#never wakin up in the middle of the night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darlingdarkly · 7 months

Text

New Year, New You Part 8

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

9k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, gaslighting

Part 1, 7, 9

You grill him with questions, demanding him to explain to you what he’s talking about. It seems obvious to you that he knows something he’s not letting on. The words fly from your mouth in a panic. “What do you mean it’s not safe? What are you talking about, Johnny? Explain!”

You see him get a little heated, a reaction you hadn’t expected, in fact the whole exchange following your inquisitions is so out of left field that it renders you speechless.

“Obviously hen, ye were a victim of a crime last night. Do ye nae see that?” You hadn’t seen that, it was so hard to remember anything about last night that drawing any kind of conclusion had so far been beyond you.

He sees it starting to click and continues, striking while the irons hot. “How many times in the past have ye gotten black out drunk, bonnie?” You have certainly had your fair share of ragers but black out drunk? To the point of almost total memory loss? Never.

“Did ye really think wakin’ up an’ nae bein’ able tae remember a damn thing was normal? Open yer eyes, lass.” He did this so well it seemed, had a way of breaking you down and making you feel small just to build you back up how he saw fit, cutting through the walls and all the bullshit to speak directly to you in a way no one before him had. It was humiliating and liberating all at once.

He sees he’s made his point. “Ah’m nae kiddin’, lass. I think ye were drugged las’ night an’ ah’d say yer awful lucky ah showed up when ah did.” His voice had taken on a kind of verbal growl, Scottish accent deepening so that it was almost hard to understand. He seemed genuinely upset, more than you could seem to get even though you were the victim, but you could feel it settling into your bones now, the unease.

Your face must be a mask of your emotions because he starts to calm now that he feels he's gotten through to you and he takes your hand into both of his. “Ye need tae understand somethin’, hen.” He seems to be mulling over the words in his head, unsure of the next thing to say. “I care about ye, I want ye tae be safe an’ happy an’ I think ye should stay with me. It’s nae safe fer ye tae be livin’ on yer own.”

You feel a bit surprised at his candidness, a show of emotions you hadn’t expected and it sends a hot flare up from your stomach and heats your cheeks. “Johnny I can’t stay.” He forces his gaze to yours, holds you hostage with it. “Why nae?”

That’s a good question, one you didn’t have an answer for. Why couldn’t you stay with him? Would it really be so bad? You’d been living on your own for so long maybe you were afraid of that change.

You opened your mouth to answer but he stopped you before you could. “Jus’ think about it. I’ll ask ye again tonight an’ if ye dinnae want tae, ah willnae make ye.” He closed it with that, getting up off the bed to signal the talk was over. “Come on, time fer yer warm up.”

After changing, you followed him out the door and into unfamiliar territory, the rest of the house you’ve yet to see. He leads you into an open living area that blended into a nice big kitchen. The house looked like it could house a whole family let alone just the two of you. You followed as your head craned and took it all in. The rent must have been astronomical but it was still Johnny’s house and he didn’t bother with extravagancies. It was spacious but also sparsely decorated making it look huge in perspective.

You cut through the space and into another room. You hadn’t really expected him to have a personal home gym, since he worked at one you naturally assumed he’d just go to work to exercise. The middle of the room was empty and matted, heavy duty, black pads interlocked like puzzle pieces made a twelve by twelve square in the center. The walls of the room were lined with full weight racks, adjustable benches, a treadmill and a power tower.

He stops in the middle of the black square and motions for you to sit. You sit, criss cross applesauce, across from him and he motions for you to begin. You start to go through your warm ups, starting with your sit-ups. He holds your feet and keeps count for you, his grin widening as you progressed.

Today was different and in more ways than one, when you’d finished he had you sit up and hold his feet, meaning for this to be a joint session for the both of you instead of just one sided as it normally was. You had to sit with your knees on the toes of his feet to keep him weighted down and he went for three reps of twenty instead of ten. You could feel the strength he possessed, the power held in the corded muscles of his thighs and calves by just holding him down.

You moved through the first set and into the next, keeping count of his push ups and even clumsily crawling up on his back when he insisted on needing your added weight. While it’d only really been a week since you’d stopped, you found that you’d come to miss this. Partly the healthy routine you’d built with him and partly his presence itself. Slipping back into it was not only easy but welcoming and this new way of having him doing it right along with you was something you secretly found yourself falling in love with.

You practically floated through your warm ups, hardly feeling the burn of them. You sat on the mat with your legs stretched out in front of you in a V. Without any assistance from him you managed a full, complete split and you couldn’t quite hide the elation you felt when his eyes lit up and praise poured from his lips.

Limber and pliant you both rose up from the mat and he walked you over to the power tower, standing out from you as you positioned yourself underneath the pull up bar. You jumped and grabbed ahold of the cool metal. You began, pulling yourself up until your chin passed the bar and then dropping down again.

It was hard but you were determined to finish, huffing and puffing by the last rep but still able to pull yourself past the point without stopping. You caught your breath as he muscled through his. You had long recovered when he finally jumped down, making your measly three look like light work as he managed a solid fifteen before finally coming to a halt.

You knew the next portion was the treadmill but as you made to mount it he stopped you. “Let’s go fer a real run, what dae ye think?” You stopped to consider it. You’d always wanted to go for a real jog, much preferring the open air of outside to the confines of an automated conveyor belt but had been much too scared to attempt such a thing on your own.

You’d always heard stories of women going out on jogs and simply never returning, their bodies found weeks later floating in rivers or lying in ditches. As alluring as the idea was your fears had always kept you inside but with a man like Johnny by your side you could pretty much garuntee total safety.

The prospect of finally getting to do as you pleased excited you and you found yourself chomping at the bit to go. He grabbed his house keys and escorted you to the door, locking it tight behind him and stepping up beside you on the sidewalk. “Are ye ready?”

You smiled at him and nodded, it must have been contagious because one of his own sprung up on his face, lighting it up and making his blue eyes sparkle in the sun.

“There’s a park just doon the way. We’ll head there, do a lap an’ loop back.” You started at a light jog and was pleasantly surprised to see him keep the pace you’d set. You were a bit worried you’d be struggling to match him the whole way, although he did talk most of the way while you struggled to manage anything more than one word replies.

It was a beautiful day, the weather was mild and there was a cool breeze at your back like gentle fingers prodding you encouragingly along. You were suddenly glad for this strange turn of events, as troubling as it seemed at first. Feeling down all last week and then reluctant to go out with Nancy, the anxiety you’d felt in the drive to the club and then somehow ending up in Johnny’s bed the next morning.

Somehow even unable to remember any of the events from the night before, something that, in all reality should leave you mortified and sick left you only feeling a strange sense of calm, like in the end it had all worked out how it was meant to be. You found yourself thinking about this morning and how he’d been almost mad at you for not being more concerned about last night, but you just couldn’t feel it.

There was eventually an underlying sense of unease that he’d practically forced onto you but it was only fleeting, like someone who’s fallen asleep at the wheel only to wake up in the hospital and be informed that you were lucky to be alive. It was hard to understand the reality of your danger when you’d walked away unscathed and without really having experienced it.

Maybe it was shell shock and you just weren’t completely grasping the reality of the situation but you weren’t holding your breath, and as far as taking him up on his offer you just weren’t all that convinced. While it was, admittedly, a problem that you’d drank too much and been unable to make it home last night, you failed to see any real danger in living by yourself.

You’d been doing fine thus far and didn’t see why that should have reason to change. You decided then that you’d made up your mind, you’d spend the day with Johnny, as gratitude for taking such good care of you in a time of need and just to enjoy it as well, it was only early in the afternoon but it was turning out to be a pretty good day in your book. You’d tell him later on when he asked that there really was no reason for you to stay with him. He’d understand, you were sure.

“Lass?” You were pulled away from your thoughts and back to the present. “Hmm?”

“I said what do ye think about havin’ fer dinner. I make an ossobuco that’ll bring ye tae tears.” You had no idea what that was but just expressed your interest anyway as you turned off of the sidewalk and into the entrance to the park.

It was one you recognized, beautfiully landscaped and as old as the hills, this park had been around for as long as you could remember, although it’d been ages since you’d been. They’d updated the playground and had redone the bridge over the pond, there was a flock of geese preening themselves on the surface of the dark, calm water.

You came to a stop at the peak of the bridge, glancing down at your Fitbit and checking your pulse. Johnny leaned his forearms onto the railing and leaned down for a look into the pond as you both caught your breath. He broke the peaceful silence that had settled between the two of you.

“I brought me mum here once. She used tae love feedin’ the swans at the pond near our house when I was wee. Used tae take me over there on our morning walks and I used tae make her laugh tryin’ tae catch one. Ah’ve taken more than one swan nip tae the arse as a lad.” You couldn’t help but laugh imagining him chasing the birds that probably matched him in size as a kid and then laughed some more as you imagined them chasing him, angry and nipping at his heels.

He laughed with you and as you nestled in next to him to stare out on the pond, just as the fit settled he leaned in close, nudged up against your side. “Ye’ll meet her if ye stay long enough ye know. She’d love ye.”

You felt a pang of uncomfortable awkwardness as he brought up the idea of you staying again. You didn’t want to dissapoint him by ruining the moment but you didn’t want to lead him on either. “Johnny…”

He stopped you. “Nae. Dinnae say anything yet. Ah was jus’ sayin’.”

You fell back into silence, a much more uncomfortable one this time but he wouldn’t let it set in as he pushed you back into a jog and lead you over the end of the bridge. It looped back around to where you’d started and it was only a quick jog back to his place where you ended your session for the day.

You both go inside and head for the kitchen, he pulls a blender hidden in a cabinet and sets it up on the counter before pulling out a litany of fruits along with a knife and small cutting board. He chops as he talks, going over your progress and performance, comparing it to your starting time and pace and mooning over the results.

He stops talking as he dumps the fruit into the blender and turns it on, the concoction inside swirling into a deep green slurry. When it’s homogenous he stops and pulls two glasses from a different cupboard. The juice makes a wet plop as it fills the glass and he slides one your way after sticking a bright orange straw down into its depths.

You pull it in front of you and take a long sip, confident in his smoothie skills at this point and relish in the way the sweet cool drink slides over your tongue and down your throat, already working to rejuvenate you.

He downs his quickly, an amazing feat that would surely leave you numb with brain freeze. Setting the glass down in the sink he rounds the counter to you. “I’m goin’ tae take a quick shower and then it’s yer turn.” He slides up close, lean chest pressing into your back and placing a kiss on the back of your neck that sent chills down your spine. “Unless ye want tae join me, that is.”

You do want to, nothing sounds better but you’re still tired from your session and you’ve experienced Johnny in his fulty, intense and unrelenting. If you went at it now you may never recover so you decline, opting to finish your drink and wait your turn. He leaves you and you turn on the stool to take in the decor. The little there is of it seems to be concentrated on a shelf in the corner.

You hop off the stool and walk tentatively over to it, surveying the shelves. There’s a few trophies, the plaques on each read that they’re awarded from some gym for a weightlifting competition. His name and the years were engraved in the middle of the plaque, he’d won them three years consecutively.

The other shelves were adorned with photographs. You glanced at them one by one, picking out Johnny’s radiant smile in each. Here’s one with him on the bank of a river, huddled together with a bunch of people all wearing the same bright orange helmets and yellow vests in varying states of soaked, they’re all holding short stubby oars and smiling.

The next one is a much larger group of people, they’re all different ages but share similar qualities, their eyes and noses on different faces but seem to be shaped from the same clay by the same hands. They’re assembled in front of a sign that reads “MacTavish Family Reunion” and it takes you a moment to pick out Johnny from the crowd of baby blues and deep rich browns. You finally spot him clustered in the back with two other young men hanging off of his shoulders. They look like three of a rambunctious kind.

Beside that is Johnny in a long black robe and mortarboard, from the cap dangles a dark green tassel that hangs in the poofy frizz of long dark brown curls belonging to a shorter stout woman. Her eyes are so bright and shockingly blue they couldn’t belong to anyone other than Johnny’s mother. She looks soft and sweet but strong as she beams at the camera. Her face exudes nothing but pride and adoration for her son. Johnny looks young and happy, his eyes reflect the yet untapped potential of the start of his adult life.

“That’s mah mum an’ I at mah graduation.” His sudden presence startles you and you’re glad to have only been leaning in to observe the photographs instead of holding them, you’re certain you would have dropped them had it been the case.

“Jesus, Johnny. You scared me.” He smiles, a deep grin that you can tell he’s a bit satisfied to have been able to give you a start, despite his following apology. “Sorry lass, Dinnae mean tae make ye jump.”

There’s a small span of awkward silence and to cease it you ask him about the first picture, the one by the river.

He lets out a small hearty laugh and reaches past you to lift the frame off the shelf, bringing it closer like having it here in his hands will give him a better feel for the memories they contain.

“Ah used tae go white water raftin’ all the time. This was a group I joined when ah started. We had just cleared a class four river fer tha first time.” You smile as he reminisces, telling just by his eyes that he’s reliving it a little as he talks.

“Do you still do it? River raft?” He shakes his head and places the picture back on the shelf where it had been. “Nae anymore. Too dangerous.”

He sighs a little, the golden memory disappearing and perhaps leaving a plume of mild gloom in its place but if it had affected him too badly it didn’t show, as his ever radiant smile resurfaced like it’d never retreated.

“Yer turn, hen. The bathrooms in mah room it’s the far door on the left.” You make your way back towards his bedroom as he stations himself behind the sink and busies himself with the dishes.

You pick through the bag on the bed, hem hawing over what to wear when you just decide to bring the whole bag with you into the bathroom. You turn on the shower and let it warm as you retrieve your soap, shampoo and conditioner.

After quickly undressing you step into the warm jet and let it soak into your skin. There was a lot to think about and showers had always seemed like the best time to ponder things. You’re still, even now, in awe at just how things had turned in the past day. You certainly didn’t believe you’d be showering at his place at this time the day before. You poured some body wash into your palm, lathering it as you ruminated.

And then there was his offer, so out of the blue and generous of him. To stay at his place with him and for what? Why? Because you’d drank a little too much the night before and just couldn’t recall any of it? While it’d never been the case for you before now didn’t mean it was impossible for you to become black out drunk. It wasn’t an impossibility, you’d read somewhere that the body's chemical makeup changes roughly every seven years. People all the time grow out of and even develop new allergies as their life progressed. Meaning it was completely possible for your reactions to an influx of alcohol to change over time.

At least, that’s how you justified it to yourself as you rinsed the suds from your skin and began to wash your hair. It just didn’t make sense to jump to conclusions so hastily. And stay for how long? Certainly he didn’t mean to tell you that you were welcome to move in indefinitely. You don’t just extend that kind of an offer to someone like that, he barely knew you. Or did he?

It didn’t matter. For now you just couldn’t bring yourself to impose upon him like that, even if he did offer it up so willingly and insistent. After dinner, you’d gently and politely refuse. He did after all say he wouldn’t make you if you didn’t want to.

You rinse off and turn off the stream, letting most of the water drip off you before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a warm, fluffy towel from the rack. You finally pick out an outfit and stick with it, pulling it on and cleaning up after yourself as you finished, you’d rather not leave a mess for him to contend with later on top of everything he’d already done for you.

You close the door to his bedroom behind you as you step out into the open living room. You had expected him to be unwinding on the couch but instead he was up and pulling on jacket, he had his shoes on and keys in hand. As he spotted you he smiled and stepped towards you.

“Ah need a few things from the store fer dinner. Will ye join me fer a ride?” You smile and nod, turning back towards the room to put on some shoes and retrieve your phone and wallet before joining him to leave. It’s a short walk through the front entrance of his home to the garage. It’s barren save for a big red toolbox and a few boxes stacked in a far corner. His truck takes up the majority of the space, a fairly new dark blue Toyota Tundra. Totally on brand for him, clean and gleaming under the fluorescent lights overhead. He pulls open the passenger side door for you to climb in, which flusters you a bit.

You scurry to climb into it and sit back into the comfy seat as he shuts your door and rounds the vehicle to climb in on his side.

You ride in comfortable silence as he drives you a few blocks down the road to the little grocery mart you’d been to on occasion when you were in need of something on this side of town. He parks and you’re glad to scoot out of the door and join him before he has time to come around and open the door for you again. The chivalry was nice but always managed to make you feel awkward instead of special.

You’re taken by surprise as he takes your hand in his and both make your way towards the entrance. The warmth of his hand envelops yours, his thumb draws lazy, soothing circles on the back of your hand and the flustered feeling you’d been feeling, a combination of the new experience of being seen with him in public and him being so gentlemanly, eases.

You walk side by side out of the car park and into the brightly lit store. He picks up one of the little baskets from a metal cage and begins veering towards the back of the store. He seems to know exactly what he needs and where it all is so you just lose yourself a bit in the moment, looking at things on the shelves and watching him as he shops.

Normally when you shop by yourself it’s a race. A race to get everything you need and get out as fast as humanly possible, it’s something about being out in public for too long that makes your skin crawl. But this. This is different. Something about being with Johnny puts you at an inexplicable ease. He’s confident and knowledgeable, and for once you don’t feel like your mind is moving a million miles a minute under the scrutiny of every other set of eyes in the building. You can just simply relax and be, let him take over.

In produce you watch him pick up three different onions that, to you, look no different but he rolls them in the palm of his hand and gives them each a light toss in the air. Somehow— that decides it and he puts two of them back and places the chosen one down in the basket.

Every time he lets go of your hand for something you’re sure that’s the end of it, just knowing the moment will be lost but he surprises you each time anew when he comes back to you and takes it again, leading you through the sections hand in hand.

You stop in the spirits aisle and grimace as he picks up a bottle of dry red wine. The front is embossed with a duck in a yellow slicker, an umbrella cocked jauntily and tucked securely under one white wing, shielding him from a shower of rain falling from a single dark cloud that looms over its head. In a bright gold scroll underneath this curious image are the words “Rain Duck”. The image is very reminiscent of the Morton salt girl you’d always seen in the spice cabinet of your childhood home.

He looks over and catches your look of disgust and laughs, a hearty cheerful sound that momentarily wipes the scowl from your face and threatens to send you into your own fit of meek giggles. “Dinnae worry hen, s’just fer the sauce. Will nae even taste it, ah promise.”

He sets it down in the basket and heads towards the front of the store to checkout. You stand in line and wait your turn until the cashier clears the person in front of you and Johnny begins to empty his basket onto the conveyor belt one item at a time.

By the time he’d finished, the cashier, a tall skinny man with dark rimmed glasses had already begun to ring you up and Johnny suddenly smacks the palm of his hand to his forehead. “Ahhhh shite. Ah forgot somethin’. Stay here with the groceries bonnie, I’ll be right back.”

He takes off in a power walk towards the back of the store and disappears around a shelf. You rock back and forth on your feet and pray that by the time the cashier is done Johnny will be back. You know if he’s not you’ll cave to the pressure of the people behind you and end up paying for everything yourself, just so you don’t hold the line.

You crane over the partitions of shelves that mark the separate checkout lanes in search of Johnny but your attention is redirected when the cashier clears his throat and calls out to you to get your attention. “Excuse me, miss.”

You turn, dreading the worst but there’s still a good amount of items left unscanned and he’s got the bottle of Rain Duck held past the scanner, looking to you attentively.

You let out a sigh of relief as you realize he only needs your ID to finish ringing up the wine. You pull your wallet from your purse and the relief you had felt instantly dissipates. The pleasantly relaxed state you’d been lulled into suddenly felt like the calm prelude to a horrifying nightmare. The clear plastic pane that normally covered your horrible ID photo was empty. You tipped it open, hoping for some horrible trick of the light or optical illusion but the sleeve was empty.

You quickly shuffled through the individual card sleeves, hoping against hope that you’d somehow slipped it into one of them by mistake but it wasn’t there. Your ID was missing. The panic sets in the pit of your stomach like a lead ball as Johnny squeezes up behind you holding a carton of heavy cream. His smile disappears when he sees your face.

He quickly sets the heavy cream down on the belt and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Bonnie, what is it? What’s wrong?”

The cashier calls out to him impatiently. “Sir?” Johnny looks up at him, with death glaring from his eyes before turning back to you. “Come on, lass. What’s the matter?” You whisper because it’s all you can muster, your vocal cords withered to nothing in fright.

“My ID. It’s gone.” The cashier tried again to get Johnny’s attention and you barely hear Johnny as he speaks very low and angrily at the man behind the counter. Johnny must have done as he asked though because soon enough you feel Johnny’s arms gently pulling you towards the exit. It makes you snap out of your horror for a moment and offer to help carry the bags back to his truck but he’s having none of it, insisting on carrying the whole load in two huge armloads all the way back himself.

You slip into the passenger seat as he puts the groceries in the back and only look up from staring at the lines in your denim jeans when the driver side door shuts and the cab is silent for a moment. He’s looking at you, very concerned and you realize he’s waiting for you to explain in more detail.

“My ID is gone. Completely gone.” He seems to think for a moment before he responds and asks if you’d checked your purse. You quickly do as he’d suggested and go through it but it’s not there either and the momentary hope you’d felt at his suggestion died almost as soon as it’d been born.

“Maybe I dropped it at the club.” A smile begins to form on your face as you grasp at anything other than the truth. “That’s it Johnny! We’ve gotta go back to the club. They’ll have found it cleaning up! And we can go get it and everything’s fine!” He doesn’t look convinced as you look over to him for validation.

“Lass, be honest with yerself fer a moment. How often do ye take yer ID out of yer wallet when ye need it?” Your smile began to fade, he was right. Anytime you needed it you just opened it and flashed it without ever taking it out of the slot, you’d bought that wallet specifically for that feature because you were so worried about losing it.

“I ken ye didnae want tae believe what happened tae ye, but there’s no denyin’ it now. Someone targeted ye last night. Picked ye out of the crowd and drugged yer drink when ye werenae lookin’ an’ they took yer ID in case they couldnae seal the deal right away. He’s got yer address an’ yer name an’ even yer picture.”

You listen to him talk as the cold, cruel hand of reality closes around your throat and the disgust of being violated in such a thorough way begins to worm its way under your skin. You can feel Johnny struggling to find words to comfort you from the seat next to you but he must not find any that are adequate because he starts the truck instead and drives you home in a silence that had on the way been comfortable and passive but now was pregnant with tension and doom.

You get back to his place and he unloads the truck as you sit inside and try not to panic at the situation you’ve found yourself in. You thank your lucky stars that Johnny had found you and brought you home now. If you’d somehow miraculously made it home without incident this mysterious man could have crept into your home while you were incapacitated and done any number of things to you. You imagined all the horrifying possibilities, each more daunting than the last as he unpacked and put everything away.

He must sense your spiraling thoughts because he calls you into the kitchen with him as he starts to cook. Chopping onions, heating shallow pools of oil in two different skillets, measuring out beef broth and flour and water in varying amounts as he practices the fine art of mise en place.

You try, really truly try not to let the fear of your predicament gnaw away at you too hard but it’s almost an act in futility. He looks up at you after cracking his third shot and missed joke while dredging the ox tails in flour and notices you staring down at your hands in deeply troubled thought.

He stops what he’s doing and comes over to the counter, bending down to lean over its sturdy surface and get your attention. You look up at him and feel your heart skip a little as he has no business being so damn attractive covered in flour like he is.

“Listen hen. I ken yer goin through it right now. Probably spooked right out of yer tree, but I promise ye yer in no danger here. I dare him tae walk through that door right now. I swear tae ye ill dismantle him with my flour covered hands before he even so much as touches a hair on yer bonnie head.”

You can’t help but smile as you imagine him wrecking your faceless oppressor, flour flying about in clouds as the impact of his blows knock it loose from his hands.

“There’s tha’ smile. Now be a doll an’ open mah wine fer me. I forgot before ah got all messy.”

You stand from your stool and open the drawer he directs you towards to locate the corkscrew. The rest of the preparation you do in a much better mood. While you had a brand new serious problem on your hands there was no need in sulking over it when there was nothing you could do at the moment and anytime spent with Johnny was hard not to enjoy.

He plated your portion and set you down across from him so he could watch your first bite. You wanted him to eat with you, a bit self conscious at him just watching you eat but he insisted he had to start on dessert before he could sit down to dinner.

You cut the big chunk of meat with your knife and fork and then dipped it down in the pool of sauce just as he’d instructed you to. He watched you intently as you brought the fork to your mouth and took your first bite.

Your eyes widen before half closing, you can’t help the soft moan that resounds as the tender meat and rich, savory sauce feel like they pull your taste buds into their arms and hug them soft and sweetly. It’s absolutely divine and you look up from your plate to see Johnny, smug as a bug grinning wolfily at your reactions.

“Told ye it’d bring ye tae tears.” You can’t even respond, just swallow and take another eager bite, this time with a little of the risotto from the bed that the meat is resting on. “Jesus Christ, Johnny. Where in the fuck did you learn to cook like this?”

His grin is so wide you’re worried it’ll be stuck that way and to your amusement you can tell his cheeks have reddened even under his nice, even tan. “Yer makin’ me blush, hen. S’just what ah’ve picked up along tha way. Ye could do it too. I could teach ye.”

You nod enthusiastically, you’d like that very much and you have a feeling so would he. You really dig into your meal in earnest as he works. His back is to you as he prepares dessert on the stove and you wonder just what it might be. Steam rises up in thin streams as he pours something into two ramekins and sticks them in the oven.

By the time you’re done he’s cracking into his own dinner as you begin working on the dishes. He protests but you stay firm that if he cooked the absolute least you could do was help clean up. He finally relented and let you work as he ate as quickly as he could so he could help dry the dishes at least.

By the time everything was done so was the dessert and he pulled it from the oven to cool as he leaned over the counter and held your gaze raptly with his. “It’s time, lass. What have ye decided?”

But with the way he’s staring you down it feels like he’s on the edge of his seat. Those blue eyes piercing yours and you know every second you don’t answer is killing him, you can read it all over his face so even though you’d made your mind up you told him you weren’t sure.

He looked a bit dejected but it wasn’t the broken disappointment you knew you’d have been graced with if you’d downright shut his proposition down. His eyes light up suddenly in a way you hadn’t been expecting like he’d just had the idea of a century.

“Play a game with me, lass.” You regarded him distrustfully. “What kind of game, Johnny?”

“I’ll show ye, come on.” You follow after him into the bedroom, a bit wary. He stops in front of the pull up bar and turns back towards you.

“Johnny you and I both know there’s no way I’m besting you in a pull up contest, I’d be mental to even try. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Ohhh no, hen. Nothing like tha’, yer right t’wouldnae be fair. All I want ye tae do is hang from the bar. Can ye do that?”

You jump up and grab the bar to see if you’ve got the right idea and he smiles and nods. “Jus’ like that, all ye’ve gotta do is not let go. Think ye can handle it?”

You eyed him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?” You felt like there was something hidden in this that he wasn’t revealing and you weren’t wrong.

“Well it would nae be a game if there was nae some kind of a catch now would it, hen?” You swallow hard and watch him saddle closer, pinning you back into the cool metal bars.

“Ye’ve got tae hold yerself up until ye come.” His smirk widens as your mouth drops open a little, at first for some kind of rebuttal but you can’t come up with anything to say so it just hangs open as your mind blanks.

You finally get a grip enough to ask him to explain. “Well, yer goin’ tae hang onto tha bar an’ ah’m goin’ tae try mah hardest tae make ye come. If ye can hold onto it just until then, then you win but if ye cannae do it, an’ ye let go then I win.”

You mull over his terms and he just leans back a bit and lets you, waiting for your answer. Instead of giving him one you inquire further. “What do I get if I win?”

His answer is another simple question. “What do ye want?” A simple question that was complicated to find an answer for. What did you want from him? After a moment's thought you answered. “I want you to tell me everything you remember about last night and I want you to help me find this guy that did this to me. I don’t want to live in fear like this. You take me up to the club and we ask if they found my ID and if not then we ask to see the video footage of that night.”

“Hen, there’s no garuntee—“ You stop him. “I know. Just promise me if I win you’ll help me.” He looks a bit troubled, like he hadn’t meant for this to take this kind of turn and you wonder for a moment if he’ll back out.

“If I win ye have tae tell me the real reason ye never came back to the gym an’ never texted me an’ just disappeared.” You go to answer when he adds. “And ye stay.”

You sort of knew he was going to play that and even though you’d anticipated it, it still manages to fluster you hearing it.

You think about it real hard, just being around him had you more or less worked up all day, you were fairly confident that you could come quickly, even now just having discussed the game with him you knew your panties were damp. But could you hold yourself up for that length of time?

Reluctantly, you accepted. You even felt sure enough to jest him a bit about how easy of a win this would be for you, it was a decision you came to regret as he leaned in close to your ear and whispered. “Ah’m goin’ tae make ye eat those words, hen.”

A shudder of anticipation passed through you as he kissed you on your neck, just below your ear with a pass of his velvet soft tongue, giving you a little taste of what was to come.

The game had apparently begun as he stooped down to help shed you of your jeans, pulling them down and kissing the skin revealed as he exposed it. Next came your panties and they were damp, a fact that tore a rumble of approval from his chest but he wouldn’t touch you yet.

“Cannae give ye too much of a head start now can we?” He patted the side of your thigh curtly. “Up up.”

You do as he says and it’s a little late to be self conscious now but you can’t help it as you dangle from the metal rod and he spreads your thighs so you’re open to him. You worry he’s going to cheat you a bit as he stares at your bare pussy and you begin to complain when it dies in your throat as his tongue licks a broad stripe up the length of your slit. “Shit!”

He chuckles a little and dives in, resting his hands in the crooks of your knees but offering no support as he begins to eat you out in earnest. You can’t help but moan, your eyes glossy and unfocused as you stare down at him feasting on you from below. It feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced, the strain in your arms adding an element of pain that scratches a hidden itch in the back of your brain.

You shift in his hold uncomfortably as his tongue darts into your entrance, collecting your juices on his tongue and drinking them down. You want, so desperately, to be able to grip him by the Mohawk and hold onto him for dear life but you can’t so you squeeze the bar in your grip and sweetly moan his name instead.

His tongue finds your clit and it just about throws you over the edge but proves to be not quite enough as you chase it in hopes of victory. His hands squeeze and grope the flesh of your thighs and ass as he eats. You thought at the start of this that you would have had this in the bag but the stretch of your arms was outweighing the pull of your pleasure.

It wasn’t for a lack of Johnny’s enthusiasm, his head stayed buried in the heat of your pussy the whole time as he drove you towards the edge as quickly and efficiently as possible. Despite the burn in your biceps you could feel your orgasm building to a boiling point, you had no doubt you’d be coming soon but would it be soon enough for you to win?

He suddenly began to run quick sharp circles over the top of your clit with the pad of his thumb, while his tongue laps at your entrance like a bear to a beehive hole. It’s so good you can’t help but moan, low and dragging as you careen towards the center of the nova of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

Your wrists tremble and a cramp unlike any you’ve ever experienced begins to glow like a white hot coal in your armpit and it’s beyond you to be able to hold on any longer. Your pinky finger slips first and then the rest quickly follow. You squeal as you realize you’re going to fall but his arms push your legs up onto his shoulders and he catches you just as you let go.

A flood of relief flows through your aching arms and you realize you’ve lost but the sting of defeat plays second fiddle to the massive orgasm that takes you by the throat just an instant later. He holds you up with the strength in his arms alone as you come undone above him. He spins around as your thighs still tremble and gently places you on the bed.

You are still very sensitive and your thighs go to clench shut when they’re blocked by one wide knee. He wastes no time in slotting himself between them, his mouth crashing to yours as you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. He cages you beneath him, pulling off your lips to bite and suck at your neck. His hands roam you freely, pulling at your top until it’s up over your head and lifting you up for access to the clasp of your bra.

With it successfully pulled away from your breasts he dives down and devours them, lips wrapping around one pert nipple as the other he gropes with the full palm of his hand, trying to hold as much of it as possible. You nearly shriek with the overstimulation of it and he pulls away to whisper both praise and apologies.

“Jus’ cannae help it, bonnie. Need tae be inside you, please? Let me fuck you, hen. Been cravin’ tha’ perfect little pussy. Come on, lass. Give it tae me.” He’s rubbing the very prominent bulge of his cock against your thigh all the while and you can’t help but clench around nothing in anticipation.

“Fuck Johnny! Do it! Fill me up.” He wastes no time, quickly abandoning your breasts to free himself from the confinements of his jeans. He doesn’t even get them down all the way before he’s fishing himself from his boxers and rubbing the tip hurriedly up and down your slit. You jump and squeal at the sensation and he coos more apologies at you before lining himself up and pushing inside.

You moan in unison as he stretches you open and his arms come up to brace himself on either side of your head. He muffles your moans with his mouth as he leans down and kisses you, swallowing them up as he begins to move and your hands fly to his arms, bracing yourself against the onslaught that is the drag of his fat cock.

You pull away for air and immediately expel it into a high pitched whine as he picks up a fast and steady rhythm, hips knocking into yours on each upward thrust. The fact that you've already came does nothing to alleviate the burn that accompanies the stretch of him. He’s a force and you can do nothing against it but hold on.

You try to make sense of what he’s saying as he fucks you stupid but only catch half of it. Something about keeping you safe forever. Poorly worded promises and vows pouring from his mouth as he uses you to reach his release.

You can feel it fast approaching and can do nothing but steel yourself against it as he pounds a second orgasm from you, the snap of his hips and the drive of his cock demands it of you. “Aww fuck, hen. Are ye gonna come fer me again? Hmm? Let me feel it. Come on lass, let me take care of ye forever. Ye can have this fer the rest of our lives if ye jus’ come fer me right now.”

He says it like you have a choice in the matter as you become locked in the throes of your ecstasy brought forth by his hand and in the midst of yours you vaguely feel him reach his. Coming hard and fast deep inside the tight clutch of your pussy.

It takes you both an eternity to recover and when he finally rolls off you, you realize you’d half fallen asleep, cradled safely under him, worn out and sated.

After a moment he gets up and leaves the room and he’s gone forever to the point where you almost get up to go after him but he comes back in with two small white dishes in hand along with two spoons.

You sit up on one elbow as he hands you one and the accompanying silverware. Looking down at it you can see a dark golden brown crust, a glassy glaze over the surface but are otherwise clueless as to what’s before you. You watch him experimentally as he takes the handle of the spoon in between his thumb and index finger and brings the bowl of the spoon down on top of the crust with an audible smack. The crust breaks and there’s a jiggly dense cream beneath.

Following suit, you bring your spoon down onto yours and scoop up a glob of the pale white gelatin. You take a bite and smile as the cool, sweet cream melts over your tongue. You sit there with him, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms and eating crème brûlée.

It gets you thinking, you could have this indefinitely. Do this every night if you’d like and as if reading your thoughts he speaks.

“I won, but the choice is still yers. Stay with me, hen. Ah’ll keep ye safe. No worries, no lookin’ over yer shoulder forever or double checkin’ yer locks all yer life. Let me take care of ye. I want to, an tha’s honest.”

You stare at him, his blue eyes are soft and filled with adoration and honesty. He really wants you here with him and is that really so bad? How many times are you gonna pass up this opportunity before it’s gone? And will you be looking back later with regret once the door has closed?

You have to drop his gaze to decide but recapture it once you do. You go to tell him “Ok, but only until I’ve found a new place.” but he seizes you in his arms after the first word and pulls you hard against him like a five year old child handed a cat and told they can keep it.

“Johnny! You’re squishing me!” You complain but the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant.

He does everything with you side by side for the rest of the night. He changes with you, he brushes his teeth with you, he even lingers around when you try to go to the bathroom before bed, it takes a good amount of effort on your part to make him leave the room but you know he’s stood just outside the cracked door that he neglects to close on the way out.

Climbing under the sheets with him you wonder just how sleeping together for the first night is gonna go, actually wondering if you’ll get any sleep at all but then he pulls you into his chest and to your surprise he doesn’t try anything sexual. He doesn’t rub a hard bulge against you or grope your tits. He just wants you close, his warm chest filling out the dip of your back, his legs entangle themselves with yours, his feet even nudge yours affectionately in lazy passes.

It’s a while before either of you speak and Johnny thought you’d been long asleep when you say “I can’t afford a membership.” There’s a pause in your words and just when he understands what you’re saying you say more. “That’s why I didn’t come back to the gym, I thought it’d be easier.. for both of us.. if I just disappeared.”

And there’s something about your honesty, the way you’d remembered and honored your whole end of the bargain, the candidness of revealing you struggled with the decision, the mild sleepy drag of your voice that’s barely audible in the darkness that pulls directly on his heart and he couldn’t articulate a response if he’d tried so he doesn’t.

Maybe you believe he’s asleep and maybe it’s better that way. But he’s not. A few moments later he hears your breathing even out and he knows from the previous night that you’re asleep. He lays awake long after that holding you.

He thinks about you and how he’d finally got you to see reason. He thinks about times when the outcome of a situation is more valuable and important— the greater good one might say, than the means it took to reach it. Omelets, for instance, constitute broken eggs.

It takes a certain amount of necessary malice for these things. An agent who realizes what’s at stake and what’s to gain, willing to act on these conditions and set them right, no matter the cost. And lastly, he thinks about your ID, sitting snuggly behind his in his wallet. Tomorrow after he drops you off at work he’ll dispose of it. Maybe burn it, maybe shred it, maybe tie it to a heavy rock and throw it off the bridge at the park, watch it sink into the murky, goose poop filled pond until it gets too deep to see.

No one will know. But Johnny will. Johnny will know that in the end, his end, it justified his means. You are safe and you are his and there is no means too heinous, no act too profound to reach it.

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod soap #twdubcon #dark!johnny #darkfic #johnny soap mctavish x you

195 notes · View notes

rubiehart · 6 months

Note

what about a lil hurt comfort with jj or johnbee where r wakes up feeling ill and he takes care of her :( jst feel like they’d both be sooo nice to her <33

tw: emetophobia

also love this, doing john b cuz he’s goes daddy mode when his girl’s sick!!

you’d been awoken in the middle of the night, forcing yourself to leave john b’s warm body and racing to the toilet, hunching over the porcelain seat and throwing up, john b had noticed you leave his side, popping up from under the covers and walking into the bathroom, bead head and rubbing his tired eyes to see you hunched over the toilet.

immediately kneeling down next to you, rubbing your back comfortingly. “yeah you got it, get it all out.” already racking his brain for where the tylenol was last. “it’ll feel so much better when ‘s all out.” when you’re done, you lean back against his chest on the cold bathroom floor and let a few tears slip, a mix of feeling sick, angry that throwing up infact did not help, and upset that you woke john b. “sorry for wakin’ you.” you mumble, and he stands up, pulling you into his chest as you sniffle.

“hey don’t apologise for anything okay? i like helping you, wouldn’t leave you to suffer all alone would i, huh?” he asks as he cradles your face in two hands and you shake your head. “okay, i’m gonna go get you some tylenol, okay? go get back into bed i’ll be just a minute.” he mumbles before leaving to rummage through the kitchen cabinets, returning with your medicine and a glass of water.

he holds the back of your head as he tilts the glass to meet your lips, swallowing the tablet and melting back into his warm chest, his arms embrace you and you know he’ll always be there to help you. john b was a fixer after all, he wasn’t gonna let his girl suffer all on her own.

maybe you’d get a wave of sickness a few more times in the night but he never complains, assuring you he really doesn’t mind, cleanin’ you up and helping you back into bed, pulling you back into his warm embrace as you subconsciously thank the universe for giving you such a caring boyfriend.

#anon ꨄ︎*#john b routledge blurbs #lol had to search how to spell emetophobia:)#john b prompt #john b obx #john b routledge #john b smut #john b x reader #chase stokes #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx fic

197 notes · View notes

literally-justacat · 6 months

Text

Okay but like, user with type one diabetes and their husband Simon when users blood sugar goes low in the middle of the night??

When users alarm goes off it’s just past 2 am, the two of them tangled in the sheets of their bed, Simon snoring and user peacefully asleep with their face in the pillow. Simons sleep didnt last forever, the loud beeping of users phone going off as the alert their blood sugar’s going low pops up on the home screen.

User doesnt wake up, cuz they never do. They sleep too deep, stuck in a dream about who knows what. They dont even wake up to the feeling of their body shaking and growing hot, their dream ‘s just too good, wakin up aint worth it.

So when Simon wakes up, reaching over user to grab their phone and seeing their blood sugar is far too low, almost in the 60’s, he lets out a groan of either exhaustion or frustration. This wasnt the first time user’s slept through their lows, and it pisses Simon off to think he could not be in bed with them one night and their blood sugar plummets too far, and they’re still asleep.

He tries not to make too much noise while he throws the covers off himself and climbs out the bed, trudging outside their room, greeted by the glistening stare of their dog on the sofa in the pitch black. It never fails to make him jump just a bit.

Every time that user goes low, he’ll grab them a few choices of snacks, like a granola bar, fruit snacks or juice pack, cuz they’re always so annoyed with having to wake up and their appetite is gone from being low that one option wouldnt do.

When he gets back to user he nudges their shoulder, which they dont wake up to, so he grumbled a raspy “love,” and nudges them again. And when they stir and groan, groggily sitting up with their back to the beds headboard, he cant keep his tired, frustrated expression from softening a little bit.

After user eats and Simon settles back into bed, even after user’s back to sleep within seconds, Simon stays up a little longer to make sure their blood sugar goes and stays up to a safer level before going back to sleep with user in his grip.

#type one diabetic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #first post #erm #:(

77 notes · View notes

drgrlfriend · 8 months

Text

Chapter 17: Curl At Thy Ease

Chapter Seventeen of my Winterhawk Marvel Trumps Hate 2022 Selkie!Bucky fic is now posted (and by that, I mean I posted in the middle of the night and only got back to my computer now to make the tumblr post!). Excerpt:

They spend a fantastic half hour just kissing, or as James calls it, “necking.” Clint lets James set the pace, and he’s glad of it when James pulls back and Clint realizes he’s trembling a little.

“You okay, Jamie?” he asks, and James nods, pulling Clint in close to just hug for awhile. Clint thinks that might be the end of it, but long moments later James clears his throat and tries for some words.

“It’s good. But it’s just — almost too good sometimes. A little overwhelming. Like.” He swallows thickly. “Like wakin’ up from cryo. When you’ve been dead and numb for so long that even a little warmth can feel painful. I just want to make sure I can handle it.”

“Hey.” Clint squeezes James tight. “Whatever you need. I never wanna cause you pain, even if it’s from too much good.”

James nods against Clint’s chest. “I know. And thanks.” They are quiet for a few moments, just enjoying the closeness.

“Can I touch your hair?” Clint asks.

“Yeah. Please.”

Clint traces his fingers through James’ hair and James sighs, pushing into the touch a little, going lax against Clint’s chest.

“You’re like sunshine,” James finally says, his voice sounding a little drowsy. “Comin’ out from the cold and dark and into that warmth, I just gotta make sure I don’t get burned.”

Clint smiles. Nat used to tell him he grew on her like a fungus. He likes the sunshine analogy better.

12 notes · View notes

fayewonglibrary · 1 year

Text

"Chesspiece" - A clever metaphor for the dilemma of love (2015)

Composer : Yang Minghuang Lyricist: Pan Liyu Singer: Faye Wong Arranger: Tu Ying Producer: Yang Minghuang Album: Sky Published: 1994 Publishing Company: Decca Interviewees: Pan Liyu / Tu Ying / Huang Guilan Author: Wang Jingxin

"Chesspiece" from Faye Wong's 1994 album "Sky" was a popular mainstream ballad. But it was the good kind that contained new ideas and creativity.

Twenty years have passed and "Chesspiece" is still fresh and worth savoring over and over again. Pan Liyu wrote its lyrics which elaborated on the well-known old expression: "A true gentleman should keep silent while watching a game of chess. A real man doesn't redo his turn once he lets go of the chesspiece." She wrote: "You never hesitated though moves can never be redone. Yet I am still under the control of your hand..."

The song compares humans to chesspieces and uses this metaphor to cleverly describe the dilemma of love. In addition, the memorable melody by the late producer Yang Minghuang is coupled with Tu Ying's intense and gorgeous string arrangement which does not overwhelm the song. Faye Wong's restrained yet emotionally charged vocal performance can easily conquer every pair of discerning ears. It is not only one of Faye Wong's most popular ballads but also one of the most highly rated singles of all time in the Chinese music industry.

Pan Liyu said that the lyrics of "Chesspiece" were developed from a single line in her notebook: "I am not a general in your eyes, but an insignificant soldier." She said that at that time, she was working as a planner at Decca Records and had no time to write songs. She could only use her off-duty time to try and write lyrics, including trivial time such as walking and waiting for the bus. As soon as she got inspiration, she immediately wrote it down in a notebook. "When I woke up in the middle of the night, I would suddenly get an idea, and I would get up and write it in my notebook." "Chesspiece" was just a single line in her notebook when she suddenly got inspiration. "I usually have a humorous personality, but when I write songs, I become more serious." Pan Liyu said this with a smile. Such a contrast may also have caused her to rarely write happy songs. In 1994 , Faye Wong, who was still known as Wang Jingwen, came to Taiwan and released her first Mandarin album "Mystery". It mostly contained adaptions of her Cantonese songs into Mandarin, plus the original song "I'm Willing". More thought was put into the planning and production of her second Mandarin album "Sky".

Huang Shujun, Xu Changde, and Wang Zhongyan were invited to write lyrics for this album. Huang Gui-Lan wrote 'Sky' and 'Shadow', while Pan Liyu remembered the line from her notebook, "I am not a general in your eyes, but an insignificant soldier". With a line that compared people to objects, she wrote "Chesspiece" and gave it to Yang Minghuang to compose the music.

"Mr. Yang used triple meter to write the song. I didn't realize that the rational and emotional triple meter melody would bring the lyrics to life. The beautiful melody brought out the words 'field', 'battle', 'trap', 'dilemma' and other phrases, and made the words jump out from the chessboard." Pan Liyu smiled when recalling: "The demo was sung by Yang Minghuang in female keys. I was scared when I heard it for the first time and I thought it was so scary for Mr. Yang to sing in female keys. The first time I heard it, I didn’t feel it, I couldn’t get into it. The second time I heard it, I thought the melody was very beautiful and it would definitely be a hit.”

"Chesspiece" also had an episode [behind-the-scenes]. Pan Liyu's original lyrics were: "I don't have the power to decide whether to win or lose ." Yang Minghuang changed the word 'power' to 'courage' . "He felt that 'courage' was more suitable and asked if I could change it and I said of course." Emil Chau Wakin's version of "Chesspiece" in 1996 was the most "authentic" [re-sung with the original lyric]. "Mr. Yang also asked me to revise the last two lines. I changed the last two lines to: "You never hesitated though moves can never be redone. Yet I am still under the control of your hand..." only after Faye Wong was done recording." This seemed to give the song a perfect ending.

Huang Guilan added that Yang Minghuang originally composed "Chesspiece" as an allegro. "He attached great importance to the composition of the entire album. He felt that the album needed such a composition. Seeing the potential of "Chesspiece", I tried my best to persuade him to change it to a slower tempo, which is more suitable for the artistic conception of the lyrics." Huang Guilan's suggestion turned the fast song "Chesspiece", which might have been only a B-side, into a No. 1 song on the A-side. And it was given a chance to become one of the main hit songs.

Looking back on "Chesspiece", Pan Liyu emphasized, "The most important thing is to thank Huang Guilan for giving me the opportunity to write lyrics. She is a noble person in my life. She also encourages younger generations who are interested in creating lyrics to write lyrics first. When writing lyrics, you must first set the theme of the lyrics. If you have the theme first, then you can pursue the ideas and wonderful words and sentences. Only when you move yourself can you move others. The most important thing is that you must write!"

The arranger Tu Ying said that the rhythm of this song was indeed relatively rare back then. Therefore, some effort was made to make the song not so stale and heavy. They hoped for some refreshing elements, so he added string orchestration in LA, which added a light but spacious feeling to the song. He also recalls his experience working with Yang Minghuang, "Yang Minghuang was always a producer with a strong musical vision and the ability to communicate clearly, so I didn't have to worry about anything else when working with him, I just needed to focus on the music." 　　 The combination of 'Sky' and 'Chesspiece' made the album 'Sky' sell like hotcakes from the end of 1994 to 1995. The success of "Chesspiece" also led to the emergence of many triple-meter songs in the market, which enriched the auditory level of ballads.

——————————————————————

SOURCE: MUSIC COPYRIGHT SOCIETY OF CHINESE TAIPEI // TRANSLATED BY: FAYE WONG FUZAO

#2015

4 notes · View notes

dirk-rider · 9 months

Text

TT: Jake.

TT: Jake what the fuck do you think you’re doing to my ass at this godforsaken fuckin’ hour.

GT: Ah! Dirk!

TT: Not a fuckin’ answer.

GT: Well um you see-

TT: I never said you should STOP, did I?

GT: ???

TT: Don’t mistake my confusion for disdain.

TT: Your hands feel pretty damn good, honestly, especially where they’ve landed now.

TT: But wakin’ up with one of your hands fondling my ass before trailing up to join the other one on my gut isn’t an experience I’m too familiar with.

GT: Oh dirk i promise i wasnt going to go further-

TT: Yeah, I figured. You seemed pretty damn contented just feelin’ me up.

TT: But what led to your hand bein’ placed so kindly on my asscheek in the first place?

GT: Well it didnt exactly *start* on your… er… bosom.

TT: I thought that was another word for tits.

GT: Oh! Yes. Right.

GT: I didnt start on your rear is what im trying to get at.

GT: I started on your stomach.

TT: Yeah? Why’s that?

GT: Well it was making frightful noises and i figured somebody ought to soothe your middle!

GT: But when i put my hands on you

GT: well.

TT: “Well”? He says “well”? What’s so special about all this shit? My gut is near fuckin’ always aching.

GT: Well yes.

GT: But never before has it been so…

GT: Oh dirk dont make me say it..!

TT: Say what? I have no clue what you’re on about.

GT: Dirk this is embarrassing!

TT: So what? Spit.

GT: *Huffs* fine.

GT: Never before has it been so…

GT: So…

GT: So damn distendedly soft!

TT: Shit.

GT: Youre really sporting quite the pudge down there mister!

GT: And that made me wonder if…

GT: If maybe.

GT: Maybe that pudge spread further down.

TT: Shiiit.

GT: So i got to feeling your thighs and… oh dirk your thighs are wonderfully plump!

TT: That why my pants are pulled down?

TT: Adventure awaits below my waist or some shit?

TT: Beware all who enter, for there be unsteady ground ahead?

GT: Haha they do jiggle a bit!

GT: Oh dont groan at that when you know they do!

GT: But anyway.

GT: Once i had gotten that far i realized that this might be my only chance to feel you like this.

GT: Im not sure when these changes began occurring but i sure as dickens wasnt ready to pass up the opportunity!

TT: Opportunity? More like goddamned national tragedy.

GT: If it were a national tragedy i dont think id be enjoying this so much!

TT: Enjoying what.

GT: Well… your extra weight i suppose.

TT: Don’t lie to make me feel better, man.

GT: ???

GT: Me? A liar???

GT: A gentleman never *lies* mister strider!

GT: Not unless it is an incredibly important matter!

GT: Why would i lie about something like this?

TT: You’re pretty damn eager to divulge this information, a guy just might think you planned this schpeel in advance.

GT: *Does* a guy think i planned this in advance?

TT: Well…

GT: You of all people should know how i get when im tired!

GT: It can be hard to plan when you have caught me in the dead of night when my thoughts are hazy and the truth is hard to swallow.

TT: Jake, seriously. What’s so wonderful about all of this. Is it just the thrill of the discovery? Maybe you like knowing I’m growing less and less attractive by the day for some reason?

GT: Less attractive???

GT: Heavens no dirk!

GT: Dirk if i seriously thought you were “less attractive” would i be so eager to touch you?

GT: I dont think youre less attractive in the slightest.

GT: In all honesty

GT: this might be the hottest you have ever been.

TT: The… the fuck???

GT: Oh dirk youre so perceptive i thought youd figured me out by now!

GT: Is your self worth really so low you couldnt believe it?

TT: Believe what, I Jake.

GT: Dirk

GT: i am so incredibly attracted to… to guys-

TT: No shit, knew that.

GT: Guys who are *fat* dirk.

TT: No way.

GT: I never thought my actions were really making much of a difference until tonight.

GT: Youve been wearing such baggy clothes as of recent.

GT: I chalked it up to the colder weather.

GT: But to know its due to your own self indulgence? Your gluttony?

TT: …

GT: Did you genuinely believe my actions were simply for humor? Did you think i overfed you simply because it gave me a good chuckle seeing you nearly beached?

TT: Kind of, yeah.

GT: Dirk i hate to admit it but i am absolutely *enamored* with your body as it is.

GT: I feel guilt for causing you to lose the figure you once so proudly showed off.

GT: But i think you should be just as proud of this one!

GT: You used to bloat up and show off a similar shape and that was oftentimes fodder for my fantasies.

GT: But now youre just as round without that pesky painful bloat beneath!

GT: I assume youre typically softer nowadays anyway. Going off of how soft your… hrm… caboose has ended up.

GT: Though right now your middle is as stated before quite the gurgly guy! *Pat pat.*

TT: Jake don’t-

TT: *pphllrrRRrrbbt*

TT: Goddammit.

GT: Whoopsie daisies!

GT: You do feel a bit better though after that. Right?

TT: …Yeah.

GT: So you wouldnt mine too terribly if i continued working out some of your… ahem! Sounds? So that i may feel your stomachs underlying softness?

TT: Go fuckin’ wild, man.

GT: Hurrah! Thank you so kindly mister strider! You wont regret this!

1 note · View note

neon-prison · 2 years

Text

Crossed Wires- Ch 8

A03 link: HERE

Pairing: Delamain/V

Rating: T

The man on the balcony reminded V of those old space docuholos, where the narrator droned about light bending and disappearing around unknown phenomena. He was negative space, an absence- a white hole in the middle of a giant multicolored canvas. Even several hundred feet apart, V felt small and powerless under the glint of cold blue eyes. The voice over the holo was amused, like he’d taken some measure of her worth and found it… lacking. She’d spared Peralez the truth because V had no answers that wouldn’t drive him to madness. He was a good man, a different type of anomaly in the cesspit of Night City, and didn’t deserve spiraling, sleepless nights.

Unlike V, who was starting to have trouble telling the difference between being asleep and being awake. The thin line that separated the hours was blurring, dreams bleeding into reality and vice versa. In the early days, Johnny’s memories flashed like a cheesy montage. After the Blackwall, Alt, with hints of tantalizing answers to questions V didn’t know she had. Religion had never been close to V’s heart, but the mysterious ciphers and sporadic bursts of glitching imagery edged closer to visions than dreams. Every night felt like walking the thin knife’s edge between understanding and madness.

Her vision became a tangled mess, like she was flicking through every channel on TV. Voices, memories, snippets of conversation, reams of numbers, receipts - it felt like everything was pouring into her, bloating her brain to excess. Coffee became her refuge, but she ran ragged on exhaustion and time. Once, V would’ve described herself as having an acceptable amount of healthy skepticism about the world. Then came Sandra and V’s healthy skepticism bloomed into full-blown paranoia. Blue eyes appeared in the phantom threads that spanned Night City, little glimmers and glitches that followed V everywhere she went. All she could do was hold her head above water as the depths called for her to drown.

Common sense blamed the relic, but V knew it was going beyond the Blackwall that changed her. Unfortunately, she’d killed one of the two sources of information that could’ve provided some answers as to how. That’s why she was parked several blocks outside Netwatch’s regional HQ, trying to make out the building beyond the threading scribbled across his visual feed. It was like a kid had gone to town on her eyes with an entire platinum set of Crayola.

Johnny grumbled behind her, appearing in a storm of glitches, “Peralez thing fuck you up bad, huh?”

“Yeah.” No point in putting up a brave front. Even Johnny was unsettled, and the man was worse at coping against the unknown than V was. “Feels like I see him on every corner now,” She resisted the urge to check over her shoulder just in case.

Johnny leaned against her bike, flickering smoke reflecting against his shades as he stared over Netwatch’s squat HQ. “Maybe you are,” he said, unusually contemplative.

Groaning, V stood, stretching her calves as she double-checked her arsenal, readying some of the specialized tools she’d made for this specifically for this mission. “Please don’t say shit like that; I’m already having a hard enough time sleeping as it is.” “More like you’ve got a hard time wakin’ up.” He responded archly, dropping the cigarette only to light a new one, “You slept for nearly a day yesterday.”

And she hadn’t gotten a minute of rest out of it either. Whole thing was a jumbled nightmare, leaving V sore and shivering. Blood smearing the pillow meant her timer was ticking; if V wanted any information, she would have to get to the source. Beyond what she’d decrypted and Tiffany’s rejected vacation reports, the klepped files were a few pieces short of the finished puzzle. Thankfully, they did have some highly classified intel regarding a joint out-of-city drill between Netwatch and Luna Digisys- one of the primary suppliers of digital security and server space across the Crystal Palace.

That meant Netwatch was running a skinnier rotation of netrunners than usual- pretty nova for anyone stupid or suicidal enough to plan a break-in. Luckily, V fit the bill on both counts- which was a really weird silver lining. Plus, she might as well dig through the servers for whatever they had on Delamain-

“Jesus fuck-” Johnny interrupted her train of thought with an angry groan, “Of course, this is all about circbrain.”

Rolling her eyes, V stalked towards the side gate, keeping low as she scanned the compound for security, “Haven’t you been paying attention? This is for me.If there’s anyone who’d have answers on coming back from the Blackwall, it’s gonna be Netwatch.” Growing up with the Valentinos taught her that cops had the best drugs- so V figured the concept was laterally applicable.

“Uh huh, and if we just so happen to stumble on some information on circbrain, it’s just plain ol’ good luck?”

V beamed, ever the optimist, “That’s the spirit.”

Enough. V had to move on before she got sore from patting herself on the back. Scanning the building from a safe distance, she had to admit it was impressive up close- not as big as some of the other megacorps that lined the block but still a veritable fortress. Over a dozen chromeheads guarded multiple entrances, cameras regularly covered each other’s blind spots, and numerous militech-grade turrets screened the gates. Thankfully, her second sight gave her an advantage, and V could trace all those little shimmering threads like tracks. The dozen or so runners in the compound were the real danger, powerful deckheads that could fry any dumbass who tried to breach their subnet.

Luckily, V wasn’t just any ol’ dumbass. She was a whole new breed of idiot.

Jumping the gate with thermoptic camo activated, she commandeered an access point and utilized Placide’s old tactic- albeit with a twist. A complex, multi-layered randomizer ensured no runner pinging the system diagnostics would have cause to worry. Netwatch’s human-sourced code meant V could reliably count on human error and lean on familiar psychology. No way any of the runners plugged in bet money on a lone merc stalking across their rooftop. To V’s knowledge, Netwatch had never been infiltrated before, so why should any guards expect today to be different? That being said, she was still on a timer. Even the most inattentive runner would eventually notice the discrepancies.

V had maybe half an hour at most. Time to move.

The compound was almost empty, hallways typically bare and lifeless. V breezed by the cameras, gritting her teeth as her head throbbed from the veritable sea of threading encompassing the place. Sneaking by the odd guard or two that patrolled the hallways with bored apathy, she made her way toward the stairwell, opting for the analog route to avoid triggering any elevator sensors. The threading heading towards the basement made V feel like she was the star attraction at a red carpet gala.

Several floors down, the basement was hidden deep beneath the compound and buffered with several layers of radioactive shielding. It was essentially a bunker, a chilling tell about Netwatch’s grim view of the future. There were runners hooked to wall-spanning computers, dead to the world save for the occasional twitch. She counted four; all fully converted from organic bodies to synthflesh. Practical. Made sense if Netwatch wanted soldiers who never needed to sleep or eat.

Cyberpycho turnover rate must’ve been something, though. A shiver ran down her back. Sparing a glance at the runners, V tried to understand why they’d hooked a third of the force to the same server set.

“They’re guards,” Johnny whispered, toneless and gruff, from the back of her mind.

But what were they guarding? V followed the coalescing strings, trails of data twining to go beyond a heavy titanium-alloyed door. It was vast, covered from ceiling to floor in dials and screens, insulated with reams of code that would take an army of runners to cut through. Whatever it was…it was big-

“Stop,” Johnny cut off her predictable train of thought, “What you’re lookin’ for isn’t beyond that door, and you know it.”

V clenched her jaw, fighting every instinct to poke the daemon. She was alone in the heart of Netwatch. A safe that heavily guarded was probably trapped seven ways to cyber hell. No doubt even breathing near that door would light the entire compound like a beacon. Any leverage V had in the form of her newfound sight couldn’t win against four enemy runners working in tandem against her.

Fuck, fuck - Johnny was right. Not that V would give him time to be smug about it.

Ducking beneath one of the runners, V stared at the lines of syntax connecting them to the server. The code was easy to read compared to Delamain’s or Lilith’s. That was an advantage because V could copy the encrypted registrations, integrate them into her runtime, buffer any critical partitions and reintegrate back into the servers without having to account for lightning-fast intelligence outpacing her.

Her heart beat frantically. Despite how simple it sounded, V knew it would be anything but. Runners were paranoid by nature and hard to trick. The benefit of AI was adaptability and speed, but human instinct and tenacity were powerful forces, especially in digital space where they were unhindered by physical responses. The smart thing would be to flatline them. A better chance wouldn’t present itself, but V found herself squeamish about it.

“Since when do you care about these corpo dogs? They’d zero you given half a chance.” Johnny materialized over one runner, flicking ash onto her inert body.

“Since they’re just people tryin’ to do their jobs.” V wasn’t naive enough to believe that burning Netwatch to the ground would somehow be a net positive. Maybe it would- V just didn’t have enough information to flatline four runners who might actually be keeping monsters at bay.

Johnny scoffed but offered no argument. “Then link up, get what you need, and let’s fuckin’ delta. This place is makin’ me claustrophobic.”

“Hang on; I have an idea.” A trigger virus would do the trick and make sure everyone would survive. Hopefully. It would integrate into her runtime first, then feed back into the loop. One pulse from her would trigger a cascading shutdown- something that wouldn’t have been possible in the first place had any of the runners been ‘ganic. Being all chrome had its downsides. Virus set, resolve hardened, and time running out, V settled underneath one of the chairs and hardwired into the exterior port.

The world warped, and V dove headfirst into the elusive subnet.

Netwatch’s BBS spawned around her, popping in like a shitty video game. Leave it to a corp to use boundless space and reach to facilitate bureaucracy; all that power and imagination used to make an infinite hallway of what amounted to little more than digital cabinets. Even so, it was a relief to dive and V’s mind and feed were satisfyingly empty. It was like taking a breath of fresh air; the cacophony of digital information that drove her to madness in meatspace gone in favor of corporate order and dogma.

She covered her tracks with ghostly duplicates, running under the system as generic fritz. Anything of interest she copied to her deck, mindful that the extra terabytes she had came at the cost of combat efficiency. It wasn’t foolproof, but it bought her time to float between the digital stacks, rifling through Netwatch’s subnet with all the fervor of a mom searching her child’s room for weed. Linking from the inside also had the added benefit of lighter protection. After all, people locked entrances, not living room doors.

Anything that required finessing went to the backlog. There was too much information to plumb on her own, but V was ready with advanced search-and-filter algorithms she’d prepped for this mission. Most of her searches pinged immediately, long tendrils reaching out to every corner of the BBS to copy classified files without leaving access traces. A note caught her eye, and she skimmed over it, a flare of anger sparking at the text exchange. That one would be a favor.

Half her deck was gone in less than a few minutes.

Unable to help herself, V floated beyond the cabinets to explore the rest of the subnet. No BBS was completely foolproof; it was just finding the right cracks to prod. Sentinel Protocols patrolling the stacks missed V as she blended with ambient data whenever they crossed paths. The first of her alarms pinged, signaling that she had less than twenty minutes before the risk of discovery exceeded the margin of safety. Her deck was almost full, but in the meantime, V mulled over the prospect of adding a backdoor. Finding the least accessed files on the subnet -old archives of subnets that no longer existed, documents about expense reports from long-decommissioned compounds, and stale memes from the last decade- she attached several daemons that could crack the door in the future. Doubtful she’d be around to use it, but V was a thief, and juicy opportunities like this didn’t just grow on trees.

Her second alarm dinged.

V was almost at the limit, but one filter hadn’t pinged anything. Given how prevalent the phrase had been in Mosley’s klepped files, V was sure that anything as important as ‘blue-eyes’ was probably locked behind the digital equivalent of a heavy-duty safe. It would be well hidden, guarded like- oh.

If anything else, V could appreciate the comedic timing of her slow realization.

Manually taking over her filters, she adjusted frequencies to echo-locate anything with high enough security clearance, careful not to alert the system with aggressive queries. After a minute, V was about to cut her losses when her software pinged back with a single result. Following the digital trail of breadcrumbs, avoiding patrols and the eerie echoes of the runners, V found it. The door. It was almost invisible, hiding as part of the BBS infrastructure, cloaked in several arrays of deflecting algorithms as thick as the radioactive shielding outside.

V felt a grin pulling on her ghostly features. The door was as impenetrable in digital space as in the physical world. Any attempts to breach it would set every Sentinel protocol on her ass in seconds. Part of V told her to run. But the other part of her, the part that demanded answers, took the reins. No breaching the door, but what if she just… knocked? It seemed like a reasonable idea, especially since Johnny wasn't there to talk her out of it. Floating towards the barrier, V pinged it, waiting. The door responded, reflecting back with a query just this side of suspicion. Responding with what she hoped was the right level of clearance, V didn't react as it scanned her for a few tense moments, aware that any wrong movements would have the entire net bearing down on her. Suddenly, data dispersed, codes untangled and the door opened like it was inviting a familiar guest.

A wide smile split V's face as she internally crowed in triumph. Suck it, Johnny. Stepping in, the whole world suddenly went bright and she stepped into an impossibly immaculate white space, like one of those rooms from those high-end interior design magazines. It was...empty? Confused, V scanned the area, trying to find what the hell Netwatch considered so important. Suddenly, the entire room pulsed, and V froze in panic- trying to gauge whether she'd just walked right into a trap. After a moment nothing happened, and she relaxed. The room pulsed again and V followed the ripples, craning her neck back in time to see-

What in the fuck? What that-? “Bryce?” V blinked a few times, making sure she was seein’ right, “Bryce Mosley?”

He was high above her, held aloft in the middle of gleaming, sterile-white code wrapping around him in a scintillating cocoon. The sound of his name stirred him and the structure tensed, logging the relic as an anomaly. Immediately, V buffered the query that attempted to identify the chip with a false reading picked up from the runners outside. A few suspenseful seconds later, the structure dropped limp, no longer registering her as an unknown entity. That’s right; she was just part of the scenery, nothing to worry about.

Later, V would be impressed at the speed of her responses, faster and more complex than anything she’d been able to before. Maybe V hadn't had a clear head in so long she'd forgotten.

Gingerly, she floated through the minefield of glittering syntax like a spy trying to avoid lasers in those old movies that Johnny was fond of. A code’s breath away from Mosley, she took a moment to look over his ethereal features. Most of his face was covered in fine webbing, coding so sterile and delicate that it was almost like glass. The faint lines representing his face scrunched in an intense display of…anger? No, pain. “What are they doing to you?”

Mosley reacted, eyes snapping open as he gasped for air- mind resorting to human habits in a knee-jerk response. “You!” He snarled, impressing V with how much vitriol he squeezed in one measly word. “How are you even here? How did you make it past our ICE?!” His struggle was starting to stir the web, structure responding to the panicked vibrations of a dying insect.

She shushed it with another data burst, lulling the network into complacency.

“How did you do that?” Mosley glared at her, shocked, “The Decon Protocols should have torn you to shreds.”

A decontamination protocol? “What’s fuckin’ you up?” She couldn’t help asking. An infection made sense, given how sterile the coding was.

He bared his teeth, pain wracking his features for a moment. “Don’t act innocent- considering you’re the one responsible!”

Her fault? Last they’d tangled had been in Pacifica- V reared back in shock, realization dawning. “Have you been here since the fucking GIM?!” That was impossible, insane, not to mention cruel beyond words. How had his synapsis held on?

Mosley’s gaze was hazy but vicious. “ Y-yes,” he grimaced. “That virus- hnk- you passed on…it’s been making its way up my nervous system. It’s only a matter of t-time before…agh…before-”

“Before it fries your brain.” V finished gently. The pain must have been bad if he was being so loose-lipped. An unexpected lurch of guilt squeezed her heart. She floated closer. “Can I see?” It felt strange asking for consent, given she’d snuck into their subnet. Maybe Johnny was right about her going soft.

His mouth twisted in amused rictus, “Never met a merc with a c-conscience. Where…hnng..the hell was that when you let the V-voodoo boys play you like cheap malware?”

She scoffed, “As if you weren’t going to do the same damn thing.” His glare was the only confirmation she needed. “If it makes you feel better, you won’t have to worry about the Voodoo boys anymore.”

It was his turn to scoff, “You...hnng…expect me to believe you took out the Voodoo Boys?”

Her ghostly shoulders shrugged. “Listen, I’d love to give you my life story, but we’re both sorta runnin’ low on time. You gonna let me see or not?”

Her third alarm pinged. Ten minutes.

His jaw clenched, face contorting through a myriad of pained and angry expressions before settling on something resigned. “Arrogant f-fucking scum,” Mosley spat, furious, “Go ahead, get yourself f-fried. Not like I can...ahh...stop you.”

Reaching out a translucent hand, she gripped his chin, feeling the echoes of his affronted outrage through the contact, an edge of shock at his bluff being called. V let it wash over her, peering closer and centering herself on ignoring all other distractions. Here, her mind was clear, and the headaches plaguing her in meatspace were all but an unpleasant memory. Without the fog of a looming migraine impeding her, V could remove some of the buffers she’d created to lessen the strain of constant abuse. With those extra walls gone, it felt like her brain was expanding into a new dimension. Kinda like Misty’s shrooms but without the debilitating pain and the bleeding eyes.

Mosley’s entire cyber-nervous system branched before her. The damage was extensive, rotten code trying to burrow its way into the runner’s meat like maggots. It reminded V of her interface with Delamain, though the daemon infecting Mosley’s software was much less complex than Lilith. Had she really almost died to something this primitive? Then again, Mosley didn’t have the cursed blessing of a malfunctioning relic dumping out anything that might get in the way of its objective.

Tentatively, she touched one strand and drew it out. Mosley gasped at the sensation, flinching in V’s grip. The more she cleared his mind, the more obvious Netwatch’s reasoning in keeping him alive became. In the ruins of Mosley’s cyberware, beyond the tattered walls of what used to be formidable ICE, was an entire mega-block server’s worth of files. With the contagion blocking the way, Netwatch probably couldn’t back anything up, and if Mosley died, V’s entire reason for coming here would go with him. She would have to be doubly careful. Working as delicately as possible, V took great care to minimize further harm by isolating sections of the virus, detangling it as best she could from Mosley’s processes.

T-Bug had done something similar for V on her third-ever dive. In a moment of rookie arrogance, V darted beyond the safety of T-Bug’s warnings, convinced of her immortality and thrilled with the freedom of digital space. One moment she’d been flitting between data blocks, and the next, her entire brain was splintering in the worst pain she’d ever felt. If it hadn’t been for T-bug, V’s mind would’ve scattered to the corners against shoddy Maelstrom ICE that had all the finesse of a shotgun wired to a door. Later, Vik told her that the runner had basically performed field surgery on her consciousness, piecing it together in a real-time miracle.

V spent the next three months groveling at T-Bug’s door until the runner decided she’d suffered enough and let V back into her good graces- a spot she’d stayed in until her untimely death. Mama Welles claimed V was never quite the same, though she never pointed out how exactly.

Her fourth alarm pinged. Five minutes.

Finished, she grasped Mosley’s dazed face with both hands, hesitating for a brief second before sighing and slotting her mouth to his. Data burst between them, flowing across his cyberware like a wash cycle. After an operation, a patient needed antibiotics to bolster the immune system while the body healed from the invasion. The packets of data V sent skittering through his software fulfilled the same role. Pulling back, she met his eyes with a grin, “Done and done.”

He was staring at her, dazed, features slack with disbelief. The comedown from prolonged agony was as sweet as an orgasm, and the overwhelming wave of relief that bled through their feedback loop made V a little woozy. She giggled before she could stop herself. “That’s impossible….” Mosley was lost; senses shot from the impromptu meld. “How did you do that?”

“I’m a special girl,” V answered glibly, “And I’m lookin’ for some info.”

The words made him laugh, “And you think I’m going just to volunteer information to some petty thief?”

“No,” V responded evenly, predicting the turn of events. “But how ‘bout a trade?”

“Might’ve played your cards too early for that.” He was looking for a win, but V was a step ahead.

“Nah, that was out of the kindness of my heart.” She responded in good humor, changing her angle, “Does ‘Blue-Eyes’ ring any bells?”

V could tell the man wasn’t used to being on the perp side of the interrogation table because his poker face needed work. “What makes you think you have information that Netwatch wouldn’t?” The answer was superficial, and V sensed ta crack in the facade.

“Because I klepped all shit you have stored in your head.” That was a bluff, but V grew up drug-spotting for Valentinos; she’d kept a straight face with much harder men than Mosley. “And you have a lot. Too bad it’s all about as useful as a palm reading.” His flinch was a victory.

“And what would you want in return for this… trade.” If pain made Mosley loose-lipped and spiteful, its absence made him wary but pliant.

“Information on the Blackwall.” She held a hand as Mosley stiffened, “Chill babe, I’m not tryin’ to be Bartmoss here. I’m just dealing with some personal shit and need answers.”

“Don’t we all.” Her sincerity must’ve bled through the link because he didn’t deny her outright, “You said you had everything in my head, so what makes you think I’ve got what you’re looking for?”

Shit, he was sharp- time to employ the good ol’ street tactic of threatening to walk away. Hey, if it worked on the most persistent salesman, no reason it couldn’t work here. “If you don’t have it, I guess I’m wastin’ my time.” She said nonchalantly, turning to make her way back.

V didn’t even make it to the count of three.

“Wait.” He was a runner, driven by the same curiosity and insatiable desire for answers as V. In the war between spite and zeal, zeal won. “Fine. On the condition you tell me how you did… whatever it is you did.”

Folding her arms, V reared back with a raised brow, expression going pensive. In her defense, she’d never been on Mosley’s side of the table either. Interrogation was always someone else’s job back with the Valentinos; V never had the stomach for that kind of persuasion. On the one hand, he wasn’t in any position to be setting conditions. On the other, the alternative was to storm his head for the info- and Mosley might have been arrogant, but he wasn’t stupid. There was no fooling him with that kind of threat, not when she’d gone out of her way to help him in the first place. Somehow, Mosley managed to corner V despite the difference in leverage.

Her mouth twisted, impressed, “Long story short, I got yeeted across the Blackwall. Came back, things went weird.” V didn’t elaborate on the details.

Mosley rolled his eyes, sneering, “You know, an equitable trade is built on good faith.” Her last alarm pinged. V ignored it, staring at the man long enough for his sneer to turn incredulous.

Taking advantage of his gawking silence, V asked, “You said the Blackwall was a garbage bag taped over a busted window.” Holes were a two-way sorta deal. “Other runners comin’ back; what happened to them?” Night City was a maze of hidden medical facilities and lawless doctors; surely, there were experiments and reports for V to steal.

The Netwatch agent was still staring, eyes wide as saucers. “You came back?” The sheer wonder in way he said it made V’s hackles rise. Immediately, Mosley’s demeanor changed, eyes going hot and hard and hungry in a way that rang every alarm in V’s head. She had the sudden psyche-glitching realization that she was the one trapped. Instinct kicked in, and she was barrelling away from the cocoon milliseconds before he was tearing out of it. Shit, shit- V let Mosley stall like some gonk-brained rookie. Crystalline webs exploded around her in a swirling storm, trapping her in a tornado of glimmering code.

Oh yeah, she’d overstayed her welcome. Time to fuckin’ delta. Stat.

“I built the Decon Protocols,” Mosley’s voice echoed around her, resetting the system cycle, “You think I wouldn’t know the overrides?”

He’d been playing her and V fell for it. Fuck, Johnny was going to have a field day if she got out. The eye was growing smaller with each passing nanosecond, window of escape closing. V had no chance against the full brunt of the Decon protocols if they caught her, so she had to think fast and act faster. Speed was her advantage, plus the fact that Mosley was a hair’s breadth of frying his synapses, turning him to caution. Finally recognizing the relic as a hostile source, the system fully turned against her, anticipating her movements with mechanical precision.

V duplicated the relic’s frequencies, scattering the decoy systems in a spreading burst. The Decon Protocols reacted to the copies, splitting apart at the seams like a hydra. With its processing power divided, V dove for the entrance, dodging webs as they came for her with an elegance she couldn’t mimic in realspace.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Mosley materialized in front of her, arms outstretched as if to catch her, but he was too slow while V was fresh with adrenaline. She dove underneath him, but the ghostly echoes of his mind caught up, brushing hers as they passed within millimeters of each other. "Big mistake, helping me," A stab of cringing pain as Mosley tried to penetrate her ICE, doing a spectacular job of wrecking the first few layers before V wrenched herself free, spasming in the process. Behind her, a masculine snarl of rage spurred her to panic and she summoned her strength to keep dodging. One by one, her decoys glitched out of existence, but they’d served their purpose as distractions, and V sliced through the thinned barrier between herself and freedom.

Bursting beyond the door, V triggered the cascade shutdown and wrenched herself free of the subnet, pain splintering into her consciousness as she heaved herself off the floor to run for the stairs. Not sparing a second to check behind her, V pushed forward, grimacing through the loud, screeching alarms. This time, she chose the elevator route, jumping through the emergency hatch to climb the shaftway until she reached a maintenance tunnel. The garage was mostly empty, probably because the guards ran inside in response to the alarms. Ducking behind the vans, V had enough RAM left to toggle thermoptic camo, bypassing the turrets to crawl outside and scale the side gates.

Several blocks later, V found a convenient alleyway and stumbled behind the dumpster, like crawling back into the womb. Collapsing in a sore heap, she fumbled her bag, and two Maxdocs later, the tension eased somewhat. Her hands came back bloody when she rubbed her face, eyes and ears bleeding from the strain.

“You just can’t fucking listen,” Johnny materialized like one of those aunties who couldn’t wait to rub salt into the wound. He paced, agitated, “I fucking told you not to go through the door. Jesus-” Shifting his weight, the rocker knelt in a glitching squat, “I know the relic’s scoopin’ out whatever mush you’ve got for a brain, but I gotta ask, were you always this stupid?” The question had an undertone of sincere wonderment, sending V into painful giggles.

“Yeah, kinda.” Wiping the blood on her shirt, V leaned back, feeling the return of her best friend, the Migraine. “Plus, I needed info.”

Johnny snorted, sitting beside her, “Not that you got it.” A laugh, “Pencil-pusher saw you were out of your element and played you good.” His fingers strummed an imaginary guitar, and V hummed the tune out loud.

“I guess some mysteries are gonna stay unanswered.” A shame, but maybe it was for the best. V was fooling herself by looking for answers to problems she wouldn’t be around long enough to experience. But the problem of the migraine was, unfortunately, very present. V groaned, leaning forward to wedge her head between her knees. They were getting longer and more debilitating each time, each event leaving her out cold for hours.

“Call circbrain.” Johnny suddenly ordered, no argument in his tone, “At least pass out somewhere safe. Don’t tell me you went to all that trouble just to get robbed in an alleyway.”

Normally, V would put up a fight, but she didn’t even have enough to offer token resistance. Johnny was right, and he knew it, probably saving his strength for a world-sized lecture for later. V pinged Del with a burst of static, getting confirmation before she’d even finished sending the message. “We a fan now?” Hauling herself forward, she scraped her way up the wall and limped back out. Jacket was probably fucked from the grime anyways.

“Never a fan, always a frontrunner,” Johnny replied with a platitude corny enough to be sold on a t-shirt before disappearing with an infuriating chuckle.

In the distance, Delamain’s sleek chassis turned the corner. V waved it down, taking the few seconds of time before he arrived to think about how lucky she was that he was always fortuitously close by. A wry grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, touching that an AI with a client list richer than most cities considered her important enough to keep such a close eye.

Car No. 21 stopped in front of her and V stepped in with a grateful sigh. “Hey Del, It’s good to see you,” She said in response to his greeting, eyes starting to droop as exhaustion settled in. “Take me somewhere safe?”

“Always,” Delamain responded and his reassurance lulled V to a cold sleep.

#cyberpunk 2077 #Delamain #Delamain/V #johnny silverhand #bryce mosley #we finally got this bitch out #Why yes Netwatch does have a giant archive of memes

0 notes

badheart · 7 years

Text

meanwhile i dreamed that i played for the first time overwatch ... my mind was not kind with me but realistic, my team welcomed me and all were super friendly but once the first mission came, was clear that m the absolute loser and ... i have disappointed them all.

#♚「 ooc. 」#so sorrryyy #i felt also so disappointed in myself #but damn was i glad it was just a dream #so embarrassing #- is weird how i always dream more stuff when its already morning #never wakin up in the middle of the night #luckily

1 note · View note

chil2de · 3 years

Note

Your sharing a bed with the JJK men hc's were incredible 😩 special mentions for Megumi's bed head, Nanami being a secret cuddle bug, and Yuuta having to drink both iced coffees (that fucking sent me fjdndnfd I could picture it so clearly).

You're super talented so could I, er, possible get a NSFW version? 👀 💳💥💥💥💳💳💥💳💥

Thank you so much 🥺💕

hello anonie!!! thank you dear i’m so glad you liked them!! please the credit card emojis had me cackling LMFAOOOO you really made my whole day out here!!!(THE ICED COFFEE WAS MY FAVOURITE PART TOO)

well i managed to hit the max amount of characters allowed in a tumblr post with five characters alone so i’m going to have to split this up into several posts. it just kinda happened ig

characters in this post: itadori yuuji, gojo satoru, okkotsu yuuta, fushiguro toji (megumi was supposed to be here but i had to reserve him for next post😔)

this work is nsfw. if you’re new here, please read my disclaimer before proceeding. thank you and enjoy!

based off of this post

itadori

- itadori would prob be a ‘deer in the headlights’ if you woke him up in the middle of the night

- but after that? shit, he’s so nice to you. so kind and generous for his baby girl. whether he’s fucking you ‘cause he thinks you might be able to sleep after an orgasm or there’s just an incessant desire for him- doesn’t really matter all that much to itadori. he loves you either way :)

- gets horny so easily LMFAO

- would 100% dick you down if you asked him to and i like to think that he still keeps his really sweet personality during sex cause aaaa he would be so soft and reassuring

- hardcore dom yuuji sounds sexy as all hell but let’s be real… this man won’t kill a fly and apologises for stepping on ants. only exception being angry sex but overall reserving hard dom for sukuna :)

you pepper tiny kisses onto itadori’s face, treating him with the utmost care like handling fine china. his skin feels so soft against your lips, and he smells very faintly of milky soap. there’s some traces of brand cologne on his shirt, as well as his natural scent.

“yuuujiii-“ you coo, blowing air very gently. when he doesn’t stir, you run your fingertips through a bundle of his cotton candy tainted hair. it evokes a reaction from him, so you continue to press him.

“y-uuuu-ji!”

after a few moments, itadori lets out a soft whine before grumbling incoherent blabber. “i won’t eat the pineapple! kugisaki will scream at me!”

you giggle before prodding him again, when finally he relents and jolts awake, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted at how close your face is to his.

“‘s it morning yet?” he wrinkles his nose, stifling a yawn. you emit a hum in thought before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling you into him. itadori squeaks in surprise when he feels you latch your lips onto his neck, suckling and carefully breaking the bonds underneath his sensitive skin. his moan comes out groggy, still laced with sleep.

“that drives me crazy, you know that, right?” itadori laughs, though his voice comes as a wobble.

“i know. and they look so good on you too, hm?” you giggle, caressing one hand from his neck and then down to the hem of his shirt. your fingertips flutter against his bare skin and he shivers physically and audibly. you smooth your palm flat along his chest, dragging your nails carefully against his muscles.

“kinda.. wanna.. go to.. sleep.. but i don’t.. wanna fall asleep…” itadori mumbles against his pillow. the fabric muffles most of it, but there’s a strain in his voice that leads you to believe he’s moaning lightly. guess after sukuna ripped his heart out, this area hasn’t been quite the same, huh?

“so? then go to sleep, yuuji. i’ll be fine-“ “-no way! i gotta take care of you”

“so why don’t you?”

“‘m going to! i was asleep just half a minute ago!”

“and besides-“

he shifts himself up into a sitting position, leaning his back against the headrest. itadori opens his arms, motioning for you to crawl on top of him. without any haste, you clamber over his built frame, ghosting just over the print of his hard dick.

“not that i mind but- we did, you know, in the morning already-“ “oh, shit, sorry- it’s totally fine if you don’t want t-“ “-just messing with you!”

itadori pulls your neck down and gifts you with the same treatment you were offering him earlier. his tongue is hot and wet against your skin and you can already feel the precipitation forming at the back of your knees. calloused yet tender hands smooth around your waist and he smooths his palms over your shoulder blades.

after itadori’s satisfied with the mark he left, you can’t help but groan a little into his mouth when his lips suddenly claim yours. he drinks you up, relying solely on your taste like he’s drowning and you’re the air he needs.

itadori takes his sweet time cherishing you, or rather it’s still his state of half slumber, but you can feel a dull ache prick your abdomen. you scratch up his shirt, motioning for him to take it off. you’re unsure what comes over you, but shit, you don’t want him- you need him.

“heyheyhey, ‘s okay. don’t worry, i got you.”

“i’ll take care of you.”

“just relax, okay? i got this.” he only coos with sweet reassurances, peppering small kisses and handling you with the utmost precision.

you whimper, balancing your palms flat against his abdomen for additional support as you sink down onto itadori’s cock. he lets out a hum of content, forehead bumping against yours as he allows you to adjust.

“you good?” he murmurs after a few moments, capturing a few strands of your hair in between his fingertips. you nod meekly and itadori hisses out a breathy exhale. he’s sure that if he goes rough as shit you might end up more broken than being able to sleep, so he screws his eyes shut and exhales to maintain his composure.

blazing hot lips scrape against your ear, and his voice comes out in a husky tone.

“tell me how you want it.”

by the lords of everything and all that is holy, itadori only chants the same phrase over and over in his mind. it’s a miracle that he’s able to think straight with all the blood rushing to his cock. he’s more than happy to take it slow, reward you with slow and long strokes while he showers you with high praises. but he can’t ignore the twitch that he experiences when he envisions that pretty lil fucked out face of yours, all messy and ruined for him.

you mutter that you have no preference, that you don’t care because anything he’ll do for you is perfect, and it only gives him a beaming smile at your words.

itadori grabs the scrunched up ball of his shirt that he was wearing before ripping the fabric into half with his bare teeth. you watch his eyebrows perk when he notices how fucking hot you just found that, evident with the way your walls fluttered around him.

“here, babe.”

you part your lips and he stuffs the fabric into your mouth, there’s a little bit of excess hanging out, but he reminds you that you look sexy as hell either way, on top of his dick like that with your hands on his chest, legs spread, face flushed and ready for him.

“don’t wanna be wakin’ anyone else up.”

yuuta

this man is about to end my whole career

yuuta wouldn’t bring it up on his own accord just because… respect.. and he doesn’t want to pressure you or make you uncomfortable into doing things you’re not ready to.

it’s kind of a gray area for him because he doesn’t relish the idea of bringing up sensitive and/or extremely awkward topics so he really said ‘i’ll leave it up to future me’s problem’

but holy shit. let me absolutely tell you.

the second you hint at it? anything of the sorts? 0 to 100. he is FREAKY you cannot tell me he’s innocent just LOOK at the man

can make you scream with ease. all that practice he’s been doing with handling katanas? he doesn’t need his dick to make you cum. will gladly lick up your leftover juices and remark with a smile on his face how ‘it tastes good, angel’

similarly to itadori, i think he would be sweet and patient when asking for your preferences, etc, but after that you’re gonna have to find something to bite onto

“and? what’d you tell her?” yuuta remarks from over his fanned out deck of three cards. his gaze flickers to you as he awaits a response before using his index and middle finger to lay down a +4 card.

“red, by the way.”

you huff and glare at your boyfriend, picking up four cards and attempting to hold them in such a way that they don’t all fall and rattle to the floor. truth be told? you’re seriously a sore fuckin’ loser. you don’t know how he does it, but you’ve never managed to win a game against yuuta.

“i told maki-san that it’s her problem, not mine. if she’s so pressed about people taking them, why does she keep noodles stored in the fridge? really, noodles in the fridge? they’re really spicy as well! made my nose run like hell.” you scoff in distaste, throwing down a random red card on the pile.

“you totally ate them didn’t you?” yuuta giggles, beaming you a wide smile.

“also.. told her that i didn’t see them instead but- yeah.”

“aren’t you worried she’ll find out? oh, and, uno.”

“she might just beat me up to be honest, and, uno, you say? not anymore, love.” you sneer, throwing down a +4 card.

“i want green.”

“i’d protect you.” yuuta states over his cards. you feel like cracking a joke and laughing, but there’s absolutely zero implication on his facial features to show that he’s joking. that, and his serious tone, of course.

you flip your cards down onto the table and yuuta squeaks, pointing towards them.

“uh- i can see your cards-“

“it’s okay, not like i was gonna win anyway.”

at this point, yuuta’s mind races a hundred miles an hour. he’s panicking, blood pressure raised, heart thumping and throat clogged. oh, shit, did he do something wrong? did he upset you? is it ‘cause he said he’d protect you with no regards to the fact that you’re perfectly capable of fending yourself off against maki? fuck, he’s such a god damn screw-up, can’t even take care of his girlfriend correct-

“hey.”

your fingertips slide around his neck, hands interlocking at the base of his head. your thighs balance on his lap and you straddle him, legs either side of his.

he can’t help but hitch his breath, holding it in as though one wrong move and you would dematerialise.

“what’re you thinking about in that head of yours?”

whether you’re referencing his mini panic attack just now, or if you’re referring to all the multiple times he’s battled just bending you over and railing the absolute shit out of you, there’s not much room for debate when you brush your clothed sex up against the print of his dick.

yuuta snakes his slender hands around your throat, holding it in place. you can feel the arousal pool and wash over you, and you’d be more than surprised if you hadn’t soaked through your clothes.

he lets out a breathy laugh, devastating your stomach with butterflies due to how attractive he sounds. yuuta’s soft lips brush the shell of your ear and his other hand moves to rest on your waist,

“why don’t i show you?”

before you can utter a tease something along the lines of “show me what? how you’re too scared to hit me in bed?” you’re already down, flipped over and bent over the table you and yuuta were using moments prior ago for uno. the cards have splattered all over the wooden floor and you only hiss in discomfort as the cool surface scratches against your delicate skin. your boyfriend towers over you, leaning down as his torso clicks into place against your back. even through his titanium white jacket, you can feel his calm and collected heartbeat. he rests his head on your shoulder, nudging his face into you.

“don’t scream, okay? or, try not to, at least-“

his warm fingertips ghost over the curve of your ass, where he pinches the skin there before delivering a loud slap. you squeak, back arching as you jolt from the action. he proceeds by grabbing the inside of your thighs, long middle finger hoisting around your underwear and pulling it to the side. he makes note of the red lingerie you’re wearing and gives you a small chuckle, peppering a kiss to the side of your face.

“-unless, of course-“

“-you’d prefer everyone hear me fuck you stupid.”

“safe word’s blue, angel. i love you and thank you.”

truth be told, you were never sure what to expect from yuuta. hell, you’d never really seen the man’s dick before, sure you caught glimpses in the morning whenever he’d wake up but it’s really not the same. nothing in the world can compare to the first time you felt his piping hot tip brush up against your slicked cunt. and it was embarrassing, actually, the way your pussy was seething for him already.

with a firm hold on your tailbone, yuuta utilises his lower body strength to ram his dick all the way inside. there’s a garbled and choked moan that hisses from you when you feel your walls wrap and deform around the girth of yuuta’s dick. you whine even more so when you can physically feel a thick vein that decorates his shaft.

“the mirror.” yuuta commands in a low tone, redirecting you to glance at the same mirror you’d always fantasised about him fucking you in front of.

his eyes are half lidded, riddled with concentration. it reminds you of that feral and focused gaze he gets during serious battles.

“don’t look at me. look here.”

you trail the outline of yuuta’s arm veins as a result of him rolling his uniform sleeves up; following his v line that points towards his dick. you can only gawk in awe when you realise you’ve taken him to the base of his shaft.

his gaze locks with yours for a split second and he snaps his hips out until just about his tip is visible inside your cunt.

and shit, if his pretty pink cock isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, especially with that attractive curve. you’re sure the gesture is just to wind you up, but you can’t help but swoon at him showcasing his pride to you.

“so- mmhf- pretty-“ you whine, words jumbled and breath caught when he slams his dick inside without any prior warning. you can only shriek in exclamation when his tip bruises your cervix, and you’re unsure whether you lament the sensation or not.

he only gives you a cheerful hum, reminding you of his usual cheery disposition. it’s not until then that you realise how much of a fucking beast he’s acting right now.

“right? i’ll put it to good use, i promise.”

gojo

- i know we’re all thinking the same thing here lmfao

- trying to sleep? good for you, now, open your legs for satoru.

- oh you can’t sleep? atta girl, down on your knees for satoru.

- bye i can literally imagine gojo saying some dumbass shit like “think you were trying to sleep but i couldn’t help but think how good my dick would look down your throat like that. sorry, love, you’re not sleeping tonight.”

you blink your eyes in turn with the cicadas chirping aside, stifling a yawn. everything around you down to the very last detail screams at you to sleep, but you just cannot. from the pitch black night that floods the room obscurely, to gojo’s even and quiet breathing beside you. you’ve tried it all. you’ve counted an excess amount of sheep, you’ve tensed and relaxed your body more than you can remember. hell, no matter how many times you’ve flipped the pillow you always seemed to feel less exhausted each time.

you can’t watch netflix, because you’ve binged all your favourite shows. it’s not that you’d wake gojo up because, who cares? by the time you finish scrolling through the endless lists it’ll be time to get up.

you ponder over the things you can do, continuing to subconsciously blink furiously. that is until gojo makes note of your stupid actions and starts giggling like a high schooler at his first sleepover.

“what the hell are you doing?” he snorts, cackling into the pillow like it’s the best joke he’s heard for quite some time.

“shut up, satoru. i’m trying to sleep you ass.” you tut at him, berating him for ruining your divine concentration.

gojo audibly shifts onto his stomach, his right arm crosses over the back of his head as he lazily rests his palm onto his scalp. the other arm preoccupies itself by landing it smack bang onto your chest, fingers wandering up to cup your breast.

“satoru, huh? that’s daddy for ya” he remarks, still giggling in a state of half asleep.

“uh-huh. goodnight.” you dismiss him and his nonsense.

“just go take a shower. always helps me whenever i can’t sleep.”

“hm? you’re giving me actual good advice and being a normal boyfriend? i think i might be asleep already, this is the best dream ever.” you remark sarcastically, prying gojo’s glued wrist off of your breast and sitting up. you could go for a shower, actually. you’re not sure why but it’s always so therapeutic to take one at night rather than the morning.

“huuuh? how could you say that? you’re so mean, (y/n)-chaan! i offered you my love and the world and this is how you repay m-“

“-goodnight satoru. i love you.”

“don’t think professing your love for me will change my mind! i’m still upset at you right now, young lady!” gojo shouts from over his pillow, exclaiming and irritating you in the way he knows how to best.

“yeah, yeah. okay.” you mumble softly to yourself, bearing a wide grin from ear to ear nonetheless.

when you move to crank the water on in the shower, you realise that you didn’t bring along a change of clothes. you momentarily pop back into the bedroom to ransack the drawer for anything that you can find.

“are you back to apologise for being so mean to me?” gojo whines and you can see the pout evident on him even when it’s pitch black.

“no, i’m just here for clothes, satoru.”

you hear him mumble something but it’s muffled by the sheets he’s underneath so you don’t heed any attention to it and resume in taking a shower to help keep your insomnia at bay.

with a ginger step and a small ‘oopf’, you heave yourself into the large shower that only a headass like gojo would bother buying. it’s reminiscent to what a hot tub looks like on the inside, with surrounding jets practically in a full 360 degrees. the things so steep that there’s a small step up in front of the shower outside the actual structure. it must have cost quite the fortune.

you reach in for the built in shelf to grab ahold of some of your toiletries as you allow the water to fall in a gentle sprinkle, almost like rain. there’s an audible squeeze reminiscent to trying to get the last ounces of ketchup as you apply some body gel to your hands, lathering it up.

despite standing, the warmth of the water leads your muscles to feel less tense. the only noteworthy downside is that the running water is tremendously loud. how on earth is gojo sleeping through all that racket?

slender fingertips ghost over your inner thighs. you can feel his wet and sturdy chest in place against your spine.

“surprised to see me?”

“you know i can’t let my baby talk shit like that.”

really? that’s his issue at hand here?

“so which is it?”

“acting like an intolerant brat because you’re tired or ‘cause you wanna get dicked down?”

gojo loops his arm underneath your leg, bending it up. you almost topple over in the process and you lay one hand flat against the tile.

“don’t answer that. sometimes it’s so obvious that you’re such a whore for my dick.”

“huh?! what the shit are you saying?” you snap at how correct he is.

gojo yanks your face back, digging his fingers into your cheeks as he forces you to face him. it almost sends your neck into two pieces, straining to look back at him.

“oh, really princess? just the other day you were begging me to fuck you”

“remember that? couldn’t wait so you rode me in the car? you know, baby, all you gotta do is ask.”

your legs tremble and psyche wobbles when he pries your mouth open with his thumb, promptly before spitting into it.

“don’t bother with the bullshit. i’ll play the games, not you.”

he drags his hard cock against the curve of your ass, slapping it against you.

“i don’t think i feel like fuckin’ you right now.” gojo sneers, humming sardonically. his lips quickly latch onto yours when you spin around to meet his gaze. like the fucker he is, gojo moans and whines into the kiss- lips ravaging you whole and tongue capturing your essence.

“baby girl, i was gonna let you top me. you know i don’t let anyone do that.”

his long middle finger prods against your cunt, forcing itself in with ease.

“damn, you’re soaked. you really wanted to milk me dry that bad?”

you hate him. hate him so fucking bad. he flashes you that attractive smile of his, azure eyes sparkling and snow white hair disturbed with water.

gojo pulls his finger out before sucking onto it in front of you, lapping all the excess arousal off.

“i’m not playing with you tonight.”

toji

- i literally don’t even need to say anything here

- just be sure to make a hospital check up appointment or something

- um-i uh- please remember to breathe after this one? maybe touch some grass? ALSO my first time writing for toji AAA i hope he’s okay

maybe if you don’t breathe? nah, that wouldn’t work. there’s still air acting around your limbs when you move so you’d be disturbing the barriers there. let’s see… maybe bit by bit? surely if you slowly inched his shirt up? then again, wouldn’t toji chew you out halfway through? maybe you should just give it to him straight up? just slip your hand under his shirt. come on. but he looks so peaceful, sleeping like that.. long eyelashes fluttered closed, lips relaxed and not scowling. his eyebrows are softly arched. he looks so soft, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every breath.

fuck it. just do it. cuddle him already.

you muster up all your courage in one fell swoop and you bend one leg over toji, resting it just above his groin. your right arm sprawls out over his chest and your hand rests against his toned arm. he’s already sleeping with one arm bent up with his hand supporting the back of his head, so you utilise the free real estate to nestle your head in the crook of where his shoulder and collarbone meet.

when he doesn’t move after a while, you deem your life to be safe and exhale with ease.

“you’re not asleep.” toji states in a groggy, husky tone. it’s supposed to be a question, but, coming from him it almost sounds like a challenge.

“yes?” you squeak out meekly.

“‘yes?’ you asleep or not?”

“i can’t sleep again.” you murmur against his shirt and he exhales a small sigh. the arm that you’re clinging onto moves to draw small circles on your thigh that rests on toji.

“when’d you notice?” you inquire, glancing down at his large wrists.

“like five minutes ago. nice try, kid.” toji snorts indifferently, chuckling at your behaviour.

when you don’t make an effort to respond, toji’s interest peaks and he lets out a small hum of intrigue when he follows your gaze.

he turns his head, brushing his lips up against your temples.

“see anything interesting down there?”

“as a matter of fact-“

you nestle yourself in between toji’s large and built thighs, digits curling around the waistband of his boxers. he only smirks at you through the dark, cock twitching through the fabric. you notice toji hover his hips up so that you can slide his boxers off for him and you happily oblige.

“-i do.” you chime, licking your lips.

it’s cute, though, if you thought toji was gonna let you handle him like that all by yourself.

as you kiss a trail up his thick shaft, toji yanks ahold fistfuls of your hair before grabbing your face off of his cock.

“who said you could suck my dick? that’s real cute.”

“thinking you actually have a place in my house.”

“i didn’t train you to be such a depraved slut. know your fucking place, because this isn’t it.”

“how many times do i gotta tell you? you don’t belong here. look around. do you see anything that shows a woman lives here? no? that’s because you’re nothing but a fuck doll for me.”

toji hisses out profanities at the gag you spew when he slams your tiny little mouth back down on his dick.

“lose the teeth you imbecile. unless you’re trying to tell me that you can’t suck my dick properly.”

incessant whines and garbled sentences are muffled by toji’s cock. whatever remnants you had of your vision are nothing but a blur as tears stream your cheeks, nose running and sniffles resurface in a repeating pattern over the slick sounds of slurping and gagging. your mouth stretches as far as it can go and the corners of your lips shriek in despair. you can feel the skin there stretch and pull beyond what’s considered normal.

even through all that, you manage to glance up at toji through your water logged lashes. you’ll be a good girl for him. you need to be.

“fuuuck. that’s a pretty sight.” he grumbles and a deep chuckle resonates through his chest. within a few moments, toji fumbles to reach for something.

you can only wince and screw your eyes at the suddenly blinding flash of a light in front of you. one can only assume he’s taken a photo of you in your humiliating state.

you can feel the fear settle into your veins when that telltale ping of a message being sent vibrates throughout the room. if you were to listen hard enough, you could hear a notification go off in the next room over.

your throat feels raw, jaw tense and locked open. it’s been a good twenty minutes of toji face fucking you to teach you a valid lesson. it’s all in the will of him wanting to drag this on, savouring every miniscule slurp, whimper or gasp. when his strokes start to feel sloppier than usual, you can’t help but feel relieved.

as you squirm about due to toji shooting hot ropes of his thick cum down your throat, the door softly clicks open.

“megumi. you’re just in time.”

“she’s way more obedient than your mom ever used to be.”

494 notes · View notes

satendou · 4 years

Text

⟼ atsumu miya

⍣ cockwarming mini series | previous: shirabu | next: kita | 7/?

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: atsumu/reader

⇢ au: aged up!au

⇢ summary: even exhausted, he can’t control himself

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: needy atsumu, cockwarming, consensual somnophilia (technically talked out about outside of the story)

⇢ word count: 1684

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: this one is a little different since it was written before i had the idea for an actual series, so it wasn’t written with that in mind.

The door opened on you in the middle of a TV binge, watching some show you had been meaning to watch for ages and finally decided to start tonight while you waited for Atsumu to get home. He stepped into the apartment with his bag slung over his shoulder, dragging his feet as he kicked off his shoes.

Dropping a kiss on your forehead, he shuffled off towards the bedroom without a word and a few moments later you heard the shower start. Unpausing your show, it was almost an hour later that he came back out dressed in shorts and one of his club t-shirts, smirking as he collapsed onto the couch next to you.

“We match, babe,” he said, tugging at the sleeve of the t-shirt you wore. He often liked to tease you for stealing his clothes, scooping you up in his arms and nuzzling your neck, telling you how cute you looked in them. It made him feel even more possessive than usual, seeing his name emblazoned across your back, letting everyone know who you belonged to.

You giggled, lifting his arm up and snuggling against him. He was warm and smelled like body wash, his blond hair ruffled and unkempt from the towel, the very definition of handsome. Tilting your head back so you could see him, you trailed your fingertips down his cheek. “We triplets now, ‘Tsumu?”

The next episode of your show started, but you paid only half-attention to it as Atsumu began to rub your thigh, long fingers skimming from your knee to where the hem of his shirt came half-way down your thighs. As if by intuition-- or by the fact that you rarely wore anything underneath his t-shirts-- he knew pushing it up would expose your panties.

He shifted, already feeling himself starting to harden just from your proximity and, though he wouldn’t admit it, the fact that you were wearing his clothes. You always found it amusing how easily aroused he got and sometimes he was sure you did things you knew would turn him on on purpose. But he could feel exhaustion creeping in, his already hooded eyes narrowing further as he tried to stay awake.

Smiling up at him when his head drooped onto yours, you pushed at his shoulder to wake him again. He grumbled a little and gave you a sleepy glare, watching you turn off the TV and lights before you tugged him to his feet.

He followed you down the hall, making it as difficult as possible by draping his arms around your shoulders and putting weight on you so that you had to half carry him to the bedroom. When you finally got there, you pushed him roughly onto the mattress, flicking off the lightswitch while he shucked his shirt before you crawled in beside him. When you tried to tuck yourself into his side, you were unceremoniously rolled over so he could mold himself to your back, his arm draping over your side.

It didn’t take you long to start drifting off, surrounded by his warmth and even breathing in your ear. In your half-asleep state it took you a moment to realize his fingers were pushing your shirt up, skimming over your stomach and ribs. Squirming at the ticklish sensation, you could feel his cock dig into your ass and sighed, rolling your eyes.

Really, you should have known. Had there been a single night since you first slept with Atsumu that didn’t end with you being stuffed full of his cock?

The answer was no.

But the fingers that were plucking your nipples were much softer than normal, twisting and tweaking as he cupped them without squeezing, and you realized what you were in for, wetness pooling in your panties already. It was unlike him to take things so slow but you were more than ready to see what he had in store.

He left your nipples to trail back down your exposed stomach to the band of your panties, rolling them down and you squirmed to help him, kicking them off your ankles. He pulled your leg back to hook over his, leaving your drenched pussy open to his probing fingers.

“‘Tsumu,” you murmured, hips jerking as he swirled over your clit, digging your fingers into the pillow beneath your head. You made sure to grind back on the outline of his cock and his breathing stuttered, a low groan reaching your ears before he drifted lower, circling your clit. Your hips stuttered, breath hitching as one long finger dipped into you with ease, walls fluttering around it. “Please, baby. I want you inside me.”

His breathy chuckle ghosted over your shoulder, where he was pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “Yer so needy for me, baby. I haven’t even done anything yet,” he whispered even as he teased another finger inside you.

He crooked them up, immediately seeking out the puffy bundle of nerves on your wall as his thumb assaulted your clit and your quiet mewls of his name were music to his tired ears.

“Only want you, ‘Mu,” you whined, wrapping your hands around his wrist. He was guiding you towards your high at rapid speed, you walls fluttering around him. “I’m gonna--”

“Good girl,” he growled, nipping at the column of your throat. “I need ya to cum for me.”

His gruff demand pitched you over the edge and you came around his fingers, tossing your head back as your throaty moan filled the silent room, hips bucking in time with his thrusts. He didn’t slow down until you were trembling against him, eeking out every bit of pleasure he could. When he finally withdrew his fingers, they found their way to your lips and you wrapped your tongue around them, tasting your essence while he struggled out of his boxers.

Using your spit to lube his cock, he lined himself up, sinking the whole of his length into your dripping hole. You spasmed around him, walls straining to take his girth and then he set your leg back down, creating a perfectly tight seal. He was panting in your ear, a low groan of your name leaving him.

“Yer so fuckin’ tight, princess. I don’t know if this is gonna work tonight,” he said, working not to jerk his hips up into you. It was his usual phrase, one you knew wasn’t true because this was his favorite thing to do when he was too tired to fuck you. “Don’t move.”

You squirmed when his hands gripped your hips, stopping the slow roll you had started. He was so thick, his tip settled as deep as it could go, his balls brushing your still sensitive clit and you wanted him to move so desperately.

He grunted when you tightened around him, his self-control slipping a fraction. His hips jerked, forcing himself deeper into you. “Stop it, ya damn brat.” His playful voice dropped an octave when you relaxed, craning your neck to look at him and his lips met yours in a needy kiss before he said, “Wanna fall asleep like this, buried in your warm pussy.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice again and snuggled back into him, his knees tucking into yours. He was achingly hard but his breathing evened out in the silent moments that followed and you closed your eyes, ignoring the aching need between your legs as you waited for the inevitable.

Sure enough, an hour or two later-- you really weren’t sure because the alarm clock was turned away from your view-- his hips rutted up into you. You had been dozing at last, the aching need finally fading away to something manageable, though you remained soaking wet around him. A low moan met your ears, startling you into semi-awakeness and the feel of his cock dragging along your walls catapulted you into full blown arousal all over again.

“Atsu-mu,” you whined, reaching up to grip his hair and he grunted, his hips smacking into yours at a steady pace, plunging his cock in and out of you. “Are you-- even awake?”

“Fuck, how could I not be, with ya squeezin’ me like that, princess?” he asked, and his voice was thick with sleep. His thrusts were sloppy and without rhythm, your pleasure building every time his balls met your clit and it didn’t take long for you to cum messily all over him, the crown of his cock grazing the sweet spot inside of you over and over again. “God I love ya,” he groaned, feeling you flutter and spasm around him.

It launched him into his own orgasm, already pent up from earlier and then waking up to find you soaking around him still. He never could help himself from fucking into you, waking you up in the process.

You were moaning his name, fingers tugging painfully at his hair while the others were wrapped up in the sheets, uncaring about anything but how good you felt until his hips slowed. Still inside you, he buried his face in the back of your neck while he regained his breath, hands letting go of their deathgrip on your hips, and you chuckled.

“I love you too, you little horndog,” you said, covering his wandering hand with yours. Linking your fingers together, you lifted his hand to your lips.

He squeezed it and snickered, kissing your neck. “I like wakin’ up to this,” he said, shifting his hips for emphasis.

“I can tell,” you said, pulling away to crawl off the bed. He let you go with a whine, making grabby hands at you to come back, and you shook your head. “Nuh uh, I gotta go clean up. I’ll be back in a sec.”

But tired Atsumu was needy Atsumu and he was wrapped around you in a split second, hindering your progress into the bathroom. You sighed in feigned annoyance, your attempt

s to make him let go half-hearted at best as you said, “You are insufferable.”

“Yeah, but ya love me, _____. Admit it.”

“Absolutely not.”

⇥ masterlist

⍣ cockwarming mini series | previous: shirabu | next: kita

#atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #.cockwarmingseries

414 notes · View notes

blueeyedheizer · 3 years

Note

I haven't seen anything sfw for my handsome boi so #4 and #23 for michael gray

#4 “I know it’s 2am but can we meet up somewhere?”

#23 “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

i know !! ive only had one sfw request for michael so far (this one being the second)👀 you guys are so thirsty for him, damn 😌 (and thats very understandable) anyway, thanks for requesting !

You rubbed your eyes as you dragged yourself out of bed, your hair a mess as you trudged downstairs to get the phone. You glanced out the window on your way, sighing when noticing the full moon. No wonder you had a hard time falling asleep.

"Hello?" you mumbled.

"Hi, love. I didn't wake you up did I?" Michael's voice answered from the other side. He didn't sound tired in the slightest.

"No, I couldn't sleep." you answered. "Is everything okay?" the line went silent for a moment, causing you to frown.

"Look...I know it’s 2am, but can we meet up somewhere?” he told you.

You questioned him as to why he wanted to meet in the middle of the night, and although he didn't give you a proper answer you agreed. It's not like you could ever say no to him anyway. Michael told you to meet him at your favorite pub down the street before hanging up.

Surprisingly you arrived there first, taking your usual seat at the bar and ordering yourself a glass of water.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" an unfamiliar voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You looked over your shoulder and smiled politely, shaking your head. "What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone? Are you waiting for someone?" he asked. He was a boy about your age, maybe about three or four years older.

"Yes, waiting for someone." you smiled.

"I'm Steve." he held his hand out for you to shake.

"Y/N."

The waiter took Steve's drink order and so the small talk began; surprisingly you found yourself enjoying his company. He seemed to be a genuinely nice guy, nothing like the ones you usually met in Birmingham. You almost forgot why you were here in the first place until a throat clearing interrupted your conversation.

"I'm guessing your boyfriend's here." Steve stated.

"Oh, he’s— uh, he’s not my boyfriend.” You spoke softly as you looked down at the glass in your hands, immediately regretting opening your mouth. You could feel Michael's stare, and although you weren't looking directly at him, you just knew his fingers were curled into a fist. Steve sensed your discomfort and chose not to get in between whatever was going to happen; he shot you a soft smile and got up from his seat, gathered his coat and hat then wished you good night before leaving.

"So, not your boyfriend, huh." Michael said, marking a pause. "We’re not just friends Y/N, and you fucking know it."

You froze at that, eyes meeting his.

"Michael—" you tried but he scoffed, shaking his head before storming off. The bar was practically empty at this time of the night, but the few people that were still here had their eyes on you.

Quickly, you ran after him and managed to stop him before he got to his car. He already had lit up a cigarette, it being held tightly between his lips.

"Michael please, wait." you called, grabbing his wrist.

"Just leave it, Y/N. Go home."

"Don't you dare leave me here and pretend the fault's all mine, Michael!" you suddenly yelled, stopping him in his tracks. "'We're not just friends'!? Well you've never been fucking clear with me! I've been trying to figure out what we are for months, but guess what? I can't! I fucking can't, because everytime I walk by your office, there's another girl bent over your desk. Everytime I think something is happening between us, you ruin everything by adding another girl to the equation." you continued, a stray tear falling down your cheek. "So what's the truth, huh?! What do you want, Michael?” you yelled, “What are we?!"

You were once again met with silence, Michael's only reaction being to lower his eyes to the ground. You scoffed bitterly, glancing at him one last time before waking back into the pub, secretly hoping he'd follow you. You knew expressing his feelings had never been his forte, but you were tired of being the one to pay the price.

#blueeyedheizer prompts #michael gray fanfic #michael gray imagine #michael gray x you #michael gray x reader #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders x reader

116 notes · View notes

arrowflier · 3 years

Note

A fic prompt if you'd like: Mickey opening up to Ian about details of his childhood and the abuse he suffered. In 11x06 after Terry is brought home Mickey says he could do anything to him now like "piss on him and let him air dry" and "use his mouth as an ash tray". To me it sounds like those are examples of things that Terry has done to him.

Content warning: child abuse

the things he did

“You’re so much better than that.”

Ian’s words echoed in Mickey’s head while the cooked dinner together. They resonated as they sat side by side at the table to eat, shoulders brushing, rings glinting in the harsh lights of the kitchen. They played on loop as they retired to the living room, alone for once with everyone else out for the night who knew where, sitting close on the sofa as mindless sitcoms droned on from the television.

“What if I’m not?” Mickey asked abruptly, when it got to be too much.

Ian turned to look at him, face full of shadows in the blue light from the tv.

“What if you’re not what?” he questioned, confused, and Mickey shifted away from him, bringing a knee onto the sofa between them to face his husband.

“Not better than that,” he answered, and saw Ian realize what he was talking about. It was in the way his eyes softened in that harsh light, the way his lips turned down at the thought that Mickey might question himself.

He always took it personally when Mickey did that.

“You are, Mickey,” Ian reassured instantly, just as expected. “I know you are.”

Mickey shook his head, looking down. His fingers scratched at the label of his beer, tearing it from the condensation-wet bottle.

“You don’t,” he said quietly. “No one fucking does.” He shook his head, looked up again into Ian’s green eyes. “You don’t just come away from a life like that and turn out alright.”

Ian looked like he wanted to argue. His chin was already pushing out, his lips pressed tight and thin.

Mickey didn’t give him a chance.

“If you knew half the things he did to us, man,” Mickey laughed humorlessly, averting his gaze again. “He should be on death row right now, not sitting next door with a roof over his fuckin’ head.”

“Tell me,” Ian prompted softly, but Mickey shook his head.

“You don’t want to hear this shit, Ian.” At least, Mickey didn’t want him to hear it. Didn’t want him to think of Terry when he looked at Mickey’s face.

“I do though,” Ian countered easily. “Wanna know everything about you, Mick.”

He was always saying things like that. Always trying to challenge the barriers Mickey put up.

But Mickey always challenged his, too, so he supposed that it was a fair enough trade.

“Fuckin’ sap,” Mickey said anyway, glancing up at Ian’s face and down again. “Gonna change what you think of me,” he added more quietly, and bit his lip at how pathetic it made him sound.

“Mickey,” Ian said. That was it, just his name. But it made things better, somehow. “Nothing can change how I feel about you,” Ian went on. “Besides, I was there for some it, remember?”

Mickey snorted, and took a swig of beer.

“How could I fuckin’ forget?”

They sat in silence for a long moment, only the sound of the clock ticking behind them and the strains of an annoying jingle on the TV filling the room. Ian didn’t scoot any closer, didn’t ask Mickey again. He just sat in his presence, calming sipping his own drink, and waited Mickey out.

It was a technique that never failed him.

“It wasn’t too bad when our mom was there,” Mickey started out of nowhere. “She was strung out most of the time, but she cared, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair, scratched his neck. “At least in her own way.”

“And when she wasn’t?” Ian prompted gently. Not pushing, just providing a guiding hand.

Mickey shook his head. “When she wasn’t, things really went to hell.”

A beat. The TV had changed over to some new infomercial, an obnoxiously eager voice droning on about the ‘next best thing’, whatever that was. Mickey ignored it. They both did.

“Iggy and Colin were already used to it, I think,” Mickey expanded. “They were around more the first few times she left, when Mandy and I were still in school. They knew what was coming when she was gone for good.”

Ian made a sound, deep in his throat. He set down his glass on the coffee table, overlapping the multitude of condensation rings that already marred the surface, and grabbed up the carton of cigarettes that lay there. He lit it with a spare lighter, took a drag, and passed it over to Mickey’s waiting hand.

“What about you?” he asked casually. Too casually for the way his fingers shook when Mickey took the cigarette from him.

Mickey scoffed. “Me?” he repeated, then took a drag himself. He held it in as long as he could, breathed it out in a plume of smoke that hid the new wetness in his eyes.

“I was a naive little shit whose mamma hadn’t warned him how bad Terry could get,” Mickey said, then took another hit.

“The first time he hit me—really hit me, not just a cuff around the ears for mouthing off—he laid me out flat on the kitchen floor. I had eaten the last side of bacon, see,” he explained. “Mandy made it for me after school. And Terry’d been savin’ it for after whatever run he was out on.”

Ian stayed silent.

“Couldn’t tell him it was Mandy’s fault,” Mickey went on. “He didn’t care that she was a girl.” Mickey flicked the ashes off the end of the cigarette, watched them fall. Watched the tiny burns it made on the knee of his jeans. “Didn’t care until she was useful.”

Ian swallowed hard at the reminder of what Terry had done to his best friend. But this was about Mickey right now, not Mandy, and as much as she was entrenched in that part of his life, it wasn’t what he needed to get out.

So Ian scooted closer, brushed ashes off Mickey’s knee and rested his hand there, waiting.

Mickey stared at the point of contact, then at his cigarette again.

“You know he used to burn me with these?” Mickey asked abruptly, waving the lit stick in his hand. “Think it was an accident, the first time. Caught me suckin’ on a candy one when I was a kid, told me I needed to man up. Tried to stick a lit one in my mouth, but he was drunk. Used the wrong end.”

He tongued the corner of his lips. “Couldn’t eat for two days while it was healin’.” He chuckled, shook his head. “I was suck a fuckin’ wimp back then, man.”

“Not the worst thing he’s put in my mouth, though,” Mickey continued, on a roll now. His voice was faint, full of that absent quality it got when he wasn’t really there. When he was reliving his nightmares in real time.

“Stumbled into my room more than once looking for the toilet,” he confided. “Forgot there was a second door, I think. He usually just went in the corner, but he got me on my bed more than once.”

Mickey paused, looked up at Ian through his lashes.

“You know why I don’t breathe through my mouth anymore?”

Ian shook his head.

“Wakin’ up to the taste of piss will teach you that trick real quick.”

The cigarette was gone, now, and his beer was only dregs. Mickey stared at a space over Ian’s shoulder, breathing heavy, refusing to let his eyes spill over.

He was done crying for the kid that let his dad walk all over him. He was done crying for Terry. He was done with all of it.

And he really, really wished that were true.

“Frank locked me in the basement, once,” Ian stated suddenly, taking the empty beer bottle out of Mickey’s hand and placing it with his own glass on the table. “During one of my mom’s episodes, when she wouldn’t get out of bed.”

Mickey just looked at him. Let Ian take his hand, turn it over to hold it in his.

“He told Fiona I was at a sleepover, and she believed him—forgot I didn’t really have any friends.” Ian grinned, then, but it was empty, almost sharp.

You had friends, Mickey wanted to say. You had family. You had me.

But the first and the last were lies, and the middle wasn’t always a blessing.

“Lip found me two days later,” Ian told him. “He got suspicious when he saw Frank taking food down there; he was an asshole, but he wasn’t gonna starve a kid on purpose, at least.”

Ian laughed, and rubbed his free hand along the leg of his pants.

“He just didn’t want to look at me.”

Mickey gripped his hand tighter.

“Why are you tellin’ me this?” he asked. “It’s not a fuckin’ competition, man.”

“I’m just saying,” Ian pressed on. “We don’t have to be our dads, Mickey.”

Oh. And there it was. Ian, his husband, ever the optimist.

“What if we don’t get that choice?” Mickey questioned. He’d seen it often enough, after all. Milkoviches that tried to get out, tried to do better for themselves and their kids.

But they always ended up back where they started. They always ended up under Terry’s roof, and under his thumb, just waiting for another chance to break free.

Ian shrugged, and pulled him closer, tucking Mickey’s head into the space between his own neck and shoulder. Mickey made a grumbling sound, but went without protest, tilting his head so that his nose rested near Ian’s collarbone.

“Then I guess we have to kill each other,” Ian stated blandly.

Mickey gave a stunned, barked laugh, breath hitching and releasing in a wash of hot air over Ian’s neck.

“Ian, what the fuck?” he managed, but Ian only gripped him tighter, pressing his face into skin so that he couldn’t speak.

“It’s for the greater good, Mick,” Ian assured him. “Mutually assured destruction, and all that, right?”

He ran a hand down Mickey’s back, scratching lightly.

“I lock you in a basement, you take me out,” he declared. “You piss on me—well, without my permission at least—”

“Ew, Ian, Jesus Christ—”

“I get to murder you in your sleep.” Ian pulled back just enough to look at him, Mickey meeting his eyes without a struggle this time. For all the macabre discussions, Ian’s eyes were bright.

“Deal?” Ian asked, and Mickey finally smiled.

“Yeah, alright, tough guy,” he agreed. “It’s a fuckin’ deal.”

#thanks for the prompt!#daily speedwrite #fanfic #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #tw: child abuse #angst #but they'll be okay

103 notes · View notes

onfreckledwings · 4 years

Text

follow up to this ❤️💚

When he wakes in the deepest recess of the night, Cas is not asleep at his side.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and glances around the room. He doesn’t need to turn on the light on the bedside table to know. The space next to him in the bed is cold, the room is empty.

He’s alone.

His stomach drops to the space between his knees as he pushes himself upright. His heart is a pitter-patter in his chest; the blood rushing in his ears a deafening roar.

“Cas?” Dean calls out uselessly. He swings his legs gingerly over the side of the bed and walks slowly to his door, turning the knob and stepping into the hall.

“Cas?!” He calls out again, louder this time, glancing down both sides of the corridor and listening for movement. He sees nothing, hears nothing.

His heart begins to hammer against his ribs, and his mind starts to race.

Shit.

He walks a little too quickly throughout the bunker, ignoring the pain that slams from his back through his chest at the movement, and checks the kitchen, then the library. When it’s empty too, he heads into the war room.

He spots Cas’s phone on the map table, and when he walks over to tap the screen, the time glares back at him.

2:32

Dean takes a deep breath. He thinks for a moment, and when an idea comes to him, he tosses on his jacket hanging on the back of one of the chairs.

He heads for the garage.

When Dean opens the side garage door, it creaks and groans loudly in protest. A quick scan of the woodlands behind the bunker finds Cas standing in the middle of a small clearing, wrapped in a thick, oversized blanket that trails at his feet in the frozen dirt.

Relief floods through him like waves on the ocean. His shoulders drop, tension ebbing from his muscles, and he shuts the door gently behind him instead of letting it clang against the frame.

Cas is looking up at the diamond-studded sky, and Dean smiles as he watches.

He zippers up his coat against the mid-winter chill as the breeze hits against him, swaying against the rustling branches high above. He inhales deeply, the scent of the cold air mixing with the towering bald cypress trees cleansing his lungs. He approaches Cas silently, hand reaching out to caress his back, palm gripping his shoulder gently as he stands next to him.

Cas sighs and lets his eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments.

“Hello, Dean.”

A huff of breath escapes his nose in a chuckle.

“Hey,” he smiles, letting his hand squeeze Cas’s neck affectionately. “Leave a note next time, huh? Scared the crap outta me.” He keeps his voice gentle, teasing, and Cas turns his chin to meet Dean’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says solemnly, eyes drifting to the ground before meeting his again. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Dean smiles, rubbing soothing circles against Castiel’s shoulder blade. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m just sayin’,” he murmurs, and they both turn their faces towards the sky.

It’s a cloudless night. There are stars everywhere. The moon is high and full and shining. It’s beautiful.

“All things bein’ equal?” he continues, watching Cas’s reaction in his periphery, “I’d rather you wake me up than just wakin’ without you next to me.”

Cas thins his lips into a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he casts them to the ground. Dean tries again.

“I dunno if you’ve noticed, but...I don’t need to sleep with a gun under my pillow these days. So it’s not like I’ll accidentally shoot ya.”

Cas’s eyes close then, a rueful chuckle escaping his lips as his chin drops a little to his chest. Dean can tell he’s holding something back.

The former angel is crestfallen.

Dean’s brow furrows in concern, and he wraps his hands around Cas’s wrists to tug him towards him so that they’re face to face. He lets his hands travel to frame his cheeks.

When Cas’s eyes open, they glisten with tears.

“Hey,” he whispers, crowding closer into Cas’s space. “What’s goin’ on?”

Cas makes an attempt to shake his head, to try to dismiss Dean’s worry.

“No no—” Dean says gently. “Talk to me.”

Cas screws his eyes shut, tears falling in moon-bathed streams down his cheeks before he meets Dean’s gaze.

“I’m not an angel anymore,” he murmurs quietly.

Dean’s chest aches at the pain in Cas’s voice as he tilts his head in sympathy. He sounds so small and vulnerable, but there’s something else there, too.

Dean’s thumbs stroke against Cas’s cheekbones, feather-light. “I know,” he whispers, tears of his own sneaking into his throat.

But he has to be strong.

“I can’t imagine—”

“How can I ever be enough for you like this?”

Dean freezes mid-sentence. His heart sinks before it shatters, bleeding in the space between his feet. The crease between his eyes deepens as he frowns, eyes widening in disbelief.

“What?”

Cas steps out of Dean’s hold, and the fallen leaves crunch beneath his feet. He wraps the blanket tighter around him as he turns to face the sky again.

The roaring in Dean’s ears return, and he stares at Cas’s profile. Nausea starts to spread and twist like ribbons in his stomach.

“I don’t have the ability to heal. I can’t teleport. I can’t...do any of the things I used to,” Cas breathes, voice firm as stone. He’s not looking for pity, not looking for anything to challenge his thoughts.

He’s just being.

Dean’s head is spinning, and he’s so flabbergasted he can’t formulate words in his mouth.

Cas turns his head to meet him again. “How could I make up for that now?” As just a human goes unspoken; but Dean hears it all the same.

In that moment, he feels the rebar ripping through his gut all over again. He steels himself against the urge to double over.

“I don’t know how to be worthy enough,” he continues, voice solemn and jaded and numb all at once. “I don’t know how to be enough—for you—as just...this.” he finishes then, glancing himself up and down, hands stretched out in a shrug before crossing his arms with the blanket again. Cas sighs heavily as he rotates on his heel to stare up at the moon, his back to Dean.

All of the air leaves his lungs. His heart speeds up a little in a panic. He stares unblinkingly at Cas’s silhouette, and the wind gusts in the woods around them. He can hear the branches rustling above, and he can see Castiel’s thick hair swaying against the wind, sticking up every which way.

His stomach rolls. His mouth goes dry.

“Enough?” Dean mumbles in a hoarse whisper, more to himself than anything else. He strides forward, grabbing onto one of Castiel’s shoulders as he walks to stand in front of him.

Cas won’t meet his eyes. He just keeps staring at the world far beyond, hidden and cloaked in darkness.

Maybe he’s looking at Heaven.

Dean sniffles and reaches both hands on Cas’s shoulders.

“How could you ever think that you ain’t enough for me?”

But if Dean’s honest with himself, he knows. He knows he’s done a pretty shit job over the years of making Cas feel valued and wanted and loved —regardless of the status of his grace.

Cas closes his eyes and sighs heavily. When he opens them, he keeps them canted to the ground between their feet. The look Dean finds on his face scares him; it’s defeated, empty.

Broken.

His shoulders sag underneath Dean’s fingers.

Castiel looks exhausted.

“Okay, look…” Dean begins, shaking Cas gently to force their eyes to meet.

“I know...I know I’ve said things, an-and done things over the years that’ve hurt you. I know we’ve had our moments. But man…”

He trails off for only a moment, letting one hand slide down Cas’s chest to fist it into his shirt, the other reaching to grasp one side of his neck.

“‘M a wreck without you,” he grits out, green eyes boring into blue. “Losin’ you...an’ every time I’ve ever lost you it just—it always almost finished me.” He pulls Cas in closer by his shirt, and Castiel’s hands fall to grip Dean’s sides to prevent himself from stumbling.

“It was never about your mojo, Cas. Ever. ‘N I’m so sorry you ever thought it was.” Dean’s eyes are watering now, and he purses his lips as he lightly punches Cas’s chest.

“It’s just always been you.”

And maybe he’s not making any sense. But Dean’s never been good with words, and his chin is trembling, and Cas’s eyes are spilling over without a blink.

They’re so fucking blue.

And Dean’s heart is tattered in pieces on the floor of his ribcage.

“You’ve always been enough.” Dean whimpers, and he lets his own tears break free through the dam of his eyelids, falling in rivulets down his stubbled cheeks.

“Just you. I need you to see that.”

He rests his cheek against Cas’s temple and wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him into his chest as he chokes back a sob. Cas’s arms come to wrap around Dean’s middle as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Please, Cas. Please believe that.” Dean chokes out, and he knows he’s babbling now. But Cas squeezes him tighter, and Dean lets his mouth fall into the swath of skin where Cas’s neck slopes into his shoulder. He crushes Cas into him.

They cry together until there are no more tears to shed; they hold each other, mending their broken pieces and bones and marrow and flesh.

The cracks in their hearts begin to heal.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Cas’s lips are against his ear, shushing him and murmuring sweetly against the shell, hands rubbing up and down his back.

They begin to sway in each other’s arms.

“You’re it for me, Cas,” Dean sniffles. “Just you.” Not your grace, not your wings.

He pulls away to rest their foreheads together. “You hear me?”

I love you.

Castiel nods, closing his eyes before meeting green. Dean watches as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and they meet in the middle in a chaste, open-mouthed kiss. Cas’s hands come up to frame Dean’s face.

“I hear you,” Cas whispers hoarsely as they part, and he runs a hand through Dean’s hair. Dean can’t help it when his eyes flutter at the touch.

A small, cold wet sensation stuns his nose then; Dean opens his eyes and tilts his head back to see thick, fluffy snowflakes beginning to fall around them. A small chuckle escapes his throat, and Cas follows his gaze. When another snowflake lands on the bridge of Dean’s nose, Cas’s index finger comes to catch it.

Dean’s eyes fall back to his. What he finds there is marveling.

“I dunno how y’do that,” he mumbles. “Make your eyes so friggin’ blue.”

Cas just smiles through those wonderfully thick lashes. He reaches to grab one of Dean’s hands, cupping it between his own as he brings it to his lips. “It’s a gift,” he quips.

Dean chuckles with a nod, and taking advantage of their height difference, he tugs Cas forward so he can press a kiss to the muss of velvet black hair. He inhales the scent of his own shampoo that mixes with the natural essence of Castiel: earth and rain and lightning. Dean grins as Cas snuggles into his neck, pressing a kiss to the skin there.

“Wanna go back in?” he mumbles against the thick strands. Cas lets out a yawn.

“Mm-hmm.”

Dean snorts as he reaches an arm around Cas’s neck, walking them both back towards the bunker. Cas must notice him wince slightly in pain at the angle, because then he’s reaching up a hand to cover his, and there’s an arm snaking around his waist.

“Lean on me,” he commands. And it leaves no room for argument. So Dean smiles, and lets his weight sink against the man against him, who accepts it all willingly.

Just like he always has.

They’re almost at the door when Dean stills, grasping the fabric of the blanket.

“Hey,” he says. Cas stops to look at him, letting Dean turn slightly in his hold.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

The smile Cas gives him is like the Star of Bethlehem. Cas leans in, mouth ghosting his as their foreheads connect.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

#I did a thing #supernatural #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel coda #a sort of part 2 to my last fic #merry christmas everyone❤️💚

280 notes · View notes