#even as they clambered off him with a curse

[whumpthisway]

considering I'm usually a big comfort fan, I'm having a fun time torturing this oc of mine. he's having a pretty bad day. oops.

[retiredteabag]

The soul does not lie

synopsis: Sukuna allows tedious nonsense when he can feel your soul's cravings.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Though he hardly mentions it, Sukuna can, in fact, feel your soul in a way that a normal sorcerer never could. Knowing this helps to make sense of the fact that the man can always tell when you are distressed, even when you try to hide it.

You had discovered this little ability of his when he had come stomping in from the gardens one day while you watched unblinkingly at a horror film.

With your eyes only visible through the slots of your fingers you looked up to see him standing, arms crossed, in the entry way of his chambers.

"What is it that brings you fear?" He had thundered.

"W-what... no, nothing, I'm just watching a movie, see?" You flipped your phone around for the man too see but he did not take his eyes off your form.

"I do not repeat myself." His four eyes were squinted and his eyebrows arched in a dangerously attractive way.

"Kuna' it's a horror movie, that's all, I'm not really scared." You finally announced to the rolling of four red eyes.

"Your soul states otherwise." He quipped before drawing close to try and see what had your soul trembling so fearfully. He was disappointed, to say the least when he was unable to identify what was so "horrific" about your film.

And that marked the moment you realized that Sukuna was able to feel you in a way you could not understand.

Sukuna was NOT a gentleman, he was far, far from it. He loved to bring terror to the masses, very rarely did he allow another beings to so much as speak in his presence. He did, however, have "soft spots" for creatures that sparked his interest, and those remarkably loyal.

Even so, he did not make efforts to calm your nerves when you were anxious. He did not feel the slightest effect in his chest when your sorrow was palpable. He would certainly not allow for time to be wasted on your souls quivering's. That-was none of his concern.

It was not as if he was taking any actions when he allowed your pathetic "cuddling" nonsense when he felt the pangs of misery that surrounded your essence.

You had tried to hold him in the past but he did not see the use in wrapping oneself around another. Even so, he found himself pretending to sleep (even though he did not need it) when he sensed your desperation for his touch.

Likewise, when he could feel the shaky and childish excitement that bled from your soul when you were happy, he could not seem to help but humor you.

As mentioned, Sukuna does not require sleep like your helpless human form. Still, it was not uncommon for the king of curses to close his eyes, relaxing in his ultimate power. Be it when he bathes, when he is lounging on his palace's engawa, when he is seated on his throne, or even when he reclines himself along his chamber's bed.

Sukuna had his eyes closed one evening, feeling his power splay out from his body, grasping at the forms of everyone within his domain. When he sensed your spirit, quickly approaching his chambers.

He made the decision then to seem uninterested when you clambered through the doors.

He could hear the switch in your step as you drew in a breath, clearly forgetting what you had wished to say at the sudden image before you.

The bloodthirsty man had never looked more like a jungle cat, lying atop his bed in such a lazy fashion. He felt the exact moment your soul leapt. He knew you had covered your mouth as your heavy breathing had dulled despite your heartbeat climbing to unusual heights.

He knew of your antics. Having felt you chew on each of his biceps several times. You had that same giddiness now. It was simply that he did not care to move that he kept his eyes closed. Pretending not to notice as you took out your phone, your feet dancing around him. He'll allow you to take your ridiculous photos, he's too... relaxed... to... take issue with your senseless mischief.

He could tell you had finished when he heard you pocket your phone once more, your hands covering your beating heart, you leaned down, holding your breath. The king of curses had to keep himself from squishing his face in ....disgust.... as you planted a chaste kiss in the space between his lower eye and his upper lip.

"You're too precious." You quietly whisper. Brushing your hand softly through his hair. And Sukuna rolled his eyes behind his lids.

Such foolishness he has never seen. Even so- he will allow it.

[hollandsangel]

move over | m. sturniolo

okAY here we go this is my first sturniolo fic please be nice to me i am afraid

ps if you’d like to be tagged in any (possible) future fics comment 🍜

summary: matt needs a bigger bed

wc: 1k

warnings: matt x fem!reader, cursing, nightmares? no description really, just funny and fluffy 🫡 all the triplets are in it but reader is dating matt!

..does anyone remember that one video where matt said chris never sleeps in his own bed? well…

gif by @mattsturnioloarchive !

you feel yourself slipping back into consciousness, and you can tell from the soft, pale blue light of matt’s bedroom that it’s morning. matt’s fast asleep behind you, resting on his stomach with you tucked up into his side, his right arm slung over your waist. you’re already upset that you have to pee, the idea of crawling out of the sleep-warm bed and leaving your boyfriend’s cozy embrace is not an appealing one, but the nagging in your bladder won’t go away.

with a sleepy sigh you stretch your arm out just enough to the tap the screen of your phone, the numbers 8:23 glaring back you. you still don’t have to be up for another hour and a half, which you think is an acceptable amount of time left to lay in matt’s arms and snooze a bit more, even if you don’t really need anymore sleep.

it’s a bit tricky to clamber out of bed without waking the sleeping boy next to you. trying to keep from dragging the duvet with you when you slide out. you tuck matt back in properly before you wander off to his bathroom. softly, you click the door shut, and it, along with your sleep-hazy mind, muffles any sounds coming from outside the bathroom.

for once, chris slept in his own bed, knowing you’d be sleeping over and nick was editing the video meant to go up later this afternoon early into the morning. it’s too early for him to be waking up on his own but something stirs him into wakefulness, his heart beating a little faster than it should be.

matt had woken up for a mere second when you slipped out of bed and hasn’t fallen back into the depth of his sleep, waiting for you to come back. he’s just barley alert enough to hear shuffling from down the hall, getting louder until the person responsible is standing at the crack in the door.

“matt?” chris whispers, peeking into the bedroom.

matt groans and rolls over just until he can see his brother over his shoulder, “what, chris?”

“i had a fucked up dream, dude,” chris says, padding further into the room, “where’s y/n?”

matt turns a little closer to his brother, facing him now, “bathroom,” he mumbles, “what was it about?”

chris is still standing in the middle of the room, phone held loosely in his hand, “you got into a fuckin’ car accident, a really bad one” he admits, feeling a bit foolish and juvenile for running to his brother after a bad dream, “can i sleep in here?”

matt’s face softens and he rubs his eye, “yeah, ‘course.” he says, watching chris slowly walk towards the bed, “that’s her side,” he says though when chris tries to lay where you had been.

chris fakes a scowl and matt makes a face back, sleep still tugging at his mind. the two of them lay back down, back to back, tugging the covers over their shoulders.

you finish washing your hands and shut off the bathroom light. rubbing at your eyes, you make your way back to matt’s room, looking forward to sleeping a bit longer. upon wandering in you’re met with more than one body under the blankets, making you stop in your tracks.

“chris?” you wonder outloud, stopped in the door way.

matt answers before his brother can, “he had a bad dream,” he explains to you, face smushed into the pillow, leaving the words all muffled and extra groggy.

“sure,” you say, as if chris sleeping in matt’s bed doesn’t surprise you (it doesn’t). dragging your feet over to your side of the bed to matt, where he’s taking up a bit too much room. “move over,” you tell him when he peels the blankets back for you. he shuffles back with a little too much effort and you climb back into bed.

once you’re settled matt scoots a little bit closer to you to make more room for the three people now in his queen sized bed, but also because he never passes up an excuse to hold you a little tighter.

you doze in and out, matt’s soft breath against your neck keeping you a little bit dazed but not quite enough to lull you back to sleep fully. it must be nearing 10 am now, more bright sun spilling in from the cracks in the curtains above the bed. you think chris is awake too, hearing breathy little chuckles every now and then. you reach for your phone, deciding on a mindless scroll through instagram.

after a few minutes it sounds like nick has also woken up, his footsteps audible in the bedroom above. you hear him coming down the stairs, and you think he stops in the kitchen until his voice fills the quiet halls.

“chris?” he asks, standing in his brother’s empty bedroom, confused as to why he’s not in bed.

“in here,” chris speaks up, waiting for nick to press the door open.

he does, standing at arms length with a skeptical look on his face, almost afraid of what he might find. “um…hello, what are you doing in here?” nick asks, finally crossing the threshold.

“he had a bad dream,” matt says into your shoulder, startling you. you didn’t know he was awake.

“i had a bad dwream,” chris says in that stupid pouty voice that drives all of you insane, no doubt looking at nick with puppy dog eyes.

“oh…kay,” nick says and you laugh at the suspicion still evident in his tone.

“did you see the tik tok i sent you?” chris is laughing but stops abruptly when matt kicks him in the calf, which makes you giggle into your boyfriend’s arm.

“yeah, but i’m a bit more preoccupied with the absurdity of the three of you in matt’s bed right now,” nick says in his distinct deadpan drawl, which only makes you smile more.

“c’mon nick you might as well join us,” you say, earning a loud, over exaggerated groan from matt, his arms tightening around your waist.

you think nick must oblige because he doesn’t say anything for a second, coming closer to the bed.

“move over, dummy fuck,” he says to chris, who laughs out loud and scoots closer to matt.

“i hate them,” matt whispers in your ear.

tags! @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears

[sublimitymp3]

Do you, brother?

Pairing ✵ Aegon Targaryen/Younger sister!reader

Warnings ✵ Hotd season 2 spoilers, incest, swearing, smut (Dub-con, p in v, fingering, choking, slight breeding kink), mentions of death, mentions of child loss, descriptions of birth, and heavy themes

Word count ✵ 2.6k

Summary ✵ The death of your son leaves behind a shadow upon everything, and after an overwhelming funeral procession for him, your evasive brother finally comes to you in the night.

Jaehaerys

Your little boy. Jae-hae-rys. The syllables roll off your tongue in a smooth manner, as they always have done. Sweet Jaehaerys. The very thought of the name conjures memories in your mind of the day you labored him and his twin into the world, screaming and writhing in pain as you felt as though you were being torn apart at the seams. He was a small, splotchy babe, who exited you covered in blood and wailing and squirming in the maester's arms. But even through your delirium and searing pain, you knew then what love was.

He was a precocious boy, eager to learn and to explore the world. "He has the makings of a very fine king," you recall your grandfather telling you once. The thought of Jaehaerys on that throne made your stomach feel uneasy, and the words loomed over you, lingering in the back of your mind and refusing to leave.

Even now it still lingers.

The once dreadful notion has been reduced to a silly daydream, for Jaehaerys will never be king. He will never grow, never explore the world, never ride his dragon, and you will never cradle him in your arms again.

It feels wrong to carry on. It feels wrong to do much of anything with the knowledge that your sweet Jaehaerys will exist only in memory now. Your mother tries to console you, to hug you in her cold arms, but you do not want her now. After all, what does she know about losing a child? The funeral procession your grandfather insisted on felt even more wrong than anything else.

Your son, the martyr.

Hundreds of the smallfolk clambered over each other to catch a glimpse of your little boy, and you. Your tears bought their sympathy and a new resentment for Rhaenyra, but it mattered little to you. They had sewn his head back on, you saw. It was an ugly sight, where black thread met severed skin.

Jaehaerys

How you longed to climb over to the cart carrying his body just so you could hold your boy one last time, but your mother's steadying and sobering grip on your knee kept you from doing so. "Deepest sympathies, my queen!" "Curse Rhaenyra!" "We love you, our queen!" Their shouts of support felt more like a ringing in your ear than anything. You didn't want this. You only wanted everything to be quiet.

You had a headache and felt nothing but exhaustion, and you couldn't even bring yourself to weep any longer. It was as if you were wrung dry. You cursed under your breath at the seemingly endless flights of stairs in the Red Keep, for all you wanted to do was to go and lay in bed. But then you saw him. First, you saw his hair, hair much like yours, only it was messily cropped short. Next was his eyes, violet in color and mirrors of your own. The scowl upon his handsome face, well, you didn't care for it, but you couldn't pry your eyes away. You found yourselves gawking at each other on the stairwell, and only then did you remember how much Jaehaerys looked like Aegon.

"Your grace, I-" Is all you can say before Aegon quickly turns away from you and hurries down the steps. You stand there, watching as the head of silver hair swiftly disappears from your line of sight. You snap your mouth close, pressing your lips into a firm line and continuing up the stairs. 'Foolish girl, when has he ever confronted anything in his life?' you cannot help but think.

You don't see your husband for around two weeks. Fleeting glimpses in the hallways, mentions of him from your mother, and murmurs about the king from the courtiers are all you have of him during that time.

As you prepare yourself for bed, you try to banish all thoughts of him from your mind to get some semblance of much-needed sleep. The nights seemed so long and torturous now, and yet you hardly could find sleep no matter what you did. Tonight was the first night in what seemed like centuries that you finally felt tired, and you wasted no time settling into bed to drift into a slumber.

You dream odd things, nonsensical things you'll forget when you wake, mostly. And even more odd, you begin to dream of Aegon. Of his strangely soft hands on you, of him pushing your nightdress up to your hips, and of him maneuvering you onto your back. It feels real, but you know it isn't. He won't come near you, no, not now. But even your mind begins to suggest otherwise.

With an irritated whine, you feel yourself being pulled from your sleep. It is only when you open your eyes to curse at what you assumed was a maid disturbing you, that your assumptions are quickly proven wrong.

Aegon is on top of you, staring unblinkingly into your eyes. Salty, hot tears drip from him onto your face, and his hand clamps down over your mouth before you can question him. You must make a face unwittingly, for he begins to speak,

"Shh, shh, it's alright, it's just me...just me," Aegon soothes, and you smell the wine on his warm breath. He's drunk. Or at the very least near drunk. "I-I am sorry, sorry for you, sorry for our boy. Oh, my poor son," his words are ever so slightly slurred, and he retracts himself to sit on the edge of the bed and weep in his drunken stupor.

You sit up, a bit startled to discover your nightgown bunched up by your hips. Your smallclothes were even pulled down a bit, but not fully. You realize now what he was attempting to do, and you can only sit in a tense silence with him. "He was my son too, you know," he mumbles like a petulant child, once he catches a glimpse of your resentful face.

"I grieve him just as much as you, mayhaps even more. He was my heir, my only heir," his words linger in the stagnant air, not sitting well with you. His gaze unnerves you even more, staring at you expectantly. The implications in his voice are clear to you; he means to beget another heir.

"Take another wife then, I am tired," The brazen words escape you (before you can think) in a whisper, and you lay back down, wasting no time to turn your back to him. "I don't want to again, I can't again. No more, Aegon." and you close your eyes, letting your tears roll down the side of the face.

You refuse to subject yourself to it all over again. To the aches, the uncomfortable swell of your belly, and the terrible pain birth brought. You know what it will all end in. It's a deep knowledge that has burrowed itself between your bones, embedded itself in your brain, and wrapped around your heart.

The Stranger will come for you all, surely.

The bed dips again as he shifts himself closer to you, and he grabs your shoulder in a bruising grip to turn you onto your back. His face gets so close to yours that the tip of his nose nudges your own, and you feel his warm breath fanning against your lips.

"I wasn't asking what you thought of it. You're my wife, my little sister. You were born for me to have. A king needs an heir, surely you understand that? You're not a stupid girl," he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, mockingly, almost.

He manages to wedge himself between your thighs, and you feel his wandering fingers pull down your smallclothes. "Aegon-" "Don't say a word, don't say a damn thing," he interrupts, irritated by your unwilling mood. "Wouldn't it be nice to have another little babe to rock in your arms? Hm? We'll make more, yes? Enough to fill this fucking castle," Aegon grunts, pushing his fingers past your folds. A whine involuntarily escapes you at the invasive feeling, and even more so as he pumps his fingers in and out.

In and out, in and out, in and out.

You feel your body give into his ministrations and get wet. 'Betrayal,' you think. A pleased hum escapes from him as you leak onto his fingers, and you feel your cheeks burn with shame. This isn't right. No, no after what has happened.

"You weep down here too, did you know, sweet sister?" He mumbles, pulling his fingers out of you just to drag them along your dripping folds. A shiver runs up your spine at his actions, forcing you to bite your tongue to muffle any noises. You don't want him to hear you. You don't want to give him that satisfaction.

He fully retracts his fingers, and you know what is next. He undresses himself quickly, untying his breeches and tunic with a practiced speed before pulling your nightdress off of you, leaving you vulnerable and cold. He chuckles at your little shivers and the way you wrap your arms around yourself protectively. "Shh, do not worry, you'll be warm soon enough," he laughs as if this is a lighthearted moment between two lovers. Your stomach churns slightly.

"You're so beautiful, you know. I've never thought otherwise. So pretty like this, all for me," he whispers against the shell of your ear as he lines himself up with your cunt.

The burning stretch of the intrusion is what you feel first. It has been long since he bedded you, and your body had forgotten the feel of him. "F-Fuck, how are you so tight? Like you're trying to squeeze me to death," he groans against your neck, before suckling bruises into your soft skin. He bottoms out completely, and you feel his tip brushing against your sweet spot.

It's overwhelming for you. It's too much. You close your eyes and let your mind drift to happier days. Days long before you called Aegon husband, days when you would play with your sister by your mother's skirts. Days when the most daunting task was getting out of bed or letting the maids bathe you. It almost brings a smile to your face. Almost.

Your blissful daydreams and nostalgia are interrupted by Aegon gently slapping your cheek repeatedly, rudely reminding you of where you are now. "Hey, hello, where are you? Look at me, for fucks sake," he grumbles, slowing his thrusts you only now are noticing. He grips your face in his hands, forcing you to stare into his familiar violet eyes.

It's cruel to have to stare into your own eyes while this happens, you think.

"Don't do that again. Think of me," he whispers against your lips, his voice a bit shaky and heavy with lust. "Only me, and this."

His thrusts resume, and his lips are soon pressed against yours. He kisses you with a greedy, bruising force as if he's trying to devour you whole.

"Messy girl," he muses as he wipes drool off your chin with his thumb, and the action is oddly tender to you. The tip of his cock keeps brushing against your sweet spot, making your mind turn to mush and your legs turn to jelly.

You hate how Aegon has this talent to make your resolve slip with only a few touches and kisses. You could be upset with him for weeks on end, and yet all he had to do was hold you down and you'd soon forget whatever grievance you held against him.

"A-Aegon, brother, please-" you whine, even more so as he maneuvers your knees to press against your chest. He holds you down like this and the new angle allows him to push further into you. The sound of skin against skin reverberates in your chambers around you as he drives into you at a faster pace.

"Stay still, stay still. Quit squirming, don't you trust me, sweet girl?" He huffed, still irked by your light resistance. His hand reaches back down to your weeping cunt, and his thumb rubs gentle circles into your bud. The added stimulation makes you cry out with overwhelming pleasure, and you feel like your very bones are gyrating.

"There we go," he smirks, dragging out his words. He's found the combination that makes you fall apart around him and he finds it satisfying. "You like that, don't you? 'Course you do, sweet girl. You were made for me, made to take my cock and bear my children. You were born to be mine. Nothing more, nothing less," He groans, his own peak beginning to build up.

His words ignite a fire in your belly, and it feels so wrong. His words are mocking, demeaning even, and on any other given day and situation you'd have retorted and isolated yourself from him until you calmed down. But this night was not simply any other night. His words and his movements bring you closer and closer to the edge, and the coil in your belly tightens up as it prepares to snap.

"Aegon, gods, keep going, please don't stop-" you moan, lost now in the bliss of it all. You selfishly buck your hips against his, desperate for your own impending release.

"I got you, pretty girl. Go on, let go for me, sweet sister," and with his words, the tightly wound coil in you snaps. It is a white-hot pleasure that wracks through your body, and you feel as though you are floating.

You come to when you feel Aegon increasing the pace of his already rough thrusts. He is close, you can tell. You have no strength to tell him to pull out, to beg him not to finish inside. He's fucked you too good for that. Maybe that was his plan after all, you think.

"F-Fuck, I'm so close, sweetling. I'll fill you up, make sure you're nice and full with my seed. In nine moons time, we'll have another little boy, hm? Another silver-haired beauty," he pants, before his grip that still pushes your knees against your chest tightens. He brings one hand to squeeze around your throat, and you feel his fingers dig into the sides of your neck. There will be a bruise there in the morning, no doubt.

His movements are rough and fast as he chases his release, and soon, his steady pace falters and his hips stutter to a halt. "Gods be good," he moans, slumping over to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Spurts of his warm and sticky seed coat your velvety walls, a familiar feeling. Surely you will be with child by the next month.

Exhaustion is what you feel. Exhaustion, and a pang of sadness in your heart. Another babe you will have to labor into the world, another pawn in this war. Another victim of this needless bloodshed, as brother and sister tear each other apart.

Aegon gently kisses your lips, rubbing your stomach with his hand, no doubt imagining you are pregnant already. "I love you, I really do." He whispers, holding you close and breaking you from those thoughts of impending doom.

Violet eyes meet violet eyes, and you gaze upon his features that are not dissimilar to your own. The very same blood that runs through you, runs through him. The same blood that ran through your son, you think. You do not know what to make of his drunken declaration, and it is like your body speaks for you then;

"Do you, brother?"

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[eddiesghxst]

small blurb of best friend!reader spending the night at eddies and while theyre brushing their teeth getting ready for bed (shes in a tank top n panties) he notices that she doesnt have a gag reflex🫣

oh he’d go fucking nuts🤭

18+ — MINORS DNI

————

Eddie feels like a perv for doing this. He feels guilty and shameful and all things wrong for doing this, but he can’t help it—- any moral thinking was wiped away when all the blood in his head rushed to his dick.

It was stupid, really. You and Eddie were just brushing your teeth, like any normal humans before bed. Except you were wearing that flimsy little tank top that hardly even covers anything, and Eddie… well Eddie’s not a god, of course he was looking at your tits.

They’re perfect, hard nipples pressed against the thin material of your top, a sinful jiggle waving through them as you gently work your toothbrush over your teeth. Eddie was mesmerized.

And that was fine—- Eddie’s half hard dick could be calmed with a few boner-killing thoughts, no problem.

Except all hope of bidding away his clear arousal flew out the window the second you brushed your tongue and pushed your toothbrush so far back that Eddie expected to hear a gag, but surprisingly didn’t hear a single sound of struggle. And as if you having no gag reflex wasn’t enough, you had to lean over the sink, spit out the white paste, and happily hum as you did it.

Eddie thinks he blacked out after that, because the next thing he remembers is his fist tightly pumping his aching cock like his life depended on it.

After you finished he made some lazy excuse about needing to take a leak and locked the door behind you before hastily shoving his sweats down. The second Eddie pushed down the waistband of his sweats to release his cock, he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

Eddie hasn’t been this hard in a while, pulsing and throbbing and begging for release as he wraps his hand around his tip and starts stroking. His eyes flutter shut, jaw dropping as he leans forward to press a hand against the blank wall of the bathroom. He mutters a curse to himself, shut eyes squeezing in pleasure as he thinks about the sinful act you’d just put on for him.

He imagines you atop of him, weepy cunt swallowing him whole as you bounce on his cock, pretty tits moving with each sway. He imagines reaching up and gathering your tits in each of his hands, squeezing them to watch the way your soft skin gives way beneath his fingertips, molding against his touch like they were made for him.

He lets a moan slip before placing his knuckles between his teeth, shakily breathing as he quickens his strokes. It’s been less than five minutes and he’s pathetically close, but he doesn’t care.

He imagines you clambering off his lap to drop on your knees between his legs, wasting no time to wrap your lips around his cock and take him all the way to the back of your throat. He shivers when he replays the memory of you practically deep throating your toothbrush, pink tongue tauntingly on display.

He imagines pulling out of your mouth to tap his sticky tip against the thick of your tongue, and he imagines you would sinfully hum the way you did when you spit out your toothpaste.

He’s on the brink of cumming when you knock, a worried tone bracing your voice as you speak up, “Eddie? Everything okay?”

And the second Eddie opens his mouth to answer, he cums. Sticky white ropes of cum spurt from the sensitive red tip of his cock, coating his knuckles and messily dripping onto the floor. “Y-yeah I’m—- fuck.” he throbs beneath his touch, legs threatening to give out beneath the weight of his pleasure.

His breath is bated and shaky, wide eyes watching as more cum spills with each aching throb. He glances at the doorway and curses when he still sees your shadow beneath the door. He looks back at his cock and curses because the white sticky substance just won’t stop dribbling from his cock. “Uh—- I’m good. I’m fine.”

He hears you leave and he shuts his eyes, leaning forward to rest his head against the cool wall before him as he gives his cock a few more lazy strokes. He braves one last glance at his cock as he finally finishes off and he lets out a breathy laugh of disbelief.

He’s not sure how he’s gonna be able to look you in the eyes after this.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

May I have Childhood friends to lovers with Loki or Bruce Wayne pleaseee… thank you!

.⋆｡For the Longest Time｡⋆.

Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

You were always there in his life, just like he was for you. A little jealousy and a clingy eight year old might finally give you the push you both need

Warnings: fluff, jealousy, simp!Bruce, vague mention of hook-ups, little bit of Dick’s abandonment issues, mutual pining WC: 2.5k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Where’s Y/N?” A little voice spoke up from somewhere over Bruce’s left shoulder. He groaned and buried his face deeper in the silk pillowcase, he had only just crawled into bed. The mattress dipped as Dick hauled himself onto the bed, making Bruce swallow down a curse.

“What’s up?” He rolled onto his back and pulled back the blankets enough for a little body to slip under the covers. He received a kick to his very sore ribs as Dick clambered over him in his attempt to settle in the crook of Bruce’s shoulder. The eight year old sighed happily and cuddled up close to his adoptive father.

Bruce smiled despite the throbbing pain in his torso and the early wake up. “What did you need?” 

“Where’s Y/N?” He asked again, propping his chin on Bruce’s collarbone.

“She’s at her apartment?” His voice tilted up, confused at the question. Sure, you were at the manor quite frequently given that you helped Bruce with Dick’s care but you had never stayed the night, save for once when both you and Bruce were too drunk to even move.

Dick huffed, his bottom lip poking out as he looked away from Bruce. “That’s stupid.” The older man swallowed back a chuckle, instead he placed a hand on the boy’s back, his palm almost covering the entire thing. 

“Why’s it stupid?” He shut his eyes again. 

“Cause I want her to live with me!” 

“Hmm, maybe you can go live with her and I can finally get some sleep.” Tiny fingers dug into his armpit, making Bruce yelp and raise an eyebrow at Dick.

“No. I don’t wanna move my toys. Make her live here.” Bruce sighed heavily, sinking further into his mattress.

Yeah, right. He wanted to say but held his tongue. He had broached the idea when he had first taken Dick in, needing an extra set of hands for the rowdy child but you had quite literally laughed him off, just the same as you did when you were both eighteen and he had tried to give you one of his credit cards. You were fiercely independent and while you loved Dick, you still had your own work and life.

“You could try, chum but I think she likes her house more.” 

“Then let’s go there today!” Dick pushed himself up onto his knees, eyes shining with this brilliant idea. 

“Chum-“ But Dick had rushed out of the room before Bruce could get another word out, leaving him to contemplate whether he was going to break his son’s heart by falling back asleep or get up for the day and end up with a massive headache later. Distantly, he could hear Dick chattering away to himself and he knew he would have to raid your medicine cabinet in a few hours.

——————

Dick practically flew up the stairs of your apartment building, his backpack rattling with the sound of loose Lego bricks and inevitably a book he would get you to read him, as Bruce trailed behind, dark sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. He himself held a bag of food from Alfred and a bottle of your favourite wine as a sorry for the unexpected visit. He could at least pat himself on the back for delaying Dick just long enough for the boy to get some food and Bruce to get a couple hours of sleep.

“Come on! You’re so slow!” Dick whined as he reached the landing on your floor. He bounced on the balls of his feet before he huffed and threw open the door, darting down the empty hallway. The rattling of his bag grew distant and then, he was banging on your door with all the might his little fists could muster.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Bruce cringed, his head ducked down as he passed by the other apartments on your floor, silently apologising to each of them. 

“Chum you can’t-“ But your door opened right then and the breath was knocked from his lungs. You were wearing a dark red dress that perfectly matched the matte lipstick on your plump lips. The fabric perfectly clung to you, making your curves even more prominent. You were still wearing your slippers and only had one earring in but you were still the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen, just as you always had been.

“Well isn’t this a surprise.” Dick wasted no time, throwing himself into your arms, he squealed loudly and buried his face in the crook of your neck. You laughed as his little fingers dug into the neckline of your dress, no doubt ruining the fabric. “I thought there was a monkey at my door with all that noise.” You ran your left hand along his side as you stood up, making Dick giggle and cling to you even tighter. In a couple months, Bruce doubted you’d be able to pick him up anymore.

“I missed you!” You beamed. Bruce felt his knees buckle.

“It’s a good thing you came over then, cause I missed you too!” 

Bruce cleared his throat. “I hope I can be included in that sentiment as well.” You finally looked up at him, your eyes shining like stars. You smirked, biting down on your lip as you gave the man a quick one over.

“Depends, what did you bring me?” 

“So my child doesn’t count?” Dick laughed again, his knees digging into your side. You raised an eyebrow at Bruce who lifted the bottle of wine with a sly smile.

“Why didn’t you start with that? Come on in.” You stepped back into the apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow behind. 

Your home had always been a comfort for Bruce, a safe haven tucked away from the world and his responsibilities. The weight of Batman and being the last Wayne, and even though he loved him dearly, being Dick’s father, lifted from his shoulders as the soft colours of your walls surrounded him. 

You wandered into the kitchen, like you normally did when they stopped by for a visit, Dick chattering away about anything and everything that came into his little mind while Bruce stopped to look at the new photos you had hung up in the living room. Photos of memories he had forgotten. There was one of the both of you in a pillow fort that towered over you, your faces slathered in chocolate from bags of candy at your feet. Another was the 3rd grade dance that your parents had chaperoned, you in a bright pink princess dress complete with fairy wings and a plastic tiara and him in a tiny suit with one of his father’s best ties that was far too big for him. Your high school graduation party where you and Bruce in all your drunken genius decided to race up one of the old trees on the Wayne property and got stuck at the top.

But the most recent one made his heart skip a beat; it was of all three of you curled up on your couch, Dick sound asleep on your lap as Bruce ‘rested his eyes’ while leaning on your shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around both of you as you beamed up at the camera. All of his happiest moments had you in them and for the life of him, he wouldn’t change anything about it.

Bruce turned and spotted your heels by the door, the red-bottomed ones that you only ever used when you wanted to get laid. Something in his stomach turned sour at the thought. “Why are you so dressed up?” He asked as casually as he could though his voice cracked. 

“Yeah! You look pretty!” Dick chirped though his own voice was muffled, no doubt you had already given him a cookie that he shouldn’t be having.

“I have a date,” You cooed (to Dick but Bruce liked to pretend it was for him), “but since you guys are here now. I’ll cancel it.”

“You don’t have to do that. We can go.” Relief made his shoulders sag but Bruce still forced a frown on his lips as you came back around the corner, Dick still perched on your wide hip. You were practically glowing with joy.

You waved him off and pressed a kiss to Dick’s chubby cheek, leaving a bright lipstick stain there. “I would much rather spend the evening with you guys. It also means I get to wear comfy clothes instead of this dumb dress.” Dick slipped from your arms and went to his bag, which he had dropped on the couch.

“Are you sure?” But that wasn’t the question he was really asking. You just smiled at him, putting a hand on his bicep as you leaned in close.

“There’s nowhere else I would rather be. Now let me get changed and we can watch a movie, how’s that sound bud?” Dick grumbled something to the affirmative, making you laugh to yourself as you turned to go to your room but not without a parting squeeze to Bruce’s arm. He watched you go, his gaze dropping to your ass to appreciate the sight for just a moment before he caught himself and turned his attention back to his son.

Dick, who was already observing his father with a curious expression, suddenly lit up with an idea. He covered his mouth with his hand and then disappeared as he fell back onto the cushions, a little laugh escaping him as he landed. Bruce ignored the boy and went to the kitchen to get some snacks together for all of you. 

The TV flicked to life, dousing the apartment with a hazy background noise that served to lead Bruce deeper into the fantasy of this life of domesticity actually being his. If he let himself, he could almost imagine how perfect it would be, just his family spending time together away from the rest of the world. But there was still that nagging fact that you had a date tonight, one that you cancelled for him sure, but a date nonetheless.

You weren’t his wife or his girlfriend, and that made his blood freeze.

He pulled out the cork from the bottle with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, sending a few drops of red liquid directly onto his white shirt. “Fuck.” He groaned and grabbed the dish towel on the counter to try and scrub away at the stain. 

“I can’t leave you alone for a second.” Your smaller hands gripped his waist, turning him around so you could take the towel from him. Bruce let you manhandle him until you could easily rub against his chest but the stain had already set in. Your bottom lip poked out, an almost overwhelming temptation to your oldest friend, before your fingers curled into his belt and tugged him away from the kitchen counter.

Bruce went willingly, eagerly. “I’ve got some of your shirts in my wardrobe, go get changed and I’ll finish up here.” He nodded blankly and wandered away from you.

You watched him go for just a moment before finishing pouring out the wine and laying some of the cheeses Alfred has so thoughtfully packed on a small tray. You grabbed some hopefully not stale crackers from the cabinet and journeyed back into the living room. “What are we watching tonight Dickie?”

Dick looked up from his spot between the couch and coffee table as you sat down with an almost bored expression on his little face. “Star Wars.”

“Duh.” You replied.

Soon Bruce wandered back in. “Why exactly do you have so many of my shirts in your closet?” You shrugged behind your glass, though he knew your cheeks were heated with embarrassment.

“Cause you’re clumsy and I knew I’d have to keep clean clothes for you.” He flopped down on the couch next to you, his arm immediately finding its place across your shoulders.

“Yeah right.” You curled into his side, settling in for a nice little evening.

It was halfway through the movie that Dick climbed onto the couch between you and his dad. “I wish we could stay like this forever.” He muttered wistfully, taking yours and Bruce’s hand into his. You looked at Bruce from over his little head.

“Aw buddy, we can do this whenever you want. You’re always welcome here, you know that.” He shook his head and Bruce's heart sank.

“What do you mean chum?” He asked, wondering if there was something more going on. Dick’s chest inflated as he took in a deep breath.

“But we always go home and you never come with us! You-you don’t really want us, you live so far away. And,” he sighed heavily, giving you the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster, “and you go on dates with people who aren’t my dad. You’ll leave.” His grip on your hand tightened like you would disappear right then.

Bruce’s heart lurched as your lips parted. “You should date him instead! And then we can all live together at home like we should be!” Dick continued and then, he slammed your hand into Bruce’s, forcing your fingers to intertwine.

“Dickie-“

“No! You’re supposed to be together! Even Alfred says so! So just do it already and then we can go home. Together.” His gaze switched to Bruce, who caught his glare. The man swallowed thickly and looked at you and for the first time in his life, Bruce couldn’t tell what you were thinking.

You let out a shaky breath after a moment, your fingers pressing into the back of his hand. He could feel your pulse against his wrist, your heartbeat was fast, almost matching his own. “Maybe you’re right Dickie.”

“What?” The word escaped him like he had just been punched, making your lips curl up into a bashful smile. 

“Maybe, I should be dating you and not those other men who I always end up comparing to you anyway. Maybe I should be going home with you.” 

“I think maybe you should.” Bruce leaned over his son, his free hand coming up to hold your full cheek. “Because I have spent my whole life with you by my side and now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t want you so far away anymore. I want to see your face everyday and hear your voice from beside me every moment that I can.” 

Your eyes dropped to his lips and that was all it took for Bruce to close the distance and finally kissed you like he should have done years ago when he realised that no other woman would live up to the place you carved out in his heart. You immediately melted into him, laying your hand on top of his own. 

Just as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, Dick got up on his knees between you and threw his skinny arms around your necks. You separated just as he shouted, “I told you!” 

You both laughed and hugged him back, sinking back down into the couch all together. Bruce’s chest warmed. Maybe, finally, he could get you to come home.

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[formulawolff]

xx. dog days are over - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 6.2k

warnings: cursing, toto being a mess, discussion of injury, mentions of a car accident, some tension between team principals, age gap relationships, teasing, slight angst, mostly real fluffy shit hehe, yadayadayada

a/n: ummm.. how did we get here? well.. this is the last chapter of my baby :’) i really hope you enjoy the ending! i really am so proud of this series and what is to come! <3

prev. | next.

a muffled voice floods your ears. 

blinking, your lids open, weighed down by this heaviness.

there’s a buzzing pain in your skull, muscles searing with a fiery sensation, burning as you prop yourself up. your helmet is off, tossed approximately three or so feet away. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

you pant for just a moment, shaking your head as the air billows into your lungs. the action pours life back into you, leveling your racing thoughts, your blurry field of vision coming into focus.

alex hovers above you, concern plastered across his features as you stir, coughing slightly.

“what the fuck happ–”

his arms are around you, bringing you tightly against his chest. sobs wrack his torso, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

“holy fuck. h-holy fuck.”

“alex,” as you blink, your line of sight falls on your crumpled car, how the metal curled against the barrier, pieces scattered all around, littering the asphalt, “w-what happened?”

“there was a crash,” his voice is eerily quiet, “i’m not quite sure how it happened or who caused it, but you came flying towards the barrier. you rolled a few times. you were unconscious when i–”

another cry rings out, the driver burying his head in his hands. carefully, you squeeze him against you, “did you–”

you’re cut off as the medics jog up to the scene, an ambulance parked close by. 

“are you okay?”

“yeah!” you nod, “i’m fine.”

“we’re going to have to transport you to the nearest hospital,” the paramedic kneels to your right, “even if you show no signs of external injuries, we would still like to transport you. make sure that everything checks out.”

“do i have to?” you arch a brow, “i feel fine.”

“it’s just a precaution,” the paramedic’s voice is light, laced with a gentleness, “let’s get you on the gurney.”

“can i come with?” alex’s voice sounds to your left.

“don’t you have a race to finish–”

“i’m coming with,” alex repeats, his tone hardened. he rises to his feet, offering you his hands, “come on, let’s go get you checked out.”

“what about james?” you press, accepting his gesture, “what about your points? the fia? alex, you could get in so much trouble–”

“it’s one race.” he scoffs, helping you onto the gurney, “i think i can face the repercussions of leaving one race. i’m a big boy, i can handle it. besides, i’m your emergency contact. i need to be there with you. who’s going to call your parents? toto?”

toto. 

oh god. 

you eyes dart towards the pits, desperately searching for that mercedes logo. yet, it’s too late, as the paramedics start to haul you into the ambulance, alex following in suit. he clambers into the back end, taking your gloved hand into his. 

“you have no idea how fucking scary that was.”

“well that’s the perk of being a bad bitch,” a giggle bubbles up in your throat, “and you know what that perk is?”

“you can’t kill a bad bitch,” the corners of his lips tug upward, fighting a smile.

“what about your phone?” you nudge the driver, “how are you going to get ahold of everyone?”

“simple,” he leans back, his head resting against the equipment, “once we arrive at the hospital and get you situated, i’ll use their phone to call lily. i’ll tell her to ask for access to my driver’s room. you’re lucky you left your phone with mine.”

“we can thank james for that,” you exhale, your body relaxing as the medic slips a pulse oximeter on your index finger. 

the adrenaline was beginning to dissolve, crumbling away to pain. sharp, aching, pain. the paramedic senses your shift in demeanor, clearing his throat.

“feeling some pain?”

“yes,” you wince as you adjust in the limited space of the gurney, “all over.”

“anywhere specific?”

“my neck,” instinctively, your hand reaches upward, rubbing the sensitive area, “i would say it’s a six out of ten there. the rest of my body is more like a two out of ten. i figure it’s just from the impact?”

“exactly,” a chuckle flows from the paramedic’s lips, “although this probably isn’t your first crash, and it won’t be your last, that pain is normal. especially from an impact-related injury. you’ll probably ache for a couple of days.

we’re mainly going to get you in for a ct scan. make sure you’re not bleeding anywhere internally. they’ll probably run a few other tests. i’m not the doctor, but i’m sure you have a concussion.” 

“will they keep me overnight?” the inquiry tumbles out, heart racing as you the anticipation builds, the paramedic sucking in a breath. 

“they probably will. just for observation.”

“great,” you fold your arms across your chest, a pout forming, “how am i supposed to give insight on my near-death experience if i’m stuck at the hospital?”

“don’t worry,” the paramedic shoots you a wink, “i could keep you company if you need it.”

“and she has a boyfriend i’m calling as soon as we get settled. he’ll be more than happy to keep her company.”

the iciness in alex’s tone takes you by surprise, the driver glaring daggers across the gurney. the paramedic shoots you an inquiring glance, earning a shrug from you in response. 

“what can i say? he’s right. and this man is probably losing his shit right now because he can’t be here with me.”

although your tone was lighthearted, in your heart you were well aware of the truth. 

the team principal was more than likely seconds away from losing his shit, barely maintaining his composure. 

and who knew how much longer he would keep it together before cracking completely. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“toto!” 

lewis hamilton pushes through the mass of mercedes crew, “toto!”

although there was much to celebrate today with the conclusion of the race, the british driver was well aware of the harsh reality. 

the team principal’s mind was nowhere focused on the team, his drivers, nor their accomplishments. 

he picks out the large stature of toto wolff, the team principal pacing back and forth, george situated in a chair, a hand holding his chin. there’s no clear emotion across george’s face, but there is a haze of pure and utter fear swathing the team principal, strings of curses flying from his tongue. 

“not doing too hot, is he?” lewis clicks his tongue.

“not at all,” george mutters, shaking his head slightly, “poor bloke is driving himself mad over here. i’m afraid he’s going to start a reign of terror over at the haas paddock.” 

“who caused the accident?” lewis arches a brow, licking his lips.

“hülkenberg,” george tuts, rolling his eyes, “it was a complete accident, really. toto has only reviewed the footage a hundred times or so in the last hour. he thinks it was on purpose, but really it was just a mistake. we know it happens all the time.”

“well,” lewis begins, a sly smirk forming, “when his precious angel is involved, it was no accident. hey, lover boy!” 

toto swivels on his heel, bearing a tight-lipped frown, “what?”

“any updates on your babygirl? do i need to drive you over to the hospital myself? we can storm in and demand her room number.”

“alex texted me about half an hour ago,” george answers, fishing his phone from his pocket, “she’s getting some tests done but we should be able to visit soon.”

“you’re going?” 

“why wouldn’t i?” george shrugs, scrolling along, “that’s my future teammate. i want to make sure she’s okay.” 

“aww georgie,” a chuckle rumbles in the driver’s chest, “are we all going to become besties? a little trio?”

“well your days here are numbered,” george counters, “we won’t be a trio for long.”

“just because i’m going to ferrari doesn’t mean i can’t be your bestie,” lewis puckers his lips, “so, what’s the word? are we going to the hospital soon or what?”

“you’re coming too?” toto’s voice from behind startles the driver, earning a flinch. 

“holy shit!” lewis clutches his chest, “you about gave me a bloody heart attack!”

“you’re not the only one today,” the team principal inhales sharply, “i’m just shocked i kept it together throughout the debrief.”

well, that was not necessarily true.

although george had managed a podium, lewis in p4, toto was visibly distressed. his shirt, normally wrinkled after the chaos of a race day, seemed even more disheveled, his hair a haphazard, fluffy mess. even his piercing, eagle-like gaze was filled with nothing but anguish, an anxious, darkened hue. 

his voice shook throughout the entire post-race debrief. he could barely formulate coherent responses while he was interviewed by the various media outlets. during the press conference, you could just tell that he was nowhere on this planet, his attention barely present throughout the entirety of the event. when asked about the williams driver, the team principal short-circuited, completely shutting down any and every reporter that came near. he even cussed out a journalist who inquired about the driver, asking if he knew her current status.

it was very clear that the team principal was on the brink of a complete breakdown. 

but lewis was not going to mention that.

not the time nor the place. 

which, not like he could really blame his boss. 

he loved that girl, oh so dearly.

and to watch, completely helpless as she barreled into those barriers? holding his breath as alex held her unconscious body, pleading for the medic? with there being no communication regarding her condition as they hauled her away in the ambulance, how was he supposed to feel?

without a doubt, he would be a nervous wreck, pacing violently back and forth. 

or curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing. 

“is she even allowed visitors?” george’s brow furrow. 

“if not i’ll just pull the ‘i’m lewis hamilton and very famous’ card,” lewis waves a hand, “it’ll work like a charm.”

“are you going to fuck a nurse while you’re at it?” george teases, springing to his feet, “well, i am going to have carmen make arrangements for a ride to the hospital. alex says that she’s doing okay. lily is already there with him. he said he would give us more details when we arrive. are you riding with me or toto, lew?”

lewis shifts in place, turning to toto, “how are you getting there?”

“theodore is driving me,” the team principal shoves an arm in his jacket, glancing at his phone, “he’s going to be arriving in a few minutes. i do not care who you ride with. you can come with me. it is up to you.”

the british driver bites on his lip, chewing at it momentarily, “well, i guess i’ll ride with you, toto. you look like you may need some company.”

“well then,” the team principal lets out a shaky breath, “let’s get going. i’m not doing any further press conferences, team meetings, or events this evening. it will all have to wait.”

“look at you,” lewis whistles, following his team principal and fellow driver as they stroll out of the garage, making their way through the paddock.

“everyone, everyone! make way for the knight in shining armor! he’s on his way to save his damsel in distress at the emergency room!”

meanwhile, at the montreal sacred heart hospital, a driver sits in her bed, fiddling with the fabric of her sheet. two visitors hover in the chairs beside the bed. one flips through the stations on the television, the other scrolling through her phone.

“you have no idea how terrifying that was,” a voice pipes up, trembling slightly, “i was so scared that it was a lot worse than it really was. when alex pulled you out of that car, i swear the entire circuit was holding their breath.”

“i thought i was going to start throwing up in my helmet,” another voice chimes in, “i have never had that much adrenaline in my life. i think that was one of the few times my body was truly in fight or flight mode.”

“thank god you didn’t start running away,” you fight a yawn, the exhaustion slowly creeping in. 

or was it the muscle relaxers? you couldn’t quite tell. 

the entire crash was a blur. there were no minute details, as it all just was just one big foggy, blobby, mess in your brain.

the only thing you could remember were the memories of toto as you flew through the air, propelling towards that barrier. 

once you were all settled in your temporary room at the hospital, alex filled you in on what occurred. 

from what he witnessed, he stated that nico hülkenberg of haas had a malfunction with the car, causing him to start viciously spinning out of control. unfortunately, you were an innocent victim, as his car hit yours with such a violent force it sent you rolling. nico was able to regain control of the car before crashing out, leaving you as the one who suffered at the hands of the haas engineers. 

the fia was not going to punish nico, as it was not intentional. 

which, was fair. you could understand that. it would have been a completely different story if he was trying to overtake and pulled a sketchy move. unfortunately, it was just the dangerous aspect of life as a formula one driver.

you were going to crash the car. sometimes more than once in your career. 

even if it was not entirely your fault. 

however, there was nothing more than you wanted than to get behind the wheel of a car. your car, and finish the race. 

too late for that, though. far too late.

it was nearing nine p.m., and visiting hours were going to conclude here soon. 

since alex was at the top of your emergency contacts list, he was granted access to stay the night with you. which, you didn’t mind. he had been extremely gentle with you since the crash, tending to your every need. 

he had lily bring all of your favorite treats, packed your trusty stuffed animal, and even ensured that all your jewelry was safely tucked away in your overnight bag. 

additionally, he called your parents for you, explaining the series of events between the start of the race and up to the moment you were wheeled into your room. although everything had checked out, they wanted to keep you overnight for observation. 

after all, it wasn’t everyday you were colliding into a rigid surface at nearly one hundred miles an hour. 

approximately five minutes ago, you received a text from toto stating that theodore was pulling up to the entrance of the hospital. lewis was with him, carmen and george about ten minutes behind them. 

although they had left around the same time, somehow toto had gotten there first. 

you almost didn’t want to know how fast the car was going.

“you should have seen the way i was tearing at the car,” alex remarks, putting his hands behind his head, “i felt like goddamn superman.”

“he sure was,” lily lets out an airy giggle, “speaking of which, where is your–”

“guten abend,” an oh so familiar voice interrupts, thick with the accent you adored so dearly. 

your head swivels towards the entrance of the room, toto standing in the doorframe. in his hands is a bouquet of flowers, a bag slung over his shoulder. the moment your eyes meet, he softens, his lower lip quivering. 

“and he brought a friend!” lewis chirps, poking his head out from behind the team principal, “how are you feeling?”

“tired,” you blink, face scrunching into yet another yawn, “they gave me some muscle relaxers for my soreness.”

toto crosses over to the bed, pulling up a chair. placing the flowers on the nearest table, he sets his bag on the floor. although the actions were simple, it felt like minutes until two hands found yours, bringing it to his lips. 

“ich hoffe es geht dir gut. die blumen sind nicht die besten, aber sie reichen aus.”

“mir geht es nicht so gut,” waves of drowsiness crash over, your head meeting the pillow as toto chuckles, kissing each one of your knuckles. 

“zumindest hast du medikamente und gute freunde.”

“ich liebe dich,” you whisper, tears welling up as he leans over the bedrail, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. 

brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you swear you can see the hint of a sparkle in his gaze as he gives you one last kiss on your temple, trailing down to your cheek, “und ich liebe dich.”

“do we have the right place?” a new voice sounds from the entrance. 

before you drift off, the muscle relaxers sucking every last bit of energy, you make out george walking in the room, carmen giving you a slight wave as the world around you fades away. 

so much for visitors. 

however, the bunch remains perched by your side, conversing among one another as you doze off. toto remains as close as possible, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb, murmuring strands of hushed german. 

lewis can’t help but watch, his heart swelling at the pure, genuine love bursting in the team principal’s stare.

in that moment, you could have sworn toto was gazing at the stars.

“are her parents coming?”

george’s question is a pressing one, as this was something that had been on lewis’ mind as well. surely her parents would come, right? if his child was recovering from a gnarly crash, he would want to be there.

“no,” alex’s voice is thready, “her parents are still in the process of obtaining their visas. they are not able to make it, unfortunately. that is why i’m her first emergency contact in situations like this. toto is second on the list, actually.”

in the corner of his eye, lewis notices toto perk up, straightening in his chair, “w-what?”

“i’m not shitting you,” alex focuses his attention on the team principal, “you’re second on the list. she had it changed recently.”

“that’s–” toto begins, shock painting his features as he scrambles to formulate some sort of response, “i-i never would have–”

“i hope i’m not crashing the party.”

a new voice interjects, timid as it carries throughout the space.

glancing over his shoulder, at the sight before him, toto’s heart skips a beat.

there stands james vowles, hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe. toto’s stare darts towards the clock, eyes squinting as he makes out the pointed direction of the clock hands. 

8:54 p.m. 

only six minutes until visiting hours were over. 

“no,” alex purses his lips, “come join us! the more the merrier.”

james saunters over to the bed, carefully selecting a place between alex and lily, closest to the wall. toto could sense the waves of anxiety radiating off the team principal, how his muscles were wound up tight from tension as he folds his arms across his chest. he swallows a lump in his throat, swaying slightly as he hovers behind alex.

hmmph. what a pussy. 

“hello–” a nurse pokes her head in, eyes widening at the large group, “oh wow! i was not expecting so many visitors! i was just popping in to remind you all that visiting hours will be wrapping up in approximately four minutes or so. those who are not immediate family will have to leave until the morning. the hours will resume at eight am.”

“is it okay if i stay?” alex pulls up his sleeve, exposing a wristband, “i’m family.”

“of course!” the nurse chirps, “those who do not have wristbands will have to leave. if you guys need anything, please let me know. i will be back in about ten minutes to make sure that everyone who is not family has left the room. it’s not the– oh my god. is that lewis hamilton?”

“indeed,” lewis waves, flashing a wide grin, “i’m just here visiting my friend.”

toto can’t help but roll his eyes as the nurse strolls over to the driver, a dusty pink hue tinging her cheeks, “is it okay if i get a picture?”

“of course!” lewis winks, “would you like a few? george can take them.”

“here we go,” george mutters, earning a chorus of laughter from the group, “sure, i’ll take them.”

as the three head over to the farthest corner of the room, toto wipes his palms on his pants, “i should probably head out then.”

“wait,” alex sticks out a hand, leaning over to dig through his bag, “i have something for you. they gave us three wristbands for the family. lily and i both have one, and she asked that i give you the other. you’re more than welcome to stay with us tonight. i’m not sure where you’ll sleep, but i’m sure we can ask for more pillows.”

“oh,” heat rises in the team principal’s cheeks as alex hands him a wristband, “are you sure?”

“she wouldn’t shut up about you,” lily adds, “she told us that if she fell asleep, she hoped that you would be the first person she saw when she woke up. she wants you to stay. we want you to stay.”

“all right,” his focus shifts towards the bed, where his golden girl was sleeping oh so peacefully, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, “i’ll stay.”

“we should probably get going, though,” carmen murmurs, glancing at her phone, “visiting hours are over. i’ll corral the two brits over there. we’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

“sounds good,” alex dips his head, “thank you for coming. i’m sorry she wasn’t awake long enough for–”

“don’t apologize for that mate,” george swiftly cuts off alex, placing a tender hand on his shoulder, “we wanted to come. besides, it’s always nice to see you.”

“it is always nice to see my boyfriend,” a chuckle flows from alex’s lips, “see you guys. thank you for stopping by.”

“of course,” george wraps an arm around alex, bringing him in close, “we’ll be back in the morning.”

“bright and early,” lewis brings a hand to his mouth, yawning, “let’s get out of here. i’m beat.”

“see you two tomorrow,” toto tuts, “you better get some good rest. especially you, george. no celebrating with the lady.”

“yeah, yeah,” george scoffs, waving one last goodbye to the group, “see ya!”

as the three exited the space, james runs a hand through his hair, “i guess it’s my turn to go, yeah?”

“you can stay a little longer,” alex shrugs, “i’m sure that nurse won’t mind. after all, she got her photos with the lewis hamilton. i’m sure her mind is other places.”

“actually,” toto begins, clambering to his feet, “james, i need to speak with you. out in the hall, please.”

james shrinks in his stature, “o-okay.”

as the two make their way out of the room, toto can feel his heart race, thumping against his rib-cage as james shuffles behind him. blood roars in his ears as he comes to a halt, bringing the team principal to a waiting area, settling in one of the chairs. james faces him, exhaling as he crosses his legs, his hands resting on his knee. 

this was the pivotal moment of the season. 

the defining moment in which determined toto’s success for the years to come. 

not only the success of the team, but the preservation of their reputation. 

this would be the start of contract talks among the two team principals regarding the release of the williams driver, where she would sign to mercedes for the 2025 season. 

all he needed was that blessing from james.

those few words that would give him the approval that he was desperately aching for. 

“surely you know what this is about.”

james forms a tight-lipped frown, “i do.”

“and what are your thoughts?” toto leans back, allowing james to take the floor.

“as much as i want her at williams until 2026,” james’ voice is nearly a whisper, “i know where her heart lies. she wants to go to mercedes, where she will be by your side. and you know, i have had to face the hard facts that i cannot stop her. she is going to do everything in her power to get to you. she’s made that very clear with me. 

and you know, i have had to do my own thinking about what is best for the team. if she is not happy with us, that is not ideal for the team as a whole. she’s unapologetically herself, and i know that she will speak out against us if she stays here. she will start to resent me, the williams name, and even start to resent racing. even the thought of driving a car will start to leave a bitter taste in her mouth. 

i don’t want that. she is an exceptional driver. one in a million, actually. i have never quite seen such drive and desire to win in someone that young. she’s the best fucking driver on that grid and i’ll be damned to see her lose that fire burning within. i don’t want to be that person to quench those flames. so, toto, here is what i am going to tell you.”

he pauses, catching his breath before continuing.

“you have my blessing. we can start those contract talks. you have to promise me one thing, though.”

“what is it?” toto presses, cringing at the desperation dripping in his tone, “i’ll do anything you ask, james.”

“that you will take care of her. no matter what. if you two decide to end things romantically, you have to promise me that you will still look out for her. she has a good head on her shoulders, but she is her own worst enemy. she will lash out at the media, get violent with other drivers, and worst of all, doubt herself.  i need you to be the person who will lift her up. always.”

james, you have no idea.

“i will be,” toto sucks in a breath, “i will be that person who loves her unconditionally. no matter what. even if things do not end well between us, i will be that person who will continue to support her and lift her up when she needs it. that is my job as the team principal. and you know i try my best to do a damn good job at that. james, i have a question for you.”

“and that is?” he raises a brow. 

“do you have any idea of how much i love that woman?”

james tsks, shaking his head, “i have seen the interview with sky sports. i’ve seen the way you look at her. i think i have an idea.”

“well then,” toto leans forward, sticking out his right hand, “are we good then? i will probably contact my assistant and have her start drafting the necessary emails. we will get the ball rolling.”

james reciprocates the gesture, his hand interlocking with toto’s, shaking it, “we are good. i will keep in contact with you. i have full faith in you, toto. i know you will take care of her. i just have this fatherly instinct when it comes to her. i hope you can understand. i just want what is best for my american girl.”

you and i both, james.

and she will thrive at mercedes. without a doubt.

“james,” the corners of his lips curl into a meek smile, “i can promise you that i will give her the best and only the best at mercedes. i can promise you another thing.”

“and what could that possibly be?” for the first time in weeks, toto heard laughter erupting from the team principal’s throat. 

“i can promise you that i will make her a world champion. she will be the 2025 world driver’s champion. and she will be the world champion in the years to follow. i will do everything in my power to ensure that she gets what she deserves. there’s no doubt about that.”

☽༺ sunday, june 30th, 2024 ༻☾

“golden girl! look who we brought!”

turning your chin, you glance over your shoulder to see george russell and lewis hamilton walking towards you, lewis’ hands cupped around his mouth. behind them is toto, donned in his sunday uniform. 

“who said that you could call me ‘golden girl’?” placing your hands on your hips, you can’t help but giggle as lewis pulls down his shades, rolling his eyes.

“i thought it was a universal nickname, my apologies!”

“that nickname is reserved for the one and only torger wolff,” sticking out a tongue, you gravitate towards the team principal, feeling his arms envelop your frame.

you’re showered with kisses, his mouth roaming all over your head and cheeks, “good afternoon, my love.”

“hi baby,” rising on your calves, you graciously accept a chaste kiss, lewis and george curling their lips in disgust. 

“please get a room.”

“no, seriously. there’s places in the paddock for that.”

“are you ready for today?” toto’s mouth hovers by your ear, voice soft. 

“of course,” you nod, “i was born ready, remember?”

today was the infamous austrian grand prix, hosted at red bull ring. fans from all over swarmed the stands, pumping their fists and raising the dutch flag, in favor of max verstappen. additionally, there was a plethora of mercedes fans, as this was toto’s home race.

although you had yet to officially announce your departure from williams, the contract was signed. all you had to do was verbally state your intention to race for mercedes at the start of the 2025 season. which, you were holding off that announcement as much as humanly possible, even if the media generated dozens of speculations with each passing day.

in the weeks since montreal, life was nothing but a blur, the days blending together. 

there were several lengthy flights, a brief visit back home in the states, a few days in monte carlo, and most importantly, time spent with toto. 

since you suffered a concussion in canada, you were grateful for the two-week period between montreal and barcelona. you were given adequate time to recover without feeling the need to rush back into racing. 

although you were anxious to get back behind the wheel again, toto urged you to take it easy. 

so, you did, taking your mind off racing for a while and flying back to arizona for a week. toto accompanied you, where you got to show him around your hometown, introduce him to your parents, and even give him a taste of that good ol’ american lifestyle. 

at first, your parents had their reservations. however, your predictions were correct. once they met the austrian, they were wooed over by his charming personality and witty humor. the two of you were able to discuss your move to mercedes. which, resulted in the three of you holding each other, tears in your parents eyes as they profusely stated over and over again how proud they were.

your father was over the moon, as he knew how driving for mercedes was a lifelong dream of yours. 

and thanks to toto and james, you were able to achieve it.

the second you were discharged from the hospital, toto had arranged for theodore to pick you up. from there, you were taken to the airport, where you hopped on a flight to brackley. 

upon your arrival to the mercedes headquarters, you were met with the williams team, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you began to connect the dots. 

toto was able to get james’ approval. which meant that you were able to begin contract talks.

the negotiations only lasted half an hour, as the team principals sorted things out amongst one another while you were in the hospital. of course, you questioned the fia’s involvement in the matter, as they had made it clear they were to be present during the meetings. 

yet, toto and james informed you not to worry about a damn thing, as they had discussed matters with the fia prior to your arrival.

so, all you had to do was sign the papers. check the boxes when needed, initial here and there. 

once the contract was finalized, you were surprised by george and lewis, the two of them embracing you so tightly that you were sure you broke a rib or two. additionally, you were introduced to mick, who was absolutely starstruck by your presence. 

although there was the setback in montreal, there was still much to celebrate.

you were still the leader of the pack in terms of the driver standings, max and lando not too far behind. even after recovering from your nasty concussion, you were able to pull off a barcelona win, sharing a podium with lewis. 

part of you wished that you, george, and lewis could all share a podium together under the mercedes name.

yet, that was not possible.

besides, lewis was already bound to join ferrari. george would remain with you at mercedes, with mick as the reserve driver. lewis promised that the three of you would still remain close, even if he was in that unforgettable ferrari red. 

you were well on your way to making history as the first female world driver’s champion. 

and god, did that leave such a fucking sweet taste in your mouth.

“if i win your home race, will you come and kiss me on the podium?” 

“we’ll see about that,” there’s the glitter of amusement in his mocha depths, his dimples forming as his grin widens, “i don’t know if our pr teams could handle another mishap like monaco.”

“that was not a mishap,” you counter, “that will go down as one of the most unforgettable moments in f1 history.”

“perhaps you’re right, my love,” taking your hands into his, toto intertwines your fingers together, “you’re going to be careful out there, right?”

“right,” you affirm, “i’m going to be oh so safe.”

“unless she wants to overtake kevin again,” george whistles, “we’ll have to watch for that.”

“good thing i’m pole,” you roll your eyes, “shouldn’t you guys be heading back to the paddock? we’re going to start soon.”

“yes,” lewis’ head turns, focusing on the track, “we should probably get going. i just wanted to make sure that loverboy got a kiss before the race.”

“well thank you–”

“all right people!” james’ voice floats through the garage, “it’s go time!”

“oh shit,” you exhale, “i really have to go.”

“good luck, my golden girl,” toto leans in, pressing one more kiss on your lips, “i love you.”

“i love you more,” you can’t help but feel heat burning in your cheeks as george and lewis snicker, making kissy faces, “i’ll see you on that podium for that kiss soon, yeah?”

“you bet,” toto squishes you against his chest one final time, “i have to go, my love. see you soon!”

“see you soon!” you nod enthusiastically, zipping up your suit, “good luck lew! good luck out there george!”

“where’s my american girl?” james inquires, searching wildly for you as you enter the garage, “i need my american girl!”

“i’m here!” you raise a hand, “i was just getting my good luck kiss.”

“oh god,” james lets out an exasperated sigh, “well come on, we gotta get a quick debrief in before the race.”

before you know it, you’re behind the wheel of your car, gliding onto the track. 

easing on the gas, you sail towards the pole position, the rest of the grid lining up in their respective positions behind you. the lights on the track gleam red, signaling that the race was merely minutes from starting. 

as the crew gathers around your vehicle, swiftly prepping in that thirty second period, you can’t help but feel your heart rate escalate, adrenaline beginning to pump through your veins. clicking the visor down on your helmet, your body tenses, anticipating that final light. that final signal before it’s lights out in austria. 

swallowing the lump in your throat, you hum under your breath. it’s a simple tune, really, a song by florence + the machine. 

the dog days were over. 

you had truly braved the worst of storms in the past few weeks, from a terrifying crash to the revelation in monaco. you were dealt horrid hate comments, bizarre headlines from the tabloids, and the falling out of a friendship with someone who cared so deeply for.

but here were you, despite it all.

on your way to win yet another grand prix. another event to add to your personal history book. 

another milestone for the woman referred to as america’s sweetheart. 

there’s a beat of silence before the final light flickers, the roar of engines deafening. 

“and the austrian grand prix is underway! perfect reaction time for the american girl! she is off to a magnificent start! will she make history yet again?”

in seventy-one laps time, you would have that answer.

but for the time being, you were going to savor the moment. the thrill of it all. 

and for now, that would be enough. 

racing was never in the cards. 

but fuck, were you oh so elated that you ended up here, behind the wheel of a williams car, destined for greatness. 

the american woman who made history as the first female world driver’s champion.

that had a nice ring to it. a real nice ring, actually. 

abu dhabi could not come soon enough. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

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[pedge-page]

Maybe Preggo needs a pedicure? Or help shaving??

how about both!

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Spa Day

Warnings: thigh fucking, some degrading language, a bit of m masturbation, use of razors to shave, Daddy/Mommy used lightly

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel is sitting on the edge of the tub as you prop your calf over his thigh. His heavily pregnant wife has her hair in a turban, green minty mud mask slopped over your face. You’re leaned back so far trying to spread your legs that your chin is just right above the soapy waterline. 

“I told you, you need to get IN the tub to shave my ass.”

Joel’s got your fancy scented shaving cream and a 5 blade razor in one hand, his trousers soaked from suds and bath water as you continue to squirm around trying to get comfortable. This whole ordeal is taking way longer because he doesn’t want to accidecanlly knick you, but you keep moving without forewarning him!

“I don’t understand,” he huff for the third time. “Why do I need to shave your pussy and ass, if you’re getting a PEDICURE?”

Did feet spa evolve into something that he wasn’t aware of?

“You don’t. But I haven’t shaved in a long time and I need my legs shaved for my pedicure. And while I’m at it, might as well do the whole thing.”

“You mean, while I’M at it.”

“Yes exactly!” you say, all giddy that he’s finally getting it now.

He leans back to get a view of where he might be working between your legs.

“It’s all soap. I can’t see a thing.”

You roll your eyes and throw your leg off him. His shirt wrinkles from the soapy fingers that grip it tightly as you pull him down to you. So much so that he’s lurching for the other end of the tub to hold himself from tumbling in.

“Get. In. The. Tub.” You seethe. Why is it so fucking difficult?

He purses his lips, but your eyes don’t back down.

Joel curses under his breath before sitting and stripping his shirt over his head.

You do little hand claps, licking your lips as if you’re getting a tasty treat. Forgetting that this is entirely a different kind of treatment.

 As he shucks off his pants and boxers, now fully naked with his semi hard cock dangling between his legs, you tap your clit and whisper “Settle down, girl,” in hopes of trying to be a good client to your free-worker husband.

Joel clambers in the tub, hissing at the heat of the water. For someone who wants the AC blowing like a winter wonderland in the house, it amazes him that you’re still good with bathing in lava.

He sits his knees up, crammed in such a terribly awkward position since he’s got to get down low. Thankfully the tub is big enough for the two of you to face each other.

“Spread,” he orders you, and you have to clench your fist by your side, easing your nub to stop jumping so excitedly underwater from his voice. You do your best to drape your ankles over the sides of the tub, your lower back comforted by the tub-pillow that Joel had bought you.

The razor glints in his veiny paw. “Daddy has sharp tools in his hand. Are you gonna behave?”

You nod vigorously. 

He aligns himself as close as possible, pushing the bubbles away so he can see under the water. Even with your bump in the way, it’s already difficult to see straight down to the source of your turmoil. His hands gently caress your inner thighs, getting a feel for his working area the same way he does for any detailed project he’s about to take on. Joel got such steady, careful movements when it comes to his craft, but having him look at you like a piece of valuable wood he’s about to carve a beautiful rose into is making you wet in a different way.

He dips the razor below the water and begins to shave away the hair that had been growing between your thighs, over top and around, before making his way to your slit. 

“Isn’t there a better way to do this?” He asks. He’s hesitant, not because he doesn’t think he can do it, but because he doesn’t trust your sporadic brain possibly jumping on him and cutting yourself. 

“Probably,” you snicker. 

He puffs his cheeks but gets back to work, trimming your front neatly in slow movements. If he just focuses entirely on your folds, the slippery traces of your juices evident even through the sudsy water, he can just keep his eyes from drifting up to your bouncing enormous breasts floating happily above.

“Alright, that’s the best I can get. Your ass is just gonna have to…”

You’re already moving like a hippo in the shallows, sloshing the water around as you roll over to your knees and sit up. Your pregnant belly sags heavily towards the water. But you manage to prop your arms over the edge and wiggling your naked butt to him.

He pinches his eyes together with his finger and thumb. THIS is why he didn’t want to get in the tub. Was it over you hurting yourself? A little. Doing reckless shit like this with a baby who could bump its head into the basin? Possibly. 

Having to now sit up to shave your ass, baring his hard cock close enough to you that he won’t be able to keep you placate if you were to turn around?

Yeah.

“C’mon, baby can’t dangle like this all day,” you hum. You sway your hips again enticingly.

You don’t expect the sharp slap to jolt you forward a bit, a gasp falling from your lips as the sound echoes in the bathroom.

You feel his stomach and chest drape over your back, his hot breath steaming over your shoulder. “Told you,” he grumbles. “To behave.” His large hand caress below your bump, helping to hold some of the weight while his other fists his cock and slides its between your thighs.

You bite your lip and moan lightly, eyes closed as he rocks you back and forth on his dick. He doesn’t penetrate, just glides through your thighs, all soapy while his tip nudges your clit each time it punctures through to the other side.

You’re both so wet over each other, warm and dizzy from the steam of the room as he fucks your slit. 

“Just don’t know when to be a good girl.” 

You shake your head. On the contrary, you know EXACTLY when to be a bad girl. 

“Daddy, put it in,” you whine. You can’t take your hands away from the edge of the tub, less you slip and tumble down due to the weight of your baby. 

You feel the rumble of his chest, laughing at your demands. “Bad Mommies don’t get cock up their slutty cunts—“

His voice goes quiet when you arch your back and wail out in pleasure, your clit twitching and thighs quaking with the unmistakable sign of your orgasm washing through you. 

Joel sits back as you heave through your pants. 

“Wow. That was… you needed that, Huh?”

You slowly roll over to you butt safely on the tub floor again, hazily nodding as you come to your senses. You begin to notice Joel’s fist pumping his cock underwater, fully okay with just jerking off as he watches your naked pregnant body covered in soap and dripping wet like a goddess.

“Your turn,” you hum, and Joel grins, parting his legs slightly as you crawl close to him. 

He’s not ready for the super human strength you have when you hoist on of his ankles up in the air, pulling him down until his head dips under water.

 He struggles up and sputters out the nasty taste he inhaled through his nose. “What??”

Joel wipes the soap and water from his eyes and slicks his hair back to see you with a razor in one hand and a deathgrip around his ankle in the other.

“You should shave too. Its just courtesy since they’ll be touching your crusty feet, plus when they put the moisturizer and hot towel and stones on your legs, it won’t get all stuck up in your hair—“

“WHAT are you on about? I’m not getting the pedicure. YOU are!”

But your eyes get all (fake) shiny with (fake) tears, you’re lower lip trembling with a (fake) pout. “You mean,” you hiccup, your voice soft and sad and FUCK if it were anyone else, you’d have them convened with an Oscar worth performance, “you don’t wanna… do it … with me?” 

He’s not falling for it. “That’s Maria’s thing with you.”

Your voice goes straight in a matter of fact tone, foregoing the sad pregnant hormonal voice. “Actually she and Tommy are taking trip up north so she canceled this weekend.”

Joel curses Tommy in his mind for letting such an important detail slip his mind. “Mhm. So I’m her substitute.”

“NooOoo! You’re my husband and you want to do this with me because you love spending time with me!”

Joel narrows his eyes. His cock twitches helplessly between his legs, and it doesn’t seem like you’re inching to give him a hand.

“Now hold still, Mommy has sharp tools in her hands. Wouldn’t want any accidents.”

Your fingers that are wrapped around his foot slowly glaze along his thigh, down below the water, tickling his skin until you’re oh so close to his inner thigh. tensing, he feels your knuckles graze his length.

 And if you behave like a good Daddy, you’ll get your reward.” There’s a sadistic curl to your sweet little grin. 

Joel settles back and closes his eyes as you begin hacking off the forest on his calves. He tries sending a signal to his cock to get comfy, because there’s no way he’s squirming or making any movements while you’ve got a weapon in your hand. He opens one eye to see you happily shaving his legs, splashing water over top so it washes away his clear skin.

He decides he’ll let his little wife play in her sandbox. 

-

“Ow-OW-OWW!” Joel shouts. The technician huffs in frustration as he flicks his feet away from her for the 5th time.

You grip his bicep from the chair next to him. “Joel. Calm down. It’s just—“

“She’s cheese grating my feet!”

He’s squirming like a toddler who doesn’t like the feeling of shit up his ass, were it not for the fact that he’s a grown ass man just getting a pedicure. 

You shake your head. “It’s a pumice stone. To remove your calluses. You got so much dead skin on there, because you never come here when I tell you!”

“It’s a cheese grater, and she’s grating my feet off.”

His feet DID need a lot of work. They were dry, always scratching you in your sleep whenever you cuddle up. His legs did look shiny though, thanks to your hard work hunched over the tub shaving. It was the least you could do for the poor lady trying to tend to his hobbit feet.

When the placed the hot stones on your calves, you sighed happily. Joel’s eyes were wide, and when they touched his shins, he screamed.

You giggled under your hand. Yeah, he’s making an embarrassment of himself, shouting and cursing and squirming everywhere because he’s so sensitive. He probably thinks the rest of the women in here are laughing at him and his fragile manhood, his pregnant wife dragging him here to get a pedicure. But you see the looks on their faces, it’s a mix of awe and jealousy to have such a hunk of a man want to do something fun with his wife, so secure in his masculinity. You grab his hand and kiss his knuckles.

He offers you his gritted teeth, lips pulled back as he tries to smile through the pain, all pressed back against the massage chair like he wants to fall behind it, holding in his next shout when she clips his cuticles. 

He’s getting his cock sucked so good tonight, you can’t wait to spoil him.

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x reader. blitzø is still feeling like shit after what happened at ozzie's, and moxxie isn't helping any. you step in on his behalf, much to your boss' surprise. fluff and angst. adult language (duh), references to sex. 1.3k

(first time writing blitzø/helluva boss, so please, all feedback will be appreciated).

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

You jump in your seat at Luna’s desk as the office door slams open, cursing under your breath as the movement caused you to spill coffee on the wood in front of you. The hellhound usually rolled into work whenever Blitzø did, and you often covered the phones until the two of them showed up. Still, after a few vague text messages from her this morning, you weren’t sure they were ever going to make it in.

So, you’re surprised to see Blitzø slouching into the office relatively early, Luna at his heel with her nose in her phone. The imp has dark sunglasses firmly in place on his face and a deep scowl marring his features. Between that and the extra-large coffee cup clutched in his hand, you decide against your usual morning greeting.

Moxxie, on the other hand, apparently has less reservations about kicking that particular hornet’s nest. “Good morning, sir. I need to talk to you about last night.”

“What?”

“As you may recall, I told you that our reservation last night was just for Millie and I, and—”

Blitzø’s scowl deepens. “Shut the fuck up, Mox.”

And with that, your boss stomps across the office and slams his own door behind him without so much as acknowledging the rest of you.

After a pregnant moment of silence, you vacate Loona’s seat and turn to the imps. “Okay, what the fuck did I miss last night?”

Millie frowns, her hand squeezing Moxxie’s shoulder. “Kind of… a lot.”

***

You raise a brow as the imp couple finally finish relaying everything you had missed at Ozzie’s the night before. Casting a glance towards Blitzø’s still firmly closed door, you nod slowly as you absorb the story. You take a sip of your now lukewarm coffee as Moxxie officially finishes his rant.

“So…” you say slowly, taking a seat on the sofa. “Did you thank him?”

“Did we what?”

“Thank him.” you repeat, holding up a hand when Moxxie opens his mouth to object. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s messed up that he was there, but to hear you tell it, you didn’t even know he was there until he stood up for you. In front of Verosika Mayday and that Fizzarolli guy. Two people he clearly has issues with.”

Millie casts her husband a guilty look, Moxxie still staring at you with one finger raised and his mouth hanging open with a forgotten argument.

“She’s got a point,” Loona interjects dryly without looking up from her phone.

“So…” you continue with a sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. “He put his dignity on the line in front of you guys and Stolas and every other chuckle-fuck in that place, and guys are mad at him?”

“We told him—”

“I know what you told him. But you know what he’s like.” you interrupt, waving a hand at Moxxie. “And I’m sorry, but you’re the asshole who decided to sing a love song in the middle of the King of Lust’s own club. As romantic as that is, Mox, it was really dumb. Like, trying to get Mammon to participate in a charity drive dumb.”

Millie pouts thoughtfully, folding her arms across her chest. “I guess we didn’t think of it like that.”

“I’m just sayin’…” you shrug a shoulder, finishing off the last of your coffee. “You should take it easy on Blitzø, is all. He… means well.”

***

Living in hell isn’t exactly a picnic, but waking up that night to a violent thumping on the front door is still, thankfully, rare. Groaning in annoyance as you’re dragged unwillingly from the comfort of your mattress, you roll over to grope blindly for the baseball bat you keep under the bed. The pounding continues as you clamber out of bed and make your way blearily to the door on the other side of your studio apartment.

“Alright, asshole, I’m coming. For fuck’s—” you break off as you unlock the door and jerk it open. “Blitzø?! What in the ever-loving fuck are you—”

“The fuck did you do it for?”

Your frown deepens, confused and still half asleep. Still, you set the bat down and step aside to wave him into the apartment before the neighbors get involved. You flinch as he slams the door behind him. “Do what?”

“Don’t give me that shit!” he spits back at you, swaying slightly where he stands. Great, you have a drunk, angry Blitzø on your hands. “Tell me why!”

“Dude, it’s currently…” you sigh irritably, casting a glance towards the clock glowing on your stove. “…almost four in the morning. If you want me to understand what the fuck you’re talking about, you’re gonna have to be specific.”

He clenches his teeth together, his fists balled tightly. He grinds out the words, like it physically pains him to say anything at all. “That shit you said to Mox about me.”

“Oh.”

“The fuck d’you mean, ‘oh’?”

You rub the sleep out of your eye with the heel of your hand. Instead of answering, you turn and make your way back to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “How’d you get here?”

“I— what?”

“Did Loona drop you off?”

Blitzø rolls his eyes, beyond irritated by the change of subject. “Christ on a stick, why does it matter? I fuckin’ drove myself, okay?”

“It matters because you are so not driving yourself home tonight.” you exhale, swinging your legs up onto the bed and pulling the covers up over your lap. “So, you comin’ to bed, or what?”

Blitzø jabs a finger at you belligerently. “You think you can just distract me by lettin’ me nail your sweet bitch-ass, is—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Blitzø,” you shake your head, exasperated. “I said that shit because it’s true. You put your ass on the line to defend your friends in front of people from your past and Stolas! You did a nice thing because you’re a nice guy and I think you deserve credit for it! It’s not that deep!”

He stops as though you’d knocked the wind out of him, the anger smoothed from his features. Instead, he just looks… surprised. “…You think I’m nice?”

You sigh, patting the mattress beside you. “Just… let’s just sleep, alright? We’ll talk when you’re sober.”

He eyes you almost suspiciously for a long moment, fists still curled by his sides. You roll your eyes, making a show of laying back and making yourself comfortable. He groans dramatically, tossing his head back in an exaggerated eye roll before stomping over to join you. You close your eyes as he sheds his jacket and kicks off his boots, grumbling all the while. Still, you feel his bravado fail him as he reaches the bed, and he hesitates there at the edge of it until you lift the edge of the blankets for him.

Blitzø clambers up onto the mattress beside you, letting you fold the covers back over him. He shuffles closer to you awkwardly, and you feel his hand brush against your arm for a second before he pulls it away again. Reaching out, you catch it with yours, interlacing your fingers with his. You feel him stiffen for a moment before he squeezes it back.

“Can’t believe I finally got your hot little ass into bed and all we’re doin’ is holdin’ hands,” he mutters. He doesn’t, for once, actually sound like he’s complaining. “This is some M&M level bullshit.”

You hum in amusement, and even with your eyes closed, you can feel his face only inches from yours. “Trust me, Blitzø, when I do fuck your brains out, you’re gonna want to be sober enough to remember it in the morning.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then…

“When you WHAT?!”

[chatsukimi]

ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ ꜱᴀᴠᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ/ꜰʟᴀᴍᴇꜱ (ʜᴇɪᴀɴ-ᴇʀᴀ) "hell is a pit of fire for a reason" ｅｎｅｍｉｅｓ ｔｏ ｌｏｖｅｒｓ， ｓｕｋｕｎａ ｘ ｒｅａｄｅｒ， Ｈｅｉａｎ－ｅｒａ.

A chill washes over your body, as though a presence has come to visit you. Your eyes snap open, drawn to the Cursed Spirit at the door.

Instantly, you recognise it's a Special Grade. And you sense more crawling down the hallway.

This cannot be happening.

You swing your bedside lamp through the paper window and clamber out, only to be greeted by more of those beasts. Never in your life have you seen this many curses in one place. Why are they here?

BOOM.

An invisible force thrashes you into a tree. You mutter, casting a wave of fire at the Curse behind you.

It's only been a week since you and Sukuna's... falling out. He couldn't have...

A little part of you knows the King of Curses bears no mercy. You've seen him slash a whole village. You've listened to his apathy when the numbers are read in court, the casualties. You, first-hand, had heard him say he could not care less if you went missing.

Maybe he sent these Curses after you, to punish you for disobedience.

As your body drags you further up the hill, away, away, far up from the chasing Curses, your soul is drawn like a magnet towards the tower in the distance. The turret stands tall and imposing over Kyoto, its shadows merciless over the temples. Sukuna's.

Another wall of flames.

The Curses dodge.

At the top of the hill, you hands fumble as you transfer your whispers into a tiny ball of flame. Your head doesn't register what you're doing.

A Curse lunges for your leg. Bites.

You shriek, whacking the Curse to tear it off. It is only getting darker.

Sukuna.

His name plagues your thoughts.

If only... if only Sukuna... Sukuna...

You send out the orb of fire surging into the night.

...

The King of Curses paces around his room in the darkness, until suddenly, he swears.

Something is blinding in the corner of his eye. He whips around and watches an orb glint, bobbing towards him.

Fire.

You.

He crosses the room in fluid steps.

"Special Grades... help. Kuna-"

The words seem to burn him. And he staggers back.

Special Grade Curses. What are they doing? Why are they coming for you?

He races out onto the balcony, tracing where the message originated to find you. He swears again. His fingers are shaking.

When he descends onto the scene, the remnants of smoke and ash linger in his memory.

...

Sukuna watches as the curses encircle you, each one trying to land a fatal strike. He sees you fight and thinks back to the last time he had seen you.

You had been running away from him.

His eyes narrow in rage, as he unleashes his domain expansion. He has to be careful to spare you. The shrine instantly obliterates the cursed spirits.

Upon noticing him, you drop down to your knees, your head bowed to hide the tears welling up.

It's been only a week, yet he cannot anticipate your reaction. Would you shout at him to get away? Had you forgiven him, why you called him to come save you?

"Thank you, Lord Sukuna."

Remember, that's all there is between you. A lord and his subject.

Despite the praise, Sukuna can't help but feel a tinge of guilt for how things had played out between you and him. Something more than hurt pride causes you to hide your pain. Sukuna notices the blood that stains your leg, which you move roughly behind your other leg, out of sight.

"You were about to die, and your first thought was to ask for my help," he mutters.

"I'm sorry." You try to keep yourself together. "It's the middle of the night- I'm sorry for waking you."

But speaking it out loud makes it sound all the more real, the distance between you. And you only bow lower.

He tries to swallow down the ache in his throat. Perhaps he had dismissed you too cruelly. He looks anywhere but you.

He had built you up then tossed you into the wilderness, yet here you are, not blaming him, not even asking for an apology. You only wanted to... to thank him.

"Don't apologise," Sukuna says, quietly, as if it were natural for a lamb to rely on the wolf's protection.

You take a leap of faith and look up, whispering, "if there is nothing else you want from me, I think- I should get this fixed."

You hobble to your feet. He looks down at your leg and his gaze softens. You wonder if he cares at all, stumbling away in a trail of blood.

Then, he scoffs (as if you could hide from him) and follows.

When you reach your living room, you close the shoji screen. But you still sense his familiar power, washing through the cold atmosphere, Sukuna.

He asks, hesitant, "may I enter?"

Why is he even asking? He's the King of Curses! He could knock down this place as easily as breaking an empire, he could destroy eons of progress, bend kingdoms to his will, but even he could feel like a little boy waiting outside your door, for your acceptance or refusal, like he knew he was just like the curse, dangerous yet longing for your touch. His need to pull you so close you were bound by blood and flesh. His heartbeat pounds in his ears at the silence.

You freeze.

You murmur, "... OK."

Sukuna inhales a deep breath and steps into the room. He takes in the condition of the messed up furniture, and you, the state of your attempt to patch up your leg. It hadn't worked in the slightest.

"Do you mind if I provide you with aid?"

You lean back in your chair, huffing out a light breath, attempting to cover your nerves. "I didn't know how to do anything but slice your enemies in half."

Sukuna reveals his teeth, a brutally rare thing. "Don't underestimate my abilities. They far surpass the notion of 'slicing my enemies in half'."

You bite your lip and stays sitting as he nears. Your heartbeat begins to quicken and you're too tired to fight off the instinct.

He has not forgotten your connection, no matter how hard he tried. You and your annoying technique of setting his heart alight. He continues to close the distance between you.

He tilts his head to the side, looking down at you.

"Are you not worried about my proximity?"

"No," you whisper.

You ought to be afraid. He is a thousand times the potency of a Special Grade. He could rip you in half- who says he wouldn't, just to play with you?

"I don't like it..." he mutters, his voice soft and hoarse. You cannot imagine the hatred he feels for you. "I hate it... I despise every second you are near me."

Just as you are about to advise that he leave, Sukuna stares at you -crimson eyes in the moonlight- and grits his teeth.

"... but I hate you more when you are far."

He wants to punish you, to make you endure what he had in the past week, but... he can't.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs, his tone laced with resentment.

You close your eyes and feels him kneel to take a closer look at your leg. He slowly traces the gnash with his fingers, and as he does, a cold sensation creeps into your veins. He channels his cursed energy, and you feel the wound beginning to mend itself.

After a few minutes, the process is complete and he stands up.

Reverse-curse technique. You had never seen him use it on anybody. It is the opposite of slash, an abomination of a Technique. Yet something tells you he took his time with you. While you were blind to the vision, you could sense your weakness leaching onto him as he healed you.

"Thank you... Sukuna."

"Do not mention it," he utters, devoid of any emotion. His feet shift, turning towards the exit. Two weights.

You don't know why you do what you do next. You don't know if it's out of gratitude or out of nostalgia. All you know is that the King of Curses is a frightfully cold thing for a person so alive, one shade from freezing, and your palms are warm from the fire. You abruptly capture him in a hug.

He feels your body against his. You stay there, his flame.

He had never felt this close, so interwoven; his body feels more alive than it had ever been.

Sukuna reaches for your waist to push you away, but his arms only drape across. Break free, break free, break free-

The only thing left to lie is his tongue.

"Let go of me."

He had intended it to sound intimidating. It rings more like a plea. He would much rather you fight him, so he would have something real to slice, but this is warm and soft and weak... and it is the most human he has felt in a long time.

"No."

He pushes you against the wall. "I said, let go of me." He dips his head to your level, threatening, "understand? I said," -bumps noses, leans his forehead against yours- "- you will never survive next to me. You will burn out."

He touches his lips forcefully against the corner of your mouth, not willing himself any further. Already the isolation is seeping into his bones from the lack of you.

"Never," you hiss back. "You think you'd be the one to take me out?"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You won't kill your flame,' you whisper.

"Fuga," he commands.

You part your lips. Just like that, he closes the distance.

Hell is a pit of fire for a reason.

[ineffabletargtowers]

Burning

Summary: You comfort your husband after he endures a stressful day

Content: NSFW, angst, smut, bath sex, chronic pain, riding

Words: 1.7K

Note: I have been made aware of the fact that my work is similar to that of @venmondiese. Though I had my initial idea because of an entirely different source, I would like to acknowledge the similarities between our stories and credit her fantastic writing as having provided inspiration for my own.

The faint pricking sensation that had bothered the left side of his face that morning had been a warning, not a challenge to overcome. His eye socket now burned viciously, sporadic twitches birthing a searing pain which made the old wound feel fresh. Aemond shouldered his way into his chambers, well aware of his uncharacteristically clumsy entrance. “Get out,” he snarled, glaring at the three servants inside who had evidently just finished drawing his nightly bath. “All of you, get out.”

He didn’t even wait to see if they left, trusting that they feared him enough in this moment to obey without hesitation. Removing his clothes was an ordeal, particularly with the black spots dancing across his vision. After what felt like an eternity, he finally clambered into the tub of steaming water, only for a particularly painful spasm of his cheek to remind him that he had forgotten to get the ointment the maesters had prepared for his eye. Still, the pain in his head was vicious enough that he feared he would be sick if he were to get out of the tub.

Just as he resolved to steel himself before attempting to reach the ointment, the door to his chambers opened and someone stepped inside. Even though he was furious at whatever servant had disturbed him, he reluctantly acknowledged that now was not the opportune moment to send away whoever it was.

Aemond closed his eye and gritted his teeth before speaking, silently cursing both the merciless throbbing in his head and his bastard nephew. “On the vanity,” he began stiffly, “there is an ointment from the maesters. Fetch it at once.”

He listened to the sound of footsteps moving towards the vanity and then drawing nearer until they stopped beside the tub. He raised a hand out of the water, gesturing for the ointment. “That will be all.”

“You may dismiss your servants as you see fit,” you said quietly, “but you will not dismiss me.”

Aemond’s eye snapped open as he sat up hurriedly, wincing as pain raced across his face. You evidently noticed his grimace and slowly knelt behind the tub, your fingers working quickly but gently to undo the clasp of his eyepatch.

Once the leather was set aside, Aemond felt the urge to command you to avert your gaze, not wishing to disturb you should you gaze upon the mangled remains of his eye. However, as he made to speak, you brought a finger to his lips. “None of that,” you said softly. “Relax, my love. Let me care for you.”

He sat stiffly as you collected some on the ointment on your fingertips before gently applying it to his scarred flesh. Your touch was cool, a tender caress that was far kinder than anything the hideous scar had ever felt. Sweet relief spread across his face as the burning began to abate, replaced by a numb tingling sensation. He let out a breath he was unaware he had been holding, slowly reclining so that he could rest against the side of the tub as you set the ointment down.

“Thank you,” Aemond said quietly. “I am sorry that you had to witness that.”

You loosened the scrap of leather that held his hair off of his face and discarded it as you reached for a vial of gel. “There is no need for you to apologize.”

He wanted to protest, but found himself unable to speak as you began to massage the gel into his damp hair. A strange sense of peace began to overtake him as he took slow, measured breaths and soaked in the hot water. He decided it was calming, resting here with you gently washing his hair. Still, he felt that your demeanor was far too pleasant for the likes of him, though he was amazed at your apparent talent for cooling his temper and guiding his anger in more rational directions.

Now that the overwhelming pain in his head had dulled, he became aware of various contusions and aches across his body, evidence of his poor showing in the training yard that morning. As though you knew what was on his mind, you quietly cleared your throat. “Do you wish to talk about what transpired today?”

It was not in his nature to open up, to share what he thought. He had a tendency to bottle up whatever he felt or experienced until he lashed out in anger, a rather fair response given the lack of justice he had been dealt throughout his life.

But there is something about you, his lovely wife, that reassures him. And so, as you rinse his hair, he tells you everything, from the way he had woken up with a dull, prickly feeling in his head to the way it had evolved into a horrifying, searing pain after he had tried to push through it. His attempts at reading had been slow and irritating, his form in the training yard weak and sloppy. His disaster of a day had culminated in learning that his half-sister and her brood of bastards might visit soon. Upon hearing the news, he had surrendered to the spasms of pain that were wracking his face and stormed off to his chambers.

When he finished, you moved to sit beside the tub, your fingertips gently stroking the surface of the water. For the first time, he noticed that your hair was free of its daily pins, instead hanging loosely around your face. Your nightgown was styled in an appealing manner, the cut of the gown ensuring that it fit your form nicely and accented your breasts. He became acutely aware of warmth blooming in his chest and stomach as he ran his eye over your figure, his gaze lingering on the lovely, unblemished column of your neck.

To his delight, you evidently noticed his approval of your garment, smiling teasingly as you removed your hand from the water and stood up. “Do you see something which you like?”

Aemond hummed his assent, arousal pooling in his stomach as his cock stirred to life at the sight of you. His breath hitched as you slowly undid the ties which secured your nightgown, his lips curling into a smile as the fabric pooled at your feet. He made to rise from the tub, fully intent on taking you to bed and making love to you for the duration of the night. To his surprise, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders, effectively keeping him in place as you stepped into the hot water. His cock throbbed as you gazed at him through hooded eyes and straddled his lap.

This was a new side to you, a sharp and seductive attitude which he had not seen before. He was used to your calming, sweet manner, a gentle contrast to his burning temper. But now, he noticed flickers of intensity in your lust-blown eyes. He groaned quietly as one of your hands slipped underwater and wrapped around his cock, your hips rising as you lined the tip up with your slick entrance. Your lips barely brushed his own as you slowly sank down on him, your gentle gasp echoing through the room.

Finally, after a sweet, torturous eternity, you were fully seated on him. He always relished the feeling of being inside of you, enjoying both the closeness it brought the pair of you and the pleasure that came with being enveloped in your tight heat. However, there was something different about having you on top of him, gazing into his eye and bracing yourself with your palms on his chest as you began to rock your hips.

Your back arched as your movements became more assured, breathy whimpers escaping your lips as you slowly fucked him. Aemond brought his hands to your waist, guiding your movements as the telltale coil of arousal began to tighten in his stomach. Your eyelids fluttered as he began to thrust his hips upwards in tandem with the way you rolled your hips, and he was struck anew by how utterly beautiful you were. A light sheen of sweat glistened on your skin; he suspected it was from both physical exertion and the heat of the water. Your quiet moans were exquisite music to his ears as you rode him harder, your expression beautiful and desperate as you chased your pleasure.

The water at the surface of the tub sloshed about as Aemond pulled you closer, groaning as your walls fluttered around him, a telltale sign that you were close to falling apart for him. His breathing was labored as he brought his lips to your neck, mouthing along your exposed flesh and gently marking you. You moaned quietly and tried to bring a hand between your legs, much to his irritation. He quickly brought his hand to the little nub at the apex of your thighs, rubbing fast circles where he knew you needed it most as he thrust into you harder.

You cried out loudly and collapsed against his chest as your cunt tightened around him, the coil in his stomach unwinding as he fucked you full of his seed. The feeling of your trembling body in his arms as you peaked for him was exquisite, a glorious sight which only he would ever be privileged enough to see.

Several moments later, you slowly sat up, looking at him so softly that he feared once more that his temper was so terrible that he was undeserving of you. You brought your hands to his face, your fingers gently caressing his scar. You kissed him tenderly, warmth blooming in his chest at the sensation of your lips on his own.

When you finally pulled back, he was surprised to see your eyes burning with a dangerous anger. “Someday, that bastard will pay for what he did to you,” you said, your voice a lovely, deadly quiet. “I am sorry that that day has not yet come to pass.”

Aemond felt a strange, intoxicating fire in his chest at your words. Perhaps he had misjudged you all this time, seeing only your calm and never knowing that you could burn just as fiercely as any dragon. “I love you,” he murmured, pulling you close once more, his lips curling into a smile as he considered the alluring prospect of burning for eternity with you by his side.

[archangeldyke-all]

Okayokayokay

Reader cussing Silco out for working Sevika too hard and letting her get seriously injured on a mission? And Sevika just sitting there like (///0-0///) and she doesn’t even try to intervene because hell hath no fury like an angry wife>:]

-🥨

this is EVERYTHING to me i'm such a sucker for the whole 'protector gets protected' trope ugh

men and minors dni

you know something's wrong the moment you hear the knock at your door.

nobody knocks on your door. sevika's always loudly clambering inside, her keys jangling loudly, the door slamming behind her-- but she never knocks. solicitors know not to come to your house-- sevika's scared them all off by now.

your fears are confirmed when you open the door and find ran on your front stoop, cringing at you. your heart drops.

"is she--"

"she's okay!" ran cuts you off, knowing how quick you'll fly off the handle when it comes to sevika. "she's fine, i just... she's sleeping it off in the bar, i wanted to come get you, tell you she won't be home for a while." ran says.

you're shoving your shoes and coat on before ran can finish their sentence. they trail beside you as you start storming toward the last drop. "what happened?" you demand.

ran shrugs. "i dunno. i wasn't there. i was just playin' a game of pool, then deckard and silco were stumbling in carrying her in their arms."

your stomach churns, and you stumble a bit. ran reaches out to steady you. "she couldn't walk?!" you ask, your voice shaky.

"singed fixed her up, got some shimmer in her system before any damage could become permanent." ran tries to placate you. "she'll be fi--"

"ran." you growl, glaring at your friend. they sigh, then wrap their arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward their chest.

they don't try to calm you down anymore. they just keep you from stumbling into people as tears make your vision blurry-- gently guiding you toward the bar.

sevika's back on her feet, nursing a whiskey and cringing away from singed as he stitches a wound on her flesh arm when you storm into the bar.

at the sight of you, her shimmer-pink eyes flash a bit and a goofy smile takes over her face.

fuck, her poor face. she's been beaten and battered, her nose swollen, her lip busted, one of her eyes bruised.

she tries to rise from her seat but she cringes in pain. you jump into action, sprinting across the bar to meet her, helping her ease back down into her stool and letting singed continue his work.

you gently cup her face, pushing her loose hair behind her ears, kissing her forehead. "hi, baby." you whisper.

"hi, baby." sevika repeats, smiling up at you. the shimmer's doing its job, keeping her happy and goofy and unaware of the needle stitching her back together. you're happy to see she's feeling alright, but you're enraged now that you're close enough to see her injuries up close.

"what happened to you, huh?" you ask. sevika giggles and shrugs like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"she got thrown through a window, fell twenty feet." singed says. sevika giggles again. you have to swallow back the bile that rises in your throat.

"who the fuck threw her through a window!?" you ask.

"a chembot at the shimmer plant malfunctioned, identified her as a threat." singed says, shrugging.

behind you, there's a muffled curse and some shuffling, and you turn around just in time to see silco trying to hide behind lock. it's too late for him, and he seems to know it, cringing the moments your eyes meet.

"silco!" you shout.

sevika huffs in her stool. "babe--" she cuts herself off when you flash her a glare, her mouth quickly shutting as her boss shuffles over to you; looking like a kicked dog.

"you care to explain to me why my wife's getting her only good arm stitched back on right now?!" you start. silco scoffs a bit.

"it's barely a flesh wound."

"oh, i'll show you a fucking flesh wound!" you growl, launching forward and narrowly avoiding grabbing silco in your clutches when ran reaches out and hooks their arm around your waist.

"i'm sorry! she's alright, she--"

"she could've fucking died!" your voice echoes through the bar. silco's shoulders slump, and you stop fighting against ran's grip. you don't stop screaming, though. "i know you've got your head so far up your own ass it's coming back out of your mouth, but there are other people in the fucking world! other people, like the love of my fucking--" you choke on your own tears.

silco at least has the decency to look ashamed. "i'm sorry." he whispers, sincerely.

you take a deep breath and collect yourself, before gulping and speaking clearly. "i need you to hear me clearly when i say this. the next time you decide to treat my wife like she's disposable, i will burn down this bar, i will burn down your shimmer plant, and i. will fucking. kill you." your hand is shaking at your side.

somewhere behind you, thieram lets out a whistle and a quiet "damn."

"understand?" you ask, rasing an eyebrow at the man in front of you. silco looks shocked. there's a bit of begrudging respect in his gaze, but it's mostly just surprised intimidation.

"i understand." he confirms, his voice squeaking as he nods.

you nod, then turn to look at singed. "is she good to go?"

"keep her hydrated, give her half a vial at every meal." he says, nodding and handing you a handful of shimmer vials.

"good. we're going home. i'll send her back to work when she's healed." you say over your shoulder as you start to storm out of the bar.

you catch your reflection in the mirror behind the bar-- you're barely recognizable; the rage coursing through you making you look almost... scary. you look over your shoulder back at your wife.

she's sitting in her stool, stars in her eyes as she grins at you. you snort, just a bit.

"c'mon, baby." you say, reaching a hand out and motioning her toward you.

she's out of her stool so fast it topples over and hits the floor with a clatter, sprinting over to get into your arms.

you giggle, catching her as she trips over her own feet, still a little goofy from the shimmer and whiskey, and press a quick kiss to her bruised cheek before wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her arm over your shoulders so you can support her weight as you start your walk home.

when the pair of you brush past silco, sevika giggles and shrugs, mouthing a 'sorry' to her boss.

when you push out into the street, sevika doesn't let you get more than three feet away from the bar before she's pulling you in for a breath taking, slightly bloody tasting kiss.

it catches you completely off guard, and you're grinning and out of breath by the time sevika pulls away. "wh-what was that for?" you ask your wife.

she's grinning at you. "that was the hottest thing i've ever seen in my life." she says. you snort, and sevika shakes her head. "i don't think you get it babe: i've been workin' with silco for ten years, he's had knives and bullets and bombs thrown at him, and he doesn't bat an eye. but that in there? i think he mighta shit his pants a bit!" she's cackling.

you smile, your worry and anger fading a bit at the sight of your wife laughing.

she's okay. she's alive and happy and doubling over in front of you, holding her side as she cackles.

you sigh, and lean forward to kiss her cheek. "i meant it, you know. i dunno what the fuck i'd do if something happened to you."

"i know." she says. "'s what made your threats so scary, you actually mean it." she giggles. you huff and flick her shoulder, and her smile shrinks, just a bit. sevika leans forward and kisses your forehead. "nothin's gonna happen to me. i'm indestructible, you know that." she promises.

you pout up at her, still worried. sevika kisses your lower lip, and you can't help but smiling a little.

"besides. i'm pretty sure silco's gonna hire me a bodyguard just to make sure i get home safe to you every night, after that." she teases. you cackle, and tug your wife toward home.

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[charliemwrites]

A continuation of this:

Outside time is heavily monitored but fairly regular. Simon keeps nearby and you learned early on that he’s more than capable of crossing the yard in the time it takes for you to even consider trying to scale the tall fence. It’s one of the only times he’s actually put hands on you, carefully restraining you and then letting go once you were both safely inside again. You sported one, singular bruise that he fussed over despite your hissing and cursing.

What about when he’s away on missions? He has the ability to call you, and you him, though you don’t. He preps well in advance for being gone. Frozen stews that you can heat up. Pre-cut meat if you want to cook. Frozen veggies aren’t GREAT, but he’s left some vitamin supplements and dried fruits.

When he gets back, he always gives you a once over. Usually from afar, but if he sees something that concerns him, he’ll have to try to coax you closer. After the first two times he cornered you just to inspect a stupid bruise, you learned to tolerate the poking and prodding with minimal snarling, biting, and yanking.

He’s got a plan if something happens to him too. Johnny will, of course, take over your care.

You didn’t think you could get angrier at anyone more than Simon, until he brings a strange Scottish man into your HOME, the place you’re SAFE. And the man takes one look at you, whistles, and murmurs, “isn’t she a beaut?”

You may or may not try to strangle him with his own dog tags. Simon may or may not laugh at his dumb friend before expertly prying you off. You take a bite out of him too, but he’s used to it by now. Just shakes out his arm and ushers you off, chuckling “go sulk in a corner, little one.”

And you do, but not because he told you to. In fact, you make it a point to scowl at Johnny the entire time he’s there, always just within view but far, far away. You’re pissed at Simon too. Can’t believe there’s TWO of them now.

When Johnny finally leaves, Simon tries to coax you from your room - there are no locks, but he understands what it means when you’ve cocooned yourself on the high bunk of your bed.

“You’re not going to come down?” He croons.

“Fuck off,” you grumble.

“Not even if I have a peace offering?”

You poke your head out and lean over the railing a bit, peering down narrow-eyed and terribly grumpy. Simon forces himself not to coo at you, it’ll just make you crankier. He holds up a new book - one you’ve been talking about wanting.

“Have something to go with this if you come down,” he entreats.

And well, you’re hungry anyway. So you clamber down, wrinkling your nose when he tries to scratch behind your ear. Then he leads you out, to the back of the house which has been blocked off for the last month. There’s a new door - he pops it open, revealing a closed in patio.

“Plexiglass,” he explains as you creep outside. “So you’ll be safe but can still see the yard.”

It’ll get a lot of light, you’ll see the rain. There are little tables and cushions and a daybed with blankets. It’s - damn him - perfect.

“Is… he coming by again?” you ask, feeling at a soft pillow.

“Johnny? Probably not, unless I die.”

You twist, looking alarmed.

“Not likely to happen,” he soothes, ruffling your hair just to see you pout and swat at him. “Have someone relying on me after all.”

You blush again. You’ve been doing that a lot. He lets you snatch the book from his hands.

“Unless you want him to come by again? You could use a little socializing, feral thing.”

He’s right, but Simon is barely tolerable, never mind is friends.

“Hmph.”

“Alright, maybe in a couple weeks.”

[ivystoryweaver]

With You Part 2

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Summary: Your fiancé Marc experiences his first hangover in 2 years. Can he face you in the light of day, and admit to you and Steven what he knows about another alter?

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader. Gender neutral reader, though there is one optional fiancé(e) and muñeca(o). (Reader’s choice). No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/notables: Angst, comfort, hangover (ish), cursing, cuddles in bed, assumptions, longing, feeling inadequate, brief reference to past trauma, self-worth probs (I mean, it’s Marc). Let me know if I missed a warning. Banter? If mild sarcasm bothers anyone... Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

Dividers by saradika

Steven fell asleep right away - for that, you were grateful. But sleep did not come easily for you. As Steven nestled into the crook of your neck, arm slung across your torso, you could only hope he would sleep off that three-quarters bottle of whiskey.

Pushing your fingers through his soft curls, you pressed your lips to his temple, waiting until his breathing slowed and steadied before confessing into the stillness of the night.

“Marc...I know you can’t hear me right now...” Your lip trembled as you pulled his body closer, gently twisting his soft strands around your fingers. “But we love you. We’re with you. Nothing will change that.”

You supposed it could be considered odd to be speaking to Marc even though it was Steven who fell asleep tangled up in you. And perhaps it was also presumptuous to speak on Steven’s behalf, to Marc. But you knew it was true.

The next morning, you woke up first, after a few, merciful hours of sleep. You hoped not to disturb the man beside you, carefully slipping away from his grasp. After a quick trip to the restroom to freshen up, you clambered to the kitchen, cursing yourself for not grabbing your fluffy slippers or a thick pair of Steven’s fuzzy socks. Your damn, drafty flat was going to give you all pneumonia, you were certain of it. 

To that end, you started preparing both coffee and tea, unsure of which handsome man would be enduring a hangover this morning. For Steven, you oscillated between a red and a golden tea - hibiscus or chamomile. Marc may have been born and raised in Chicago, but Steven Grant did not mess around about tea. 

Finally deciding on the hibiscus, you grabbed the air tight canister of tea leaves - there would be no dreadful teabags (as your darling Brit quoted Dame Julie Andrews) in your flat. 

Hopefully Marc would drink the tea, but, just in case, you put on the very impressively American coffee maker before finding the bread for some toast.

After everything was hot and ready to go, you crept back into the bedroom, figuring it all might go cold before your sleepy headed fiancé roused. No matter. You just wanted to be prepared.

You didn’t have to wait long because someone stirred just as you pulled on the fluffiest pair of socks with little goldfish (a Hanukkah present to Steven last year) and threw Marc’s favorite tan hoodie over your white t-shirt. Your legs were still bare and you decided that at least your grumpy, hungover boys might have a silly sight to wake up to, if nothing else.

Easing down beside your love, you gently raked your hand through his bedhead, probably your favorite way to (innocently) touch them. 

With a groan, your fiancé squinted, throwing a dramatic arm over his eyes, as if a thousand suns were burning them. (It was still dark in the bedroom). 

“Oh, god,” Marc uttered, his arm flopping back on the mattress. 

You adored Steven, but you were thrilled it was Marc. You needed to speak to him, or at least take care of him. 

“Good morning,” you softly greeted, reaching to massage his temples before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Mm-mm, bad morning,” he groaned, rolling over and burying his face in your stomach. His hands somehow conveniently slid right inside his hoodie and underneath your t-shirt, which sent you toppling over, giggling elatedly. 

Marc was a very pouty but adorable puppy sometimes. Grumpiness just worked on him. You liked to joke with him that he would make the cutest grumpy old grandpa someday. Thankfully, he was more interested in using your tummy as a pillow at the moment than the heaping shame and anguish from last night. 

“Thirsty,” he murmured, nuzzling against you. Damn, it was too bad he didn’t feel good, because he was unintentionally turning you on. 

“I got you, baby,” you whispered, prying yourself from his grasp to get his breakfast.

“No, don’t go,” he protested, locking his arms around you, his hot breath falling on the exposed skin of your abdomen, where your shirt had bunched up. “You’re m’pillow.” His words came out all muffled and so, so cute. 

God, he was distracting. “Are you calling me fluffy?” You teased. “I was just going to get you some water. And maybe some aspirin?”

“Wanna sleep,” came his mumbled reply. “You left me.”

“To make you some coffee, you baby,” you playfully shot back, finally climbing out of his grasp.

A few minutes later, you returned with a tray filled with tea, coffee, toast, water and painkillers, only to find Marc planted face first in the pillows. How he managed to look so damn good after downing a bottle of whiskey and sleeping five hours, you would never know. As his muscular back expanded with a deep breath, you almost tossed the tray full of remedies to the side and climbed on top of him.

Later, maybe. 

After a little coaxing, he finally sat up, taking the prepared tray onto his lap. Simply seeing what you’d done to ease his pain this morning reminded him of his shameful display last night. His eyes flickered over to yours, dropping down to the gesture of care and love.

“You...” He exhaled shakily, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

There was no need to argue over breakfast. You gently smiled in return, rubbing his forearm comfortingly. “I made you coffee, but...maybe you’ll try the tea? Steven says the antioxidants--”

“I was an asshole.” His jaw clenched, his gaze now fixed on your hand. The tenderness of your touch burned him with shame.

“You were?” your eyebrow shot up questioningly. “Hm...”

Marc was used to this from you. Just like you had taken a swig of his whiskey last night, your nonchalant reply should not have surprised him in the least. 

You were a champion of the real. He had never met a soul like you, and that’s probably why he was insanely in love with you.

All that mattered to you was the reality of any given situation - what was right in front of you. You were so damn hard to fight with because ... well, you didn’t fight. And for someone as self-punishing as Marc, who spent his youth hearing what a miserable failure of a human being he was, it took him a long time to understand that your steady gentility and raw honesty were not dismissive of his trauma. No, you met it, and him, head on, accepting him and loving him exactly how he was.

You had never asked him to change, never expected him to be anyone other than exactly who he was. After years of self-sabotage, it was unimaginable to him to not have to live up to someone’s standard. He never had successfully lived up to anything, in his mind. 

But you were different. The first time you “fought” had blown him away. He snapped at you, feeling inadequate over one thing or another and you simply said, “No.” He thought you were being dismissive of him, maybe even mocking him, but you were as earnest as ever, telling him, “You think that now. That’s okay. I simply disagree.” Then you kissed your thumb and pressed it to the grumpy crease between his downturned eyebrows. “I love you exactly how you are, Marc.” 

It was the first time you’d said you loved him and he was just...speechless. You then kissed the corner of his mouth and carried on with the evening. That’s why it was so easy to tell you about Steven. 

“I don’t remember you being an asshole,” you shrugged, bringing his mind back to the present. “But I do remember you being upset. And crying.” Scooting a little closer, you twisted the cap off the bottle of painkillers. “You wanna tell me about that?”

He watched your hands, pouring a couple pain pills into your palm, picking up the glass of cool water to make him an offering. His eyes met yours and he knew you were there to ease his pain in every possible way. 

Still, it was so hard for him. And anything too hard typically led to disassociation. 

To gain an extra moment, he took the medicine, gulping down the entire glass of water. 

“Now, what sounds best?” You sweetly asked, nodding to the tray, your gentle smile completely melting him.

“I-I don’t think Steven and I are alone...in the body,” he gulped, his eyes wide and worried. 

Sitting up straighter, you slowly nodded, reaching to take the tray from his lap and set it safely on the night table, giving him time to say more, if he would.

That’s all he said.

Shit, you suddenly worried you didn’t know how to ask questions without sounding offensive, despite the library’s worth of research you had done on DID. But you weren’t an investigative journalist, you were this man’s fiancé(e). So you would start with him. 

“And that scares you, Marc? Upsets you?” 

He glared at you. “Obviously.” Then shook his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed, trying to proceed carefully. It was so, so good that he was opening up to you. Instead of playing a guessing game, you decided to be your normal, candid self. 

“Do you know who it is?”

He sort of did. Another man.

“Does he have a name?” 

Lockley. He was pretty sure.

“Have I met him?”

His dark eyes locked onto yours. “I don’t know. Have you?”

Well that certainly explained one reason he was so terrified. 

“No, I don’t think so. Does Steven know?”

Marc reluctantly confessed how hard he’d tried to hide it from Steven. 

“I knew this was all too good to be true,” he brokenly whispered, eyes downcast once more. “You, me, Steven, free...happy.”

“We are those things,” you agreed, keeping him focused on the here, now - the real. “A change doesn’t mean we weren’t those things, all this time.”

“You don’t understand...” Marc rubbed his eyes in frustration (with himself) and tried to ignore his growing headache. Maybe he really should eat and drink something. He tried to tell you about Khonshu. He was going to tell you everything, and Steven too. But it was too much at once, so you found yourself with Steven once more. 

Steven was very impressed with your choice of “hangover tea” and made sure the body got the nourishment, rest and shower it so needed. He missed his morning classes at uni, but did manage to make it to his shift at the university library, which ran from mid-afternoon to early evening. 

Since Steven seemed to determined to not miss a shift over a hangover, you decided to go ahead and work your shift at the hospital, as planned. The two of you would meet back at your flat for some supper and then, hopefully at least one of you could get some more information out of Marc.

Things didn’t go as planned. 

You returned home, assuming your fiancé would be there, just the same as the previous, fateful, sobriety-breaking night, but no one was home.

You looked around the flat, texted, called. Started dinner. Texted.

Took a shower, called. Called the university library - no Steven. 

Shit. 

Dinner was cold, you had texted the boys a novel, likely filled up their mailbox with voicemails. It was a desperate look - you were aware, but the worst thing you could imagine, aside from the actual worst thing that could happen to a person, was that maybe Marc was on a bender somewhere? It wasn’t exactly his drinking style, even back in the day, but...

Your feet were going to wear holes in the goldfish socks from all the pacing. It was past bedtime, midnight, 1am...should you call the police?

You were now truly, deep-in-your-bones terrified. In four years, neither Steven or Marc had ever just disappeared like this, not without telling you. Sometimes they could be a little radio silent when Khonshu was involved, but...

Maybe they weren’t them. Maybe it was the other. The new alter. Well, new to your boys anyway. You didn’t know anything about him, but one of the first things you wanted to know was - did he possess the ability to reply to a damn text message?

You got your answer twenty minutes later when you heard the slightest thump come from your bedroom. Hoping you had imagined the sound in your intense worry, you engaged in stupid-horror-movie-behavior and went to check out the sound, in the dark.

The moonlit profile of your fiancé sent a dozen feelings through your mind and heart at once, but as usual, you went with the borderline comical response first.

“Did you just come in through the window?”

Dark eyes snapped over to you as...Marc? pulled a flat cap off his head, loosening his curls. Tossing it to the side, he reached for the fingers of dark leather gloves, pulling them loose one at a time, but saying nothing.

You gulped. “Marc?”

Once the fingers of his glove were loosened, he discarded it and reached to work on the other hand, his body language holding none of Marc’s sorrowful tension, nor Steven’s anxious hunching. He moved with ease, dropping his second glove before pulling off his leather jacket. One you’d never seen, actually. You could tell that even in the dark.

Then he eased toward you confidently, like a panther, reaching to pull loose the tie around his neck. Okay, not Marc.

Once the dark tie was free of his neck, he toyed with it in his hands, wrapping it around one fist as his head cocked to the side. 

You forgot to breathe for a second. 

He finally let the thin fabric drift down to the floor and reached for the buttons of his white shirt.

Okay, enough. “You’re not Marc,” you uttered desperately, taking one step back. “Are you?” 

He matched your step backward with a step forward. Then he shook his head once. 

Oh. What had Marc said this morning? “L-Lockley? Is that right?”

He froze.

You decided, in that fleeting moment, to deal with the reality in front of you. You drew a steadying breath, releasing the fear and worry that had plagued you all night. Clearly, he was right in front of you, so he was at least safe. And despite the very distracting sort of striptease thing he just did, he admitted he was another.

So you weren’t going to be afraid anymore and give in to bullshit stereotypes. 

You stepped forward. “Do you know who I am? I live here, with you.”

He nodded. 

He was frustrating, this one. Sighing, you rubbed your tired eyes. “Have we met before, Lockley?”

The slightest smirk pulled up the corner of his mouth. 

“Jake.” 

He inched closer. 

“But you can call me anything you want.”

Well, damn. Huffing out a laugh, you quickly regained your footing. “Smooth. Never heard that one before...Lockley.”

His smirk eased into the slightest smile, but his eyes remained dark, boring into yours before tracing down the shape of your body. 

“I can see why they’re so taken with you, muñeca(o).” 

You always knew the right thing to say with Marc and Steven like 100%, all the time, but damn if this window-crawling, stripteasing man with the velvety chocolate voice didn’t have you stumped. 

Showing you a bit of pity, he extended his hand, offering a proper introduction. “Jake Lockley.”

But once you extended your own hand, he gently grasped your fingers, bending over slightly to lay a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Pleasure,” you shot back, taking his hand and kissing it right back. 

He chuckled lowly as you retreated. 

“Listen, Jake,” you said his first name pointedly, “I’m glad you’re okay. I was really worried tonight. Do you happen to know where my fiancé’s phone is?”

Eyeing you carefully, he reached down to grab his leather jacket, producing Marc and Steven’s phone from the pocket. Handing it over as a peace offering, you sighed, a little relieved it wasn’t lost, only to realize it was powered off. 

“Do you always turn off their phone?” You challenged, attempting to turn it on when you realized...

“It’s dead,” he explained, seeming the slightest bit unsure for the first time this evening. “I was going to...I thought you would be asleep.”

You frowned, confused.

“When I got back,” he clarified, his accent clearly American, although from a different region than Marc’s, it seemed. “I thought you would be asleep, like usual, and when you woke up, one of them would be with you.”

“Like usual?” You gasped. “You come in through the window while I’m asleep...like usual?”

Shit, it kind of sounded creepy said aloud like that. Jake knew meeting you would be a disaster. He really should have paid attention to whether you were really sleeping before he ninja’d his way inside. 

“Look, cariño, don’t worry about it,” he deflected, returning to the task of unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll be gone as soon as I fall asleep.”

“No,” you protested, moving close to him - as close as you dared. “No, I don’t want you to go. I just met you.”

His confident, dark gaze softened, and he almost dared to hope...

“Look,” you tried again, “I just want to know why we haven’t met before. And why Marc is so upset. And why is he drinking again--”

“Marc was drinking? Shit,” he uttered, pacing away from you. Jake had always successfully evaded his alters, and made a point to do so as he continued their life in the service of Khonshu. 

He should have seen this coming. Most of the scum he took care of in the dark of night didn’t even make him break a sweat, with or without the healing armor of an ancient god. But as word of a powerful nighttime avenger spread in the underworld of London, threats arose equal to the threat Jake posed. 

Just a few days ago, some asshole with powers of his own got the better of him, knocking him out cold. Jake had assumed that Khonshu had intervened but now he wondered...

If Marc woke up in the Moon Knight suit, he would absolutely freak the hell out. Which...now that he thought about it, he had no memory of getting home that night. 

This was just perfect. Jake could live without Marc and Steven knowing about him. He’d lived that way all this time, but you were something else. He hadn’t wanted to meet you like this. He had screwed up, and now you were only worried about Marc. He was worried too, honestly.

Now you would never want to know him.

[inkonparchment]

there's a man in the woods | Leon Kennedy

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

summary: everything changes when you find a man beaten, bruised and bleeding half to death in the woods.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: horror imagery. unsettling themes. mentions/description of blood, organs, guns. canon-typical violence. injuries. slow burn. eventual romance. hurt/comfort. plot armour goes crazy. language.

a/n: happy reading my dears.

series masterlist

Chapter 5

You stare at your reflection dancing on the surface of the boiling water, the steel bouncing off the afternoon sun streaming through the window. Your palm rests on the counter next to the stove, two ceramic mugs mere inches away from your fingertips. You steal a glance at them, powder blue colour with their handles turned away from each other, the string of the teabag resting over the rims.

You inspect their form, so visibly different from each other, one with a chipped bottom, colour dull and fraying, the other looking pristine, never having been touched a before. It was strange taking out the spare one out, its outline marked by a dust ring from the obvious disuse.

The loud thumping sound of wood against wood echoes in the background, sometimes the muffled sound of a curse word following it. It was rhythmic, a beat to it with three consecutive thumps, then silence and then repeating, each thud like a heartbeat, steady but strained. You glance over your shoulder in time to see Leon’s hair glittering in the sun, sweat collecting on his brown, before it disappears behind the wall.

He’s been practicing with his new walking stick for the better half of the past hour now, not daring to step out from the threshold of the room he was staying in. You wondered why, mind drifting to recount the days he had been here, never once venturing out or even asking if he could, sitting cross-legged on the far end of the sofa and absentmindedly scratching Luna behind her ears. You had never told him to not step out of his room, no warnings or threats made his way. But he also never shuts the door.

Maybe it’s because of you that he doesn’t wander out.

You had suddenly clambered up from your seat and whisked away to the furthest corner in the kitchen, the noise incessant and striking to your ears, resisting the urge to escape outside and slamming the door behind you. His voice is what stops you, the conversation from yesterday singing itself onto the surface of your brain, his bold and clear “Thank you” still lingering like the smoke after a fire.

You never could have though two words could hold so much weight or maybe it had been so long since someone had directed such kindness and softness towards you. It had wholly upended you, the ghost of his face so delicate in the moonlight vivid in the front of your eyelids.

The water bubbling over the pot onto the stove pulls you back to the ground, Luna walking over and nudging the back of your knee in assurance. You twist the knob, turning the fire off, wincing at the sizzling noise of water falling on the hot stove. Before you have the chance to pour the water into the mugs, a loud crashing noise makes you jump out of your skin. The sound of Leon walking around ceases, faint heavy breathing filling the air instead.

Quickly pouring the water into the mugs, careful not to top it off to the brim, you hoist them up from their handles, walking across the living room and coming to a pause outside the room. You peak inside to find Leon sitting on the side of his bed, head hanging in exhausting, hands gripping the edge of the mattress firmly with his walking stick lying on the ground at a distance away from him.

Squaring your shoulders, you walk into the room, Leon’s head snapping up to watch you place both mugs on the side table before crouching down to retrieve the stick. You lean it against the bed next to him, standing up and handing him his mug of tea.

Wordlessly he takes it from you, fingertips caressing against yours, a warm sensation blooming in them so different from the scalding temperature of the tea. He holds your gaze, skin glistening with sweat, exhaustion set deep into his features, the bags under his eyes having grown heavy. But his eyes still gleam filled with deterrence and determination with something kinder simmering in the back of them.

You are able to hold yourself better under his watchful eye, or so you’d like to believe. The feeling of wanting to run is still very strong within you but its muted now. I’m not going to hurt you. And yet you’re still the first to look away. You grab your mug and make to leave, the ceramic warm under your fingers.

“I’m getting better at the whole walking around now,” Leon says, words halting your exit.

You turn to look at him, a tired smile tugging at his lips. His eyebrows are turned up at the middle, a hazy look returning to his eyes before vanishing completely, a plea hidden in them. You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing at the empty chair from across him.

You stand there for a moment, the silence growing in thickness, overlaid with tension, feet dancing on the ground and then finally deciding to hesitantly walk back in. The crease in Leon’s forehead eases, earnestly watching you pull the chair and take a seat.

The wisps of steam rise from both of your mugs in symphony, twirling and twisting together in the air and then dissipating into the cool air of the room. You blow onto the surface of your tea, taking a tentative sip to soothe your drying throat. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” Your voice comes low and steady, tongue not used to sounding out comfort and assurance.  

He simply hums in reply, mimicking your actions and taking a sip from his mug. For a while the two of you simply sit together, raising mugs to lips and taking measured gulps from them.

His eyes linger on you, scanning your form, sometimes catching yours before flitting off to look elsewhere. It’s strange, you realize, having company. You’ve spoken more in the past few days than you had for the entire time you had been here.

You notice things of course, how he holds the cup awkwardly in his right hand, his motions abrupt when he brings the tea to take a sip. The slight wince in his face or the low grunt that escapes his lips when he rests his right arm back down against his knee. You notice how he sits leaning more to his left, the nervous movement of his forefinger grazing the skin of his thumb.

But it’s the shoulder that keeps your attention, so you finally ask. “Did you get shot in your shoulder?”

Leon stops picking at his thumb, eyes coming to meet yours, something passing by quickly in them. He pauses for a minute, considers and then finally says, “Yeah. A long time ago.”

You nod, curious at the way he said it but deciding not to push further. “So not your first time getting hurt then?”

“Definitely not,” Leon supplicates, smiling without humour.

You sip your tea, swirling the liquid around in your mug, both of your hands coming to clasp the mug. His words make you snap your head up. “You seem like someone who’s seen a lot of injuries. You don’t seem very phased by what happened.”

You find your next words to be humorous, laugh dying in your throat when you echo his words back to him. “Yeah. A long time ago.”

This time his smile is genuine laced with sadness. The two of you go back to sipping your tea in silence but curiosity still eats away at you, mind unable to help itself as it wonders about the bullet wound, the way he had stopped to mull over his words before affirming. Sometimes the answer is loudest in the silence.

“So how’d you get shot?”

Leon pauses mid sip, blue eyes striking over the rim of the mug as he stares at you. He brings the mug away, lips glistening with moisture, “I was trying to save someone.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Was it worth it?”

He pauses again, plunging back to the depths of his brain, “In a way.”

“God, you’re awfully cryptic,” You scoff unable to help the roll in your eyes. “What way is that?”

Leon holds your gaze, his free hand instinctively itching close to where the wound on his thigh was. He straightens his head, bangs falling away from his forehead and exposing fully to you, a knowing expression on his face that softens his features, making him look younger. “It’s always worth saving a life.”

The weight of his words settle on your shoulders like a warm blanket, different from the crashing pain that you are so used to. He makes you look away from him, he’s very good at that, hands tight against your mug. The causal vulnerability he expresses always unearths you, a man of few words but the meaning behind them always too rich.

It’s so foreign being around him, it becomes hard to discern if it’s because you haven’t been around anyone or he just so happens to possess the ability of pinching your heart with every word that leaves his lips.

You rise from your seat, gently this time, hand outstretched in a silent ask for Leon’s empty mug. Sunlight pours in from behind, bathing his silhouette in a warm glow. It always seems to find him, you wonder, the sun and the warmth, making a stark note of how you’re standing in the shadows untouched by the light. Except for your outstretched hand, it meets his in the middle as he hands off his mug to you, the remainder of his tea swirling around at the bottom.  

You look over your shoulder just before you leave to see him staring fixatedly at the walking stick. “Hey,” You get his attention, “You should get some rest.”

Leon shrugs, smiling, “You first.”

--

The evening sun settles in by the time you return from your short walk around the cabin, not venturing too far into the woods. The weather had begun to cool along with the sun’s descent, the tips of your fingers cold deep inside your pockets. Luna had sat herself on the porch, curiously watching as you took laps around the cabin, happy to take some with you until she had grown bored and padded towards her favourite spot in front of the door.

Or maybe she had sensed the turmoil happening inside your head and gotten overwhelmed by it.

You hadn’t even properly worn your coat, leaving it open on the front, sniffling loudly when your nose had begun to run from the chill in the air. The usual songs of the birds and the rustling of the trees was not enough to calm your racing mind, fingers bunched up in fists as the cold bit your knuckles.

It was almost as though you were punishing yourself, throwing yourself so callously at the mercy of mother nature, to deplete yourself from the warmth that had occupied you so fiercely in the afternoon. Leon’s fingertips were still ghosting over your own, refusing to let them be gripped by the weather. It was bizarre how much room Leon had taken up in your mind in the short time that he has been around.

Fear was not the primary emotion now lingering around him but curiosity. There was so much you wanted to know about him but the words would die in your mouth whenever you’re around him. Although there was an improvement in your general conduct around him, it wasn’t enough, frustrating you. You could feel him now too, even through the walls, convinced that the fabric of your reality had forever changed ever since you tripped over your own feet in dragging him back.

But you had to keep your guard up, prepared for the worst as you still did not know him. Maybe his calm demeanour was a front, waiting for one slip up from you before he would start baring his teeth.

In panic your mind flashes to the chest in the cellar, halting your steps as you almost kick yourself for hiding his gear there. What if he goes searching for his stuff? What if he finds the chest? What if he uncovers the contents of it? You’d have chosen another spot for his gear but you barely had time to think that day. You consider shifting it but that train of thought comes to a stop immediately, not wanting to expose the entrance of the cellar. You shudder, making your approach back to the entrance, guessing that you’ll have to make do. For now.

Luna perks up, standing up and wagging her tail in enthusiasm, happily accepting the head scratches as you walk past her to the door, shutting it gently behind her. Stowing away your jacket, you catch a glimpse of the rifle resting peacefully in the closet, not having felt the need of having it out today.

Inching forward inside the cabin, you look to your left dismissively towards the kitchen and nearly jump out of your bones, a startled gasp leaving your lips. The suddenness of your motion tips the glass away that Leon was drinking from causing water to dribble down his face. You clutch at your chest, heart slamming against your ribs with the tips of your ears burning hot, all of the cold from the outside washing out of your system.

You hadn’t expected to see Leon outside of his room, eyes nearly bulging out of your sockets. Leon sets the glass down, wiping the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, apology heavy on his face. “Sorry, I was just thirsty. And it felt ridiculous bothering you to get me water every time I wanted a drink.”

 You wave him off, stepping into the kitchen with him, fighting every urge to not peer at the carpet covering the cellar to see if it had moved at all, “No its okay, sorry. Just not used to seeing someone else in my space.”

Leon nods knowingly, grabbing a clean glass and pouring water in it from the jug, his other hand gripping the walking stick firm to keep him upright. He offers you the glass and you hesitantly take it, feeling odd at being at the receiving end instead of the giving one. He watches you as you gulp it down, not realizing how much thirst had built over the time of your walk.

The thump sound of his stick returns as he takes a step back, gesturing at sink which was dripping away like it usually does. “Is it always like that?”

You nod, setting the glass down on the table and catching your breath, “Yeah pretty much.”

“Do you have tools lying around?”

“I think so. There must a kit in the shed.”

“If you want, I could fix it for you.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, unsure if you had heard correctly, hearing yourself talk on instinct like a teleprompter on its cue, “No don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” Leon assures.

“No honestly, it’s fine,” You try to wave him off, rounding the table to come stand opposite him.

Leon tilts his head, intrigue burning in his eyes as he stares at you. You grow bit restless under his watch, irritation building up at his reluctance to let things go, eyes meeting his and this time you don’t look away. Light finds him again, brushing him in shades of deep orange and red with the sun setting in the window behind him, his shadow falling on you.

“Let me fix it,” He says it so low that you almost miss it, his tone gentle as though talking to a panicked animal that would scamper at any sudden motion.

“Why?” You whisper, hoping you hide the shake in your voice.

“Because I want to,” Leon asserts firmly.

 You think your crazy with how quick your resolve dissolves, feeling yourself flounder in his presence. You dust off imaginary dirt from the table, nails scraping against the wood in frustration, “Fine but tomorrow. You’ve already exhausted yourself.”

Leon smiles, taking your used glass with his and turning to the sink, the motion causing some sunlight to fall on you, “Thank God. I was going insane lying there on the bed.”

You don’t answer him, staring at the dark grey flannel that stretched across his moving back as he washed the glasses, not finding it in yourself to tell him to not do it. So instead you take the opportunity to look at the carpet, eyes darting all over it to see if anything is out of place.

You feel your breathing quicken, palms grow sweaty as you fixatedly stare at one of the corners, slightly upturned. The steady flow of the water from the sink fades into the background as all you can hear is the roar of your blood in your ears.

[adventuringblind]

Safety In Your Arms

Dando x Reader

Genre: Hurt-comfort, maybe spicy via implied smut

Summary: Sometimes things go horribly wrong, nothing like what you expected, and it sends you hurtling towards emotions you never asked for. Lando and Daniel hate to see her this way.

Warnings: implied sexual content prior to and post incident, r@pe, anxiety, panic attacks, worried partners

Notes: Not sure this is exactly what you wanted because I don't write r@pe fantasies... regardless I hope the requester likes it :)

Side Note: Please leave notes! I think I might have been shadow banned recently as my fics are not being interacted with as much as they used to. Maybe it's just me being self-conscious because I know I couldn't care but I do.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Her heart thumping in her ears is all she can hear. Just last night, this had been something special and intimate. It was beautiful and loving. Now a stranger thinks he take something that isn't his.

Daniel and Lando are the only ones aloud to touch her like this. Their touch sends shivers down her spine in a pleasant way. This man makes her burn. His grip keeping her pinned to the wall feels like lighter being held against the bare flesh of her hips.

She was almost to the room. Back to the safety of her boys. Just up the stairs and down the hall. Curse the elevator for not working.

She's not sure where the adrenaline comes from. Her fight or flight response is pulling from some unknown energy reserve. It's enough for her to push him off her.

He falls backwards down the stairs. He's disoriented but still conscious. He looks like he might fight his way back to her and finish what he started.

She bolts. Her legs carry her to the door of her shared room. Fists bang on the door in terror.

The door to the stairwell slams open. She leans her weight into the door and slides down. Tears stream down her face at the hopelessness she feels in this situation.

The door flings open. Daniel on the other side catches her crumbling body before it hits the ground. She pushes inside and finds the farthest corner of the room.

She sees the silhouette of the man come to face Daniel. Lando is crouched down in front of her, trying to coax some kind of explanation out of her. She's too worked up to respond.

The loud crack of Daniel's knuckles fills her ears. Her attacker stumbles backwards once more, this time he's out cold. His body falls to the ground, with a soft thud muffled only by the carpeted floors.

Lando exchanges a few words with Daniel. The ringing in her ears makes it hard to understand. It's not until Lando hands her his sweatshirt to hold and Daniel is on the phone that she registers the safety.

"He - He - I was -" She can't even get the words out. Not without realizing how pathetic she sounds.

"Okay, breathe now love, you're safe." She takes a few breathes with Lando. "Can we try some yes or no questions?"

She hesitantly shakes her head yes. Slowly, she reaches to Lando. He intertwines his fingers with hers and both of them relax.

"Did her hit you at all?"

Yes. When he first got her against the wall.

"Did he touch you anywhere intimate?" Lando looks like he's trying not to cringe.

Yes. Everywhere. It burns still.

Lando look on the verge of tears. He's always been empathetic, hurting with them. "Did he - did he rape you?"

She breaks. Burries her face in Lando's sweatshirt and wails. Lando is careful not to touch her in any harsh way; lets her lead him.

Daniel clambers onto the floor with them. She doesn't look at him, but she knows he's there and that's enough. "Love, I'm so sorry this happened to you. The authorities are on their way to take, whoever that was, away. The question now is how you want to go forward." Daniel takes a heavy breath before continuing when she doesn't respond. "We have to go to the hospital, love. I don't want you to suffer any more than you already have."

She's still crying as they bundle her up in Lando's sweatshirt and Daniel's sweats. The soft baggy ones she steals from him all the time regardless.

"Dan, what about... him?" Lando stares at the man lying on the floor. She has to will herself not to vomit at the sight of him.

"I'll meet you there, okay? The police should be here soon." Lando looks hesitant to leave without Daniel. The Aussie plants a reassuring kiss to his forehead. "Take care of our girl, yeah?"

By the time they get checked in, Daniel texts that he's on his way. She hasn't said anything else since the hotel room, but Lando kindly offers her one of his airpods. The music helps, if only a little.

The nurse takes her back to the room alone. She wails the entire time until they let Lando, now with Daniel on his heels, back with her.

She dissociates through the entire visit. Not coherent enough to answer anything but yes or no questions.

The next few days are more of them same. Only getting out of bed to sit in the shower. The water hot enough to burn away her skin.

Daniel tells Max they had an emergency but doesn't go into any details. Max lets them fly out with him. She doesn't talk to him. Too tired to use any energy on conversation.

Daniel and Lando respect her space. They ask before touching her. They announce their presences, especially if they are behind her.

The bruises fade eventually. It's not like the physical evidence was going to remain on her forever. Still, with his handprints gone for her sight, they burn her every time the area is touched.

She doesn't wear anything aside from Lando and Daniel's clothes that are too big on her. Not until they are back in Monaco for the summer break. Four months after the incident.

Daniel gently coaxes her out of the warm clothing. The boys give her space until she's ready to join them and respect her boundaries when she asks not to be touched.

Her skin still burns.

By the end of summer break, she's had time to work her way up to new things. Small bits of skin-on-skin contact and hugs are quickly becoming her new lifeline. She missed being able to not fear the touch of another. Her mind tends to forget she's safe and fights anyone who tries to get to close.

By September she's able to sleep in the same bed as them without waking up panicked that they are going to hurt her in some way. The nightmares remain, but now she clings to the two males when she wakes crying.

On a particularly charged night filled with celebrations. The three of them work through it at her pace. She sets boundaries like her therapist had told her to do. Daniel and Lando tell her everything they are going to do before they lay a finger on her.

She missed this.

She missed them.

Their hands don't burn her skin anymore.