiszlerian curse of thick facial hair whether you want it or not), and it makes him look even more like a weird kid trying very hard to be an adult. “Fun.”

It's a bad idea. Hermann’s only here for a week, and he’ll clearly be busy with his conference and his big talk and all that, and then they’ll be back on opposite sides of the Atlantic probably forever—Newt would just be setting himself up for heartbreak. And six months of awkwardly dodging his roommate, which is possibly worse. Ugh. Being responsible sucks. “I shouldn’t,” he finally sighs. “I have to finish—”

“—your finals. Of course,” Hermann says. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I forgot. I’ll let you be.” He sets his mug on the counter by the sink. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Sure, dude,” Newt says.

Hermann works his jaw again, chewing at his lower lip, and then says so quickly Newt almost misses it “If you’re around next Tuesday, perhaps you would like to see my talk?”

Newt tries very hard to be chill. “Yeah, totally,” he says. “That would be awesome. I think I can make it.”

Hermann nods solemnly. “Excellent. I’ll ask Bastien to give you the details later.”

He finally begins to dot at the coffee stain on his sweater with a handkerchief he pulls from a different pocket, and Newt squeezes past him to rinse their mugs out. (No dishes in the sink overnight.) His elbow brushes against Hermann’s as he dries them with a dishtowel. Hermann makes no effort to move away from him, and this close he smells like stale cigarette smoke. Newt can imagine him standing out in the rain in a dreary English landscape somewhere, maybe in the oversized coat he saw hanging by the door, scowling and crushing cigarette filters beneath his cane.

There’s something strangely magnetic about Hermann.

“Hey, listen,” Newt says. He dries his hands off on his pants. Hermann looks at him, abandoning his efforts to clean himself up. “You wanna swap emails or anything…? Maybe we could talk. Collaborate on, uh, something.” He has absolutely zero idea of Hermann’s subfield so he doesn’t know exactly what they’ll collaborate on just yet, but he’ll think of something. Make some notes during the Tuesday lecture. Newt has three PhDs and counting, he can come up with an excuse to talk to a cute boy, okay, he’s not twelve. He’d ask for Hermann’s number like a normal human being if he could dream of affording the international texting rate.

Hermann gives him another stiff nod and the shadow of a smile, which Newt hopes means an enthusiastic yes, Newt, I’d love to be your penpal!, so Newt fishes a pad of paper and a pencil out from the kitchen junk drawer and they take turns printing their emails out as neatly as possible. Hermann folds the slip of paper with Newt’s in half and slips it into his top pocket. “It was very good to meet you, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says, and he offers Newt a parting handshake.

What the hell, Newt thinks, and takes it.

It takes ten months and a split in reality at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean for Hermann to get around to emailing Newt. Newt expects they’ll have a lot to collaborate on in the near future.

[princess-of-the-corner]

And Yet More Random Fanfic Quotes!

: )

*

IcyThotPainRelief: Remember Zuku murder is illegal

Izuwu: Ur one to talk!

IcyThotPainRelief: Look if im not allowed to ruin my reputation neither are u! we either go down together or not at all bitch!

*

Mom-o: Hagakura! That is highly inappropriate! Even if he does sound like an unsavory individual, we still don’t know how Midoriya feels about the whole situation! So, it’s best not to assume his feelings on the subject.

Izuwu: Well he’s dead to me so technically u guys arnt wrong the bastered can rot in hell for all the heart ach he gave my mom!

Mom-o: Oh okay, carry on you guys.

*

SharkBoi: Am i gunna need to bail my boyfriend out of jail?

WeepingDarkness669: Thats only if he gets caught

Pikachu: Bold of u to assume our dear Kacchan knows anything about keeping things lowkey when it comes to acts of violence

*

Tired™: Dont be dragging me into u guys is shit! I was a happy little introvert chilling on my own until u guys showed up!

IcyThotPainRelief: U should of thought of that before spilling ur entire traumatic backstory within a 5 mile radius of Izuku “I will save people with the power of friendship” Midoriya

*

Izuwu: So as auntie Mitsuki is beating my dead-beat dad with her shoe and guess who decided to show up out ow fuckin nowhere?

Pikachu: The pizza delivery guy?

WeepingDarkness: Death itself?

DisneyPrincess: The cops?

AlienQween: *gestured with feeling* Aliens?

SugarDaddy: The League of Villains?

Hentai: Jesus fucking chist guys…

Izuwu: ALL MIGHT!!!

Izuwu: With like?? a bouquet of flowers?? and in a blazer?? Cuz like apparently hes going out with my mom??

IcyThotPainRelief: I FUSKING KNWE IT!!!

Izuwu: Still not his secret love child Sho!

Izuwu: So anyways All Might is there and is all like “what’s going on” and Kacchan goes “we’re beating up Deku’s shitty dad” then All Might said “wait he’s alive??”

DefyingGravity: Deku’s useless Y chromosome user: quit telling everyone im dead!

DefyingGravity: Us: sometimes i can still hear his voice

Izuwu: SO ANYWAYS

Izuwu: Auntie finally stops beating up my father because she too is really surprised to see All Might at our door step which now allows my sperm doner to finally be aware of his surroundings and he looks up at All Might and goes “who the hell are u and what do u want?” and then All Might looks this man dead in the eye and fuking goes “Im here to pick up ur wife we have dinner reservations!”

*

Izuwu: I THOUGHT WE WERW FRIENDS IIDA!!

Saaanic: We are and it is my job to tell you that your entire existence is being held together by sticky tape, a lot of prayer, and spite.

*

WAKEMEUPwakemeupinside: you ever think about how we define sandwichs by the inside of them not the outside

WAKEMEUPwakemeupinside: like you never say “oh i gotta wheat bread sandwich”

*

“You’re worth a hundred of them,” Todoroki said shortly.

“I disagree,” Iida said dryly. “A hundred of any of them would make poor company.”

*

LabSafety101: she’s surprisingly subdued rn, I actually convinced her to take a nap

Dadzawa: that’s because she worked for 72 hours straight with minimal caffeine

LabSafety101: hey chiyo

GrannyChiyo: if she’s already asleep I can’t do anything

LabSafety101: yeah but can you make sure she’s not about to die in her sleep

Yamadad: the boys made sure she ate, dw

LabSafety101: was it healthy?

Yamadad: idk but it was food!

*

UncleGun: I know for a fact that basically every kid in school at least knows half the common swear words

UncleGun: but it’s also really fun to say “dagnabbit”

*

“Alright. I didn’t ask you to get your hero costumes because today you will all be fighting Shinsou.”

The whole class raised their eyebrows. Shinsou tried his hardest not to scream inside though.

Because, what the fuck?

“Uh, sir. That doesn’t seem very fair,” Momo spoke up.

“Yes I know.” Aizawa nodded, “Also, none of you are allowed to use your quirks. Except him, obviously.”

“Why!” Bakugou shouted, “I wanna beat him nice and fair!”

Aizawa was not fazed. “You all know how Shinsou’s quirk works. Once you respond to him, he can make you do anything. That is all. Is that too hard for you?”

The class frowned. Was that a trick question?

Aizawa nodded, and made to sit down. Shinsou stopped him, speaking quietly, “I… I think you’re overestimating my power, here.”

Aizawa just scoffed, “I think you’re underestimating their stupidity.”

[…]

After five minutes, there were only three students in front of him. Kouda, because he didn’t talk anyway, Ojirou, because he had actually learned his lesson at the sports festival, and Sero, who had literally taped his mouth shut.

Aizawa walked towards them and stood next to Shinsou. The ones at the wall, looked at him in varying degrees, of shame and disbelief.

The teacher sighed, “All you had to do was not talk.” He shook his head at them, “That’s all you had to do.”

*

Pro Hero Hawks: So you’ll get to meet all kinds of heroes! Maybe even All Might!

Pro Hero Hawks: Yes, this is naked bribery.

*

“Young Midoriya is quite the hero fan, isn’t he?”

“He’s not just a fan, Yagi-san, he’s not just an air conditioner either: Midoriya-kun is an entire HVAC system.”

*

“Gentlemen, I am here, with some brand new handcuffs! Who would like to try them on first?”

*

Izuku, despite his professionalism as an analyst, despite his commitment to be a hero, still found that teenage urge to throw his head back and groan at the prospect of something that could be seen as a boring, pointless task. He fought the feeling down, self-control pinning it to the ground and discipline clubbing it with a half-brick in a sock before dragging it back into the depths of his mind, and then assumed a low stance.

*

Mirko’s kicks were well known for breaking bones.

Coincidentally, high schoolers tended to have bones.

-

I AM CACKLING I LOVE THIS

[derpy-greetings]

Sketch and Rant #1 Law (Tales of Arise) Spoilers

I'm going to vent into the void about Tales of Arise's Law and how he kinda encapsulates my mixed feelings about Arise. While showing off my non-existing media literacy.

Law is a character that initially captured my attention when his character trailer came out since he was on Rena's side. From what little we seen, I thought he was going to be a bit of a morally grey character. What really caught me was the line that I am going to paraphrase: "- at least I am trying to ease my people's anguish from the inside." This gave me the impression that he could have a similar arc to say Flynn in the sense that they need to start taking more of the initiative to enact the radical change they want. In addition, his hatred for Zephyr, his own father, was interesting to me and I thought we were going to get something like they are both at fault for the falling out they had. Now, while that is true, Zephyr could of possibly tried harder, (somehow), to be at his family side while leading the Crimson Crows. While Law could of tried to express how he felt to Zephyr before his mother passed away or even after that instead of running away and getting into foreign lands. While yes, Law is supposed to be a fool in general and a bit irrational since he is a teen, he isn't likable to many players from the get go. Now, having unlikable characters work. Shionne is literally in the same game. Characters like Luke from Tales of the Abyss work. Though those characters seem to have more purpose of being unlikable and slowly becoming likable with their writing. Law just seems to just be there? First he is antagonistic to the group, yeah that makes sense and hates his father, that also makes sense, because he felt like Zephyr abandoned them. Then we don't see his character again until Alphen and the others confront him to get Zephyr. Then, once Zephyr dies due to Ganabelt's poison, we have Law join us. I feel like the gap we have in character interactions leaves us with less of an idea of who Law is. So now that our third interaction with him is full of hatred for Ganabelt, I simultaneously feel for him and thinks he's stupid. Which yeah, that's the point but I feel more sad for Zephyr because I feel like I know more about him than Law, who we are supposed to feel sorry for. By this point we have self-loathing and angry Law, this makes sense and I am actively invested because I want to avenge Zephyr. We recruit Law for Menancia and now he's happy go lucky? It somewhat feels like a tonal whiplash with his character but it makes sense because he had his arc. It just feels a little lackluster to me because he now is the butt of joke with and is stupid with everything besides a few occasions. (Which is ironic to me because I honestly ended up agreeing with him near end game stuff with the lords due to pure spite).

He had a good moment in Elden Menancia when he knew the party was being trailed by Kisara and catches her off guard at knife point. Okay, this is cool to me because we can potentially show off the skills that he possibly learned from the Crimson Crows, or the Snake Eyes, or the other resistance he was apart of. Oh wait-

We get Law's backstory, (well what he was up to in Cyslodia), in a skit. While I do like that we get some info about what happened to him, I think I would of prefered if we got hints to this then lead up with the skit. Like if we met him before convincing him to tell us about Zephyr's location, why not have him try to get rid of us before getting to Cyslodian per Ganabelt's orders. There we could have Alphen question why Law is doing this to his own people and to let them liberate Cyslodia. Maybe Law retaliates ,drops a hint to what happened to him, by asking Alphen what is his plan. While Alphen wouldn't have on at the point but tells Law that they can make one once they get into the city. Law could say something on the lines of; "Yeah, we thought improvising would of work to." Or even have Law call out on how the hell does Alphen, Shionne, and Rinwell think they can just barge into Ganabelt's location without a plan. This isn't Calagia where that worked. You can't possibly think that would work with how secretive everything is. You could of literally framed it in a way that showed he was speaking from experience. Bitter and just accepting that nothing works, that some of the most prominent teachings from Zephyr didn't work when he was following his footsteps when he joined a resistance group. However, Alphen's words of hope could of let him have something to ruminate about which could help add onto the scene of when we confront Law and the teen relents. While Law would still be in the wrong at this point, we still get to see his desperate attempt of trying to rationalize a situation that he knows is wrong. He can still be hated but instead of him of being a dumb angry kid, he is also one who just given up and is doing whatever he is told to become he is too pessimistic to fight for his freedom anymore. I think it could give us more time with Law while feeling sorry for him. If not sorry, than seeing first hand what the extent of Ganabelt's methods does to people. Especially to someone like Law who is hotheaded and stubborn but still wanted Dahnans to be free.

Then there's the slight tonal whiplash we get from depressed to goofy Law can be jarring to some. While it wasn't to me, I can definitely see why it would just feel like they didn't know what to do with him. Now I do overall like Law which surprises me because I don't like these types of characters. However, I will admit that I was expecting more depth to him, more about his past, and his connection to his parents before he left Calagia. Arise is a game where they are moving forward from their past and just nothing... but even the character backstories? Backstories that can give the characters more depth? While I know more about Law, than say Rinwell, I feel like us not having more about Law's past just squanders development and doesn't make the player sympathize with him as much as the game probably wanted us to. More context might of made me think that everything that happened to him and Zephyr wasn't completely his fault. While it isn't completely his fault, his unlikability kills initial good moments from him and it will make the player side more with Zephyr. Yes, Zephyr didn't do everything he could of did. Yet, I am more sympathetic to his plight than Law's.

But this gets into my issue with Arise. It just doesn't want to go into as much depth as it could of been. Now is it a bad game, absolutely not. It's fun and I think fun is the reason why anyone will invest themselves into media. So while I overall like Arise, I do believe that it kinda felt like a rough draft due to how little information we have for the characters.

[lericekrispie]

// pd spoilers s2 ep 20

I said this on twitter but I wanted to say it more eloquently on here, I think the prime defenders get special treatment not because WATCH think they are going to be the next best thing, but bc they are the current biggest threat to becoming supervillains and they are trying to step in before that happens.

William Wisp-

we know that the boys are good people, but looking at their powers and how they received their powers in just how they sound on paper, it makes sense as to why WATCH would be... watching these kids.

William wisp is an abomination. He is supposed to be dead, he is very much so barely even half alive, and we have no clue how he got his powers, nevertheless being a Deadwood resident. I would be surprised if Deadwood wasn't on the radar of superhero's or some type of authority for strange things happening there. I would also like to point out that the wisps were in Ashe's demon book??? If you were WATCH and you got handed a case about a kid who came back to life and now had demon powers you probably wouldn't put him with all the other kids, yeah? But you can't leave him alone, he's got powers, he's dangerous, and you might need to call an exorcist. Also, does the prime force know about Mallard Conway? If so, it would also explain why prime force would swoop in instead of letting William potentially be influenced by that man.

Virion Sol-

We know that WATCH is familiar with dimensions, at least from WATCH HQ. That shouldn't be that unfamiliar. However, Vync killed a man. Straight up. It's alluded to for self defense or no other choice/ that's how he was raised, kill or be killed, but still. With the power of all the greats inside of him and a murder on his hands but overall not evil intentions what is the prime force supposed to do? They have to look after him, but can they really put him with the training academy (that has also been alluded to) when he's so unstable? No.

Dakota Cole-

Dakota isn't even supposed to have super-powers. From the rolled, we know that super-powers are supposed to be not uncommon but mostly harmless, things people can do but don't always use, like a talent like being double jointed or have sensitive hearing but like with powers. But Dakota didn't even have that. A theory (that could be debunked with coming episodes) is that the surgery he went through wasn't legal, wasn't sanctioned, and nobody has been able to re-create. If not, then why haven't more people been receiving super powers after accident like Dakotas? It would make sense that even if Dakota has pretty generic (albeit powerful and useful) powers, but if the Prime Force didn't know how he got these powers, who gave him these powers, it wouldn't be a far stretch to thing that the giver of these powers had ill intentions, in the likes of creating a super soldier. I think the mystery behind it can have huge implications as to why Dakota isn't at a super school, a place I feel he would thrive, but with the prime defenders.

These three teens are unhinged, on paper have scary powers from unreliable sources, and are young and impressionable. It would be irresponsible to let them go unWATCHed, but also I believe the formation of the prime defenders was for them, because of them. Because they needed extra eyes, more hands on, a little bit more control to make sure they weren't what WATCH feared, a paranormal demon, a psycho from a different dimension with insane power, and a super soldier.

This also brings up Tide.

Why is Tide watching these kids? Sure, he's supposed to be a mentor and those around him as well as himself see Tide as a clone to carry out his duty, but Tide is powerful. We see this time and time again. He could be out heroing. But to have these kids be in an environment where they could be watched but not only trained and led in the right direction, by the embodiment of a good on the surface level caricatures of a hero, with no life, no backstory, nothing to actually do? It makes Tide seem like the perfect person to assign to these kids, instead of a hero or a person who cannot keep up with them/ not powerful enough to, cannot keep a constant eye on them, who has a life outside of the Prime Defenders.

(Reminder that William and Dakota had family and a place they were living they left to go live with Tide and Vync, something they sacrificed to be apart of the Prime Defenders.)

At this point I feel a little insane, but I feel as if this theory isn't a far reach to say that the Prime Defenders weren't supposed to exist, but was a program set in place specifically to control our three protagonists.

TLDR: the prime defenders aren't getting special treatment because people have high hopes in them but because they're afraid of what will happen if they don't intervein or treat this situation seriously like a ticking time bomb.

[anxiously-sidequesting]

So I've been Sinning because I've been making posts on Malorn and Duncan individually but I don't think I ever really touched up on how their relationship with EACH OTHER would be and that's literally the most traumatizing thing I can think of for either of them

This is like, moreso purely speculation and 🌈 imagination🌈 anyways because I don't think there's like any canon material on the two of them interacting and their arcs and backstories are as small as bacteria in the first place but literally those two on their own could have their own fucking show with how much UNTAPPED STORYLINE that can come out of "Borderline child prodigy forced into and struggling with important position" Malorn and "Troubled child with undiscussed emotional issues and a jealousy complex borne from said position" Duncan

Idk about any type of interaction or relationship these two might have had before Malistaire became the Joker, but I can imagine there's ALREADY some type of rivalry (at LEAST one sided) between two guys in the same school in the same class, one of them is blatantly better than the other at everything they do and it's not the guy who says he is. (Like, idek how Malorn himself feels about him being the best in his class, but from what we've seen he doesn't brag about, mislead, or exaggerate about it like Duncan does. And the insane thing is Malorn AT LEAST would have a BASIS on his claims and attitude even if he was being a jerk about it)

But the thing is, Malorn back then as a regular student would not have been in any position to be up close and personal with Duncan in any meaningful way during school hours. Like they're classmates, at best they get grouped on a project together, but Malorn and Duncan being together would not be required and important until AFTER Malistaire dips and Malorn is now Duncan's PROFESSOR. Now in a totally more complicated and intimate way than before, Malorn and Duncan HAVE to interact with each other, speak and work with each other because now Malorn is the new Death teacher and he has to handle the brunt of Duncan's education and progress. GIRLS YOU NEED TO READ THAT LAST PART AGAIN BECAUSE THAT IS SO IMPORTANT!!!!!!!

Malorn and Duncan literally CANNOT escape each other if they wanted to do their jobs (good, unbiased educator and student still receiving education respectively). Yeah they may not be like, personal tutor and student but Duncan is in MALORN'S class now, and just that position alone puts a type of pressure on both of them to still maintain their respective roles and civility while dealing with the person who Does Not Make You Happy on a more personal level than before. That sucks actually

Like, Duncan couldn't even lie to Malorn about how "well" he's doing in Death class when he can SEE his papers. Duncan can't hide his grades papers from his professor, Duncan is no longer able to pull the wool over Malorn's eyes like he does with EVERYONE ELSE. Duncan already had some type of issues with being second best, but imagine one of the people that was threatening Duncan's spot as first place becomes his superior. His superior that can SEE that Duncan is in fact, not the best. Duncan can't even PRETEND that Malorn isn't better than him anymore because it's been proven, when Malorn was made Professor instead of him, and Malorn himself now has an inside view of Duncan's insincerity. What little ""power"" Duncan thought he had was now ALL taken away from him

AND THEN MALORN DOESN'T HAVE IT MUCH BETTER, because here's this little shit that just seems to hate him for no reason???? Idk if Malorn ever knew about Duncan bragging about himself or his jealousy of him in general before Malistaire left, but whether or not he did before he most likely knows NOW. With his new position and him having to care for Duncan as a student rather than a peer, now suddenly Malorn is in Duncan's DIRECT line of fire and he has no wiggle room to step aside or remove himself because in order for Malorn to be a good teacher *he has to be there for Duncan*. He no longer has the luxury to just "ignore" Duncan or even put him in his place if that's what he really wanted, because now Malorn has to be a certain type of responsible and not abandon or get into fights with students that give him any issues (looking at you Malistaire and Mabrose 😒)

Yeah ofc Malorn could always discipline Duncan or smth but what's the use if this one student is just adamant on causing issues? It seems like Duncan has more of a 'hands off' type of technique when trying to get what he wants (using other people to finish his homework for him), but it's super easy to imagine Duncan just doing little or petty things to undermine Malorn's authority in any way he can. Nothing evil but just like challenging or questioning Malorn's lessons during class, mouthing off whenever he can, things that are used to blow off steam and stick it to Malorn in what little way he can definitely sounds like some shit Duncan would do. And what are you supposed to do when this kid, someone who is YOUR AGE but is still essentially supposed to be listening to YOU, is lashing out at you and disrupting class every chance he gets? Discipline him for the hundredth time?

Imagine how this grates on Malorn's nerves how on top of everything else, on top of everyone else already being jumpy and snippy around him, in addition to his entire lifestyle being turned around, even with his tutor and someone he looked up to betraying him in the worst way, even with ALL OF THAT, this *ooooooone* person decides to go out of their way to continuously punish you for it. Malorn is doing his job, what he's expected of no matter how unfair or tiring or unrewarding it may be, and he is being persecuted by someone for a job *he never even asked for*.

Malorn did not plan or hope for ANY of this to happen. Yeah being a Professor sounds cool and shit at first glance but like I've said once before Malorn at that time is still like 12 years old and the change is so absolutely sudden and jarring that Malorn couldn't have even possibly PREPARED for this situation. Whether or not Malorn is actually good at his job now does not push aside the fact that Malorn may not have even WANTED to be in that job in the first place!! We have no way of knowing if Malorn was seriously like "man I wish I was a teacher right now" at ANY point of his life, but it's safe to say he most likely DID NOT because Malorn was never flaunting or showcasing his talent to everyone like Duncan was!! Perhaps the one person who wants this THE LEAST is being unfairly judged by the person who wanted it THE MOST

AND THAT ^^^^^^^ is getting to the core of this Malorn VS. Duncan thing going on here. Two opposites, two extremes that are forced together unwillingly and they're both unnecessarily suffering for it.

And at the end, when The Wizard is trying to do shit and Duncan pops up like "aaayyyy 🤪🖕" and is defeated in 2 seconds, how does that affect them both? Does Malorn ever like, know this about Duncan? Did Duncan even graduate before he was manipulated into a literal cult?

Imagine how messed up Malorn would feel if he ever found out. Would he take it personally, even though none of it was his fault? Would he still FEEL that it was his fault, that the one person who hated him sooo much it became the catalyst to his downfall? Would Malorn feel responsible for Duncan and all the hurt he's caused and all the hurt he's felt even though he shouldn't?

And the saddest part is even if Malorn did suffer any type of way from knowing how Duncan turned out to be, his responsibilities wouldn't leave him that much time to mourn before he had to go back to work. The saddest part is that even though Duncan was told over and over that he was alone and that nobody cared for him, he had Malorn by his side the entire time more than willing to support him. Their relationship is so interesting to me because it's so tragic and multifaceted when ultimately things could have been at least moderately better if the world hadn't let them both down

[court-jobi]

Can I ask about two things? Blue Mando-Paz Feels and The Touch Barrier? Feel free to only answer one! This is @newpathwrites btw.

Hekk yeah I'll answer both, @newpathwrites!!! Let's goooo~

The Touch Barrier | Ver. 1 under the cut

Ah my lovely fic headcanons with no real name... The Google Doc I have my drabbles about Paz Viszla are on just a funny sheet called quite literally Blue Mando Paz Feels. We had so little Paz content at the time I began writing these in 2019, but when I tell you my mind went wild...

Big blue boi Mando had my heart from the get go, and I quickly envisioned a nameless little OC (that I have yet to get onto paper). I paired him with a gentle soul who has a heart bigger than her head, and shakes the moment a gun is put into her hands-- but I think that brand of softness may be just what he needed in this harsh lonely world Mandalorians are so used to. He's big, he's blue, and it's cuffing season.. all I gotta say on that.

Now that I've seen more of Viszla in Season 3 I HAVE NEW SOURCE MATERIAL MUAHAHAHA but (ach-hem) I really do think the newest episodes helped me figure out his 'voice' so I might pick these little stories back up!

//psst my favorite of these is one where oc/reader's helping him clean up after a yucky, muggy recon mission, seeing him scrub himself really hard and she fusses over how rough he's being-even with himself. I go into how to care for your beskar, some Din Djarin rivalry-ish backstory, and how SWEET Paz can be when he's treated gently... Perhaps I'll flesh this one out if there's interest?

But also... my beloved:

I answered a bit on my different directions on The Touch Barrier here... But I imagine you'll be most interested in the first iteration of it, so here's a snippet!!

"Are we ok?"

The helmet straightened up, fixed to you again from its nervous evasion. "What?"

"You look like a caged lothcat right now.." you shared, unable to hold back a smile. "And here I thought we were on hugging terms~"

Inside the beskar suit, Mando’s neck flared with heat. And before he could silence himself,

"..we are?"

You hummed noncommittally- betraying your whole-hearted desire.

"I hoped so. At least I thought we might be, based on how you boarded the other day. Unless you didn't necessarily want me there. After all, I know you were kinda having a hard time staying upright."

Only then did Mando's beskar curves slide more naturally into place. No longer bolted to the wall but angled catty corner to you. 

He recalled the 'hug' referenced, but he also remembered how he'd cupped your head to him after you'd brought him up to the cockpit-- that one was for comfort. Not stability.

"I was. But that's not why I .."

–but before he fully finished his train of thought, the baby in the hold let out a frustrated garble of calls as a rolling ball clinked out of his reach. Each plunk echoed down the rungs until it rolled off to parts unknown. You snorted, wondering what on earth he was getting into up there.

"Gosh, that little guy. Sorry, what were you saying?" you recentered from your distraction.

With a lag in his shoulders, the Mandalorian thought the truth to be the best answer. But still wanting to answer to the Child, he nodded his head on for you to continue down to the hull, and he'd follow,

"I was just going to say," he answered, "I didn't do that because I couldn't stand on my own. i-i mean I couldn't, true, but the thing is, I 'wanted to'..." 

His heart was thundering, some cracks in his words were audible,

"I was bleeding out all over the floor. But really, l I could think of was just how grateful I was that you hadn't been hurt. You were safe, and seeing you? I was relieved."

Now side by side in the open air cargo space you smiled, feeling a bit like the silly girls in the holonovels when they pushed their hair behind their ears.

"Well... For one, I'm glad you're not bleeding all over the floor."

That earned you a breathy laugh, "Thank you."

"And for two, I'm- glad you wanted to. Because I may or may not have been wanting to, myself.." 

Mando paused in his strides. which you matched. Even though you were unable to read his expression, you gave a satisfied little smile with your answer, 

"So… it sounds like we're on the same page."

"Sounds like we are."

The Child whined again, making both tip their head off to the side, perfectly in sync.

"I can go get him-- meet you back up top?"

"Okay." He nodded and they split.

Back in the cockpit, you wrangled the bouncing little potato sack. Mando turned when you came in, hearing you corral the kid trying to jump out of your arms to get a better view from his pram.

"Ok ok kiddo, good grief– your seat's but going anywhere!" You shrilled. Planted into his blankets, he sat back in content, swaying side to side, taking in the stars and clusters they were passing in awe.

"Handful?"

"More like tryin'a be a hand-empty, the little wiggle worm." you sassed. His playfighting was all in good fun.

The Mandalorian spun to meet you. First and foremost, you know he'd set the locks on the overhead panels on the side wall, but then he surprised you when he faced fully after you readjusted your clothes the kid had tugged every which way.

"You're good with him. He seems happy to have someone else around." He complimented, stepping into your space. 

Then- finally- meeting your sparkling eyes with all their silent anticipation of his arms, he wrapped around you to pull you in. You locked him in by the waist. 

Then, slightly softer, he nearly whispered, "and.. he's not the only one."

Smushed slightly into his flight suit padding above his chest plate, you smiled. The pats you gave him back passed assurance and as much comfort as you could manage in this relatively tiny hunk of metal in the vast black dust of space. 

"Feeling's mutual, hon."

Hope you liked it!! More of this may come one day...

...dangit.. now I wanna finish this. (le sigh)