#figured this one could just be here instead of on ao3 since it's kind just a (long) drabble

[niccolites]

febrile (or; input vs output)

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

Instead you stand to the side and watch with him as the other officers dig through your stuff. They’re a bit too enthusiastic, your tray gets flipped over and your bench kicked over to check underneath and it isn’t righted again.

Simon watches you, uncaring that he should be watching his men. You tilt your head back and look up at him, you aren’t half his size but it’s a close thing. He thinks he likes that, watching the top of your spine disappear into your neck just to look at him, the arch of your throat. Traces his eyes over it, tendons and a vulnerable jugular, pushed out for him.

-

or: Simon is a member of the Night City Police Department and you're a ripper doc. It is his job to catch criminals, but even he can admit, he's taken a different approach for you. CYBERPUNK!AU

TAGS: Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Size Kink, Unhealthy Relationships

read here on ao3

Simon’s got a bug in his system that is turning his vision white at the edges when he finally visits you.

Not that he has much of a morality regarding visiting ripperdocs. Sure, they’re criminals and as a member of the NCPD, it is his job to arrest and charge criminal activity, but that was a rigid rule set decades ago. These days, the split between the NCPD and a common gang is that the rules the gang lives by aren’t written into the law. But, allowances are allowed on both sides.

Simon has never cared much to think about it. He sees some other officers have that blank look in their eye after they finish a shift, others who seem to revel in being able to do whatever it is that they want. Simon just does as he’s told. If he’s told to save the woman who survived a cyberpsycho attack then she is tossed over a shoulder and brought to the ambulance. If otherwise, a nod is all he needs to know that there are no witnesses. Finger, gun, trigger. The explosion in the palm of his hand, kicked back and caught. Delivered.

Maybe it has left a screw loose in his head. Not his job to analyse that.

Flouting the law as and when it suits the law is a part of the job. Not one that Simon has much indulged in, he must admit. Any murder, extortion, crime that is involved in the ‘etcetera’ part of his work, has been asked of him. His fellow officers flout the law as and when it suits them. Illegal weapons, killing a perp who gets too mouthy, maybe getting a bit too handsy with a victim. Simon hasn’t been much interested in the ‘benefits’ he can reap with his badge.

However, after a job where the NCPD took down a group of scavengers, Simon’s vision starts getting spotty. He’d had to jack into one of the victims to see if they were still alive. Horrible static, bad channel. They hadn’t been. And seemingly willing to haunt him from the afterlife, leaving a pesky virus in his system.

There are NCPD designated docs that he could go and visit, but the idea of letting one of their starched, freshly pressed hands go worming around in his cyberware makes his skin crawl. Years before his official service, he’d had all his kit installed by a ripperdoc, and he hadn’t had an issue he couldn’t fix himself since.

He spends a few days just trying to deal with it, still able to hit his shots using the noise that all criminals insist on making. He can still mostly see, even a few days in. Maybe not make out features, but people are blurry and morphed shapes that approach him and he puts them down with the same accuracy as before.

It’s not long before his captain pulls him up, though. Forces him to admit the bug, and issues a new command. Sort it out.

Standing in the doorway of your clinic, hidden in his civvies, here he is. Sorting it out.

You’re in the middle of muddling around with some of your equipment, humming to yourself before you must catch sight of him. The blur of your figure jumps, as your face comes into profile. You must be intimidated by the sight of him, something that he registers with a cool type of pleasure. Even not in his uniform and clearly strapped with all of his weapons, he blocks the light coming in from your doorway. You must see the metal of his left arm, nothing human left there. The gas mask that covers half of his face, black and stark against the pale of his skin.

“Hello. How can I help?” you ask, shifting something up your forehead. It distorts ths shape of your head and he realises that they must be massive goggles. Ridiculous, he imagines you must look like the image of the crazy scientist from old stories; you probably have a lab coat on. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your reputation, known as one of the best ripperdocs in Watson, even if you are as cheap as they say.

Ripperdocs are the gray area in Night City. Criminals, yes, but the hassle of actually taking down ripperdocs is more than it’s worth. Not that Simon tends to give a fuck about the politics, or the give and take of crime vs law. He is a bullet, pointed in a direction and shot out.

“I got a bug in my system,” he says, taking another step into your clinic.

You nod, gesture for him to take a seat on your bench. Something out of a dentist’s nightmare, he imagines, but he takes a seat nonetheless. Despite lying down, everything in him is as tense as a straight line. Gaze landed and caught on you, lazy as he watches you drift around your clinic. His vision is filtering your clinic as starkly white, the outline of your light grey. You both may as well be in void, he can only see the outline of objects as they get close to him.

You swing your chair around and pick up a wire. “You cool if I take a look?” you offer, gesturing with the wire. His forearm is already tense with the instinct to catch your hand before you can plug that into the side of his neck. His metal gasmask covers the slot anyway.

A beat, in which you look back at him. He considers making it awkward, telling you no or something. Settles on nodding and watches the way you flounder for a moment when you realise you can’t reach the slot. You’re paused, flatering in the space between the two of you.

“Can you take off your mask?” you ask. Your voice is deliberately light, but he can hear the catch of annoyance underlying your tone. It makes him want to grin, wonders how you look right now, if you’re frowning at him or trying to hide it with a smile.

“No,” he tells you. A beat. You don’t move or attempt to say anything else. Stalemate, when he can’t see how you look. “There’s a catch on the side, you unlatch that to reach the slot.”

You don’t say anything else, and he’s irritated by that. Relying on noise when the other individual doesn’t want to make any noise just leaves him listeless. You reach up, click open a section of his mask and plug in. You turn away, pull what must be a tray towards yourself. You must have plugged him into your laptop, your figure hunched towards it.

You cluck your tongue, goggles shifting across your brow as you gaze at your screen. “This is a nasty one, how’d you catch this?” He decides that’s not relevant and watches you instead. You give him a quick glance, head tilting his way, but decide to shrug off his strange silence. “I’ll just be a moment while I clear it. Seems to have caught onto a lot of your neural sensors, I’m surprised you can still walk.”

His chest doesn’t puff out with pride, but it’s a close thing. You tinker away at it, finally clearing it from his system. The whites that had clouded his vision clears, and he can see you in high definition finally. Can see the pores next to your nose, the frizz around the strap of your goggles as it disappears into your hair. You’re giving him an evaluating look, your eyes intent even as the rest of your body is deliberately loose. You don’t seem to have much chrome on you, thin lines of metal around your eyes, and a scanner on your right palm. He doubts you have much more.

“There we are, good as new,” you tell him, leaning back in your chair with a pleased huff. You give him another long look, but this time he can see the widen and pinprick of your retina. He wonders how he comes up in the scan that you must’ve pulled up the second he was in your doorway. Cop, ex-army, de-commissioned, KIA but here, in the (mostly) flesh. You don’t give any of it away, just shut your laptop and unplug him.

You hadn’t asked for payment upfront, and he imagines just walking out. Wonders if you would scowl at him, if you would expect it, maybe scowl for once. Drop that calm look on your face in exchange for something a bit uglier.

There is a long beat that he draws out to see what you will do, but you only sit patiently. You turn back to your laptop, tapping away on something else now. It’s not fun if you’re not biting, he sends you what he decides must be your standard fee, watches you tilt your head to the side at the chime of money exchanged.

He doesn’t thank you, just gets up and leaves. You didn’t close the latch on the side of his mask, and he considers marching back and making you do it, but decides to save it for another day. He closes it himself for now, and fancies that he can feel the finger print that you left behind on it, evidence.

-

The first warrant he comes back with is legitimate. Cyberpyschos are going mental over the bridge, and they have a faint enough lead that shows some of the cyberware tracing back to yourself. He knocks on your door and watches your face when he presents it to you.

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

Instead you stand to the side and watch with him as the other officers dig through your stuff. They’re a bit too enthusiastic, your tray gets flipped over and your bench kicked over to check underneath and it isn’t righted again.

Simon watches you, uncaring that he should be watching his men. You tilt your head back and look up at him, you aren’t half his size but it’s a close thing. He thinks he likes that, watching the top of your spine disappear into your neck just to look at him, the arch of your throat. Traces his eyes over it, tendons and a vulnerable jugular, pushed out for him.

He imagines reaching over and holding his hand over the soft column of your throat. You’ve left it bare, you’d likely barely have any time to start flailing before he’d squeeze with intent and you’d drop, caught in the palm of his hand. If you can sense his thoughts, you don’t give it away, just watch him in return, blinking like a stray cat. Curious but wary.

“You know, Officer Riley, if you wanted to see me again, you didn’t have to bring the official signed document,” you say, gesturing with the hologram that was on the chip he presented to you. It’s slightly flirty, but cautious, like you’re padding around an interrogation room, but you don’t know what he’s done yet.

He doesn’t say anything. You smile back, as if he had responded, and let it lie. Your eyes are sharp, he imagined he could hear the whir as you scanned each of his men as they came in, but your smile and limbs are loose, like you are unaware of everything. Your teeth are blunt, but he imagines the cut of one against the metal of his forearm.

They don’t find anything, and one of his men huffs, giving you a dirty look. You’re asked what you work as and your smile doesn’t slip. “I help those with addiction, this is a place for them to speak, to be treated,” you answer.

“Treated?” one of his men pushes, giving Simon a look. It’s a terrible lie, so bad that Simon reckons they’ll have a hard time proving it’s not true. This is a shitty area, there’s likely 3 gonks in the alleyway outside lying in the gutter, high. You’re also liked enough that they could grab a random off the street and they’d lie for you easily enough.

“Simple brain dances, meditations,” you explain, rolling your head back to give Simon another look. The smile is gone, eyes gone guileless. He squints at it, suspicious and the corner of your mouth gives the faintest twitch. “Honestly, officers, whatever it is that you’re looking for, I’m sure I would not be of any help.”

One of his men steps forward as if to grab you by the arm but Simon barks at him to step back. You haven’t looked away, but you look analysing again, like you had looked at the virus in his system. “We’re done here,” Simon announces and steps back before you can say anything else. Leaves you with your trashed clinic and his warrant on the chip he gave you.

Simon falls asleep later and dreams of you with a scalpel in your hands, and when you cut into him, there is no blood.

-

Simon sees you again, but this time you’re outside. It bristles him, seeing you standing on an open street. Your sides are bare and before he can think about it too much, he’s cut his eyes around every alleyway around you. Making sure that there is no one on the rooftops. Traffic roars past and he grits his teeth. There's been a spike in drive-by shootings, gangs nipping at each other’s heels in a show of territory.

He’s over to you before he can stop himself, a hulking mass at your back, shielding you from the view of the road. He would tell himself that he is doing his duty as an officer, but he has always been a self-interested man, and never cared much to lie to himself. 

You startle as his shadow swallows you up, turning around to blink up at him. You squint at the sight of him. “Officer,” you greet. He grunts in response, which makes you almost roll your eyes.

You turn back to the stall you were standing at, humming over some mods for sale.

The man at the stall is terrified at the introduction of Simon, pale and nodding mindlessly as you start to barter. Simon imagines if he flashes his holster then you would even get the mod for free, a thought which amuses him. You'd likely get even more annoyed, which he does want to see.

As if you can sense his thoughts, you wrap up the exchange quickly and step away, Simon following at your back. “There something you want from me, officer?” You ask, giving him a look over your shoulder. He stares back at you, unyielding.

He’s unsettled suddenly, imagining how often you must be outside of your clinic. He hadn’t thought of it, had only imagined you were constrained in those four walls. The door had shut behind him and he had left you there, a still picture until he would return eventually. Waiting, like a good girl, sat by the door.

“You going home?” he asks you. Tells you.

You give him another look. He wants the crack of your skull in his palms, like the clean split of a watermelon. Wants to parse through your thoughts, wants to have them before they even fully form on your own.

“Yeah, I got what I needed,” you reply. He grunts, follows you until you tilt towards the side streets that lead back to your clinic. Barely any safer, but at least it’s not the open street, and he has his orders to patrol here. He watches you as you disappear around a corner. His gums itch, his tongue flexes in his mouth. He is a wild dog held back with a tattered leash, but he respects it all the same, heads back to his post, but keeps his ear tilted in the direction you went in.

-

He comes back again, and the warrant isn’t even real. He stares you down, wants you to open it, wants the reaction to his baldfaced lie. You take the chip and step aside to let him in. There’s a cut across your brow, purple bruising around it and he can’t look away from it. White in his vision again, he’s starting to suspect you’ve put another virus in his system, infecting him. He blinks and it clears, but the distrust stays like a rotting in his core.

He wants to dig his teeth into the edge of the metal in your palms and peel it up, wants the imprint of his teeth somewhere on you that you couldn’t replace with technology. He thought about you while he fucked his fist in the shower, and you had been beneath him, teary-eyed as he broke you in on his cock. He wants to fuck you until you drop that questioning look in your eye and bare your throat for him again.

“Look at the warrant,” he tells you. You smile up at him, like he is someone charming. He’s not, and he wants the reaction that he has sought out of you.

“Won’t it just say what all of them say?” you point out, leaning back against your desk. “Something that may have something to do with me, and here you are.” He stays silent, stares you down. “Do you want me to be a criminal?”

“You are one,” Simon rebuttals. That’s why he’s here. You need to be, he needs to catch you. He dreamt of chasing you down a network, jumping between wires and static until he caught your hips in his hands and crushed them. His desire for you is entwined with the dichotomy of your identities. He isn’t much interested in forcing you to become a legal law-abiding citizen, as he is pushing the two of you further into the roles that you are in.

“You know what I mean,” you add, pushing off of your desk and stepping towards him. A step away and he reaches his metal hand out, clamps your jaw in his palm. You let him, like you always seem to do, and it’s like pure heroin, lights something up in him.

“Who did this?” he asks, your chin in his palm, his thumb on your eyebrow. Right on the cut. He thinks if it was him that put it there, he might dig in a little, but he wasn’t. It’s hidden from view like this, with the edge of your eyebrow, disappeared behind his ugly, metal thumb.

“Got jumped by some asshole who thought he was hot shit,” you say, easily. The way you say everything, no pit-stop between your brain and your mouth. He wants to dig his tongue into the back of your throat and catch the words there, drink them down.

“Who?” he asks. You shrug and he shakes your jaw like a bad dog. “Who?” he repeats, tone biting. There’s a twitch in your eye at being roughhoused but you don’t step back.

You give a name, raising an eyebrow at him. He vaguely recognises it, some asshole who’s been causing trouble in Watson. Some wannabe gangbanger. He butts his head against yours, too hard to be truly affectionate before he leaves. His gas mask bumps against your cheek, leaves a red mark on your jaw from where his metal fingers dug in.

He shoots the fucker who jumped you, and dumps his body in the river. He watches it float, knowing it’ll be found. When they see the NCPD bullet extracted from his brain, he’ll be dumped back out again. Simon thinks about allowances, thinks about ropes of wire and how they snap. Rubber ripped, coil exposed.

-

He comes to see you again, this time in the middle of the night, wanting to see what you look like when you’ve just woken up. He imagines you’ll be pliant, let him shift you around as he wishes, sleep in your eye and a dream still dragging on your limbs.

You open the door and rub your eyes. Your hair is a little ruffled from your bed, blinking up at him with thick-cottoned eyes. He smiles with teeth beneath his gas mask at how awareness flickers into your eyes before you force a yawn. You’re so quick, which is why it’s always so satisfying to catch you.

“Something I can help with, officer?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe.

“Let me in,” he tells you. Demands it of you. It would be so easy to force his way in, but he likes it when you do as he tells you to.

“You got a warrant for that?” you ask, scrubbing a hand over your jaw. Eye him like he’s your patient again, like you’re finding that virus in his system and cutting it out.

“No,” he replies. Watches your expression, the subtle tick of your brow at his bold-faced honesty.

He wonders if you’ll shut the door on him. Make him peel the metal back to get in anyway. He would, he’s saved up his allowances and he plans on cashing them out on you.

You give him another long look before you step to the side and let him in. The door slides shut with a wheeze and a soft thunk.

“Is there something that you would like to say, Officer Riley,” you say, as if it’s a question but your voice doesn’t lilt at the end. He wants to catalogue every one of your reactions and keep them to himself, squirrelled away, out of the sight of anyone else. That is something beyond liking you, beyond attraction. Simon feels possessive of everything about you, like he might cave someone’s skull in if they saw too much of you.

Simon’s never been too much of a talker, he steps forward and crowds you into the desk that has all of your equipment on it. You blink up at him, perfectly still in the way that prey animals are, when they know they’re caught. The rabbit-like flutter of your heart, caught in the palm of his hand as he cups your neck. Thumb against the soft give just beneath your chin. “Simon,” he tells you, although he knows you already must know. He never told you he was Officer Riley, knows that you must have pried your way into whatever confidential information that you could find on your scan of him.

“Well, that doesn’t feel appropriate, Officer Riley,” you point out. Your calm tone is undermined by the kick of your pulse. His fingers flex, held back with a trained restraint. He likes knowing you’re afraid of him, like that you talk back to him anyway. Like watching a kitten yowl at a beast. Cute.

“Simon,” he repeats, bending his head closer to you, A hunch in his shoulders, and his face still isn’t that close to yours.

A quiet beat. “Simon,” you repeat. Your voice is flat, as if you’re trying to take the enjoyment out of it for him. He huffs with something like amusement. He gets his rocks off here, having his way in your clinic, the feel of your skin against the scar tissue of his human hand. You could be scowling or smiling, and he’d like either once he’s got his fingers in your mouth.

He reaches his other hand up and undoes his gas mask, lets it drop off and sets it on the desk next to your hip. Hoists you up, catches the kick of your leg, steps into the cradle of your thighs. “There we go,” he tells you. Your eyes have taken in the exposed section of his face. Ripped skin, some replaced by chrome, most of it left to heal as is. He knows that he is an ugly sight, a hulking, horrible man, hunched over you. He doesn’t care much what you have to say about it.

He ducks his head and looks you in the eye, even playing ground. You glare back at him and he grins with teeth. He hopes that you bite him, seals his mouth over yours. Your tongue is wet and he tilts your head back, wanting to get into your throat. You bite his tongue and he groans, his other hand pushing your hips into his. He grinds into you, huffing into your mouth. He memorises each point of your teeth, sucks your tongue into his mouth and blinks at you with half-closed eyes.

He pulls back with a wet smack, which leaves your cheeks flushed. “Show me your tits,” he tells you, hands flat on your desk, framing your hips. You don’t move, glaring up at him again. He gives you a lazy look, like you’re boring him now. If anything, the hateful look in your eye has made him even harder, if it were possible. “Now.”

“Such a dick,” you mutter to yourself, reaching for the buttons of your pyjama shirt and slipping it off. There’s a fine tremble in your hands before you still them with a calming breath. He was right on his first impression of you - that you barely have any chrome on you. Your skin is soft looking, no harsh metal on your torso. Restricted to the framing of metal around your eyes, your right palm. 

He smooths his metal hand up your side, watches gooseflesh and vellus hair raise in its wake. Cups one of your breasts in his cold metal palm. Almost coos at the sight of your nipple pebbling as his thumb swipes over it. Restrains himself at the last second, but gives into the urge to give you a mean pinch as retribution for your filthy mouth. You jump, a hitch in your breath. He smirks at you, hopes you can see the chip in his canine. “Behave,” he tells you, reaching for the waistband of your bottoms. Maybe once he’s drunk his fill, he can indulge the bite of your mouth, but his skin feels stretched thin over chrome and bone, and he wants what’s his and he wants it readily.

There’s a jump in your abdomen as his hand dwarves your hip, tugging your pyjama bottoms off and tosses them behind him. He spreads your thighs, peaks at the curls the cover your sex. All of the dolls in Night City are clean shaven. He likes this better, likes that you hadn’t been expecting him, and here he is anyway. He makes a mental reminder to bin all of your razors if he gets a chance.

He parts your sex with two fingers, huffing at the sight. So sweet, even with your strange looks and your filthy mouth. Sweet as sugar down here, your hole fluttering, your clit hidden under its hood like it’s shy. His hands are a cage around the span of your waist, squeezes in warning before he thuds to his knees and flattens his tongue against you. You whimper at the contact, manage to strangle the noise just barely. When he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, you yowl, thighs kicking out. He squeezes them in place over his shoulders, barely jostled.

He brings one hand down from your waist, lifts his head, a string of saliva connecting him to your clit. It’s out now, throbbing and awake. He spits on it, watches you flinch with it. Spittle drips down, sits on the slick that has gathered at your hole. He feeds you one finger, groans as he watches your flesh part for him, and feels how hot you are inside. You're tight, he can feel muscle clamp down around his index, clinging to him. “Need to relax, sweetheart, or my cock’s gonna break you,” he tells you. It almost feels like a struggle to even feed you one finger, something that leaves a strangled feeling in his chest.

“Do one,” you reply, eloquently. But you don’t kick him off you or anything, so he just gives you another look. He’s being too indulgent with you, he knows. But, it’s better to let a puppy misbehave so they know what’s not tolerated. Training for another day, he lowers his head and licks at the stretch of your pussy around his finger.

He slides his finger in and out of you, gives you another when your panting starts to hitch up, rubbing his thumb over your clit when you whine at the stretch. You start whining out swears, hips jolting forward and then back again as if you want to come, but don’t want him to give it to you.

His third finger is pushing it, he knows because you start clawing at his scalp, sharp little nails. He groans hot onto your clit, which has you shaking. You’re wet with sweat, he can see the shine of it on the curve of your belly, on the strip of skin between your tits.

He slows the pump of his fingers, idly toying your clit with his tongue. He debates if you should be allowed to come. He doesn’t want you knowing that he finds your pissy words amusing, doesn’t want to overly encourage it. However, you haven’t tried to run, or punch him or anything of that ilk. He knows that you can’t help the kick of your hind legs. He pinned you down with teeth at your throat, and he knows that you’re trying so hard to behave. Besides, sinking his cock into you is already going to be a struggle, nevermind if you aren’t loose and pliant for him.

He curls his fingers, sucks your clit, chasing your orgasm like it’s his last meal. A test in his restraint. He thinks that he wants this more than you do. Your lungs stutter, shaking as your hands cradle his head. You’re muttering to yourself, ‘please’ spilling out of you, again and again. Another mean suck and your shriek, back bowing and he feels the clench of your cunt around his fingers.

He fingers you through it, until you are almost sobbing, trying to crawl away from him, but held in place with his metal hand that has slipped to the small of your back. He gives your clit a kiss, mean and hard just to watch it throb before he gets up off his knees with a groan. He;s getting too old to be kneeling on tile like that. He’ll fuck you in a bed next time, if you’re good.

He slides his fingers out of you, unbuttons his trousers. You stare at him, vaguely out of it as you try to catch your breath. Awareness seems to slam back into you as he fishes his cock out. He’s big, he knows this, but the way your eyes widen like he’s pulled a gun on you has him chuckling to himself. “That’s not going to fit,” you tell him, tone dead.

“Enough flirting,” he tells you, catching your legs over his forearms and dragging you to the edge of your counter.

“You’re deranged,” you snark. He’s amused, watching the anger tugging at your scowl, naked beneath him, and your slick caught in the curls between your legs.

He gives the side of your thigh a firm smack, catching the jump of your body. “Watch that mouth, or I’ll put it to use,” he warns you. You glare up at him, but don’t say anything else. A shame, but he does have to have a firm hand with you.

He takes his cock and grinds it against you, parting your curls to get to the hot, wet flesh beneath. He catches the head of his cock against your clit, slicks himself up, knowing that he’ll need it if the greedy suck of your cunt around his fingers is any indication. He pulls back and lines himself up. He understands what you’re saying, the mushroom shaped head dwarves the small hole that flutters as he presses against it lightly. It’s hard to imagine fitting in there, even given that he has tried to prepare you.

You don’t seem to understand how bullheaded Simon is, though. He hasn’t chased anything that he hasn’t caught yet. A tense of his wide bicep and he starts to push into you, metal hand on the base of his cock, the other lightly rubbing your clit in circles to get you to give way.

There’s a moment where he thinks it might not happen, you’re starting to flush, face shining with sweat. Then there’s a shudder and your cunt parts, splits, sweet fruit halving and the head slips inside. You both groan, his head dropping onto your collar as he pushes further into you. You’re slick, he can feel your cunt sucking at him.

You start to whimper as he pushes further into you. His thumb rubs up and down on your clit, insistent even as if you try to cringe away from him. Shallowly thrusts, keeps pushing until you start to give way. You thump your fist against his chest, the impact bouncing off of chrome. He barely acknowledges it, and continues grinding into you.

He bottoms out, groans into your collarbone. “There we go, there we are, sweet girl,” he tells you. The muscles in your back loosen at the praise, feels tense flesh give out into his metal hand.

He pulls fully out and slams into you, and you whine, hands on his shoulders and clinging. “Simon -” you start, but he shifts both his hands onto the back of your knees and pushes them up to your shoulders. He can see the stretch of your cunt around him like this, the spread of your legs for the monstrous size of him. He feels dizzy with it, can’t stop himself from pulling almost all of the way out of you before slamming inside. His eyes almost roll back into his head, and you sob, nails digging into the flesh that he has on his back.

Your knees over his forearms, he braces his hands on your hips and he starts thrusting into you, pleasure zipping up his spine. Breathy sounds are punched out of you each time his thighs slap into yours. There’s a heat rising in him, catching and flaming.

He lifts his torso up, looks down on you. It’s like he thought, the prick of tears in the corner of your eyes, the swollen spread of your pussy around him. He drops one of your legs in favour of flattening his palm against your throat. Your pulse is fat in his palm. He catches it there, feels the ricochet into the meat of his hand.

You clench down on him and he groans, bares his teeth at you. “You like that, huh?” he asks you, flexing his fingers over the tendons of your neck. Your mouth is open, he can see the pink flash of it in your mouth. You try to shake your head but another hard thrust just sends it rocking back instead, another moan gritting through your teeth again.

He digs into you, flexes the metal in his legs to thrust into you hard and fast. Exertion is an old friend, and he takes it into his stride. He is only starting to pant a little, but you’re running hot and have been for a while.

Pleasure is molten hot at his pelvis, and each time his hips meet yours, cock kissing your cervix, his vision whites out at the sides. The virus that you must have planted in him is deteriorating in his system, leaving him almost mindless. He’s chasing you, still, even with you caught between his body and your desk. Breath like steam pouring out of his mouth, saliva pooling under his tongue as he realises that you’re within reach.

You stare up at him, eyes wide. The vision of your head held up by his hand is enough to finish him off. He slams into you a few more times, groaning deep in his chest while you squeak, spills hotly in you, grinds to draw out the spark that glares in his vision until he stills.

A moment of quiet, air thick with sex and sweat. He drops his head against yours with a thunk as your skulls collide. Feels the buzz of your grunt in your throat with his hand still nestled there.

“You got a bed back there?” he asks, temple against yours.

“Not telling you,” you mutter, sounding wrung-out and gutted. He snorts, scoops you up in his arms, stepping back from your desk, holding you up. Still have a smart mouth. But, he has the patience to get that out of you. Not all of it though, but he won’t tell you that.

-

A week later, a missing report for a ripperdoc in Watson hits Simon’s desk. He shreds it, and it sounds like the chime of an allowance, cashed in.

[hoemainexpansion]

Chapter Four - Pain: You find your husband, Satoru, in the hospital and figure out why he was galivanting around town instead of coming home to his pregnant wife. Also on AO3

The universe hates you.

The universe fucking hates you.

It has to hate you because there’s no other explanation for this ridiculous shitutation that you’ve found yourself in.

On one hand, your husband didn’t leave you to start a new life with someone else.

Well… that may be up for debate for now.

But it certainly wasn’t intentional. So while it’s not what you were thinking, it’s still pretty bad.

Dr. Yaga has been droning on about his condition and you know that what he’s saying is important, but you kind of zoned out not too long after giving his diagnosis.

Before you ask him to repeat everything, you just have one question, “how much time has he lost?” You hate to make this about you, but you’re desperate to know.

“I’m not sure, that’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself as time goes on. The more time you spend with him, the more things like that will come into focus.” That makes sense but you really wish he just said something like, "it's only the last ten years” because that would give you more of a starting point as far as helping him goes. “And what should I do to help him with everything?” You don’t even know how to phrase what you want to ask.

“There’s a few things that you can do to help. But the most important thing is to have a lot of patience and don’t take it personal if he doesn’t remember something. Second, if you had a routine before, I would suggest getting back into it now. Returning to routines has been proven to be helpful versus going completely off the books hoping for the best. Obviously, returning to work may not be the first option right now. But getting back into other patterns can help.” Okay, reasonable.

“Making little notes or reminders and keeping them around the home can also be helpful in forming new memories which may also help in unlocking older ones. At the very least, it doesn’t hurt. I’ve also been told by previous patients that memory games with photos or notes can help. Just be patient, supportive, and explain whatever is needed in an easily digestible way. But don’t overwhelm him with too much at one time,” he pauses to let you take all of that in.

“Do you know how long it’ll take for everything to come back to him?” You have a feeling that you already know how he’s going to answer that but you can’t help but ask. “There’s no way to determine exactly how long that will take.” You were right. “But we will run some tests for his migraines to see if there’s any underlying damage and that will help us figure out how severe his condition could be.” You really hope it’s not worse than it already sounds. “As his wife, we would like you to fill out some paperwork though. It seems he was recognized by some of the staff, but since he hasn’t been admitted here before, we don’t have anything on file for him, not even his name at this point. So I’ll go get that and then we’ll take it from there.” After saying that, he walks out of the room.

You just stand there, frozen, still facing the door. It’s awkward, it’s uncomfortable, and you don’t even know how to speak to your husband seeing as he doesn’t even remember that he is one. That’s especially evident based on the model who just walked out of the room.

But you don’t have to break the ice because Satoru does it for you, “so, we’re married?”

You turn to look at him and ‘yes’ is all you say.

He nods his head and says ‘nice’ with a smirk.

Yeah, that’s your husband.

“When did we get married? How’d we meet?” For some reason you thought him finding that out would cause him to shut down but you’re relieved that it hasn’t.

“Uhhh, we met in high school, through mutual friends, and we stayed friends for a couple of years before we started dating. Then we were in a relationship for two years before getting married on Halloween. Our five year anniversary just passed.” You’re trying to give him the bare bones version of the start of your relationship. The last thing you want to do is overload him or cause problems with the people he needs to be re-introduced to.

“Halloween huh?”

“You actually suggested it. I wanted to wear a black dress and make it goth, so you said we should just do it on Halloween and everyone can get dressed up however they want to.” It was actually incredible seeing everyone showing up in costume so needless to say, he had the right idea.

“You wanted a goth wedding but you’re standing there in head to toe light blue?”

“You got me this outfit.” He looks so proud after you say that.

“I have good taste,” he replies with an air of confidence.

“Well, you married me, so obviously.” Now it’s your turn to wear a smirk. You both chuckle and so far, so good.

Just when things are getting comfortable, a nurse walks in with a clipboard holding all the paperwork that you need to fill out. You take it from her and then sit down on a chair in his room to begin filling it out. You wanted to ask him if he knows the answers to anything on it but seeing as they’re having you do it, that’s probably a no. But you’re curious so you’re going to probe a little bit.

“I don’t want to pressure you, but is there anything that you can say you definitely remember?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s anything real specific. I feel like I can vaguely remember faces and maybe quick flashes of events. Some things I think I might remember if they were put in front of me.”

You give him a break before asking anything else. You don’t want to make him feel bad for something that’s not his fault.

As you start filling out the usual information on his paperwork, you get to his birthday and realize that it just passed! Maybe it’s a good idea to hold off on that information unless he asks you. Maybe you can make it up to him and have a late birthday party / welcome home party when he’s discharged. You also have to find a time to re-announce your pregnancy but you’ll probably hold off on that one as long as you can.

“Are we… happy?” He asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

Of all the questions he could have asked you, that’s not one you thought would be on the list.

“Yes. Very happy. Why?” On one hand you want to know who the hell that woman was. But on the other hand, you don’t know if you can handle the roller coaster of emotions that would come with a devastating admission.

“It’s just,” he pauses again and now you’re getting really nervous. “Why haven’t I seen you until… today?”

You didn’t want to overwhelm him with information today but there’s probably no way around it now, unless you lie. And you can’t lie to someone who already doesn’t know what the hell is going on. It could jeopardize any progress he makes.

“Well, nobody knew where you were, Satoru.”

A look that you can only classify as ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ flashes across his face before he asks, “what does that mean nobody knew where I was?”

“Uhm, you went missing a little while ago. Today is the first time anyone has been able to find you.” You really hate giving him such a basic explanation but this is probably a conversation better suited for the two of you with the detectives.

“How long?”

“Just under six weeks.”

His brows raise, his eyes widen, and his jaw drops open as you probably knew it would. But this isn’t something that you can lie about. And if you want to establish trust with him, you can’t push things off either. Instead of speaking, he lays back in bed and just looks at the ceiling.

You don’t know what to say, so you go back to finishing all this paperwork before the nurse comes in to retrieve it.

You can’t imagine what’s going on in his head. You don’t even know exactly where his memory starts or with you. And to learn that you have people in your life who missed you but you didn’t even know and probably had no way to find out, it has to be the worst thing.

After a few more minutes of silence, you decide to try speaking to him again, “Satoru? Are you okay?” Probably a stupid question, but you don’t want him to shut down completely.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” is all he says.

You’re both sitting there in that awkward and uncomfortable silence when you feel your phone vibrate. You pull it out of your coat pocket and see that it’s a text from Kento.

Kento: You’ve been gone for a while. Is everything okay?

You; There’s a lot to talk about. Did Utahime and Yu show up yet?

Kento: A few minutes ago. So, is it him?

You: Kind of.

“Hot date?”

“Huh?” You’re not sure if he really said that or if it’s just what you heard. He points at your phone and you know that he really just decided to start teasing out of nowhere. Thank god. That’s so him.

“No. Our friends came with me to see if it was really you, they just wanna know what’s going on.”

“Really?” He looks stunned. But why? What was he being told over this time period? Clearly he was with other people so what the hell is going on?

“Yeah, everyone was really excited to see if you were here. I would have brought them up with me but, you know, doctor’s rules and all.”

Just as he’s about to say something else, the door to his room opens up and a nurse walks in.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I have to steal him away to start his tests. You can wait here if you want, but it’s probably going to take a while,” she says in a pretty upbeat tone. It’s nice considering most women seeing you with Satoru start to act like it’s a competition for attention instead of going about their day.

“That’s fine, I’ll head out. I also don’t want to continue to pester him while he’s getting all of this done.” Before leaving, you walk over to Satoru to say goodbye for the day, “I’ll see you tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be? Aren’t you my wife? I’m not gonna ban you from coming to see me.” Fuck, that’s a relief.

“I just… I know you’re going through a lot and don’t want you to feel overwhelmed or pressured or anything like that.” That’s the nicest way you can say ‘I don’t want you to feel obligated to love me again.’

He seems to understand how you’re feeling though and wastes no time in dispelling those fears, “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Especially if you show up in another outfit like that.” This fucking guy.

“I’ll see what I can do,” is all you say before turning around and walking out the door.

Once outside his room, you stand outside for a minute to take a deep breath before making a quick trek to the elevator at the opposite end of the hallway.

Out of all the possibilities that were running through your head while he was missing, this was not one of them. There were two theories that kept coming and going. One, it wasn’t him on the surveillance footage and there was no chance of him coming home. And two, it was him and he didn’t care to stay hidden because he had an affair and moved to go start a new life with someone in the most cowardly way possible.

Him coming home with no memory of at least the last ten years of his life was not something that ever occurred to you.

And not only that, but there was some random woman with him. Did he fall in love with someone else over the time he was gone? What the fuck is going on?

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You’re back at your apartment after practically sprinting out of the hospital and then sitting in a very awkward silent car ride home. You didn’t want to break the news to your friends while you were still there since you knew that they wouldn’t be allowed to see him.

But now you’re sitting at your dining room table in the home that you and Satoru share trying to figure out how to break the news to them. There’s probably no easy way to do this so you may just have to rip the band-aid off as they say.

“So, what’s going on? Was it him?” Suguru asks you. Okay, so Kento didn’t relay your text message, maybe that’s a good thing. It probably would have resulted in a lot more confusion if he did.

“Yeah, it’s him. For the most part.” All eyes are on you and it’s very fucking uncomfortable. “I met his doctor and got his diagnosis and it may be difficult to deal with at first, so we have to be patient.”

Everyone is staring you down right now. You can’t really blame them seeing as they probably think you’re speaking in riddles. But if you’re being honest, you didn’t realize how much this situation affects everyone at this table. Everyone here has known Satoru for as long as you have with the exception of Suguru who’s actually known him since childhood.

And now that you’re sitting here, stalling when it comes to breaking the news to them, you realize that you’re not the only one who may feel like they’re losing something. “Difficult, in what way?”

“I met his neurologist and he diagnosed him with post-traumatic amnesia.” That’s all you say. You have a feeling nobody is going to believe you, so you want them to work that out for themselves first. After a few seconds of silence, everyone except for Kento starts laughing. You had a feeling that this was one of his theories he was keeping to himself and by the look on his face, this was confirmation. As for the rest of the group, they clearly think you’re telling a joke even though you gave no indication of such a thing.

It’s Utahime who stops laughing first when she sees the look on your face, “you’re not kidding, are you?”

“Nope.”

Everyone stops and just looks at each other as if it’s the craziest thing they’ve ever heard.

“How did this happen?”

“Well, he did suffer blunt force to his head. It’s probably from that.”

“This explains his new sense of fashion and that shitty haircut,” Suguru couldn’t wait to bust that one out. But you can’t help but giggle a little bit after he says that because Satoru’s short hair is so fucking weird to you. It looks like he just joined the military and his head looks so big.

“How much does he remember?” Kento inquires.

“We don’t know yet. He didn’t recognize me when I walked into his hospital room.” There’s an audible gasp after those words leave your lips. “I figure that when we visit him, we can just go a couple at a time to try to see who he may remember in order to estimate how much time he lost.”

Everyone seems to be in agreement with that plan. Unfortunately, there’s really no other option. You just really hope that he didn’t lose his entire life even if he doesn’t remember you.

But now, you have to break the rest of the news.

“There’s one more thing that I have to tell you guys,” you pause to take a breath before continuing. “When I got to his hospital room, there was another woman there.”

You look around and all your friends have pure rage in their faces. You honestly didn’t think that’d be the thing that pissed them off more.

“Are you sure she wasn’t a nurse?” Oh Kento, always the voice of reason.

“She looked like a model and clearly wasn’t part of the staff. She also alluded to being Satoru’s girlfriend so there’s that.”

You flinch as you hear a bang on the table next to you. You look over and see that it’s Choso, the quietest one in the group.

You explain the rest of the situation with Mei, your new adversary if you were making an educated guess. Everybody’s face shifts from anger, to being modified, to being sad, to being full of rage again.

“Is it really fair to hold it against him though? I mean, he has no idea what’s going on with himself, let alone relationships with anyone else.” You’re trying to talk down your friends because you don’t want them all showing up tomorrow spewing nothing but negativity. That won’t help the situation in any way.

“So… you’re fine with another woman coming in and stealing your husband while you’re sitting at home pregnant with his child?” Damn Utahime.

“No, of course not. But he has no idea what’s going on so I don’t want to blame him for that. It’s not like he left me for Mei, he had no idea I existed.” You knew you were going to have to do a lot of defending, but you are a little surprised at how upset everyone seems.

“Mei? Did she look like this?” Yu pulls out his phone and shows you a picture. Damn, it’s her.

“How did you instantly know who I was talking about?” Does everyone know this woman except for you? “Is she famous or something?”

“She’s a social media influencer,” he replies.

“Okay, so she’s not famous.”

“Maybe not technically, but she has a pretty decent following. She’s constantly getting dressed up, going out, taking pictures, all the things that those people do.” He seems to be pretty familiar with this woman.

Ugh, you already know that instead of sleeping, you’ll spend hours looking at this woman’s social media wondering ‘why her?’ You never thought you’d be put in this position and it fucking sucks.

Everyone else starts pulling out their phones and looking her up as well. One person is on Instagram, another is on TikTok, etc. You didn’t feel like doing the same so you just cheat by sneaking glances at the phones next to you.

“Why didn’t Satoru know that he was missing?” Kento asks the room.

“He did lose his phone, so it’s not like he was posting on his own accounts,” Suguru responds.

“I know that. But this woman makes a living off of social media, a place where a lot of awareness was raised for his case. If he was with her, how did he not find out?”

It’s a good question and it’s one you’ve been wondering yourself.

Was she a part of whatever happened to him? Or did she just find someone in a vulnerable state and decide to take advantage of them? Unfortunately, these aren’t answers you could get from Satoru and you doubt that she’d admit to being such a miserable bitch.

“When is he allowed to have more visitors?”

“I think as long as we don’t show up with too many people at a time, it might be okay to continue going tomorrow. I wanna stop by early to take him food and drop off the bag that’s still in Kento’s trunk.” Even though the situation is incredibly frustrating, you still want him to be comfortable. You’re not going to abandon your husband for something that’s not technically his fault.

“I think Suguru should go with you tomorrow.” Oh Kento, always has a plan.

“Why is that?”

“We don’t have any idea as to where his memory is at. Suguru is the only one at this table that he’s known since childhood and everybody else sitting here, he met when he met you. If you go with him tomorrow, it’ll help us find out how much he knows and how to help him. Plus, we don’t want to have too many people around all the time and completely overstimulate him.” Fair point.

“I’m gonna start working on a photo album!” Yu shouts with pure excitement in his voice.

The rest of the friend group starts brainstorming ways on how to help Satoru. Everyone wants to create their own photo album and include little descriptions with them to help him remember things. If it wasn’t so devastating, it would be super cute.

As the night goes on, your friends slowly start to leave one by one, with the exception of Choso who has practically moved in at this point.

Choso decided to take over the cleaning that he once again, will not let you help with. So, you decide to go to your room and make a phone call.

You haven’t spoken to either of the detectives on Satoru’s case in a couple of days and since they haven’t called you, you’re assuming that they don’t know that he’s been found. You know that they have to confirm that it’s him regardless, but you don’t want them to drop too many bombs on him in one day. So you’re going to call them first and give them a heads up on the situation.

You pull your phone out of your purse and start searching through your contacts for their numbers. You decide to call Usami since he’s the one who you’ve had the most contact with since all of this started.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. And you remember how bad your phone anxiety is. Lame.

By the fourth ring, you hear a man answer the phone, “Detective Usami speaking.”

“Uh, hi. This is Mrs. Gojo.” You feel so fucking awkward on the phone and you can’t understand why.

“Yes, I recognize the number. Is everything alright?”

“I just wanted to let you know that my husband has been found.”

There’s silence for a few moments and you start to wonder if you’ve been put on hold or hung up on.

But finally, he responds, “are you certain that it's him?”

“I spoke with him in the hospital this afternoon.”

“That’s interesting. We had a lead as to where he was but we didn’t want to get your hopes up before we confirmed it. I apologize.”

“Ohh it’s okay! I have a friend who works there so that’s how I found out. I know that you still have to verify his welfare in person, but I wanted to let you know a little bit about what I learned.”

You spend a few minutes on the phone explaining everything that you’ve learned today. You tell him exactly how you found him and what his condition is. He told you that they’ll still be showing up to meet him and make sure he’s okay. But that they’ll hold off on the hard hitting questioning until he heals up a little more. Since he doesn’t seem to know anything, they don’t see the point in potentially traumatizing him when they have a better chance solving the case without him at this point.

You eventually get off the phone and finish up your night time routine before climbing into bed. You try to distract yourself by putting something silly on the tv but your mind just won’t let you rest. You pull your phone back out and start browsing through Mei’s social media accounts.

She is attractive, you won’t deny that. But what else does she have going for her? Even though both you and Satoru have social media accounts, you don’t make it a point to post constantly. You like to share photos, but neither of you let it run your life. He used to laugh at people who acted like their life was over if they missed a day of posting. And now what? He’s in a relationship or a situationship with someone like her?

But you can’t stop thinking about what Kento said earlier, if he’s been with her, and she’s introducing herself as his girlfriend, where the hell is he in these posts about her life? You wouldn’t think too much of it if she didn’t post other friends up and down her accounts.

Fuck. You’re tired.

“Put your phone away before you start asking yourself ‘that’ question,” you hear behind you, not even noticing that Choso entered the room until he spoke.

“What question?”

“The ‘what does she have that I don’t’ question. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re fucking funny, and the two of you have a hell of a lot in common. I think it’s safe to say more than them. You just need to spend more time together so that he can see that.”

You put your phone away and lay back in bed because he’s right. You were starting to let yourself get to that line of questioning and it’s not healthy. You’re literally carrying this man’s baby, you can’t allow those negative feelings to take over ever, but especially not right now.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You look good. Real good.

You’re wearing a short, black, silk, mini slip dress. You paired it with a black faux fur coat and a pair of strappy heels. And of course, a pair of black thigh highs which he always loses it over.

You did your makeup with a very dramatic smokey eye that he always liked and that plumper lip gloss that he’d end up smearing not even five minutes after you put it on. You tied your hair up into an intentional messy bun and threw in a couple sparkly clips to pop amongst all the black.

Nevermind, you don’t look good. You look fucking incredible. .

You do a once over in the mirror to make sure everything is in place, and then you finally leave your bedroom to meet your friends in the kitchen.

The only person who’s coming with you today is Suguru so you don’t want to have him waiting on you too long.

But Kento still decided to come over because you live closer to the hospital and he wants to be closer in case you need a shoulder to lean on.

“Woooohhhh! Can you be classified as a MILF before you have the baby?”

“Suguru!” He would say something like that.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes sir. But we still have to stop off to pick up Satoru’s food.” You know that hospital food isn’t exactly gourmet, so you decided to order from one of his favorite places and take it with you when you go.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ll get his food so he can get the precious princess treatment,” Suguru says with a sigh. He knows you mean well, but he’s still upset about the Mei news on top of everything else. “Shouldn’t his ‘girlfriend’ be bringing him food?” See. There it is.

“Suguru,” Kento scolds. But honestly, he’s kinda right.

You don’t want to make it a whole big thing so you bid farewell to your friends and then you make your way out.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Alright, maybe you overdid it with the food. He likes a lot of stuff on this menu so you got a few appetizers and entrees, but then made the choice to get one of each of the sweets. Not only do you have two bags of food, but you have two boxes of cupcakes, cookies, cake pops, fruit tarts, all the stuff you expect to see in a bakery. Thank goodness for your strong friend who wants to do all the heavy lifting for you.

“Suguru, are you really going to be able to carry all the food and his bag? I can hold stuff you know. I’m pregnant. My arms didn’t fall off.”

Once again, he declines. As much as you want to help out, you’re not going to push him on it. If he wants to grab all the bags and boxes, you’ll do the rest. You get his keys and lock the car up before you two start to make your way into the hospital.

You see that it’s only Nobara sitting at the reception desk and it makes you feel so much better that she’s the one greeting you today. You get the visitor's stickers and then start making your way to Satoru’s room.

Once you enter the elevator and the doors close, Suguru asks you if you’re nervous. If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you are. But you keep trying to push those feelings down because they are going to cause more harm than good.

“Are you nervous?” You ask him.

“Ehhh, not as much as the others probably are. I am a little annoyed that he doesn’t remember making my life a living hell when he wanted to date you. But it is what it is, I guess.”

Before you know it, you’re standing outside of Satoru’s door and that’s when the nerves really kick in. You’re just really hoping that he’s the only one on the other side. You knock but this time, you don’t hear anyone answer. You slowly open the door and walk inside to see Satoru sleeping, in his bed, alone. Thank fucking goodness.

You and Suguru do your best to quietly enter his room and put his things away without disturbing him. But it’s irrelevant because when you’re helping Suguru place the food bags down, you hear Satoru call your name and it melts your heart. At least he remembers that.

“Heyyy, sorry to wake you up.” You apologize profusely because being here all the time must be exhausting and you know you hate when someone interrupts your sleep.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve been drifting in and out for the past hour because I’ve been so bored.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but we have stuff for you. Are you hungry?”

Satoru doesn’t respond at first. He just looks you up and down with his mouth agape and hunger in his eyes before finally saying, “famished.”

This dress was such a good investment.

“Uh Suguru, could you help me set up everything for him?” After saying that, you hear Satoru repeat ‘Suguru’ in a voice barely above a whisper. Did that trigger something? You hope so.

As you’re setting up the table and bringing the bags over, you’re startled when you hear your husband yell out “you!” while pointing at his best friend.

“Do you remember me?” He asks him.

“I think I remember your face, although the romance novel cover hair threw me off.” Okay, so Satoru still has jokes.

“Better than your shitty wannabe drill sergeant haircut you have right now.” These fucking guys.

“What’s wrong with my hair?!” Satoru asks with a pout.

“Dude, we don’t have all day for me to list everything that’s wrong with it.” Of all the conversations they could have had for the first time, you didn’t expect this to be it.

“Anyway,” you take the time to interrupt them before this gets out of hand. “I got a few of your favorites from the restaurant down the street from our home. I also got one of everything on the dessert menu.”

“Damn. It takes one hell of a sweet tooth to eat all that. Do I really eat that much?” That’s surprising.

“You started eating sweets like crazy saying that it helped you focus, and now you just can’t stop,” you tell him with a chuckle.

You take a seat in the chair on one side of his bed while Suguru sits in the one on the opposite side.

“So, how have you been, dumbass?” Fucking Suguru.

“I don’t remember you being such a bully,” Satoru says but you can tell he’s not taking it seriously.

“Yeah but it seems like you don’t remember everything.” Fucking hell. “What do you remember?” Okay, right into it then.

“I remember something about suits and a tree. Everything is just really fuzzy. It feels like one of those things where you don’t remember someone’s name or face too much, but if you see it or hear it, it clicks. Besides that, I just see flashes of you as a kid, I think.”

Okay, that’s good to know. That means that creating albums and telling him stories may help him out.

While you’re lost in thought, Suguru explains what Satoru was alluding to, “that sounds like the night of homecoming our freshman year. We decided to ditch early and have a few drinks of some really cheap Vodka in a treehouse. But, you can’t hold your liquor to save your life, so I had to carry you on my back down the street to get you food because you kept complaining that you were going to die even though you only had two shots.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. Two shots? That makes you think of that scene in Fun with Dick and Jane when Jim Carrey was dancing on a table and then the bartender revealed that he only had half a beer. You don’t drink either so you might have the same reaction, but damn.

“Anyway, your wife brought you stuff.”

“More stuff? You spoil me, but I’m not complaining.” Yeah, that’s still your husband.

“I’m complaining, but hey, she loves you and wants your stay to be comfortable or something,” Suguru dramatically explains.

You walk around his bed to the other side of the room to get the weekend bag with everything you packed.

“I put in a few sweaters that you always like wearing around the house,” you start pulling things out to show him as you explain everything. “I also threw in a blanket in case the ones here aren’t that comfortable. I packed you a bag of snacks and got you a new phone since yours is destroyed. I restored it using your account so that it’s exactly the same as the one you had before.” You hand that over to him immediately. Since he said he was bored, maybe this will help out.

“You didn't have to do all of this, but thank you,” he says with a bit of sauce on the side of his mouth. He’s so fucking cute that you can barely stand it.

“I took the passcode off so that you didn’t have to worry about it, but you can change that back whenever you want to.” You move back over to your seat on the other side of his bed.

He picks the phone up and starts going through it right away. You’re a little nervous yourself because you don’t know exactly what’s in there. While you two have always had each other's passcodes, you always made a point to respect your partner's privacy and you never went through his phone. You know he has a lot of albums of the two of you because you did a quick little browse to make sure stuff loaded in, but that’s about it.

“When was this?” He turns his phone over to show you the album he’s inquiring about.

“That was this past summer. We went out to the lake to feed the ducks and then we decided to just hang out and have a little impromptu picnic while we were there. There’s food trucks in the area so we picked stuff up and hung out for a bit.”

You remember that day very well. After the ducks no longer found you interesting, Satoru pulled a blanket over the two of you and decided to bury his fingers inside of you the first chance he got. Luckily, there was nobody else in your area to witness such an act. But you really hope that there’s no videos of it in there. He does like to record everything and that makes you a little nervous.

You look back up at Satoru and see him with rosy cheeks staring at his phone and you can only guess what he came across in what, a minute and a half?

“Everything okay?” You don’t want Suguru to potentially witness your porn but you wanna know what he’s staring at.

Satoru doesn’t say anything, he just turns his phone around and shows you a picture. It’s you, bent over, on your hands and knees while he lifts up your skirt and takes a picture of your panties. Honestly, it’s pretty tame compared to what else is probably in there.

“Oh, that?” You giggle and refrain from saying anything else.

That’s how the rest of your visit with Satoru goes. He goes through the various albums and asks you to tell him about the pictures he comes across. It makes you feel good to know that he’s trying without you even asking him to.

Suguru also shows him a bunch of stuff on his phone and gives him the stories of your matching tattoos. Satoru was stunned to learn that you also have the heart tattoo but you think it helped him see just how close you two are.

And he started absolutely demolishing the desserts. Since he made it sound like he hasn’t had anything, you were wondering if he no longer liked them. But that’s clearly not the case. Maybe whoever he was staying with just didn’t keep those things in their home.

You didn’t ask any questions about what happened and who he’s been with for the past few weeks. You wanted today to be a positive visit where you taught him more about his past and less about you interrogating him to get answers for yourself. You also know that the detectives should be coming by at some point and you’ll leave them to do the good cop bad cop thing seeing as they actually are the cops.

“Well, Suguru and I are going to be heading out now because he has to take me to a doctor’s appointment.”

All the color drains from Satoru’s face right after those words leave your lips. “Are you okay?”

You don’t want him to worry but it makes you feel good to know that he cares.

“I’m fine, it’s just a checkup. Nothing to worry about. Can I come see you tomorrow?”

“You can come on me anytime.” He freezes before correcting himself, “I mean, you can come see me anytime you want.”

You giggle and lean in to give him a hug and you can hear how deeply he breathes you in. Ugh, he’s so hot.

“I’m not gonna press my tits up against you so I’ll just see you later,” Suguru says before waving and walking towards the door.

You follow Suguru out the door and let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding in since you got there. All in all, today was a good day. And most importantly, no Mei today.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“How’d it go?” Kento asks after you walk in and have a seat on the couch.

“It was good. Baby’s healthy, about the size of a turnip.”

“Hmmm. And how was the visit with your husband?”

“I think it went well. He asked Suguru and I a lot of questions so I think that’s a good sign that he’s trying. But he’s a little different. He seemed shocked when he told him that he eats sweets like he’s trying to make sugar go out of business.” It seems like he just came back thinking it was opposite day and that’s bizarre. But who cares? You still have time to figure it out.

“Did you tell him about the pregnancy?”

“No. I wanted everything today to be as low stress as possible so I decided to save that for another visit depending on how things go when I return.“ A part of you wanted to do it today, but you don’t know how well that would have been received and you just didn’t feel like today was the right time.

Kento nods before getting up and walking into the kitchen to bring you back a plate of food. “I know you fed him, but I have a feeling that you didn’t take care of yourself yet.“ he pushed the plate and the utensils in front of you and motioned for you to start eating.

He’s right. Especially with the baby moving closer and closer to entering the world everyday, you need to take better care of yourself.

“When are you going back?”

“Tomorrow. I’m gonna take a photo album with me. I have one where there’s descriptions on the page opposite the picture so I think that’ll be good for him,” you say while taking a big bite of food. Kento filled this plate with steak and roasted potatoes. This man knows your weakness.

“I think I’ll go with you tomorrow, if that’s alright.”

“That’d be great, thank you.” You’re excited because you didn’t think he’d be so willing to go.

“Have the detectives spoken to him yet?”

“I think they’re supposed to go sometime today. Usami told me he’d let me know after they’d spoken to him.”

The two of you continue to sit in relative silence while you eat the rest of your lunch. If there’s one thing you can say about Kento, it’s that this man can cook his ass off.

Why is he single???

Just as you start wondering that, his phone rings.

“It’s one of the models I’m supposed to shoot this week, I have to take this.”

That’s right. Work-a-holic.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

A couple of days have passed and you’ve seen Satoru several times. The past few days have been very tiring so you don’t stay for too long when you see him. It’s usually you going as early in the day as you can and bringing him lunch, then you go back a few hours later and take him dinner about an hour before visiting hours shut down.

Being that you’re only seventeen weeks pregnant at this time, you’re not showing too much. But you still keep a coat on whenever you visit him because you’re not ready to drop that bomb on him until he comes home. You’d hate to tell him and then have to leave right after so that he’s alone with his thoughts all night.

The two of you have even been texting back and forth when he has questions about photos and videos on his phone, things you’ve done as a couple, or even questions about himself. He’s really been making an effort so you’ve been making sure that you’re always available to him.

And because of the fact that he didn’t know the volume on his phone was turned up, you know firsthand that he’s come across some of your more adult videos he filmed.

The detectives went to meet with him to confirm his welfare and ask him what he remembers, if anything. They gave him the bare minimum on what was going on with the investigation and asked him just enough to see if he remembered anything about his attack, which he didn't. They decided to give him a break until he seems comfortable back at home since they don’t get the vibe that his life is in immediate jeopardy.

Kento also started visiting him the day after your initial visit which resulted in him already being tired of seeing him. As soon as he walked in the room, Satoru apologized to him and told him that he doesn’t remember anything more than he didn’t yesterday which resulted in Kento having to explain that he’s not law enforcement on his case and he was actually his wedding photographer. For the rest of the visit, Satoru periodically made jokes about how they look like twins. Poor Kento.

You don’t ask them too many questions about their visits because you don’t want to pry. But Kento did tell you that Satoru said, “she married me?” Like he was in completely disbelief. And it resulted in Kento saying, “yes, and for the life of me, I still can’t understand why.” You wouldn’t expect any other response from him and you kind of love that even with everything going on, he still has that one-liner ready to go at a moment's notice.

Choso, Utahime, and Yu still haven’t been to the hospital though. Everyone decided that between testing and the few people already visiting him, any additional people may do more harm than good by completely confusing him.

But there is still one additional person who continues to see him, and that’s Mei.

The good thing is that you haven’t seen her as often. She’s usually coming as you’re going or going as you’re coming so there’s not really any interaction between the two of you. But it has definitely resulted in a bit of unspoken competition.

She wears perfume? You wear yours a spray stronger.

She wears heels and a dress? You wear higher heels and a tighter dress paired with the thigh highs that always has your husband losing your mind.

You haven’t seen her be too physically affectionate, in person, that is. You have seen her sitting on the side of his bed when you come into the room, but nothing more than that. But one day she did leave a lipstick mark on his cheek and you had to stop yourself from making sure that she was also admitted into said hospital.

That was a tough pill to swallow considering the fact that you’ve been trying to keep your distance and not be too physical with him because you don’t want him to feel like you’re being too pushy. You give him hugs when you arrive and before you leave, but you try not to do more than that. But it’s hard when you see another woman being completely comfortable with him to do whatever she wants while you end up on the sidelines watching your marriage basically crumble.

But throughout all of that, the biggest positive is that Satoru is coming home soon.

When you visited him earlier today, his doctor came in and informed you that he’d be discharged tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

After seven weeks of not being together, he’s gonna be able to come home. And he seemed really excited about it which made you even happier.

Because of the fact that he’ll be coming home tomorrow, you decided to skip the second visitation time today. You’re having Kento and Suguru pick up food for him which they promptly respond with, “you spoil him.”

So what? Maybe you do.

And you’re going to spoil him even more when he gets home.

You’re taking the rest of the night with Choso and Utahime to make everything comfortable for him. You’re washing all his sweaters that you’ve been sleeping in for the past seven weeks. You washed and changed the sheets on your bed but also the guest room in case he’s not ready to share a bed with a relative stranger yet. You’re fluffing all the pillows, polishing everything you can, you’re even scrubbing down all the walls.

You’re even working on a fancy two tier cake as a welcome home / belated birthday cake for the occasion. You’re not the most experienced cake decorator, but you can create that frosting drip effect. So you’re making a blue cake with white frosting dripping all around the top. You’re going to write ‘Welcome Home Satoru’ on the top and hope that it comes out looking nice.

Tomorrow morning, you’re going to set up all the party decorations. It’s not gonna be a big thing, just your closest friends. But you are going to have balloons, streamers, welcome home banners, and maybe confetti somewhere because it just makes it feel more festive.

So much to do. So little time.

“Didn’t you already dust all those photos?” You didn’t even hear Utahime enter the room but there she is.

“Probably, but I just want to make sure that everything is perfect for him.”

“Okay, but do you really think he’s going to inspect the picture frames?”

“Maybe not intentionally, but he may come over to look at the photos.” She’s right though, you are probably overdoing it.

“He’s been in the hospital for days, he’s just going to be happy that he’s coming home to a real home with a real bed,” she says while taking the feather duster from you.

“Maybe. But I don’t know how he was living with whoever before he ended up in the hospital. What if our home isn’t enough?”

“It will be. Because it’s yours.” You hope that she’s right. You’ve been in this place since he asked you to live with him so it holds a lot of memories.

Truth be told, you still don’t know too many details about where he was or who he was before he ended up in the hospital.

Suguru did ask him questions because even though you were reluctant to put him on the spot, he wasn’t. He wanted to know where he was, how he wasn’t found, and how apparently nobody else knew he was a missing person.

He didn’t press him for too many details, but he did learn a few things.

He was staying with Mei.

He did interact with other people while being there.

Mei was very forward with him about wanting a real relationship.

He wasn’t really surprised hearing those things, especially not the last one. She comes off as territorial seeing as she acts like his wife is the other woman in the relationship. But he was a bit concerned that he was apparently around someone with an active social circle but nobody knew what the hell was going on with him.

But then again, maybe they genuinely didn’t. That couple at the pharmacy didn’t know what was going on because they didn’t watch the news so maybe this isn’t some big thing, maybe it’s all just a coincidence.

You hear your cooking timer go off and rush into the kitchen to check the status of the cake. It still feels like you have so many things to do even though you’re practically done with everything except for that.

“How does it look?” Choso asks as he rummages through your refrigerator for something to drink.

“I think it needs a few more minutes. I hope it finishes soon so that I can add the frosting tonight.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll help you with the rest if you need to go to bed.” Other people complain about being babied, but not you. While you’re excited for your husband to return, you’re also going to miss someone always being there to help you with things when you need them. Now you’re going to be the one doing all the work for the home and for Satoru.

You feel bad because you don’t want to leave him with the work for your husband, but you’re fucking exhausted. You’ve been up since early this morning getting ready to see Satoru and take him things. Then you ran to multiple stores getting stuff to have for him when he gets back home, and now you’ve been cleaning for hours. You’ve been tired for awhile, but you’ve been trying to not let it show.

“Go to bed. I see you making excuses in your head. But you’re tired and being pregnant is making it worse, go to bed. I’ll finish up here.” It’s like he can read your thoughts and for that, you’re grateful.

“I think I’m gonna head home and get some rest too. I gotta get this stuff ready for tomorrow for your loud ass husband.” Thanks Utahime.

“On the bright side, he may not remember who you are so he may not tease you as much,” you tell her and she fucking smiles. “Thanks for coming by and doing so much.” You give her a hug and she heads out the door.

You’re exhausted so you go to your room, brush your teeth, and then go straight to bed. You couldn’t give less of a fuck about anything once your body feels those sheets. It feels like you haven’t rested your body in weeks even though it’s only been one long day. You try to stay awake for a little longer in case Choso needs help with anything, but after your head hits that pillow, you’re out in a matter of minutes.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

It’s the next morning and you’re up bright and early.

Too fucking early.

But there’s a lot to do which means that you can’t stay in bed and hit snooze on your alarms six times.

You slowly climb out of bed and get in the shower to start your day. You even do your lengthy hair care routine so that it’s as soft and beautiful as possible.

After getting out of the shower, you wrap a towel around yourself and have a seat at your vanity. You decide to do a halo look for your eyes today using various shades of black / grey with a pop of blue in there. You make your highlighter bright enough to blind someone and work your lip-liner magic as much as you can to make your lips look as plump as possible. You dab on some pink blush because he loves the rosy cheeks and start to work on your hair. Lucky for you, not too much goes into that. It is already a bit air dried so you use a blow dryer to do the rest of the work before putting your hair up in heated rollers and letting them sit while you work on everything else.

When you woke up, Choso was gone which means he was probably setting everything up.

All your closest friends took the day off of work so that they could be here to welcome Satoru home.

You throw on a robe and leave your bedroom and you’re absolutely blown away by everything you see. All the things that you had on the list are perfectly set up. There’s welcome home banners, some helium balloons filled with confetti and some blown up but on the floor. There’s other dangling decorations and everything just looks incredible.

You go into the kitchen to get something to drink and see Choso in the kitchen working on something.

“Good morning,” you greet before getting too close. You have a habit of accidentally scaring people.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Fine, I guess. Did you do all of this?”

He nods. “I woke up some time ago so I decided to get as much done as possible. Do you wanna change anything?”

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you. I just hope it wasn't too much for you.”

“It was fine.” He still hasn’t looked up from whatever he’s doing.

“What are you up to now?”

He motions for you to come over and your jaw drops. He’s been working on the cake this whole time and it’s fucking incredible. It’s still white, but he’s taken blue and black frosting and somehow drawn little caricatures of Satoru along the sides. It pays to be best friends with an incredible artist.

“What do you think?”

“I fucking love it. I was just going to do the bare minimum, but this looks amazing. Thank you!” You throw your arms around him to hug him. It’s nice to see everyone in your life putting in so much work for him.

“I’m glad you like it.”

He finished decorating and setting the cake up to give it its two tiered drama and you return to your room to finish getting ready. You decide to go above and beyond with your outfit today. You’ve pulled out a light pink, strapless, floor length dress, with cutouts open down the sides and just some ribbons holding it together. It’s tight, it makes your tits look good, and you can’t wear panties with it. Whatever, it’s gonna be amazing.

You take your rollers out and your hair falls into the most beautiful curls. You decide to pull back some of your hair into a sparkly clip just to make sure it’s not in your face, but still frames it beautifully. After fixing your hair, you slide on your dress and you take your own breath away.

You go to check your phone and right as you pick it up, you have a message from Kento letting you know that he’s outside. He’s going to take you to pick up donuts for Satoru and then pick up Satoru and bring him home.

This is the most excited and most nervous you’ve ever been and unfortunately it’s happening at the same time.

You put on your heels and throw on your cream coloured faux fur coat before spritzing yourself with Satoru’s favorite perfume. He even got you one of those vintage perfume bottles to keep it in because he likes watching you get ready. You grab your purse and finally leave your bedroom.

“Choso! Kento and I are heading to the hospital now. Do you need anything before I go?”

“Nope, go get your man” he says while still putting all his focus into this cake.

You grab your keys and rush downstairs to go meet Kento.

When you get downstairs, he’s outside his car waiting for you and when he sees you, his brows raise and a hint of a smile appears on his face.

You pull your jacket down and do a little spin, “do you think he’ll like it?”

All he says in response is, “obviously.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Once you arrive at the hospital, Kento decides to stay behind so that he can keep the car warm. You have no problem with that because you don’t see yourself being here long. Dr. Yaga said Satoru was being discharged in the morning so that should be soon.

When you enter the hospital, you see the receptionist that you can’t stand so you immediately walk past her and into the elevator. You’d feel bad if it was Nobara, but you have no time for this woman's shenanigans today.

It feels like you blink and you’re outside Satoru’s room. You knock twice and when you open the door, you see his back is towards you and it looks like he’s packing.

“Heyyyyy,” he turns around when he hears your voice and his jaw drops. He’s completely frozen with his eyes wide and cheeks pink and now you know that it was worth it when you spent hours getting ready for this moment.

You set the box of donuts down on his bed and ‘accidentally’ allow your coat to slip off your shoulders so he can get a better look at your outfit.

As happy as you are to get this reaction out of him, you’re a little concerned that you broke him because he’s been frozen for about a minute.

“You okay, Satoru?”

He literally shakes his head from side to side like he had to work himself out of a trance. “Yeah. Just uhhhh.. You. Look. Sensational.”

Maybe today was a bad day to wear a dress that you can’t wear panties with.

He takes a break from packing, sits down, and pats the space on the bed so that you can sit next to him. Things between you two are getting more comfortable by the minute and you can’t wait to spend one on one time with him, not in a hospital.

Not too long after you arrive, Dr. Yaga walks into the room. “Good morning.” He picks up Satoru’s chart and does a once over before speaking again. “How have you been feeling?”

Satoru turns to you and says, “much better.”

“That’s good. That’s good. Well, looking over all your test results, we don’t have any answers for your migraines other than it’s probably just from the assault. Since there’s nothing else that we can do for you here, I’m gonna allow you to be discharged today. Any questions?”

“Nope. Just excited to go home.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Great. I’ll send the nurse in with your paperwork and then you can get going.”

You’re ecstatic. You can’t wait for him to get home and see how much everybody has missed him. Even Utahime even though she doesn’t want to admit it.

After a few more minutes pass, you hear a notification from a phone. You check yours that was buried in your pocket and it’s not from you so it must be him. But when you see him reach for a phone, it’s not the one that you gave him.

If that bitch gave him a phone she’s definitely getting her ass whooped.

After reading whatever the hell the message said, his smile falls and his entire personality shifts.

Fuck.

You don’t know what’s coming, but you can already sense that it’s not good.

Just as you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, the door to his room opens and the nurse comes in. You’re ecstatic but he seems even more disappointed. She drops off his paperwork, wishes him well, and then leaves.

Easy breezy. Except it seems like he’s getting more tense by the second.

“Satoru, is everything okay?”

He hesitates and you are already sure that whatever bad shit is about to happen, is going to fall down on you.

“Uhhhhhh, I don’t know how to say this.” Fuck.

“Say what?” You’re trying to not sound too disappointed but you’re probably not doing a good job at it.

“It’s about coming home.” Okay, now your stomach hurts. “I think… uhhhh… just for now…” He’s rocking back and forth and looking everywhere but at you so you have a feeling that you know where this is going.

“Satoru, relax. I’m not going to lash out or anything. Just say what’s on your mind.” That’s partially true. You won’t lash out at him, but you absolutely might slam some doors or something once you get home.

“It’s just, for now, I think I’m going to return to Mei’s instead of going home… with you,” he says with his head down.

It feels like your heart is crumbling.

“Oh… okay.”

He interrupts you before you can ramble on, “it’s not anything personal against you or anything. It’s just, while dealing with memory issues, it might be a little bit better to return to a familiar place so I don’t overwork my brain.” The doctor did say to go back to previous routines but okay. “I also don’t want to make things awkward with you with everything going on.” How sweet… except it’s fucking not.

You put on your best smile because you don’t want the last time you see him to be a yelling match. “It’s fine, I understand. I hope you do well. If you need anything, you now have a bunch of numbers to call.” You purposely didn’t say to call you because at this point, you may not answer the phone. “Anyway, I’m gonna head out.”

“Oh I wasn’t kicking you out. You can stay for a little lon��”

“It’s fine. Kento is downstairs keeping the car warm and I don’t want him to blow through all his gas doing so, so I’ll just hear from you when I hear from you.” That’s the last thing you say before turning around and bolting out the door.

[freakingholland]

"(Not) dancing in the moonlight" - Remus Lupin x teacher!reader

A/N: I was in a desperate need for something soft and winterish so uhhh here have this! <3 Headcanons? Memes? Let’s talk! My asks are here.

Warnings: setting of NYE, post-full moon Remus (minor descriptions of physical and mental discomfort), wit/sarcasm, smoking cigarettes, use of mobility aid, minor description of fireworks (hurt/comfort + fluff - mostly major fluff)

Summary: Professor Remus Lupin and his partner spend a soft NYE evening within the walls of Hogwarts. Turns out being on a teacher night duty isn’t so bad when you’re your pupils’ favourite.

Word count: 1.2K+

If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland

questions/requests/ideas here! - rules here

masterlist

my AO3 archive is here

"On my heart, where you're resting your head.

And you just look so beautiful.

It's like you were an angel.

Can I stop the flow of time?

Can I swim in your divine?

'Cause I don't think I'd ever leave this place."

“You’ve got options,” you said, holding up two tea bags for him to see. “Which will it be, darling?”

Remus was sitting on the leather sofa of Gryffindor’s common room with his legs propped up on a wooden coffee table.

Unfortunately, Remus ended up being assigned for a New Year’s Eve teacher duty for Gryffindor. At first, you’d been quite disappointed by the fact that you and Remus couldn’t attend New Year’s Eve ball organized in your beloved restaurant in Hogsmeade. It was your annual tradition to go there ever since you were teenagers. The tradition started after Lily and James had found the restaurant – it wasn’t very popular amongst Hogwarts students since it’s on the fancier side. But after going there once you all made a promise to save some money throughout the year so that all of you could go there at least once a year for the New Year’s Eve party. Lily particularly loved the place for the delicious food. She hadn’t been able to stop raving about it for at least a couple of days back at school.  After their passing it felt mandatory for you and Moony to keep the tradition alive.

Even if it wasn’t for the teacher duty your plans would have changed anyway – full moon had fallen right after Christmas leaving Remus drained both physically and mentally. So, the change of plans kind of worked out for the better in a way. The idea of loud crowds and dancing was obviously out of the question. As much as you wanted to enjoy an evening out, you were glad to be with him in a way that didn’t push him beyond what he could handle.

Remus squinted across the room, clearly trying to see what you were holding up, but then he gave up with a small sigh. Leaning forward, he reached for his cane and slowly made his way towards you. The soft taps of the cane against the wooden floor were the only sound besides the crackle of the fireplace.

When he reached you, he stood for a moment, his head tilting as he scanned the options you held in your hands.

“Hmm,” he muttered, his lips quirking into a faint smile as he reached out. He plucked one of the tea bags from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours with a warmth that gave you butterflies.

“I’ll take this one.” He watched you as you carefully poured water into your mugs. You turned over your shoulder to shoo him away and make him settle on the sofa comfortably, careful not to spill the boiling hot water over yourself.

Just as you were about to hand him his mug, the portrait hole creaked open. The cold outer air mixed in with the warm, pine-scented air within the common room.

You turned your head, half-expecting it to be the Fat Lady herself popping in to complain about something. Instead, three familiar figures shuffled in, trying - and failing to move quietly.

Ron tripped, stumbling over the hem of his own robe.

“Shhh!” Hermione hissed, quickly grabbing his arm to steady him.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Ron whispered back, louder than necessary.

She sent him a deathly glare in response.

Harry, stuck in the middle, shot both of them an irritated look before glancing towards the sofa. His blue eyes widened when he spotted you and Remus, clearly realizing they weren’t as sneaky as they thought.

“Weee- we. Umm we-- weren’t expecting anyone to be up.” he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

Remus raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Clearly…There’s nothing more subtle than tripping over your own feet, whisper-shouting, and holding the portrait hole open like you’re inviting Filch in for tea.”

You tried really hard not to laugh at your husband's remark. His quick wit was one of the main reasons why you fell for him in the first place.

Ron turned bright red.

“We weren’t doing anything! Just, uh, checking to see if—”

“You’re sneaking out." you interrupted, crossing your arms completely unable to hide the grin spreading across your face. Their shenanigans reminded you so much of yourself and the rest of marauders back in the day.

“No, we’re not!” Ron protested, which would’ve been more convincing if Hermione didn’t shoot him a sharp don’t-lie-to-a-teacher look.

“Alright, fine. WE ARE sneaking out…” Harry said. Honesty was the best approach in this situation.

“We just wanted to watch the fireworks over the lake. We’ll come right back, I promise.”

You exchanged a glance with Remus, who took a slow sip of his tea, clearly dragging out the suspense just to mess with them. You poked his side noticing Hermione’s pale face.

“Well,” he finally said, setting the mug down, “Fireworks over the lake, huh? Sounds nice."

“But let me guess — you haven’t thought this plan all the way through, have you?” Remus continued.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked defensively.

“We have!” Hermione said quickly, holding up a piece of fabric.

“We’ve got the invisibility cloak.”

Remus tilted his head, looking at the cloak with mock seriousness.

“And how, exactly, are you planning to fit all three of you under it?”

Ron looked down at his feet.

“It might be a liiiittle bit snug.” You shook your head.

“Remus, just let them go. If they get caught, they will have something funny to talk about.”

Remus sighed dramatically, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

“Fine. But,” he said, pointing a finger at them, “if you get caught, don’t come crying to me and professor Y/N.”

“Deal!” Harry said quickly, nudging Ron and Hermione back toward the portrait hole.

“Happy New Year!” Ron called over his shoulder.

“Don’t stay up too late professor Lupin — you’re looking a bit peaky! Good night professor Lupin II! Love you both!”

Remus chuckled, shaking his head.

The portrait closed, and you tucked yourself into his side.

“I swear to merlin that boy has absolutely no sense of self-preservation.”

He looked down to search through his pocket to grab his cigarette box and a lighter.

“We’re such pushovers for them.” You said laughing.

“Maybe so,” he admitted with a sincere smile.

He held out his cigarette box motioning to the balcony.

“Fancy a smoke ma’am?”

“Baaad, bad influence Lupin.“

He smirked, lighting his cigarette as he held the balcony door open for you.

“I’ve been called worse.”

You stepped out into the crisp night air, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“But ‘bad influence’ suits you tonight.” He lit your cigarette.

“Only on special occasions.” he said with a grin, blowing a stream of smoke.

“I can’t believe Ron called me ‘Professor Lupin II’.”

“See? You’re the second Lupin on the list. Maybe being soft isn’t so bad hun.“

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. He wrapped his arm around your waist and huffed with laughter into your hair.

In the distance, you could see the first flash of fireworks lighting up the sky over the lake, shimmering almost like falling stars, leaving a trail of glowing sparks that slowly disappeared into the night.

“Happy new year love.”

Thank you for reading! stay whelmed xx

[alwaysmicado]

Don't ruin the sofa

6.5k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 3

Warnings: no outbreak au, implied age gap, mild hurt/comfort, mention of blood, phone sex, talk of anal play, one (1) face slap, rough sex, pain kink, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, degradation/praise, fluffy aftercare, pet names, dom!Joel Summary: After a phone call brings up repressed emotions, you decide to buy a new sofa. Joel assembles it for you, then fucks you on it.  A/N: You're trying to reach reader? Sorry, she's moved on. (+ is fucking the hottest guy around). Read the previous parts here: pt. 1 | pt. 2 | masterlist | AO3 (each part can be read alone). Thank you all for your love on this series. Your kind words mean the world to me. 🤍

“How is this my fucking life,” you whisper to yourself and let your phone fall onto the wooden coffee table with a thud. You get up with a groan and drag yourself to the fridge where you know an opened bottle of white wine is waiting for you, then pour yourself a healthy amount, eye the glass, pour some more and shuffle back to the sofa. 

As soon as you plop back down, your phone lights up and vibrates for the third time since you came home from work. The loud and resonant buzz, amplified and carried by the hard surface of the table, is aggravating to say the least. You take a big sip of your wine and let out an exasperated sigh when the caller won’t let up. That’s it, you’ve had enough. In a split second you swipe up to take the call and put the phone to your ear. 

You don’t say anything. He’s the one who’s been texting and calling you every night for the past week, so you’re certainly not going to say something first. Instead, you wait and swirl your wine.

“Finally,” you hear him breathe with relief. “I thought you’d never pick up.” 

Then why do you keep calling, you stupid idiot. You roll your eyes in annoyance and put your naked feet on the coffee table. The wine is successfully taking the edge off, but you're still this close to telling him off for good. Perhaps you should; he deserves it. 

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, babe,” he purrs into your ear, his sickeningly sweet voice sending a shiver down your spine. “About you, about us; about everything, really. About what could’ve been if things didn’t end like they di-”

“What do you want, Simon?” You interrupt him, your patience for his theatrics already wearing thin. 

“Oh, babe,” he breathes, “It’s so good to hear your vo-”

“What do you want?” You ask again, emphasizing every word.

“I want to apologize,” he answers with a deep sigh, then clears his throat. “I- I’m sorry about what happened and how we ended things, I really am.”

You snort and pluck a stray piece of lint from your tank top. Is he for real right now?

“Cool story, Simon,” you deadpan as you get up to go grab the wine bottle from the fridge. “That it?” 

“I was hoping we could talk about things, maybe meet up? I’d love to see you.” 

You slam the fridge door shut and take the bottle back to the sofa. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you mutter and pour yourself another glass. 

“Of course there is,” Simon protests, the agitated tone of his voice betraying the calm and collected facade he tried to put up. “I really think we should talk about what happened. I can’t just forget about it, you know.” Oh yeah, this is the real Simon. Always trying to manipulate the people around him. Sucks for him that you’ve figured it out. 

“Sounds like a you problem,” you mumble and bring the cold rim of the glass back to your lips. 

“Oh, come on now. Why are you acting like this?” He groans, his annoyance palpable. When he realizes you’re not going to answer him and that he maybe should be more diplomatic, he relents. “I just think we should talk about it, that’s all.”

“You wanna talk about it, huh?” You laugh dryly. “About how you were fucking Laura while I was bleeding. Or how you were fucking her when I was in surgery. Or how you were fucking her when I desperately tried to reach you. You wanna talk about all of that.” 

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Simon counters. “We weren’t together at that point and-,” he trails off and sighs deeply. “I was scared, okay?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “We’ve had this exact conversation three years ago, Simon. There’s nothing left to say. I’m over it.”

“How can you say that?” he asks incredulously.

“You never once called me after I moved out to ask how I was. Not once,” you sigh, this conversation slowly tugging at the stitches of wounds you thought were long closed.

“You told me you didn’t wanna hear from me,” Simon huffs. “And I was- fuck. I’m just sorry, okay? I know i fucked up.”

You both don’t say anything for a few seconds, his breathing in your ear the only thing you can hear. 

“Can we meet, babe? Please? I think it would be good for both of us.” 

You chug the remaining wine and take a deep breath.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Simon. I got nothing to say to you.” 

And with that you hang up and throw your phone across the sofa. You take a deep breath, put your feet on the ground and your palms on your thighs. You close your eyes and say out loud, “calm, safe, breathe.” You repeat the mantra before adding, “It’s over, I’m here, I’m safe. Nothing can hurt me, nothing can hurt me.” 

When you open your eyes again and observe the familiar surroundings of your apartment, a soothing feeling of  comfort washes over you. There’s the purple vase you bought at a flea market in the first week after moving in, there are your beloved succulents that look as healthy as ever, there’s the painting you got from your talented colleague for your last birthday. And there’s the polaroid Tommy took of you and Joel at the party where he introduced you two.

You quickly wipe away your tears and turn on your TV. Another glass of wine, your favorite show and you’ll be able to sleep in no time, you tell yourself. You get up to get a new bottle from the fridge and decide to take the leftover banana bread you made with you as well. It’s time for all the comfort you can get. 

With your hands full, you shuffle back to the sofa and, due to the dim light and the fact that you just downed an almost full bottle of wine on an empty stomach, you completely miss the fact that you’re directly walking into one of the coffee table legs. You stub your toes hard, trip and fall to the floor. You can only watch in slow motion as the plate flies through the air and shatters on your hardwood floor, the banana bread just rolling away sadly. The wine glass is even more spectacular, as its contents spill all over your sofa and the glass explodes into a thousand shards. 

“Fuck my life,” you groan and get on your knees to pick up the big pieces with your hands before sweeping up the smaller ones with a dustpan and brush later. 

“Shit,” you hiss and clutch your wrist. 

Of course you cut yourself on one of the shards, blood immediately trickling down onto the carpet. The cut on your palm is not deep, but it stings. And the blood is already seeping into the fabric - great. You let out an exasperated sigh and get up. 

You can’t be bothered to take care of all this right now, so you slap a too small bandaid over the cut, brush your teeth, take your melatonin with a glass of water and go to bed. 

— 

What sociopath calls this early? And on your day off no less. You groan at the sharp and grating sound emitted by your phone on the nightstand, but pick up when you see who it is. 

“Yeah?” Your voice is little more than a hoarse whisper, laced with a sleepy rasp. 

“Aww, did I wake the princess?” Joel asks in mock concern. You can hear the smirk on his stupid handsome face through the phone. 

“No, no,” you murmur and rub your bleary eyes. “I’ve already run ten miles, deep-cleaned my whole apartment and rescued a cat from a tree. What have you done, hm?” 

“Touché. Very impressive, darlin’,” he chuckles, your wit never failing to amuse him. “And no, I haven’t rescued any cats so far today. I’m just at work. Besides,” he continues before his voice takes on a sultry tone, “the only pussy I’m interested in is yours anyway.”

You involuntarily suck in a breath and feel yourself clench around nothing. You’re still half asleep and have no clue what planet you’re on, but Joel’s still managed to get you all hot and bothered within ten seconds of your conversation; and with a shitty pun at that.

You might have a mild problem. 

“Hmm, you like that, don’t you?” He groans softly as the rhythmic fapping sound reaches your ear.

“Are you jerking off right now?” You ask, less shocked and definitely more turned on than you should be. 

“Yeah,” he purrs. “You wanna help me, baby?” 

“Hang on,” you say, trying to process the situation. “You’re at work and you just what, decided to call me at - you look at the time on your display - 7:13 in the morning, so I could get you off?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Joel murmurs into your ear.  

You can’t help but chuckle at his audacity and complete lack of shame. You love it. 

“Alright,” you coo, “but first you gotta tell me what’s got you all riled up.” You put him on speaker and slide your hand between your legs. 

“My secretary’s wearing a tight dress today,” he murmurs, then spits into his hand to wet his shaft.  

“Oh yeah?” You whisper, “She turn you down and now poor you has to make do with me?” You run your fingers through your folds and bite your lip as you spread the slick from your core to your clit. 

“You know me better than that, darlin’,” Joel says softly. “I was scrolling through the photos I took of the construction site yesterday and then the pic you sent me caught my eye. Couldn’t concentrate on anything else afterwards.” 

A triumphant smile spreads across your face as you think of Joel losing his composure because of you. It is a hot photo to be fair. After your phone call with Simon on Sunday night, you ordered a new sofa, carpet and some fun items of the adult variety to feel better. While trying out one of them, you felt compelled to let Joel have a piece of your fun and sent him a pic of you with your best assets on display. 

“You like that one, huh,” you tease, your fingers slowly circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. “I was thinking about you when I took it, you know.”

“Fuck yeah,” Joel murmurs, his breathing heavy. “Look fucking gorgeous with your ass stuffed and your tits out.” 

“Mmm, it’s a new ribbed dildo I got. Felt amazing in my tight little hole,” you purr and hear Joel groan softly at the image. “I used a vibrator on my clit while I fucked my ass, but my pussy felt far too empty. It was dripping so much I had to change the sheets after.”

“That’s my dirty girl. You want two cocks to stuff your greedy holes, baby?” He moans, clearly aroused by the idea of seeing you fall apart while being filled to the brim. You dip your fingers into your wet cunt and use your slick to rub your clit harder.

“Yes, Sir,” you breathe, causing Joel’s painfully hard cock to twitch, “want you to tie me to the bed so my pussy’s wide open for you. I want you to choose a toy that’s too big and push it inside my dripping hole to stretch it until it’s a ruined mess. When you’re satisfied and take the toy out of my ruined hole, I’d beg you to finally fuck my cunt with your cock, but you’d fuck my ass instead and just leave my used pussy clench around nothing.”

You moan breathlessly as you can feel the muscles in your abdomen tighten and pleasure building rapidly. Hearing Joel lose his mind on the other end of the line is setting all of your nerves on fire and you desperately wish he was here to fuck you like you deserve. 

“Fuck, you’re such a perfect little whore,” Joel groans, fisting his cock faster. “I’d film the whole thing, so I could show you how pathetic you look begging for my cock and dripping with my cum. I’d fill you up over and over again until you’re a crying mess begging me to stop.” His moans are getting louder and you can’t help but wonder how thick the walls of his office must be.  

You can’t wait for him to get his hands on you and do with you as he pleases. “I’ll take whatever you decide to give me, Sir.”

“Gonna take my cum in all your holes, angel?”

“Yes, Sir. Please, I need it so bad. I just wanna be your cum slut for you to fill up.” 

When Joel just groans at that, you know you’ve hit on something. “That’s what I am, right? Your cum slut to fill up?” You’re incredibly close to coming already, but you want to wait for Joel. 

“That’s what you are, angel. And you’re just perfect like that. Three holes for me to use. Always so,” he pants breathlessly as he’s tip-toeing on the edge of his release, “always so fucking good for me. Gonna- gonna ruin you, baby. Gonna make you come on my cock until you cry.”

“Can I please come, Sir? I- I don’t think I can wait anymore,” you whine desperately, Joel’s filthy mouth putting you over the edge. 

“Oh yeah, baby,” he pants breathlessly as he increases the pace of his strokes. You can hear the obscene sound of him fucking his fist. “You gonna come with me?”

You moan his name as you reach your peak, your whole body trembling and finding its release. Joel is right behind you, erupting into his hand and onto his belly with a strangled groan. Your orgasm is so intense that you can ride it out for a few ecstatic seconds filled with your breathless moans. When you come down from your climax, you only hear your blood rushing in your ears and the pulsating sound of your heart.  

You try to catch your breath for a few seconds and open your eyes before asking, “Joel, you alive?”

When the only thing you hear is heavy breathing, you giggle. You know exactly how he looks right now, all disheveled with his wet cock out and a big satisfied smile on his lips. You wish so badly you could lick up every last drop of his cum. 

“Mmm, you’re such a good girl,” Joel murmurs after some time, still coming down from his high and opening a drawer to retrieve some tissues. “I’ll clear my schedule, so we can do this every morning, alright?” 

You chuckle and turn on your side, “You’d get bored with me pretty quickly if we did this every day.” 

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard today,” Joel scoffs and wipes his softening cock with the tissues. “And I had to explain to Tommy that he can’t influence the gender of his future baby by fucking his wife a certain way. So, yeah.” 

You laugh at the image of Tommy vividly explaining how he and Maria have sex and Joel just standing there, dumbfounded, asking himself if he might have damaged his little brother’s brain when they were wrestling as kids.

“Alright, babe,” Joel says softly, “since my cock’s not hogging all of my blood anymore, I should try and get some work done.” 

“Good idea,” you chuckle. “Say hi to Tommy from me, okay?”

“Will do, darlin’. And you let me know when you got time to show me that new toy of yours in person, alright?” 

Your eyes lock on the big IKEA packages in your living room and you bite your lip. 

“You wanna come over later?”

---

You’re actually excited for your new sofa. You’ve had the old one removed by a company yesterday and already spread out the new carpet. It’s gray with white shapes on it. And it’s fluffy, so you’ve spent quite some time walking on it with bare feet.

You assembled your old sofa yourself when you moved in three years ago. It was dark blue and you loved it. But you also spilled a lot of stuff on there over time, bodily fluids included. So it’s nice to get a new, clean one. 

Especially when it’s the reason why Joel Miller is currently kneeling on your floor, his broad back and arms stretching the fabric of his white T-shirt, his perfect butt accentuated by his jeans, wrestling with the IKEA manual he insists is “misleading” and “must’ve been written by some idiot who’s never built anything in his goddamn life”.

Needless to say, you’re loving the free entertainment. 

He shoots you an annoyed look and lets out an exasperated sigh when you point out for the third time that he’s reading the instructions wrong. You can’t not tease him, he makes it too easy. 

“As much as I appreciate your very generous help, darlin’, I really wish you’d get the fuck outta here before I strangle you. Lovingly.” 

You giggle and scratch the back of his head softly. “It’s not like you to get so frustrated, baby,” you purr into his ear as you lean down, giving him a perfect view of your naked tits under your oversized shirt. “You sure you don’t need my help? I wouldn’t want you to strain your poor knees and back too much, you know.” 

You wish you could take pictures with your retinas because the glare Joel is giving you right now is priceless.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” He scoffs and tilts his head as his dark eyes bore into you. Uh-oh, now you did it. “If you’re not out of this room in ten seconds, I’m gonna tie you to your bed and edge you with a vibrator on full volume until you’re crying from pain. And believe me when I tell you that I will not let you come.” 

A smug smile tugs at the corners of his plush lips as he observes how your pupils have dilated and how you're pressing your thighs together at his threat. He raises an eyebrow when you don’t move and tuts, “Poor baby, already cockdumb even though I haven’t even touched her yet, hm?” You frown at him, but he just laughs at you. “Time’s ticking you little brat, better get out while you still can.” You bite the inside of your cheek and sigh dramatically before heading for your bedroom. 

When you hear Joel chuckle behind you, you hesitate for a second, but he’s already read your mind. “Don’t even think about it,” he growls. “And close the door.”

You do just that, jump on your bed and watch Netflix on your laptop. It only takes Joel another 40 minutes to finish assembling the sofa, so you’re pleasantly surprised when he calls your name so soon. 

You close your laptop and quickly smell your armpits. You’ve showered in the morning, but it’s still incredibly hot even with the AC blasting. When you’ve assessed that you smell good, you open the door to the living room. 

“How do you like it?” Joel asks as he’s standing next to the cream-colored piece of furniture. He’s already put away all of the packaging material and made sure the cushions are clean. It looks absolutely stunning and nicely complements all the other furniture in the room.

You trace the back of the sofa with your hand, appreciating the soft material and come to a halt when you’re flush with Joel’s body. You look up into his eyes and coo, “Thank you so much, Joel. I love it.” He smiles back at you and studies your face for a second before grabbing you by the nape of your neck and your ass cheek. 

“You listen to me very carefully now ‘cause I’m not gonna repeat myself,” he growls, intensifying the grip on your neck. “You do as you’re told. You answer me. You don’t come unless I tell you to and I’m not gonna stop unless you say your safeword. Understood?”

You’re so stunned that you can only nod, your words completely failing you. 

You gasp in surprise as Joel’s palm cracks against your left cheek, leaving a stinging imprint. You instinctively move your left hand to soothe the pain, but Joel is faster than you and catches your wrist. “Tell me your safeword, baby,” he purrs and caresses your sensitive cheek. 

You stammer the specific word you both know to be your safeword before he tangles his hand in your hair and captures your lips in a hungry kiss. Your heart rate picks up immediately as you part your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to slip in. The sensation of Joel’s soft lips and his broad body pressing against yours has you rub against the bulge in his jeans. 

He grabs your thigh and lifts it up, so he can grind against your aching core directly. You moan into his mouth, your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him into you as you move your hips in sync with his thrusts. You’re so sensitive since your orgasm this morning that you could come like this if he let you.

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you,” he pants as he breaks the kiss and studies your face. Your pupils are blown, your chest is heaving and your mind is spinning. You want him so badly it hurts. “Take off your clothes and bend over the armrest, baby,” Joel orders and you obey immediately. You let your shirt and pj pants fall down to your feet, causing Joel to suck in a sharp breath when he sees that you’re not wearing any panties. 

He looks at you hungrily as you bend over the sofa, your arms resting on the cushion and your ass in the air with your legs spread. 

“You’re the prettiest little whore I’ve ever seen, you know that?” He asks as he’s tracing your back with his fingertips. When you don’t answer him, he smacks your ass hard. You yelp in surprise at the impact and instinctively close your legs. Joel presses his clothed bulge against your wet pussy and kicks your feet apart with his. He caresses the red cheek with one hand and tangles the other in your hair to yank your head back. “Answer me or I’ll spank you until you can’t anymore,” he growls into your ear, the dangerous tone of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

“I’m the prettiest little whore you’ve ever seen,” you blurt out, then moan at the feeling of Joel running his fingers through your folds. “Mmm, you’re such a good girl,” he praises. “Always so wet for me.”

You hear him unbutton and unzip his jeans, hear his belt buckle hit the floor and his heavy breathing behind you as he coats his hard cock in your slick and gives it a few pumps. “I need you to be strong now, angel,” he says softly as he rubs your clit with his index and middle finger. You’re so desperate for him to touch you that his words don’t register. 

A needy moan escapes your lips as he’s finally relieving some of the tension that’s been building in your core all day long. You push your hips back as far as you can to chase the friction, but Joel withdraws his fingers all too quickly. You whine desperately at the loss and immediately feel tears well up in your eyes. You hear the dull thud of his T-shirt hitting the floor.

“Shh, be good for me, baby,” Joel purrs before you feel his hands grabbing your hips and the head of his cock nudging your entrance. Your eyes widen in realization as your brain has now processed what he’s planning on doing.   

Before you can protest though, he’s already ramming his cock inside you in one smooth thrust, splitting you open with a force you’ve never felt before. 

“Fuuuck, that’s it, baby,” Joel groans loudly, stumbling forward because of the shiver that’s running down his spine, causing him to go even deeper. 

The sudden impact of his cock spreading you open without any preparation besides your wetness has knocked the air out of your lungs. Only when he moves and nudges your cervix does your body finally allow you to cry out in pain.  

“Shh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay, I’m here,” Joel purrs as he gives you no time to adjust to his size or the pain at all, but starts to set a slow rhythm, thrusting his cock in and out of your tight pussy. You sob into the cushion and try to rub your clit on the armrest, but Joel pulls you back on his cock hard when he notices. 

“Nuh-uh, baby,” he tuts as he picks up the pace and uses his grip on your sides to bounce you on his cock. “What do you think you’re doing, huh?” 

He slaps the same spot on your ass as before when you don’t answer him. Your chest heaves as you choke on your sobs, unable to get an answer out. “I know it hurts, baby. I’m so sorry about that,” he coos as he continually rocks into you at an unrelenting pace. “But I really need you to answer me, angel.”

“I-I want to c-come, Sir,” you sob pathetically, tears streaming from your eyes. 

“I get that, baby, I really do. But I don’t think you understand what this is,” Joel groans. “You really think I’m gonna let you come, you brat?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whine as Joel’s cock expertly massages your G-spot with every powerful thrust of his hips. The mix of pain and pleasure has your body and mind on fire. There are no thoughts in your brain, no ex-boyfriends, no past, no blood, no sadness - just Joel and you, melting into one. 

When he feels you tighten your muscles around him, hears your breathing get ragged and the pitch of your moans get higher, he pulls out of you. You scream and sob into the cushion as your legs shake uncontrollably. You were so close. 

“Fuck, I love the sounds you make,” Joel breathes, then starts stroking your back and ass gently before watching his cock disappear into your body once again. “I don’t care how good it feels,” he pants. “You'd better not come until I tell you to.” 

When you feel your orgasm approach quickly again, your body so utterly desperate for release, you resort to begging. There is no pride left, only carnal desire. 

“Please Joel, please, let me come, please,” you whimper weakly between sobs. “You can come wherever you w-want, my ass, my pussy, my m-mouth, all over me - just please let me come. I can’t take it anymore.” 

“That’s a good girl, begging so pretty,” Joel coos and slowly pulls out of you. He holds you steady as he feels you tremble. “Lie down, darlin,” he says softly and guides you on your back.

He kneels between your legs and puts one of them over his shoulders. He lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in. “Look at me, baby,” Joel breathes. “Look at me when you come.” You moan softly as he brings you to the edge of your release in the matter of a few thrusts. “That’s it, angel,” Joel encourages you, his face hovering above yours. “Don’t hold back, I got you,” he nods. You arch your back as you reach your peak, a choked groan escaping your lips as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect, baby. Wanna come all over you,” Joel groans, your walls contracting around him as he’s slamming his hips against your core with abandon.

“Don’t ruin the sofa,” you mumble between breathless moans. Joel chuckles into your ear and nibbles on your earlobe. “I guess I’ll just have to fill you up then,” he rasps, picking up the pace and sinking his teeth into the delicate skin of your neck.

He comes with a low, rough grunt as he spills himself deep inside you. His hips stutter and his whole body suddenly goes limp as he comes down from his high on top of you. You draw shapes onto his back with your fingertips and he hums into the crook of your neck. When he tries to pull out after a few seconds, you grab his ass to stop him. 

“No, no, no,” you protest weakly, “it’ll drip on the sofa.” 

“Alright, baby, no worries. Just hold on to me, can you do that?” Joel asks gently. “Hm,” you answer and wrap your hands around his neck. He maneuvers you from your back into a sitting position with you on top, then moves to stand with you wrapped around him. He carries you to the bathroom like this, making sure his cock stays inside you the whole way. 

He lets you down right in front of the toilet and you immediately sit down, so his cum doesn’t drip on the floor. “Join me, when you’re done, okay?” Joel murmurs as he kisses your forehead before stepping into the shower. You pee and wait a bit for more of his cum to trickle out of you, then step into the shower as well. 

You squeeze past Joel to stand under the water, wet your whole body and hair and squirt some of the peach scented body wash onto your loofah to scrub your body. “Let me do your back,” Joel says softly, then massages you from your neck down to your feet with the sponge as you apply your shampoo.

When you’re both done, you dry off with two of your fluffiest towels and go to put on your clothes. You get yourself a new pair of pajama pants and another oversized shirt and Joel puts the clothes he came in back on. 

“What do you want from Domino’s?” You shout from the bedroom. Time for pizza and Netflix.

---

“What the fuck,” you hiss as you see the new notification on your phone. “I fucking told you to leave me alone, what is so fucking hard to understand? Asshole.” You lean over the counter and stare at Simon’s messages. Wanna give you space, babe. But I can’t live without you. You put the leftover pizza in your fridge and slam the door.

“You alright, darlin’?” Joel asks as he’s suddenly standing behind you in the kitchen.

“Yeah, sorry, all good,” you murmur, turning around to face him and putting on the most convincing smile you’re capable of right now. You’re not fooling Joel for a second and you know it. When he gives you a sympathetic look, you can’t muster the strength to pull up the corners of your lips anymore. Instead, you look at the fuzzy slippers on your feet and sigh deeply. “It’s my ex,” you say quietly. “He started calling and texting me a week ago after no contact for three years and it’s really stressing me out.” 

Your eyes find Joel’s and you immediately feel sorry for bringing it up. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry,” you stammer and shake your head. “It’s not your problem. Forget what I said.” He closes the distance between you two and wraps his strong arms around you in a warm embrace. You put your arms around him and stroke his back. You can feel his heartbeat. 

“Why don’t I make us some coffee and we sit back down on your new, not-ruined sofa, hm?” He murmurs into your hair with a smile.

“Joel, I don’t-”

“We don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can just sit, drink coffee and not talk as much as you want.” His warm hands softly rubbing your back make you feel so safe. 

“Okay, thank you,” you mumble into his shoulder before letting go of him. You open a drawer and pull out a bag of cookies. “I got these for you if you want them.” You hold up the bag and Joel takes it with a furrowed brow and a curious smile. 

“How in the world did you know?”

“You honestly don’t remember?” You giggle. “You ranted about how much you love these for an hour when we got high a few weeks ago. They don’t sell them anywhere nearby so I ordered them in a specialty store online.”

Joel shakes his head and looks at you with his big puppy eyes. “You’re the best, darlin’. Thank you.” He kisses your forehead gently, then tells you to make yourself comfortable on the sofa.

You sit down and look around. Being here feels different. Your apartment looks the same as it did a few hours ago. Sure, the sofa and carpet are new, but there’s something else. You realize that it doesn’t bother you to have someone else in your home, in your safe space. It’s actually kind of nice to know someone’s here. 

“There you go,” Joel says as he hands you your cup. He sits down beside you and puts a bowl filled with cookies on the coffee table. 

You pull your feet up onto the cushion and say, “Thank you.” Joel puts his arm over the backrest and caresses the nape of your neck with his fingers. 

“You remember what I told you when you asked me to stay over on our first night together?” You ask quietly.

“I do,” Joel says softly. “You said you couldn’t and when I asked what you meant by that you said you didn’t wanna get attached.” 

“Sounds kinda mean now that I’m thinking about it,” you murmur. “You know it has nothing to do with you, right?”

“I know, darlin’,” Joel reassures you. “And I’ve told you from the beginning that I’m not gonna pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. We got a good thing going and as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I haven’t always been this way, you know,” you sigh and play with the hem of your shirt. “And I fucking hate that it was one guy that ruined everything,” you say dryly and stare into your black coffee. “It wasn’t a good relationship to begin with and we both made some bad decisions. I know that. So when I packed up a handful of my things and walked out of our apartment forever, I didn’t think I’d ever hear from him again. Until now.” You take a sip of your coffee and continue, “He apologized for the shit he did and asked me to meet him.”

“How do you feel about that? Him apologizing?” Joel asks, his calm tone of voice soothing your nerves. 

You sigh deeply and let your head fall back onto the sofa. “I feel like it’s a goddamn joke,” you scoff and throw your arm over your eyes. “I don’t believe a single word he says and he didn’t even really apologize, you know? He still doesn’t understand what he did. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care.”

You lift your arm and turn your head to look at Joel. “I dunno which is worse.”

“It sucks that he’s not giving you the apology you deserve after hurting you. I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“I just don’t understand why it bothers me so much, you know? I haven’t seen him in three years, I’m over it, so why does it still hurt so fucking bad?”

“Did you love him?” Joel asks and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You look into his big, sincere eyes and nod. “Yeah,” you murmur. “At least I thought I did.” 

“Well, there’s your answer, sweetheart.” 

You hide your face behind your hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot,” you groan, embarrassed of your pathetic feelings and the way you’re behaving in front of Joel. Being this emotionally vulnerable is causing you physical pain. 

“Hey, stop that nonsense,” he objects immediately, scooting closer to you and pulling you against his chest. “You have a big heart, you have feelings. You’re allowed to feel hurt and you’re allowed to feel sad.” He kisses the crown of your head and murmurs, “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

“Have you ever cut someone out of your life completely?” You mumble into his chest. 

“I have.”

“Do you ever think about them?”

“Sure I do,” Joel nods. “Not often, but yeah. It’s normal. Especially if they meant a lot to you.” 

“Hmm, I guess.”

You look up and give him a genuine smile before sighing and reaching for the remote. “Enough heavy stuff for today,” you say. “Let’s watch something. I can feed you cookies and scratch your back…”

---

“You wanna know what I like about you?”

“My old man fetish.”

He looks at you incredulously for a second, then starts tickling the soles of your feet in retaliation. “You’re such an ass,” he laughs as you try to wriggle away. You squeal and try to kick him off, but he’s got both of your ankles in a firm grasp. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, then pulls you closer. “C’mere.” 

You sit up and straddle him, your hands resting on his broad shoulders. Joel puts his arms around you, his hands splayed on your back, instantly grounding you and providing a sense of security. 

He looks into your eyes and murmurs, “What I was going to say is that I like your honesty; with yourself and others. It’s a quality you should never give up on, even if it’s hard.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, then looks at his watch. “I should go, darlin’. It’s been a long day.” 

You nod and let him get up to put on his shoes. 

“Joel?” 

He turns around and looks at you with raised eyebrows.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t need to go, that he can stay this time, but the words just won’t leave your lips. Instead you say, “Thank you for today, seriously.” You walk up to him and press a soft kiss to his lips. “You really helped me and made me feel so much better.” 

Joel doesn’t answer immediately as he tilts his head and studies your face. “I’m glad I could cheer you up, darlin’,” he coos and caresses your left cheek. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Will do, Joel. Thank you.” 

---

You open Simon’s messages and type in your reply before blocking him. 

Simon: But I can’t live without you You: Then die

---

Thank you for reading! 🤍 part 2 || part 4 || series masterlist

[court-jobi]

Reheat

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work OR the mindblowing art of @gsony24))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader (support-hero!reader x teacher Izuku)

Words: 2.5k

Rating: G~

Warnings: comfort fic, tooth-rotting fluff here y'all, established relationship, work stress (livin' vicariously), talks of the future, a few fem pronouns used, but generally gender-neutral

Summary:

Izuku letting himself into your home after a long day has become comfortable background noise, and one you love to hear while you're bogged down. Work has been following you home all week. He's proud of you, without a doubt... But equally concerned when he sees your dinner half-eaten, your mind scatterbrained and racing faster than he can anchor you, and your angel eyes in desperate need of some TLC. He's cemented his place in your heart- and sees no reason he can't make himself at home here already.

A/N: do I have bigger fics in mind? Yes. Did I write this instead of sleeping bc I love soft, encouraging Deku? Also yes. Izuku Midoriya is a motivational speaker.

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

“Hey honey! I’m here!”

Over the tinny, background chatter of a podcast streaming from your phone, you call back to Izuku letting himself in.

“Hey you~” You throw interest into your voice, but still stayed tuned into your work.

“Ooo what’s this… What did you make here on the stove?”

“Risotto– it’s Italian~ has lots of veggies and good stuff in it,” you didn’t stop your typing pace, engrossed too heavily in getting an email out before you forget about it and Gmail has to ‘nudge’ you, again, “-gave it a Japanese spin with what I had in the house.”

“Oh wow– oh my gosh, honey– this is so good!”

You look up since your darling man has just appeared in your doorway, sparkly eyed to see you, but equally sated by what’s just graced his mouth. It was a meal you could babysit between taking a quick shower, getting ready for work, letting its flavors marry in the fridge throughout the day, and popping back on the stove that night.

“I’m glad, happy you like it~”

“D’you eat?” Izuku asks, midbite.

“Mhm. Little bit ago,” You motion to your bowl- but when he comes alongside you, he tuts over noting it's only half empty.

“You didn't finish- you feelin’ ok?”

Having circled back onto your screen, you double take again, this time caught by his perception check over you and feeling guilty. 

“Oh. Guess I didn't. I’ll nuke it up here in a bit.”

Izuku, setting down his bowl and starting the -normally alluring- task of rolling up his shirt sleeves to his forearms, comes to your side. However since you’re paying little mind to your peripherals, you missed the show the was making of it. A simple ask of ‘what’re you working on’ came from him, sounding no different than if he wasn't trying to make eyes at you; fact was, you just weren't paying attention.

“Just some stuff for the interns,” the sight of how many tabs are open on your split screen -and in your mind- make you sigh, “With this new role, I kinda feel like you some days. Lesson plans, processing their paperwork; it’s all the stuff you had to turn in as an intern– only now I'm the one dealing with it on the backend.”

Izuku sifted around though your training materials and your propped tablet making itself useful as a second screen. At your handwritten to-do list that’s one of the only things non-digitized nowadays, he makes an offhand comment that your handwriting is nice. It's the kind of cute, ‘blink-and-you’d-miss-it’ things he says that you just hum to, whether you were really listening or not.  

When you glance up to him again, you see he’s watching you with a caring gaze and feel caught.

 “What’re you looking at?” you tease, typing again to break the silence.

“A pretty girl…” Izuku teased lightly, “who doesn’t know when to take a break.”

You type away at his call out– the need for a night off at Izuku’s side is exactly why you've been working so hard at this. You figured you'd get some of this extra prep work under control now, so by the time he rolls around on Wednesday for your standing date n–

You freeze. 

Realizing what day it is in your planner.  It's Wednesday. For dinner.

“Oh my God- -you’re here.”

“Mhmmm~” Izuku really doesn't want to laugh, but his sucking in of a lip isn't hiding it well. 

“ohmygod imtheworst!!” you refresh your face in both hands, talking through the gaps.

“You are not!” Izuku chuckled, setting your notes down. “You just got busy with all the new tasks, because you’re just that good.” 

A faithful, scarred hand comes over to smooth over your back, pulling you over into a little half hug. You sink against him, relishing in his little forehead kiss. He can try all he likes to cure your embarrassment, but you look to him apologetically.

“I’ve never forgotten our dinner dates, ‘Zuku…”

Your darling shrugged unbothered, “Had to happen sometime. It’s no big deal.”

“Is to me,” you pressed- very much bothered.

“Honey,” Izuku chips your chin up, “You’re too hard on yourself. It’s ok, these things happen! I mean, you still made a delicious dinner; even if it was a bit of an oversight I would -in fact- be eating it.”

The pang of guilt hits you at forgetting. This was just a symptomatic sign that the brilliance of your taking on the additional role of Education Coordinator at the agency was perhaps an over-zealous one. Not only to be on-call for your base job as a linguistics quirk specialist, but to balance another full time role on the office hours end? Why did you convince Fatgum this was a good idea? It sounded like a stellar idea back at the beginning of the summer…

Now you’re forgetting not just who you’re supposed to be eating with- but also eating in general.

“I’m glad you did,” you boost Izuku’s elephant-like memory, “It feels so normal to have you here, it's not like I completely forgot I’d see you today. I just– maybe I… thought I was gonna take some to you, since I wouldn't see you till later in the week? I dunno.”

“C’mere- never got a real hug.” 

You rise at his hand’s insistence, and stretch up into his full, healing embrace. 

“Hi baby,” you cooed pitifully.

“Hi, my angel. Missed you today.”

You hummed at the affection, sinking into his neck more out of your residual misery.

Izuku simply took advantage of you being close to sway you in his wide stance- a dance, sans music.

“I appreciate you cooking so much for us,” he spoke gently from his perch over your shoulder, “I was looking forward to it all day, y’know? You’re always so thoughtful with everything you make.”

He’s pressing into you with compliments- against your hard wiring to accept…

“‘Zuku.”

“It’s true~ you’re generous! You remember what my favorites are, and leave out the stuff I don’t like; you even send me leftovers. And you make snacks and treats for when the midnight munchies strike– what can’t you do?”

“Zuku…”

“And you–” he runs a hand through your hair as he sways your shy self back and forth, “-- make for the most funny, beautiful, fascinating, most inspiring company I could ever hope to share a meal with.”

Head thunking onto his shoulder, you playfully land a closed fist on his chest with a muffled, whiny plea for him to stop.

He sighs, all in good humor.

“This streak of yours... I really have my work cut out for me, don’t I? Still can’t imagine how bad it must be in that brilliant mind that my incredible girlfriend has such a hard time accepting the tiniest compliment. Maybe it’s all that late night American comedy you watch...”

You exhale then fix him with your coolest look of sarcasm, anything to show that you have a modicum of having your shit together. So you cope with humor- who doesn't?

–shame that it looks too much like a pout and makes you decidedly not threatening at all, because Izuku just beams brightly at you in response.

“Oh! Now there’s my melty princess- I was wondering where she went.”

And at that, the aloofness was gone, and you snort into a laugh and hug him tighter around the neck. He even scoops you up and gives you one little twirl for good measure. 

When he set you down, Izuku cups your face in his hands and gifts you a few more forehead kisses before demanding your sights. 

“Now. We need to get you to finish eating first. Then, what can I do to help you tonight, hm? How can I make things easier for you?”

With a softer eye to your desk’s work, you sat back down staying connected to your ever doting Izuku by way of your hand in his. You tried again to focus back. You're newly refreshed by his affections and attempt for a more positive outlook, 

“Well, my goal of doing this tonight was so that I didn’t have to go in early tomorrow. Course, if I do run myself ragged tonight, I won't be any good to anyone there– or for you, here. But I think if I pare it down to just getting these e-sigs ready and getting their time-in checklists set up for their work study onboarding, that would give me a good enough start, and I can fill in the rest of their packets tomorrow. But that means I’d need -ugh- maybe… another hour of work tonight?” you looked to him for his approval, “I have a template, so it shouldn’t take me forever.”

“Alright! You’re the boss,” Izuku supported your plan with a smile, “How about I take care of the kitchen for you while you finish up?”

“You do not have to clean my kitchen!” you spouted back, offended– causing a laugh to burst from him, “It’s not funny! I didn’t ask you to come over after a day of work yourself to just slave away at my mess.”

Izuku fixed you a look, as if you knew better. 

“I think I can tidy up a kitchen, no matter how busy of a day I’ve had. Yours isn't even over yet- so when precisely were you going to have the energy to hammer at it? You’ll enjoy not having that mountain waiting for you.”

You huffed, but smiled gratefully all the same. 

“Besides, it’s just me- doing something nice for the woman I love; and I happen to like doing nice things for you. You deserve a clean space, hun.” 

He cleared off your previous bowl to reheat along with your empty water cup. Shaking the hollow straw inside to where it clinks, he knows exactly what you need and tells you so.

“You are getting a screenless break first, though. Something tells me you didn’t the first time around~”

Settled with a fist propping up your face, you swooned over this darling man. 

Trusting Autosave to have done its job, you shut the laptop down blindly, “Sure didn’t~” 

Izuku just rolled his eyes and stepped out of the study. 

You neaten up the collated stack of applications laid out by you and stepped over to the couch, taking a kneeling perch on the end while you sought out a new record for the player on the side table. Setting one on, it was able to fire up and fill some new life into the room with a movie score you haven’t listened to in a while. Everything just sounds better on vinyl.

When Izuku came back in the room, he’d found his houseshoes and returned with renewed interest to your music choice- and with a pleased expression seeing you actually lounging and taking things easier than how he found you. He traded your reheated meal in exchange for your blue-light glasses, which he’d then clean with a pocket square and set back on your desk once they were smudgeless.

“Now, that’s a better sight~ here you go, all set for later.”

You enjoyed Izuku’s company while finishing dinner, listening to him outline his workday while he cradled your legs in his lap. He'd had a pleasantly eventful one, with plenty to say about it. You’d play ‘two truths and a lie’ sometimes when he didn’t want to bore you with a particularly mind-numbing schedule, which pleased you just as well. You excelled at it, while he gave away his fictions every time- a terrible liar for the game, but great for a faithful partner, you reasoned.  You truly loved hearing him talk and talk, your love only growing at the domesticity of this feeling and never wanting that to change. 

Once you were done, you were honestly content to hear him continue his tangent, but it seems his inner discipline was stronger than yours. 

“Alright, now to attack that sink~”

You bemoaned again for his sake. But since you made such a small, affected noise, Izuku paused mid-rise, and sat back down a bit closer to you. He stretched an arm over the back of the couch, encouraging you to come closer and met you for a sweet kiss in the middle.

His mere presence reverted you to a younger self sometimes– one desperate for his attention, good or bad. It wasn't the loveliest impulse, but he clearly thinks it's all part of your charm seeing as he gives in every time, anyway.

“Thing is,” Izuku spoke softly while adoring the hand now placed in his, “If things keep going the way I think they’re going -the way I hope they’re going- it’s.. not hard to imagine that there’s gonna be both our dishes to clean up all the time. In our kitchen, in our home someday. So this is just practice, right? Seems perfectly normal to me. How it should be.”

That idea bloomed in your chest, the thought of sharing a home with him- where this exchange of chores and time together could be your new normal. Only it would be a future where he didn’t have to leave at the end of the night and go back to a bed with compact, collegiate-designed storage at the campus accommodations he stays in on the instructor's wing. He’s got enough to get him by, but he noticeably prefers your home here closer to downtown.

“And what happens when we both wanna ditch the dishes?” you countered sweetly.

Izuku smirked, “That’s what a dishwasher is for. Another thing we’d own together…”

“Forward thinking, there.” You relished that idea. 

Izuku nuzzled your forehead thoughtfully. 

“You’ve been doing things on your own for a long time– and it shows, sweetheart.”

His words came carefully, from a tender place spoken in confidence between you, referring to when you’ve spent other late nights like this one fueled with hot tea and a desire to keep ignoring the clock.

“And I know you’ve been used to that since you’ve been traveling so much, not even having roommates to help keep you company or lighten the load. I keep wishing I could have known you sooner, had more time with you before you had to learn some of those things the hard way… but I’m happy I get the chance to, now. I’m here now, and you’re not alone, so I hope you’ll let me take care of you when I can.”

With another happy sigh forcing your eyes shut, the mental will it took to not let the tears of a perpetual eldest daughter leave you was intense.

Izuku Midoriya never failed to hit the nail on the head when it came to pep talks; he does the same with his students. But why his ones aimed at you had to have a Full Cowling dash of heartfelt anecdotes in it, you don't know. But you're grateful. You're so grateful for him. 

“If you don’t quit talkin’ like that, Izuku, I will never let you leave this condo.”

He chuckled again, lifting your cheek for another kiss, “Twist my arm, love.”

Ultimately, he rose to quit distracting you, but not without you watching him leave with a hunger you’d never felt for another soul before. 

[saintsylestine]

Pit-Born

Angron x Unamed Person (2nd person POV)

Authors note: Angron/World Eaters ≡ New Hyperfixation. This was kind of a "character warm-up". I wrote a 3rd person perspective too (〃ω〃) will probably post it on here or on AO3...

Chapter 1: Old Blood

It started the same way it always did — with screaming and metal.

The forge-pit echoed like a tomb full of dying engines. Down here, sound didn't travel clean — it rattled, bounced, came back wrong. You could hear a chain whip crack a hundred meters away and still not see who screamed.

You didn't look anyway.

That was Rule One: Don't look. Don't listen. Don't care.

You shoved another data-slate into the auto-filer, its screen cracked, half the glyphs glitching. It smelled like promethium and charred bone.

Not the worst thing you’d filed this week.

The Overseer's boots scraped overhead — heavy, servo-reinforced. You tensed on instinct. Not because he always hit people.

Because sometimes he didn’t.

And that was worse.

You could still feel last week’s bruise where he’d leaned in real close and whispered, “Got a sharp tongue on you, scribe. We'll see how long it stays attached.”

You hadn’t flinched.

You just smiled, right in his rebreathered face, and said, “With respect, Overseer, I’m the only one here who can read the requisitions. Unless you’d like another thousand barrels of corpse starch instead of ammo.”

That had earned you a full day scrubbing latrines.

Still worth it.

---

Your cot — if it could be called that — was a sheet of rebar strung between two rusted wall-beams, up in the tech-shed above the arena. The pit was always visible. Always audible. The noise of violence was your lullaby.

You'd long since stopped waking up at the sound of bone breaking.

You'd been born on a ship like this — or maybe it was a hive, or a mining rig. Honestly, it didn’t matter. They all smelled the same. Sweat. Shit. Cheap oil. Despair.

You had no family. Just bruises with dates on them and the memory of learning to dodge a fist before you could read.

Your first language was Low Gothic, spoken through cracked teeth.

Your second was silence.

Your third — learned in the shadows, in whispers — was High Gothic.

You memorized texts like other kids memorized the sound of their mother’s laugh.

You didn’t have one of those.

But you had a perfect copy of the Imperial Hymn etched into your skull, and you could translate six dialects of tribal war-speak from memory.

That made you useful.

And in this place, useful was the closest thing to safe.

---

You were hunched over a dataslate when the click-hiss of metal toes on steel drew close.

You didn’t look up.

Most people looked when Astartes entered a room.

You’d learned early that looking just made it easier for them to decide where to hit you.

The voice that followed was dry. Precise.

A vox-filtered growl wrapped in High Gothic.

"Subject Delta-9-Zeta. Report."

That was you.

Not your name, of course. You didn’t have a name — just a tag on your dataslates and a serial number on your file.

You didn’t stand.

Just looked up slowly, let your gaze drag over the towering figure in red and brass plate. He wasn’t a full Astartes — not anymore. An old veteran, maybe. One eye augmetic, one hand missing.

More administrator than killer now.

That made him almost tolerable.

"Yes?" you said, dry as reprocessed rations.

"Your assignment has changed," he said, ignoring your tone.

Your heart ticked faster — just once.

Reassignment was never good.

"You’re being deployed with the XII Aggression Fleet. Oversector Caduceus."

Your stomach twisted. That was Eater territory.

"Interpreter-class auxiliary," he went on. "You’ll serve under Primarch command."

Silence.

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

"I’m sorry," you said, voice flat. "I thought you said Primarch command. I must’ve inhaled too much ceramite dust. Would you mind repeating that?"

He didn’t.

He just handed you a slate with the orders stamped in blood-red ink.

You read it once.

Twice.

Then let out a low, bitter snort.

"So what was it, then?" you muttered. "Did I piss off someone important? File the wrong report? Fuck the wrong officer?"

"Your reassignment is classified," he said. "Report to Dock H in one hour. You will be armed with a Rosette, an auto-transcriber, and a field lexicon. May the Emperor protect."

He turned and left before you could ask what language the Eaters even spoke.

---

You sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing, the data-slate still clutched in your hands.

You felt nothing.

Or maybe everything, just compressed into a needlepoint of white static.

You’d survived pits. Overseers. Starving.

You’d survived Astartes who treated mortals like flies.

You’d survived by being small, useful, and forgettable.

And now they were throwing you to him.

Angron.

The Butcher.

The Warhound.

The broken thing the Emperor couldn’t fix.

You laughed.

Just once.

Short and sharp and not very sane.

"Fuck me sideways," you muttered, dragging your hands down your face. "Guess it’s a good day to die."

You stood, grabbed your satchel, and walked toward the last job you’d ever take.

---

There was dust in the air, curling like smoke, even though nothing was on fire.

Not yet.

The forge-hold always looked like it was dying, but it never did. It just sagged. Creaked. Bled from its vents like an old animal too stubborn to fall over.

You walked slow, hands in your coat pockets, head down just enough to avoid notice — but not enough to look weak.

The air was thick with machine oil and ash. Someone was getting beaten two corridors over. You could hear the crack of a fist. The small, wet grunt of impact. The quickening rhythm. Then silence.

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t even turn your head.

That was just Tuesday.

---

You passed the med-station loading vent — the one that smelled like shit and boiled antiseptic — and nearly missed him.

Small thing.

Pit boy.

Maybe twelve? Maybe less. Hard to say, when hunger took years off your face and added ten more to your eyes.

He was crouched under a rusted console unit, shirt drawn tight to his ribs like it could keep his bones from falling out. His mouth was open a little — not begging. Just breathing wrong.

You walked past.

Then, without looking, reached into your coat and palmed two protein tabs from your stash.

Nothing fancy. Just dry, chalky, corpse-reclaimed synth meat. The kind that kept your stomach from eating itself.

You dropped them by his foot as you passed.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t say a fucking word.

He wouldn’t either.

Not here. Not if he wanted to keep them.

But as you turned the corner, you felt it —

that burning little spot between your shoulder blades, where his eyes were pressed like a brand.

You told yourself it was nothing.

That he'd sell them.

That he'd die soon anyway.

You didn’t stop walking.

But your jaw was tight when you reached the lift.

---

The locker room was empty when you slipped in.

Good. You hated witnesses. Especially the quiet ones.

The overhead light flickered, casting sharp silver across rows of dented lockers, a cracked tile floor, and your rust-stained cot wedged up in the corner where the wall never quite stopped leaking.

You didn’t sit.

You just pulled your coat off and hung it on the dented hook that barely held weight.

Your fingers worked on instinct — removing your worn gloves, checking your satchel’s seals, running diagnostics on your auto-slate.

Busy hands made a quieter mind.

But it crept in anyway — the thought you’d been avoiding all day:

You were leaving.

Soon.

For the XII Aggression Fleet.

For him.

The Butcher.

You exhaled through your nose. Rolled your eyes at nothing.

Then you moved toward the locker.

The back one. The one no one else touched.

It took a kick to open.

You liked that about it.

Inside:

One clean dataslate

A bent stylus

Half a rag stuffed with inksticks

A folded rag you sometimes used as a pillow

A shard of mirror, metal-backed, scavenged from an old downed servitor casing

You pulled it out and turned it in your fingers.

It still had a little rust at the edges.

Still smelled faintly of oil.

You raised it.

Looked.

Your reflection was...

Fine.

You looked fine.

Sharp face. Straight mouth. Dark-ringed eyes. Scar across the bridge of your nose where someone had slammed your head into a filing desk last year.

You didn’t remember what for.

You didn’t wince.

You adjusted your sleeves.

The red thread peeked out — fraying, thin, wound twice around your left wrist.

Not a bracelet. Not anything.

Just… there.

You didn’t remember where it started.

You’d replaced it years ago, probably.

But it was the same color. Always that color.

And it stayed.

But your eyes drifted — just a little — to the hollow under your collarbone, where the skin still bore the ghost of a branding scar.

They’d burned the designation into you at seven.

Later, they reassigned you. Gave you the Rosette.

They never scrubbed the mark.

You ran your fingers over it, once.

Then opened your satchel and pulled out the chain.

The Rosette gleamed, faintly. Cold.

You slipped it over your head and let it settle against your chest like a second spine.

Interpreter.

Liaison.

Disposal.

You smiled at yourself — a tired, crooked thing.

"Dead girl walking," you murmured.

The mirror didn’t argue.

--

The walk to Dock H felt longer than usual.

You told yourself it was the weight of the satchel. The ache in your calves. The extra rations you slipped into the locker for the kid — even though you knew he’d be robbed by nightfall.

It wasn’t the fear.

You didn’t do fear.

Not anymore.

Just… managed expectations.

The corridors stretched on, pipe-lined and blistered with rust. The scent of blood and reek-oil clung to everything. The walls sweated moisture that wasn’t water.

You passed two tech-priests arguing in Binaric over a servitor with a bent spinal frame.

You nodded. They didn’t nod back.

Good.

It meant you were still invisible.

---

Until you weren’t.

The World Eaters came around the corner like a pressure wave.

There were four of them — no escort, no fanfare. Just blood-steam and footfalls that shook the grating under your boots.

They didn’t march.

They stalked.

Armor painted in drying gore. Symbols carved into shoulder plates. Chainaxes clipped at their hips like talismans. Helmets off. One dragged a flayed corpse behind him, trailing blood like a bridal train.

You moved to the wall automatically — you weren’t suicidal — but you didn’t shrink.

Not anymore.

Just… still.

Small.

A shadow in the oil-smoke.

And then one of them looked at you.

Long, slow.

His head tilted, like a predator seeing a noise, not prey.

His face was war-scarred, with ritual cuts down both cheeks, teeth filed into points.

He didn’t snarl.

He smiled.

Just like he was already imagining how you’d look when you stopped breathing.

It was worse than a snarl.

The one behind him said something low — in a dialect you almost recognized. It sounded like Low Gothic, if Low Gothic had been spoken underwater by a dying god.

You caught a single word:

“Pretty.”

Your jaw locked.

You didn’t blink.

The third one — older, scarred across the throat, with a chainaxe in one hand and a ribcage strapped to his back like a trophy — let out a low chuckle.

It rattled your bones.

None of them stopped.

They passed like smoke through flame — too big, too loud, too close.

And when they were gone —

when their scent still burned in your nostrils like hot metal —

you realized your hands were fists.

Your pulse throbbed in your ears.

Your throat was dry.

And your left hand was pressed to your wrist.

To the thread.

Still there.

Still tight.

You released it.

And breathed.

Once.

---

The dock loomed.

Metal towers stretched overhead like broken ribs, lights flickering red in the fog. Servitors clanked in dull circles, unloading crate after crate of munitions, medicae supplies, and human bodies wrapped in tagged cloth.

No one greeted you.

A grox-skinned quartermaster waved you toward a loading bay with a metal stylus like he was swatting a bug.

You stepped into the hangar’s belly.

And froze.

The ship squatted on the far platform like a beast half-woken from hibernation.

Brass-plated. Bladed. Covered in kill-scars.

The hull was decorated in chains. Bodies. Rusted prayer plates hanging like teeth.

Red banners snapped in the oil-wind, each one stamped with a single glyph:

XII. AGGRESSION.

And there, carved deep into the prow —

etched like a curse into the bone-metal surface —

THE WARHOUND.

You felt your stomach curl.

Your knees didn’t buckle.

But they wanted to.

You adjusted your satchel.

Pulled your coat tighter.

The chain around your neck was cold.

The thread at your wrist, warm.

You took a step forward.

And the doors swallowed you whole.

---

The air inside the Warhound was colder than you expected.

Not freezing — just sharp.

Sterile.

Like someone had cleaned it, but only after too much had already rotted inside.

The ramp sealed behind you with a hiss and a hydraulic moan, drowning out the dock’s chaos.

You stood there a moment, letting your eyes adjust, heart pounding too close to your throat.

No welcome party.

Just the groan of metal bones and the sound of your own breathing.

---

The first corridor was long, narrow, barely lit — a transport vein designed for bulk cargo and soldiers too massive to care about human comfort.

You walked it like a ghost.

Boots too light. Shadow too small.

The walls were not quiet.

You could hear them.

Something. Someone. Screaming.

Deep down in the ship’s gut.

Not pain.

Pleasure.

Or whatever passed for it here.

Metal screamed too — engine parts groaning in their sockets, servitors shuffling, plasma lines weeping gas like breath.

You passed a hanging banner — black leather, red ink, stamped with the sigil of the World Eaters.

A single glyph burned into the surface beneath it, carved with a blade instead of inked:

OBEY.

You didn’t stop walking.

But your pace slowed.

---

They didn’t bother showing you to your quarters.

Just dumped coordinates into your slate.

Barracks wing. Deck 7C. Assigned scribe’s cell.

You found it after two wrong turns and one narrow hallway lined with skulls that might not have all been decorative.

The door didn’t open until you swiped your Rosette — and even then, it groaned like it hated the idea of letting you inside.

You stepped into a box of cold steel.

No bunk.

No blankets.

No personal effects.

Just a hard floor, one wall-plate for filing, and a single fixture: a half-broken shrine to the Emperor of Mankind, blackened by smoke.

You looked at it.

Didn’t kneel.

Just stood in the center of the room, flexing your hands.

The floor still smelled like blood.

---

They fed you twice over the next two days.

You didn’t sleep the first night.

Too cold. Too loud. Too full of footsteps you didn’t want to track.

No one spoke to you.

Except one of the ship-serfs, a half-bent wretch with broken fingers who shoved a tray toward you and muttered:

"Don’t look anyone in the eyes, not even the humans. And if he calls for you — don’t run. Just go."

You didn’t ask who he was.

You already knew.

---

On the third day, the vox pinged.

It wasn’t a request.

Just three words:

REPORT TO PRIMARCH.

You stared at the screen.

Then glanced at the door.

Your hand almost lifted — a half-reflex — but didn’t reach for anything.

Instead, you exhaled.

Flexed your fingers.

Rolled your neck until something cracked.

No ritual this time.

No satchel clutching.

No thread-check.

Just you.

And the sound of your own breath.

Then turned toward the upper decks —

and walked straight into the jaws of the Butcher.

---

You expected a throne.

You weren’t sure why.

Some leftover delusion, maybe. Some half-remembered pict of how a Primarch should sit — tall, clean, golden light behind him, banners fluttering.

What you got instead?

Chains.

Dozens of them.

Massive iron lengths suspended from the ceiling like a meat hook cathedral, half-rusted and rattling with every engine groan.

And in the center — seated on nothing, slouched against a pillar of blackened steel —

Angron.

No armor.

Just blood-washed skin and scars that didn’t look like they’d healed so much as calcified into the bone.

He wore a shorn-off crimson wrap around his waist, a torn pelt thrown over one shoulder like a trophy.

The Butcher’s Nails gleamed in his skull, still hot — you could smell the metal.

Smoke curled from where some of them met bone.

He didn’t move when the guards ushered you in.

He didn’t even look.

You had the brief, surreal thought that they might have brought you to the wrong place.

Then he breathed.

And the chains shifted.

---

You didn’t bow.

You didn’t salute.

You just stood there, coat grimy, Rosette heavy on your chest, arms at your sides like you were bracing to be hit.

Not for show.

Out of habit.

You weren’t afraid of dying.

Not in the normal way.

You’d seen death.

Served it coffee. Filed its reports.

What scared you was what was behind those eyes — the not-rightness, the way he looked like a man who had once had a name, a face, a soul — and someone had taken all of it and left the shell walking.

You knew that feeling.

That was the problem.

---

After too long, he looked at you.

The weight of it landed like a slab of stone between your lungs.

Not heat — not rage — not at first.

Just pressure.

Like the whole ship was holding its breath to see if you’d break.

His eyes were red.

Not glowing.

Just… raw.

Like something had been scraped out of him that was never supposed to grow back.

“Interpreter,” he said, voice low and rough, like every word he spoke clawed its way up from somewhere unwilling.

You didn’t answer immediately.

Not to challenge.

Just to remind yourself you still could.

Then:

“Sir.”

The word tasted wrong in your mouth.

---

He pushed off the pillar with a sound like a mountain shifting —

his weight slamming down into the metal with a shudder that echoed through the chains.

He didn’t walk toward you.

He didn’t have to.

He just stood there. Massive. Half-naked. Covered in old warpaint and fresh, flaking blood.

“You spoke to me,” he said.

Not a question.

“Yes.”

“You mocked me.”

You almost smiled.

“Yes.”

A sound broke in his chest.

Not a growl.

Laughter, maybe.

Ugly. Unused.

“And yet you live.”

You tilted your head.

"Not for lack of trying. Sir."

A beat.

No reaction.

Then —

a step.

Just one.

And it was too much.

Your back straightened. Muscles tensed. You didn’t move. But every instinct screamed animal. Run. Kneel. Disappear.

He stopped inches in front of you.

Looking down.

Heat coming off his skin like a forge.

Scars close enough to count.

He didn’t touch you.

Didn’t lean in.

Didn’t snarl.

He just looked.

And you felt it.

The way his eyes moved — not lazy, not leering — but scanning.

Like reading a battlefield.

Or an old map he used to know by heart.

Your face first.

The scar across your nose —

A rough line where bone had nearly split skin.

Then your neck.

The spot where your coat gaped open just slightly — not salacious, just exposed —

where the edge of your brand still flared faint and red under pale skin.

He saw it.

You knew he did.

You didn’t flinch.

Then your arms —

the sleeves too light, the shadows too obvious.

Old lash lines. Scar tissue where skin had tried to grow back wrong.

And something behind his eyes… shifted. Just slightly.

Not pity.

Not even interest.

Just that silent filing you recognized from men who used to bet on pit fighters.

What hurt.

What healed.

What didn't.

You wanted to say something.

To break it.

But what would you say?

Yes, I survived.

No, it didn’t make me stronger.

Just meaner.

So you said nothing.

And neither did he.

Only—

you watched him watch you.

And knew:

He’d seen more in those ten seconds than most men would in ten years.

And the worst part?

He didn’t look away.

His gaze traveled lower. And landed.

At your wrist.

Just a flick of his eyes.

Not long enough to be certain.

But you felt it.

Like something being filed away.

---

“Why are you here,” he said, voice quieter now.

Not soft. Just... less full of war.

You blinked.

You weren’t sure if it was a real question.

Or if he even knew what it meant.

You gave the only answer that mattered.

“Because someone wants me to die. And they thought you'd be efficient.”

Another pause.

The heat of him didn’t lessen.

But he didn’t move.

“They were wrong,” he said.

You looked up — full into his ruined face, into eyes that had seen more betrayal than the galaxy had names for.

“Why?” you asked.

His mouth moved. Slowly.

Like a man tasting language for the first time.

“Because I haven’t decided yet.”

….

You didn’t say anything after that.

What would’ve been the point?

The god had spoken.

Not judgment.

Not mercy.

Just delay.

And somehow, that was worse.

—

The guards didn't come to collect you.

No vox chirped in your ear.

No voice told you to leave.

But something in the chamber changed.

The air thinned.

The chains went still.

The pressure lifted—not gone, just... redirected.

Like the Warhound had already moved on.

Or begun listening to the next thing.

So you walked.

—

The doors didn’t creak or hiss.

They just opened.

You stepped into the corridor with your hands still at your sides.

Your jaw locked so tight it ached.

Your mouth dry with the aftertaste of blood and something older.

You weren’t sure if you’d been dismissed.

Or released.

You walked.

Slow. Deliberate.

Not because you needed to.

But because anything faster would feel like running.

And you didn’t run.

—

The halls of the Warhound weren’t made for mortals.

They were made for men the size of statues and twice as dead.

Your boots clicked on steel that bore the stains of a thousand campaigns.

Your coat scraped rust from the walls.

And the light overhead stuttered every five meters —

enough to keep you guessing if the shape in your periphery was a shadow, a machine, or a man.

You didn’t look back.

You knew better.

—

Two decks down, you passed an open bulkhead.

Inside: a war-serf chained to a data pillar, his mouth wired shut, fingers twitching over keys he couldn’t see.

His eyes flicked up as you passed.

You nodded.

He didn’t.

You kept walking.

—

The smell changed first.

Oil. Blood. Meat.

The musk of World Eaters lingered in the air like a second skin.

You turned a corner and—

Froze.

A group of astartes stood at the end of the hall like pillars made of hunger.

Their armor steamed with fresh gore. One of them held a helmet under his arm, where brain matter still clung to the visor.

They didn’t look at you. But they didn’t move either.

Like they were waiting.

You inhaled.

Walked straight past.

No eye contact. No quickening pace.

Just small, steady footsteps, echoing like prey walking through a den of sleeping lions.

One of them said something low, in that same guttural dialect.

You didn’t translate it.

You didn’t need to.

You heard the word “pet.”

And you felt the way they said it — not cruel.

Not even mocking.

Certain.

Like they’d already seen how this ends.

----------------------------- to be continued-------

I feel like I need to know more about Angron to write more dialogue for him (／＼) but thank you for reading!! Would love to know your thoughts.

[lennadanvers]

Hidden in plain sight

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Pt. 2 of What he can take

Ghost has thoughts- and feelings- about masks: his literal one, and the invisible one you wear.

A/N: Continuation of What he can take! I never came around to posting it on here, so I figured right now was a good time. I had an anon ask for a next part where Simon finally receives affection, but I haven't really thought of a scenario for that to happen. I wrote and posted this on AO3 a while ago and haven't touched it since. Do you guys think it could work? Do you have any ideas? Let me know!

The problem with masks is that they expose about just as much as they hide.

Ghost’s mask covers almost his whole face. It forces you to look him in the eyes. Yes, you can’t see his mouth- no grins, no smiles, no grimaces-; but, in exchange, you get to see his eyes enhanced. Like when people loose sight and their hearing becomes better. You can practically hear what goes through his eyes.

He's almost certain.

With you, he feels naked. Even with the mask on. Especially with the mask on. Regardless of the mask.

You look up at him, straight into his eyes. Shameless. Like he isn’t crumbling behind his balaclava. Like he isn’t propping up the mountain inside, begging for the debris to not make any noises when it finally collapses. Because he is terrified you’ll hear the avalanche. You have always been a good listener.

You’re also an excellent reader. You read everything. Books, street signs, reports. But also walls, paths and people. Clothes. Accents. Situations.

Him.

You never say that, of course. You’d be giving him a reason to run away (not literally, but in a I’m-not-going-to-be-caught -in-a-ten-meters-radio-from-you-unless-required-by-my-job kinda way), and you’re too smart to do it. Too cruel. Too wicked.

No, you limit yourself to existing around him. Smiling at him. Eyes bright, eyelashes soft, pupils so sharp that you can’t hide them. He’s not sure you try to. You’re always there- not always always, more like usually; not even a weird amount of time, but it feels like it- doing seemingly innocent things. You say hi. Your voice should be annoying. It’s the opposite. Whatever the opposite of annoying is. It’s soothing, energizing, electric and makes him feel like he’s made of soft skin that's been covered by bandages too long and is suddenly exposed to the air.

He says hi back, and he knows. He knows you know. You can read his voice, too, can’t you? It’s impossible to look in your eyes when he talks to you. Your eyes are a scalpel, and he’s open on the table. He can’t bear looking at the vivisection.

It’s not only him (his posture, his gaze, his breathing) that you read. There is also the mask itself. He probably would be more protected from you if he wasn’t wearing it. Every time you glance at it, he can't help but wonder. What does the skull mean to you? The black and white, the need to hide? In his effort to cover, he’s exposing. Nobody keeps secret something they don’t care about.

You know that.

You never say it, though. Even worse, you only say kind things. You laugh at his sarcasm, instead of being offended by it. Do you actually find him funny? You also laugh at his poor jokes. No one does that. Sometimes you laugh and he doesn’t even know why. It’s excruciating, not knowing. He’s sure something is going on inside your head, and he’s absolutely certain that it is infinitely more entertaining than his jokes.

Oh, your mind. The inside of your brain must be so beautiful. Is that a weird thing to think? But it has to be. So different from his.

That’s the one thing he isn’t sure you know about him. How strong is the gravitational impulse he feels around you. Maybe there is one thing the mask can cover. Simon doesn’t know if it is a good or a bad thing. He likes that you know without asking most of the time, it saves him the shame and the effort of admitting when he needs something. He hates the uncomfortable feeling of being bare. He hates that it’s not mutual. He has no fucking clue of what happens behind your eyes. It’s not fair. All he has to try to figure you out is what you give him.

When he takes the mask off, alone in the dark of his room, he digs his nails on the fabric. Are you taking your mask off, too? Do you ever? Would he be able to handle what’s behind? He hopes so. He’d be honored to get the chance. He knows you’d be more than capable of handling what’s behind his own mask. You already do. It doesn’t even require an effort on your part. Ghost is the one that wouldn’t bear showing himself to you.

That’s the thing with his mask. It shows you everything he wants to hide.

That’s the thing with your mask. It doesn’t give him more than a few drops of you- and he’s dry like a desert.

[worms-blood]

Dark City

Pairing: Vergil/Reader Warnings: None Tags: Established Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Jealousy, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Alcohol, Marking, Scent Kink, Intoxication Word Count: 4,141 Summary: On a rare night out, you decide to go to a concert. Unbeknownst to you, Vergil decides to check up on you and remind you just who you belong to. AO3 Mirror

Flurries of snowflakes fell from the sky above, landing in your hair and eyelashes before you brushed it away, pulling your arms snuggly around your body for warmth. It was a cold December evening, and you weren’t home. No, instead of being at home, cozy on the couch while you shared a blanket with your dog and your boyfriend as you both read your books in a separate but unified form of peace as you should have been, you were braving the elements of winter in the dingiest little corner of Red Grave City. You had a good enough reason- it was a truly once in a lifetime metal show at the shitty little dive bar you frequented whenever you and your friends shared a night off. The lineup was perfect, two of your favorite metal bands sandwiched with a band you’d never heard of before in the middle, all queued up to play a night full of songs that would really get you pumped and head banging on this chilly winter night. 

Like a good girlfriend, you extended an invite to your boyfriend, but, unsurprisingly, he refused to come. Crowds, loud music, and rambunctious drinking wasn’t really his thing, and that was okay- you already knew that. You figured he would just want to be invited anyways, even knowing he would decline to come. And you were a little relieved- it had been a few weeks since you were able to get together with your friends and they liked to party the same way that you did. So you left the warm comfort of your apartment and decided to brave the night instead.

Your boyfriend didn’t have any qualms about you going out either, for the most part. When you walked out of the bathroom of your apartment looking the way you did, he had looked you up and down so hard you almost thought he was going to have an aneurysm. Dressed in a cute mini skirt with a huge faux fur coat and your hair and makeup styled impeccably, his eyes reveled in running over the exposed skin of your neck, chest, and uncovered legs. You looked good- you knew it and felt it. It took you a hot minute to get your concealer worked up enough to cover the purplish marks on your neck that your man loved leaving on you, but you felt like going out like that after not seeing your friends for so long would just be in poor taste. Or worse, you could attract the wrong kind of attention in a sleazy dive bar like this one. Better safe than sorry or risk your boyfriend becoming even more protective over you than he already was. Before he could say anything about not letting you leave the apartment, you had stopped him by promising you’d be home at a reasonable hour- one already passed by now. But it wasn’t your fault- the concert was just too damn good and way too long at this point. 

So now you were here, standing outside, around the corner and down the alley next to the venue in the snow. The band you didn’t know was taking the stage, and the music they played was so loud it shook the entire building and rattled your brain around. Already three drinks in and you were feeling it, despite how watered down they were. You came outside to catch a break, get some fresh air, and clear your hazy mind. Your friends were back inside, deep in the rowdy crowd you left them in. Sucks, because you really, really wanted a cigarette. You were drunk enough that one sounded absolutely delicious right now, and you really didn’t care that your boyfriend would most certainly smell it on you when you got home, with his enhanced demon senses and what not.

Leaning up against the brick wall of the building, you sighed a little. The faux fur coat you brought and the alcohol jacket you acquired as you kept drinking were helping against the night’s chill, but not as much as you would like. You shivered slightly, checking your text messages. Nothing from your boyfriend, who you last texted an hour ago or so when you had told him you’d be late and not to wait up for you. Oops- you missed his response back to you. Drafting up a reply, you wondered idly if maybe he was annoyed you were already coming home late. 

You tucked your phone back into your coat pocket, turning your body slightly to do so. As you did that, you were suddenly aware of an overwhelming presence creeping up silently behind you. Your curiosity got the better of you, as you turned quickly and nearly jumped in the air when you realized who it was sneaking up on you: your boyfriend. 

“Vergil!” You scolded, catching your breath while laughing at the same time, “Very nice, sneaking up on me like that. I thought we were over that.” You clutched your hand to your breast over your heart, feeling it race under your layers of fabric and skin. You’d be lying if you said this wasn’t a recurring event between the two of you, although it seemed like he startled you less and less as your relationship progressed. Whether that spoke more on you or him, you weren’t sure.

Towering over you from behind, Vergil scoffed, adjusting his posture so he stood even taller. “Hmph,” He sighed, almost as if he was disappointed he was able to startle you. “You should know by now to be aware of your surroundings,” He glanced up at the building you were leaning against, “Especially when you come to crass establishments such as this.”

Your eyebrow raised at his words- was he making sure you were alright? “Aww,” you cooed at your boyfriend with playful affection. “Were you worried about me? Come here to check up on me?” Smiling up at him, you noticed the way the tips of his ears turned pink. Was it from your teasing or was he just feeling the cold weather? “You could have just texted me. Or checked on my location.”

“If I had messaged you, would you have responded?” Vergil hissed in reply, seemingly annoyed you hadn’t responded before. “Foolish girl- you pay too much attention to music and not enough to your surroundings.” He took a step closer to you, basically cornering you against the wall of the building. His gloved hand moved to grasp your jaw in it, angling it upwards so that your eyes met briefly. 

His gaze dropped and swept down to your neck where you had worked your magic with makeup and miraculously covered the hickeys and bite marks that normally decorated your throat like a sleazy necklace. Vergil frowned, clearly not admiring your handiwork. The hand that held your jaw grazed down to your neck as he pressed the skin there lightly and rubbed, trying to brush off the concealer you had worked so hard to apply. 

You tried to swat his hand away, “Hey! Knock that off.”

Vergil ignored you and continued his actions. “Why should I?” He said, his breath hot against your ear in contrast to the cold winter air. When did he move so close to you? “You seemed to enjoy when I was creating these marks on you. Now you want to cover them up?  For what purpose?”

Blushing, you responded, “Well, yeah but.. I don’t necessarily want all of my friends to see..”

Vergil scoffed once more, pausing. His finger still rubbed at your neck, the feeling slowly becoming overstimulating. “Why is that? You don’t want them to know you are mine?”

If it was even possible, your blush deepened. The heat that covered your cheeks was welcomed in the cold of the night. “No- that’s not it, it’s just-” The alcohol was getting to you. You were at a loss of words- how did you explain to your boyfriend that while you knew that everyone knew you were together, you didn’t necessarily feel the urge to flaunt around just what your relationship involved behind closed doors. “Well, it’s because-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Vergil interrupted you, “I suppose you need a reminder.” Without letting you respond, he leaned in closer to you and bit down hard on your neck. You jolted, your head rolling back and a loud moan forced it way out of your throat at the feeling of his teeth on your skin. Vergil quickly got to work, biting and sucking at the delicate skin on your neck and clavicle, clearly not caring about the layer of makeup sitting on your skin.

In response to his actions, a familiar level of heat started to gather in your panties. You began shifting your thighs together in an effort to get some friction going to sway your rapidly growing lust that you felt for the man in front of you. Vergil brought both of his hands to each side of you against the wall you leaned on, effectively caging you in and hiding you from any viewing eyes that might have passed by. This change in his position allowed him better leverage against you, as he continued to lavish your skin with his mouth. Moans and gasps were flowing from your mouth in response to his actions- you felt like you were unable to hold them back and you knew that even if you tried to, Vergil would bite you even harder until you couldn’t hold back any longer. Each bite was soothed with a press of his tongue against your heated skin, working in tandem with his teeth to drive you mad with desire.

As if he could read your mind, Vergil stopped his ministrations on your skin and pulled back, once again standing up straight and looking down at you. You could see the look on his face- the slight smirk on his face and the devilishly mischievous glimmer in his eye, and tell that he was pleased with his work. Your neck ached with the pressure left from his bite and you could feel new hickeys and bruises brewing under the skin of your throat on top of the previously left marks. Breathing heavy, you tried to calm yourself down- after all, despite being secluded next to the bar you were still in public. 

Snow fell on the ground around where the two of you stood. Finally feeling your heart rate calm down, you spoke, “Really?” You sighed, closing your eyes albeit dramatically- you really were feeling the alcohol now. If he wanted to play games, then who were you not to indulge him? “You came all this way to check up on me and that’s all you got planned?” Your tone took a challenging tone as you waited to see if he’d take your bait. “Scared someone is gonna see me wearing this,” you pulled your coat open wider, flashing Vergil a quick reminder of the miniskirt and revealing top you left your shared apartment dressed in earlier, “and decide that they gotta have me?” You looked up at him from under your eyelashes, batting them slowly in the way you knew he could not resist, teasing him.

An anger akin to green jealousy flashed in Vergil’s eyes momentarily before he regained his composure and grabbed you by the chin once again. “Scared?” He scoffed, “Don’t be a fool. If anyone here should be scared, it’s you.”

Your eyes met, and a chill ran down your spine. You knew that riling him up like you loved to do would only get you one thing and you were willing to see it through. ”Why would I be scared?” you asked, fighting the urge to roll your eyes before continuing, “Scared by how much you want me?”

Vergil took a step closer to you, his large hands resting on your hips before leaning in close until you could feel the puff of his breath against your ear. “Scared of what you are bringing upon yourself by acting this way.” His voice was low and firm, as if he was holding something back. You tried to pull away from his tight hold on you so that you could look at him directly and straight up ask what he meant because you weren’t sure if he was being mysterious and evasive on purpose now or if it was just an effect from the alcohol making you stupid and unable to follow his words.

Before you could question him, Vergil moved and dropped down to his knees in front of you. Your eyes widened in surprise at his movement but you still found yourself spreading your legs open for him regardless. The contrast of the sudden rush of cool air against the heat that lay between your thighs sent a chill down your spin as you anticipated your lover's next move. His large hands came to rest on your thighs before he leaned in closer between your parted legs. Pushing your already short skirt up your legs until it hiked around your hips, Vergil leaned in closer to you until his nose pressed lightly against your panties. Your eyes drifted downwards, meeting his own straight on. In response to the eye contact, his eyes closed shut and he inhaled deeply, groaning as he breathed in the natural scent you omitted that he had come to know well at this point in your relationship. 

You felt your cheeks grow hot when you realized what he was doing. Really, here? Of all places? The gravel of the alleyway you were in had to be uncomfortable on his knees, you were sure of it. However, the alcohol you had consumed earlier was making you bold, so- instead of pushing him away or trying to usher him into standing up, you rested your hand on his head, feeling the way the snowflakes melted into it and made it softer from the wetness. You combed your fingers through his feather-like hair and pulled softly, hoping that he’d take pity on you for once and hurry up. Although you had some liquid courage, you weren’t completely forgetting the fact that some random person could leave the bar and catch you two in this very compromising position. 

The feeling of Vergil sliding the damp gusset of your panties to the side, exposing your heat to the chilled night air, snapped you out of your thoughts and back to reality and back to focusing your attention on him as he liked it. You got the feeling he was about to show you exactly what he meant earlier when he had uttered his seemingly ominous warning. Practically burying his face into your pussy, he began by focusing in on your clit and applying quick, short flicks of his tongue that he knew would drive you just about insane. The sudden sensation drew a loud moan from you which tapered off into short gasps of breath while you tried to compose yourself. You knew Vergil wouldn’t allow you to keep entirely quiet, but you were hellbound and determined to at least keep quiet enough that you wouldn’t alert anyone who was potentially passing by to look into finding the sources of any alarming noises or moans. 

Vergil kept up his motions, clearly determined to get you to fall into the depths of orgasm as quickly as he could if the way he was pulling out all the stops and doing every trick he knew you liked was any indication. His tongue alternated between pressing against your clit in short, fast strokes and longer, more drawn out licks. Occasionally, you felt the pull of his teeth running along the nub which pulled a sharp gasp from your lips each time the sensation shocked you at how sudden it felt. You briefly wondered why he was acting this way- almost jealous and for no reason really, but that thought was thrust out of your mind when you felt one of his long fingers press at your entrance, inquisitively before plunging all the way into the third knuckle. Your jaw dropped open as a loud moan escaped you and your eyes screwed shut, overcome with the intense pleasure of suddenly being filled. You hadn’t even noticed he took his glove off. Vergil withdrew his finger from within you, pulling out and pushing back in and repeating the pattern over and over until a steady repetition was met.

Another finger joined the first, thrusting inside of you in unison, hitting and pulling against your sensitive walls within. The heat of your orgasm was brewing inside of you, sitting like a ball of fire behind your belly button and threatening to spill over and flood your body with white hot pleasure. You were so, so, so close. He pressed his fingers upwards, bullying down on the sensitive spot inside of you until you were squirming from the feeling. Gathering all of your willpower, you spoke, “Vergil…” It was as much a warning as it was a plea. 

Vergil understood what you were asking for and compiled, for once. He sped up his actions- your slick was dripping down your thighs and you knew without even looking at him that it was undoubtedly gushing down his chin as well. The pressure in your lower abdomen grew taut, like an elastic band about to snap violently. You raise your arm, bringing your wrist to your face and biting down onto the fake fur of your jacket, determined to muffle the sounds of your impending orgasm. 

At once, the overarching pleasure came to a complete stand still. “Don’t.” Vergil’s words were basically a growl at this point, and your inebriated state of mind took a moment deciphering them. 

You pulled your arm away from your face and peered down at your boyfriend expectantly. He continued, pulling away from you enough so that could hear him with risk of misunderstanding, “Let me hear you,” His sharp blue eyes peered up at you, and you were struck by the image of this beautiful man quite literally on his knees for you in this damp alley covered in snow. “Let all of them hear you and know you belong to me.”

Before you could question exactly who all Vergil was referring to, he was back on you, his face buried so tight against your pussy that you felt the urgency of your orgasm build as he picked back up on his actions that had you all but crying out for more. On a particularly hard thrust of his fingers, he pulled them out only to add a third one, the stretch burned but the rapid flicking of his tongue eased any pain and transformed it into bliss. Tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes and your fingers tightened in his hair once more- you were so close that you couldn’t bring yourself to pretend to care any longer about getting caught by some unsuspecting stranger or even a friend looking for you. At this point, you almost relished the idea of getting caught and putting on a show- willing to let anyone see and know how well you were taken care of.

His actions continued, picking up speed before you tightened around him and came with a loud cry, your fingers pulling at his hair in a way that had to be somewhat painful but you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. Sparks of pleasure raced up and down your body, electrifying every nerve in you from head to toe. Continuing his ministrations, Vergil let you ride out your orgasm on his face and fingers, allowing the slight repeating jolt of your hips pushing into his face as you involuntarily clenched around him. Struggling to regain your breath, you eventually had to push Vergil’s head away from you to get him to stop as you started to teeter into overstimulation. 

Wordlessly, Vergil tucked back the soaked gusset of your panties and adjusted your mini skirt as best as he could, covering your modesty once more although it really did nothing for the mess you had made that was dripping down your thighs. He had a frown on his face as he rose to stand in front of you, clearly still not approving of your choice of attire for the night. In the low light of the night, you could see the glisten on his chin of your juices combined with the fallen snow.

When you had finally evened out your breathing and your legs didn’t feel as much like jelly as they had before, you spoke, a slight wheeze in your voice from all of the events of the night, “Well, I can tell you one thing,” A smile spread across your lips and you could see the frown on Vergil’s deepen as he braced himself for whatever you were about to tease him with, “There was definitely nothing scary about that.” You stopped for a moment, looking thoughtful, and brought your hand to your chin as if you were pondering something, “Actually, maybe there would have been if someone interrupted us.” 

Vergil ignored your latter comment, choosing to respond only to the first thing you had said, “What you should be scared of is what is going to be waiting for you back at the apartment.” His hands that were still lingering on your hips pressed against your skirt, inching it down more to try to cover another bit of your exposed skin.

You quickly caught on to what he was implying and shot him a sly grin, wiggling your eyebrows at him playfully. “Oh yeah?” You asked, voice heavy with implication. “I’m not scared of that either.” You couldn’t resist throwing a wink in his direction too, feeling the heat reignite in your system. 

Vergil’s stone face did not change- however, you swore you could see his lips twitch in fighting a smile. “You vex me.”  One of his hands moved from your skirt and grasped your face, pinching your cheeks in his hand so that your face was squeezed between his thumb and fingers. You could feel your wetness on his fingers against one of your cheeks. 

Rolling your eyes, you laughed and swatted his hand away from your face so that he’d release you and you could respond to him. You knew that wasn’t the case no matter how much he said it was. “Alright, well, there’s one more band going on stage that I have got to see. And then I’ll be ready to come home and deal with the scary big bad at home, okay?” You looked up at your boyfriend, half hoping he’d insist on taking you home and to bed right away.

Vergil nodded, his hand moving to adjust the neck of his vest, revealing some of his own flushed skin to your roaming eyes as he rolled his muscles. Maybe all of what went down between the two of you had almost as much of an effect on him as it did you. “Fine,” his voice was stern. “Go back inside, enjoy that mindless noise you claim is music. But keep in mind what is waiting for you upon your return.” 

You nodded impatiently, opening your mouth to respond somewhat flippantly but before you could, he continued speaking, his eyes once again dragging over the expose skin of your body, lingering over your thighs and up to the tops of your breasts before locking in on the newly formed bite marks on your neck.

“And remember that you have nothing but your own actions to blame for what is in store for you later.”

With that, Vergil stepped away from you, allowing you to push away off the wall. He watched as you strutted past him, turning back to look at him once more before you turned the corner of the building and were back at the entrance of the dive bar. Your body throbbed with want and anticipation of what your boyfriend promised you. You knew he’d deliver and playing these cat and mouse games only made them better. 

You checked your phone- 16 text messages from the group chat consisting of your friends still inside the bar. You were sure they were wondering where you’d wandered off too and you were also sure that reappearing with shaky legs and a brand new hickey on your neck was going to open a new can of questions that you weren’t the most keen on answering. Regardless, you re-entered the bar, with the thought of Vergil’s words still on your mind. Although you were still excited to finish the night strong and see this final band, ready to sing and scream along,  you also couldn’t wait to get home and have your boyfriend really give you something to scream about.

[hbyrde36]

Inspired by this TikTok

I wrote this instead of everything else I should be working on, enjoy! 😂

Rating: G | WC: 2494 | AO3

Eddie took a deep breath, preparing himself mentally for the night ahead as he walked up the street towards the place he was supposed to meet his blind date.

He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this, but it wasn’t like he was having any luck finding love on his own. 

After several failed long-term relationships with fuckboys that weren’t worth his time and heartache, who ran the second things got real, he joined the apps—quickly realizing that most of the guys he found on there were only looking for sex. Which was fun and all, but Eddie wanted more. 

He was looking for romance, a spark, someone he could see spending his life with, who was also looking for a partner. Someone who wasn’t allergic to commitment. 

So, he’d quit the apps. 

And when Chrissy told him she had a guy she wanted him to meet he figured, fuck it, he’d tried everything else. 

Steve Harrington. 

He was a friend of Robin’s, Chrissy’s new girlfriend who Eddie hadn’t had the chance to meet yet, but apparently the three of them had gotten together last weekend, and now Chrissy was convinced the man and Eddie were perfect for each other. 

“On the surface it’s giving opposites attract,” she’d said, “but under the carefully styled hair and button down shirts, Steve is not at all what you’d expect. He’s kind, funny, a little weird, and way different than the guys you usually go for—but in the best way. Just give it a chance. I promise at the very least you’ll have a good time and maybe make a friend.”

Eddie wasn’t so sure that’d be the case, but he was here, willing to give it a go, and he had a trick up his sleeve. A little idea he’d stolen from a TikTok video that had, so far, a 100% success rate for exposing duds.

He reached his destination and pushed open the door, entering the warm dimly lit restaurant, and before he’d even reached the hostess stand noticed a man rising from his seat, smiling and waving—waving at him.

And oh, oh Chrissy had better count her days because Eddie was going to fucking kill her. Steve, assuming this was the guy, was quite literally the hottest man he’d ever seen in real life. 

She couldn't warn a guy?  

Eddie raised his hand, absently returning the wave as he continued to stare a little dumbstruck at his date. 

Get it together, Munson. 

Mercifully, Eddie was able to snap out of it enough to put one foot in front of the other again and make his way over to their booth.

There was an awkward moment where Steve couldn’t seem to make up his mind between shaking Eddie’s hand, or hugging him in greeting. 

Honestly Eddie wasn’t sure of the protocol either since it was his first blind date. He supposed this was to be expected. Not only were they about to embark upon the supremely awkward adventure that was every first date ever, but they were also meeting for the very first time having never seen or spoken to each other before.    

In the end it became one of those half-and-half bro hugs with the little pat on the back, before they took their seats opposite one another. 

Steve was the first to break the silence. “It’s good to meet you, Chrissy told me a lot about you.” 

“Wish I could say the same.” Eddie muttered under his breath. 

“Oh, um.”

“Sorry, it’s—I didn’t mean,” Eddie shook his head at himself. “Ignore me.”

“No, I'm sorry.” Steve raked a hand over his face. “It’s weird right? This is weird. I tried to tell Robin—I mean, who even goes on blind dates anymore!”

It surprised a laugh out of Eddie that he couldn’t have held back if he tried. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. 

Great job, Munson, laugh at the guy—great way to make a first impression. 

But then Steve was cracking a little lopsided smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly with it. He didn’t seem offended, or mad. 

Fuck. 

He wasn’t just dangerously hot, he was cute too. 

Eddie tugged lightly on his shirt collar, and cleared his throat. “It’s a little weird, sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

Their server chose that moment to arrive and introduce herself, taking their drink order—some local craft beer Eddie had never heard of for Steve, a Jack and coke for himself—and Eddie used the temporary distraction to try and regain some composure. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already hoping this would go somewhere, that Steve would be different from all the others.

But when the server had gone and it was just the two of them again, Steve opened his mouth and Eddie instantly flashed back to every bad first date he’d been on.

“So, what’s your favorite—”

Steve hadn’t even finished asking his first question before Eddie was interrupting, raising a hand to tick off each response on his fingers as he went.

“Black, metal, D&D, the 1999 cinematic masterpiece The Mummy starring our lord and savior Brendan Fraser, The Silmarillion, cheeseburgers, Halloween, aaaaand—a dog.”

Steve blinked at him. “...What?”

“My favorite color, genre of music, hobby, movie, book, food, holiday, and of course the classic—if I could be any animal, what animal would I be and why?” 

Eddie let his hand fall to the table with a soft thud. “Dog—hands down. And I know I look more like someone who’d say black cat or something like that, but I enjoy attention and physical affection far too much to be an aloof feline. Shaggy lovable mutt seems way more my speed.”

By the end of his speech, Steve was grinning from ear to ear, nodding in understanding.

Eddie gave half a shrug, blushing a bit under the full force of Steve’s dazzling smile. “Thought I'd save us some time and speed-run the same old, same old.”

A moment later their drinks arrived and they both sat up a little straighter reflexively as the server set each glass down on cocktail napkins in front of them before scurrying off. 

They’d been leaning in towards each other without even realizing, it seemed. It was Steve’s turn to blush now, Eddie noted with delight as he raised his glass to his lips, grateful to have something to do with his hands.

“I take it you’ve been on a lot of first dates?” Steve asked, taking a long sip from his own drink.

“A few.” Eddie said, tilting his cup to swirl the ice around. “You?”

Steve made a waffling motion with his head. “A few.” 

Eddie took another sizable swig from his glass, focusing for a moment on the burn of the whiskey and the tingle of soda bubbles in his throat as he swallowed, and carefully set his cup down on the table between them. It was almost empty already—should have asked for a double. 

“Okay, my turn, “ he said.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You wanna know my favorite color?”

“No, there’ll be plenty of time to find that out later.”

“Presumptuous of you.”

Eddie hummed noncommittally. “More… hopeful.”

Steve let out a breathy laugh. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

Here goes nothing—

“What would you do if we moved in together and I started seeing ghosts and told you that our house was haunted?”

Steve tilted his head to the side, giving Eddie that soft crooked smile again, and damn if it wasn’t becoming one of Eddie’s favorite things. Can you be obsessed with something you’ve only seen twice?

Steve was quiet for a long moment, nearly draining his beer as he thought it over, but eventually set his own drink down beside Eddie’s and looked him dead in the eye. “Is it a nice ghost or a scary ghost? Are we talking banging on walls and rearranging furniture at 3am? Or a cold yet comforting presence in the corner.” 

Eddie put on a show of thinking about it, rubbing his chin and staring off into space as he tried desperately to contain his excitement. He’d never had the question go over this well before. 

Then their server was back, asking if they wanted another round—yes, of course—and if they were ready to order. They hadn’t even cracked open their menus yet, too distracted with talking. 

“Do you know what you want?” Steve asked him.

Eddie swallowed hard. 

You.

“I-I’m not picky. Order for me? Chrissy said you come here a lot so I’m sure you know what’s good.”

Without hesitation Steve ordered them a burger each, and a plate of some sort of fancy fries to share, apparently they had the best fries. 

It hadn’t been another test, honest. Eddie really didn’t care what he ate, this was already turning out to be his best date in far too long—and It could have been a coincidence, maybe Steve ordered burgers there all the time, but Eddie chose to believe it meant Steve had been listening. Test or not, he’d passed with flying colors.

When they were alone again Eddie smoothed his hands along the table, drawing invisible patterns with his fingers and finally answered Steve’s question. 

“Let’s go with scary ghost, but remember you have no proof, you haven't seen it with your own eyes, just my word.”

Steve waved him off as if that was inconsequential, upending his glass to get the last dregs of the beer, and wiping his lips on the back of his hand.

“Okay, well then it depends on how hands on you want to be. We could consult WitchTok, try and cleanse the house ourselves, ask the spirit to leave, that kinda thing. Or maybe find a priest who’d be willing to help us out? That might be a little more difficult since the church isn’t usually our biggest fans, but I could deal with a little homophobia to make sure you were happy and comfortable in our home.”

Eddie’s stomach flipped, heart beginning to race. He wasn’t surprised exactly, Steve had been blowing past his expectations at every turn already, but there was no more perfect answer to his admittedly insane first date question.

So naturally, he had to push. 

“What if I wanted to move?”

Steve shrugged. “Then we’d move.” 

Eddie stared at him incredulously. Steve said it like it was nothing, like uprooting his entire life for some crazy shit was akin to changing his socks. This was all hypothetical, Eddie knew that, and Steve could just be telling him what he wanted to hear, but Eddie had a feeling he was telling the absolute truth

“But we’d be out, at minimum, a month’s rent and security deposit, and what if the landlord won’t let us out of the lease?!” Eddie threw his hands up, suddenly taking his own game much too seriously. “Or godforbid we’d bought the place, then we’d have to sell it and all our money would be tied up in it, and—”

Steve reached out and took Eddie’s hands with his own, gently stroking his thumbs along the back of them. “Baby—baby it’s okay. No amount of money would be worth you feeling unsafe.”

And Eddie was simply going to pass away, because what the fuck—how was this man so perfect?

“Why—how are you single?”

Steve flashed a sad, self deprecating smile. “I’ve been told I can be a little… intense.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, historically speaking…”

Eddie leaned over the table, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve’s hand. “I happen to like intense.”

Steve sucked in a breath, cheeks flushing again with the most glorious shade of pink. “Good to know.”

They stayed hand in hand talking for a long time, taking turns asking each other the most random questions they could think of. 

“Favorite episode of The Twilight Zone?” Eddie asked. 

“Oh, easy. I don’t know the name of it but it’s the one where the kid is lost and her parents can hear her in the house panicking, but they can’t see her?” 

Eddie nodded his approval. “Little Girl Lost, good choice.” God he was falling more in love by the second. 

“Favorite Abba song.” Steve countered. 

Eddie grinned. “How do you know I even have one? Mean scary metalhead like me.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and shot him a look that clearly stated he found Eddie neither mean or scary. “Everybody likes Abba.”

“Well played.” Eddie bit at his bottom lip. He felt like a teenager with his first crush all over again. “Fine—while Dancing Queen holds a special place in my heart, and maybe this makes me a gay cliche, but Gimme, Gimme, Gimme fucking slaps.” 

It went on and on like that until eventually their food arrived, forcing them to separate. They still spoke as they finished their meal, and settled their tab, but Eddie missed the warmth of Steve’s hand in his already. 

He suddenly understood why some couples chose to sit together on the same side of a booth. He’d happily look like a dork right now to have the opportunity to be pressed up against Steve’s side, to be able to slide a hand along his thigh and maybe—

“Eddie?” 

Steve’s slightly raised voice found him in his daydream, snapping him out of it abruptly. 

“Wha..?”

“Did I lose you there for a second?” Steve asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Eddie rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, sorry, um—you were saying?”

“I said, I'm having a really good time, and I know we already paid the bill but I really don’t want this night to end, so—” Steve slid out of his seat and moved to stand in front of him, holding a hand out—which Eddie took immediately, of course, and let Steve pull him to his feet. 

“I was wondering if you’d want to take this back to my apartment? Y’know, so we can plan a second date?” He finished with a smirk.

Jesus Christ. 

Warmth shot through Eddie’s body at the implications but he found his heart skipping a beat too, because as much as Steve was teasing, Eddie knew somehow that he meant it about the second date. 

He couldn’t believe his luck, Steve was everything Chrissy had made him out to be, and so much more. He was going to send her the biggest bouquet of flowers tomorrow, and maybe an edible arrangement. Were those still a thing?

Eddie leaned in, letting his lips brush along the shell of Steve’s ear as he spoke. “It’s not haunted, is it?” 

Steve shivered, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and pulling their bodies flush. “No, but if you’re interested I can think of a few other ways to make you scream.”

Thanks as always to the lovely @penny00dreadful for everything😘😘😘

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari

[cinnamon-fam-studios]

"Scars to Your Beautiful"

Diluc x Reader Smut

Summary:

Diluc returns to Dawn Winery exhausted. With his days spent between the Angel’s Share and his nights as the Dark Knight Hero, he hasn’t had much time for himself, or even for you. His body aching from healing wounds and being touch starved, so he is desperate for you. Though his desperation doesn’t take away from his self consciousness of his new scars that litter his body. However, that doesn’t stop you from showing him all the love you have for him. Scars and all.

Author's note: my first ever public smut. I posted it on my wattpad & AO3 already but I might as well post it here

Warnings: Gender Neutral Reader, Oral (male receiving), Dom Reader, Fluff(?), Mentions of Scars

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A gentle breeze rustled the tall grass and shading trees along the path. Though it only deepened the darkness of the night, giving a place for those with wicked intent to hide. Yet even with the wind blowing, there was silence. The only sound were the heavy footsteps as boots dragged along the dirt path. The figure’s crimson locs had been loosened from his familiar ponytail while his dark jacket was tossed across his shoulders. He seemed to blend in with his surroundings, only the pyro vision hanging from his belt being the only source of light. Yet he knew exactly where he was going.

Emerging from the thicket of trees came the view of a large house with a large vineyard in front of it. Hanging lanterns guided him up from the path to the cobblestone ground and to the large set of doors. He reached into his pocket for a key and placed it into the lock. A quiet click came as he turned it, followed by an almost silent creak of the door. Inside it was completely dark with the exception of the moon light pouring in from the windows. No candles or lanterns on. It was very likely the servants had returned to their quarters for the evening. Which would have been odd since it was only him that could give those orders, besides one other person.

Though he didn’t dwindle on the thought for too long. He just started dragging himself up to the second floor, unbuckling and untying his attire along the way. By the time he reached the door to his bedroom, the only thing he had left on were his white undershirt, pants, and boots. With his arms full, he looked down and knocked upon his door with his foot. There was a beat of silence afterwards. He thought you had gone to sleep as well and he would just have to open the door himself but he then heard some quiet shuffling from behind it before it opened slowly. His tired eyes met yours as you smiled at him. You opened the door wider as you stepped to the side to allow him in. He stumbles into the room as if his feet were being weighed down by rocks. He placed his things into a chair across the room before taking some steps back to sit on the edge of the bed. He began to take his boots off while you went over to relight a candle you had just blown out. After doing so, you make your way over to his side and wrap your arm around him as you rest your lips against his cheek.

“Welcome home, my flame” you hummed quietly, “How was your day?”

“Horribly exhausting,” he sighed, leaning into your touch, “Actually, this entire week has been terribly tiresome.”

You chuckle, not from humor but out of concern. You guide your lover down onto cushions of the bed, placing a gentle hand on his chest as your kisses flutter across his face in a small way to comfort him. He traps your hand against his chest to get your attention, only for him to place a kiss of his own on your lips. A content smile graces your lips as you angle yourself to a comfortable position to kiss him. It's slow and intimate, like a faint flicker of a candle instead of a desperate needy heat. Though that didn’t mean there wasn’t a desire for one another as it had been quite sometime since either of you have been able to enjoy each other's company without interference of work or any kind of duties. It was obvious in the way your red hair lover pulled you atop of him, resting his hands on your hips while your hands fumbled to undo the buttons of his white shirt that he still had on.

However, you lean up from the kiss to look upon his shirtless form when you notice something. Your eyes trail over his skin as there are familiar scars across his chest but there are also newly healing wounds as well. Mostly likely from his nighttime duties protecting Mondstadt and its surrounding areas. He didn’t talk much about what he gets up to during those times or even lets you tend to those wounds.Your brow arches upward in curiosity and a hint of concern as you look up to meet the crimson eyes of your lover. Unbecoming of him though, he looks away almost as if was embarrassed of them. Perhaps going as far as saying he was conscious of them as his own brows furrowed.

“I’ve been quite busy these past few days took a couple of rough hits” he admitted, a bit timidly, “I know they look quite gaudy but they aren’t as severe they have been in the past”

Your worry only grows but you just look down at them, lightly tracing your fingers near them. He doesn’t flinch away from your touch, just tenses up slightly.

“Do they hurt?” you asked, as some of them did look a bit painfully.

“Not anymore,” he replied.

It wasn’t the answer you were looking for, so you tried a different method. You scooted down some atop of him and leaned your head down. Light as a feather, your lips came in contact with the cuts on his chest. This contact pulled a shiver from him and a sharp inhale. Though it didn’t sound like a painful one. Yet one from pleasure.

A teasing smile spreads across your lips as you look up at him and place another kiss against his skin. Another soft groan escapes him as he looks down at you.

“Is this okay?” you inquired, resting your lips against him once more.

He paused for a moment before slowly nodding.

“I don’t know why you want to though, they are quite unsavory looking” he replied, as a pink hue began to form on his face.

“To you perhaps, but think everything about you is delicious” you shrugged, before you begin to pepper his healing wounds and old scars with open mouth kisses.

Strings of moans and heavy breathes leaked past your lover’s lips, slightly squirming from your ministry upon his body. Your soft lips and the occasional flick of your tongue against his skin made it seem like he was on fire. Yet he found himself gripping at the bed as the heat in his body had started to travel downwards in his body. You could feel it as well but you focused on his chest and abs first. Showering him with your affection before getting to his main need. Showing him that you loved every part of him, from new wounds and old scars. Physically and emotionally as words of compassion mixed in with your touches. About how handsome he looked, how brave he was, the pretty noises that left his lips, and the way his body felt in your touch. It only seemed to egg him on further, his hips rolling slightly as he grinded against you. You let out a low chuckle as your lips sucked on his skin just near his hips while your hand caressed the tenting bulge in his pants. He whimpered desperately as he rubbed against it. A tempting thought to tease him more came to your mind but you felt you would save it for a later date. You just wanted to give him all that he needed to unwind from such a week.

Dragging your tongue up and down his abs while you unbuckled his belt and slipped his pants and boxers off in one go. Which let his cock spring free. It pulses slightly as the tip is coated in precum. Your eyes looked at it with a lustful admiration of it before glancing up towards his face. His arm rested across it as he panted softly. You whined quietly to get his attention. Just as his red eyes looked down to you, you laid your tongue flat on his length and licked a single stripe up to the tip. Pulling a trembling groan out of him as his head fell back onto the pillows.

“Don’t hide from me, pretty boy, I want you to see,” you begged, patting his thighs, “I want you to see me love you,”

Diluc let out a groan as he lifted his head up, resting it on the pillows in an angle where he could see you. A soft smile spreads across your lips before wrapping them around the head of his cock. You feel him tense up before relaxing again you gently rub the circle into his hips. You slowly lower your head on his length, bobbing it up and down as it rubbed against the inside of your hollow cheek. Getting him and yourself used to the feel of him in your mouth. Eventually, you guided him into your throat, humming softly to send vibrations across it. Your red haired lover let out an air gasp as his eyes slightly rolled back in pleasure. He brought his hand up to rest on your head but seemed hesitant. You look up at him once more before taking his hand into yours and placing it onto the back of your head, giving him permission to guide you to his liking. Your ministriation started off slow and intimate. Holding eye contact with him as you listened to the sounds of pleasurable huffs and grunts for Diluc. His body felt warm while his face was flushed almost as red as his hair. As time went on, he allowed you to speed up. Your tongue dragging and swirling around his dick. Coating it with a mix of precum and saliva. His hand gripped on your head but not too tight as to not hurt you. Though you would have even noticed as you were lost in your own world. Admiring the beauty of the man before you. The absolute love of your life. The way his red hair draped around his shoulders. The expression on his face as he looked down at you as you pleasured him. The way his body felt under your hands as you traced shapes into his hips and thighs were faint scars. All while indulging in the feel of him in your mouth. It was almost heavenly for you. Wishing that this moment could last forever. Though all good things must come to an end. You felt his hips slightly bucking against your mouth as your tongue tracked against one of the veins on his cock. Moving your head in time with his hips, you reached out and grabbed his free hand. Intertwining your fingers with his as he reached his climax. He threw his head back as the warm liquid exploded into your mouth, a desperate moan escaping him. You let out your own groan as you began to swallow his seed, making sure not to spill any of it. Running your tongue over his meat to clean it completely, you pulled your mouth off of him with pop. You rub the stray tears from your eyes before looking up at Diluc. He laid on his back on the bed, his eyes closed as he breathed heavily. Chuckling quietly, you climbed up to cuddle up into his side, rubbing your cheek against his.

“How are you feeling now?” you ask.

Diluc’s eyes fluttered open as he looked over at you. His lids hooded his glazed over crimson orbs as a tired smirk spread across his face. He turned on his side and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“A better,” he hummed, “Though I imagine you feel a bit pent up of yourself,”

“That’s something to worry about later. Right now I just want to cuddle with you ,” you exhaled, wrapping yourself around him in return.

“Perfectly okay, but don’t think I won’t return the favor,” he nodded.

“I know you will,” you smiled, “I love you, my flame”.

“Love you too,” Diluc murmured back, as his exhaustion began to completely overwhelm him.

It wasn’t long before that same happened to you. Your eyelids become heavy as you relax in his embrace. Intertwined in each other’s limbs as the night stretched on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

:3

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

I have request for Spencer Reid x Plus size fem!reader. Maybe her and Spencer are good friends and she gets stood up on a date or her date leaves after seeing her and Spencer swoops in and love confession.

p.s I love you work. <3

ೇ diamond eyes ― spencer reid .ᐟ

pairing .ᐟ spencer reid x plus size!reader

summary | admitting that you got stood up on a date would be like admitting defeat, too bad spencer's too good of a best friend to let you go through this alone, even if he was the last person you wanted to see.

warnings | best friends to lovers, getting stood up on dates, a red flag named chris (sorry to all the chris' out there), mutual pining, requited love, love confessions, and implied dates!

wordcount | 1457

۶ৎ a/n .ᐟ | OH, MY GOODNESS IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE WRITTEN AN ACTUAL ONESHOT. i got hit with a random bout of inspiration out of nowhere and i have a bunch of fanfics that already have banners made but they're unwritten and rotting in my drafts so i'm trying to clean them out first. thank you for this and i hope you enjoy some best friend!spencer reid!!

— links .ᐟ masterlist | ao3

Leave it up to you to be stood up on a date you didn’t even want to go on.

You weren't even looking for anything serious with someone, you just needed a distraction, you needed anything that would help you move on from him. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault that you were in love with him – well, it actually kind of is – but that’s beside the point.

There was no way you could continue to sit there and allow yourself to wallow in self-pity over the fact that your feelings for your longtime best friend weren’t reciprocated. You were a grown woman for God’s sakes! And as a grown woman, it was up to you to make grown up decisions. One phone call to Derek was all it took for you to get hooked up with some dude that he knew.

“He’s a good guy,” He said.

Yeah, right. Good guy your ass.

Not only did you look stupid, but you were left stranded in a sports bar surrounded by a bunch of strangers – no, scratch that! Almost all of the patrons in this bar tonight were men, it was football season. You were practically asking to get murdered! What kind of FBI agent would you be if you allowed yourself to be murdered over the fact that some guy’s team lost.

With a sigh, you gazed at your chat between Chris and you. You had sent him a text thirty minutes ago asking where he was when he was ten minutes late, but even that message had been left unread.

The only reason why you were still here was because you were oh so painfully embarrassed, and you hoped that others around you couldn’t tell that there was supposed to be a second person joining you at your very barren booth that you had somehow managed to score.

Now that you think about it, how in the hell had you allowed this man to talk you into going to a sports bar instead of oh, I don’t know, a restraunt with a calm, and comfortable atmosphere?

Maybe it was the fact that the only person’s face you could see in your mind as you discussed where you were going to go together was Spencer’s. As ashamed as you were to admit, you mostly imagined a disappointed look on his face when he realized you were going out with someone else, but even you knew that was damn near impossible.

It wasn’t your failed date that was the shit show – even though it is a close second – it was you that was the main attraction. How could you have allowed yourself to be this childish? You weren’t in high school anymore, and you hadn’t been in some years, but old habits die hard, you guess?

It didn’t have to be common knowledge to tell that your romantic life when you were in school was very, very sad. You often found yourself alone on most weekends, ample amount of time to study right under your fingertips. You figured that when you had gotten older things would have gotten better but… nope.

You didn’t know who to call.

Would you call Derek and blame him? No, he couldn’t have known, but you could totally get him to beat Chris’ ass. The thought of your favorite and very muscular chocolate thunder roughing the piece of shit up helped to easy your nerves, badly enough. There was just one person you couldn’t bring yourself to call, and that was Spencer.

Calling Spencer meant that you were giving up, that you were waving the white flag, that you were still in love with him and no number of blind dates, good or bad, could change that.

You bit the inside of your cheek in thought, at least you had dressed up in something comfortable.

“Can I sit here?” You heard someone ask over the bustling noise of the bar.

“Honestly, you can just have the thi–” You spoke without looking up, but when you did, your words died in your throat.

There Spencer stood in his full glory; tall, lanky, nerdy, and extremely uncomfortable, but nonetheless, he slid into the sticky seat across from you with an awkward smile.

“Spence? What are you doing here?” You asked in shock, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I uh- Morgan called me. He said that Chris told him to tell you something came up, but I uh- I figured that wasn’t true.” He explained sympathetically. You scoffed, your body slouching along with the noise. “Yeah, no shit.” Your words were bitter and harsh, which caused you to squeeze your eyes shut.

“Fuck, Spence. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to talk to you like that, I’m just… frustrated.”

He reached out his hand, albeit reluctantly seeing as though the table was in the same state as the seat, maybe even a bit worse. You looked down at it then at him before relenting, your full hand slipping into his lithe one perfectly, as if it belonged there.

The fact that this felt so right made your stomach twist sickeningly, fingerings twitching in desperation to pull away. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to stay. You did not have the mental compacity to dig yourself out of another hole.

“No, it’s okay. I understand.” He reassured, his thumb caressing the back of your knuckles gently. “I came as soon as he called,” He then looked around, “Especially after he told me where you were.” You laughed a bit at his concern, your body feeling lighter as it finally straightened.

A soft grin graced your features.

“Thank you, Spence. Really. I know how uncomfortable these kinds of places make you. I just- I really thought tonight was going to go differently.” I thought that things between us were going to go differently, is what you really meant.

“I’m sorry, I know you liked him.”

You grimaced at the word ‘liked.’

“I think ‘liked’ would be the last word I would use to describe how I feel for Chris.”

It was his turn for his eyebrows to furrow. “What do you mean.”

You huffed. “What I meant was that I didn’t even want to go on this stupid fucking date anyways, but I had too… I had too…” You allowed your words to trail off when you had caught yourself about to admit something you had fought years to keep under wraps.

“You had to what?”

Goddamn him and his never-ending curiosity.

“Just leave it alone, please?” You pleaded. You looked up at him from beneath your eyelashes, your gaze soft and vulnerable. “Okay.”

A silence – what was an equivalent to silence – settled over the both of you. The air was thick with unspoken words and feelings, an invisible line was drawn that the two of you were too scared to cross.

“I would’ve never stood you up, you know.” Spencer piped up quietly, his grip that had gone limp in yours tightening. “What?” Your breath hitched. “And I would’ve taken you to someplace nicer than this.” His voice was shaky and forceful, as if he was forcing himself speak in fear that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t say anything at all.

“What are you saying?” You were breathless, the butterflies that fluttered around in your gut making you nauseous. Hope bloomed at a dangerous rate in your chest.

“What I’m saying is that if I were to take you out on a date, it would be a lot better than this.” He had finally gotten the courage to raise his gaze instead of focusing on where your hands were interlaced. “I would take you anywhere you wanted to go, then I would try my best to make it memorable for you because I…” He gulped. “Because I love you.”

Your ears were ringing. There was sweat beginning to form on your hairline.

“You’re being serious?” The question sounded more like a plea. “Because if you’re saying this because you feel bad, I-” He cut you off. “I don’t feel bad.” He lowered his head to where yours was in an attempt to connect your gazes deeper.

“I really do love you. I- I have for a long time.” Spencer confessed.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.” You said through a wobbly smile. His smile matched yours. You could feel the fact that both of your hands were extremely clammy with nerves, but none of you could find it within yourself to care.

“Can I cash in that date now?”

“Now?” He asked incredulously, lifting his free arm to check the time on his wrist. “It’s pretty late.”

You gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m pretty sure we can figure that out.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @zippertwat @alixwriter

[nocturnalfandomartist]

.⋆｡ﾟ Art vs Artist 2024! ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Click for better quality!

It's my first time doing art vs artist, but I thought it'd be a nice opportunity to see how it looks! My style has been so inconsistent this year (thanks multiple style crises), but I am proud of a few pieces. Mostly. I seem to use similar techniques and colors a lot, but I guess that's the point of an art style anyway. Everything up here is cropped a bit since I don't draw at a 1:1 ratio usually. If this is your first time seeing my work, I love The Legend of Zelda and Zelink!

Thanks for another fun year of art! ^^ Some stats below:

#1 | 1,943 notes | June 18, 2024

• ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎

༺ Top 10 posts by notes!

I remember drawing this on the announcement day, within a few hours! It's my first post to surpass 1k!

My second post to surpass 1k!

#2 | 1,197 notes | June 22, 2024

#3 | 694 notes | July 27, 2024

...trends work

i need to repost this with type instead of handwriting

#4 | 572 notes | August 3, 2024

I want to redraw this one, even if it's not very canon

#5 | 546 notes | July 28, 2024

#6 | 528 notes | August 5, 2024

I will continue to change how I draw her

#7 | 456 notes | Setember 19, 2024

I tried a slightly different look here, I think it's kinda cute!

A tie!

#8 | 456 notes | June 19, 2024

Two pieces are in this post! I love Classic Zelink, so I was trying to figure out how I wanted to draw them. :) I have a lot of drawings of them to come...

#9 | 355 notes | June 9, 2024

I've really been trying to figure out how I want to do backgrounds on my doodle pages. And how to draw TP Zelda properly. Still haven't figured either out, if you're wondering.

#10 | 353 notes | May 18, 2024

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

So much from EoW... I jumped on that hype so fast, it's the Zelda game I've only ever dreamed about!! ♡ Still kind of surprised nothing from Linktober is up here, though, considering it was all the better stuff. ^^" There are a few pieces I never finished this year, also... maybe 2025 will be their year!

▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ • ▪︎ •

Small announcement - I got a private commission I'm working on at the moment, but soon they will be entirely open again! I do character art and designs if you're interested! ^^

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

✦ Ko-Fi | ✧ Ao3 | ⟡ Bluesky

REBLOGGING IS ENCOURAGED, BUT DO NOT REPOST.

[arcanewhoosh]

I just figured out how to make a Masterlist

AND YOU CAN PIN THAT SHIT ON YOUR PROFILE??? HELLO???

Anyway, here's a masterlist of the stuff I've written. All of them are currently Jinx x Reader. Most have tags in the actual post.

Personal Favorites:

I Think We're Kind of Made for Each Other (Request) - In All Timelines, In All Possibilities x Soulmates AU. Long fic -When the anomaly at the Hex Gate transports you and your friends across realities, you're forced to confront the different lives you live in each one. But will you be able to accept a hard truth when you face the only constant thing in every timeline?

The Bolter - Post Series Finale Copium - In the aftermath of the Battle of Piltover, you find yourself desperately clinging to a toy monkey head with nails hammered into it.

Ongoing Series:

Partners In Crime: (Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8) - Late and slightly feeling out of place, a supposedly regular afterparty is turned upside down when you run into an old friend that you haven't seen since getting sent to juvie. As your paths inevitably intertwine, you're pushed to make decisions that could jeopardize everything you've worked for.

The Weight: (Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3) -"Powder." She starts. "My name is Powder." You crack a smile and introduce yourself. "Powder." You test the name on your lips. It suits her. An unusual name, sure, but you've heard stranger ones. "Nice to meet you, Powder. Ready to lose?" She scoffs. "Not on your best day."

Completed Series

Till Forever Falls Apart: (Ch 1, Ch 2) - Doomed lovers trope. They read as separate oneshots but follow the same theme and were born out of the same sleep-deprived writing session. Jinx x Enforcer Reader

Oneshots

Funny Business - Mechanic Jinx x Reader

The Monsters We Allow (Request) - Season 1 Finale Jinx x Reader that's scared of loud noises

A Room Full of People - This is what happens when I think of story ideas instead of actually partying at the club. Midding on AO3

Starts (Request) - Mid teens Jinx x Reader. Reader is scared of heights and they discover Powder's future hideout.

We're Good (Request) - Aged up AU Jinx x Reader. Toxic relationship vibes all the way. Implied stalking from Jinx, straight up possessiveness from the reader.

[sonicasura]

Nobody Like You

I figured everyone needs something sweet after the latest chapter of the manga. Thus here's a childhood sweethearts Kafhoshi AU but with a little twist. It does contain some elements from my Always A Kaiju idea. Let's get started. Part 2 can be found here! Alternate Route Beast Tamer can be found here!

Forgot to add this but here's a link to @noodlesbf-blog version on Ao3. They asked permission btw.

Soshiro was quite the lonely child at a young age. Due to his family's status, people never really saw the real him. Only a member of a powerful family to respect or avoid. His own kin weren't that much help either.

Soshiro's parents always held high expectations and his brother's attempts at trying to bring him down led little room in trust. Thus the young boy often found solace outside amongst nature. Particularly a hidden little clearing which bear a sole cherry blossom in the forest that stood around his home.

One day, Soshiro would come across quite the surprise waiting for him at his special place. A hole stood before the trunk of the tree. From sheer curiosity, the young Hoshina looked into the apparent burrow. His confused violet eyes immediately met a glowing pair of slitted greenish teal ones. On that day Soshiro encountered someone that would be his first friend but also future lover: a peculiar Kaiju whelp known as Kafka.

Although if the two screamed at each other in fright first then it's understandable. Not all romance starts with love at first sight. Sometimes it's a scream, a backwards fall, and maybe a punch out of fright. (On rarer occasions, it's all three.) Especially for childhood sweethearts like these two.

Upon realizing that Kafka didn't mean any harm, Soshiro began to visit the strange Kaiju. At first he would just talk to him about various things like how his day has been and such. Sometimes Soshiro brings over a snack for the Kaiju to try.

Although Kafka had a tendency to not be in the same spot. Sometimes he would pop up in other places like a bush at the public park. Or outside his bedroom door much to Soshiro's horror. There were some days where Kafka didn't show up at all. He often marked those by the small pretty stones the Kaiju left behind at his window.

Soon things begin to change between the two over time. The first sign was Kafka's attempts to say Soshiro's name. Despite the surprise, the young Hoshina helped teach his friend how to not only speak but even read and write. It did help answer some of the questions Soshiro had for him.

The days Kafka didn't appear? Apparently he was visiting his foster mother, a kind lady by the name of Sakuya Hibino. She rarely gets visitors so Kafka often visited her when no one was around.

The second sign happened on one of the days where the Kaiju asked Soshiro to come over instead. As time went by, Kafka got bigger and the young Hoshina had to exploit some opportunities that came with age like more freedom to see him. Something good to keep when his friend gets bigger than a bus.

Now imagine his confusion seeing an older human boy at their favorite spot. Something that only doubled when the stranger sneezed and 'poofs' into the Kaiju. Kafka had taught himself to become human. It wasn't always perfect since a good enough distraction would poof him back into his Kaiju self.

Yet the ability to introduce Kafka to his world made things worth the risk for both of them. The third sign came when Soshiro attended university. It was required if he wishes to join the Defense Force despite it cutting the little time he could spend with Kafka.

This is also the age where the time he spent alongside his Kaiju friend looked different. Despite being bigger than a building, Kafka was quite crafty when it came to keeping himself human sized. It kept the various activities they could do together not become limited whether by a Kaiju alert or size issues.

Though Kafka's interests had taken strange routes. Places he wanted to try eating at were looking a bit fancy. Sometimes Kafka would beg Soshiro for them to go check out a festival or any rare events happening in town. The latest one involved dancing of all things.

It eventually hits Soshiro once he hears people talking about the upcoming school dance and dates. Kafka had been trying to court him like humans do. Soshiro felt pretty stupid that he didn't realize it sooner but he'd be a liar if he said the feeling wasn't mutual.

That school dance became the day both began to start dating. Kafka would propose on the night after Soshiro took the Entrance Exams. And the two happily married a year before Hoshina was promoted to Vice Captain of the Third Division.

Both lovers kept Kafka's Kaiju nature a secret even when Soshiro reached such a high status. If someone would accidentally spot his lover, then the Hoshina always intercepted so he could flee. Kafka helps by using a decoy like a kaiju they have missed or using a dummy of sorts made from his old shedded skin. There was always a romantic and often spicy apology date the next night afterwards.

A status quo the Hoshina-Hibino couple enjoyed keeping as Soshiro rather wait before he has to defend his lover. He will raise a heavy blade for Kafka against the Defense Force should the truth come out. Sadly their luck would begin to run out.

It all started when Kafka's newest coworker discovered his secret. And it only goes downhill from there as a new breed of kaiju threatens to turn everything upside down. Though the couple will stand by each other's side when their peace begins to crumple.

Nobody was gonna tear Soshiro and Kafka apart so easily.

That's all I have for now. Please enjoy this little song that came to mind writing this.

@oxandthorn @yehehbd @nightfal1n @terra-sketches @iceclew @neo0w0 @discoknack @drmarune @renard-dartigue @giantgoblin @somnidraws @elephantthbig

[lola-kitagawa]

I will worship you

ᴘʀɪᴇꜱᴛ ᴋɪʀɪꜱʜɪᴍᴀ x ɴ��ɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Chapter 7 from my BNHA PRIEST! au: "A piece of heaven is between your legs." on AO3!

!!SPOILERS AHEAD!!

Ongoing story here https://archiveofourown.org/works/61929766/chapters/158356423

warnings: switch Kirishima, pussy-eating, fingering, creampie, size difference, praise kink.

The past few days seemed a breeze the more you ignored them, only speaking to them when necessary. It was easier this way—to put distance between yourself and the tangled mess of temptation, obsession, and regret.

Father Bakugo had tried to corner you more than once, but his attempts were weak. He couldn’t get you alone when you were always speaking with Father Aizawa or, at times, Father Midoriya. It was the only shield you had, keeping him at arm’s length, denying him the satisfaction of catching you off guard. You felt his anger simmering beneath the surface, his frustration growing each time you evaded him.

Father Todoroki seemed more curious than anything else. He never questioned your distance but observed you from afar. He was careful. Cautious. And, unlike the others, he seemed to understand the silent message you sent. He kept his distance, though you often caught the way his eyes lingered.

Shinsou was different. Unlike Todoroki, he didn’t let you go so easily. His patience, once unshakable, began to crack the longer you ignored him. There was something almost irritated in the way he watched you as if he were trying to figure out what had changed—why you had suddenly disappeared from his reach.

Midoriya was, perhaps, the most persistent of them all. He was one of the only ones you spoke to, though only for tasks or brief exchanges. Still, even with the little you allowed, you could tell it wasn’t enough for him. Something was simmering beneath his usual warm and understanding exterior, something darker. A frustration he was trying very hard to keep hidden.

Father Kirishima, however, was the most desperate. His attempts were polite and casual—always checking in after mass, always seeing if he could catch you alone. But every time, you walked away before he could say much of anything. He tried to mask his disappointment behind a charming smile, but you saw through it. Through him. And he knew it, ever since you stopped calling him by his first name.

But none of them would get anything from you. Not anymore.

Or so you thought.

The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the church, casting golden light over the stone floors as Sister Ochako walked beside you.

The sister was a striking woman—warm brown eyes that reflected every emotion like an open book, short chestnut hair that framed her face, and an air of kindness that made her presence easy to be around. Unlike the other nuns, she didn’t wear a veil over her hair. It suited her, made her seem more approachable, more human.

You didn’t know what to make of her yet.

Ochako was… different. She wasn’t like the others. The other nuns whispered about your arrival, some in pity, others in disdain. The air around you always seemed thick with judgment, with something unspoken—an invisible weight pressing down on your shoulders.

But Ochako didn’t look at you that way.

She smiled, her voice carrying an easy warmth. “We’ll need to change the altar cloths before midday mass. Oh, and the candles—Father Midoriya will have our heads if we don’t replace them in time.”

You hummed, nodding along, keeping your hands busy with the small tasks laid before you. Anything to keep your mind from wandering back to him.

To that night.

To Bakugo.

To the heat of his hands, the weight of his body, the sharp sting of his words afterwards—

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t want to think about it. You wouldn’t.

Not here.

Not now.

Ochako nudged you lightly with her elbow. “You okay? You’ve been quiet.”

You blinked, forcing a small smile. “Just… tired.”

A lie. A flimsy one.

But Ochako didn’t push.

Instead, she reached over, giving your hand a light squeeze before you both continued.

The garden was in full bloom, the air crisp with the scent of soil and fresh flowers.

You and Ochako were making your way toward the storage shed when the sound of grunting and the scrape of something heavy caught their attention.

Father Kirishima was at the far end of the courtyard, sleeves rolled up, muscles straining as he pulled a cart loaded with sacks of grain toward the storage. He was sweating, his usually neat hair a little dishevelled, and despite the clear weight of the task, he still had that damn smile on his face.

“Need some help, Father?” Ochako called out, shielding her eyes from the sun.

Kirishima looked up, red eyes bright with exertion. “Ah, Sister Ochako! No worries, I got this!” He gestured to the heavy cart with a grin. “But if you want to help, I wouldn’t say no.”

You watched him, keeping your distance. Kirishima was different from the others—always kind, always gentle, yet there was a hesitation in the way he looked at her sometimes, a wariness that he fought to suppress.

Before either of them could respond, a voice called out from behind.

“Sister Ochako.”

Ochako stiffened.

Father Midoriya stood at the edge of the courtyard, his usual gentle smile in place, his robes billowing slightly in the breeze.

But his eyes—his green eyes—were sharp. Too sharp.

Ochako hesitated, looking between You and Kirishima before nodding quickly. “I’ll be back.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving you and Kirishima alone.

The silence stretched between them for a moment before Kirishima let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Guess it’s just us, huh?”

You nodded, watching as he leaned against the cart, exhaling slowly.

“You okay?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Kirishima blinked as if surprised by the question. Then he smiled. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

You tilted your head. “About?”

His smile faltered—just for a second.

Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he spoke.

“Well i… I had someone before.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “Before I joined the church.”

You remained silent, letting him speak.

“I loved her,” he admitted, a distant look in his eyes. “We were supposed to be together. A future, a life… I was ready.” He let out a shaky breath. “But I chose this instead.”

Your fingers curled at your sides. “Why?”

Kirishima laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Because I thought it was the right thing to do. That if I could prove my strength—if I could deny myself—I’d be redeemed.”

You swallowed. “Do you regret it?”

His jaw tensed. “Every day.”

Silence settled between you two, thick and heavy.

And then, without thinking, you reached out, placing a hand over his.

A mistake.

Because the moment you touched him, he froze—his breath catching, his grip tightening on the wooden cart.

His red eyes darkened, flicking to where your fingers rested against his skin.

“This is what I mean,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “This pull. This—...” His gaze lifted to yours, his expression wrecked. “You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Realization crept into your chest, something unspoken passing between the two of you.

His breathing turned heavy, his body rigid with restraint.

“Please…” Kirishima’s voice cracked, his hands flexing. “Don’t tempt me.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

He tried backing away from you, as if his body begged him not to get close. His fingers gripping the cart so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“I can’t live as other men do,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I can’t—”

A shuddered breath.

A silent war.

And then—

Kirishima pulled away, stepping back like he’d been burned, red eyes filled with something akin to self-loathing.

“I—I should go.”

And before you could say anything, he turned, disappearing down the path, leaving you standing there, the weight of his words pressing down onto your chest.

Whatever effect you had on them? You didn’t know where it came from, the only thing you know is—how strong each of them is before falling to their desires.

And why were you waiting for it to happen?

The halls of the church were silent in the dead of night. Cold stone walls stretched long and endless, the dim candlelight casting flickering shadows against the arched ceilings.

You had been restless, sleep evading you as thoughts churned in your head. Regret. Shame. Guilt. It clung to you, tightening its grip the longer you tried to suppress it.

You weren’t sure how long you had been walking, hoping to clear your thoughts when you turned the corner and nearly ran into someone.

Father Kirishima.

He stood there, blocking your path, his usual gentle demeanour twisted into something different. Something raw.

"Y/N," he said, your name leaving his lips as if it had been weighing on his tongue for too long.

You took a step back, but he didn’t move.

The air between you was thick, heavier than before. There was no one else here. No watchful eyes. Just the two of you in the silence of the church.

And he knew it.

For the first time in days, you were alone. And this time, you couldn’t just walk away.

He took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck, as if he were trying to find the right words. "I—"

Whatever he wanted to say never came. Instead, his jaw tensed, his shoulders stiff as he looked at you—really looked at you. As if he was fighting something inside himself.

You could see it.

The struggle.

The temptation.

He had been holding back for so long.

He had always been so careful. So patient.

But tonight?

Tonight, nothing was stopping him.

"You—" His voice broke, frustration evident in his tone. "You’re driving me insane, Y/N."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"I’ve tried—I’ve tried so damn hard to be strong," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with something desperate. "To not give in."

He took a step forward, and instinctively, you took one back.

"You don’t understand," he muttered, shaking his head. "I can’t live as other men do. I made a promise. I swore I’d be better—I’d be stronger."

He was trembling, his fists clenched at his sides.

"But you make it so damn hard."

Something in you stirred at his words, at the weight of his confession.

Kirishima had always been different.

Always kind. Always composed.

But now?

Now, he was standing before you, a man undone.

His breathing was uneven, his red eyes burning with something you weren’t sure you’d ever seen in him before.

He wanted you.

And the idea of it—of finally having you—was driving him to madness.

You swallowed, trying to find something—anything—to say, but nothing came.

He stepped closer, the warmth of him suffocating in the cool night air.

And then, just as he reached for you—just as he was about to cross the line he had sworn to never cross.

"You—” He let out a slow, shaky breath “ you tempt me,"

"And I… I don’t think I can fight it anymore."

He was close now, too close. His breath fanned against your skin, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"This is my redemption," he murmured as if trying to convince himself. "If I resist, I can still be saved."

He was pleading. Not with you, but with himself.

But you saw the cracks.

He was breaking.

And coincidentally, your hand just couldn’t help but touch his handsome—desperate—face of despair. His eyes went from your hand, to you. 

And just like the two before him, and like how you were just before.

He broke.

With a guttural moan, Kirishima buried his face against your chest, his breath hot against your skin as he held you as if you were something sacred—something divine. His hands trembled where they gripped your waist, as if the weight of his desire was too much to bear.  

"You don’t know what you do to me," he rasped, voice strained, lips brushing against the curve of your collarbone. "I swore—I swore I would never break, never fall." His forehead pressed against your skin, his body taut with restraint. "But you—God, you make it impossible."  

You shivered, your own pulse thrumming wildly as your fingers carded through his thick red hair, tugging just enough to draw a sharp inhale from him.  

"You talk too much," you whispered, tilting his chin up so his gaze met yours. His red eyes burned with something raw, something desperate, and for a brief moment, he looked lost.  

Like a man on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the final push.  

And who were you if not temptation itself?  

Your lips met his again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no restraint. Kirishima groaned into the kiss, his grip on your hips tightening as he pressed himself flush against you, as if trying to mold his body to yours.  

His lips moved against yours with a fervor that was almost reverent, his hands roaming, exploring, learning every curve, every dip of your body as if committing you to memory.  

You gasped as his teeth grazed your neck, the sharp sting of a love bite followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue. His breaths came out ragged, his composure unraveling with each passing second.  

"You’re driving me insane," he admitted, voice hoarse as his fingers dug into your hips, his forehead resting against yours. "I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you."  

Your own breath was uneven as you met his gaze, a slow, knowing smile tugging at your lips. "Then take me, Father," you murmured, the words slipping past your lips like a prayer.  

A harsh groan tore from his throat. "Fuck—"  

Kirishima surged forward, capturing your lips once more, his body pressed so tightly against yours that you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your own. His hands, once hesitant, now roamed freely—gripping, claiming, worshipping.  

He kissed you like you were something holy.  

Like he had already fallen from grace and had no intention of crawling back.  

And as the church bells tolled in the distance, neither of you cared to repent.

And when he slightly adjusts your neckline with his fingers to show more of your skin on your chest, he whispers something unexpected.

“God… you’re—... you’re so beautiful…”

Your eyes widen slightly, the sight in front of you was for sore eyes.

A priest, twice your size, kneeling in front of you, his lips just above your chest. And yet, he’s looking up at you, pleading to be praised by you like some lost labrador.

“Your eyes… your skin… your lips—God, they’re all so—you’re so—”

With no warning, your hand strokes his hair as your other cup his cheek to look up at you.

His pretty red eyes were practically begging you, his breathing heavy, his hands are clawing at the seams of your tunic.

And who were you to deny a man of his pleasure?

To deny a priest of his pleasure?

Maybe… one more sin won’t hurt you.

Your breath hitched as his fingers curled around the fabric of your tunic, gripping it like it was the last thing tethering him to restraint. His body was pressed so tightly against yours, that you could feel the heat radiating from him, the faint tremble in his arms as he fought against himself.

Yet, his lips found yours again, desperate—hesitant this time. His kisses went deep, and slow, as if savoring you like a last meal. His hands, big and warm, slid down your sides, gripping at the curve of your waist before resting on your hips.

"God, forgive me," Kirishima whispered into your lips, though his actions betrayed his words. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging gently, as his hands explored lower, squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs.

You gasped, arching into him, and that was all it took.

A deep growl rumbled from his chest before he hoisted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Your back hit the cold stone wall, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling between you.

His lips were on your neck in an instant—kissing, licking, biting, his sharp teeth leaving faint marks that only he would know were there. The weight of his body pressing against yours, the way his hands held you so possessively, it was intoxicating.

"Kirishima," you whimpered, your fingers tangling into his thick red hair, pulling him closer.

"Say it again," he murmured, voice hoarse, needy.

You swallowed, tilting your head to expose more of your throat to him. "Kirishima…"

A shudder passed through him. His grip on you tightened, his lips moving lower, lower—brushing against the hollow of your throat, the exposed skin above your collar.

His fingers played at the neckline of your tunic, hesitating for only a moment before he tugged it down slightly, revealing more of your soft skin.

His breath hitched.

"God… you really were crafted by him," he whispered, reverence laced in his voice as his lips traced the newly exposed skin.

You had never seen a man look at you like this before, not with possession, not with hunger.

But with worship.

His hands trembled as they roamed your body like he was afraid this was some cruel dream, that you would disappear if he held you too tightly.

He carried you away from the wall, walking blindly down the hallway with you in his arms until he found a door—one of the smaller, lesser-used prayer rooms.

He kicked it open with his foot and stepped inside, locking the door behind him.

And then, he devoured you.

His lips, his hands, his teeth—every part of him worshipped you like you were divine like you were something holy.

And in that moment, as you writhed beneath him, breathless and undone—

Maybe, just maybe—

You were.

You feel him grind against you, his hard cock aching through his pants. Your hand instinctively moves down to his erection, once he feels your hand—he almost flinches.

He removes your hand, gently gripping your wrists, and a sense of dread washes over. Does he not want this?

Until he kneels in front of you, feeling his fingers tracing up your legs to your thigh until his fingers found the lace of your undergarments. Kirishima was almost in a trance, his other hand moved your tunic, giving him a clear view of your lower half.

Your body was hot all over, your thighs trembling, and God, did he love the view.

He looked up at your blushing state, his eyes sharp in a daze, like a servant who’ll die if he doesn’t serve his master.

But suddenly, he spoke, his tone almost plane and quiet.

“This is what Shinsou did to you, right?”

Your eyes widen.

He knows?

You look down at him, his hands both caressing your thighs, his face inches from your soft flesh. Before you could respond, he continued.

“I wonder… If my tongue can pleasure you better than his ever could,” his fingers tug your panties to the side, leaving you exposed and vulnerable at his mercy. 

“Want to test that, sister?”

His tongue meets your pussy, making you quiver instantly. Soft laps and flicks at your clit continued until he was sucking and teasing your folds nonstop. 

You were drenched, his fingers gripped at your thighs—as if he needed to taste more of you, as if your mere essence wasn't enough to satisfy him.

A moan escaped your lips as he suddenly bit his sharp teeth down onto your inner thigh, making you grip his hair.

He sucked, licked, drank your essence like it was holy water and he was a man dying of thirst. 

He felt so good, as if pleasuring you was a life source to him.

And maybe, it was.

You felt yourself flinch against the wall when you felt his finger slip inside you. A moan crying out of your mouth made you cover it to keep yourself from making too much noise.

He curled his finger inside you, making you writhe against him. Your legs, unable to keep themselves from opening annoyed him, and so his hands push your thighs apart, holding them steady,

You were helpless as he added a second finger.

He curled his fingers, finding your sweet sensitive spot as he did so. And he knew, because you couldn’t contain your moans as he worked his fingers inside you. Not to mention his tongue never left your clit.

It didn’t take long for you to cum all over his face and lips, and when you did? He drank all of it, savouring every single drop of you.

You tasted like a forbidden fruit to him, like the snake that tempted Eve. Only, he’d devour you willingly.

His head fell back slightly, a deep, shaky breath escaping his lips as he licked his fingers clean, savoring you like the last drop of sacred wine. His heavy-lidded eyes flickered down to you—dark, wanting, desperate.

Your knees wobbled, threatening to give way, but before you could even begin to collapse, his strong hands caught you by the hips, steadying you against him. The way he held you… possessive. Like he had already claimed you.

His gaze roamed over you, slow and deliberate, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

You could see it in his eyes—what he was planning, what he was about to do.

His fingers traced your skin like holy scripture, worshiping every dip and curve from your swollen lips to your neck, your breasts, the softness of your stomach, the curve of your thighs.

And then, in one swift motion, he lifted you.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, and a sharp, needy gasp left your lips as your legs instinctively wrapped around him.

He groaned—a guttural, almost pained sound—as if holding you like this was both the greatest pleasure and the cruellest torture. His chest heaved, his breath ragged, his entire body trembling like he was on the verge of losing himself completely.

“Fuck…” His forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing against your own, eyes fluttering shut. "Tasting you—feeling you—it's... it's breaking me."

A growl rumbled deep in his throat, his restraint snapping thread by thread. His fingers dug into the plush of your thighs, his arms securing you against him like he was never going to let go.

"I need you," he rasped, voice raw, almost pleading. "God, I fucking need you."

His lips were on your neck again—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down, sucking, biting, marking you. His hands—big, rough, starving—roamed your body like he was searching for salvation within you.

And then—

A sharp clink.

You felt it before you heard it—his belt being unbuckled, the soft jingle of metal in the quiet, sacred space.

Your breath caught in your throat.

His hands tightened their grip on you, holding you steady. His voice, low and trembling with need, whispered against your skin—

"Let me worship you, sister,” his body hot against yours, burning. “I’ll be so good for you, I’ll treat you like holy scripture, I’ll worship you like an angel he sent for me…”

You cupped his face, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

"Then worship me," you whispered.

His eyes slightly widen… before they bore into yours with a hungry desire, one you haven’t seen in Father Kirishima before.

And before you knew it, you felt something big press against your pussy.

You let out a soft whimper, not expecting his size.

“I… I gotta warn you, sister,” he lets out a moan as he presses himself against you “I’m… a bit big. But, I’ll be gentle with you.”

Or at least I’ll try. God, believe me, I’ll try.

Without warning, you push yourself down on him, your thighs at the sides of his hips giving you leverage despite them being weak. And you immediately felt his big cock inside you. He was… unlike anyone you’ve ever felt before.

He gasped and moaned, overwhelmed by the pleasure you’re giving him. He looks at you with eyes almost asking if you are okay. And a simple nod reassured him.

He gives you a moment to adjust to the size of his cock before slowly moving his hips.

He made you feel so fucking full.

“T-Tight… y—you’re so fucking tight…” 

He fastens his paste, driving the both of you insane, 

“Fuck—Kirishima~! Please, hngh~” you cry out, making him cover your mouth.

“Shh, ha~... b-be quiet—fuck!—we’ll get caught…” he gently removes his hand over your mouth, continuing to thrust into you.

You felt… whole, his girthy cock feeling like its touching your womb from how big it is. And the way he carries you? It’s so… gentle. Like even with how strong he is, it was almost like he was afraid of hurting you.

Suddenly, his hips slow down. Your body immediately feels the shift in pace, you were about to look back when you feel him pushing deeper inside you—as his hand pressed down onto your stomach.

Making you feel just how deep he is inside you.

You struggle to breathe, the pressure inside you making your legs twitch.

“Do you… ha— feel me sister?...” he whispers in your ear, your veil falling a bit, giving him a clear view of your hair. “How deep i am inside you?...”

Your unexpectedly push against him, making him flinch from the pleasure. It was a quiet, strained yes that spoke to him…

He gets close, you can tell, because his thrusts went deeper than you could imagine—making your legs quiver and your back arch.

“F-fuck, Y/n—c-cum with me~ p-please~”

And, when the both of you reached your climax, his hot warm cum spewing inside you, filling you up to your womb.

You expected those words.

Those same words, to tell you to get dressed and get out like some harlot.

But, after a moment of silence, he asks you.

“Did… Did i hurt you?”

…What?

He gently slides his cock from your pussy, making the both of you shutter. You shake your head no, not sure why he thought that. “I’m fine, Kirishima…”

A small gentle look appears on his face as he nods, helping you clean up slowly.

He helps you adjust your robes, helping you fix your veil, making your cheeks burn just a little more.

“I hope this doesn’t change things between us, Father…”

He couldn’t help but feel yourself warm up at your words, slowly, he tilts your head up to look at him, his fingers softly gracing your chin.

“Y/n… I–... I adore you too much to just allow things to change like that. . .”

And suddenly, the words of an ash blonde priest felt a little less painful now.

Sister Ochako had always seen Father Midoriya as a kind man. A gentleman. A man who, unlike some of the other priests, never seemed to carry an air of judgment or cold detachment. She had admired him, even looked up to him. But as she stood before him now, alone in the dimly lit corridor outside the chapel, she felt something shift.

The warmth in his emerald gaze had dimmed, replaced by something unreadable. Something heavy. Something dangerous.

"You’ve taken quite a liking to Sister Y/N, haven’t you?" His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it—sharp as a blade hidden beneath silk.

Ochako hesitated, sensing that this was not merely small talk. She swallowed. "She’s kind, Father. I think she just needs someone to talk to."

A slow, knowing smile stretched across his lips. "Is that so?"

She nodded, trying to ease the growing weight pressing down on her chest. "She seems… lonely."

At that, Midoriya hummed, his fingers brushing the side of the wooden pew beside him as he took a step closer. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows along the curve of his face. "Lonely," he echoed, almost tasting the word. "Yes… loneliness can make a person desperate. Vulnerable. It makes them reach for things—people—that they shouldn’t."

Ochako stiffened.

"I admire your kindness, Sister Ochako," he continued, his voice still gentle, but something was suffocating about the way he said her name. "Truly, I do. But I must caution you. Y/N is… troubled." 

She frowned. "I don’t think—"

"She has a history," he interrupted smoothly, stepping even closer. The scent of incense clung to his robes, but beneath it, there was something more—something raw, something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Ochako tried to step back, but the cold stone of the corridor wall met her spine.

Midoriya leaned in just enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke again, slower this time, letting each word sink in. "You wouldn’t want to get tangled up in her sins, would you?"

Her heart pounded.

His hand came up, fingers ghosting along the edge of her sleeve. It wasn’t a touch—not really—but it was close enough to feel like a warning. "After all… I’d hate to see you lose your place here because of misplaced compassion."

A chill ran down her spine.

Was that a threat?

Ochako opened her mouth to protest, but his eyes locked onto hers, and she suddenly realized—this wasn’t kindness. This wasn’t a concern.

This was control.

This was possession.

"Stay away from her, Sister," Midoriya murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "For 

your good."

Then, just like that, the warmth returned. He stepped back, smiling as if he had simply wished her a blessed evening. But the pressure in the air remained, thick and unyielding.

Ochako clutched the folds of her habit, forcing herself to nod, even as her stomach twisted.

"Good girl," Midoriya said softly, turning on his heel and disappearing down the hall.

She didn’t move for a long moment. Only when the sound of his footsteps had fully faded did she finally exhale, her hands trembling at her sides.

She had never been scared of Father Midoriya before.

But now?

Now, she wasn’t sure what scared her more—his words, or the realization that Sister Y/N wasn’t just lonely.

She was trapped.

Feel free to request on my asks !!

[ladytauria]

make things right (and then make them better)

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Rating: Teen Words: 5k Content Warnings: Omegaverse

Tim puts his foot in his mouth.

this was written with the lovely @deepwithintheabyss <3 i deeply enjoyed working on this with you! <3

>> AO3 <<

Omegas smell sweet.

That’s a fact of life, no matter how much Tim hates it. He’d hoped that after he started taking beta hormones that his scent would shift into something—better.

It didn’t.

It was less intense than it used to be, but it wasn’t enough. Not when his scent was still cloyingly sweet—especially during his heat. Tim would come out of it to find his room smelling like an omega’s den; his scent seeming to have sunk into the very walls themselves��making it almost impossible to get rid of.

Jason, though.

Jason doesn’t smell sweet. Tim has never smelled anyone like him before. His scent is smoky, earthy; it reminds him of fresh, clean soil and burning wood.

Tim likes it.

It surrounds him now. Jason had peeled his scent blockers off as soon as they’d entered the safe house. It’s one of his, and so saturated with his scent that Tim could almost mistake it for his den, if not for how bare it is. Tim has been to this safe house before—several times now, actually. He’s still not sure what the tipping point actually was, the moment when Jason decided to let Tim in instead of just showing up in Tim’s spaces.

It's still odd, hanging out with Jason—Tim feels wrong-footed in most of their interactions, like any minute he's going to stick his foot in his mouth and send them right back to square one.

But… it's nice, too, getting to know Jason the person and not Jason the memory.

All of that to say—it’s not the first time that Tim has been here, or smelled the earth-smoke of Jason’s scent, but it is the first time he feels comfortable enough to ask: “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” Jason asks gruffly, pizza crumbs spilling from his mouth. He uses his thumb to wipe them from his chin and swallows the massive bite of pizza.

Tim has already finished with his. One pizza, maybe one-and-a-half, is usually enough for him. Jason, though, is already well into the sixth slice of his second pizza with no sign of stopping.

"You smell… different.” Tim furrows his brow. “Not like an omega.” The jealousy coating his tongue distracts him, prevents him from noticing the way that Jason tenses.

He does, however, notice the way the smoke in Jason's scent gets stronger, more oppressive. It burns Tim's nose almost in the way real smoke does, threatening to make him sneeze.

"Gee, thanks, Pretender," Jason drawls. "I hadn't noticed."

Pretender. Tim hadn’t realized how long it had been since Jason last called him that. Hearing it again now is—jarring. “Well… it’s a little hard to miss,” he says slowly, warily. “It’s kind of—everywhere.” He gestures vaguely with one hand.

Jason drops his half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box as his face darkens. "Must be, if even a nose blind beta can pick up on it," he sneers. The venom in his voice makes Tim flinch. "Get out."

Tim blinks. "I—Ja—" He doesn't know what he's going to say.

Jason doesn't give him the chance to figure it out. "Out," he repeats, tone dipping into something just shy of a growl, and Tim, well—

He knows better to argue with an omega using that tone. This may not be Jason's den, but it's still firmly his territory. He'd be well within his rights to kick Tim's ass, and Tim has had enough of being on the other end of Jason's ire.

So he goes.

>> AO3 <<