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st4rbwrry · 4 months

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𝒜𝑀 𝐼 𝐵𝒜𝐵𝒴?

✧｡˚ a shy nympho camgirl seeks a partner to help her film content on a dating app. soon, meeting up with a handsome man who's willing to do anything for the pretty girl he chats with.

𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 𓇼 14k. pwp, lowercase intended, age gap ꒰ toji is 36, reader is 24 ꒱ submissive reader, pleasure!dom toji, bondage ꒰ belt ꒱, check ins, heavy praise, overstimulation, aftercare, unprotected, videography, oral ꒰ f + m ꒱ , squirting + kreaming, spanking, choking, hair pulling, mild degradation, intimacy on high, toji is intimidating, manhandling, masturbation, daddy kink srry not srry, pet names ꒰ baby, girl, pretty, sweetheart, angel ꒱ minors aren't welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated!

౨ৎ — ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 ꒱: this took me so long to finish y'all but im super proud of it. one of my favorite works so far so i hope y’all enjoy. ♡

you hold your notebook in your hands, a bright pink color with numerous doodles sketched onto its cover, your pen on the back of your ear as you slowly cross off a list of things you needed to buy while browsing on your laptop. your room is quiet aside from the soft sound of music playing from your stereo, beyoncé’s cowboy carter album playing from start to finish while you slumped into your soft pink duvet hiding beneath a white canopy slip. the air is crisp how you like, a fresh, chunky strawberry is chewed between teeth, and your skin is freshly scrubbed and moisturized, only covered in a matcha green two piece short and tank set. a laptop sits on your thighs as you cross your legs, twirling your left calf as you bury your back into your mountain of plushies.

this was frustrating. you never realized how hard this would be to find someone to fuck, let alone film content with. you’d made a profile on hinge a week prior to now, and most of the matches weren’t close to peaking your interest. most of the men seemed like creeps, some too old . . . giving very much grim reaper. and others, too young, freshly adults at that. you think you’ve made yourself appealing enough. cute profile with full faced pictures, personality traits, daily interests even . . . but it somehow didn’t attract those you truly wanted.

as your sticker covered macbook’s motherboard screamed for air, warm on your thighs and now sliding on your tummy the further you leaned back. . . you were growing tired. huffing and puffing from literal exhaustion. am i wasting my time? should i just go out and find people like in the movies? but this generation made it so hard to even physically connect anymore. what happened to people running into each other at a coffee shop, a book store, a park? sharing interests and going on dates. granted, what you were looking for was strictly work related. you wouldn’t dare stare a stranger in the eye you bumped into at the farmers market and ask, “hey, wanna fuck me for content?” it’d be tasteless. you have self respect. others may think differently considering your side quests to fund the unfathomable reality of adulthood on top of just being a girl.

“this fucking sucks,” you groan to yourself, thumb aching from how quickly you hit the big ‘x’ on the bottom left corner of your phone screen.

maybe it was time to call it a night. you had an early shift at the salon, about five clients to be exact, booking either re-twists, goddess braids, or a wig install. so you had to save your hand strength. sighing, you shut off your laptop and set it aside on your nightstand, disconnecting the music from your phone before getting up to cut off the light. your fluffy cat that laid on the edge of your bed shooting her head up in alarm, ready to follow at any adventure you pursued.

“relax, mommy’s not going anywhere,” you smile assuredly, knee dipping into the bed as you lean over to smooch her on her tiny head, pointy ears tickling your cheek as you watch her tail sway. “good night, sweet — oh, fuck! i forgot to feed you. i’m so sorry baby.”

the alert in your tone has the black cat stand in attention, cursing to yourself as you slip on your heart printed slippers and make your way towards the kitchen, your studio apartment being on one level making this task easier. you listen to her tiny paws thud on the floor after she jumps off the bed in a hurry, dashing in front of you, damn near tripping you.

“oh my god, you’re so extra,” you shake your head, but couldn’t help but laugh. she meows at you violently, as if you hadn’t fed her in two weeks. rolling your eyes, you reach for her bowl off the floor to clean before opening a fresh can of fancy feast, using one of her plastic spoons to arrange her dinner.

whilst she awaits, you can’t help but glare at the screen of your phone as it suddenly dings, forgetting to turn off your ringer. hovering over it to activate your face i.d, it immediately opens the hinge app, reloading the page to see a new match. the air you inhaled suddenly catches in your throat as you stare wide eyed at your screen, the man in your view is just what you’ve been waiting for.

“oh, holy fuck,” comprehension wasn’t on your radar seeming as you lost the ability of the cat food in your hand, dropping it to the floor and flinching from the mess your fur baby began chowing on. sucking your teeth, you mutter, “goddamit. no, no. stop it.”

flailing your hand gently to get her to stop, you snatch the can and dump the remainder in the deep oval ceramic bowl. you try to ignore the rapid pounding of your heartbeat, unsure why it went so astray. maybe it’s because you’ve never seen a man so fucking fine. deadly fine, foul almost. as if it was such a disrespect to all beings. she’d cleaned up her own mess, so you take the time to grab your phone and lean against the sink to observe this man further. he had matched with you, of course, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so depressed a few minutes ago . . . unless you were waiting for him to like you back.

toji. it’s his name. simple, nice. he only has about three pictures, one of them a huge black cane corso with a gorgeous silky coat. it made sense given the vibe he was giving. dark, intimidating, sexy. jet black hair, slender smoke gray eyes, sharp jaw and a fascinating scar on the side of his mouth. another thing you noticed was how big he was. most of the clothing he wears sticks to his skin like glue. molding the outline of his muscles, the thickness in his arms, the heaviness in his thighs, the brick trail of his abdomen.

a certain feeling burns in your chest, and between your legs as you scroll to see the last image. he’s sitting on a beach chair, thighs spread in black cargo pants, matching tee, a yuengling beer in his hand and a cross dangling around his neck as he takes a sip of his beverage with a hungry look into the camera. it’s cocky, possessive, dominant. the dark brows above his eyes lowered with attentiveness. his shirt is half risen above his abdomen, and you can easily see the dark trail of hair leading into his crotch. it’s full there, clear as day. so it’s easy to tell he carries something serious.

fuck. “fuck,” you feel yourself growing hot, blowing out a breath of air before making your way back to your comfy bed to stare at him more. what a fucking man. honestly, you’d never seen someone so of your standard. exactly your type. before messaging him, you check his profile a bit deeper to make sure you’re not mistaken of anything. find some flaws, though profiles only express so much.

thirty-six, that makes you moan. that’s a twelve year age difference. though that only makes him hotter. not too old, nor young. he’s a . . . gynecologist.

“so he’s good with pussy,” you giggle to yourself. he makes a decent amount of money. he’s into fitness, clearly. cars, politics, sports. seemed like a pretty laid back man to you.

without even realizing, he had already messaged you, your heart dropping to your toes at his first response.

toji

i’ve seen you before.

you blink, fingers typing quickly.

you

mhm, where?

he takes a moment to reply, so you fiddle with your necklace out of anxiousness, laying on your stomach and swaying your feet.

toji

sounds a little embarrassing, but an adult website.

you

sounds about right. does that bother you?

toji

i wouldn’t have matched with you if it had.

you

so you’re saying if i wasn’t a porn streamer you wouldn’t even look my way?

those three dots prolong longer than you wanted, only making you aware he didn’t know what to say.

toji

i matched with you because i find you attractive. whether you want me in that way or not is up to you. i want you.

he’s straightforward. you can’t help but bite the tip of your acrylic, smiling like a stupid teenager, kicking your feet in the air. the attraction being mutual boosting your ego.

“i want you, daddy,” you joke to yourself.

you

i’m assuming you’ve read my bio. i’m looking for someone to film content with! if you’re down for it, we can meet in person and talk about it! i’m not really looking for a relationship. . . right now at least. ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

toji

of course, sweetheart. i’m free saturday’s and sunday’s. you don’t seem that far from me. let’s grab italian. my treat.

there’s something blunt and grown about him, you can practically feel his intimidation radiating through your fingertips. he seems just like the kind of man you knew would fuck you stupid. scream his name until the walls bled. until you’re trembling, and the sheets are off the bed, and his sweat is on your back so arched to the point where it’s painfully delicious. biting your lip, you had nothing else to lose. you needed his help, he’s offering lunch, you only live once.

you

you had me at italian. saturday at 2?

toji

saturday at 2. see you then, darling.

𓇼

the nostalgic scent of blue magic hair grease fills the air of the salon, your fingers working tirelessly to intricate detail into the woman’s scalp you worked on. your last client of the day in fact. you couldn’t wait to clock out and grab a bowl from chipotle, thinking about it your entire shift. fingers entwining artfully as braiding hair flicks from angle to angle, you finish up the final knotless braid with a hard working sigh. you tried to remain optimistic after she’d taken her seat, unfortunately arriving an hour late to her appointment. said she had ‘issues’ with her boyfriend, smelling like weed and partially slurring her words when she came in. but you could care less when you were on a time crunch.

you hated when people wouldn’t respect the clearly listed rules on your account. so, for that, she’d be paying a late fee. after you applied moose and rosemary oil to her scalp, she’d pay you through apple pay and be on her way. you thank her, and when she’s out the door, you instantly turn to your friend and roll your eyes.

“you’re too damn nice for doing her hair. i would’ve told her ass to kick rocks after showing up that damn late,” amethyst speaks, crosslegged and shaking her head as she digs her fork into her chinease platter, filled to the brim with shrimp fried rice and popcorn chicken. the smell alone makes your tummy growl. “did she even tip you?”

“not at all,” you brush off, not even wanting to think about it anymore. “still got my money at the end of the day.“

“hey, you’ve been off the whole day, everything alright?” amethyst proceeds to question, and your shoulders slump as you halt from sweeping up hair off the floor.

aside from tireless appointments, you couldn’t get toji out of your mind, super impatient, even anxious for saturday to come. it’s two days away until you finally meet him. you’ve texted here and there, shared a few updates on life or spoke of relating passions and wanting desires. you had told him your occupation outside of being a camgirl, and how dissatisfied with it you’ve become. this field wasn’t for you anymore. the passion for it is dying, the clients grow irritable, and you just wanted to breathe. you feel like you’ve been working your whole life. in conclusion, since fifteen. started from an early age dealing with responsibilities due to financial constraints within your family. your mother raised you on her own, along with four other children. and being cursed with the older daughter syndrome, you developed faster than you wanted to. barely having time to live your life until you moved out. even then, it’s been all about work. you needed an island getaway.

“this week just burnt me out. i’m just glad it’s almost over,” you reply, not having the energy for a full conversation. she was a sweet girl, albeit very nosey. you try to keep events in your life private, gossip to a minimum.

“awe, bookie,” she pouts. “what’s your plan for tomorrow? me and the girls were gonna check out that new club ‘sin.’”

shaking your head, you disagree. “now you know i’m not big on clubs. have an art piece to work on anyways before the weekend comes. so i’ll be busy.”

amethyst nods. “well, alright then. i guess i’ll just see you whenever you get booked again.”

you don’t know why that felt like a backhanded response. you’re only here three times out of the week, and most of those days you see about five to six clients. everyone else had a bigger following on social media, meaning more attention, more money. you believe because you aren’t so passionate for this major, your ability to promote and put effort only shows in your adult entertainment career. since it’s where most of your income comes from as of four months ago.

“guess i’ll see you.”

after packing your ballerina pink telfar bag with all of your tools, you wave goodbye to everyone before making your way to your white honda civic, interior a vast splash of pink matching the two-piece skims set you wore. shorts since the weather is about seventy-five degrees today. buckling yourself in, your only agenda is to head to chipotle and then home. ordering your delectable signature bowl of barbacoa, fajita veggies, guacamole, pico de gallo, corn, sour cream, cheese, lettuce, and refusing to eat the bowl without their vinaigrette and a side of chips.

it’s around 9pm when you’re finally cleaned off from a hot shower, curly hair pushed back from your face with a hello kitty headband as you finish your skincare, sitting at your vanity while scandal plays in the background. you’d already eaten your food about an hour ago, even taking a thirty minute nap to regenerate for this art piece you needed to finish. in total, you had about three jobs; hair stylist, camgirl, ceramicist. you had an etsy profile where people bought cute little things of yours you liked to sculpt. tea pots, coquette flower pots, plates, heart cake jewelry boxes . . you name it. you had a few orders for mini miffy trinkets you had to ship out by saturday.

saturday. the warmth in your gut swarms at the thought of seeing that man. quite frankly, you’ve been unable to relieve your mind of him. he’s like a poison, hard to get rid of, but desperate to stay bonded with you. and you wanted nothing more than to be buried in his embrace; small and fucked out. since he’s been busy with work, and so have you, there hasn’t been much time to even call and chat. then again, you wanted to wait to see him in person. to feel that magnetism stronger than it already was. two days away and you’re anxious to even hear a hello.

while patting your toner into your face, you gaze through your mirror to see a scene playing from your show where fitz and olivia fight before they fuck for the hundredth time. the way he grabs her, speaks to her, caresses her and worships her. it has you thinking of toji instantly. the burn for him aching more than normal. practically feeling his eyes on you the way he stared into the camera in that one photo, long fingers clasped around the glass bottle, craving for that lock around your throat. wondering how tight he’d make it. would you be able to breathe? would he kiss air into your mouth to help you? tell you it’s okay, to feel it all, to take it all, to cum on his dick till you're milking him dry?

your thighs squeeze together from your imagination, staring at your reflection . . . and it’s all in your eyes. deep arousal, and the harsh clench you currently held your moisturizer in, close to grinding in your seat to ease the buzz of your clit. there’s only one solution for this, and you might as well make money off it. standing to your feet, you think not a second more before retrieving your laptop from your closet, setting it on your vanity desk and logging into the domain of prettyfuckbunnies.com. it seemed to be the main site for growth, given your eight thousand dedicated subscribers. you check yourself in the mirror once more before going live, rolling your chair back a few inches so they could see your entire frame. dressed in nothing but a small red slip dress.

angelbwrry is live!

your subscribers were notified well before others, hundreds of them swarming the chat within seconds. you were a new favorite, a prized star of the platform. admiration from both women and men. people who tipped you just for being pretty. others here for the obvious. applying gloss to your lips, you stare intensely into the camera, the character you play going into affect.

“hi,” you mutter quietly, slowly titling your head to the side as you bite your lip and sink lower into your seat, back arching. “i’m so fucking horny, and i just need someone to watch me fuck myself.”

the black kuromi chair you sat in begins to sway as you gently swing yourself side to side, eyes trained on the chat to witness them praise you, some comments degrading off the rip that you chose to ignore, others demanding you get on with it. for the most part, you tend to be discreet with sharing much about yourself. technically, you weren’t hiding much, your face easily accessible and probably even less hard to track. you’d always pray that there wasn’t a psycho willing to go that far just to find you. role playing was your forte. writing ideas for new personas to please them. and you had fun doing it. you’d never do something you weren’t in to for the satisfaction of others. never took private calls, or meets ups for obvious reasons.

but, you had to talk about him.

“i met this guy i can’t get outta my head,” the softness in your tone making dicks go erect and clits beat, the chat asking questions and growing fond of your way of interaction. “well, maybe not met. we’ve texted, and i meet him in a few days. possibly someone you’ll see on the channel. and . . .”

the tenseness in toji’s neck bothers him as he groans and leans back into his office’s chair, fork in one hand as he chews on his salad from sweetgreen a coworker grabbed for him, reading through emails his secretary confirmed appointments of, needing to add it into his schedule to be aware of what he can fit between. needing to run a few errands this weekend. the white doctors coat clings to his body, one foot raised to rest on the front of his desk, manspreading and jaw shifting as he finishes his food tiredly, knowing he wouldn’t eat a thing once he got home.

“goodnight doctor fushiguro! get some rest tonight, yeah?” a body comes to view of his secretary; a woman with glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, a chunky face and beautiful red hair. she waves enthusiastically.

toji smiles, the older woman trying her best not to swoon. he’s young enough to be her son. “good night, miss thorn. thank you for today. you get home safe and enjoy your trip. i wanna hear all about it when you’re back.”

“you know you’re the first person i’m running to tell!” she chirps, toji chuckling. “i left my keys on the main desk. don’t forget or else you’ll have to break open the drawer for your patients files.”

“i’ll be sure to remember.”

twenty minutes pass and toji’s cutting off lights to his small facility and locking up. twirling the keys on his long finger, starting up the sleek black maserati ghibli gt sitting in the parking lot from his key. a black patent leather messenger bag hanging from his shoulder, doctors coat discarded and now attired in his usual black tee with matching slacks. setting it beside him in the passengers seat, he gets a ding! from his cellphone, resting his shoulders in his seat before checking what it was, perhaps it was miss thorn, she tends to leave things behind.

angelbwrry is going live!

toji raises a brow from the notification, checking the sapphire bulova watch on his wrist for the time. 9:54pm. why were you up so late? forgetting people have other schedules, he’s so used to being asleep around this time, much more having to be done today the only reason he was still in the office way past the hour it closed. part of him grows inquisitive, wondering if he should invade your privacy or what not. though, he’s not new to your escapades. he’s seen every inch of your body, memorizing it quite literally. he’s not ashamed to say you’ve gotten him off a few times these past months. he feels like he knows you on a deeper level now, so itching for that perverted behavior would be indecent to both of you. especially if he’s seeing you in two days . . . for a conversation about what you do and his potential participation.

nothing wrong with just watching, right?

as the engine to his car hums, toji finds himself in a devious act, clicking onto your feed and finding you displayed in your feminine bedroom. the videos on mute momentarily before he’s going full screen and turning his phone sideways. there you were, small and standing tall as the slip that barely clung to your body arose the more you moved. hips wide, thighs full, nipples taut and tits defying gravity. the strap on your right shoulder falls elegantly, your hair hoisted up by a claw clip and your brown skin radiating glow. the man openly groans from the sight, knowing you smelt so good.

“wait, i have an idea!” the cute tone of your voice blares through his phone, a smirk painting his stern features as he watches you scramble for something in your room, your slip riding up your ass. the hourglass shape of your body, to the pudge of your tummy . . he’s enamored.

he, and a thousand other people watch curiously as you lift the seven foot mirror that previously leaned against your closet door and position it on the floor at the edge of your bed. then, you’re digging into your bottom drawer for something else, toji catching a brief glance at the chat raving and thirsting from the view of your perky ass peaking out, a tiny birth mark under the left one. the cellulite in your legs that squish together from size, the stretch marks leading from beneath your ass cheeks down to the backs of your knees. so fucking soft.

“ta-da!” you wave the object in your hand courageously, an evil grin on your face as you show the crowd your confetti designed dildo, the brow on toji’s face raising. he almost wants to chuckle. you’re so silly, he thinks. watching you dance your way back towards the mirror where you hum a tune to yourself, swaying your ass in the air for dramatics before plunging your toy onto the center of the mirror so it sticks, watching it spring for attention.

“gonna pretend this is him, ‘till then. can’t wait any longer,” your hands slowly drift up your thighs to show your audience your bare pussy, hiding between those luscious thighs of yours. he wanted to suffocate his face there badly. what you say almost goes over his head. pretend who’s what?

toji ignores the flow of comments filling the chat, degrading you to some degree which he briefly clenches his jaw from, feeling somewhat protective. others praising you, acting like your cash pigs. pathetic, he thinks. he sees one comment in particular that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

prinxxxspeach

aren’t you seeing him saturday? call him now to come help you girl!!

don’t fucking call me, angel. i’ll nut in my pants right now if i hear you say my name. he’s slightly amused that you spoke of him. is that why you went live so late? thinking about him? so pent up, and impatient, you had to just fuck it out your system? he’d fuck you a lot better than that lousy toy you had, that’s for sure.

you giggle from the comment, contacts still in your sockets so you can read what people are saying from afar.

“he can wait for me. he’s making me wait,” it’s like an old film camera flipping to the next scene, or maybe his mind had gone blank from your response because now, now you’re sinking your tiny pussy onto your toy after coating it with lube, the reflection of your cunt for all to see in the mirror. watching as this toy splits you apart, pretty folds swallowing it deep as you balance yourself on the tips of your toes. fully sitting and rolling your hips to adjust, your mouth falls wide and a whimper escapes.

“nng, s’so deep,” that voice of yours is going to get you in trouble. the broken moans you release as you lift your hips to grind and bounce, face falling forward to look at yourself, seeing someone other than yourself. your imagination begins to run wild, and you forget a cameras watching you, dainty fingers caressing the mirror before laying your palm flat, as if you’re choking him. biting your lip, you occupy your other hand by molding at your chest.

you uphold your balance well, clapping your ass down against the mirror now coated with your slick, pussy squelching ridiculously loud aside from your weak moans and desperate whimpers.

“fuuck,” your breath hikes, sounds broken and almost pleading, eyes rolling back as you collapse to your knees and lazily rock back on your idea of a dick. by this point, toji’s eyes are malicious, and his dick is hard in his slacks. shifting in his seat uncomfortably from what you’ve done.

“lemme see your face,” toji whispers in the air, the heat rushing to his cheeks. the things you do to him truly fascinating.

“g’na cuum, mmph daddy!” a high pitched squeal you let out stuns him, your hips shifting back and forth hurriedly. the flesh of your ass moving like water, and he’s in a trance. daddy? what the fuck are you doing to him? he wonders if you knew he was going to purposely join your live. already talking about him gave it away.

“c’mon, angel. show me,” the blood swells in his cock rapidly, tip damn near dripping with precum, unable to help but palm his heavy hand with it, humming and widening his legs.

“too-jii,” it’s faint the words you falter, a pathetic whimper followed by drool covered lips and a cute squeak. your body trembles from the depth of your orgasm, riding out your high and giggling cutely to yourself. to others, the words were inaudible. but to him, he knew exactly what the fuck you said.

the way you smile at yourself in the mirror, as if you’re looking at his fucked out face, you slowly upturn your head to bring it back to the livestream, a drunken, and dangerous grin on your face. never in his years of life had a woman made him gulp. to fear for what you’d do to him. how bad you’d break him, make him go fucking crazy. yearn for your pussy on his mouth.

you were fucking ethereal.

𓇼

of-fucking-course you’d be running late. you were supposed to meet toji at two and it’s two thirty. the location of c’est moi exactly twenty five minutes away from where you lived. you were close to the downtown area, not fond of parking down there but you’d drive faster than an uber can. you made sure to make toji aware of your lateness so he’s not getting the idea that you stood him up. never. not after the other day. you don’t know what happened, but your mind took over your body and you couldn’t help yourself. you only pray he didn’t see it, not expecting him to. it’s embarrassing now that you think back on it.

you manage to make it out of the house twenty minutes after, throwing on a simple white pleated cami dress with a ruffled hem, ruched bust, and pairing of olive green sandals that had tea rose shaded orchids clipped onto the forefront. a teri cherry printed coach bag tight on your shoulder after you sped sixty miles per hour towards the restaurant, finding parking and hurriedly making your way inside.

“hi, reservations for fushiguro. i’m extremely late,” as you approach the host, you make out the sight of the man you were here to see outside instantly. sitting alone sipping a cup of coffee. his side profile all you can see, that deep scar carved into the side of his mouth, his veiny hands big as he clutches the mug . . and your throat clogs up.

he’s fucking . . . big. fuck being nervous before, this made you want to run and hide and never show your face. he’s practically hunching over the table, making it appear smaller than it actually is. his hair is midnight black, his broad shoulders and muscles suffocating the sleek gucci button up he wore, a few undone, eyes studying his cellphone, awaiting your call. one thing about being a doctor, he’s learned to be patient. understanding your alarm forgot to go off, or rather you slept through it . . seemingly growing to become impatient. he needed to see your face now.

“right this way.”

your feet follow blindly behind the hostess, trying your best not to trip over your own feet, heart beating drastically against your ribcage. your palms are sweaty, feeling the warm breeze of spring air hit your skin as the hostess leads you outside to the table where toji resides. he sees you before you see him, the sun beaming on your skin not nearly as hot as your cheeks suddenly became when finally making eye contact. your right hand picks at the ends of your dress anxiously, toji taking a stand to welcome you like a gentleman. it’s like slow fucking motion the closer you approach him, and when you’re inches apart, you can see the stillness on his face. he doesn’t smile, his face is almost unreadable. not sure if he’s upset with you for being late, or he’s just not one for emotions.

“hi,” the hairs on your skin stand from the deep baritone of his voice, visibly swallowing as you stare up at him, height difference making you dizzy.

“hi,” you blink like an innocent doe. he’s hovering over you and the waiter whom sets the menu down on the table, his chest almost touching you as he comes around to pull your chair out for you to sit, finally getting so close to the point where he could breathe in your sweet perfume, the peony and white musk scent has him forcing down a groan. he’s staring intently at your backside, dark hair going to the middle of your back in wild curls, a bit frizzy due to the humidity outside.

“can i get you anything to drink, miss?” the waiter addresses you, politely waiting for toji to move out the way.

why is your entire body on fire? no man has ever had this affect on you. his aura exudes something sinister, overtly masculine even. “u-um, yes please. can i just have a frozen sangria?”

“of course, i’ll be back with that while you decide on your meal.”

“thanks,” you smile sweetly, trying your very best to avoid complete eye contact. once the two of you are alone, you build up the courage to look at him again. he’s seated once more, leaning back into his chair with a left arm resting over the back of the chair with his legs comfortably spread. he liked to do that a lot. his eyes are low, head adjusted somewhat to the left as he observes you.

“good to finally see you,” he’s the first to speak, again. that fucking voice of his; raspy and dominant. how are you supposed to carry out a conversation without folding?

“y-yeah,” you clear your throat, sitting up straight after shyly clamping your hands between your legs and trying to hide like a porcupine. “i want to apologize again for running late. out of all days my phone decides to not ring my alarm. i rushed here as soon as possible. i hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

his lips began to rise into a soft smile, and that eases your nerves. no one would notice you’d rush to get ready. so naturally pretty with your face glowing from rose water and petroleum jelly, hair brushed out, lashes only curled with mascara, lips lined with black liner and smothered with gloss while your prescription glasses sit on the bridge of your nose. too cute.

“sweetheart, no need for the sorry’s. i understand.”

he’s not mad, thank fuck. “kay,” you smile back, tucking pieces of flown hair behind your ear. “did you order yet?”

“was waiting on you,” he replied. “though i kind of lost my appetite. i’m craving something . . . else. so, order anything you’d like.”

that was surely a double meaning. now, you’re not so sure if you had an appetite anymore. you couldn’t bare to eat in front of this man right now. when the waiter came back with your drink, you downed half of it, toji chuckling from your anxiousness. you needed the liquid courage before uttering another word towards the man who watched you with motive, intention. the intimidation brewing from his body is corrupting you. you order a simple caesar salad, nothing too fancy.

“oh! i printed out the document we have to go over.”

toji’s eyes trail to your hands that reach for your purse, acrylic nails painted a peony pink pulling out your notebook stuffed with an arrangement of papers as well as a pen. “guess we can call it like an nda, affidavit . . whatever. i’m sure you’re aware of the obvious on why. um, we can discuss boundaries within the bedroom . . . things we will or will not condone. a safe word is a must. if you don’t feel comfortable showing your face i’d blur it out, but given i do livestreams most of the time that’ll be impossible. so i’d suggest a mask, which i’m actually in to so if that’s something you’re willing to do . . “

toji nods as you continue to ramble, carefully analyzing everything you say, though, his mind begins to drift elsewhere. he still couldn’t get that damn livestream out of his mind. killing himself these past two days just thinking about how fucked out he needed you to be, buried deep and crying underneath him. the cute expressions on your face when you moaned his name so publicly, as if you dared him to see. how desperately you fucked yourself on that pathetic toy of yours from the very thought of him. your whines, the illicit way you stared at your reflection in the mirror beneath your sculpture of a body you rolled seductively. he shifts in his seat, attempting to conceal the stirring of hunger within him as you continue to talk. he doesn’t need a fucking contract. he’d fuck you good and wouldn’t tell a soul.

his expression is firm yet tinged with a hint of something different this time . . anticipation. “why do you film content?”

the unwavering intensity in his gaze causes you to cut your sentence short, mouth forming an ‘o’ as you ponder on his question. was he even listening? “wha—what do you mean?”

toji chuckles. “i mean, why do you film? is it your main source of income? do you enjoy submitting to hundreds of people? does it make you feel confident, make you feel good? why?”

that should’ve been something you prepared yourself to answer. most of the guys you filmed content with didn’t have personal answers to ask, nor did they care. they were simply there to have a good time and go about their lives. you came into this situation thinking that’s what toji wanted as well. now you’re getting a gut feeling it’s more than that. or maybe you’re just an over-thinker. the whole point of making an account on hinge was to find better people to connect with for work, but most of them never got the job done, and you were tired of faking an orgasm and boosting a man’s ego. something about this one though, you can feel that he’s willing to worship you.

“well, i actually have three jobs. hairstylist during the day, which i’m growing to lose passion for. i’m good with pottery so i make little things and sell them. and then as for filming content . . . it’s fast money. the economy is shit right now. minimum wage jobs aren’t cutting it. rent prices are horrifying. i want to fund a new life for myself. to travel more, and just be a girl.”

toji smiles, admiring you.

“bali has been on my mind as a place to reside. it’s always been a dream of mine to be somewhere tropical. less breathing in polluted air and eating foods they pump full of hormones. mexico and puerto rico are also on the list. i really need to dip my feet in some sand or something. i don’t know. it’s also kind of sexually liberating to be in my own bubble and enjoy myself in that way. i do it for no one but myself.”

toji sits up in his seat, taking a piece of ciabatta and smearing softened butter onto the breadpicked up a slice of bread and smeared some butter onto it. “i think that moving to a place like that is a good idea. there’s a lot of bullshit in the world that’s hard to run away from. if you feel like it’s what’s best for your mental and emotional being, then go for it. you seem like you’ve worked real hard your entire life. you deserve a break.”

the heat in your cheeks rise as he leans himself closer, guiding the bread to your lips, waiting for you to take a bite. you smile softly, sitting up a bit in your chair before taking a bite. toji watches intensely as you moan from the taste.

“isn’t it much better when it’s given by someone else?”

“yeah, it’s good. real good,” you swallow, licking your lips to rid the breadcrumbs, reaching for your glass of wine to take another sip. “i have most of my savings in tact, so my plan is to be out of here by next year.”

the unadulterated pull between the two of you threatens to consume him as he stares at you, his body almost painfully yearning for your touch, your taste, your everything. toji can no longer resist. he reaches out and gently cups your chin, his fingers gently yet firmly tilting your face up to meet his smoldering gaze when you dared to look away. “how ‘bout you take me with you.“

the entire scene switches, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, filled with a raw mixture of lust and vulnerability makes you fall shamelessly into his trance. you feel your heart patter against your chest, scanning his entire face with small indications of panic, and excitement. you’ve been dying for his touch all week. you pray he’s as good as he looks.

“what’s the catch?” you breathe inordinately.

toji smirks. “we get fake married or something and change our identities.”

you shake your head at his joke. “i need to see a ring first, mister.”

“mhm, you look like a marquise kinda girl,” he tongues his cheek, in deep thought. “go to bali. i pay, you enjoy life.”

pairs of lips are mere inches away, toji ghosting his softly amongst your own, yours parting to follow. you feel like you’re in space, the feeling extraterrestrial. surrounded by depths of nothingness with only the two of you existing.

“i. . no, i can’t let you do that,” you shake your head dismissively.

“you deserve it.”

“you don’t know me.”

“good. that’ll be the perfect occasion for us to spend more time together,” he concludes, softly pecking your lips to coax you into giving him what he needed. you’re stunned, unsure what to say, or to think. so, he doesn’t make you think.

“fuckin’ kiss me,” his voice drops to a husky whisper, filled with a raw mixture of desire and vulnerability, eyes flickering from the plumpness of your lips to your eyes. “can’t wait any fucking longer.”

the heat of his breath mingles with yours as his lips brush against your own in a hungry, fiery kiss. his mouth devours yours with an intensity that borders on primal, each movement filled with a desperate need to taste and consume everything you have to offer. his tongue slips past your parted lips, eagerly exploring the depths of your mouth as if seeking to memorize every inch of you.

you were drawn in fully now and you didn’t think you’d be able to pull away even if you wanted.

within the moment of your passionate kiss, as toji’s rough hand trailed to grasp your throat, your waiter begins to approach with your salad, eyes widening as he noticed how deeply, and somewhat aggressively your make out session was. practically swallowing each others faces. deciding to mind his business and turn the other way. he’d come back in a few minutes. toji breaks the kiss abruptly, his eyes gleaming with a hint of reluctance.

“damn this table,” he mutters, his gaze shifting towards the barrier separating the two of you. his breathing is ragged, body practically trembling with pent-up need. even so, he manages to pull himself together enough to maintain some semblance of composure.

he’s left you breathless, feeling something in your chest you’d never felt before, this attraction for him otherworldly. your lips are pouted, hands bawled into little fists levitating in front of your chest, as if you were begging for him to come back. when he begins to rise to his feet, you wonder where he’s going, eyes coming into immediate contact at the bulge growing tight in his jeans. you swallow, shifting your gaze up to the tall man that hovers over you possessively.

“go home, send me the address. i gotta handle a few business calls then i’ll be there at eleven.”

you hadn’t noticed the way your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you give him those damn puppy eyes, as if you’re so fascinated by him, almost scared of him to leave right now. toji grabs the pen resting between your little pink book, signing his signature on the indicated line on the bottom of the page for your gratification. after, he’s fishing for the brown leather wallet in his pocket to place down a hundred dollar bill on the table to cover the tab and the waiters tip. then, he leans down, lips gently brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. he lingers just a moment longer, as if reluctant to let go.

“see you later, angel.”

finally, and with that, he steps back, his eyes lingering on your form for a moment before he turns and walks away, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoes in your ears, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a lingering sense of anticipation for the evening to come. starstruck entirely.

𓇼

a rush of arousal burned within you like wildfire as you lay in your empty bed, yearning for the man who's been gone for only a few hours now. caressing your collarbone while chewing on your lip, your phone rests in your palm, excitement brewing for twenty minutes now ever since he texted you to let you know he was on the way. a black baby doll is adorned on your soft skin. ruffle lace details at the neckline and hem with a satin waistband tie at the back into a cute bow. matching mesh g-string panty, and floral patterns along the bust and hip area.

you took the time to curl your hair, reminding yourself to actually put your contacts in this time. also keeping makeup to a minimum with just mascara, a bit of blush, and some strawberry chapstick. skin moisturized in baby oil and spritzed with miss dior. . . waiting. the camera’s set up across from your bed, trying to distract yourself by engaging in conversation with your viewers. the comments were raging about how impatient they were to see something, but how did they think you felt? you could barely walk out of that restaurant without feeling your legs shake.

he intimidated you beyond measure, and god knows what he’s going to do to you when he gets here. it’s a fear and form of greed you’d never felt before.

“my fucking hands are shaking,” you giggle anxiously, smiling to yourself and shaking your hands before dramatically breathing out.

as you waited, you did little things to keep your buyers entertained, showing your ass every now and then as you cleaned your room like a cute maid. call it foreplay. sitting on your knees now become uncomfortable, so you aim for lowering to your tummy and stretching your arms ahead of you, ass raised up. as soon as you get comfortable, your head pops up from the sound of heavy footsteps surrounding the small area of your home. it’s him. you’d hope, leaving the door unlocked so it’d be easier for him to enter.

“oh, fuck—y’all,” the anxiety is even worse now, mentally preparing yourself with steady breaths and shoving your face into the bed to scream happily. the emotions are bipolar. “he’s coming up.”

toji steps closer to your slightly cracked open door, pushing it open wide to see you. his demeanor nothing short of serious when he gets a good look at you, hearing you yap at your camcorder with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. he rests his right shoulder against the frame of the door, staring at you, admiring. his boots hit along the floor the closer he gets to you, and that cute ass you had perched up. the lights in your room are dimly lit, citrus candles spread around and led lights from your vanity illuminating the area. the vibe is nice, he likes it. like he likes you.

you continue to speak to your livestream and pretend he wasn’t there, trying to ignore your heartbeat picking up. the tension is in the air. you tried to steady your breathing as you continue to ramble about nonsense; animal crossing, sims you wanted to recreate and purposely wicked whim them. anything to distract yourself from the sparks shivering through your body. you prod the inside of your cheek trying to bite back a grin when you finally feel his hands on your hips, eyes watching the chat go wild from the brooding man behind you. what makes it all the more hot is that he hasn’t spoken a word, feeling like an intruder. stalking, waiting.

“so yeah, i’m thinking about dying my hair red. i feel like my face is kinda full to have a silk press so i’ll look . . off? maybe p-pin ‘urls,” a wave of pleasure shocks through you when you feel him press the outline of his dick against your cunt, dragging you back to air-fuck you once or twice. a few times. for the tease of it. his fingertips lightly flowing along the curves and contours of your body, your hips being the most sensitive. gasping and twitching from the feel, the thong you wore barely shielding how wet you were.

your breath became heavier, and you found it harder to continue speaking. you felt like moans would slip out of if you continued to react to his touch, the heat between you two rising. you were drawn fully into him. the reaction from him gave you a confidence boost, a slick smile showing on your face. while his body speaks of his own growing need, he remains a silent observer, his intense gaze watching as you maintain, or try, your playful conversation with the camera.

“i gotta admit something,” you smile into your hair that falls angelically around the frame of your face. his form, silhouetted behind you, takes on an ominous yet seductive presence. even though he remains hidden from view, his yearn is palpable, eyes locked on you as if he could consume you with a single glance.

“i fucked myself thinking of him,” a jolt of electricity runs down toji’s spine as he recollects the image. a low, involuntary groan escapes his throat as his grip on you tightens. “those of you who don’t remember. it was really, really good.”

that’s the final trigger. in seconds, a rough palm strikes the flesh of your ass, causing the cutest squeak to emit from you. toji’s wrapping his other fist around the softness of your hair and pulling you back to his hard chest. his cologne is strong, enrapturing even. your hand reaches beside you to catch his wrist in your grip, feeling the coldness of his expensive watch while he’s busy locking your jaw still and pressing his lips beneath your ear.

“really?” the tone is condescending, and as you nod frantically, pushing your ass back to feel him more, all you can hear is the unraveling of his belt. slowly removing it, the sound of the leather rubbing against the buckle and his pants. the anticipation fills you at an alarming pace. “i knew that, angel.”

how? wait, did he fucking watch the live you made that night? your legs nearly go weak at the possibility, sheer embarrassment consuming you. he wasn’t meant to see that. yeah, you told him about it. but him seeing that, then having lunch with you like nothing happened is crazy work. he noticed you’re frozen, chuckling darkly behind you.

“relax, doll. i can pretend i didn’t, ‘n you can show me all over again.”

he grabs your wrists, pining them behind your back with a rush of power fueling him, crossed hands sitting on your ass.

“this okay, baby?” he scans the side of your face for approval, using the smooth leather to bond them together. you hum, lips bitten and nodding obediently.

the look on your face in the camera is so worth the thousands of views from people who were just as desperate as he was to see you submit. your hands wriggle to touch him, laying your head on his shoulder and biting your lip as his teeth graze from your shoulder, to your collarbone, and your neck. your body’s completely on fire, and he makes it worse when he gently shoves you forward to fall on your face, back arched and ass high for his view, and theirs.

toji stared down at you as you remained there, fully surrendering yourself for the taking. his larger body leans over yours, fingers grabbing your chin to force your mouth to open. toji brushes his lips along yours, your desperate mouth sinking into him, feeling that same spark you felt earlier during lunch in your chest. he deepened the kiss to give you what you wanted, easily reading you, his tongue ravaging your mouth with his waist grinding into the shape of your ass. the kiss is so wet it has you mewling like a cat in heat, losing your breath.

“give me a safe word, hm?” toji sucks on his lower lip, the arousal in his eyes ruining you. a heavy hand rubs circles on your ass before hitting it again, another cute sound leaving that pretty mouth you had.

brushing your cheek along your bed set, dark curls dancing around your face and a pout on your lips, you whimper, “strawberry.”

“mhm,” your stomach flips when you felt his hand drift between your inner thigh, toji’s tongue skidding over your lips the same time his fingers apply pressure to your clit, rubbing in circles after he pulls your panties to the side, your babydoll resting pretty on top of the rolls on your back. your fists are balled tightly in your restraints, widening your mouth to suck on his tongue before giving him a deep kiss. the image on your face is pure dizziness. acting like your fucked dumb while barely being fucked. he couldn’t wait to see you crumble.

you squirm under his touch, breath growing short and shaky, toji maintaining eye contact with you dangerously. he’s big on it, and it makes you shy, yet brave enough to endure it.

“you hear yourself, girl?” toji hisses, pecking your lips hard, his fingers coated with your slick the more he rubbed. you whine, arching your ass even closer to his hand. “you’re so needy for me, it’s cute.”

it’s ridiculous that you can’t even speak, him turning you into nothing but a whiny, whimpering sub. “you’re desperate for my touch, for my tongue.” he whispered, his voice growing even rougher as his own need grew.

“mmm, yes. need it so bad,” you pout, mouth gaping after he spanks your clit lightly. “fuck, please eat it, baby.”

“i will good girl.”

he didn’t hesitate for another second, sliding behind you with one knee pressed into the bed and his big hands holding you still, spreading your cheeks further apart and cussing under his breath from how fucking cute your pussy was. fat, and glistening in your juices, clit hiding between your folds giving him something to search for. “g’na fuckin’ kill me, angel. pretty fuckin’ pussy you got.”

you scoot up as much as you can, hands still bound behind your back, wanting to cry from the inability to move, but loving that he had you at his mercy. his hair covers his eyes and he’s submerged into you, pressing his mouth to your pussy in a sweet kiss, like he’s knocking politely, before running his thick, long tongue over you slowly. a groan resounded devilishly, toji lapping at your dripping clit, tongue hot and your toes can do nothing but curl.

he’s slow and deliberate, enjoying the sounds and reactions he was getting out of you as you writhed and quivered under his ministrations. your pussy and his mouth makes up the loudest voice in the room, so fucking sweet and wet he’s salivating over you. spanking you, taking his time to devour you as he swallows your cunt whole, tongue gliding from your clit all the way to your hole. occasionally dipping his tongue into you to fuck you like that. your eyes cross, a broken cry making him lose it.

“keep bouncing that ass back, baby. fuck, fuck my face, angel,” he’s hitting you again, and you can’t take it, shifting your thighs to roll your ass back onto his gorgeous face. you’re panting like an animal, jaw dropping as he keeps his mouth on your clit, sucking it hard and groaning into your cunt, the vibrations traveling up your spine.

“oh . . god, oooh god,” the gasp in your throat became high pitched, toji licking you faster when he sees you giving your utmost effort. continuing his onslaught on your sensitive clit, swollen and satiating his taste buds. his fingers dug into your thighs, lowering himself completely to sit on his knees before you, rocking you back on his face as he eats it, unrelenting. sucking, licking, slurping, drowning his tongue inside of you . . . damn, it’s fucking good.

“c-cumming,” he can barely hear you as you stuff your face into the bed, toji’s head bouncing as you settle your feet on his shoulders and rock back on his face even quicker, groaning. “don’t stop, don’t s-stop, babyyy.”

“mhm hmm,” he’s moaning into your pussy, kissing and tonguing you down until you finally burst, your hands in their constraint balling into fists, getting the chance to latch onto his black hair once he pushes you flat on your stomach to bury his face completely between your ass and thighs. “let it out, baby.”

his chin glistened from your juices, toji groaning the rougher you tugged at his scalp, dick jumping in his jeans he needed to unravel soon. when you cum, you do this thing where you squeal and gasp at once, and he swears it’s the cutest thing he’s ever fucking heard. lifting his face, he licks his lips proudly, wiping his chin and patting your ass to watch it shake in his palm. you were a lovely display beneath him, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of ownership over you.

he reached down and traced a finger along the length of your trembling leg, his dominant presence still overwhelming. he brings his hand to the back of your neck which you arched into his touch, his eyes darkening at your silent plea. “you want more?”

“nn, yea,” a breathless giggle falls from you, toji dragging you to sit at your knees by the grip on your neck and around your chest with his forearm, back hitting his chest again, and your eyes come into contact with the camera, almost forgetting it was there.

“show them what i did to your pussy, angel. let them see how perfect you are,” toji whispers, tapping at your knees to help you sit on your behind.

“okay,” the words are small again, because that’s how he makes you feel. once you sit, you raise your knees to your chest, toji lifting your babydoll to show your soft tummy and the pink lights from your vanity mirror glowing on the angles and curves of your body. you look like the finest art.

it’s liberating seeing yourself like this, a sense of relief washing over you when he begins to unloose the belt, humming elatedly and arching into him, your periwinkle painted toes twinkling in the air playfully. toji laughs at you, your hand coming to your cunt to cover it out of fake shyness, rolling to lay on your side and giggling to yourself. you really did know how to play a role, or maybe you’re just naturally silly.

toji unfastened his button before drifting his zipper down, thick thighs spread and arms bulky as he kept them in fists into the bed, tilting his head in your direction as he sat beside you, body taking up half the bed. you sit on your knees next to him, your hands running across his stomach and lifting up his shirt, toji licking his lips when your nails delicately scratch at his hips. you moan when his hand comes into contact with your hair, your nails digging into the broadness of his thigh.

as he guided your head down, you could feel the heat coming off of his body. you could smell the unique scent of masculinity wafting off of him. the feeling of his fingers running through your hair sent tingles down your spine, his touch tender and affectionate despite his dominating demeanor. your chest fluttered when his thumb touched your lower lip, your breath stuttering and your body quivering, a heat rising in your core all over. you felt the need for him grow stronger, pulling your lip downward. he shifted his fingers and tilted your chin up further, exposing your throat and neck to him. then he leans over, his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head as his mouth latches onto your neck. pressing light kisses along the sensitive skin, his tongue grazing out and your skin pricks with fire.

“can’t stop tasting you,” he grunts, his lips and tongue on your throat licking hard, driving you insane with need. his hand holding the back of your neck in a possessive manner, keeping you in place as his mouth explored your sensitive skin.

“toji. .” your voice is weak, feeling your inner thighs drown in a puddle of your arousal. “wanna suck it.”

“i’m sorry, what was that?” he hums.

“don’t tease,” you roll your eyes and pout.

“mhm,” he lets out a little grunt as his eyes rake over you, his breath catching slightly as he stares at you. he runs his hand down to your waist, gripping fervently. “so pretty,” he murmurs.

“thank you,” you whisper, feeling a strong rush of affection for him. “you’re so handsome,” you say, your voice low and tender.

“g’na give it a good kiss, baby? real good?” he hisses, your hand pulling at his jeans to sit lower on his sharp hips, letting his dick free and watching it with a watered mouth as it sat against his tummy. heavy, thick, two veins protruding on either side. you fucking knew he was big. bless your intuition.

“yes, want it,” you plead.

a low growl escaped his throat. “show me you want it then,” he purrs, his eyes growing darker with desire and his grip on your hip tightening.

the salivation in your mouth gave you just what you needed to do the job, widening your mouth to accommodate his size, drooling over his dick as you pull him in as deep as you could to start. half of him enclosed by the warmth of your mouth and instantly toji moans from the feel, your cheek sucking in while you guide your head up and down, keeping your hands to yourself, one on his thigh for balance. your eyes are closed to focus, humming and dragging your mouth slow to make him feel it all. toji catches himself knocking his head back, pulling the sheets between his fingertips and scrunching his brows together, stomach caving in.

he can hear you slurp and suck at him needily, moaning around him and riding the air with your ass, spit gliding down to the base of his dick as your tongue sticks out to drag along the under of his shaft, bobbing your head and licking at him. something about giving him head in specific felt intoxicating. maybe it’s the sounds he makes; guttural yet whiny. the desperation begs to tug at his throat, shifting his hips blindly and cussing under his breath. eventually, his fingers find their way back to your scalp, toji sitting up and entangling both hands into your hair, face curated in pleasure with eyes wired shut and a gaped jaw.

“shit, ꒰♡꒱. that’s fuckin’ good, doll,” toji grunts, your moans around him encompassing him to briefly detangle a hand to spank against your ass in clear indulgence. “damn.”

your hand couldn’t help but travel to touch him, wrapping your hand around the base of his dick to stroke your hand according to the pace your mouth drags. that gravitational wave in his abdomen hit, a deep ‘your suckin’ it so good’ fleeing from his mouth followed by another harsh spank and a steady tug at your scalp to push you down only enough to follow your rhythm. when he hits the back of your throat, you force yourself to hold him there for a few seconds, purposely constricting your throat to hear him moan for you again, and again. his sounds addicting.

toji chuckles from how good you’re doing, raising your head to breathe before swallowing only the tip while stroking the remainder, your salvia being enough lubricant to quickly move your wrist. twisting and tugging while keeping it mostly on the head of his cock, the sensitive spot your toy to play with as you give teasing kitty licks, two hands covering him now.

picking your head up momentarily, you stare into his eyes with your siren ones, low and dangerous. pulling at his dick while you bite your lips before kissing him, mewling when he shoves his tongue into your mouth, pulling your body closer by your ass, the other grabbing the side of your face he practically swallowed into his own. the kiss is feverish, something straight out of a movie. he’s highly infatuated with you, tasting himself off of you with the mixture of yourself. toji sucks on your lower lip, and you find yourself positioning your thigh over his to sit and grind on his leg. you had enough of the foreplay, you needed him to fuck you.

“fuck me,” a whimper escapes, pressing your body down harder onto him, hand still stroking at him, that fucking voice of yours driving him mad. he doesn’t think he’ll last if you keep it up. “toji. . . toji.”

“stop begging,” he shuts it down quickly, the sound of his boots hitting the floor as he kicks them off exciting you. of course you couldn’t hide the smile, feening innocence as you pet at his jeans to help him remove them.

he's only in his black shirt now, your eyes following how his muscles swallowed the material, showcasing every sharp cut of his upper body. he made you dizzy, truly. that slit on the side of his mouth curving with his mouth as he smirks at you for getting lost in your cute little dream land.

“focus, love,” toji reels you back in, his hand on your lower back to arch your chest into his, dragging you to straddle him. if he could see the blush on your face he’d see that you were red as a tomato, his dick sitting right beneath you and you can’t help but shudder. “need you to lift your hips, help daddy out.”

“kay,” you nod like a damn bobble head, laying your hands on his shoulders and balancing yourself on your tippy toes, wrapping your arms around his neck for extra security. toji’s large arm his thrown around your waist to keep you locked to him, both of your body heat scorching.

he catches a hold of his dick, pumping it twice before he’s rubbing the fat tip against your drenched opening, collecting your flow before a soft gasp emits past your lips when you feel him gently enter, sinking you down carefully, little by little. the sensation from the stretch is . . like a fantasy. your foreheads are touching, breaths mingling as he removes his hand to balance the two of you on the bed, leaning back somewhat for your comfortability.

when you think he’s fully apart of you, that thought is knocked down the minute he utters, “c‘mon, girl. you gotta lot more to take.”

“oh my god,” the shock is out of, well, shock. he feels really good already, it’s gonna be hell if you handle any more. embedding your nails into his clothing, chin resting between the crook of his neck while you ground your ass back to make it easier for him to slip completely in. the two of you groan in sync, toji’s arm tightening around your waist from how tight you felt.

the more you rock, slow, steady, it fucks the both of you up. holding tightly onto one another while toji lets you take your time, the heavy breathing and hearts beating rapidly is fucking poetic. one might call this act making love. once you drop your ass entirely, that pressure in your sweet spot causes you to scream out softly, losing balance and sitting on your knees, holding onto him with an unexpected whine.

“shit, baby, you alright?” he’s immediately checking in on you, bringing you up and make eye contact, hands holding either side of your face and scanning for signs. pushing away the fact that you’re convulsing around his dick and trying his best not to fuck you hard. yet, at least.

again, you can’t even speak. your mouth is wide open, nodding and breathing heavily, shifting your hips and grind onto him, flexing your ass when you arch your back deeper before lifting halfway and slamming yourself down. toji chokes, face copying yours as he grips onto the sheets and places his arm back around you, helping you lift yourself.

“you feel . . really good, baby. stuffing me full,” you moan, toji grunting and yanking you up and down faster, losing his patience now. it blew out the fucking window the minute he slipped inside you. he fixates on the sound of your pussy sliding and swallowing his dick, the slick making his tongue water for the taste all over. you’re so fucking sweet it’s insane.

“yeah?” he lets out a low, guttural groan and grips your hips even harder, his breaths coming out in deep gasps. “fuck me like you fucked that toy, thinking of me.”

that makes you smile, that insecurity of him seeing that video earlier disappearing as you take both of your small hands and wrap them around his throat, using your weight to push his body so he falls onto his back, his hands cupping the curves under your ass cheeks. toji usually isn’t one for submission, but he’s been thinking for a while about trying new shit, and a pretty girl like you choking and fucking him was only the start. you see the look in his eyes, and you feel heat sweltering inside of you even more, relishing the fact that you are the one in control, applying more pressure to his neck, loving the way his breath hitches.

“you want me to fuck you just like that?” you lick your lips and grind teasingly, the dangerous swirl of your hips making his head sink further into the bed.

“want you to fuck me like that, angel. gimme a show.”

and you won’t deny his wish. positioning yourself back on the tips of your toes, his hands are smoothing underneath your thighs, clutching on either sides as you with his eyes going dark, his hips bucking. he can barely string a thought together, his mind completely consumed by the sensations you’re sending through him. your pussy takes it all while you pounce your body above him, rolling your waist each time you dip your ass down and meet his thighs.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his voice thick with pleasure, eyes never leaving yours before his voice rasps out, “keep going. fuck me for real. like you want it. it’s yours.”

you let out a strangled gasp, body jerking and mind almost slipping away, the pleasure he’s giving you overwhelming and consuming you completely. his hands on your body clench harder, the warmth from his body on yours killing you.

“just like that,” his hands move at their own possession now, slamming down on your ass repeatedly to bruise your skin, the hits vibrating straight to your clit and it’s making you drunk. your eyes scroll back into your skull, his appraisal driving you to work for it faster.

“t-toji, i’m so wet for you,” you gasp in shock from the slickness between you two. “look what you did to me. you slide in and out so easily.”

“f-fuck, doll. you’re killing me talkin’ like that,” he lets out a strangled gasp at your words, voice ragged and eyes filled with need. “you like it that much, baby?”

“y-yes!” a squeal sounds from you, bouncing heavier than before, your voice getting caught in your throat from the impact. you clutch any part of his skin you can grab, losing yourself in the way he fills you. “i love your dick, baby. makes me feel prettier.”

hazy eyes filled with pleasure admire your features, fucked out already when he still has so much he wanted to do to you. give you what you deserve. a smirk tugs at his lips, sitting up and leaning in close, missing the skin contact. his voice low and rough as he says, “you look prettier when you’re sitting on my dick.”

“yeah,” you drunkenly nod. “s’mine.”

toji raises a brow with amusement. “it can be yours. when you cum on it real hard.”

wanting him even closer to you, you keep only one hand around his neck, placing the other on his forearm and pressing your chest to his entirely as you gyrate your hips and tease his neck, hovering over his skin with your mouth and teeth before you leave little love-bites on his skin. toji guides your hips in a circular motion, the simple switch up making you gasp and whine into his ear, hitting that spot repeatedly.

“god, baby,” you feel his guidance, his grip on your hips firm as he moves you. you ride against him, the friction on your clit making you whimper weakly, his deep voice in your ear making your body shake, feeling another orgasm develop. “i love it. s’fucking me so good.”

“see you movin’ just like you did for me on that mirror,” he wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing firmly. your eyes lock, yours clouded by arousal, his with an agenda. “fuckin’ yourself like that . . ima fuck you real bad for that,” toji hissed, swiping his tongue across his lower lip before aggressively smacking your ass. “i feel that fuckin’ pussy squeezing me tighter. if you’re g’na cum then do it on me. gush all on it.”

the more your body reacts to his praise, and sprinkles of degradation, the faster your orgasm approaches you, washing over you hard as your body spasmes from the intensity of it. your teeth sink into his shoulder as you scream, riding out your high, squeezing hard on his arms. toji kisses your temple, keeping you close as he falls back and lays on his side while turning you to face your camera you’d both forgotten about, still did.

“you did so well,” the kisses continue around your face while your brains on autopilot, his hand clasping around your neck as he presses his hot chest against your back. his kisses are so aggressive it makes you feel small and wanting to obey. you jump when he spanks you, moaning weakly into your shoulder with your arms halfway hanging off the bed.

toji goes lift your right leg to adjust himself behind you, dick achingly hard and covered in your juices, slipping back inside of you fully before angling your knee towards your tummy, keeping a hand locked under the bend of your knee, your skin smooth to the touch. you smell good too. everything about you besotted him. your hand touches his face, tugging it closer to the point where his nose smushed against your cheek, dark hair clouding your eyesight as his big frame overtakes yours.

“you’re gonna kill me,” you whisper, eyes focused on each other, a giggle creeping up.

“not you,” he whispered back, rolling his waist back and forth, grinding deeper into you. the plush of your ass molding against his sharp hips. his lips brush on your neck as he kisses and nibbles at your sensitive skin. your hands roam over your body, touching and exploring every inch of yourself as his lips trail down your collarbone, darkly watching as your hand presses on your clit. “her.”

as he possessively holds you in place, he’s prepared you enough before he’s fucking you hard, knocking the wind from your throat completely. a hard gasp falls past your lips as toji slams his hips against your ass, knitting his brows together, squeezing his eyes shut while his mouth falls open. the utter silence both of your voices held at the moment was more powerful than the rough interaction of your skin. your eyes a ghost white as he pounds his dick into you hard. when a noise is made, it’s from equal parts, syncing your eager moans.

“ooh, fuck baby. you’re taking it,” he huskily whispers into your ear, his words punctuated by the way he continues to move into you. “sucking me so deep. m’not going nowhere.”

“to-ji,” his name is broken down by the harsh pounds he fucks you with, whining and moaning in his entrapment. your vision gone. “i love the way you fuck me. you fuck me so good.”

he fucks like he’s not letting up, his body pushing you deeper into the mattress, the grip around your neck remains tight, the feeling of his ownership only growing more intense. his body is hovering over yours now, digging deep as he can to fuck you real good, to make himself feel it all. your body remains to the side, only half twisted as he drops your leg and pushes his weight into you so your stomach is close to grazing the bed.

“s’too much, fuck . . i, i—” the words are caught in your throat from the overstimulation. breathing heavy, tears begin to fill your sockets, whining his name loudly in his face like you’d lost your mind for good this time. this pleasure was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. it’s everything you needed and more.

toji shushes you, kissing your nose as he grips your face, big hand almost covering it whole. “you like when daddy takes control? you like when he tells you what to do?”

toji will admit, you’ve got him fucking spent. it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman submit and cry under him, and you do all those things well. the gorgeous image on your face, to the salacious movement of your body. the softness of your skin and the equal relation of your voice. capturing and captivating him. you’d think he was on drugs the way he was talking. high off his ass from your pussy. his lips gently brush over your ear. your eyes flutter, his voice attacking your clit, and you swear it makes it gush even more, soaking the sheets underneath your ass. “when he makes you his? you like being my good girl, pretty?”

he knows you can’t speak anymore, but you’re still interactive with your body language. the slur of your nonexistent words to the way you try to roll your ass back to fuck him back . . but he’s got you trapped. even the tears falling down your face from overwhelming pleasure. he knows you’re okay, asking for a safe word prior for your protection. you’re a big girl, he knows you can handle it.

“nnng,” you can’t stop trembling, gasping for air and sobbing in his face. toji places his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes and nodding, cooing. you are fucked dumbed. toji hisses, hitting your ass and pausing momentarily to look between where you two collide, an ‘oh my god’ faltering out. he’s as gone as you are.

“you so fuckin’ creamy, girl,” toji drags out a frustrated hum, getting annoyed by how good your pussy is. you’re going to become a problem.

“please,” you don’t even know what you’re saying it for. do you need him to stop, do you want more, or are you just completely fucked out you’re saying anything that’s coming to your head? that butterfly feeling is back in your stomach, as well as a foreign one near your clit, knowing exactly what’s going to happen. “toji, m’ g’na c-cummm. oh my god, babyy.”

your hiccups and sobs only urge him to fuck you even harder, loving how the breath literally jumps out of your throat in shock.

“cryin’ on this dick. fuck, you got me going crazy,” he really doesn’t want to cum yet, he needed to fuck you in every way imaginable. but he knows you need a break, to breathe for sure. he wanted to edge himself so that when he finally came, it’d be the best fucking orgasm of his life. your moans are clawing at his soul, so filthy and dulcet. you’re making it really fucking difficult to obtain that.

toji finds himself slamming his palm over your mouth to bury them in a way, but you’re so damn loud it’s getting to him. ‘fuck fuck fuck’ he’s cussing repeatedly in a whispered hush as he fucks you as hard he possibly can. his hand doesn’t even work, because you’re consuming him wholly and the minute he feels that build up, he pulls out to cum and you’ve drenched the sheets as you squirt. an almost blood curdling scream surrounds the room, your body rapidly trembling as your mouth falls open in utter shock, gasping, whining, whimpering, moaning his fucking name while he moaned yours. toji nutting up the entire side of your body, wrist twisting as he holds you body still, mouth drawn open.

his hand reaches over to unclamp your legs, heavy hand rubbing your pussy to stimulate you further, your back arching and head sinking into your pillow, crying out. he watches your hand flail to grip his wrist as your wetness continues to spurt out of you like water.

“strawberry!” toji listens to you weep, choking on your cries and pleads. finally having enough.

“holy s-shit,” you’re laughing while also trying to catch your breath, not believing that just happened. he can tell by the shock in your face that you’ve never had it happen before, or that much.

“damn,” he laughs along with you, smacking your outer thigh before smashing his lips to yours in a deep kiss, gliding your tongues together while his hands massaged every part of your body after allowing you to lay on your back. caressing and soothing you to calm you down. “gonna grab a rag.”

you pout when he goes to stand, already missing the disconnect as you lay empty on your . . messy bed. absolutely disgusting you two, hawk puth! one things for sure, you can’t keep that wide ass smile off your face. he comes back into the room, one of your pink towels wrapped around his midsection covering up that demon of a dick he carried. toji smirks down at you, grabbing your ankle and tugging you down to the edge of the bed before he’s taking a warm rag that smelt of your dove beauty bar to wipe what he painted on you. you swallow your lower lip into your mouth, watching with hooded eyes as he drags the rag sensually along ever part of your skin. you flinch when it comes to contact with your cunt, toji kissing your inner thigh with a ‘sorry’. he admires the curves of your body even more, kissing your ankle adorned with a silver anklet after he finishes.

“how you feeling?” he asks.

“i’m more than perfect.”

he hums. “you’re something else.”

“i was good?” you ask seriously, batting your lashes shyly.

toji stares at you as if you’re deadass. “don’t do that. you know you were. you didn’t hear me? i fuck you deaf?”

that makes you roll your eyes, but not before giggling. “hate you.”

“you won’t after i tell you i got chinese in the kitchen,” he winks, the light in your eyes making his heart swell. “c’mon, sexy.”

you sit up, gasping. “i knew i fucking smelt that shit when you came in. i thought it was outside!”

“nah, i realized i didn’t eat shit at the restaurant earlier so i decided to get us both something. did you even eat your salad?”

“i did, had to after you dropped a whole hundred,” you shake your head. “how’d you know i liked chinese?”

toji blinks. “baby, we literally talked half of this week. for hours. i have good memory.”

that slip of a nickname outside of sex warmed your chest, burying your face in your hair to hide your shyness. “you’re right.”

“don’t hide now, i’ve seen it all,” he chuckles, tickling the bottom of your foot.

“oh, whatever!” you chuck one of your plushies at him, half of them had fallen to the floor. toji gets up to grab your robe he saw hanging on the bathroom door, draping it around you as you stood.

he kisses your forehead and you walk ahead of him into the kitchen, screeching when he hit and gripped your ass, the two of you forgetting about the livestream altogether as you warmed up the food, poured a glass of wine and reminisced about what just happened.

angelbwrry live : 1M viewers.

#𝜗ৎ ˚⋅ 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘.#jjk #toji x you #toji x reader #toji x black reader #toji smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x you #toji x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushigro x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 2 months

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Can't Take the Home out of Oklahoma (Javi Rivera x F! Reader)

A/N: Thank you to everyone that read We Found Love in a Tornado, this is a continuation of that. I also have another part already written and ready to post! I also recommend listening to Out of Oklahoma by Lainey Wilson while reading this. I had it on repeat the whole time I wrote it.

Pairing: Javi Rivera x F! Reader (Kate's Sister) *No physical descriptions besides mentioning younger sister.

Warnings: 18 + Language, angst, some sexual situations (no smut..yet), and movie spoilers.

“I lost three of my best friends so you could get your big grant money!” Javi shouts at Kate and she takes a step back like he’d struck her. His hands are still shaking as he replays the words over and over like a broken record. “Shit, Kate, I-”

Kate pushes past you and runs towards the white truck and you don’t hesitate to follow. “Baby,” Javi follows close behind running to keep up, “no, please don’t go.”

“No Javi,” you stop holding up your hands, “that was too far, give her some space.”

He freezes, tears tracking through the dirt staining his cheeks. But you leave, climbing in the passenger seat beside your sister and taking off into the night. Kate is silent, her knuckles bright white with how hard she is clenching the wheel and you slip off your boots and lean back closing your eyes.

“You don’t have to go with me, you know,” she whispers, her eyes still on the road.

You sit up slowly opening your eyes. “I’m not letting you go again,” you reach a hand out and leave it outstretched before her own holds on tight across the center console. “We Carter girls got to stay together. Let me know when we get there.”

Kate huffs out a broken laugh, “And where are we going?”

“You can’t take the home out of Oklahoma, Katie, you’ll know when you get there,” she squeezes your hand but doesn’t let go and you lean back closing your eyes.

Several hours pass before the truck slows down and you blink away the sleep, the old farmhouse a friendly site. You sit up, look at Kate with a small smile, and follow her out of the truck, finding the spare key and entering the house.

Everything is as you left it and you quickly find two glasses and fill them with water from the jug in the fridge. “Mama, it’s us,” Katie calls when a shadow moves in the doorway, her arms opening for us.

“My girls,” she embraces us and presses a kiss to our head, before looking at our disheveled appearance and the blood drying on Kate’s cheek. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Kate shakes her head, “we just needed to come home.”

“You go take a shower, I’ll get you some extra clothes and clean up the bedroom,” Mama hurries towards the stairs.

“You shower first,” you hold Kate’s hand and follow mom up the stairs, “you stink.” Kate smiles sadly before giving you a playful shove.

“If I knew you girls were coming, I would have had the room all set up,” Mama tosses shirts and magazines into a box before putting it on the bed with a sigh. “What happened out there?”

“We survived an EF4,” she covers her mouth, “barely to be honest. If it weren’t for Kate we’d probably be dead. Javi and Tyler covered us from the brunt of the damage.”

“Javi? He came by a few months ago looking for you two. And isn’t Tyler your boss?”

“Yeah, he is. He’s a really great guy, and absolutely losing his mind over Kate.”

“No, he is not,” Kate blushes coming into the room and ringing out her hair with the towel, “we’re just acquaintances. If you want to talk about someone losing their mind it’s Javi! He ran into a Tornado and confessed his love for you live on camera.”

“He did what now?” Mama looks between you two, before crossing her arms with a smirk, “I am going to have to see this video.”

“Tomorrow,” you tell her, “I promise you can see the video tomorrow. Tonight he’s on my shit list.” You walk away towards the shower, stripping off your clothes.

“Uh oh,” Mama calls, “trouble in paradise?”

“You tell her,” you shout at Kate before getting in the shower and washing off the dirt and grime from the day. When you emerge Mama is gone and Kate is snuggled under the covers of the queen size bed of her former bedroom.

“Do you need anything?” you ask her, tugging on the clothes Mama left at the end of the bed. Kate doesn’t say anything, just pulls back the cover with a raised brow. You don’t hesitate crawling into the bed beside her and flicking out the light. “You okay?” you whisper, turning to face her.

“No,” she shakes her head, “Javi was right. They died because I got it wrong. I killed them.”

You reach over and pull her into your arms, letting her cry against your chest, her arms wrapped tight around your waist. “Listen to me, Katie,” you whisper when her cries slow, brushing her hair out of her face, “it was a horrible tragedy. And there is nothing you did that could change that. That storm took everything from you, when are you going to stop letting it?”

Kate is quiet contemplating your words and eventually sleep claims you both. Two sisters, holding on to one another, weathering the storm.

The next morning comes too soon, the sun streaming through the window and the roosters crowing at the first break of daylight. Mama moves around the house and the scent of coffee floats up the stairs, and you crawl out from under Kate and slip silently down the stairs.

“I LOVE YOU!” you hear Javi shout from the kitchen and come around the corner to see Mama sitting at the table with her laptop and a cup of coffee. A hand pressed to her mouth as she watches the moment Javi literally ran through a storm to follow you.

She presses the keyboard and looks up at you, “that’s got to be the most damn romantic thing I’ve ever seen. And I watch alot of hallmark movies.”

You snort, “thanks, mama. I feel pretty lucky to be on the same level as hallmark.” The coffee is fresh and you prepare the cup and bring it over to the table, “I wish we could just live in that moment.”

“Why? Is he not treating you right?”

“No, he is. And I do really love him, but he hurt Katie. And his company Storm Par while built with good intentions are taking advantage of people’s tragedy.”

“Sounds like something you need to talk about with him,” she sips her coffee and reaches a hand out to hold your own. “Javi is a good man, he’s really grown since he first came around here. And I can tell by that video that he really loves you. You’ll figure everything out.” Mama rises, kissing the top of your head before walking out the front door to muck and feed the cows.

You sit there, drinking another two cups of coffee before Kate stumbles down the stairs dressed for the day. You switch places, giving her a cup before climbing back up the stairs to get dressed. When you’re finished you follow her out to the barn and sit back watching her go through the memories and the grief that follows.

Neither of you notice the sound of a truck pulling up until the barn door opens and Tyler and Javi walk through the door followed by our smirking mama. “Seems like you two have some guests,” she looks between the four of you, seeing the variety of expressions. “I’m gonna make some lunch, the boys are staying.” She doesn’t ask, retreating to leave the four of you in silence.

Kate sighs rubbing her head, “what are you doing here?”

“Javi here gave me your address, Dex remembered your name from an article a few years back,” Tyler steps toward her, “I’m real sorry about your friends.”

“And I was an asshole,” Javi's voice cracks, “I should never have said that, Kate. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, it’s the truth. I killed them,” Kate lowers her head fidgeting with her fingers, “but-I am tired of letting that storm take anything else away from me.”

“Can we have a moment?” Javi looks between you and Tyler, and you look to Kate who nods at you. You follow Tyler out of the barn but not before Javi reaches for your arm and pulls you into his chest, snaking his arms around your waist. “When I’m done here don’t think you’re getting away with leaving me again.”

You nod, squeezing him tight before following behind and closing the barn door. Mama stands against the fence acting like she hasn’t been listening the whole time and you laugh.

“That fence seems real interesting mama,” you tease giving her a hug from behind.

“Tyler,” she turns, wrapping you up in her arms, “you’ve been taking my baby into Tornados for two years and we haven’t met, how is that possible?”

“I’m not sure ma’am but I think you may be seeing a lot more of me.” Tyler looks back at the barn doors before turning back around, “hopefully.”

“Why don’t you stay the night? We have plenty of extra space.” Mama holds you tight as you go to protest, effectively shutting you up. “I insist, both you and Javi can spend the night.”

Tyler beams, “thank you ma’am, sounds like a wonderful offer.”

“Perfect, I’ll go make some lunch!”

Tyler waits a moment before chuckling at the embarrassed expression on your face. “She seems real friendly,” he teases.

“Nosey is more like it,” you grumble before cracking a smile, “but she means well.”

“How are you holding up?” He asks, leaning on the fence beside you, “that was one hell of a twister.”

“I think the twister was rather mild compared to the rage I felt when Javi yelled at Kate.”

Tyler lifts a brow, “you’ve kinda jumped ship with everything regarding your sister. I remember a few days ago you being so angry to see her.”

“That was before I knew, before I really understood…how broken she is.” You glance up to see Tyler already looking at you, “my sister lost everyone she cared about. I remember thinking Jeb was the one she was going to marry someday. They loved each other so much.”

You sit there silent before the creaking of the barn door has you standing up straight, Javi making a beeline to you. “She’s all yours,” Javi tells Tyler, clapping him on the back as the other man all but runs into the barn.

Javi stands before you, your arms crossed over your chest and a frown on your face. “Baby-“ he starts before you step forward and shove him, hard.

“That’s for what you said to Kate,” you feel the tears burn, shoving him again, “and that’s for being an asshole.”

“I deserve that,” he says quietly, resigned. “You done pushing me, baby?” You nod, brushing the tears off your cheeks and he holds up his hands, “can I hold you?”

“Yes,” he doesn’t hesitate for a second.

His arms are warm and you can feel the muscles as he tugs you into his chest, your head landing in the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, pressing kisses to your head, “I’m so sorry for saying that. I-I was just angry and hurt and scared and I took it out on you and Kate.”

“I was scared too, Javi,” you hold him tighter, “I almost had you ripped away from me, literally. We almost died in that pool, all of us. And then the second we get out, Scott is there trying to make money off of that motel owner. I just lost my mind.”

“I know,” he rests his head against you, “I got to figure a way out of this. I really needed the money for the start up, but not like this.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he pulls back to look down at you.

“We?” he smiles.

“Yes, we. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I don’t know about that. I was unprepared for how much it would hurt to see my whole life drive off in my truck.”

You cringe, “sorry about that. We did kind of leave you stranded.”

“You had every reason,” he shakes his head pulling you back into his chest, “I was a major asshole.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “you were.”

He laughs, tickling your side, “hey! I said I was sorry.”

You squirm trying to move away but he holds you tighter, both of you laughing, the stress from the last 48 hours melting in his arms. “I forgive you.” He sags in relief, before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, your arms winding around his neck. The kiss turning more passionate with every second.

“That is going to take some getting used too,” you jump apart with a yelp. Kate and Tyler standing in the doorway to the barn. “My best friend and my baby sister, gross.”

“Oh hush,” you chastise teasingly, “imagine how I feel with my boss making goo goo eyes at my older sister, talk about gross.”

“I do not make goo goo eyes,” Tyler puts his hands on his hips.

“But you don’t deny you have feelings for her?” you challenge matching his stance.

“Well I- “ Tyler shakes his head before sighing, “I can’t argue with you there.”

Kate looks at him with wide eyes and opens her mouth to respond when Mama shouts from the front porch, “lunch is ready!”

The conversation burns in their eyes and you look at Javi with a grin, pulling him towards the kitchen to help bring out the food.

Mama has outdone herself, bringing out a plethora of bbq and sides for us to devour. The sweet tea flows and everyone smiles as they dig into the food.

“So Javi,” Mama passes me the coleslaw, “what are your intentions with my youngest?”

Javi chokes on his tea and you frantically pat his back and glare at your mama. He clears his throat, catching his breath and taking your hand, “Excuse me ma’am you caught me by surprise.” Mama grins, not looking the least bit sorry for almost killing your boyfriend. “I love her. I’m going to do my best to never let her forget that for the rest of her life. And in the future, if she’ll have me,” he meets your eyes, giving you a wink, “she’ll let me become Mr. Carter.”

“Good,” Mama smiles, “and you,” she turns to Tyler.

Tyler never falters, his smile in place as he looks at Kate, “maybe I can convince Kate to give me a second date. Since the first one was interrupted.”

“That was not a date,” Kate argues.

“Okay,” he nods, “then a first date. We can start there.”

“How about you go tonight?” Mama smiles, looking at the four of you, “take her line dancing.”

“Mama,” Kate chastises, “I’m not ready.”

“No time like the present, Katie,” Mama stands lifting the plates and walking towards the house.

“We don’t have too,” Tyler places a gentle hand on her arm, “I just want to spend some time with you.”

Kate looks at him grateful, “thank you.”

“What about you?” Javi looks at you with a smile, “want to go line dancing?”

“You want to go line dancing?” Your brows reach the ceiling as you look at him.

“Or,” he looks at Kate and Tyler, “how about we dance here?” He stands holding out his hand, “milady?”

“There’s no music,” you stay seated looking for your sister for backup.

“I got it,” Tyler pulls his phone from his pocket and pulls up the Spotify app. “Here we go,” he turns up the volume, Ain’t in Kansas Anymore by Miranda Lambert blaring out of the small speakers.

“Come on baby,” Javi moves his hips back and forth and you stay in your spot watching him with wide eyes. “Tyler buddy, come help me out!”

Tyler jumps up with a cheer and as the chorus breaks they start dancing, their fingers in the air as they twirl their finger in Tyler’s signature move. Kate laughs beside you, quickly covering her mouth as they move to the beat, spinning to give you their backs.

“Come on girls,” Mama shocks you both, whipping around, “live a little.”

“Shit,” Kate looks at you with a shrug, both of you scrambling to your feet to dance beside them. The four of you laugh through several songs, trying to keep up with the steps, Javi breaking off to pull you into his arms for a slow dance. Jelly Roll and Lainey Wilson serenading you to Save Me.

You rest your head on his chest as he sways you to the music. Kate and Tyler move closer together and he holds one of her hands and wraps the other around her waist. They’re stiff at first before Tyler flashes her a smile and she melts into his arms.

“I meant every word,” Javi whispers and you lift your head to look at him, hands pressed to his chest and his hands low on your hips. “I love you, baby. And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life trying to prove it to you.”

“When did you know?” his eyes soften as he thinks back.

“When you came and tapped me out.”

“That long?” You shake your head, “we’ve wasted so much time.”

“What about you?”

“After the EF5,” you close your arms and lean against his chest, “I just remember running into the hospital and seeing you standing there. And my heart stopped.” His hands run comfortingly on your back, “I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.”

“I know,” he tightens his arms around you, “I felt so numb to everything and then you come barreling into me. Almost took me to the ground,” he chuckles, “I should have realized it then.” He shakes his head, “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“We both made mistakes,” you open your eyes and pull back, “the main thing now is that we’re together and nothing is gonna tear us apart.”

He leans down and kisses you, wrapping his arms around your waist. The music fades and for a moment nothing exists besides the two of you. His lips are warm and soft and he groans tugging you closer till you’re flush against each other. His tongue moves out to flick against your lips and you open your mouth on a moan tugging his curls between your fingers.

“Javi,” you whimper, feeling him hard against you and leaving you dripping.

When you come up for air you notice the music gone and so are Tyler and Kate. “Do you wanna move this inside?” he whispers against your lips.

“God yes,” you sigh, “but I would rather the first time we have sex not be in my childhood bedroom.”

He chuckles, his voice deep and raspy, “understood. But,” he leans down lowering his voice to whisper in your ear, “but I am going to make love to you baby, and soon. I’m gonna taste every inch of this body and have you shaking beneath me, till I make you cum so hard you see stars.”

“Fuck, Javi,” you grind against him, your panties drenched, “you can’t say shit like that to me.”

He chuckles holding your hips and pushing you back a step, “down girl,” he teases, “you’re trying to climb me like a tree.” He laughs when you pout, “you’re the one that didn’t wanna have sex in your childhood bedroom. You worried Justin Timberlake would be jealous?”

“Don’t insult Justin,” you glare, “he’s been with me a long time.”

He holds up his hands in surrender with a smile, “okay, I’m sorry. I’ll never speak ill of Justin again.”

“You better not,” you warn playfully, “or there could be trouble.”

He reaches for you, putting an arm around your shoulders and leading you into the house. When you’re outside Kates room he gives you a soft kiss, his lips lingering for a moment before he whispers, “love you,” against your lips before going into the room, mama set up for him earlier.

“I love you,” you whisper back, going into the room and closing the door quietly behind you.

“I thought you’d spend the night with him,” Kate says softly from the bed, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

You quickly change into your pajamas before crawling into bed beside Kate and pulling her into your arms, “I’m happy right here.”

Kate feels tense, her shoulders tight, “Tyler wants me to try again,” she whispers into the darkness. “He found my research and wants me to try again to tame a tornado.”

“And what do you want to do?”

“I want their death to mean something,” your shirt dampens from her tears and you rub her back. “I want to try again but I’m-“ her voice cracks, “I’m so scared of getting it wrong again.”

“Only you can decide Katie,” you give her a squeeze, “but I can guarantee one variable that’s different this time.”

“What’s that?”

“Tyler Owens. He is the tornado wrangler, and heaven help anything that tries to take you away from him. Trust him, he won’t let you down.”

Kate contemplates, her shoulders dropping as she melts into you and it only takes a moment for her to breathe to even out. You sit there and wonder how long it’s been since she slept so peacefully, and you tug her closer before falling asleep.

@angryschnauzer @itspdameronthings @mars-interlude @its-breanna-lynn @waitingforsols @combat-sixty-three @phoenixhalliwell @littledragonlady @wunder-blunder @

#Javi Twisters #Javi Rivera x reader #Javi Twisters x reader #female reader #Twisters 2024 #Anthony Ramos #Autumn Writes #Spotify

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dancingtotuyo · 3 months

Text

14. in the cold light i live to love and adore you

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: you adjust to life with a newborn. Joel finally gets to tell you something

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed. Spoilerish for TLOU 2

Chapter Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt and comfort, TLOU SPOILERS

Notes: To my beautiful beta readers @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @janaispunk, I adore you both with my whole, entire heart!

Words: 3931

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

The winter winds blow in with gusto, granting one of the coldest you’ve seen in Jackson yet. The ground freezes in October and it stays that way into the next year. Reports say you lose more patrolmen to cold than infected even with the uptick in sightings. The brutal winter is relentless, keeping its freezing claws in the world well into the new year. You think if Al Gore is still alive, he’d be happy to see this kind of freeze, but Jackson keeps turning despite it.

Rachel Perkins organizes a play for the kids. Willa is assigned the part of a butterfly. She has all kinds of ideas for her costume, continuously searching for items to assemble it. Joel shapes some old wire into wings and you manage to wrap them with pink and purple scraps of fabric.

Someone gifts Willa an old tutu that needs mending in about three different places, but it’s easy work. Except once her ensemble is put together, you have no success convincing her to wear anything but the wings and sparkly pink tutu requiring another two mending jobs. On the third straight day, her wings require readjusting after they got bent out of shape during a game of tag.

A few people decide there should be a dance, so within a couple of days, the Tipsy Bison is packed with dancing bodies and music and life. Carter finds his friends in a quiet corner. Willa runs, weaving through the crowd in her butterfly costume despite numerous attempts to talk her out of it.

“At least it makes her easy to spot.” Joel winks at your side, whiskey in his hand.

“Finding Willa in a crowd has never been an issue.” You laugh, taking the glass from Joel. He smiles as you take a sip before handing it back to him.

“No, I don’t suppose it has.” Joel laughs.

“There you two are. About time you showed up.” Tommy grins, walking toward you with Maria at his side.

Joel rolls his eyes but it’s all in good fun as he clasps hands with Tommy.

“I see Willa is practicing for the recital,” Maria laughs, her eyes pinned to her niece.

“Haven’t been able to get her to wear anything else,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “I’ve already mended the damn tutu three times, it’s hanging on for dear life at this point.”

Joel chuckles, arm threading around your waist. “Can’t beat the smile on her face though.”

“I’m handing you the needle and thread next time she comes in with a tear.” You roll your eyes in playfulness.

“Hey, I’ve fixed those wings several times now too.”

“Sounds like I need to send Elias’s pants over to your place,” Maria says. “I think every single pair needs patching.”

“I remember when Carter was in that phase. I gave up there for a while. Let him run around with holes. He didn’t seem to care.”

“I’m about to resort to that.”

“Get Tommy to do it. He had to sew me up a couple times. Did a damn good job,” Joel grins. “You know that one scar.” He looks at you.

You know it. It runs across the side of his torso, the scar so thin and faded, you thought it was from a surgery before the outbreak. You nod.

“Tommy stitched that one.”

“Damn,” your eyes flicker to him. “I can hardly stitch someone up that nicely.”

“Luck,” Tommy shrugs.

“Skill,” you correct.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Maria jabs her husband with her index finger.

“Ow! Have not-“ Tommy says, but Joel is tugging you away from them before you can gather the rest of their argument. His deep chuckle settles in your ear.

“What are you doing?”

“Takin my woman for a spin on the dance floor. What does it look like?” He grins, guiding you into the sea of dancers in the middle of the floor.

You suppose you should hate it when he calls you his “woman.” There was always something about it in the world before that felt derogatory, like men were trying to claim women as property, reducing them to a single component. It sounds cliche you know, but it’s not like that when Joel says it.

You don’t have a title on your relationship. For you, to be called his in any capacity is an honor, just as he’s yours. Your partner, your co parent, your lover, all of those and more encompassed into the title “your man” and “his woman”

My Girl plays over the record player bringing a smile to your lips. The first of many songs you and Joel danced to both in the public eye and the quiet of your home.

He smiles down at you, eyes shining in deep, dark pools under the flicker of the lights strung from the rafters. You're drawn back to that first dance, the one you almost skipped out of but your feet carried to anyway. The way he held you. Kissed you, claimed you in front of Jackson without fear of the future even when you couldn’t do the same for him. Yet he stuck with you, waited for you

Moisture gathers in your eyes as you lay your head on his chest as he rocks back and forth.

“I know, Sweetheart.”

Your chest tightens with love for him. It’s not scary anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.

Willa runs into your legs, demanding a turn with Joel before the song is halfway over. You oblige as Joel picks her up. She laughs, arms tightening around his shoulders. You watch them from the sidelines, wishing you had a camera to capture the identical smiles on their faces, the curls that fall on their foreheads, Willa’s fairy wings, Joel’s broad shoulders. It’s a perfect moment. A slice of heaven on earth you think.

Willa insists on a second song since they didn’t get a full one the first time. Carter dances a two step with you, his smile beaming the whole time as he masters the steps. Tommy pulls you out at some point- spinning you until you’re so dizzy you need to sit down. He finds it funny.

The air buzzes with electricity throughout the whole night as you let your kids run around on their own accord in games of tag, sardines, hide and seek, and whatever else their brains concoct.

It takes some time before Joel tracks you down again, pulling you away mid conversation with Rachel and Lindsey. He’s not the least bit remorseful.

“You're in high demand tonight. I didn’t have another choice.” He winks at you as the music slows to a soft instrumental.

“Did I protest?”

He laughs, placing his lips firmly on yours. “I love you.”

You can’t help the smile that appears every time he says it. You settle against him, letting the soft music settle over your bones. “I love you too.”

You don’t speak for another minute, too wrapped up in him, listening to the steady thrum of his heart beating in time with yours.

You catch Ellie and Dina on the dance floor together. There’s an extra reach in your smile. They’re out of your sight when Dina kisses Ellie. Then, Joel’s muscles tighten around you.

Your brow furrows as your head lifts. “What is it?”

Joel doesn’t respond, eyes locked straight ahead. You know that look and follow it straight to Ellie and Dina and Seth. Your stomach drops

Dina says something, a smile on her face before it fades and she walks away, Ellie’s hand in hers.

“Remember next time there’s kids around,” Seth calls after them.

Joel tugs you behind him. You catch the vein in his neck popping out. He's ready to pounce, to protect Ellie at the first sight of danger.

“Yeah cause you’re setting such a great example,” Dina retorts as she heads for the door.

“Just what this town needs, another loud mouth dyke!”

It cuts through the room like a knife, drawing others’ attention.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Ellie spins on her heels, heading straight for Seth. Dina fights to hold her back, but it’s useless.

“Hey!” Joel surges forward, pushing Seth backward. “Get the hell outta here!”

“Get your hands off of me!” Seth shouts back.

Maria and Tommy rush toward the commotion as Maria steps between the two men.

There’s a soft thud and the firm pressure of two small hands against the back of your thighs. You twist around, finding a mop of dark hair and eyes to match staring wide eyed at the scene unfolding before you. You run your hand over Willa’s head, encouraging her to keep behind you as Maria and Tommy usher Seth out of the Tipsy Bison.

Then your eyes follow Joel. He’s not coming back toward you, but toward Ellie. You barely manage to keep the cringe at bay. Not here, you plead internally.

“You alright, Kiddo?”

“What is wrong with you?”

Some people have the decency to turn their heads, to act as if they aren’t listening in. Others just gawk, trying to glean any answers they can from the cold shoulder Ellie has given Joel over the last few years.

“He had no right-”

“And you do?” Ellie asks, anger shaking her words. “I don’t need your fucking help, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes cut from hers, finding yours in the small crowd. You see the way it stings in his eyes, and then he looks away from you both as he slowly eases backward.

“Right…” He says, so quiet you barely make it out as Joel turns away, walking out of the building on display for everyone to see. The door slams shut behind him, ushering in a cool gust of wind.

Pairs of eyes flash to Ellie. Some find you. There are a few mumbles exchanged between people, but they quickly die down as the music turns up and people return to their own lives. Your eyes find Ellie’s as people begin to fill in the dance floor once more. She seems more vulnerable now, more like the young teen you remember. The one who put on a big front, but wore her emotions so clearly on her face.

“Mommy?” Willa tugs at your shirt. “Why were Ellie and Daddy yelling at each other?”

You snap around, picking her up, the fairy wings she wears making it more difficult. “People fight sometimes.”

She seems to contemplate the words, her forehead crinkling with consternation, like she’s trying to remember all the fights she’s ever witnessed. It tips your lips upward. She looks so much like Joel when she does that. Sarah used to make a similar face.

“You fight with Carter and Elias sometimes.”

She sighs exasperatedly, pushing her hair out of her face. She’s so much sass and thought wrapped into a tiny package. “Yeah, but they ‘noy me.”

You laugh this time, kissing her head. Ellie and Dina are gone when you look toward where they were. Willa yawns, laying her head on your shoulder. You suppose it’s time to go home anyway.

You pull Carter away from a game of marbles happening in the corner much to his dismay, but he's all too proud to show you the new green one he won tonight on the way home.

Joel sits on the front porch, cup of coffee steaming in his owl mug. He still uses the one you got him for his birthday, but try as you might, you can’t make the damn owl disappear. Nonetheless, it’s reassuring to find him in such a natural position after tonight. To find him waiting for you, for his family, to come home. Carter rushes ahead, eager to show off his new possession. Joel listens to him with rapt attention.

Willa wiggles in your arms, sliding down to the ground and rushing for the front porch, no doubt jealous of the attention her older brother is receiving. Joel pulls her into his lap, eyes never diverting from Carter. It amazes you how easily it comes to him, balancing both of their needs for attention, making them feel so seen and loved at the same time.

You hang out at the edge of the front porch, back resting against the railing simply observing. Joel glances up at you, offering a brief wink before he’s pulled back in by Carter. He lets it go on for a few minutes before reminding both children that it’s time to get ready for bed.

A chorus of groans fills your porch. You push back a smile. It’s endearing tonight. It isn’t always.

“Get it done and we’ll have time for a bedtime story,” Joel says.

“And a song?” Willa asks.

“Only if you’re snappy.”

It’s a bold face lie and you both know it. All Willa has to do is ask, and Joel is humming opening measures, but it works nonetheless. Both kids are racing inside. He eases up, staking over to you. An arm wraps around your waist, tugging you closer. His breath is warm across your face in the cold of the winter night. He kisses you, soft but possessive, like he needs to assure himself you’re still here. That you’re not going anywhere.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Later. We got kids to put to bed.”

He presses another kiss to your lips and then you’re both inside, ensconced in the bedtime routine. The four of you settle on the couch, a kid tucked into both of his sides, story book in hand. Reading glasses rest on Joel’s nose. Something you had admittedly teased him about. Old Man, you had called him more than once, but you like them.

Willa falls asleep before the last page. It doesn’t keep Joel from singing her a song when he tucks her into bed. His stripped version of Monday Morning drifts down the hallway HIs voice accompanied by Willa’s. Then he goes to Carter’s room. You catch a few words spoken between them, but can’t make them out. He sings to Carter. It makes you smile as you top off Joel’s coffee mug, the owl one. You hold the routine, the peace near. You doubt Carter has many bedtime serenades left before he decides he’s too old for them.

When he comes out, Joel tucks his head into your neck. “Sit outside with me?”

“It’s freezing.”

“Please?” He kisses your neck softly. “I’ll keep you warm. Wrap you tight in a blanket. The wind ain’t bad tonight.” He tugs you closer and you sigh, knowing you’ve lost the fight already.

“Fine, I’ll grab my jacket.”

You sit next to Joel on the porch swing as he plucks at the strings of his guitar, gleaning whatever body heat you can from him. His cup of coffee warms your hands. You turn the owl so it faces outward. The porch light casts a bluish hue over you. He still hasn’t said anything about tonight, hasn’t opened his mouth, but he continues pulling a melody from the instrument on his lap.

You enjoy the moment for what it is. You take a single sip of his coffee, the substance bitter in your mouth as your eyes drift shut, head resting on Joel’s shoulder. There’s no pressure to say anything. You can just exist with each other in the freezing winter. It’s more than enough.

The guitar rings, but Joel stops playing, body easing forward. “Hey…” He says.

Your eyes open as he sets the guitar aside. Ellie stands at the opposing end of your porch, eyes focused on Joel. You sense their silent exchange, a long pause before either looks away. Ellie gives it another second before moving forward, resting her hands on the bannister. You immediately feel like an intruder. You’re not meant to be here for this.

You lean over to Joel, kissing his cheek, handing him his mug without another word. You reach out, squeezing Ellie’s shoulder lightly as you pass by. She gives you a tight lipped smile. The front door clicks softly behind you, giving them their privacy,

Joel stands, cautiously joining her as the railing.

“What’re you drinking?”

He lets out a little huff. “Coffee.”

Ellie watches him as she tries to think of her next words, formulating what she wants to say to him, what’s been building inside of her over the last several years. She’d held on to it for so long, and it’s all led her here. “Where’d you get that?”

“Those people who came through last week.” Another awkward pause. “A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it, but…” he pulls the mug to his lips. “It’s not bad.”

Ellie looks out, studying her house across the street. Joel follows suit, allowing her to direct things. Let her take the lead, it rings in his head. Sounds like you even.

Joel focuses on his coffee mug, The steam that rises and dances up toward the sky until it disappears in thin wisps never to be seen again. The fog of his breathing joins it from time to time, creating a new dance, intertwining with each other only to separate.

“I had Seth under control.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you need to stop harassing Jesse about my patrols.” She stands up straighter, looking at Joel as she gains her confidence back.

He nods, keeping his focus on his mug. “Okay.”

Ellie shuffles a bit, trying to decide if she’s going to leave it there or push. She expects more from Joel. She wants more from Joel.

“Dina… is she your girlfriend?”

Ellie’s mind races. She shifts more thinking through her response. “No.” She shakes her head. Finally, Joel looks her way. Ellie’s eyes are all squinted up. “No, she- that was just one kiss. It doesn’t mean anything. She just- I don’t know why she did that.”

“But you do like her.”

Ellie takes a deep breath, trying to work through it all in her mind. She feels silly over it all. Looking away, she almost buries her head in her shoulder as tears well in her eyes. “I’m so stupid.”

Joel feels the fatherly instincts kicking in right away, “Look, I have no idea what that girl’s intentions are, but I do know that she would be lucky to have you.”

Ellie can barely get through his words, choking back the tears that form in her eyes. “You’re such an asshole.” It comes out almost like a whisper.

“I’m not trying-”

“I was supposed to die in that hospital,” Ellie says, hand hitting the railing. “My life would have fucking mattered, but you took that from me!” She looks down at her feet, trying to reign in her emotions.

Joel says nothing, racking his brain for the right words to say. All this time, and they still didn’t exist, but he knows he wants to stop her pain.

Joel eases up, straightening his back. The mug settles atop the banister as he inhales deeply. “If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment…” He thinks through his words, wonders if there's a better way to say it. “I would do it all over again.” He meets her eyes, determination set in his.

Ellie doesn’t move, just lets it sink in. Her face softs almost and then a flash of annoyance, acceptance maybe as he catches tears glistening in her brown eyes. She gives a slight nod, rocking back and forth, trying to figure out if she can actually do this. “Yeah…” The words are a tangle in her head, will and want at war with each other. “I just… I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.”

Joel eases back against the banister, feeling as if she’s slipping through his grasp again, as if he hadn’t known those words would keep her at bay, floating around his orbit but never in it.

Ellie contemplates her words. She reconciles her feelings. She misses him too. “But… I would like to try.” Her face twists up as she fights the tears.

Moisture instantly pools in Joel’s eyes, emotions over taking him. He doesn’t like to show this side, he rarely does, but the relief that washes over his body is all consuming. He thought he’d lost her for good, and now here she is telling him she wants to try. She wants to forgive him. That’s enough for him, more than enough, and more than he deserves.

Ellie lets out a long breath, tension easing from her body, like a weight was lifted, extracted from her. She feels lighter.

“I’d like that,” Joel says, getting caught up on the words.

They both nod slightly, almost in unison, like they actually share genetics.

“Okay,” Ellie says, almost like she doesn’t know where to go from here. She rocks back on her heels, catches Joel’s profile in the light. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yep.”

Joel clears his throat as Ellie turns to leave.

She’s at the bottom of the steps before he manages to pull it out. It’s not overly affectionate or loud, but it’s warm, solid. “I love you, Kiddo.”

She turns, surprised. There’s a brief uptick in her tightly drawn lips, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “You too, Old Timer.”

You’re half asleep when Joe crawls into bed next to you. You let out a soft sigh, hand falling to his chest. “How’d it go?” you ask, eyes opening to mere slivers.

Joel kisses your head. “Said she wants to try to forgive me.”

A sleepy smile finds your face. “Good.”

Joel chuckles, kissing your head. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

You smile. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

You let out a soft sigh, letting sleep take you under.

Joel lays awake that night, staring up at the ceiling, hand tucked under his head. His body is weary from the night, the dance, is confrontation with Seth and Ellie. He feels the ache of his 63 years in his joints, his back, but nothing covers up the deep seeded contentness that settles over him.

He turns his head to look at you, fast asleep on your side facing him. You’re not quite tucked into him, arms and legs pressing against him. The exchange of body heat beneath the sheets is enough to stave off the winter chill. His lips tip upward.

He’s happy, undeniably so. Here with you next to his side. With the knowledge that Ellie wants to forgive him. With His two other children sound asleep in their rooms, tucked into beds where they feel safe.

He pulls his hand from under his head, tracing the soft lines of your face, the bow of your top lip with his fingertips. You bristle softly, like his touch tickles, but you don’t stir. Joel knows you’re out for the night.

He kisses your cheek, takes your free hand in his and kisses your knuckles before placing it over his beating heart, your hand sandwiched between his chest and palm. He should go to sleep. He has an early patrol with Tommy in the morning, but his mind buzzes with a quiet joy, keeping his eyes wide open. So he lays there, intent on memorizing the sound of your soft breathing, the warmth of your hand on him, and all the other little moments that lead him to this place in time.

It’s some time before sleep tugs him under, but his eyes flutter shut with you in his periphery, lulled to sleep with the assurance he’s where he’s supposed to be.

Tag List: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

#joel miller #Woman (Joel miller)#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro stories #pedrostories #pedro pascal

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holylulusworld · 11 months

Text

Dishonored

Title: Dishonored

Summary: You fell. For his lies. For him. From grace.

Pairing: Prince!Steven Grant Rogers x Princess!Reader; Lord Barnes x Princess!Reader (no polyamory)

Warnings: heavy angst (I’m not joking), lies, manipulation, hurting people for revenge, implied loss of innocence, unwanted/unplanned pregnancy, Steve being the worst, sadness, hopelessness, desperation, suicidal tendency/suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, fluff, we stan Bucky in this story

Rating: Mature

Words: 2,7 k

Square filled for @anyfandomfluffbingo: Square 9: “I never loved you.”

Square filled for Lulu’s Winter Bingo 2022: Square 4: Winter

Square filled for @steverogersbingo: C3: Free space – Royal AU

Square filled for @buckybarnesbingo: C2: Sharing body heat

Please heed the warnings for this story. It contains triggering content such as attempted suicide.

You fell. For his lies. For him. From grace.

How do you move on when your honor and grace get ripped away by the man who promised you love and devotion?

He lured you in – sweet-talked you into giving him the one thing you cherished the most. Your honor and innocence. Reserved for your future husband, and the man loving you unconditionally.

Lies. All lies.

It was a moment of weakness making you stumble and fall. Into his bed. Into his arms.

He took you apart, gentle, and slow. A miracle to you when you think about the aftermath.

A few months earlier, your father’s castle

“I can't believe Prince Steven came to woo me,” you mumbled to yourself. The prince arrived earlier this morning and you hoped your dreams would come true. You always felt a deep connection to the prince, and now, he’s here to talk to your father.

“Princess!” Your chambermaid scolded. “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold! Your father called for you. He wants you to meet Prince Steven. He will stay at the castle for a few weeks until he travels to his uncle’s castle.”

Your face fell. He came here to sit out the approaching snowstorm, nothing else.

How could you have been foolish enough to believe he came to ask for your hand?

“I’m…coming,” you tried to not cry. All your hopes and dreams ended up on the ground - shattered and torn. “We cannot let our guest wait.”

“Father,” you stepped confidently toward your father to peck his cheek. He was always soft on you, and let you break a few rules. Especially when it came to etiquette. You’re his little thunderstorm, a wild child with a bright mind and softness that’s hard to find among royals. “I heard we have a guest.”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” the king softly said. He ran his hand over your hair and patted your head. “I need you on your best behavior. I angered the prince, and we don’t want him to tell his father the king about it.”

You wrinkled your forehead. “What? I don’t understand,” you whispered so no one could hear. Your father is one of the kindest people you know. How could he possibly anger the prince?

“Your Highness,” Steven walked inside the throne room, accompanied by his best friend, and confident Lord Barnes. The brunette watched you with interest while the prince’s eyes drifted toward your brother and his fiancé, Lady Margaret Carter. “I see the princess will join us for supper.”

“Your Highness,” you turned your attention toward the prince. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again. It’s been too long.”

Steven eagerly took your offered hand to press a chaste kiss to the back of it. “The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for having me.”

“Lord Barnes,” you smiled at the brunette. Last time you saw him he was reading a book in the garden, chuckling at something he read. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay. The library is always open for you.”

“Princess,” Lord Barnes smiled wildly. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Oh…my…you are too kind, Lord Barnes,” you replied gracefully and batted your eyelashes. “It’s always a pleasure having you around.”

Supper was more than pleasant. Lord Barnes kept the conversation flowing while the prince watched you the whole time. He complimented you and raised his glass on your beauty and grace.

You were surprised. His eyes seemed to be glued to your brother and his fiancé. Out of a sudden Prince Steven turned his attention toward you. He even stopped his friend from talking to you.

Your cheeks heated up, and you felt warm when he placed his hand next to yours, subtly brushing your pinkie with his finger.

It was the first time he was so close, and you allowed yourself to bask in his attention for as long as it lasted.

The next days felt like a dream come true. Steven asked you to spend time with him and go for a walk in the gardens. For propriety's sake, a chaperon accompanied you and Steven. But you didn’t care at all.

The moments spent with the prince were the best of your life. He made you smile, and laugh and your heart flutter.

All that mattered to you was his smile, his soft blue eyes, and the way he looked at you. It was the same way your father looked at your father and your brother at his chosen bride.

“I wish these days will never end,” you dared to hope Steven would say the same.

He took you by surprise when he replied. “Even if they end,” he looked you deep in the eyes, leaning a little closer to whisper, “I’ll always come back to you."

The prince was about to press a soft kiss on your forehead when your chaperone stepped in.

“Your Highness, please do not forget you are wooing for a princess, not a wench. Remember your manners,” she tutted. “We should head back inside. It’s getting colder, and I can smell the snow.”

Marjorie, your chaperone was right. Winter came faster than expected, accompanied by a snowstorm that wouldn’t let up.

The whole country was suffering from the cold weather and the snow masses.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The snowstorm and unforgiving winter kept Steven and Lord Barnes from leaving your castle.

You didn’t mind. Most of the time you spend with Steven, chatting about his kingdom, childhood, and love.

Yes. Love.

You held hands, and when your chaperone wasn’t looking, he even stole kisses. Steven promised you that love is the most precious thing to protect in this world.

He played you well, you give him that.

Your heart couldn’t take being apart from Steven for a single moment. So, you gave him everything you had to offer, and what he was craving.

On one of these cold winter nights, you let him sneak into your bedroom, and take you to bed. He kissed you, and when he settled between your thighs you believed he would make you his wife and love you forever.

When it was over, he smirked, and his eyes grew cold. Your heart dropped as he hastily redressed. “Steven, what are you doing?”

“My plan went well, didn’t it?” He looked at you, making you feel ashamed of yourself. You grabbed the blanket to cover your body. The one he ruined with his touch.

“I don’t understand, Steven. My love. What has gotten into you? You said you love me.” You cried as he looked at you, wrinkling his nose at your disheveled state.

“I never loved you,” he coldly replied. “Your father forced the woman I love to marry your brother,” he sneered and curled his lips. “I stole his beloved daughter’s innocence. What will he do if he finds out you are carrying my bastard under your heart?”

“Steven, I don’t…” Your voice trembled. “Why? I…”

“I came here to ask your father to stop this insanity and let me marry Margaret. I love her dearly. He refused and wanted to send me away.”

You remember now. Your father told you that he upset Steven.

“But…she came here, begging my father to help her. She wanted to marry my brother. Margaret wasn’t my father’s first choice. Some princesses and ladies were more beautiful and with a better reputation. He agreed because she was in love with my brother and threatened to kill herself if he didn’t allow her to marry my brother.”

“What?” He looked a little shell-shocked at your words but shook his head. “Lies!” Steven yelled, making you flinch. “Shut your mouth, wench. Never talk about Margaret like that again.”

He left without looking back and slammed the door shut. Leaving you devasted, heartbroken, and ruined.

After that night, he never looked at you. He declared that he was going to stay at the guest wing until it was time to leave.

One month later, …

Hopelessness is the only thing left in your life. You can feel a new life growing in your womb. Every passing day brings you closer to doomsday.

Soon you won’t be able to hide the secret. Soon everyone will know you got dishonored.

Foolish girl letting a man take what should have never been his.

You run your hand over your belly, choking out another sob. If you want to save what’s left of your honor, you must take matters into your own hands.

Shakily you glance at the balcony parapet again. If you do it now, you can save your honor, and your father’s.

Stepping toward the parapet you release a shuddery breath.

What if it’s not high enough? What if you survive? What if they ask questions?

“No,” you step away from the parapet. This is the wrong way to go. You must let it look like an accident. Or maybe, if you can find someone selling you a potion, you can end your life painlessly and fast.

The river looked inviting to you. You looked at the floating water, fascinated by its power and grace.

Once upon a time, you were gracefully too.

That was until your grace and innocence got ripped away from you like it meant nothing to him. “If I step into the river, it will be over soon. Maybe they will believe it was an accident. I slipped and fell into the river.”

Slowly, you stepped toward the water, closing your eyes for a moment. This was the only way to save your honor. The water would wash away the sin you committed and take your secret with it.

You took another step, and another until you felt the cold water kiss your feet. “Cold.” You whispered but walked farther into the water, feeling it tug at your gown. “It will be over soon, my little stardust.” You rubbed your belly. “I’m so sorry.”

The water surrounded you, almost reaching your waistline as you heard someone call for you. “Princess! NO!”

It was Lord Barnes. His heart stopped beating for a moment when he saw you in the river. He knew something was wrong with the way his friend acted out of a sudden.

“Nooo!” You heard the water splashing and then, two strong arms wrapped around you like anchors holding you in this world. “What are you doing, princess.”

“I cannot…he dishonored me,” you choked out a heartbreaking sob. “I cannot remain. No man will want me. Not after he took my innocence and…the baby…it will be a bastard.”

Lord Barnes stiffened when the words floated out of your mouth like the water in the river. He couldn’t believe his friend and confidant would do such a thing to you for revenge.

“My love. No,” he dragged you out of the water, and wrapped you in his arms, letting you cry in his chest until there were no tears left in you. Lord Barnes said. “Stay with me, my love. I’ll keep you warm. We need to keep each other warm.”

“But I—” You lifted your head to look at him with tear-clouded eyes. “You should’ve let me die. Father will…”

“He won’t know. Not about what happened with Steven, nor what you did today. What a coincidence I came by when you slipped and fell into the river,” he whispered and kissed your temple. “I came back to ask for your hand, and to wed you in spring.”

Your heart thundered in your chest at his words. “I’m…ruined. You don’t want me, or my bastard child.”

“I will love it like my own, my love,” he kissed your cheek. “You are not ruined, princess. Only a little broken. But we can fix this. I got my heart broken once too. We will heal together.”

“My lord, the babe…it’s not yours…I can’t…you can’t.”

“It’s cold, let’s head back to the castle and get you warm. I’ll call for a healer…”

“Not a word about her condition except for the cold,” Lord Barnes warned the healer. “If you say a word about the other thing,” he patted his sword, “you won’t be able to spend all the gold you’ll get.”

“Not a word,” the healer nodded and walked back inside your room.

“Marry my daughter?” Your father eyed Lord Barnes warily. He came back a few days after Prince Steven and he left the castle. Alone, and with a grim expression. “But…what about the prince?”

“He’s a foolish man, my king,” Lord Barnes growled. “He lost his heart one too many times to a pretty face. I cherish your daughter, her grace, and her kindness. If you allow me to woo her, I’ll be forever grateful. I’m not a prince but love her dearly.”

“She admires you too,” the king replied. “She talked about you, and that you love to read as much as she does. If my daughter agrees, I’ll agree on your bond.”

Lord Barnes didn’t wait until spring to wed you. He insisted on marrying you within another month.

You watched him with sad eyes as he desperately tried to fix his friend’s mistake.

“Lord Barnes, you can still find a better bride,” you took his hand to press a soft kiss on his knuckles. “I’m thankful that you tried to save my honor, but I cannot make you miserable for the rest of your life.”

“My love,” he whispered. “I fell for you the first time we met. If only I knew about Steven’s plans, I wouldn’t have stepped back and let him woo for you.”

“It’s not your fault, only mine,” you sniffled, and wiped your eyes. “I wasn’t raised to become a wench. I decided to let him do this to me…”

“Y/N, you’re not a w-.” He shook his head. “Never use that word again,” he angrily said. “He was the one stealing the light from you. You’re still an innocent angel.”

“I know that I’m not,” you hid your face in his shoulder, allowing yourself to let the mask you wear so well slip. “You’ll get damaged goods, my Lord.”

“Call me James, or Bucky, my love,” he gently rubbed your back. “I promise, you are far from damaged goods for me. You are going to be my wife and I’ll love you. And the babe will get all my love too. They are going to mine.”

“What a beautiful pair, don’t you think?” Your mother asked. “She looks happy, my love.”

Your father smiled wildly as he watched you and your groom share the first dance. You smiled and laughed as Bucky twirled you around.

“I was worried about our daughter for a while. Prince Steven’s departure left her heartbroken,” the king held out his hand for his wife. “Let us join them and celebrate their union.”

The queen smiled and took your father’s offered hand. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

A mother always knows when her child is in need.

She will never break her promise to herself and tell her husband that she saw you at the river when Lord Barnes saved you, or that she heard what you confessed.

“He is a good man, my love,” the queen whispered. “Our beloved daughter couldn't find a better man.”

While everyone celebrated your wedding and danced, Steven stood in a corner, watching you and his best friend happy together.

He squared his jaw and balled his hands into fists. His heart dropped watching Margaret and your brother join you on the dance floor.

Everything he did was in vain…

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers angst #bucky barnes #buckybarnesbingo2023 #steverogersbingo #anyfandomfluffbingo #prince!steve rogers #royal!bucky barnes #royal au #angst #tw: attempted suicide

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stevierogersbabygirl · 8 months

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What No One Sees (pt.2)

(Dark?)Professor!Steve Rogers x reader

Run-through: Steve was that one popular professor that everyone liked, and you were closest to him. You'd never predict that he'd be the father of your future child.

Chapter themes: smut, breeding, pregnancy, angst, fluff

It's a few weeks in, and you were very sure you were carrying Steve's baby. You texted Steve about it, but for weeks he had not replied or even seen your messages. Not to mention the fact there are rumors he resigned from the campus and moved to another state.

You could not believe he'd just run away like that, and you were also in a state of denial that the perfect man you had known for a long time was in reality an ignorant coward.

You decided to keep your mind off it, to focus on your pregnancy.

You were 2 months pregnant.

Because you had the pregnancy symptoms, you've skipped so many days of college, and luckily your college allows you to make up the work that you missed while you were out. Your closest friends were also helping you out with everything.

One day, one of them suggested you to make the court order Steve to take a paternity test, to which you agreed to.

5 days later, it came back positive. Steve is indeed the father of your child.

Knowing that he somewhat communicated with you by taking the test, you'd wonder if he finally read your texts.

Your eyes widened when it says he finally read it, but there weren't any replies.

Frustrated with Steve, you decided to confront him in person, by finding his current location, through online stalking.

It was a Tuesday night and you were in your pajamas, laptop on your desk as you tried to find Steve's online profiles.

You soon got to his Facebook account, "Steven Grant Rogers" and you saw something you'd never expect.

Steve was married.

He was apparently married to this woman named Margaret Elizabeth Carter.

You were in pure shock, eyes widened and mouth gaped to the realization that you unknowingly contributed to an affair.

As you scrolled further down your mouth gaped even bigger.

Steve also has children.

You not only unknowingly contributed to an affair, but your affair partner also has children.

Steve had such a perfect persona and it made you even harder to believe all of this.

You were shocked, angry, upset, and confused, all at the same time.

He cheated on his wife, and betrayed his children to have sex with you.

Steve is a terrible man.

Despite the shocking revelation, it only fueled your curiosity even more about the entire situation, making you want to stalk him even more.

You needed answers.

He has not recently posted, making it harder for you to find his location, until you saw his friends list, hoping they recently posted him.

That's when you saw his friend, James Buchanan Barnes' story from a few minutes ago, of the two of them sitting outside of a cafe, it's full location on display.

Jackpot.

You successfully convinced one of your closest friends to take you to the location, which was in the state right next to where you lived.

Adrenaline was pumping as you prepared yourself to confront the man.

Anger, sadness, confusion were all filling your head as you mentally prepared to confront the man.

But you tried to calm yourself down because stress during pregnancy could've chronically affected your little one's health.

In 2 hours, you've arrived at the cafe and see Steve and his friend sitting at a table infront of it.

There he fucking was.

Months of anger, sadness, and confusion, it will all soon come out, he can't hide anymore.

You went up to him and Steve turned his head to look at you, his face instantly panicked.

"Where the fuck have you been?" You said loudly in anger, making the other customers sitting outside turn their heads towards you.

Steve sighed, and dragged your hand into the restaurant and into the restaurant bathroom. Everyone watched.

His face made it look like you were an annoyance to him. You didn't like his audacity to drag you like that, which fueled your anger even further.

You were both inside the bathroom now, and Steve locked the door.

At that point, your eyes were full of tears and you wanted to choke him on the wall.

He turned to face you, a hint of sadness in his eyes, a tense atmosphere was forming.

You took a deep breath and yelled out, "What is wrong with you?! You got me pregnant and you decide to just leave like that? And then I find out you have a wife and kids and you made me contribute to an affair? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Steve walked forward which made you subconsciously walk backwards, and soon enough, you were trapped between him and the wall. You immediately looked down, not wanting to see that face.

"I don't like your tone, Y/N." He said, slowly raising his hand to lift your chin.

You slapped his hand away and said, "You think this shit still works, Steve? I know who you fucking are now. I know your true colors. You are just an ignorant, absent father of a man who's also a shitty person! Not just to our child, but to James and Sarah too."

Steve had a hint of sadness in his eyes as he heard those words come out of your mouth. You were still looking down.

You weren't even sure the bathroom's walls were shout-proof.

Steve said gently, "Look at me."

You lifted your head to look at him. You hated how you just obeyed him like that.

Steve took a deep breath, and started talking in his signature soft voice, "I am going through a divorce with my wife because I found out that she has been cheating with me since our marriage started, so roughly 12 years ago. I know doing the same thing does not make me any better, but sometimes bad things have to be done to get a good result, and that good result is you."

You looked into his eyes, your tense emotions disappearing greatly after hearing what he said. You then said, "Then why did you leave?"

"Because I wasn't ready to be a father to our child, Y/N. I also didn't want people to find out about us. I know it's wrong, but I felt that this wasn't good for my family's image. I also don't want our child to hate me after finding out what we did together, and how I cheated." Steve said, holding your hands.

You sighed, the tears finally going down your face as you said, "Can't we just be together, Steve? Why can't you just let her go. You can be with the woman whom you truly love, Steve."

Steve gave you his signature soft smile, and put a hair strand behind your ear. "I also wish for it to be that way. I'm going through a divorce right now, and I promise if it's all over, I'll return to you, and we will raise our child together." He put his hand on your womb, as you both turned to look at it, smiling warmingly.

"And I'm sorry for being a coward, Y/N. It was irresponsible of me. We will be together, I promise." He said, caressing your cheek.

It ended with a big hug and a deep kiss.

And he kept his promise.

Three years later, you've graduated from college and got a high-paying job, while Steve worked a new occupation which was also high-paying.

You guys were newlyweds with your toddler daughter, whom you collectively agreed on naming Stephanie.

Stephanie Anne Rogers.

The wedding day included a ceremony where both of your friends and families were invited. It took a while for both sides of family and friends to accept the fact that it all started as professor-student.

The wedding consisted of happy tears, funny photographs, and delicious food.

It was a day after the wedding, and you both reminisced about it, laughing at the memories of the wedding.

You, Steve and Stephanie were sat on the couch in comfy clothing, looking at the wedding pictures' book.

"Look at Bucky in this picture!" You said, pointing and giggling at his dancing pose. Steve turned to look at him and decided to stand up and impersonate him, making you laugh even more. Stephanie, with no clue what is happening also started laughing, way harder than you did. You and Steve looked at her with smiles as she couldn't stop. Kids being kids.

When it was finally night, you and Steve planned something intimate for the both of you, so you both dropped Stephanie at one of Steve's friends', Natasha's house to initiate it.

This was the first time you both were intimate as husband and wife.

You two were finally alone in the master bedroom. He held you tight to him as you both started kissing.

While you were kissing, you both started to undress slowly, until you were both naked.

You smirked and instantly got onto your knees and softly placed your hand on his shaft, stroking in gently. Steve moaned at the contact as he looked down at you.

You'd look up into his eyes, then placed your lips onto his tip and used your tongue to pleasure him greatly, and judging by Steve's frown of pleasure you knew you were doing something right.

You slowly started bobbing your head up and down his cock, toying with his balls, and in no time you sucked faster and Steve also thrusted his hips faster in your mouth.

You then went onto the bed and laid on it back-first, letting Steve finger you as he simultaneously stroked his cock. He'd start with one finger and gradually add more, fingering you with increasing pace and in no time, his tip would be at your entrance.

You both moaned as his cock went in, and you grasped the sheets tighter when you felt the size. He'd first go with slow thrusts, making you adjust to his size, and you'd beg more and more until he went harder and faster, as you rubbed your clitoris while doing so.

You came first, violently cumming around him, and he came next, filling your womb with his sperm.

He'd slow down his thrusting, and leaned forward to kiss you deeply, his cock not wanting to leave you.

"I love you, Y/N." He said, giving you a kiss on your forehead, then looking down to look at you with a soft smile and love in his eyes.

"I love you too, Steve." You said, also with love on your face, lifting your hands to adjust his head to kiss you deeply.

You eventually got pregnant, again.

Stephanie was going to be a big sister!

The baby was a boy, and you eventually decided named him Scott.

Scott William Rogers.

Your life has become so beautiful.

Tag list :

@qalijahbydior

@kandis-mom

@lillianacristina

#captain america #captain america smut #captain america x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #marvel smut #steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #steve rogers smut

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daphnefisherofficial · 1 year

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bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

defy your destiny | rewrite your fate.

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley) x Avatar Fem!Reader/OC

Update Schedule: Semi-daily (schedule depends on my work, most of the chapters are already written and I'm writing buffers coz I can't stop, help--)

Summary: Under the luminous full moon of the pre colonial Philippine archipelago in the year 900, Mira Batala's fate to serve their patron moon goddess, Mayari, as an avatar was sealed from the moment a divine kiss was bestowed on her forehead from her infancy. Gifted with a second chance at life, her extraordinary birth marks the onset of a divine oath to be honored and fulfilled as immortality soon became a curse rather than a gift. As she outlived her family and becomes the last of her olden lineage, Mira embarks on a millennia-long journey of protecting her people and guiding the travelers of the night through its darkest.

bugna: takipsilim (destiny's twilight) is a thrilling saga of ancient gods, boundless love, and a woman's timeless odyssey. As Mira confronts her past and embraces her role as Mayari's Avatar, she discovers the essence of her bugna (true destiny) and the interconnectedness of all strings of fate tied to her own: namely her intertwined destinies with Marc Spector, Steven Grant and Jake Lockley as the reincarnated fragments of her greatest love's past life.

TW/CW: Abuse, Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Comfort, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Falling In Love, Fluff, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping I'm Sorry, Idiots in Love, Not Beta Read, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Reader-Insert Relationship(s), Romance, Slow Build, Smut, Soulmates, Trauma.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME.

MASTERLIST BELOW

Prologue | A Kiss Of Intertwined Destinies

Chapter One | Shadows Of The Past

Chapter Two | Dreams Of Fate, Farewell & New Beginnings

Chapter Three | A Chance Encounter Above The Clouds

Chapter Four | The Homecoming

Chapter Five | Ties & Strings That Bind

Chapter Six | Coffees, Paninis & Museum Dreams

Chapter Seven | A Night of Discovery, History and Connection

Chapter Eight | Avatar Of Mayari, Protector Of The Night

Chapter Nine | Forgotten Memories & Inevitable Truth

Chapter Ten | A Taste of Camaraderie & New Adventures

Chapter Eleven | When The Sparks Fly

Chapter Twelve | Between Awakening Desires & Celebratory Nights

Chapter Thirteen | Companionship & Late Night Confessions

Chapter Fourteen | The Hidden Protector

Chapter Fifteen | Bound By The Crescent Moon

Chapter Sixteen | All Has Been Revealed

Chapter Seventeen | Moon Magic & Mysteries Of The Night We Met

Chapter Eighteen | Shared Burdens & Unexpected Alliances

Chapter Nineteen | Choices and Commitments

Chapter Twenty | The Doorway of Accursed Memories

Chapter Twenty One | Lieutenant Darius Carter

Chapter Twenty Two | A Love Forged in War (coming soon)

Chapter Twenty Three | The Jackal and the Moon (coming soon)

Chapter Twenty Four | Il Lamento della Luna (coming soon)

Chapter Twenty Five | Meeting the Sun and Stars (coming soon)

Chapter Twenty Six | Konseho ng mga Diwata // Council of the Gods (coming soon)

MORE CHAPTERS COMING SOON.

Also, I will be cross posting this on Wattpad and AO3 soon, so I have commissioned an artist to create a book cover. Here's a sneak peak.

I'm super excited to show you the rest once she's done. In the meantime, please follow her on Instagram @lindsaynid_arts if you wanna see more of her artwork.

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gaysindistress · 1 year

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Fine Line

summary: Forgetting his first love is easier said than done as memories of his best girl are the only things that Steve thinks about during the days leading up to his wedding. Not once did he think of Peggy even as she walked down the aisle or when they were pronounced husband and wife or when she refused to let him go throughout the celebrations. He hoped that with time she would leave his every waking thought but time would prove to be a cruel mistress and would not grant him such luxuries. A decade and one failed marriage later, she still hasn’t left his mind.

pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

warnings: angst, the feels

word count: 3.3k

Tag list: @vickie5446 @cakesandtom

Dial Drunk - part 2 & Cocaine Jesus - part 3

a/n: SURPRISE! I’m not fully back but I missed you guys so I’m giving you Fine Line early. Everything else will resume on 7/7 like planned. Also I’m torn between making this a series or keeping it as a one shot. What are y’all thinking?

masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

Falling in love was supposed to be the greatest accomplishment for a person. The rush of emotion, the butterflies in one’s stomach, the flush when one’s lover is near, the feeling of complete joy and fulfillment. Falling in love was supposed to be the happiest moment in one’s life. It’s meant to last forever, the eternity that a couple walks on this earth. It’s meant to persevere through any and all hardships that life throws in their way and strengthen the bond they share. Love, true love in its purest form, is meant to be the greatest healing force that nature has to offer and will provide a couple with an endless supply of cures for any ailment. Love is the one thing that people seek out the most in any and all forms but the love that is found in the arms of a lover is the most sought-after. Love is meant to be a good thing until it is not.

When love sours and turns into resentment, hatred, pain, and angst, it destroys. It becomes the ruination of once strong and powerful people. It becomes a weakness that anyone can expose, one that anyone can exploit when needed. When love fades away into nothingness, the hole that is left is permanent. It will never be filled, will never shrink, will never heal. The hole that loves leaves is a stark reminder of what was meant to be and what actually happened. It’s filled with what-ifs and theories of what could’ve been, questions left unanswered and will continue to go unanswered. When love is lost, the two lovers change and something new becomes of them. In the case of Steve Rogers, an entirely new man was forged from the fires of lost love.

At barely 22, he was faced with a decision he’d hoped would never come. Being the son of a crime boss and the natural next pick to lead, it was his duty to pick a suitable partner to support him when his time came. Of course, some standards and stipulations accompanied his decision but he quickly learned that there was a predetermined pick already in place. He had no choice, no free will to decide his own future, and with that, he would have to leave behind the love he had known since they were children.

“You can’t be serious, Dad,” Steve’s hands shook with anger as he held back the urge to smash something, anything at all.

“The Carters are very good friends of ours and Peggy is a sweet girl. She’ll make for a lovely wife,” Joseph Rogers, the current leader of the Rogers crime syndicate, explains while not batting an eye at his son’s aggression and continues to eat the roast his wife made.

“You can’t just force me into this. Mom,” he turns to Sarah who is sitting quietly at the kitchen table, “please there has to be something else, anything else.”

She only shakes her head, eyes downcast on the dark wood of the table where they’d been eating dinner as a family moments ago. Joseph spares her a very brief glance to ensure that she isn’t going to give in to her son’s pleas for help.

“What’s done is done. You will marry Peggy Carter at the end of the week and that is the end of this conversation. I do not want to hear another word about it, am I clear?” The authority in his tone forces both his wife and son into a quick nod and ‘yes sir’ as the only other sounds that fill the room are those of him cutting the meat on his plate.

Another stern look from his father has Steve returning to his seat but not without one last question, “What about…”

Joseph slams his hand on the table, rattling nearly everything and everyone as he cuts Steve off, “I said not another word and as for that girl, you will break it off and forget about her.”

Easier said than done as the thought of his best girl and leaving her are the only things that he thinks about during the days leading up to his wedding. Not once did he think of Peggy even as she walked down the aisle of the grand catholic church in her expensive white gown or when he briefly pressed his lips against hers as they were pronounced husband and wife or when she refused to let him go throughout the celebrations. Not once did Steve stop thinking of his true beloved his entire wedding day or night when he begrudgingly commenced their marriage. He hoped that with time she would leave his every waking thought but time would prove to be a cruel mistress and would not grant him such luxuries.

She inhabited every corner of his mind for the next 15 years and nothing could shake the memory of her tear-stricken face when he told her that they were done. To spare her the real pain of the truth, he lied and said that he had been seeing Peggy the entire time they were together. Whether or not a cheating revelation was really better than an arranged marriage was lost on him and he regretted every word the moment they slipped out. Of course, she hadn’t believed him, he would never do something so horrible as cheating on her. She knew him better than that, she knew him better than he knew himself so lying to her would never be successful. Yet she accepted it and didn’t pry any further, knowing that if he was lying, there was clearly something far worse happening.

He watched all love drain from her face and tears wet her skin when the lies filled her head. Everything they had built together over the last year had been ruined with two sentences; It’s over. I’ve been cheating on you with Peggy and we’re getting married.

15 years later and only God knows he would be able to make up for those lost years and cruel parting words. Rain storms around him and soaked his thick black outer coat as he stands in front of the blue door. The thunder drowns out the sound of his blood pulsing in his ears as nerves start to take over him. Should he really be here? Would she open the door for him? Hell did she even live here anymore? All sorts of questions scatter any rational thought he has. However lucky for him, the door opens and reveals her standing there and everything completely leaves his brain at the sight.

“What are you doing here?” her voice is calloused and devoid of all emotion as she stares up at him.

“H… Hi,” he stutters, his chest constricting as it works to breathe. In and out, in and out.

“What are you doing here?” she repeats.

“Can I come in?”

“It depends. Is someone dead or are you just here to reminisce?”

His hand strays from his pocket to scratch the back of his neck, an old nervous habit his father had tried to break for years.

“Either way, I don’t want you here so leave,” she says, going to close the door on him and everything that might blossom from this moment but the stray hand blocks that from happening.

“Please, I just want to talk.”

“No. Just go,” she tries again to push on the wood alas she is no match for the strength he has built up over the years and she lets out a defeated sigh.

“5 minutes. That’s all I ask.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

The smile she had only dreamt of for years finally becomes real again as it stretches across his short stubble covered face, “Not a chance in hell, honey.”

The woman steps back but only enough for him to squeeze past and invade her no longer safe space. She knew when the sleek silver car pulled up that any sense of safety would go. His showing up at her front door made her a target for any and all of his enemies after she’d spent years trying to erase any memory or sign of him from her life.

He glances around the room, taking in every detail it had to offer from the various books that lined the brick walls to the pictures of family and friends on the countertops. One, in particular, halts him. It’s a small polaroid from the first night they’d since each other since childhood tucked into the corner of a mirror that’s amidst the books. In it are two much younger versions of them smiling drunkenly with fireworks in the background.

It had been the fourth of July the year he moved back from college. Sarah, his mother, insisted that they throw a late welcome home of July party since this was the first time in four years he had been back. The college had been an escape from the greed and foulness of his father’s world but his tranquility had to be shattered when he was presented with the prophecy of him taking the Rogers family business. Sure he knew it was going to happen but being faced with the reality of it proved to be too much for him. He’d spent the afternoon sneaking away to take shots in between his beers because he needed to be drunk to not remember a thing to survive this night.

It was probably around the 5th secret shot when his sweet honey had shown up, stumbling upon him looking for the bathroom. There she stood in her cutoff Levi shorts and white tank top that showed off the red bikini top she’d worn to the lake earlier. He should’ve heard her coming down the hallway given that she was wearing flip-flops but the deafening effect of the alcohol must’ve kicked in.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she stutters, frozen with embarrassment, “I’m sorry but where is the bathroom?”

Coughing from nearly choking on his shot, he wipes at his mouth both physically and metaphorically, “Um it’s across the hall.”

“Thank you, Steve,” she whispers while closing the door.

“Wait how do you know my name?” his voice halts her and she cringes when she hears it.

“Oh uh… I guess you don’t recognize me,” she says, pushing her hair back, “I’m Y/N L/N.”

“Oh, OH,” it suddenly all clicks into place and he feels immensely guilty for all of the thoughts that had run through his head, “I should’ve known. It’s been uh… a crazy week.” “It’s all good. I’m sure your parents have paraded you around like a circus animal. Ya know, the prodigal son returns and all,” the sound of far-off laughter has her checking over her shoulder, “Anyways I should go. It was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah it was nice seeing you too,” he trails off, too caught up gawking at how short her cutoffs were and how if anyone dared to look her way, he’d been cut their eyes out.

He’d made it his mission that night to watch over her and make sure that no one got close to her. Of course, this was unbeknownst to her and any attractive guy that showed up quickly disappeared, refusing to even go near her. About 4 guys in, she’d spotted the reason for her bad luck leaning against the sliding glass door with his arms crossed over his chest. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes from behind his sunglasses, she could tell by the way his jaw was set that his death glare had scared off any and all men that approached her.

“Is there a reason why you’re ruining my chances at finding a guy?” she asked him as she came to stand at his side.

He briefly glanced at her from the corner of his eye before readjusting his arms tighter over his chest, straining his white button-down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally settled on but she doesn’t buy it for a second.

“You know exactly what you’re doing and I want to know why.”

“And what do you think I’m doing?” “Being a bitch and not asking me out yourself so you’re resorting to giving everyone the stare-down.”

He scoffed at the suggestion but deep down he knew that she was right.

“The fact that you didn’t even try and defend yourself proves I’m right so are you going to man up or pout?”

“I’m not pouting,” he tried to defend himself but it was too late and she gives him an annoyed look, “Want to go inside?”

She pushed off the door, took his hand in hers, and dragged him inside, “I thought you’d never ask.”

She clears her throat, drawing his attention back to the present and he hesitantly looks at her through the mirror. She doesn’t look exactly pleased that he had seen the last photo she’d held onto but she doesn’t let her bothered attitude show and gestures for him to sit at the kitchen island.

“Why are you here?” she asks him while getting things to make iced coffee. “I wanted to see how you were,” he lies, taking a seat in the tall wicker chair she’d thrifted a few months before.

“You had 15 years to do that. Why are you really here?”

“We got divorced.”

She freezes for a moment but continues to make herself a cup and offers him one. He shakes his head, awaiting her response.

“Oh?” is all that comes out of her as the rain drones on outside.

“It had been a long time coming.”

“I’m sorry,” her body language tells another story that is the opposite of her words. The indifference is clear as she passes him a cup made to his exact preference anyways. Feeling his bright blue eyes burning holes into her skull, her own eyes flicker up and meet his, “You can’t expect me to care. You cheated on me with her and dumped me the same week you married her.”

“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t expect you to feel bad for me,” he says, taking the cup from her hands.

“But here you are; showing up at my house and begging me to open the door to what? Talk? Talk about what? You didn’t come here just to tell me that so what is it?” she pries, leaning against the sink behind her to keep as much distance as she can between them.

He takes a sip and savors the thought that she absentmindedly put into it before answering her question, “I wanted to set things straight.”

She merely raises an eyebrow but allows him to keep talking.

“My dad arranged my marriage to Peggy and forced me to break it off with you. It was… I never…. I never cheated on you.”

Eyeing him from her place, she takes a long drink from her cup to think over his revelation. Half of her laughs at him and how stupid he must be if he thinks she is really going to believe that. The other part tenses at the idea that maybe they could have been together after all if they had run away like they planned.

“I lied because I thought it would be easier than telling the truth but it made everything worse and I’m sorry, honey.”

“Sorry doesn’t change anything regardless if you lied or not. Now you’ve said what you needed to, so leave,” she tells him, pointing at the door with the cup in her hand. He can see the scar on her hand from when she broke through a window after she’d locked herself out trying to sneak back in. A smile breaks onto his face which frustrates her even more.

“Really, Steve, you need to go.”

“Is this it? Is this how it ends?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

He holds up his left hand in his defense and the carved-out space where his wedding band once sat causes her breath to hitch slightly.

“I’ve spent the last 15 years thinking about YOU and what we could’ve had. You can’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind at least once?”

She drops her gaze to her cup, unable to look at him and the anguish clear on his beautiful features, “What does it matter? It didn’t happen. You got your perfect life and I had to make my own way.”

“You were always a part of what I wanted my life to look like and what I got with Peggy was all fake. I never wanted her or any of it for a second, I just wanted you,” the lull of his voice tempts her to look up again but if she does that, she’ll break. She can only imagine the way his brows pull together from stress or how his jaw clenches to stop the emotions from overtaking his senses. She can only imagine how he’d slowly blink with that sad smile of his when she would make eye contact or how he’d lower his voice to say her name in the softest tone he could manage.

“Go.”

“Honey please look at me.”

“Go,” she tries a little louder, her grip on the cup growing tighter as she struggles to keep her composure.

“Look at me first.”

“Go,” she says one more time, “Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go”

Each go grows more and more desperate as her composure slips away from her and everything she’s suppressed from the night he left comes rushing to the surface as lava does when its volcano starts to erupt. The cup shatters under her death grip, sending pieces of glass and iced coffee everywhere. Neither of them flinch at the sound, having grown used to much worse noises thanks to his business. However, the dam within breaks, and tears slip down her nose as she spaces out on the wreckage of her anger at her feet. Steve quietly stands from the island and gathers her into his arms, pulling her away from the mess on the floor. She doesn’t fight it, wrapping her arms around his bicep as she cries into it. The comforting words he whispers into her hair go unheard but she can feel the rumble of his voice in her chest and that provides all the comfort her body craves.

Feelings of fulfillment and joy fill him as he finally holds her in his arms again but it doesn’t last long when she starts to speak.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have come here.” He pulls away a little to look down at her, “I don’t understand.”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she repeats for the third time, “Things were different when we were kids but we’re grown now and too much has happened. You’ve done too much, I’ve done too much for us to be together. This won’t work.”

“We weren’t kids though,” disbelief fills his voice with uncertainty causing it to wobble.

“Yes we are,” she persists, “You were 22 and I was barely 18. We were stupid to think it was anything more than a fling.”

“A fling?” he drops his arms from her and takes a staggered step back as if she shoved him.

She turns her back to him to spare herself the look of utter hurt he wears, “Please. Just go.”

Receding footsteps mix in with the rain as he does what she asked and leaves. Her front door slams shut and the shutter shakes the house as well as her. Dropping down to her knees on the sticky floor, the tears fall now like a tidal wave and the sobs rack through her body as she blindly tries to clean up the glass shards.

Love is not meant to feel this way.

#mob au #mafia steve rogers x reader #mob steve rogers #mafia! steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mafia steve rogers #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #mafia au #fine line steve rogers

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peachyteabuck · 1 year

Text

cross the line (peggy carter x reader)

summary: after you’re officially coronated, your already-atypical relationship with your personal knight becomes something even more scandalous

commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous

pairing: peggy carter x reader

words: 7649

content warnings: the world’s most historically inaccurate royal au!, knight/personal guard!peggy, queen!reader, murder of a minor character, attempted murder of a main character, violence done onto the main character, virginity taking, strap on use, dubious consent, praise, i made steven grant rogers a misogynist for shits + gigs, protective!peggy, dom!peggy, sub!reader, blowjobs on strapons, manipulation

divider by @firefly-graphics

This is your dream. This has been your dream since you knew what dreams were. Every moment of your life since the minute you unleashed your first scream was dedicated to primping and priming you until you were molded into the perfect queen.

This is your dream. As a baby, you were sequestered from everyone but the doctor, your parents, your nanny, and the wet nurse to ensure your health. You met the first person outside of that tight circle was introduced to you when you could walk. Even then, they were quarantined before and after.

As a child, you spent hours being quizzed on complex philosophy and mathematics by candlelight until your nanny begged for the tutor to stop. Being up until well before sunrise wasn’t enough: any moment you could be awake should be dedicated to meeting the same standards would-by kings were held to.

As a teenager, the focus turned to your appearance. Reading and writing were joined by a hair and make-up session. You recited factoids and roleplayed conversations with other rulers and aristocrats and constituents while you were shoved into corsets and fitted for dresses.

Your entire life has led up to this day, to this moment.

So why are you here, picking at your cuticles, as you hear your family and allies of the crown celebrating joyously? A new queen was not a frequent occurrence, especially one who reigned without a sudden, unexpected death or drought. None of that had occurred—your mother, aging and desperate for a life of her own, had informed you of her plan to abdicate the throne on the eve of your 16th birthday. It would give you two years until they’d announce, and a few more for everyone in every kingdom to adjust to the news.

You can hear your personal guard come in, the formal armor clinking as she steps. She prefers to go without (something about stealth being the best protection), but given the occasion, tradition requires her to be in full regalia.

“Are you all right, your majesty?”

You bite at your nail, pulling at the dead skin as you attempt to ground yourself. Staring off into the distance, you say nothing.

“That’s what I thought.”

Peggy had been your main guard since you were preteens. You, trying to learn politics and languages and negotiation tactics. Her, learning the ins and outs of palace protection from her mother. She was much scrawnier back then, limbs resembling the branches of a freshly planted oak tree. Peggy had bloomed since then, all muscle and confidence. She had also, over the years, become your closest confidant.

“Princess,” she says, her tone knowing. You can’t see her smirk, but it rests atop her words like moss in a pond. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

A crash, quickly followed by bellows from amused, drunken palace goers, stops you from responding immediately.

“Don’t call me that,” you finally say with a sigh. Might as well start getting used to correcting people now, you think. Though, your tone does not have the kind of royal tone you’d often heard from your mother. “I am now your queen and you will address me as such.”

She smiles softly, nodding just a little. “My apologies, your majesty, you were a princess for a very long time, and so it will take effort to get used to.”

You don’t disagree—it’s still hard to remind yourself to respond to the title when it’s called. You start to speak, wringing your hands every so slightly. “Margaret-“

“Please, your majesty,” she interrupts you, raising one hand to her chest. “You mustn’t. Now that you are queen, I think it’s best to refer to me as Peggy. It’s what my mother called me.”

As you roll the name over your tongue, the sounds feel like a tough cut of meat between your teeth. Still, it seems important to her, and given all she’s done for you over the years, you feel as though you owe her. It’s then, as you run through what it would be like to call for her in front of the rest of the court, that you let yourself smile just a little.

“It’s very improper,” you say quietly, as though someone could hear you admit to entertaining such a thought.

Peggy just grins—big and toothy. You ignore the way your heart swells at the sight. “That it is.”

“And what would the queen mother think?”

“What the old crone doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

It’s hard to suppress a laugh in your state, the giggles overwhelming your defenses within seconds. It sometimes feels as though your mother is a lighthouse at the center of the sea, locating ships with horrifying precision. Queen or not, the thought of her knowing you’re deviating from her desires spikes fear in your gut. A terrifying woman, it’s easy to treat her the same way one treats a prison guard.

But then you think of your mother—not the queen, but the little bit of her that exists outside of the demands of royal life. She’d been queen for years when she was your age, your grandmother succumbing during the birth of her youngest brother. Within hours after he entered the world, your uncle became an orphan and your mother became a queen. Their roles overtook them, both of them mourning as they grew into their roles. It was your mother’s job to rule. It was his job to remain as far from the public eye as possible.

“Are you okay, your majesty?”

Peggy places her hand on your shoulder. You can feel her thumb rubbing into the sore muscles there, and you wish she could apply that pressure to every inch of your skin. She allows you to sit with your non-reply, the nice quiet a welcome change from the cacophony of noise. She looks you up and down a few times, noticing the way you wring your hands and how you bite at your bottom lip.

You don’t know it, but she watches you in the same way she did when you were teenagers. She couldn’t stop, watching as you both grew to fit the titles you were expected to live up to as adults.

But she can’t do anything about it—not now. Not until the time is right.

“May I?”

You nod.

She takes the crown from your head, holding it gingerly as she inspects it. You were able to design your own crown given the circumstances. It all had to be kept under a veil of secrecy, of course—the jewelers and blacksmiths were sequestered until everything had finished, and even then were sworn to secrecy for fear of beheading.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You sound more mournful than you intended. It really is beautiful, is the worst part. A half-circle peaking in the middle, pearls topping each peak. At the center, swinging as your knight holds it in her calloused hands, rests a dangling cameo made of ivory and obsidian.

“An orchid?” Peggy asks, that same smirk as before teasing at her lips.

You nod. “It represents love and thoughtfulness. My mother’s favorite.”

Peggy hmms, turning it in her hands again. The gold shimmers in the low candlelight, catching as the fat flames flicker. “It looks like a cunt.”

You just shrug, unable to comment on the likeness. Many of the knights were crude, almost alarmingly so, but the only experience you had with your center had been your monthly bleeding and the occasional anatomy lesson from an exasperated nanny.

“Yours looks prettier, though.”

You blink once, twice; bewildered by her comment. Any witty retort you might have made drowns in the confusion, your brow furrowing and heart racing.

“Wh…what did you just say?”

“I said,” she moves to where you are, her nose brushing against yours from how close you are. “Your pussy is much prettier than any gem you could put in front of me.”

You’re not sure what to say—mouth agape as you attempt to process what she’s said. Though neither of you had addressed whatever it was that crackled between you, neither of you had done much to dampen it, either.

“What would your royal friends think, hm?” Peggy moans, a slight laugh coating her teasing. “I wonder how the rest of the court would react to you defiling the good name of your foremothers.”

She knows what she’s doing—poking and prodding at the sense of duty you’ve shared since you were old enough to understand the importance of longevity to the royal lineage. You’ve spent your entire life dedicated to the well-being of the crown, allowing your family and their most trusted allies to contort you into the perfect royal to lead your kingdom. It’s your purpose, it’s your only skill, it’s your only option.

If your mother had remained queen, she would have picked out some nice man for you to marry. A younger brother perhaps, whose power wouldn’t rival your own but still allowed your kingdom to gain some sort of leverage or asset. Normally these are done in childhood, sometimes they’re signed as soon as the sex is confirmed in the birthing room. You had escaped such a fate, in contrast to your sisters. Escaped only to find yourself in another possible trap.

“Retiring for the night?” Your head shoots up to see your mother’s lady-in-waiting, a much older woman who’d been in the castle since your mother’s teenage years, standing in the doorway. It’s then that you realize that you are tired, and move to rub at the dark circles under your eyes, not unlike the children of various royals whose bedtimes were hours ago. The rush of emotions, the pounding heartbeat, the awareness of your entire body…it feels as though you had been running through a field with reckless abandon and very suddenly met the kingdom’s sturdiest oak tree.

“Yes, I believe so.”

Her face softens, memories of your mother’s coronation rising. The woman has always said you look just like your mother did at your age, something you’ve never been able to fully process. “I understand. The queen requests-“she pauses for just a second before correcting herself. “The queen mother requests to see you before you disappear.”

You smile, nodding in affirmation. Before you can dust off your dress and stand, Peggy offers you her hand for stability. Your refusal dies into a hesitation when you realize a witness remains.

As you stand, she pulls you to her quick enough to make it look as if you had fallen. “I’ll meet you in your room, your majesty,” she whispers lowly into your ear. Before you can react, she straightens you into a standing position. Louder, she speaks again. “Now come along so we can find your darling mother.”

Lucky for you, no one has become caught in one of her famous conversations that can last for an hour or more.

“He and his guard will be staying for the next week or so,” she grins. It’s that real kind of smile, one that hasn’t graced your mother’s face in a long, long time. It stings, just a little.

You attempt to mirror her face, but you can feel how vacant your eyes look. “That’s wonderful, Mother. I’m glad such a close ally of the family will be our first guests after our coronation.”

The older woman pointedly ignores the flatness of your tone. “He’s wished to speak with you before he leaves.”

Great, you think. Lord Rogers is…an interesting man, certainly. Famously easy to anger and hard-headed, he only seems to care about women and ale. More accurately, he cares about women who are willing to put up with him while he drinks ale. Neither are hobbies of yours and so he has decided you are not worth respecting.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Your hands shake ever slightly as you find your way back to your quarters, the ringing in your ears drowning out the harshness of your steps. You nod to the two guards—Natasha and Valkyrie—who open the hefty door for you. There, sitting in your vanity chair, lies your loyal knight.

You’re unsure of what you should say, and so you say nothing.

“I’ve wanted you for as long as I’ve known what it is to want,” Peggy says, still seated.

“My reputation would never recover if anyone found out,” is all you can reply. Maybe the thought of your legacy crumbling would knock some sense into her.

The woman across from you just smiles. “That was when you were simply a princess. But you are queen now, so we’re free to do as we wish.”

You step back, watching with wide eyes as she moves to undo her ceremonial armor. Each time the metal pieces hit each other, you flinch at the small clang. The sound of metal reminds you far too much of violence, and you’ve never been one for that.

“Queens still have reputations, Peggy,” your protest is weak…but is a protest, nonetheless. Affairs like this could ruin a royal, send them tumbling into a well of scandal that would threaten the power your family had held for generations. If anyone learned of what was happening, you could be dethroned, excommunicated, possibly even executed. “Big, consequential ones.”

You can feel your mouth dry when she removes her undershirt, revealing her bare chest. Bruises, scars, and scrapes litter the skin, but it only adds to her natural allure.

When all you do is stare, she smiles ever-so-slightly. “Has no one educated you on matters of the flesh, your majesty?”

Part of you wants to deny you understand what she asks—but the rest of you is just confused. Most of the eligible bachelors in your court steered clear of your bath, too terrified of your mother to make any sort of romantic gesture. The allure of bedding a royal was far outweighed by your mother’s ruthless reputation. When a man was found kissing up the neck of your younger sister, one of his hands at the small of her back, he was sent to work at a proxy farm hundreds of miles away, rumored to be herding sheep with just one hand.

No one ever seemed worth the risk of losing them.

She speaks as she removes the cloth pants, your eyes drawn to the slight bulge at the apex of her thighs that the harder armor covered. “It’s an honor to be your first, your majesty.”

As her pants hit the floor, you can feel the air being knocked from your lungs. There, between her legs, rests a sort of…toy. Long, thick, tapering a little before flaring out again. It looks like what the other ladies of the court had described after their nights of passion with visitors from other kingdoms.

“You’ll take me in your mouth soon, my queen,” she reaches into the bag at her side, producing a small, unlabeled jar that reminds you of the potions witches sometimes sell at the markets held near the castle. She pops the cork, spreading the thick, clear substance over the bulbous head between her legs. You’re not sure what she means, but the heat in your belly spreads along your spine, nonetheless. When her length is fully covered in it, she takes your hand, the scented oils from the morning having soaked beneath the surface, leaving only supple, perfumed skin in its wake.

“Here,” she practically whispers, her voice quiet but filled with what sounds like excitement. “Wrap your hands like this…”

Your knight guides you, her hand over yours as you wrap your fingers around it. It’s a strange feeling, but certainly not unwelcome. You follow her motions, moving up and down and twisting your wrist right before you reach the top. Peggy watches enraptured, her eyes locked on where your hands meet. It’s easy for you to presume she can’t feel what you’re doing, certainly not even witches could combine this material with the flesh of a human. But, with the way your knight’s lips part, the way her breathy moans fill the room…you’re not sure.

Her other hand, once curled into a fist at her side, now cups the back of your head firmly. “Lick the tip, your majesty,” she instructs. At any other time, you’d hesitate, but the lightheadedness that’s come over you silences your protests. Ever so lightly, you lick over where your hand had avoided. Your open mouth gives Peggy the opportunity to buck her hips, pushing the object past your lips. She takes care not to push it too far, merely pressing it onto your tongue so you would become used to the weight.

She’s been waiting for this day since she first saw you, since her mother told her of the duties that were passed down their family line for generations; since she had seen you studying French in the garden in your pink spring dress. She’d loved you for years—decades, even. Though she’d never wish it, if the Goddess took her tomorrow, she’d die a woman fulfilled.

Peggy grabs at your hair, pulling you until you stand. She takes the position you just had, falling to her knees before burrowing herself under the hem of your skirt. Before you can ask what she’s doing, she unbuckles your shoes and pulls down your chemise. Too stunned to do anything else, you step out of them on instinct.

“Good girl,” Peggy purrs, leaving kisses along your thighs before standing back up. “My perfect girl.”

You lock eyes for a moment, expecting the other to say something, anything. When nothing comes, Peggy locks her lips with yours, leading you backwards until you’re pushed onto the bed. She’s practiced this many times, an old pillow covered in one of your nightgowns folded in half so she could smell your signature perfume as words of praise and promise tumbled from behind her lips. Just as she imagined, she parts your legs to find the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

I was right, she thinks. Much prettier than any crown.

“Oh Godess,” Peggy groans as she finally pushes inside of you. “You cannot imagine how long I’ve waited to do this-“

You moan as she enters you slowly, purposefully. Blood drains from your fingers as you grip the sheets with all you have, Peggy holding your legs open as you adjust to the feeling of her inside of you. She gives you a moment, tracing the calloused pads of her around your nipples, down your quivering stomach, and back up again.

“I-“ you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say, or if you’re supposed to say anything at all. “I-“

“Shhh, your majesty, Shh,” she reaches around to cup one hand over your mouth, the rough palm pressed against your lips. “Not all the servants are asleep. I don’t want anyone else to hear you sing for me. Not just yet.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s saying. Each frenzied thought is broken as she pulls back before entering once more. Every time she retreats and leaves you empty and wanting, her pace quickening steadily.

“Wh-what do you-“

Peggy just smiles, watching as your eyes roll to the back of your head. It’s as though she’s watching your thoughts leak from your ears, your head falling onto the covers as pleasure overtakes you. She thought about flipping you over, about grabbing you by your hair and fucking you until you couldn’t walk. But she knew she had to start you off slowly, carefully as to not scare you off. Soon enough, though, she’d be able to fuck you in all the ways she’d fantasized; with her fingers inside you right next to her cock, with her hand around your neck, with her telling you the ways she’d fill you and how beautiful you’d look round with her kin. You were both young, and with your newfound power, had plenty of time to learn what you both liked best.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful queen,” she murmured into your neck. She had also imagined fucking you front of all the other knights in her tight circle of guards, showing the rest of them what they could have if they continued to pledge their loyalty. They’re all just as protective of you as she is already, but with queenhood comes increased threats that require increased vigilance. “I’ll explain in due time.”

It's then that she reaches down, moving to rub small, staccato circles at the most sensitive part of you. It’s a part you’ve explored before, under the thick covers and once everyone had presumed you asleep. That, though, was nothing like this—none of the fireworks, none of the way she grips your thighs to pull you back after each thrust.

This is what you imagine being struck by lightning feels like, the way your skin crackles every time she touches you. The difference, though, is that you’ve never heard of survivors wanting more. You’d never imagined anything feeling as good as this, as though those late-night explorations and giggles shared between princesses could feel so magnificent. Had everyone else felt like this, when they had indulged in matters of the flesh? Why had everyone kept such a thing from you?

“I’m, I’m-“ You’re not sure what’s happening, coil inside of you tightening with every passing second. Every muscle in your body tenses as you silently plea for Peggy for…well, truthfully, you don’t know what you’re pegging for. All you know is that you want it.

“Oh, your majesty,” Peggy smirks as she continues to pound into you, continuing to rub at the apex of your pussy. “Do it, baby, let go for me. Allow me the gratification of seeing you let go.”

You’re not sure what’s supposed to happen until it does, and a white-hot pleasure explodes inside of you. It reminds you of rolling down a hill, or being on horseback while it gallops. This is different, though, a nearly indescribable feeling lighting your skin ablaze. The feeling inches away little by little, your legs beginning to twitch. Peggy slows before pulling away completely, collapsing next to you as the toy prods at your leg.

“I’ll always watch over my queen,” she says as you pant, looking up at the ceiling of your room you had looked as a thousand times before. The mural your mother had painted for you hadn’t changed at all, but you…you were transformed. “No matter what.”

A week or so passes without incident. A week of your entire body on edge, of watching your personal knight as she stood in corners and examines perimeters. It’s a small part of you, but nevertheless, a quiet voice in the back of your brain shamed you in the way you’d imagine your mother would if she found out.

How did it end up like this? You, the most powerful person in your kingdom, bending at the will of your closest guard as though she had the magic to move mountains. A shudder ripples its way through your muscles as you imagine a world where she was blessed with the connection to the Mother Goddess. She was the only one who could grant the special few the ability to harness the magic found in the soil of your land, and it was a gift to you that she hadn’t given Peggy that power.

“Your majesty,” Peggy says from across the room, her affect flat in the proper way staff are meant to address members of your family. “Lord Steven Rogers is here to see you.”

She steps into the room and to the side, making room for the man and his personal guard. James, if your memory is correct, watches over the interaction with the same stoic silence as Peggy. He’s large, much different than the leaner bodies of the women who make up the castle’s defenses. James fills the doorway, nearly having to duck just a tad. What really scares you is the way he stares, his jaw set and his eyes bearing into you. You make every effort to avoid his gaze as Steve sits down.

“I have something to share with you,” he says with a boyish smile. He slides a small, wooden box across the desk that you make no move to open. “But I’d like for us to be alone. No guards.”

As if he can sense your trepidation, he adds, “Just to put us on even footing.”

“If my security cannot be in the room while this information is shared,” you tremble, ever so slightly, as you push the box back towards him. You hope he doesn’t notice, but something in his keen eyes says there’s very little he doesn’t see. “Then I don’t want to hear it at all. And I certainly wouldn’t want your security here as well.”

“Oh, princess,” his words are tinged with a low, condescending chuckle. It reminds you of your father when he knows he’s bested you at chess—the same stupid, smug look painted across his face; the same infuriating smile playing at the very corners of his lips. As a child, you thought he was at least trying to hide the fact he had such a large competitive advantage, saving your young ego from being crushed too early.

As you stand here, though, a single eyebrow raised and the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep you from lashing out…you understand it is merely a poor attempt to hide the glee of besting a person one views as deeply and utterly inferior.

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as your side as you resist the urge to slap him with the back of your hand. As a royal, your mother had never expressed herself in such a rash manner. You hadn’t even held the crown for a week and were on the brink of putting the entire royal reputation in jeopardy.

What a failure.

“I am queen now and you know it,” you eventually bite out, face red hot with the knowledge you’d taken much too long to respond.

Lord Rogers smiles in the same way you imagine snakes or wolves do when they’ve spotted injured prey. “Let’s have this conversation again when you’ve calmed down. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

You paint a tense smile over your face, attempting to hide your distaste. “Tomorrow it is. I look forward to seeing you then.”

Peggy watches as your lady-in-waiting undoes your corset, her nimble fingers freeing you from its confines. Normally you liked your corsets—they improve your posture so much even your mother doesn’t comment on it—but that and the coronation dress weighed on you in an unfortunately literal way.

“My queen,” she nearly whispers. You expect her tone to be light and airy, and are startled by the more somber tone. “I need to speak with you.”

You blink once, twice. Why not here? Your face says, gesturing towards the lady-in-waiting as subtly as you can. Peggy’s stoicism remains unchanged.

“Give us a moment, Katherine, please,” you tell her, keeping your eye contact.

The dark-haired girl nods once, bidding you goodnight and curtsying before dashing away. She’s odd, that one, but so charming you choose not to comment when she’s around.

When the door shuts behind her, you turn to your knight, nodding just a little to prompt her.

Instead of speaking, though, she remains quiet, an obvious discontent washing over her face. A nagging feeling at the back of your heart wants to go to her, comfort her, bring out all the bad feelings so you can tame them. But you’re a queen, and she’s not a child, so you stay where you are—silent, stoic, painfully waiting for her to open her mouth and tell you what’s wrong.

When she does, though, you wish she hadn’t.

“I don’t like Lord Rogers very much,” is all Peggy says. She looks you dead in the eyes, jaw set. You wait for her to continue—to rant and scream and scowl.

You allow yourself a moment to sigh, the exhale ending in a dry laugh. Peggy narrows her eyes as you do so, tilting her head ever so slightly. “I’m not joking.”

It certainly sounds like it, though. She knows just as well as you how court politics works, how every single person in this castle has every single one of their decisions shrouded in a cloak of constrictive diplomacy. In a country situated at the center of the continent, a smile and a few lines of small talk are sometimes all there is between economic prosperity and absolute devastation.

Speaking ill of Lord Rogers would effectively be the same as threatening to banish Lord Rogers from your castle. And banishing Lord Rogers would be the same as slitting the throat of his wife in their marriage bed. War? Guaranteed. Your chances of winning? Slim.

“Well, you certainly can’t be serious.” You’re outwardly scoffing now, rolling your eyes, and turning away from her without so much as a half-hearted excuse. There’s nothing in you that wants to fight; who wants to risk it all, fight the status quo, and make a new world from the ashes of the old one. You have never been very rebellious, and that instinct for conflict avoidance will serve you well if you want yourself, and your kingdom, to survive.

You expect your beloved knight to deflect. You expect her to do as you would’ve done: assume someone with loose lips was listening and you’d need to immediately play it off as some kind of nightmare and distance yourself from any ounce of culpability.

She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m serious, your majesty.” Peggy continues to meet your tense gaze, her own eyes free from any regret, or fear, or anything. Strong as a stone, and just as agreeable. Her face remains stoic, her sharp jaw set. “I would never lie to you.”

Red bleeds into the edges of your vision, the vision of your delicate legacy crashing to the floor like an antique teapot, crashing into a million, unfixable pieces and cutting into the bottoms of your soft feet. “Absolutely not,” you growl, your fists clenching in the light fabric of your underdress. “You know why that’s impossible, so certainly you wouldn’t be foolish enough to entertain the idea of saying it out loud.”

She still doesn’t budge. “I can’t lie to you, your majesty.” She repeats. “I have a duty to protect you-“

Now you bark out a laugh, the sharp descending into something darker quickly as you continue. “Protect!?” You reach across your abdomen to hold your sore stomach, glad you were able to get out of your corset before she opened her mouth. It feels like ages later when you’re able to catch your breath, the words still breathy as tears fall down your cheeks. “If anyone heard you, they’d have my head under a blade fast than you can cut the limbs off of any one person. You believing this is some roundabout way to fulfill the oath you took when you were given your sword is such horseshit you should be back shoveling it in stalls.”

You’re ready to continue—to bare your teeth and tear at her skin until she heeds your warning. Fangs—you wish you had fangs—so she’d know how ready you are to tear flesh from bone just to keep her from continuing. So that she’d know you’re also dangerous, and willing to fight if it meant you remained in power.

“Get out of here,” you snarl. “Tell Katherine to come back in. I don’t want to see you until I need escorting to the chancery tomorrow. Do you understand?”

Peggy’s face doesn’t change as she responds before turning and leaving. “Yes, your majesty. I will see you in the morning.”

Neither of you speak, you following just behind her in silence. The blanket of quiet remains as you enter, a servant having already lit the candles that illuminate the room. As you requested, Peggy remains just outside the thick door, only entering when Lord Rogers does.

He seems pleased you’d followed his directions, and it makes your skin crawl. If you had your way, you’d never deal with him at all—outsourcing all communication through a third party. Unfortunately, the Rogers name is powerful in this region, and a queen is nothing without her allies.

“So,” he sits across from you, separated only by your desk. You move to stand near him, eyeing the same box he had yesterday. “I’ve come to talk about the land deeds your mother signed over to me at the very end of her reign.”

Your brow furrows as you reach forward to grab at what he brought with him. Inside are…bones? They’re small but thick, with etchings in an alphabet you do not understand. “What are these?”

He scoffs, as though you should understand what riddle he’s piecing together. You resist the urge to remind him you can speak five languages, and read even more. If there was a language you didn’t recognize, you’d be going to the royal translators…not a man who’s been trying to de-throne your family since the day he could ride a horse. “They’re proof my family has had ownership over the lands I’m asking about since before your family name ever existed. You simply raise both your brows, still looking through the box.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

But you don’t, you really don’t. There’s nothing anyone’s ever told you about Lord Roger’s land deeds besides the fact he has a lot of them. His family’s been around for as long as yours has and has amassed a similar amount of wealth and power. He controls several important ports, his castle is nearly as large as yours.

It hits you then, what he’s doing.

Originally both lineages were at war for the last few thousand years, moving borders and people and livestock as their whims changed. They’d both fought to control the kingdom that’s encompassed the land it had for centuries, the deciding factor being one last territory that a woman four or so generations ago had seized during a tense buyout the Rogers lineage had always claimed was faked. That’s the only territory his family had ever asked for, something your mother had spent many nights telling you about. They’d tried everything to get it back, from raids to paying witnesses to give false accounts of the treaty signing. This was another, even cheaper shot at their goal—to overtake what your family had held so dear.

It’s easy to see now that the markings on the bones show tallies of cattle losses in a shorthand developed by farmers, indicating his family would’ve been working the land after the year the agreement had gone into place. This, of course, means absolutely nothing.

You chew your lip as you examine them, building up the courage to speak. “Lord Rogers, I am not sure this indicates anything meaningful. Many families work on land they do not own. This isn’t proof at all your family has any right over the land, or over the kingdom”

As you look closely at the engravings once more, “You stupid little bitch!”

You don’t have time to turn around; to slap him across the face, or find a letter opener to remind him of your years of self-defense training. All you have time to do is cry out as his palm meets your cheek, your screams becoming muffled as he grabs the back of your neck and turns you around so he can pin you against the desk.

“Peggy!” you try to yell, but all that comes out is a choked sound.

“You will give my family what we are owed. I will kill you if I have to.” His words are practically growls, holding you with one hand as he reaches into his coat. As you struggle, he flashes a thin, sharp knife in front of your eyes.

“Please-“ you kick at him, figurines your mother had collected (and you hadn’t yet had the heart to have a servant collect and placed in her quarters) fall to the hard ground. Some shatter immediately, others skidding across the floor. “Please don’t kill me I-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He flips the weapon in his hands, as if he was showing it off. “Now hold still, this doesn’t need to hurt. There are a few spots I can hit that’ll have you bleeding out in seconds. But if you want it to hurt, I can-“

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s thrown off of you, slammed into the nearest wall. You’re partially thrown with him, but Peggy’s arms keep you from traveling the same distance. One of the other guards, Valkyrie, holds him against the wall as Peggy drops to the floor to hold you. Other guards you can’t remember the names for flood in behind her, holding his arms behind his back and dragging him away.

“You’re okay, my queen,” Peggy whispers. “You’re going to be okay.”

She scans you for harm, eyes wide as she checks for broken bones or open wounds. A few spots are tender. One, most notably, at the place the table made contact with your abdomen. Still, nothing that can’t be healed with a few days of rest and (most important) nothing that will leave horrific and long-lasting scars. Katherine comes in soon after, taking you from Peggy and ushering you across the castle and to your bed. She fetches you something to drink and a cool cloth, fluffing your pillows once your heart has slowed enough that exhaustion replaces adrenaline.

It all happens so fast, you don’t have time to question why all of those women were close enough to help in the first place.

Peggy stands behind Katherine, watching as she comforts you.

As your eyelids grow heavy, she moves to pet your hair, leaning down to murmur into your temple. “I’ll be back, my queen.” You don’t hear it, sleep long since having pulled you into its arms. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

She slips out of the room, silently exiting out of your area of the castle before finding a door hidden behind a tapestry depicting a field of poppies, your grandmother’s favorite flowers. The secret paths had been built the same time the castle was, meant to be a way for those that served in the castle to enter the servant’s quarters without disturbing the royals. Fifty or so years ago, though, too many servants were living there, and in an effort to stave rebellion, an addendum to the castle was built. Now, where some had lived, slept, and ate, lay abandoned rooms far from the eyes of royalty.

The staircase is narrow, so narrow she has to hold her sword in front of her. She’s silent as she navigates the maze-like corridor, the path to her destination an easy show of muscle memory. The door, unassuming and identical to the rest of them, opens to a scene she’s been wishing for since she first saw Lord Rogers look you up and down all those years ago.

Five women, two on each side and one immediately behind, flank the man that sits tied to an old chair from the servants’ quarters. It’s been used for these sorts of nights before, as evidenced by the scuffed wood that marks where pieces of leather kept one’s limbs in place. They fight, they always do. For Peggy, it’s part of the fun. No sense in killing something without a desire to live.

She stands as the man sits, his face already bruised and bloody. Split lip, a cut through his right brow. Every time he spits it’s tinged pink. Even though she wishes they had held off until she arrived, Peggy wishes it was redder. Nothing matters more to her than the fact he remains in pain.

“Do you know what the punishment is for laying a hand on Her Majesty?” she asks.

He looks pathetic in the low candlelight, she thinks. He’s over six feet, covered in lean muscle and scars. She can see every pitiful inch of him—she instructed the other royal guards to strip him down when they grabbed him from his plush bed once all the royals had retired for the night. He was surprisingly easy to overpower, according to the message she received from the guards, delivered via a squire who had an affinity for staying up much too late. He was fast and, more importantly, quiet on his feet. Both necessary to avoid being caught. While many of the knights in this kingdom were women, it’s easy to see how his skills would do him well in the profession.

“You’ll never get away with this,” he spits out.

Peggy smirks, small laughs escaping from behind the others’ hands. She takes a moment to allow the others to collect themselves (and to give herself some time to savor the rage that washes over his face as he realizes they’re all laughing at him.

“Well,” she says eventually. “One of us tied to a chair right now, and it isn’t any of us, so…”

He snarls, reminding Peggy of one of the guard dogs that roam the farms around the castle. They look very similar, in a way—strong jaw, barred teeth, a little grimy from their misadventures. Lord Rogers lacks something that would shrink the gap between them. Those dogs, as innocent as they sometimes look, would defend their flock with their lives; she’s seen them ward off mountain lions to protect the sheep they’d grown up with.

Peggy doesn’t think he’d defend anyone other than himself.

Lord Rogers doesn’t know it (and, given his condition, he may never found out), but his personal knight was given an option: either leave, change his name, and abandon the Rogers lineage…or die trying to defend the bloodline he swore to secure.

Needless to say, he chose the latter, and his various body parts are being fed to pigs at the far end of the castle’s main farm. Kamala offered to do that, the young girl eager to be involved but not old enough to secure herself to the heart of the action. Truthfully, Peggy found the entire endeavor useless given they sent his head to Lord Rogers’ wife in an unlabeled box. It should arrive by the end of the month, giving them enough time to do what needs to be done.

“Do you confess?” Natasha asks, her sword secured in her belt. Peggy only enlisted the guards she believed were level-headed enough to follow her lead. Normally, she’s all right with those she relies on going rogue—she trusts them for a reason—but tonight requires a very specific form of precision.

Steven just scoffs. “Confess to what, exactly?”

“We know what happened with the Queen,” Jane says, her tone flat. “We know what you did to her.”

The man laughs the kind of fake, sarcastic laugh Peggy had come to loathe from him. “That bitch had it coming. She’s hiding something from me, just like her cunt m-”

He is interrupted quickly by the back of Peggy’s hand. It throws him off, stunning him

“Confess.” One of them say, calmly.

“Fuck you!” Lord Rogers will scream back. Unfortunately, it seems to have only quieted him for just a moment.

Each denial is met with a similar reaction.

This time, it’s Carol punching him so hard that he starts to spit out blood afterward. The time after that, it’s Monica carving out leg muscles with a farrier’s knife. After that, it’s Wanda flattening his fingers with a hammer. His body, morphing into some monstrous, destroyed thing, is tormented with every broken breath he takes. A slight wheeze tinges each exhale.

Peggy watches him, watches as the women she trusts with your life take him apart piece by piece. At the end of the night, long before the morning rises, he will be mangled to the point of no return before one of them gives him the undue mercy of ending his life. This was the plan, even if she had no desire to watch him receive such an undeserved gift. Originally, she’d wanted to keep him alive for days and show you her handiwork…but a stern conversation with Gamora had ended that conversation. Her magic gave her the kind of sense a brutish knight lacked, Peggy thought.

She steps back, tossing the hefty stick to Carol, who catches it. “Do what you need to do,” she says to no one in particular. “I’ve got what I need.”

Steven tugs at his restraints, the panic in his eyes palpable despite being nearly swollen shut. “You bitch! Let me out of here!”

Peggy just laughs, not bothering to face him as she walks away. The Lord’s pleas silence as she shuts the door behind her, deep screams becoming fainter and fainter as she sneaks down the corridor once more. She retraces her path, fire in her veins making the trip much shorter this time around. Before she knows it, she’s back in bed with you, tracing the indents your pillow’s creases have made on your cheeks.

“Peggy?” you murmur, your tired brow furrowing. Sleep rests heavy on your slurred speech, exhaustion still wracking your bones.

She shushes you, tucking herself under the covers. When you move over to give her unnecessary room, she merely grabs your hips to pull you back. When you return to your original spot still deep in the throws of sleep, Peggy lets a small smile escape from behind her teeth.

“Got a surprise for you when you wake up, baby,” she whispers. “Just go to sleep for now. Everything will be okay when you wake up.”

#peggy carter x reader #peggy carter fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel ladies fanfic #peggy carter smut #lukis writes stuff #lukis does commissions

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riordanness · 4 months

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guys help me pick names for my three upcoming fics (they aren’t x readers but x ocs) all of these are girls btw

ariana (ari) chase (lightning mcqueen one??)

daphne grant (carter kane one??)

belle walker (marty mcfly one??)

hardy rodrigo (marty mcfly one??)

charlotte (charlie) dextar (any??)

lemme know guys @totokyo @nuncscioquidsitamor-14 @urbanflorals @hopelesslyromantic-shark @ssparksflyy @ididntwantobeaglader @percabeths-blue-cookies @jellyfish-er @sugutoad @kozumesphone

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novoaa1writes · 1 year

Text

(half) anniversary

img source

pairing(s): ramonda x reader, shuri x riri williams (background), shuri & ramonda (familial), shuri & reader (platonic)

summary:

“Oh. Um,” you pause, sounding taken aback. “Our six-month anniversary. Y’know, since we started dating?”

“That’s not an anniversary,” Shuri protests.

“I guess not technically,” you concede, “but to me, it kind of is?”

“That’s the gayest shit I’ve ever heard.”

contains: fluff

(cross-posted on ao3.)

word count: ~1,900

rating: teen

warnings: cursing, fluff, reader being super moony-eyed and in love... i tried to limit the use of ‘y/n’ but there is one (1) instance of it in this

notes: reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, but they aren’t referred to too much in the third person in this... this was a request i got post-ruth e. carter’s oscar win. and—look here; i actually wrote it! miracles DO happen! never give up, kids

— —

Shuri’s holed up in the lab on a Thursday afternoon, puzzling over improvements for Riri’s suit when she gets your call.

Without looking up from her work, she tells Griot to accept it. “What’s good?” she greets.

“Shuri!” your voice, bright with contagious enthusiasm, filters seamlessly through. “How are you?”

“Busy with work, as always. You?”

“A little stressed, but good. Did you eat today?”

Shuri rolls her eyes. “You sound like Riri.”

“Riri cares for you,” you correct with only the gentlest note of reproof in your tone. “I do, too.” A short pause. “Granted, somewhat less than she does—”

A flush threatens to heat her cheeks. “Yes, thank you.” Riri and her are… new, still. Your relentless teasing is less so. (She’ll never admit it to you, but it warms her to the core.) “What do you want?”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” Shuri grumbles, closing out the schematic on her screen in favor of another.

“Uh-huh. Anyway, listen. I called ‘cause I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Mm?”

“Ramonda and I have plans in Wakanda this weekend. It’ll be our six month anniversary!!”

Shuri nearly chokes on air. “What ?”

“Oh. Um,” you pause, sounding taken aback. “Six months since we started dating?”

“That’s not an anniversary,” she protests weakly. She has finally looked up from her work to give her full attention, staring incredulously up at the screen display as though she’ll be able to see you if she looks hard enough.

“I guess not technically,” you concede, “but to me, it kind of is?”

“That’s the gayest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“I want to do something nice for her. I want it to be a surprise,” you prattle on as though you didn’t hear. “So I’ve got a gift and everything, but I need your help.”

Shuri blinks. “Right…”

“I know she’s got her schedule cleared for Friday at least, but could you move some things around to clear up her Saturday, too? Without telling her, that is. I want her to have as relaxing a weekend as possible. She’s earned it!”

Well. Shuri can’t very well argue with that. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“God, you’re the best,” you enthuse. “I owe you one.”

“Nah.” Shuri waves the comment away, feeling a fond grin tug at her lips in spite of herself. “We’re straight.”

A snicker from the other end. “Good one.” Then: “Alright, I’ve gotta run. Don’t work yourself too hard, yeah?”

“No promises.”

“See you this weekend!”

“See you.”

The line disconnects with a gentle noise, leaving Shuri alone in her laboratory, her brain working a hundred miles a minute.

“‘Six-month anniversary’?” she mutters to herself incredulously, then heaves a quiet sigh. “Lesbians.”

— —

Shuri goes straight to her mother’s quarters.

“Mother!” she calls upon entering the royal wing.

“Yes?”

The curtains are open when Shuri arrives, allowing her to stroll right in. Mother sits at her vanity, reading through a document projected onto the mirror in glowing blue script.

Mother has just barely disabled the projection with a tap to the beads encircling her wrist when Shuri announces, “Clear your schedule. And start working on a gift, while you’re at it. It’s your anniversary this weekend.”

Mother turns to look at her, features mild but incredulous. “My what?”

“Your anniversary. With Y/N.”

Mother blinks. “It has not been a year.”

“It’s your six-month anniversary.”

“The whole point of an anniversary is that it happens annually,” Mother articulates slowly, like Shuri’s an imbecile.

Shuri sighs. “This is just what gay people are like, Mother,” she explains dismissively. “They called me just now. They have plans, a gift, the whole deal.”

Silent panic flits across Mother’s face, though she’s quick to smother it—there one moment, gone the next. “Bast,” she murmurs to herself quietly, so quietly that Shuri nearly misses it.

“It’s not too late. We can still make this work,” Shuri assures her, beginning to pace. “Now. I’ve got Griot compiling all activity on their Etsy, Depop, and favorite shopping sites over the past three months. If they’ve so much as looked at anything, we’ll know. Also—” She cuts herself off at Mother’s raised hand.

“Thank you, Shuri, but no thank you,” she defers, an inscrutable look on her face. Shuri hasn’t the faintest clue what she’s thinking. “I will handle it.”

Shuri stops mid-step and turns to give her a look. “What does that mean, you’ll ‘handle it’?”

Mother doesn’t waver. “It means that I will handle it.”

“You are very confident all of a sudden,” Shuri observes, gaze narrowed. “Is it jewelry?”

“Thank you for the offer,” she reiterates firmly, turning back to her vanity and appraising her reflection with renewed (read: feigned) interest. “But I am more than capable on my own.”

As cues to leave go, this one’s not terribly overt, but Shuri gets it. She begins inching towards the door, eyeing the woman up and down all the while. “You are not the best team player, you know?”

Mother slants her a stern look. “It’s my anniversary.”

Shuri smirks. “I thought you said it wasn’t an anniversary.” She’s nearly halfway out the door now, which she thinks is probably for the best. She’s pushed her luck enough for today.

(Or has she? )

“It’s not,” Mother calls back without looking.

Shuri lingers for a moment longer, long enough to say, “If you’re thinking engagement beads, I’d dial it back a notch.”

“Shuri.”

(There. Now she’s done. )

— —

Time seems to flow as molasses, making you feel like a fly encased in amber until Friday. You go through the motions of everyday living, barely present, and heaven help you but it’s not for a lack of wanting to be.

But, well—you can’t help it. You’re so very excited. And nervous. And excited.

But eventually, finally, Friday arrives.

When you clock out from work, Shuri’s waiting at the curb in front of a sleek black car with gold rims. You stop by the kitchens to grab the groceries you’d prepared over the weekend and bid your coworkers adieu before heading out. Bags in hand, you manage a wave, which Shuri returns with a shallow nod even as she continues speaking to someone in her ear. Riri, probably.

It’s a short drive to the warehouse, where you’ll board a Talon Fighter to fly the rest of the way. You know the drill; you’ve done it quite enough over the past 6 months. You’re content to tune out Shuri’s end of her conversation as she speeds down the freeway, wind in your hair and the sun on your face.

— —

When you arrive in Birnin Zana, it’s mid-afternoon.

You’re early. Ramonda will be in meetings for the next couple hours, but that’s all according to plan. You accompany Shuri to her lab to drop your things, chatting mindlessly all the while, before making your way over towards the kitchens.

The plan is clear in your thoughts, the recipes practically burned into your brain. You’ve been practicing for weeks, now—madombi and chicken groundnut stew. Ramonda’s favorite entrée alongside the flavorful stew she’s always professed to love. You’re no slouch at cooking, but you want it to be perfect. Only the best for her.

As you wash and rinse your hands thoroughly in preparation, you hail Griot. “Griot, bud, will you put my playlist on? The cooking one?”

Griot—bless him—obliges.

Falling into the motions is a pleasantly diverting task—browning the chicken, sautéeing the vegetables, kneading the fresh dough. The music is a constant aid, and the scents that permeate the air are immensely comforting in their familiarity. Minutes turn to an hour, then two; you hardly notice. You’re laser-focused on the task at hand, intent on making it all perfect—or as perfect as perfect gets, anyhow.

You don’t notice the clock striking 6:00pm, or the way Griot’s speakers lower their volume to accommodate—

A yelp leaves your throat as sure arms curl ‘round your waist and warmth presses into you from behind.

“S’thandwa,” Ramonda murmurs into your neck, her lips warm where they brush your thrumming pulse point. Gods above. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”

Willing your thundering heart rate to slow, you let out a breathy huff and allow yourself to melt in the familiar embrace. “A bit,” you divulge, inhaling deeply to catch her scent—shea butter and lavender incense and her, her, her. “I suppose I lost track of time.”

Ramonda’s arms tighten ever-so-slightly at that, her thumbs stroking the juts of your hipbones in something like apology. “Mm,” she hums. “You’ve been busy.”

Affection blooms in your chest, warm and big and true. “I wanted to do something special.” Your breath catches in your throat as you turn to face her.

She’s divested her isicholo for the evening, leaving springy, short-trimmed strands of platinum-blonde on display. A deep purple halter gown frames her elegant figure, its corset clinging to her like a second skin. Her makeup is light today—lips painted a deep, rosewood red; eyelids accentuated with black liner and dusky eyeshadow. It’s a simpler ensemble than those she’ll don on any other day; the diminished tension in her shoulders is evidence of that.

It matters not; the effect is the same. You are absolutely enamored of her.

“Darling,” Ramonda’s low, bemused voice draws your attention. “You’re staring,” she admonishes, guiding your gaping mouth shut with a gentle touch. The twitch in painted lips betrays her amusement.

You don’t have an answer for that—no witty retort, no comeback, nothing. You lace your arms around her shoulders until you can clasp your hands at her nape, voicing, “Can I kiss you?”

Ramonda presses her lips to yours in lieu of answer, all slow and gentle and mild until it’s not—until her kiss turns insistent and you’re parting your mouth to let her in, dragging your tongue against hers, nipping at her lower lip to coax forth a shuddering exhale. Arousal sparks a lit match in your belly, burning a fiery trail from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

It takes all your will (and then some) to pull away, but you manage it. Heat prickles along your skin. “Right, so…” you trail off breathlessly, chest heaving. “I made dinner.”

Ramonda chuckles, dark eyes alight with mischief and want. Her lipstick is barely smudged, but you’ll take what you can get. “Is that madombi I smell?”

A broad, bashful grin splits your features at the hopeful lilt to her tone. “Maybe.”

— —

Dinner is everything you hoped it would be. The madombi comes out perfect; the stew is even better. With the table set, candles lit, you usher Ramonda over. She brushes a kiss to your cheek when you pull out the chair for her, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, baby” that makes you choke on air.

Flustered beyond belief, you scurry back into the kitchen to whip up mojitos—one of two cocktails you can actually make—for the pair of you before taking them to the table. Ramonda accepts hers with a pleased hum.

With steam rising from both dishes and nothing left to fuss over, you take your seat, too.

“Shall we?”

— —

end notes:

i enjoyed writing the dynamic between shuri and ramonda, and also shuri and reader. did my lil heart some good

anyways. love to receive requests and then just vibe with them for months before actually sort of doing them... like to be clear, mostly, requests end up going unfulfilled due to my selective writing preferences and ever-limited time. but i stand by my mission to populate the ramonda x reader tag—singlehandedly, if need be!

s’thandwa | love, sweetheart

sources:

queen ramonda | an additional source to inform upon ramonda’s character and canonical background... it seems she comes from south africa in the comics, and considering the use of isiXhosa in the cinematic ‘verse, i’ve decided to write her using the corresponding terminology when necessary

traditional south african dress | i used this in my previous ramonda fic in order to determine the implications of the traditional south african headpieces, as i understand the isicholo worn by queen ramonda is typically worn by married women in south africa, and i didn’t know if i wanted to have her be married or not in this. but as i understand it, her headdresses (in the 2nd film in particular) are also worn to indicate her queenly status, so i kept it

royal talon fighter (wakandan aircraft) | the wakandan aircraft in which shuri and reader travel to wakanda. appears in black panther, avengers: endgame, and black panther: wakanda forever.

“illuminated signs: style and meaning in the beadwork of the xhosa- and zulu-speaking peoples” | an article from african arts (vol. 36, issue 3) by gary van wyk. an interesting insight into exactly what it says on the tin!

chicken groundnut stew | typically attributed to west africa, though several variations exist across the continent. ingredients often include chicken legs, peanut butter, sweet potato, garlic, and ginger, among others.

madombi | traditional african steamed dumplings. the link leads to a youtube video demonstrating the process!

— —

link to masterlist

#queen ramonda x reader #ramonda x reader #marvel fic #reader-insert #stuff i wrote

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outercrasis · 2 years

Text

Don't Be A Stranger

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Battinson) x gn!Reader

Word Count/Rating: 4.7k // PG-13

Warnings: references to canon-typical violence/injury

Summary: There's no mistaking that silhouette. It's him in your living room. The Batman.

It was pure chance. Anyone in Ms. Atwood's fourth grade class could have ended up with him as their pen pal. You're not sure you believe that the stars aligned just right or that fate was on your side anymore than it being a true, one-in-a-million fluke. Still, you're the one who ended up with Bruce Wayne as their pen pal.

You didn't know it was him at first. You were only given his first name and a non-descript address. The PO box didn't exactly scream the prince of Gotham. Sometimes you wonder if you would have treated him differently if you had known. There's a good chance you would have.

As young as you were, no one could forget the bold, block letters of the Gotham Gazette from early that September. THOMAS AND MARTHA WAYNE DEAD. The editor didn't even attempt to give it any flair. It was shocking enough on its own.

Your father had been devastated, a large supporter of Thomas Wayne's mayoral campaign. Your mother had regarded Martha as a style icon, in shambles over losing her favorite inspiration. You remember reading the byline about young Bruce surviving the ordeal, trying to comprehend what it would mean to suddenly no longer have parents.

It was news that rocked the entire city and the very next day it's all your classmates could talk about. Robbie Carter said his grandpa thought it was all a conspiracy, Monica Gibbs told you her dad was one of the first officers on the scene and that blood had been everywhere, and Avery Parker told everyone to shut up. You were glad Avery did, as the discussion had been making you start to feel queasy.

A few months later though, when your pen pal was assigned, the name Bruce didn't really click. After all, why would Bruce Wayne of all children be writing to someone in the Gotham Public School system?

Blissfully unaware of your pen pal's true identity, you wrote to him like you would have any other kid your age. You introduced yourself, telling him the important details like your favorite ice cream flavor and what you wanted to be when you were older. He was kind enough to not point out that an astronaut chef was an unlikely job.

His responses were a bit muted in comparison, but you didn't mind. It was clear Bruce was intelligent early on with his large vocabulary and varied topics. More than once you had to look up words in the dictionary or pull a reference to understand what he was talking about. Having to look things up sometimes was far better than a boring pen pal – like Andrew Clark who had a pal that only wanted to talk about a specific species of shark.

At the end of the school year with a parent's permission you could send your home address to your pen pal to keep the correspondence going. It took three days to get your mom to grant her approval and worth every extra chore you agreed to. Even more thrilling was that Bruce wanted to keep writing to you too.

Somewhere early fifth grade you figured out Bruce's real identity, not that he'd ever truly been hiding it. The pieces had been clicking together for a while but the clear mention of his bedroom in the Tower cinched it. There's only one capital T Tower in Gotham and everyone knows it belongs to the Wayne family.

You chose to not acknowledge it. Looking back on it you don't know why – it just didn't seem to make a difference. Bruce was Bruce, Wayne name attached or not.

You both kept writing consistently all the way through middle school. Considering the attention span of kids, especially pre-teens, it was a remarkable feat. From what you knew, you were the only one to keep in touch with your pen pal for so long.

For whatever reason your parents never chose to look over your letters and without a teacher's watchful eye, you could say anything. No topic was off limits. There was no judgment between you two. The bond was sacred, sharing every last thought and feeling. You normally made up for where he lacked in the feelings discussion, where Bruce had plenty of thoughts for the both of you.

High school was where things started to slip. You were caught up in keeping your grades high, extra curriculars, and the drama of who’s dating who. You’re not really sure what Bruce got caught up in – as far as you knew he didn’t even attend the posh boarding school for Gotham's elites.

Needless to say, the established schedule fell apart a little. It certainly wasn’t once a week anymore but you did your best. Even when you didn’t get a reply for a while, you kept sending your letters. Someone had to be clearing out the PO box because none of them were ever returned.

Bruce’s letters came to a complete stop soon after graduation. It coincided with his widely-reported disappearance from Gotham, so you weren’t surprised, but it felt wrong to give up on your correspondence. A pen pal for this long shouldn’t end without a proper goodbye.

You kept at it – the frequency of your post varying with the ups and downs of life. College brought exciting times but also a fair amount of strife. You kept Bruce up to date about everything. New friends, new partners, new addresses when you moved, celebrations of passing exams, excitement over what was on the horizon, grief at the untimely loss of your father, the burden of bills and low wages.

While there weren’t any letters being sent in return, Bruce would find a way to pop up in your life from time to time. You’re not sure what he was up to in his world, but it was enough to know he was reading your letters. A surprise delivery of baked goods at your doorstep filled with your favorite confectionaries, a large anonymous bouquet at your father’s wake, a mystery deposit in your bank account when your bills became a bit too tight.

You'd offer a brief thank you in your next letter, nothing that would embarrass him, but enough that it was acknowledged. After all this time you had a good idea of how to properly toe that line.

Part of you wished for a real response. Even a short missive emblazoned on impersonal Wayne letterhead. You weren't ungrateful for his little gestures, but you missed his voice, his mind. Bruce had the most interesting way of looking at the world. You missed being privy to it – you hoped one day he would let you back in.

—

It's late when you get home. Clean-up at the volunteer shelter took longer than you expected, meaning your trip home was more nerve wracking than usual. Your apartment isn’t in the Narrows, but that isn’t saying much. Gotham isn’t the kind of city to have a truly “safe” neighborhood – the promise of violence just varies from borough to borough. You’d say yours provides an even 50/50 shot.

The mostly-empty subway cars are uninviting despite being the fastest and safest option. With less bodies crammed inside the tubes it means your chances of being targeted go up. Every squeak of the train track seems louder, every rattle a little more threatening. You keep a tight hold on your bag. The streets themselves aren’t much better. Moonlight barely reaches the street, blocked by the thick clouds, and streetlights are inconsistent at best.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you see your apartment door. Six stories up with two locked doors between you and Gotham's nighttime streets means you can finally relax. It's not really paranoia, more so staying vigilant in a dangerous city.

You flick on your small table lamp and fall into the couch. There's an attempt to fling your bag onto the coffee table, but it hits the side and it slumps onto the floor. Not a big deal. You'll grab it tomorrow. The comfort of home settles in, nearly tempting you to close your eyes right there on the couch when your stomach growls. Food, eating, important. Right.

Rolling off the cushions, you catch a small whiff of yourself. You don’t smell bad, but you’re not sure it can be said that you smell good. Your priorities quickly become apparent. Food, shower, then sleep. Anything else is tomorrow’s problem.

Deciding what to eat is easy when there isn’t much in your kitchen to start with. Grocery shopping was supposed to happen yesterday, but with how busy your week has been there’s been no time. Luckily, there’s still enough to scrape together a serviceable sandwich. You eat it over the sink, not wanting to deal with a dirty plate and trying to keep the crumbs contained.

By the time you finish your sandwich, your eyes are half-open. Skipping the shower until tomorrow morning is incredibly tempting, but the idea of slipping into your sheets squeaky clean just barely beats it out.

It takes a little time for your water to heat properly, the result of aging infrastructure and a half-caring landlord. In an effort to keep yourself awake, you pull out a pen and paper and begin to scrawl a new letter to Bruce.

It's been nearly two weeks since your last one. You've gotten through the simpler details when the water has finally heated, abandoning the letter on the kitchen counter.

The choice to shower was the correct one. There's immediate relief standing underneath the warm spray, the stress of your day-to-day melting away. The city's grime sloughs off of you, collecting in the tub. It eventually makes its way down the drain – a clogged pipe that you can do nothing about always leads to an inch of water for you to stand in.

You're nearing the end of your shower when a noise catches your ear outside the bathroom door. You quickly write it off. With an apartment six floors up it would take a worthless amount of dedication to find a way into your place. Any smart thief wouldn't enter the apartment with a light on either. It's nothing.

Rinsing your hair, there's another louder noise accompanied by a heavy grunt. There's no mistaking that. Someone has found their way into your apartment.

Panicked, you quickly grab a towel and wrap it around yourself. If someone is going to break into your place they aren't going to catch you completely naked. Looking around the bathroom, you quickly settle on the plunger for a weapon. It's not much but definitely better than nothing. The thought of the baseball bat perfectly nestled under the edge of your bed taunts you.

The shower is still running, but your water bill is the least of your concern at the moment. If you die in the next ten minutes you won't have to pay it anyway.

Inching towards the door, you mentally walk through your gameplan. Throw open the door, plunger raised, run at the intruder yelling, and rain fury down upon them. Hopefully they'll be so shocked by your deranged appearance that they'll immediately frighten and leave.

You only manage to execute the first two steps of the plan – the shock of what you find stopping you dead in your tracks.

There's a man standing there, but it's not some random drophead like you thought. There's no mistaking that silhouette. It's him in your living room. The Batman.

Before you can really process the insanity of the situation he stumbles, landing hard on one knee. You rush over, terrified that the masked vigilante of Gotham is going to die here on your secondhand rug.

He's heavy. With more than half his dead weight falling onto you, it's a shock you don't completely buckle underneath him.

"Come on, at least get to the couch before collapsing," you grunt, leading him over.

His eyes are partially closed, clearly struggling to keep them open. He's breathing heavily with his suit half blown to hell. You have no idea what to do.

The most intense medical experience you have is shooting someone full of narcan to help prevent an overdose at the volunteer shelter – an experience you're not exactly eager to repeat. You weren't built for stitching up wounds and preventing infection. Clutching your towel, the realization that there is nothing you can do for him is crushing.

Water is becoming a puddle on the floor beneath you, your breaths becoming more ragged to match his with every passing moment. Something about your fear seems to awaken something in him.

"Front– pocket. Auto– injector. Thigh." Every word is a labor. It takes you a few moments too long for his words to click.

"Now."

The force of his words snaps you into action. You launch forward, frantically flipping through all his pockets to find the right one. Front pocket, honestly. He couldn't have been more vague. Eventually, your fingers wrap around something that looks similar to an epipen.

"Twist. Then–" he breathes in sharply, struggling for the next word. "inject."

You can do that you think. His armor is thick, but the fabric on his inner thigh thins a bit. With his sprawled position, it's easy to access.

You twist the injector, watching the liquid turn royal blue before stabbing it into his thigh. He cries out slightly, his body tensing, before collapsing back into the cushions.

"Good job."

His eyes slide shut. His chest continues to rise and fall at a slow but steady pace. The mania of the last few moments washes over you, panic transforming into shock and confusion. How did Batman manage to choose your apartment out of millions? What the fuck.

You stand there looking down at him, suddenly realizing you're only in a towel and the shower is still running. A flush of embarrassment courses through you as realization crashes. There's only the barest hope you didn't flash him in all the commotion.

Drying off and changing as quickly as you can, you bring a clean rag and some warm water over to him. You're guessing whatever he asked you to inject him with is some kind of super-serum but you can't imagine being so filthy is doing any favors. The absurdity of this isn't lost on you. You're really about to clean up Batman's wounds.

It's a slow process. You take your time, periodically switching out the water. At some point you grab a different rag to clean up the torn edges of his armor as well, trying to keep everything as sterile as you can. You do your best – you're not exactly an expert at this.

Even as you clean him up it's difficult to come to terms with the fact that this is really happening. Following the aftermath of the Riddler a couple years ago, Batman went from freakish rumor to celebrated hero overnight. He still seemed more myth than real to you, but there's no question now. He is very real and seemingly very human. You hadn't been sure if the bat motif went deeper before.

You finish up and are left with the conundrum of what to do next. You're more exhausted than ever, but leaving him here just seems wrong. In the end you settle on dragging over your moon chair and grabbing a book. This isn't weird right? You're just making sure he doesn't die or convulse or something.

It was foolish of you to think you could stay awake. Between your preexisting fatigue and the adrenaline come-down, you don't make it through a paragraph before falling asleep.

—

The first few rays of sunlight streaming in your windows are what wakes you. There’s a moment of panic before registering that you’re just in your living room, safe and sound. You stretch and rub at the tight spot in your neck. Falling asleep curled up like that is never a good idea.

Your eyes drift over to the couch and you freeze. He isn’t there. Had you imagined it all? Was last night actually some incredibly vivid dream or hallucination brought on by exhaustion?

That’s the final straw. No more doubles that roll into volunteer shelter shifts. Your body can’t handle that toll anymore. You give another big stretch, your spine popping, and let out a small yelp when you turn to the kitchen and see Batman standing there.

If last night seemed ridiculous then you don’t even know what to call this. What is there to say or think when the city’s masked vigilante is standing in your kitchen like he belongs there? And how the hell is he even standing after the condition he was in?

He doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure what you expected. You don’t know what to say either. It doesn’t even feel like he’s trying to psych you out or anything, he’s simply… quiet. His eyes return to your letter that he’s holding.

“Hey! That’s private!”

You rush into the kitchen, pulling the letter out from his hands. Gotham’s protector or not, he doesn’t have the right to start reading your private correspondence.

He doesn’t seem all that bothered by your anger. "Sorry, I probably shouldn’t read ahead."

You stare at him in slight confusion and wonder as the pieces click together. Holy shit. How did you not put it together before? It seems so obvious now – like you’re in the fifth grade again realizing your pen pal Bruce is Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

His letters stopped years ago, but you would still venture to say you know Bruce Wayne better than anyone else and it all fits. More wealth than he knows what to do with, a desire to continue his father's legacy to improve Gotham, and a deep, dark scar left on his heart all too young.

You always imagined he would start doing some serious philanthropy work, but you suppose this is in line with that. It's not all that shocking that he wants to do it with his own bare hands. Bruce has always wanted to do things himself.

In the eighth grade he told you about a computer he was working on, going into great detail to explain its complexities. It was going to be one of the most advanced systems ever designed once he was through with it. He also mentioned offhand how he nearly blew himself up with it. Becoming Batman seems right on target with that.

What doesn't make sense is why now? Why tell you at all, this many years in? He's let Batman remain a mystery to you for nearly five years. You didn't do anything new to gain his trust.

“I um, I think I need to sit down.”

You stumble back against your countertop looking for stability. From him showing up unannounced in your apartment to this, it’s all a bit much to take in. You’re grateful Bru-Batm-Bruce doesn’t immediately intrude on your personal space, giving you room to breathe. There’s a good chance you would have fully freaked out on him if he did.

You take measured breaths, careful to not let yourself spiral. Although, if there was ever an appropriate time to do so, this would be it. This is a lot to put on anyone, especially so abruptly. The answer to why Bruce couldn’t use his incredible intellect to plan this better will evade you forever.

Once you can trust yourself to not start panicking again, you look back over at him. You have no idea what comes next. This is not how you ever imagined meeting Bruce. You thought maybe one day he would begin to write back again, leading to the decision to meet for a coffee or dinner. It seemed realistic – a bit more adult. This feels like something out of a dream.

You close your eyes again, trying to take it all in. He’s still there when you crack them back open. To be sure, you give yourself a little pinch on your arm. If Bruce finds that odd, he doesn’t say anything about it.

Needing to do something before addressing the elephant – or rather bat – in the room, you grab a glass down and pour yourself some water. It feels strange to ignore him, so you offer you uninvited guest water as well, to which he shakes his head no. It at least feels like a semi-normal moment in all of this.

From there, you wander back to your living room, taking up an end of the couch. Bruce follows, politely letting you lead the way. You wonder if he’s told many others or if he just knows this is best for you. You have absolutely no idea of where to begin.

“Um, hi I guess,” you venture.

You’re by no means an expert in the expressions of Bruce Wayne, but you’re willing to bet that’s the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Hello,” Bruce says.

“So you uh, you’re the Batman then? I feel like I should have been able to put that together sooner.”

“I would have been surprised if you did.” You’re not certain on how to respond to that. Your shock must come across clearly on your face, because Bruce is quick to clarify. “I’ve worked hard to keep people from putting the pieces together.”

Not many must know his true identity then. You can’t say it’s surprising, given Bruce’s usual habits about divulging personal information.

You’re not too proud to admit that sitting across from him in his full suit, even as beat up as it is, is incredibly intimidating. The reason for the bat motif evades you, but looking at him helps you to understand more. He looks large in the suit, an imposing figure by anyone’s standard. His eyes stand out against all the black in stark contrast, the icy blue pinning you in place. It makes it a bit hard to think straight.

“Would you mind um, taking off the–?” You hope you’re not overstepping. He’s trusted you with his identity, but you’re not sure if that also means trusting you with his face.

Your breath hitches as his hands move. The cowl comes off in one fluid motion.

You’ve seen photos of him of course, even recently, but being face to face is something else altogether. The tabloids have at least one thing right. He’s gorgeous.

His hair is long and in severe need of a brush after a night under the helmet, and yet it works. There’s black makeup hastily smudged all around his eyes, maintaining the contrast of his eyes. Stubble dusts his sharp jawline, drawing your attention to his plush lower lip. You’re not sure if this has calmed your nerves or made them worse. He looks like he was just dragged out of a gutter, which for all you know he might have been, and it’s as though he stepped off the cover of a magazine.

You suddenly realize you should say something more instead of continuing to stare. “I guess I can’t pretend it wasn’t really you after all this,” you half-heartedly joke. You’re not sure if it lands.

Bruce readjusts slightly on the couch, drawing your eyes back to his injuries. Whatever serum he had you pump him full of clearly did its job. The exposed skin still looks angry, but cuts are already stitching back together and there's no longer any active bleeding.

The state of his suit is something else. It looks like he was chewed up and spit back out only to be chewed up again. Massive holes are torn clean through, numerous singe marks across his chest. He's lucky to have not lost the pocket where he was keeping that emergency vial.

“Are you okay?” you ask, “I was a little worried you’d die on me in the middle of the night.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” You think that was meant to be comforting.

Once again, you’re not really sure where to go from here. It feels like your life has now been turned upside down from when he first stumbled into your apartment last night. Simply patching up Batman would have been plenty to deal with and process, but now you know his identity too? Calling this whole thing strange is underselling it.

It peaks your curiosity though.

“Why now?” you ask.

Bruce's eyebrows twitch upward for just a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why tell me now? You've been Batman for a while and I can hardly remember the last time you wrote to me," you explain. "There's essentially no point in telling me so why? How can you even trust me?"

You wish Bruce wasn't so hard to read. It's nerve-wracking, unable to tell what he's thinking or feeling. It's also entirely unfair, knowing that your heart is on your sleeve.

"How long have we been writing to each other?" Bruce asks. You're sure the non-sequitur has a point, so you let it slide.

"Since we were nine. Although I'm not sure the past few years count as actual correspondence."

"It counts," Bruce asserts, “Trusting you is the easy part. I’m sure my childhood secrets would have fetched a fair price to the right reporter."

Bruce’s mention of selling his letters off is the first time the thought has ever crossed your mind. It makes sense, you suppose. There were definitely times where that extra cash would have come in handy, yet it was never something you considered. You didn't ask for Bruce Wayne as your pen pal and he didn't ask for you – who are you to betray that sacred childhood bond?

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re choosing now to tell me,” you say.

“Your address was the only one I could remember last night.”

You've never been more touched and more concerned at the same time. You caution moving slightly closer to him on the couch.

"You still didn't have to tell me," you say. Bruce looks confused, so you press on. "You woke up first. You could have easily left and told me sometime later."

"Would you have preferred that?"

You think on it for a moment. "Well I guess not but-"

"You deserved to know," he interrupts. "I came here and you cared for me having no idea who I was. The explanation was warranted."

He's not really wrong. The explanation does and doesn't make sense, but what seems to matter most is that Bruce is so certain of it. There's not a single trace of doubt – you're not sure what to do with so much confidence in yourself.

You think back to all the years of silence from him. So many years where you filled him in on nearly everything in your life while learning none about his. Any sane person probably would have stopped writing. Any sane person probably would have changed his PO box and yet, neither of you did.

Sitting across from him now on your well worn couch, you suppose you have an answer for all his unsent letters. You know what he was doing. Sure, the details are missing, but you know and for now that's plenty.

Something more significant than childhood letters are shared between you now. Neither of you are unaware of the shift.

"I need to get back," Bruce tells you. "Alfred is probably worried."

You remember the name of his childhood butler from his letters. It warms your heart to know he's still a large presence in Bruce's life. He always seemed to have the young heir's best interests at heart.

"Will I see you again?" you ask. You desperately hope this meeting isn't bound for more years of silence from his end.

Bruce slips his cowl back on. "I'll be in touch."

You nod, watching him walk across your small apartment back towards the window. The ever-present clouds in the Gotham sky should provide enough shadow for him to sneak away undetected. He's certainly had enough practice.

Bruce is half out the window when he turns back to you and asks, "Why did you keep writing?"

You don't have to think hard about your answer and give it almost immediately. "I didn't want you to be lonely."

His mask obscures most of his face. You hope that he's touched and not offended – the thought of growing up alone in that Tower just always struck you as empty.

Bruce gives you an almost imperceptible nod and then he's gone. You hope he won't be a stranger.

A week later, there's a letter in your mailbox.

Comments & reblogs are always appreciated 💕

Tagging a few people who seemed interested:) @skeletoncowboys @green-socks @nobodys-baby-now @moonlight-prose @autumnleaves1991-blog @1800-fight-me

#bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #the batman fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #crasis writes

209 notes · View notes

itsss4t4n · 10 months

Text

Who I write for /Rules

Masterlist

I'm new-ish to writing (i used to write fanfiction when i was like 13. i'm 18 now soo..) but I really wanna do it again.

So this is a list of characters/fandoms I write for as well as some rules for asks. Some things may be missing from this list so if you dont see something on this list, feel free to ask. :))

I will add a prompt list to this blog soon but again feel free to request other scenarious. Do add as much detail as you want to a request and please ALWAYS have at least some sort of prompt, as i'm really not good with coming up with storys on my own yet.

I WILL NOT DO SMUT SO DONT REQUEST IT! I might however do spicy stuff (Nothing more than making out tho).

My writing will be for all ages but please still be careful if the fic-warnings include sensitive topics and i might repost some 18+ things so be careful when navigating my blog.

Please be nice and have manners when requesting.

If you have any questions at all if i write for something, or if a topic you want me to write about is okay or not, please reach out through my asks or my inbox.

Also please include what gender/pronouns you want the reader to have (i write for all genders):)))

I write both romantic and platonic for all my characters. Although Teen!readers will always be platonic if the character is an adult.

I also write poly relationships. AUs are also totally on the table (big Fan of celebrity AUs).

Some things I will not write include: Pregnancy, toxic/yandere, student x teacher.

(Also english isnt my first language, and even know in my opinion i speak it really well, if they are any mistakes, thats why.)

Sally face

-Sal Fisher

-Travis Phelps (male or gn readers)

-Larry Johnson

-Ashley Campbell

Harry Potter

-Fred Weasley

-george Weasley

-lee jordan

-Charly weasley

-Bill weasley

-cedric diggory

-Fleur delacour

-olliver wood

-sirius black

-remus lupin

Marauders

-James potter

-sirius black

-remus lupin

-regulus black

-Evan rosier

-Barty crouch jr

-pandora lestrange

-lilly evans

-marlene mckinnon

Hogwarts Legacy

-Sebastian Sallow

-Ominus Gaunt

-Gareth Weasley

-Poppy Sweetings

-Imelda Reyes

Die drei fragezeichen / the three investigators

-Bob Andrews

-Peter Shaw

-Justus Jonas

-Skinny Norris

Twilight

-Jasper Hale

-Emmet Cullen

-carlisle cullen

-esme cullen

-rosalie hale

-alice cullen

-sam uley

-Paul lahote

-charlie swan

-Leah clearwater

pjo

-Percy jackson

-Anabeth chase

-luke castellan

-clarrisse larue

-selena beauregard

-charles beckendorf

-ethan nakamura

-nico di anglo (no romantic fem readers)

-rachel elizabeth dare

-will solace (no romantic fem reader)

-travis stoll

-connor stoll

-hazel levesque (no romantic)

-jason grace

-leo valdez

-piper mclean

Magnus chase

-Magnus chase

-samirah al abbas ( no romantic)

-alex fierro

-blitzen

-hearthstone

-malory keen

-tj (thomas jefferson jr)

Kane chronicles (havent read it in a while so might be ooc)

-Carter kane

-sadie kane

-anubis

-walt stone

Bridgerton

-Benedict

-Anthony

-Eloise

-Daphne

MCU (Avengers)

-bucky Barnes

-steve rogers

-tony stark

-sam wilson

-natasha romanoff

-yelena belova

-Peter Parker (tom holland and andrew garfield)

-MJ

-Wanda maximof

-Piedro maximof

-Clint barton

-scott lang

-stephen strange

-kate bishop

MCU ( Guardians of the galaxy)

-peter quill

-gamora

Moonknight

-steven grant

-mark spector

-layla el-faouly

Daredevil (Season 1)

-matt murdock

-Foggy nelson

-Karen page

-James wesley

X-men universe

-Deadpool

-Weasly

-francis

-Xavier

-negasonic

-mystic

-Angel

-kurt

Venom

-Eddie Brock

-Harley Quinn

-Jason Todd

-Dick Grayson (any version, young justice, robin, nightwing,etc.)

-wally west

-Artemis

-roy harper (young justice)

Disney Descendants

-Mal

-Evie

-Carlos devil

-Jay

-Benjamin beast

-Chad charming

-Audrey rose

-jane

-lonnie

-Uma

-Harry hook

-Gil

Rise of red

-james hook

-hades

-bridget

-ella

-cloe

-red

-morgie

Kingsmen

-Eggsy

Tiny Pretty things (Netflix)

-Bette Whitlaw

-oren lennox

-shane madej (no romantic fem readers)

-June park

Jennifers Body

-Jennifer Check

-Colin gray

Ever after high

-all characters

Redacted Audios (no x reader, just ships)

-literally all characters

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mind-travel-er · 2 years

Text

The London Daily Ride [2]

09:37

# Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader Jake Lockley x female reader # Synopsis: Before you know him as "Steven from the gift shop", you know him as "Steven from the bus stop". You summon all you might to speak to him. # Warning/Content: Fluff/Angst, Character Study, Accurate DID (triggering), Hot/Sweet!Steven, Slow Burn. # Word Count: 3.4k [read me on AO3] · [previous chapter] · [next chapter]

Four minutes. It’s all it takes. And he’s looking at you, only manifesting utter shock.

To be frank, you are as well. Seeking contact outside your comfort zone is no hobby of yours, and yet, here you are. As you’re waiting for the next bus stop, in the delimited square of the standing area surrounded by seats and passengers, your eyes have struggled to recover their independence. Irremediably drawn to the silhouette hunched over his book, glasses on his nose, unconditionally absorbed by his reading. From where you were, you couldn’t decipher the nature of the paragraphs, yet you couldn’t miss a collection of photographs in black and white with recognizable figures of Egyptian gods. As one of his hands had reverently skimmed over some parts of the illustrations, you had observed the brush of his fingers, divulging his lingering admiration. Your chest has squeezed itself into a delicious awakening. The sleeve of his rumpled jacket revealing his wrist, his golden skin was at odds with the rain. Not fitting quite right in the decorum. Like a misplaced ray of sunshine in a greyscale. Your organs are unsure if they are misplaced as well. Your stomach seems to be in your throat. Your brain, either nowhere to be found or racing like an untamed horse. Your skull, a shell for raw emotions. It requires a few seconds to realise that your body, part by part, is coming alive anew. The link that had been severed for several weeks is blooming again. You shift your feet. Detect the vibration of the large motor coming up to you. Feel the pain lodged in the arches of your feet, standing so still until now that it hurts. Your stomach grasps that it’s hungry. You forgot to eat breakfast this morning.

Outside, it’s pouring. Inside as well. Overwhelmingly. For a few seconds, you are both blinking at each other, and you feel as if it would be the perfect timing for recorded laughs from an invisible public. But no lines of dialogue come to you. You can only blankly stare at him.

"Sorry, wha’?" His voice. Boyish tone. Authentically wondering. A detail to add to your collection of appreciation. You can’t tell if the irresistible pull that drowned you in is fascination and yearning; or if it’s his bubble of comfort calling your own until both collide. Either way, you observe his book like a lifeline as he continues. You’re not yet ready to cross his gaze. You have time. You always get up a few stops in advance. "Ah, loud noises here, yeah?" he says, pointing around aimlessly, leaning slightly towards you, so you can hear him better without raising his voice too much. "Sorry, I didn’t quite catch tha’." So, you repeat the question you prepared; or rather, blurred out while you were positioning yourself to wait for your bus stop. "Good read?" Two words. It’s barely an ask, and it’s missing a verb. Cue the laughter. You don’t know if it’s you or your question that’s missing substance. And who asks yes-or-no questions anyway? How could it even create a conversation? Somehow, it does. He does . "Oh, that?" he closes the books to display the back cover, and he laughs softly, oh so softly, that with the racket of the bus, the rumbles of conversations, and the tumbles in and out of passengers, you could almost have missed it. It has an unmistakable endearment as his head falls to observe the companion of his ride. "It’s an astonishing read," he corrects with a kindness of his own. "Absolute marvel, if you ask me."

You feel his gaze returning to you as he explains in considerable detail how Howard Carter, anything but a true Egyptologist or archaeologist, and after five years of unsuccessful and costly searches in the Valley of the Kings, had ultimately made one of the greatest discoveries in History. Mister Carter, aged 48, was yet to fulfil his dreams about ancient tombs awaiting in the dark belly of the Valley. And on the 4th of November 1922, deeply buried into the protective Egyptian sand, below what was thought to be an ancient village, the door of the Tomb of Tutankhamun was in front of him, the seal of ropes and clay still on the entrance, unbroken. You’re not sure when your eyes unfocus plainly, your mind conveying fantasised images of oil lamps shining on treasures; the flickering flames revealing them for the first time in three thousand years. And then he looks at you, truly looks at you, with a burnt sienna that reminds you of the ochre steppes beyond the desert, where untamed Arabian horses are free to ride at full speed. And his traits become very still, until they are overcome with a gentle sadness of sorts. The one you’ve seen before, as the newspaper man had stepped out indifferently. He stops himself as if he was doing you a mercy.

"Look at me, rambling." And he adds with an apologetic smile: "You prob’ly don’t want to hear about tha’."

It takes you a few seconds to travel back from the depths of Egypt in its early 20s to rainy London and a cramped bus. You breathe. You observe him. Hands on his closed book. You don’t reinforce his false interpretation. You redirect instead.

"I heard that Carter was on the verge of giving up when he found the tomb. Wasn’t he helped by a Lord of some sort?"

You tend to forget many things, yet you don’t forget little fun facts about an inspiring story or piece of history. Your memory is as good as the interest you have in the documentary you’re watching late at night on the history channels, while sorting through your files for the next day’s trials.

Eyebrows raised, mouth briefly closed, a quirky little smile is twisting his lips.

"Well, someone knows her British archaeologists." He lets out a tittering laugh; somewhat astounded: "That’s amazing."

His eyes meet yours with directness and fortitude. A swirl of spice and espresso that you are somehow sure that will never quench your thirst.

"Oh, I don’t think so. I’m afraid my brain only remembers bits and pieces when it wants to." You shrug with no embarrassment. "I’ve got no control over it whatsoever."

For a few seconds, he smiles, as if he would precisely understand what you meant. And then, he frowns.

"Sorry, I don’t mean that in a creepy way, but …" You can feel how truly puzzled he is, yet can’t quite put your finger on what .

What he says next leaves you in the same state.

"I’m not imagining this conversation. Am I?" Then, he’s slightly frowning a little bit more with an almost comical disarray: "… Am I?" You like how the second time he says, Am I? like he's actually wondering. And indeed, it doesn’t feel like any ordinary London rainy day now, does it? Something has shifted from the well-constructed routine that you typically experience in the morning. The frightening and marvellous premonition that what’s happening is important . Like the tide withdrawing after a muted earthquake… or was it just the vehicle trembling beneath your feet? Maybe, just maybe, this was a shared feeling.

As silence drags itself, you realise that he somehow needs confirmation. Looking expectantly at you.

"You’re not. Absolutely not."

You hope that the hint of doubt isn’t coating your voice. At least, you feel real.

As if he’s now a bit lost, he’s vaguely looking at his book. With the commotion of the bus, you can’t make out what he’s muttering to himself. However, you can deduce that your confirmation is not enough.

"If I could …"

His eyes focus on you again.

"Wha’?"

"Prove it to you?"

The hissing of the double-decker has its stops makes you almost trip, and you’re only still standing vertically thanks to one of the yellow poles. Just like that, the shared bubble bursts. Without warning, still with red glasses on his nose, he gets on his feet instantly.

"Oh, bugger! My bus stop!!"

He gasps so hard that a few heads turn around.

Now, he’s frantically shovelling his book into his saddlebag as the bus is departing again. Then, he stands next to you, breastless, his possessions against his chest with one arm, the other almost over your head, hanging from one of the ceiling handles. A source of warmth unexpectedly at your side. His glasses now crooked, he offers a contrite smile. You don’t know if it’s just the embarrassment of missing his stops or due to your sudden proximity.

"All righ’, that settles it then."

You tilt your head in interrogation.

"If this was a dream, I wouldn’t look like a knob now, would I?"

And just like that, he has the power to reunite your bubbles again. He’s so close to you, huddled in the standing area with other travellers, that his minty heated breath is tingling the skin of your face as he’s laughing softly. A smile hidden all along at the corner of your lips blooms into a laugh.

It sure feels unreal to me, you want to say, but the whisper doesn’t even leave your lips. Time’s up.

"I better jog on before I miss my stop again… Nice meeting you," he says embarrassingly, not knowing what to do with his busy arms, wanting to probably squeeze your hand but thinking better of it before rapidly taking off his glasses, precariously balancing on the bridge of his nose. Your raincoat brushes his grey-clay gabardine as the bus is stopping again and finally opens its doors. He squeezes himself between the others, stuttering and apologising while making his way out. He adds before he gets off: "I will see you… on the flip-flop."

On the flip-flop?

Stepping out, he’s sheepishly smiling at you before partly disappearing behind the automatic closing doors. His face takes on features expressing pure dread, as he seems to realise he has omitted a crucial element. Through the doors, you hear him shout at the departing bus:

"THE NAME IS STEVEN BY THE WAY"

The belly laugh you get after that has been the best you’ve had in years. You don’t care about the passenger sending either a concerned look or a smile to share your hilarity. It's the kind of laugh that fills one’s core with ease and light. When you brush the corner of your eyes to dry saline drops, you are desperately, positively wrecked with joy.

Morning after morning, Steven becomes part of your daily routine. His illuminating smile. His wave. Your cheerful “Good Morning!”. Your re-found sense of comfort. The usual empty seat on his left becomes yours. Habits have the reputation of dying hard. You enjoy loneliness until your craving for connection is so strong that you can finally rejoice at the prospect of long conversations with your friends and parents. A coping mechanism that served you well these recent years, creating distance when everything becomes too much. Allowing your mind to be consumed by objects of desire and passion. Plus, what law firm would complain about the ability to work intensely for eight hours straight? Your addiction to seclusion has its ups… and lows. At one point, you can feel how your mind is desperate for an authentic interaction. As starved as your stomach that morning in the bus. However, you perceive that for Steven, starvation ignites from elsewhere. There’s no self-infliction. No harmful habits are involved. He did not choose seclusion; not like you. Seclusion seems to have chosen him. That’s when your endearment turns into something more profound. Steven isn’t really the shy guy that you first thought; avoiding social interactions. On the contrary, as you observe him day to day, it turns out that’s the other way around: Steven is so driven and desperate to connect with others, with so much enthusiasm … that it becomes awkward for most people on the other end. And that’s what most people are afraid of: deep and uncompromised consideration, with an intent to genuinely bond. And who is brave enough to let the mask down before a stranger? You understand what Steven can’t. People fear the possibility of attachment —his intent to truly bond— because they fear vulnerability. Steven was the opposite of everything you ever knew. The opposite of masculine stereotypes. Gentle. Caring. Willing to be vulnerable . Even the choice of his food was a far cry from the raw, bloody, virile steak. More than that, the more you come to know Steven, the more you come to redefine falling in love. Until now, you had experienced the rush of falling. The intense months of passion and then the degradation throughout the years. You had always thought the butterflies were the predictable sign of true, unyielding attachment. The sign that someone is a match for you. Then … Why was it never good enough to sustain a relationship? The fire of passion is all good and well. However, what good is it when comfort is never built? When the wood is lacking, and there’s no fire left; what is left? As one would expect, there’s always a bit of nerves to a new encounter, but it had become abundantly clear that even if there was alchemy, meeting Steven each morning wasn’t the nerve-wracking experience that you ordinarily had with men. Instead, it was soothing. Your favourite TV show after a strenuous day. The purring of your little black and white cat on your lap. Your decade-old copy of your favourite book that has lived in your high-school backpack, dog-eared pages, spine broken, yet losing none of its powerful story. Steven was all that and more; conveying a tranquillising warmth that felt like home . When we are loved through passion and passion alone, what interest does that person really have in you ? Besides the butterflies? Besides the attraction? All that’s left is a fusion of well-matched bodies. And when the chemical reactions finally fade, as the neural pathways are used to the rush of hormones, what is left to celebrate? In your hard-earned opinion, passion is more about losing oneself in another than truly knowing the other. Lonely were some nights in your tiny flat cramped in the heart of Camden. Lonelier it was to be loved by someone who believed that passion could build and solve all. And for a time, you were no exception.

So, when Steven naturally places his hands on your shoulder, as any friend would, showing you a paragraph of his readings about an artefact, saying: “Oh, no, no, that’s impossible. You’ve actually never seen it?". Your head says no. “Oh, all righ’ then. You’re in for a treat now, aren't you! I’m pretty sure you’ll love it. Come by the museum Thursday, yeah?”. You’re convinced that that guy doesn’t want the passion . He merly wants to share his favourite place to ever exist in the world. Romance has nothing to do with it.

When Steven holds his sides for laughing too long, one morning, when you compare Donna to a velociraptor, you feel as if you’ve known him for years, and is this what a best friend feels like ?

When you gently nudge him to point out at the window an advertising sign for Cammas Hall, revealing how you absolutely adore going to the countryside, just north-east of London, and Steven leans in so very close to you, as to make a confession: “Their maize maze is mental, innit? Ah! Say that three times fast. Maize maze, maize maze … ”. And you laugh; you know there isn’t an ulterior motive. No excuse to get close or physical. The glimmer of copper in his eyes tells another narrative. Again, he just wants to be a part of, to make you a part of .

When Steven sits in silence beside you, exhausted from his sleep condition, and finally drowses off; only for his head to fall on your shoulder, your heart doesn’t hammer. You run your hand through his oh-so-soft brown curls to clear his face; to ensconce his head in the crook of your neck, as a mother would do for a child. The tenderness living under your chest radiates and encompasses the both of you. You just want him to be okay. And you can only hope that it is the same for him.

In fact, you’re pretty sure. Because it’s another element with Steven: he doesn’t make you doubt his attention or his building affection. He lays it bare, for everyone to see. Just like his bubble. Every paper is about superheroes these days. It’s filling the news and every talk show. They aren’t talking about unsung heroes, those from ordinary life; those who lay bare their hearts.

There is no game here. No “can’t wait to get to the next base”. As if Steven would be forever happy to have those simple moments to share. Alchemy is just a bonus. Not the other way around. I’m not imagining this conversation, am I? You swear that sentence could have come straight out of your mouth.

You think again about your loneliness, your “almost-addiction”, and how it shields you from the bad … and the good. With Steven nearby, seclusion appears to be less attractive. And the outer world feels like a decent place again.

Changing harmful habits is a challenge. Yet, with the right person, it seems to fall like the scab of an old wound, rather than a vivisection.

It was both wonderful and terrifying … that one person, one encounter, could change so much.

The picture of Steven Grant is constructing itself. Even its flaws.

Attentive, caring, devoted to what he loves. A sensibility and sensitivity like an acute nerve, exposed to the elements. You know all that. That’s why when Donna crushes his hopes to be a tour guide yet again, you truly question how those devastating interactions are pretty much all the socialising he gets. He has colleagues, but friends ? Surely, this isn’t healthy. Adding to that, his sleeping condition is bringing questions to the surface, when one morning, he’s thrilled about his new puzzle, a new variation of the Rubik’s Cube. A tetrahedron that will undoubtedly keep him awake this time .

"Oh, it’s ace. Yeah, it’s amazing. New shape, new algorithms, you know what I mean?"

"So, you’re able to sleep," you point out a cup of warm coffee in your hand, sitting next to him. "It’s just that you … won’t?" There’s nothing accusatory, you’re just pointing out the incoherence.

You’re working in a law firm, for God’s sake. Finding incoherences and counter-arguments is what you do. Your ex had a lovely little nickname for that, calling you “The Scalpel”. Acute questions. Pushing and inquiring where it hurts. Incisive . “Can’t you stop analysing and arguing on every fucking point all the time? Just … let it go ”. At that time, you were pretty sure you were mostly cutting through bullshit. But now, Steven is at your side, vulnerable and sensible and right, this time, it’s different, don’t be such a fucking scalpel, dumbass, you admonish yourself.

The white of his eyes is more visible, and his forehead wrinkles, as he stares wide at you. He babbles a confused explanation; how of course he can sleep, but, you know, his body wants to get up and wander about, he’s not an insomniac or narcoleptic or anything now is he. And he laughs awkwardly— and he crosses your eyes again and oh, oh— he realises that’s exactly what you assumed. But yeah, nothing to worry about, the sleepy part was fine, it’s the dreams you see. The vivid dreams that make Steven exhausted and how is this a medical condition you think racingly; when dreaming is more exhausting than living ?

There and then, the perfect picture that you’ve assembled of Steven begins to crack. Like an oil painting, as time does its work, the thick layers of paint begin to split and break. Reluctantly showing the rough sketches under; exposing the wood beneath. You were wondering how deep the fractures were. If the cracks you were witnessing were just the thin upper layer of varnish giving up, in need of light restoration. Or were the lacerations so deep that they would eventually break the painting apart? If it was ever the case, would Steven be the whole piece of work; or merely a section of it ?

But you don’t press . You do not invade and question. No arguments or counter-arguments.

Somehow, you think you understand.

Aren’t we all parts and pieces, holding together by sheer will?

#steven grant #oscar isaac #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockely x you #moon knight #moon knight tv #moon knight fanfic #ao3 #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #steven grant imagine #jake lockley imagine #wholesome #the london daily ride

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