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toxicanonymity · 1 year

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Fandango

2.1k / stepdad!Joel x fem!Reader /Stepdad

Warnings: I8+ mdni. Stepcest (reader is aggressor but he's a perv), big girthy age gap, groping, grinding, jacking off, oral m receiving, angst. Picks up after All Recipes. 🦃 Nothing has happened with the Mom, so ignore that hypothetical drabble.

When you get to the theater, Joel reaches over you to get his glasses out of the glovebox and the stretch of his shrunken sleeve makes you reach out and touch his ungodly tricep. He ignores the touch, puts his glasses on, and puts the case back in the glovebox. Inside, the manager changes the tickets for you. You pick the back row, prompting a cautionary look from Joel.

💙

Your Mom notices the casserole is off-recipe as soon as she looks at it, and she's not happy. You glance sympathetically at Joel. He resists the urge to bring up how she wouldn’t tell him where the recipes were, sparing you a tense car ride to Thanksgiving at your Aunt’s house.

In the car, your Mom asks, “Did you buy the movie tickets, Joel?” and you tell her you got them on Fandango. It’s a tradition for the three of you to go to a movie on Thanksgiving, largely so you can have a set time to leave the family gathering, which will otherwise drag on forever. On the way to your aunt’s house, Your Mom wants a recap of the whole Hunger Games franchise since it’s been eight years since the last one came out in 2015. You do your best and Joel stays quiet. She picked the movie.

You and Joel haven’t talked at all since this morning when you kissed for the first time in the kitchen. He avoids you for most of the meal, but when he does look at you, he’s looking at you differently. His eyes are pensive, concerned, but his brow is softer. It's like a puppy dog look.

An uncle asks if you’re seeing anyone, and you say “kind of.” The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. When they press for more details, you tell them you might have a date this weekend and his face hardens.

“Is he handsome?” Your aunt asks.

“I think the term is ‘hot’ now,” Your uncle corrects her. “Is he hot? Can we see him?” He elbows Joel like he should get in on the teasing. Joel musters half a smile but it doesn't reach his eyes.

You pull up your tinder match’s profile and let them take a peek.

“Oooh,” your aunt says. “He is handsome. Jacques. . . is he French?”

Joel takes a sip of his drink, then glares out the window and chews his cheeks. The glass in his hand shatters under the pressure of his fist, covering his shirt in iced tea and making two of your aunts spring into action to help.

“Joel,” your Mom says. “No, no,” the hosting aunt responds. "These are too delicate. I just broke one the other day.” None of it got on the table. Your aunts take him to the kitchen to clean him up. Meanwhile, you try to explain to your uncle what tinder is. Joel returns to the table wearing only his shrunken undershirt and pants, looking somewhat humiliated and smoking hot.

On the way to the movie theater, your Mom gets an emergency call, and Joel suggests rescheduling for a later time so she can come, but she isn’t sure when she’ll be available. You already have the tickets, and she insists the two of you drop her off at home and go ahead without her. She’ll join if she can. Joel looks distressed at the prospect of going alone with you.

"Kiss and make up already," your Mom says on her way out of the car, referring to the argument she walked in on earlier about his shrunken clothes.

When you move up to the driver’s seat, he says “Don’t get any ideas.”

“We should see the new Exorcist instead,” you say.

“What if she tries to join?”

“She’s not going to.” He knows you’re right. “Come on,” you plead. “It’s David Gordon Green.”

“Alright, if it’s still playin'.”

He clenches his jaw in silence for a minute, glaring at the road ahead, then asks “What’s this about Jaques? You really have a date or just tryin’ to fuck with me?”

"What, if you can't have me no one can? That's fucked up."

He sighs, exasperated. "No shit.".

“We’ve had this conversation,” you continue. "When you got all pissy about that pic being on insta?”

“Yeah, and you deleted the pic."

“Doesn't mean you were right, I was just using it to get you to jack off. “

"God, you're filthy."

"So yeah, maybe I'll go out with him. If you won’t touch me, can't expect no one else to."

"Touched ya this mornin’, didn’t I?” He raises his eyebrows and looks at you cockily.

When you get to the theater, he reaches over you to get his glasses out of the glovebox and the stretch of his short sleeve makes you reach out and touch his ungodly tricep. He ignores the touch, puts his glasses on, and puts the case back in the glovebox. Inside, the manager changes the tickets for you. You pick the back row, prompting a cautionary look from Joel.

You raise the armrest and he lowers it between you again. The theater is cold and he’s freezing in his undershirt and slacks, but it’s the hottest combination, especially with his glasses. When his nipples harden from the cold, you reach over and grab his pec. He gives you a side-eye but lets you massage him for a minute before he takes your hand and puts it on your side of the armrest. You grab his hand while it’s there and place it on your lower thigh near your knee. He swallows and shifts in his seat but doesn’t resist. He stares straight ahead. He lightly caresses your thigh over your leggings.

When you move his hand higher up on your thigh, to the hem of your sweater dress,he gives your thigh a brief squeeze before taking his hand back. He adjusts himself in his pants then puts his elbows on each armrest, clasping his large hands in front of his stomach and staring straight ahead at the movie.

You leave him alone for a while, then slip your hand under his arm and into his lap, squeezing his thigh. You lean in as close to him as you can. He inhales sharply and doesn't do anything about it. You work your way higher and higher on his thigh until your wrist brushes his hardening cock, flooding you with arousal. You keep your hand on his thigh, rubbing it in a way that rubs your wrist on his package. You feel it getting firmer and it's driving you crazy.

"Not doin' this," he whispers.

"What?" You stop moving your hand but don't take it away.

"Back of the theater like a couple'a teenagers." That's what he says. . . but what you hear is we can do it somewhere else.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and he slowly, regretfully returns your hand to your side, taking his arm back right away this time. You behave for the rest of the movie.

On the ride home, you ask him to stop by your apartment so you can get something. You keep your hands to yourself as he drives. You're getting a new TV on black friday and want to bring your current one to your room at their house. When he parks, you ask him to come in and help you carry it.

He walks into the living room and you say "make yourself at home, I've gotta unhook everything."

He manspreads on your couch while you bend over and make no effort to be modest as you unhook the cables. You turn around and he's brazenly staring at your ass, holding his massive hand on his inner thigh. He watches you with puppy dog eyes as you stand up and cautiously approach him. He slowly rubs his inner thigh and wets his lips. He makes no effort to stop you from climbing into his lap and even moves his hand to make room for you to straddle him. Your crotch goes straight to his, and you cradle his head with your thumbs in front of his ears. You read his face and it’s open. You press your lips into his. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth, feeding you his tongue as his large hands come to your back.

You roll your hips into his hardening cock. His hands slide down your back to your ass and he grunts into your mouth as he pulls you into him, using your crotch to rub his hard package. You dip your tongue into his mouth and he accepts it hungrily with light suction. Your mouths make love to each other and you softly moan into each other’s lips as you breathe through your nose and grind into him.

Your clit throbs and your cunt begs to be filled. He wedges his hand under you, between your legs, engulfing your entire crotch. He slides the hand back and grabs at your ass from underneath you, his middle finger pushing your leggings slightly into your crack. Then he rubs all the way forward again from your lips to your clit with a deep breath. His middle finger ghosts your entrance and he groans at the dampness of your leggings.

You break away from his mouth and reach your wrists around his arm in his lap, leaving his hand between your legs, stroking you, as you unbutton his slacks. You rise up and pull down his zipper. He nudges your breast with his nose, then drags it across your dress to your other breast. You reach your hand into his pants, groping him through his boxers with your fingers pointed down and your palm hits the damp spot from his tip. Then you slip your hand into his boxers and break the kiss to whimper into his mouth as you move the warm, smooth skin of his shaft and he ghosts your clit over your leggings. You wrap your hand around his shaft in an upright fist and sit back down on his thighs.

Joel murmurs into your cheek, “this is dangerous, sweetheart. Bein’ alone like this.” He reaches down between you and frees his cock from his boxers, then pulls your crotch into him and moans as the soft shape of your lips cradle his shaft through your damp leggings. As you grind into him, you watch his face and his brow furls.

“I know you want it,” you pant and his mouth latches onto your neck.

His hand wraps around yours. He pries your fingers off his cock and takes it in his own hand. Then he slides his hand into your leggings and gathers your slick to lube himself. He starts stroking his stiff member feverishly. You’re miffed that he wants to come already.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Told you, this is dangerous, sweetheart.”

“Well at least let me do it.” You dismount him and get on the floor between his knees. He sighs and looks straight up at the ceiling as you take his cock back into your hand. You form a broken ring round his lower shaft with your thumb and two fingers, then you bring your head to his lap and suck the tip of his cock into your mouth, followed by most of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he exclaims, startled by your mouth. “Use your hand,” he pants. “Just your hand,” he trails off weakly, his eyes drifting downward toward you. You try to make eye contact with him and he looks back up at the ceiling. “HAND,” he demands.

You take it out of your mouth to ask why.

“‘Cause I’ll never stop seein’ this, damnit.” You begrudgingly use your hand.

He sucks in a chest full of air and his thighs tremble like he’s about to come.

“Can I swallow it or do you want it all over your clothes?”

“Fine."

After a few more strokes, you take him into your mouth again and he shoots his salty load into the back of your throat.

His arms look ready to burst through his t-shirt as he carries your tv to the car. You drive in silence, looking out the window.

Then you wonder out loud, "What if we just fucked? Would that be so bad?"

He looks at you as though to say come on, but you raise your eyebrows inquisitively.

He says, "Okay, let's play it out." He clears his throat. "We fuck, then what?"

"We fuck again."

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, but what happens?"

"We fuck again, and again, and we keep fucking"

"Christ," he exhales, then adjusts himself. "I'm tryin' to have an adult conversation here."

“Okay,” you say. “How’s your marriage?”

“How do you think? You’ve known her your whole life.” He looks at you like you did something wrong. “Don’t ask me that.”

“How’s it an adult conversation if I can’t ask any questions?”

He groans in frustration.

It's silent for a few minutes. When you look over at him, he has his hand on his mouth. He’s tearing up. “This is fucked up,” he says weakly, then takes a deep breath. "We can't keep on like this."

As always, thank you so much for your support and engagement <3

Special ty to @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for getting me over the hump on my roadblock <3<3<3

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy

@vickie5446

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #stepdad!joel miller #stepdad!joel☠️#toxicanonymity ☠️#joel miller/reader #stepdad!joel #pedro pascal fic #joel miller/you

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thetriumphantpanda · 9 months

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Delicate - Chapter Two: Maroon

3.7k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

summary: despite some last minute reservations about meeting Joel, you throw yourself into the date, but it doesn't go according to plan.

A/N: Ahhhhh oh my God - @hellishjoel and I are so excited to bring you the second chapter of Delicate! We're having the best time with this little pairing already and we hope they manage to worm their way into your hearts just like they have with us! We're taking turns in posting the chapters of this - so please make sure you're following both of us to keep up to date!

warnings: mentions of being a single parents, rom-com vibes, foul language, a bestie who is nothing but trouble, Joel being terrible at dating in general, a lil smattering of angst, mentions of food & alcohol consumption.

There’s a flow of peace that settles across you when the door to Noah’s room clicks shut. You love him, he’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and he keeps you afloat every day, but these moments, when he’s finally asleep and you can stop thinking for a minute, are the moments you crave each day.

You settle down on the couch, mug of tea in hand, with the TV playing quietly, just for background noise more than anything, as you pick up your phone for the first time that evening. There’s a few emails, mainly about shopping sales and holidays that you think you should book but never do - those are quickly deleted to stop any temptation of spending money on something that isn’t essential. There are a few messages from your mom, just confirming that she’ll pick Noah up from school tomorrow, what she’s planned for them to do and what she’ll feed him. You shoot a message off in reply that it all sounds good and that he’s excited for some quality time with his grandparents, because it’s true, and then you set your phone down on the coffee table and try to ignore it for a while.

You finish your tea and queue up a few episodes of a show you’ve been meaning to catch up on - something mindless that people at work always seem to talk about. So mindless that it actually sends you to sleep. You wake with a jolt a few hours later. The house is still quiet, which means Noah hasn’t decided he’s still got too much energy and needs to burn it off by jumping on the bed or pulling some of his toys out. You sigh, checking the time to see it’s almost midnight.

You gather your stuff, put the mug in the sink to deal with in the morning before trudging up to bed. There’s a moment at the top of the stairs, where you think it would be so easy to flop down on the bed and forgo the rest of your responsibilities, but you’ve got your mother’s voice in the back of your mind, something about wrinkles and pores and how bad it is to sleep in your makeup, so you turn left into the bathroom, cover your skin in serums and creams and then finally, just after midnight, you fall into bed.

Knowing it’s bad to look at your phone this late at night, once you’ve set your alarm, you click open the godforsaken Hinge app that Dixie had insisted on setting you up on. So far, after six months, you’d been on a fair few first dates, three second dates and had a God awful one night stand, but nothing had been sticking, no-one seemed to be exactly what you were looking for. You’d promised her that you’d try though, so as had become a nightly ritual for you, you set about giving away your daily likes, not really paying a huge amount of attention until he pops up for you. Joel. 45. From his first profile picture, the exact kind of man you’d been searching for. Rugged, handsome,

Of the few photos he had on his profile, he was often donning a flannel or a simple short-sleeved shirt that curved around his biceps and broad shoulders. He always wore the same tilted smile, with dazzling eyes and dark hair with licks of silver. He was a handsome lumberjack of sorts.

He looked to be an outdoorsman, at least two of Joel’s pictures were of him hiking a trail accompanied by a young girl, surrounded by greenery and tall rocks with the sunshine peeking through the branches. His face was glowing and tan from the light, his handsomeness so natural. Beautiful, even.

Joel’s “Typical Sunday” consisted of a black coffee in the morning, followed by making burgers on the grill for him and his family before settling down to watch a Dallas Cowboys football game. That was a typical Sunday for a man, but it showed how he liked to unwind and that he was a family man.

First, the mention of a family, plus that beautiful young woman in almost all of Joel’s pictures - a daughter, perhaps? Older than your own boy by quite a few years. He must have been on the younger side of having children if any of these assumptions were even correct. But there was something about knowing he also had a baby to be thinking of felt familiar, comforting, as they would always come first.

And it turns out that talking to him is pretty easy too. He’s charming, a slight insomniac like you, and from what you can tell from the slight back and forth you managed to have before you go to sleep, able to flirt a little with you too. It’s why when he asks to take you out you say yes without hesitation, it could be fun, he could be the one, who knows?

Mornings are always chaos. Half-eaten bowls of cereal on the table, a mug of coffee made with the best of intentions but sat to go cold, a rush of getting Noah dressed and in the car with everything he needed for school and then the annoyance of getting stuck in traffic on the way to drop him off, all coalesce to make you stressed as you help Noah out of the backseat.

“Remember granny is picking you up this afternoon okay?” You ask, bending down to kiss his cheek as he fiddles with the straps of his backpack.

“I know, mom.” He groans, using the back of his hand to wipe the kiss off his cheek.

You smile, ruffle his hair a bit, because no matter how much he might protest, he will always be your baby, “Behave for her, okay?” You warn lightly with a smile, “She’ll bring you back home tomorrow.”

Noah spots some of his friends across the playground and steps around you to make his way into school. You turn, hold your hand up in a wave and shout at him to have a good day. Noah turns, walking backwards to look at you, waving right back.

“Have a good day, mom!”

Underneath the way he’s growing up, he’s still the sweet little boy you knew you could raise on your own. You sit back in your car, picking your phone up to make sure you’ve got enough time to go to the store and stock up on some groceries, when you notice a notification from Hinge. It’s Joel.

Just checking you’re still okay for tonight?

For some reason, you sit and stare at it for a few minutes, fingers itching to type something, to confirm, but there’s that usual seed of doubt that appears after all this time that makes you want to tell him something’s come up, you’ll have to reschedule. After months and months of trying to find someone, to failed first date after failed first date, you wonder if it really is worth it, no matter how good of a match Joel Miller seems on paper. Is he really going to be worth getting dressed up for? You sigh, type out your usual message of I’m sorry, I think I might have to reschedule, when the screen is filled with the face of your best friend, trying to call you.

“Hello?”

“Hello sexy mama!” Dixie’s voice immediately soothes you, “How are you this fine morning?”

“I’m okay,” You speak softly, plugging the phone into the car so you can speak to her as you drive, “Just dropped Noah off at school.”

“How is my favourite man?” She asks.

“Yeah, he’s good, he’s staying with my mom tonight so I think he’s just pleased to be away from me for a while.”

“It’s like the universe read my mind!” Dixie exclaims on the other end of the phone, “Do you want to go out and get wine drunk tonight?”

You stutter for a second, because you could, you could cancel with Joel, go out and drink cheap wine and dance with your friend, but before you can say anything, Dixie picks up on your hesitation.

“OH MY GOD!” She all but screeches, “Do you have a hot date tonight?!”

You grumble a little, because how is she always so attuned to you like this?

“Yeah, although I don’t know if I’m gonna go.”

“Why not?”

You sigh again, “I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore?” You offer.

“Girl, get outta here with that attitude!” She chastises, “Is he hot?”

You grumble a little again, but you can’t deny it, Joel is hot, “Yes.”

“Well then,” You can hear her clap her hands in the background, clearly having you on speaker so she can go about her business, “If he’s hot, then there’s no harm in it, forget me and my wine, go out, drink wine with your hot mystery stranger and get fucked, girl!”

“Dixie!” You screech, “I’m not fucking him.”

“Whatever you say, girl!” She shouts down the phone, “If you cancel, I’m kicking your ass, okay?” You sigh, once again, something you’re getting more and more used to these days, “Have fun and be safe!”

And then all you can hear is the dial tone from where she’s hung up on you. You think about it all the way around the grocery store, she wouldn’t know if you did cancel, would she? But you’ve known her long enough to know she’d sniff a lie out of you in seconds. So, when you settle down at your desk, you pull out your phone and send Joel a reply to confirm the plans you made last night, and then spend the rest of the work day trying not to work yourself up about the whole thing.

You don’t think that the anxiety of waiting for a date to show up will ever get easier. Stood just inside the doorway of the restaurant Joel had chosen, you’re chewing at the skin around your thumbnail. Did you dress right? Do you look okay? When he turns up will he look like his pictures or not? Will he lean in for a kiss on the cheek? Do you give him a hug? You’d like to think of yourself as a seasoned pro at this now, but those first few awkward moments always made you anxious - there was no second chance at first impressions.

You needn’t have worried about Joel though. When the door opens and he stands in front of you, he is exactly the man you’d studied on that app. Taller than you, broad and big. Scruff, peppered with gray across his face, though it’s neatly kept, just like this hair, although more unruly, it’s still peppered with grays and it suits him. He’s wearing dark jeans, and a flannel that you think must be saved for best. You step closer, open your arms. Joel leans down, and does indeed press a kiss to your cheek, one of his wide palms pressed lightly on your lower back as he hugs you back a little.

“Nice to meet you, Joel.” You smile when he pulls away.

“You too, ma’am.” He smiles back at you, and you can tell he’s nervous.

“What have I told you about that?” You tease as you step towards the hostess, Joel giving her his name, you hope the slight teasing will put him at ease, you remember just what it was like when you started dating for the first time, and as much as you want to have a good time, you want to make sure Joel is having a good time too.

She picks up two menus, leads the two of you to a table at the edge of the restaurant. Joel pulls your chair out for you, pushing it gently under you as you sit down. The light is low, and there’s a thrum of chatter across the whole restaurant as you open the menu, glancing your eyes over the choices.

“Do you want to share a bottle of wine?” You ask, finger skimming the list of wines available.

Joel nods, “Sure thing, darlin’.”

You smile, looking down at the menu, deciding you much prefer darling to ma’am, especially in that sweet southern drawl of his. When the waitress returns, you both order food and a bottle of wine, which is quickly brought to the table, uncorked, with the dark red liquid poured into two glasses. The waitress leaves the bottle on the table as you raise your glass, Joel following suit, clinking them together before you take a sip.

You’re watching as he does the same, a smaller sip than you, and then watch as his nose crinkles and he coughs a little. It makes you laugh, putting your glass down to cover your mouth a little.

“Dunno why I said yes,” He shakes his head, “Fuckin’ hate wine.”

You can’t help but properly laugh now, hoping that it puts him a little at ease. You reach over the table, lay your hand on his wrist just a touch, “What would you prefer to drink?”

You don’t miss the way he subtly drags his wrist back from your touch, covering it by scratching at the skin on the side of his hand, but you don’t let it bother you. You’re a touchy person, it’s what makes you feel at ease mostly, but that doesn’t mean it works for Joel, so you fold your hands back in your lap.

“Usually beer,” He mumbles, flagging down the waitress as she walks past to ask for just that, “Or whiskey.”

“I don’t mind a beer,” You offer, trying to make light conversation, “But whiskey makes my throat burn.”

He doesn’t offer much of a reply apart from a short hum from his mouth, his attention moving from you to the room around you, letting the table fall into silence. You look down at your lap, trying to think of things to say whilst you wait for your food.

“So, Sarah, right?” You ask after his daughter, it’s something the two of you have in common at least, “You must be super proud of her, medical school is incredible.”

“Yeah,” He says simply, “She’s a very smart girl.”

You expect him to ask after Noah, ask him a little about what he’s like, maybe what his favourite subjects are at school or whether he’s in any sports clubs or anything, but he doesn’t offer anything else to you, doesn’t ask any questions.

There’s a lull in the conversation, saved by the waitress dropping your meals in front of you, fresh tomato pasta with chicken for you and steak and mashed potatoes with asparagus for Joel. You swirl your fork through the pasta, scooping some into your mouth as Joel cuts into his steak. Your eyes are trained on him, watching how he eats - it’s one of your big tests, table manners, and to be fair to him, he passes with flying colours - sure he eats a bit fast, but it’s nothing off-putting, and he seems to be able to use a knife and fork properly and chew with his mouth closed, which is a far cry from the last person you’d been out with.

“You look really good tonight,” You offer, setting your fork down for a moment, “The flannel is very Texas.”

You think in the dim light you can see him flush a little, and you’ve not said anything that isn’t true, he does look good. Fucking great actually. Joel finishes swallowing, takes a swig of his beer.

“Thank you,” He tips his head towards you, “You look nice too,” He brings his hand up to his face to motion, “Rosy cheeks.”

You try not to let your disappointment show, it is a compliment after all, so you put all your focus back down into your meal, the two of you finishing your food in a rather awkward silence - you willing Joel to ask you something, to start a conversation, anything really. You watch as Joel pushes the asparagus around his plate after eating two of the spears, finishing off his steak and potatoes but leaving the rest of the greens.

When the waitress comes back to clear your plates, she asks if you’d like the dessert menu. You look to Joel, who tips his head in a way to say it’s up to you, but this has quite possibly been the most excruciating few hours of your life, so you drain your glass of wine, tip the last of the bottle into the glass and sit to wait for the bill.

“Listen,” Joel starts, dragging your attention from the bottom of your glass to him, a look of slight regret on his face, “I ain’t too good at all this,” He tries to explain, “It’s been a long time and I’m a little rusty.”

You kind of want to wring his ass for it a little, but underneath his apparent disinterest, you can still see the nerves of the guy who first walked through the door, and you get it, you think you’d been similar when you first started dating again, but you don’t think you’d completely lost the ability to think of a single question.

Joel insists on paying the bill and you don’t fight him for the privilege of splitting it - you think it might upset some of that southern chivalry he has and for someone else they’ll love that. It’s a silent affair as you both stand up, gather your things.

“How are you getting home?” Joel asks, holding the front door open for you.

“I can just grab a cab,” You smile, “How about you?”

He points to a truck, “Only had one so I can drive home,” He explains, “Do you mind if I wait with you for your cab?” He asks, “I’d feel better knowing you get in one safe.”

“Of course,” You smile, “The hostess called one for me, so it shouldn’t be long.”

There’s another lull in conversation, thankfully your cab arrives quickly, saving the silence from falling into awkwardness again. Joel beats you to the door, opening it for you.

“I would say it’s been nice meeting you,” He speaks, “But I feel like I made this real difficult, and I’m sorry for that.”

Going to step into the cab, you stop, leaning down to put your bag in the back seat, pausing a little before you turn back around to him, meeting his eyes. They’re striking, dark brown and beautiful, and trying to tell you just how much he knows he’s messed up. It makes your heart sink because you feel that sadness too, knowing he had so much promise, that he understood you in a way you thought other people didn’t, without even needing to talk to you, he’s a single parent, he gets it, like other people don’t. It frustrates you, makes your breath catch in your throat and your eyes glass over.

You bring a comforting hand to his shoulder, “It’s okay,” You add a smile at the end, “It takes some time to get used to this all again, I was the same,” You look down at your shoes, “It’ll get easier each time you do it, I promise.”

His head dips, regret flashed across his face, like he wishes he could go back and do it all over but better this time.

“M’sorry, again,” His tone is low, morose even, then he dips, presses a soft kiss to your cheek, “Get home safe.”

You flop down on your bed, hand running over your face, wondering at what point it had gone wrong. He’d had so much potential, had seemed like he could be so right for you, so what went wrong?

No sooner have you sent the ‘home safe’ message to Dixie, do you feel the soft vibrating of your phone. You answer, put the phone on loudspeaker and set it by your head.

“So, how did it go?”

You groan, “He had so much potential Dix,” You let out a pained noise, “I don’t know where it went wrong?!”

“Oh honey,” She coos down the phone, aware more than anyone how much you wanted to be done with dating and finally have someone you could spend time with, “What happened?”

“I don’t even know!” You exclaim, “Like, I could tell he was nervous, and this was his first date in years, but it was like he’d never spoken to a woman in his life, it was so hard!”

You can hear her sucking on her teeth on the other end of the phone, “Are you being too hard on him?” She asks, “You always say the cocky men are no good because they’re rehearsed, maybe he just needs time to warm up?”

“Dixie, I’d need a flamethrower to warm him up!”

That gets a giggle out of her, “Mama, listen to me,” She goes into serious mode now, “Not everyone is as seasoned as you at this, and if this was his first date in years and he comes face to face with you? Of course he’s going to be nervous, you can’t write him off just for that honey.”

That’s when your truth really hits out, “But what if I spend all that time warming him up and it’s a waste of time? He could turn out to be no good for me and then I’ve wasted so much time instead of trying to find the right person.”

“Honey, respectfully, you’re forty, not at the end of your life, I promise that maybe spending some time trying to unravel someone a little instead of writing them off immediately might actually be worth it.”

“I don’t know, Dix…” You trail off.

“Just sleep on it, okay?” She offers, “See how you feel when you wake up before you send him the ‘thanks but no thanks’ message.”

“Okay, I promise.”

The two of your say goodbye to each other, you stay led on the bed for a while before you push yourself up, plug your phone into the charger, noticing the notification from Hinge when your screen lights up. You can see it’s Joel’s name that sits on the front screen. You sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed, weighing up whether to read it or not. Deciding that if you do read it, you’re likely to make a decision against what Dixie told you, so you leave the notification sitting there, get yourself ready for bed and then will yourself to sleep without going over every second of the date wondering what you could have done differently.

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mothiir · 3 months

Text

put Cato in the cuck chair

….but this time with sex pollen. I’m sorry for this. Inspired ofc by @moodymisty, @pluvio-tea, @kit-williams and all others who have got me into bully boy cato

cw: gangbang, sex pollen, Cato being a sexist prick.

—

The first indication you have that the mission has gone very, very wrong is the sight of Roboute sans helmet, cheeks flushed red, blue eyes spangling like the aftermath of a nuclear explosion — he practically barrels into Sicarius’ quarters, where you are mending a tear in an Ultramarine’s undergarment, while Sicarius himself fumes quietly in the corner, clearly still rankling from being excluded from the planet side drop. We need someone to watch the diplomat, Roboute had said, in that tone that brooked no argument.

The diplomat, Roboute calls you. The lady, the squad say. And yet Cato Sicarius still has no shame whatsoever in calling you the woman — or, when he is especially vexed (and Roboute is not within earshot) the whore.

Sicarius is on his feet at once. “My lord —?”

The rest of the squad follows in, collapsing into the room like a pack of hounds returned from the chase. One of them yanks his helm off, revealing a face flushed just as Roboute’s, nostrils flared and panting.

“Daemon,” the young recruit manages, only for one of his brothers to shush him frantically.

“Died,” another astartes supplies. His helm is already long gone; his sandy hair plastered to his scalp with sweat. His eyes are shining.

“Yes, died but afterwards —“

”Spores,” manages a third, shucking off his gauntlets. “Father, it is too hot.” The last sentence is directed towards Roboute; it lilts almost into a whine, a sound so incongruous with the marine’s bulk that you may have found it funny, in less dramatic circumstances. “Father it is too hot, and it hurts — “

”Be at ease, Augustus — we will be fine. We will all be fine.”

Roboute moves in a blur of blue. It still shocks you how a man of such bulk can dash with the speed and grace of a hare. He grabs Sicarius by the scruff, and lifts him bodily off the ground, dropping him without ceremony into a chair, pressing a strange gun into his hands. It’s all sharp angles and edges — Eldar make? Sicarius eyes it with deep suspicion.

“What is —?”

”If things seem to be going too far — if she is in peril of mortal wounds — I want you to shoot us,” says Roboute, his voice low and serious, and yet somehow wrenched. He clasps Sicarius’s face with one hand, pinching his cheeks together. “This is a bio-weapon — it will only effect those with Ultramarine DNA. She’ll be fine, but it will knock the men out and a few shots will slow even myself down. I would rather not use it — I would rather solve this using more old-fashioned means — but I do not want her to perish in such an ignoble way. ”

Sicarius is so rarely at a loss for words. His mouth pops open, apparently to ask something, but he’s silenced when Roboute —

When Roboute kisses him. Hard. On the mouth. Your eyes widen, and Roboute curses, shoving the other marine away.

“Apologies, Cato — it’s all — it’s a ll a little much at present.”

Roboute turns to you. He has positioned the chair so it is facing the chaise lounge on which you perch, mending in your lap. The furniture here is all too large for you, designed for Space Marine bulk, and you are suddenly, profoundly aware of your own smallness.

“My Lord,” Sicarius manages. “What was —“

”Slaneeshi daemon. Last minute defence strategy. It — it will wear off eventually, but we need to redirect the urges, lest it tear us apart. Augustus, stop touching Cicero — Cicero, get your hand out of your damn pants. Have some dignity.”

”But you just kissed —“

”Nevermind that, you heard the Primarch get your hands off my arse —“

Three of the squad are directly behind the chaise lounge, slap-fighting with each other as they scramble to remove their armour, dropping it directly onto the floor in a manner that would have a tech-priest weeping at the flagrant disrespect shown to the machine-spirit within. Two others are practically glued to the door, huddled together like lambs, apparently afraid to move, quivering —

Quivering with fear, or with the effort of restraining themselves? Neither are wearing their helmets, and both are staring directly at you with a focus that is damn unnerving. It seems almost — almost hungry —

In another blur of preternatural speed, Roboute is before you, removing the mending from your lap with deliberate care. His smile is somewhat fixed, and doesn’t touch his manic eyes.

“My lady, when you took this position you swore that you would give your life up for the Ultramarines, and in service of the Emperor,” he says, his voice still rough and low. Normally, the Primarch deliberately pitches his voice a little higher, avoiding his normal voice, which is clearly inhuman, a rumbling bass that speaks of deep lungs and a biology almost as alien to you as the Eldar.

“Of course. Always.”

”Good. Good. Then I ask this of you as. I would ask my men to go to battle. You are strong, and I know you will endure.”

”I — I’ll do anything, of course I will,” you say, lost in the magnificent glow of his eyes, unable to deny him even if you wanted to. Primarchs are practically hypnotic to their own legions; a baseline human stands no chance.

“Good girl,” he says, and tucks your hair behind your ear. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? So willing to please.”

”Father, can I —“

”Primarch gets dibs, shut up —“

You look back again at the bickering astartes, and your heart stutters at the sight: they’re all naked; skin flushed and glossy with sweat. The two by the door have joined their brothers, disrobing with shaking hands.

“When you said…when you said service,” you say, pieces starting to click into place just a little too late. “Uh —“

”Hush, little one,” Roboute says. “Drink this.”

He shoves a bottle up at your face. You swallow instinctively, and Roboute stares at the movement of your throat, the flex and pull of muscles. It’s tea — you recognise the smell, if not the taste. Relationships between human women and Space Marines are rarely spoken of but by no means rare, and this tea is infamous among certain circles for making thing s a little easier. It’s a variation on an old Ultramarine recipe that aids with childbirth. It eases pain and opens you up.

”There. Good. Swallow that. Swallow it all.”

Roboute, apparently unable to wait any longer, sits beside you and pulls you into his lap. His mouth on yours is eager and demanding, his tongue sliding past your lips, filling your mouth. You close your eyes and kiss back, wondering if this is all a fantastical dream. The Primarch tugs at your dress, pulling it off your shoulders, bearing your breasts, and you hear five astartes moan in harmony.

No. Not a dream.

”Hold her —“ Roboute orders, lifting you up, and another astartes gathers you into his arms, his prick rigid against your thigh. He cradles you to his chest, his mouth seeking your nape, his tongue along your jugular. You squirm in his grasp, panting as his hand goes straight between your legs, thick fingers probing along your cunt, only to withdraw. Primarch’s dibs, you realise, and bite back a shrill of hysterical laughter.

Roboute has rid himself of his own armour, his cock standing up in his lap; you try to eyeball measurements, planting a hand on your stomach. He grabs you back, and replaces your hand with his.

“You’ll take me, little one. I have faith in you. You’ll take all of us.”

—

Cato Sicarius is going to shoot himself. He’s decided — it is the only honourable thing to do. The xenos weapon is cool in his hand, and he caresses the trigger in slow, circular motions that certainly aren’t meant to be echoing the movements of your slender hips.

You took Roboute up to the hilt with no small amount of effort, puffing and mewling, and growing teary eyed — but his gene-father kept urging you down, cooing about what a good girl you were, what a loyal servant, how well you took him — and, demonstrating once more that the Avenging Son can achieve the impossible, you ended up with the full length of a Primarch in your guts, your belly bulging around him. Your thighs were stretched to their limit as you straddled him, and — lazy thing that you are — you didn’t have the strength to ride him. That did not seem to matter to Gulliman, who simply picked you up and slid you back down, using you like a toy. He started off as slow as possible, but soon abandoned that, jerking his hips up to meet you as he yanked you down again, and again, and again.

The tears soon broke into full on sobs. Gulliman hushed and soothed you — patently ridiculous, in Sicarius’s opinion, since you were only doing your duty, and no one (least of all a damn woman) should be praised for doing their part for the Emperor’s will — and you tried your best to swallow back your cries, lips swollen and puffy as he kissed you, nipping and sucking at your flesh. Sicarius’s battle brothers flocked closer, clearly wanting to touch but not daring, not yet, instinctively waiting for Roboute to have his fill.

As Sicarius is counting the threads on the chaise lounge — and only because your moans and whimpers irritate him so, not to distract himself — Roboute finally cums. Your belly is stretched so tightly around him that Sicarius sees the Primarch’s seed slip inside you, pulse after pulse. He wonders what that feels like. How you feel —

No he does not. One hundred and twenty, one hundred and eighteen, two hundred and eighty six —

“Your turn, Augustus,” Roboute pants, and the next battle brother practically yanks you off his gene-father’s prick. Apparently unbothered by the fact that you are leaking Roboute’s seed down your thighs, like the worst kind of degenerate whore, Augustus crams himself inside, taking you as he stands, one hand supporting your arse, the other holding his cock steady as he lets gravity do its work, sinking you onto him. You squeal with astonishment.

“S’big,” you slur. All a show — he bets you’ve been dreaming of something like this. Dreaming of an excuse to bed your betters, to spread your legs and take them, to do what you are meant to do. No attempts at diplomacy here, no pretence at being more than you are, just spread thighs and a wet, greedy cunt, and a womb to be filled, and filled again. Disgusting. Disgraceful.

He’s never been so hard in his entire life.

He bites the inner part of his cheek, to — to try and avoid shouting at you. That’s it. He wants to shout at you, to call you a filthy little slut for tempting his Primarch so. His battle-brothers should be with an apothecary, being treated for the aftermath of their mission, not here, rutting against you like animals. When Augustus finishes — quicker than he intended, judging by the sound of frustration he makes as his balls gather up and he empties himself inside you — Hadrian and Decimus take ahold of you. The two youngest members of the squad could be twins, with hair that shades more to red than blonde, and the pale skin of Ultramar’s northern, rain-soaked wastes.

”Open your mouth,” says Decimus, and you obey, your tiny lips barely enough to cover the head of the astartes’ purple-flushed cock. “Swallow it, swallow me —“

Meanwhile, Hadrian is positioning you on the lounger, mounting you from behind, trying to ensure your mouth can reach his brother’s cock, but his cock can bury himself inside. It’s an endeavour that should be easy, but you make it difficult — as you always, always do — by squirming and whimpering as Hadrian aims for your cunt, slides on the seed his squad mates have left, and almost sinks into your arse instead. You should let him, Sicarius thinks. You should take him in the arse and thank him, you should take him in the arse and thank him, thank you Cato, my lord, thank you, I’m nothing, I’m —

He grips the gun a little tighter. Shifts from cheek to cheek. Tries to think of the least arousing things he can. Tyranid gene organs, tyranid gene organs — the weird goo that pulses out of a Nurgling when you shoot it — his genefather naked, his genefather buried inside you, his cock distending you, your expression fucked-stupid and slack and —

Not helping. Not helping. Oh, he hates you, hates, you hates you —

“By the throne, that’s good. How are you still so tight?”

Hadrian has managed to penetrate you at least, and you cannot answer his question, even if you had the brains to: Decimus has his cock in your mouth, your jaw stretched so widely that tendons stand out in your neck, your eyes streaming with effort.

”That’s it — swallow, let me in, going to fuck your face,” Decimus promises, and you keen, with eagerness or distress. Maybe both. Sicarius hopes it is both. He hopes you want it, and hate how you want it, and hate how good you feel —

Count the stitches on the chaise lounge. Count the — the tiles on the floor. Count the number of his battle brothers who have cum inside you. With a low, drawn out groan, Hadrian makes three. And then he’s literally dragged away, Cicero taking his place.

“You’ve made such a mess,” the astartes coos. You can only manage a gargling slurry of sound, Decimus now making good on his promise, one leg folded under him, the other dangling off the crunch to support him as he starts to hump into your throat. “I wonder if you’ll have a child after this — wonder if you’ll give us a nice little recruit —“

Slicking himself up with the spend pulsing out of you, he pushes in, and you arch your back, popping your hips up, making it easier for him. The sight of you submitting — of you presenting — or maybe the thought of you growing fat with child after this revolting display does something to Decimus, who cums in your mouth. Your throat bulges as his seed spills down inside you, but there is too much to swallow, and you hack and cough it up as he pulls out, your chin sticky and white.

Decimus huffs, almost sulkily. “Don’t cough it up — lick it up. Go on.”

He gathers his own cum on his fingers, and pushes it onto your tongue. You’re too tired to move at first, but something registers, and you start licking his digits clean with swipes of your kitten pink tongue. Sicarius imagines you crawling to his feet, nuzzling your face against his crotch, begging him to give you a taste, just a taste — he would say no, of course, and backhand you across the face for your whorish temerity, but he would not mind the display.

Titus is the last to take his due, settling himself down in Decimus’ place, stroking your hair, murmuring soft nonsense to you, like he is comforting you. You don’t need comfort, Sicarius wants to snarl, you want a cock in your throat. All the way down there. That’s what he would do, ram himself into your soft palette and keep going, keep going until your gag reflex was just a helpless little flutter around his shaft —

— that’s what he would do if he were a lesser man, that is. If he were — if he were tainted. If he was ordered. Would Gulliman order him to fuck you? Sicarius’ mouth goes dry at the thought. Maybe he would, maybe his Primarch would see you lying there in a pool of ejaculate and realise what Sicarius has known all along: that you aren’t a diplomat but a whore. That you’re more use to the Legion on your back. That you shouldn’t be using your sweet little tongue to convince xenos to co-operate with the cause of the Emperor, but to lick his balls until he came all over your face.

Yes. If Gulliman ordered it of him he would. He would not be able to defy his Primarch — such a thing would be tantamount to heresy! He would take you from behind, but yank your head up so he could watch your face as he bullied inside. He would fuck you until even Titus realised that soft words were lost on you. He would —

He would try very hard not to cum in his armour like a neophyte as Titus petted your hair, your lips beginning to bleed from the stretch around his cock. Gulliman has returned to the fray, running his hands along your sides, spreading your cheeks to stare at the ruin they’ve no doubt made of your cunt. Maybe he will turn you about, just a little, so Sicarius can see —

He does not. That’s fine. It’s fine.

Instead, the Primarch slides a thumb into your arse, working it in and out, as you shift and mew, face boiled red and slick with drool. Titus’ eyes are closed, his head lolling back with pleasure, heedless of his brother’s impatient commentary.

“Lieutenant, hurry up, I want her mouth again.”

”Father, Titus is hogging her, make him share.”

Roboute smiles indulgently at his men, now with a finger worked inside you. “Titus, if you don’t mind —?”

”Ah — apologies, my lord.” He strokes your hair back from your face, his fingers tracing the outline of his cock in your throat. “I’m going to cum in your mouth, darling. You can swallow it for me, can’t you?” Wide-eyed, and so eager to please, you nod as best you can. Titus starts moving his hips with intent, the wet glucking sounds of your throat audible even over the Ultramarine’s chatter and the obscene squelch of Roboute’s fingers butterflying you open.

“That’s it — good girl —“

No sooner has he finished then Roboute snatches you up, arranging you once more on his lap — this time, however, starting to sink into a different hole. Your eyes bug with pain. “Lord —“

”Hush, little one. You can take me. And look!”

He gestures over to Sicarius.

“Kind Sicarius is keeping watch to ensure nothing goes awry — don’t fret, I know that he does not like you especially, but he does not wish to see his brothers dishonour themselves by killing you so. Isn’t that right, Sicarius? You’ll watch us most carefully — and I do appreciate it. As, I’m sure, does she.”

The Primarch’s burning eyes meet Sicarius’s over your shoulder as he starts once more to inch his way inside, your body struggling to accommodate him. And then — oh, it must be a trick of the light, or some of your witchery, because he swears that Roboute winks at him.

#On the bully sicarius train #roboute/reader #space marine/reader #cato gets cucked #cato sicarius/reader #my writing #cuck cato

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slaymitchabernathy · 20 days

Text

Hands to Yourself

When Coriolanus Snow hears his girlfriend let out a tired sigh when she sits down next to him on the sofa, he can’t help but grin at himself.

Soarynn sighs as if she’s entirely and utterly exhausted.

And it makes him wonder what could possibly make her so tired?

It’s adorable really, how shopping and dining with her girlfriends manages to tucker her out within a matter of hours whereas Coriolanus spends hours upon hours holed up in his office to put bread on the table.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Coriolanus has worked tirelessly to ensure that the only problem Soarynn ever has, is deciding how she’s going to spend his money.

She’s dressed comfortably for a night in, wearing a matching set of pajamas, silky pants, and a silky button-up shirt. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail with some stray pieces framing her face.

She looks so effortlessly beautiful.

He wishes he could just keep her in his pocket all the time.

“What’s troubling you darling?” He asks, folding the newspaper in his hands. He got home two hours ago and they’ve spent those two hours having dinner and winding down after a long week. Tomorrow is Saturday and Soarynn got them tickets for the ballet.

Soarynn sighs and waves him off, “Nothing. I’m just tired is all.”

Coriolanus can’t help but feel a bit cheeky and as much as he denies it, he loves to tease Soarynn, to push her buttons and make her scowl.

“What did you do today to warrant this lack of energy?” He asks her, crossing one leg over the other while leaning back into the sofa cushions, “Was it the tea with Persephone, or buying a whole new outfit for the ballet tomorrow that’s truly sent you over the edge?”

If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man.

Soarynn glares over at him and pulls her knees to her chest, putting more distance between them which is something they both know he hates. Coriolanus doesn’t see any reason for them to ever be more than three inches apart. Especially when they’re alone.

“I got my period thank you very much,” she snaps, causing his smile to drop. A woman on her period is a force to be reckoned with, especially Soarynn.

Not that she gets unnecessarily snippy with him but her patience does tend to run shorter when it’s that time of the month for her. Coriolanus has learned to approach her with snacks and kisses to help the week pass by quickly.

He scoots a bit closer to her, forcing her against the arm of the couch, “So I still haven’t gotten you pregnant then?” Soarynn scowls at him and jabs his ribs with her elbow for good measure, “You’re not funny you know that right? I’m bleeding out and you’re cracking jokes.”

Coriolanus chuckles and slips an arm around her waist, his fingers slipping under her shirt and pressing against her bare skin, “You know I’m funny, and you know that I’d cut off my hand before I let you bleed out yes?”

He’s got her there. Coriolanus Snow is many things but he’s not a negligent boyfriend. Should Soarynn need something, she’ll get it within seconds. A foot rub, a back massage, some kisses or chocolates.

Soarynn doesn’t look him in the eye but he can still see the resolve, she knows he’s right. “I suppose this week is always a test of inner strength for you,” she says, “since you can’t really touch me for a week.”

Coriolanus frowns because those are words that are not technically true. He can touch Soarynn while she’s on her period, in fact, he can do everything he does to her normally if she’d only let him. He’s offered it before, going down on her or fucking her while on her period but she’s always shied away from such suggestions, claiming it would be too messy and gross.

As if he could ever find his darling girlfriend gross.

His hand slides up to cup her breast and she whimpers, she’s always so much more sensitive during this time of the month. “The offer still stands,” he whispers, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear. He enjoys how Soarynn shivers despite her claims of not wanting to be intimate during this week. She’s as bad as he is when it comes to holding back from primal urges.

Soarynn shakes her head but doesn’t pull away from the physical contact, “No, I…it’s too much, you’d think it was gross.” Coriolanus wants to point out that he’s swallowed her spit almost every day and don’t even get him started on how many times they’ve finished each other off with their mouths.

Soarynn and her cunt taste delicious as far as he’s concerned.

He kisses her neck, “You could never be gross my darling girl, not to me. And how do you know if you’ve never tried it?” He’s got her there and she knows it.

He watches her face carefully while she mulls over the possibilities and he can see her slowly giving in. “Besides, I’ve heard that an orgasm can help relieve cramps,” he adds which is really a shot in the dark.

Soarynn bites her lip and Coriolanus watches with anticipation as she finally comes to a decision, “Alright,” she murmurs, “but in the shower.”

That’s the best offer he’s ever going to get from Soarynn and he’s quick to pepper her face with kisses, smiling at her giggles and squeals, “Coryo! Coryo calm down,” she shrieks while tilting her neck to give him better access. Coriolanus latches his lips to her sensitive skin and sucks hard, leaving behind a bruise, “It’s hard to calm down when you’re usually so keen on keeping me at arm's length darling,” he mumbles, his other hand slipping under her shirt to grab her other breast.

Her reaction is instant as it always is, she’s always been so sensitive to him.

Soarynn moans and Coriolanus presses his lips against hers, groaning when she grinds her body against his. “The shower,” she mumbles against his lips, reminding him of their little promise. Coriolanus nods, his hands sliding down to squeeze her waist, “The shower,” he repeats.

He’s never been so excited to shower in his life.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus is more than smug as he looks down at his girlfriend lying next to him in bed, wrapped in soft pajamas with a blissed-out look on her face.

Fucking Soarynn on her period had been everything he expected it to be which was the exact fucking same as it is when she’s not on her period.

She had been so worried about the blood but he hardly noticed it, he was too busy fucking her to pay attention to a little bit of blood. The way she talked about it, he expected gallons and gallons of it.

But if anything she just felt a little more wet than normal which was more than fine for him.

He’d given her three orgasms before she could barely stand up anymore, then he washed her down and showered her with words of praise and loving touches. Soarynn’s always had a sensitive heart but he’s found it to be extra sensitive during this particular week. So he always makes sure to take extra good care of it.

He gently brushes his fingers through her soft blonde hair, smiling when her eyes flutter open, “Did I wear you out tonight?” He asks, all too smug and proud of himself. Soarynn squints up at him while stretching her legs, so soft and smooth, “I will neither confirm nor deny such things.”

He definitely wore her out tonight.

Coriolanus shrugs and makes himself more comfortable sitting against their headboard, “Don’t worry darling, we both know you could barely stand by the third round.”

Soarynn scoffs and rolls over to her side, her back now facing him, “Tonight just proved that you can’t even go a week,” she says, her voice muffled by the sheets.

Coriolanus quirks a curious brow, “A week without what?”

Soarynn sits up, her blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders, “A week without fucking me, or touching me for that matter.” She smirks when she sees the dumbfounded look on his face and Coriolanus tries to find anything wrong with what she just said, what’s wrong with constantly wanting to be physical with her?

“Well…well you’re just so alluring,” he says earning a laugh from Soarynn, “I can’t help myself darling you’re simply too irresistible.”

A mischievous look crawls across Soarynn’s face and Coriolanus can’t help but feel a bit nervous, Soarynn’s always been a good girl, a rule follower, but she’s got this little evil side to her that scares the shit out of him.

And it always seems to come out around this time of the month.

“Do you wanna bet on it?”

He blinks once at her question, then twice, “Bet on it,” he repeats, wondering where this version of his girlfriend has been hiding for so long. Soarynn nods, batting her eyelashes while her hand finds her thing, sliding further and further up, “Mhm. We can see who can go longer without touching the other person, see who’s really the touchy one in this relationship.”

Maybe it’s because her hand is so close to his cock straining in his boxers or it’s the fact that Coriolanus Snow loves a challenge and loves to win but he finds himself nodding to her little proposition without a second thought.

“Alright,” he agrees, “and what does the winner get?”

He ought to know his reward for when he wins this silly little bet.

Soarynn gives him that sweet smile that has anything but good intentions behind it, “If you win then you can do whatever you want to me.”

Well, now he has to win.

His throat bobs a little but he can’t back down now, “You have yourself a deal darling.”

꧁ ꧂

꧁ Two Weeks Later ꧂

“You two are still doing that bet?”

Coriolanus nods at Festus and his question while watching Soarynn from across the room. They’re attending a company auction and Soarynn looks exquisite in her blood-red dress tonight.

“I have to win,” he says, more to himself than to Festus. It’s been a mantra constantly repeating in his head since he agreed to this stupid bet that’s slowly becoming the bane of his existence.

At first, it was easy.

Soarynn had laid out the rules plain and simple, they could kiss, but only small pecks. They could hug but not for too long, not long enough for something to start between them. They could cuddle but only when drifting off to sleep.

The second one of them made a move on the other, the bet was off and he—as she predicted—would be a sore loser.

The first week wasn’t too bad since he was used to not being as touchy as he usually was since she was still on her period. He showered her with chocolates and sweet cards, making sure she was comfortable.

This week has been harder.

Soarynn Nightingale is a very predictable creature and Coriolanus knows that the week after her period, she’s as horny as can be. She clearly didn’t plan for that when she came up with her little bet, something she thought would punish him and only him but she’s been making it very hard to keep his hands to himself.

Monday night he came home to her walking around completely naked. He nearly jumped her right then and there but he held back. He had to win.

Tuesday was especially hard in the morning when that little vixen did a fucking strip tease right before he went to work, leaving him with a hard and pressing problem.

Wednesday was when hell almost broke loose. Coriolanus had managed to make it through dinner even though Soarynn was eye fucking him from across the table the entire time. It was clear that she was just as pent up as he was, but she wanted to win too.

It was when he heard her moans coming from the bathroom that he almost called it off. He had peered through the cracked doors leading to their bathroom to find Soarynn in the bathtub, head thrown back in pleasure while she did who knows what in there.

To see his own girl getting off using something that wasn’t him went against everything Coriolanus stood for.

Soarynn deserved to feel the utmost sexual pleasure, preferably provided by him, not her fingers or the bath faucet.

Thursday proved to be difficult when he suggested that they watch a film so Soarynn decided to sit on his lap. Which was completely normal except for her ass was right on top of his growing boner and she had the audacity to act all innocent.

Tonight thankfully they were in public so she couldn’t pull any of her little stunts. “You two are crazy,” Festus says while shaking his head, “Persephone and I wouldn’t last three days.”

We barely have, Coriolanus thinks to himself. These two past weeks have been sheer torture and what scares him the most is that they have the potential to go months without touching should both of them keep this up.

And he can’t have that.

He’s going to have to take drastic measures.

“Excuse me,” he says to Festus before grabbing two glasses of champagne from the table next to them and making his way over to Soarynn who’s talking with her friends Persephone and Livia. All three women giggle as he approaches him and he can only guess why, “Oh Coryo, you’re looking so pent up, has work been extra hard this week?” Livia asks, teasing so evident in her tone.

He flashes her his best Capitol smile and nods, “Yes Livia, this week has proven to be full of challenges but thank you so much for your concern.”

He hands Soarynn a glass of champagne, noticing the smirk she’s wearing, “For you darling. Since you’ve been so parched this week.”

Her smirk slightly falters but she recovers smoothly and takes the glass from him, bringing it to her red-colored lips and taking a long sip, her eyes never breaking away from his gaze once. She finally swallows and her lips have left an imprint on the rim of the glass, “Thank you Coryo, it’s been a while since I’ve swallowed something so thick.”

Well fuck.

Coriolanus nearly chokes on his own spit all while her little friends are sniggering. Fine, fine, let them laugh, he’ll have the last laugh.

꧁ ꧂

The auction dinner is going by painfully slowly. If it weren’t for his beautiful girlfriend next to him, Coriolanus would be bored out of his mind.

Everyone is bored out of their minds while one of the owners of the company he works for drones on and on about how diligence and work ethic make a business as successful as this one. Which is all fine and dandy but Coriolanus is so fucking horny that he can barely think straight.

It doesn’t help that Soarynn is so intoxicating while she listens, mindlessly twirling her blonde hair around her finger the same way she’s got him wrapped around her other finger.

Oh fingers, he misses using his fingers on her, listening to her gasp and moan and whine and beg.

And her other hand that’s planted on his knee is not helping. He knows that she means well, that she only ever touches him there when he starts to get impatient and bounces his leg up and down until the table starts to shake.

But only a few inches above his knee is another area that would greatly appreciate her hand's attention. Too bad he can’t manspread right now and really show her what she’s missing.

The owner finally wraps this snooze fest up with a few inspiring quotes and then some, leading everyone to stand and raise their glasses. “To the future,” they all say and Coriolanus finds a completely different meaning in those words.

To a future where we can fuck every single day until we die, he thinks to himself as they all sit back down. Soarynn is oblivious to his internal battle as she begins chatting with her friends again, practically ignoring him.

Thankfully the first course is brought out so he can at least enjoy his food, but he’s still starving for something else.

“So what have you two been up to?” Persephone asks, eyeing Coriolanus and Soarynn with an amused look. Festus covers his laugh with a half-assed cough while Coriolanus scoffs and stabs at his food, “We’ve been up to absolutely nothing,” he grumbles, not caring if he sounds like he’s pouting.

Soarynn hums, taking a sip of her drink, “Yes, we’ve been on a path of self-discovery the last few weeks, haven’t we darling?”

You’re about to discover how hard I can fuck when this is all over, he thinks to himself before nodding and giving her hand a squeeze, “Yes darling, although I do love discovering you more than myself.”

Those words do enough to cause Soarynn to nearly choke on her drink and he’s the first one to offer her a napkin and a smug look on his face, “Be careful darling, heaven knows how long it’s been since you’ve choked on something you can’t swallow.”

Soarynn glares at him but Coriolanus basks in his small victory.

The last few weeks have been a battle of wits and words it seems, every jab having a double meaning that screams: ‘fuck me before I lose my mind!’

But neither of them is willing to give up victory, even if it costs a small bit of their sanity.

And it seems to be quite the entertaining experience for their friends who eagerly watch the pent-up couple go back and forth with their witty replies, “I dare say they’ve reached their limits,” Festus muses with a grin on his lips. Persephone nods, looking Coriolanus up and down, “Yes, it seems our dear Coryo finally didn’t land on top for once.”

Soarynn looks all too smug and he honestly can’t believe that his own friends are ganging up on him!

“Oh I intend to land on top,” he tells them, earning him a curious look from his girlfriend, “just you wait.”

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus runs his fingers through his curls absentmindedly while watching Soarynn get undressed.

It used to be that he would be the one undressing her after a night like tonight, but once again, his hands are tied.

So now he has to watch. Miserably at that.

She just looks so regal, so beautiful and angelic as she slips off her shoes, leaving her only in her panties and her bralette now. She throws him a smirk when she catches him watching and flips her hair over her shoulder, “Like what you see Coryo?”

He can’t help but nod. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger.

She turns to fully face him, giving Coriolanus a great view of what he’s been missing out on these past few weeks. Her toned abdomen, her full breasts, her perky little ass. He might just kill himself.

“Well you know what you have to do to get it,” she purrs, slowly walking up to him. Coriolanus can’t do anything but sit there and watch as Soarynn slowly sinks onto his lap, straddling him in the armchair.

Her hands graze his shoulders and she hums to herself, “You’re so close to giving in Coryo,” she murmurs, her breath leaving a trail of goosebumps down his neck, “just give in to me, you know you want to.”

Coriolanus can feel his resolve breaking, his mission becoming jeopardized. He can’t lose.

He quickly shoves her hands off of him and stands up, causing Soarynn to nearly slip onto the floor had he not caught her, “I think that’s enough of that darling,” he decides, clearing his throat, “we ought to take a shower and get ready for bed.”

Soarynn looks anything but pleased with his restraint. She clearly planned on him failing her little test but Coriolanus Snow loves a challenge and he’s more than happy to make this miserable for her too. Because she’s just as horny as he is.

“You’ll break,” she mumbles, shuffling to the bathroom, “and then I’ll be the winner.”

Coriolanus smirks, “Keep telling yourself that.”

꧁ ꧂

The next three days are filled with deathly glares from Soarynn and for good reason too.

He’s been working late.

Which she already hates with or without their little challenge. She’s always hated it when Coriolanus has turned up late after work but now she knows he’s doing it on purpose, doing it to rile her up and it’s working.

The first time had truly been an accident, Coriolanus ended up losing track of time on a project and got home around eight to find Soarynn perched on the sofa, arms crossed and chin turned away from him.

He apologized but he also took notes.

His absence clearly took a toll on her, so that’s how he’d win this thing.

The next few nights he did the same thing, showing up later and later until he sprung the news of a surprise work trip on her.

“You what?” She asks, her eyes wide in disbelief as they get ready for bed. Coriolanus sighs and shoots her a look, “I’m only going to be gone for two days darling, it’s business.”

Soarynn scoffs and throws her pillow onto the bed, “It’s last minute is what it is. And you know how I feel about last-minute plans.”

Petunia hops onto the bed, her tail held high and mighty while watching her humans fight, they’ve been doing a lot of that lately, fighting.

It’s all a part of his master plan.

Normally they’d come to the conclusion that it’s been a minute since they did anything intimate and the problem would be solved then and there. But they can’t solve the problem if they’ve sworn off the solution and it’s slowly making itself apparent to Soarynn who glares at him from across the bed.

“I can’t do anything about it, darling, unless you’d like to stop living this lavish lifestyle you seem so fond of,” he says, smiling at the last few words.

If Soarynn were a cat, she’d be hissing at him right now.

“You are getting on my last nerve Coriolanus Snow,” she grits out, jabbing a finger in his general direction, “but go ahead, go on your little business trip, see how it feels to wake up to an empty bed.”

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows in amusement, “But you’d also be waking up to an empty bed wouldn’t you darling? So it appears that once again, we’re evenly matched.”

They’re both at a standstill it seems but that’s fine with him, they can fix it when he gets back and she’s on her knees begging for him.

꧁ ꧂

꧁ Two Days Later꧂

The sound of Festus Creed letting out an exaggerated groan as they descend from the train causes Coriolanus to roll his eyes, “You act as if we weren’t in first class,” he says to his friend who merely shrugs, “It’s been ages since I rode on a train Coryo. Thank goodness the company paid for our tickets.”

Coriolanus nods, the company paid for everything they did on this trip, room and board, the train tickets, and of course, fine dining.

They’d only gone to District One to see a few of their factories, make sure everything and everyone was in order. They stayed in the only resort District One had, making the travel arrangements much easier.

The days flew by quickly but Coriolanus found himself missing Soarynn more and more each day. Not just her body, but her voice, her laugh, her soft blonde hair, and her dazzling gray-blue eyes.

He knows she’s missed him.

They spoke on the phone last night, briefly before began packing up and he could just hear how needy she was. There’s always been a slight tell in her voice whenever she’s gotten to the point of no return. There certain breathiness to her voice, almost as if she’s whining. Begging is a better term for it.

Coriolanus is quick to bid Festus and his other colleagues goodbye before searching for his car in front of the station. He spots it easily and is greeted by his driver who gladly takes his bags and puts them in the trunk.

Coriolanus relaxes into the leather seats of his car, checking his watch to see that everything seems to be going along schedule. He’ll get home just before eight o’clock, just like he promised to Soarynn last night.

She had sounded so goddamn needy on the phone last need, whispering and mumbling about how much she missed him. Coriolanus knew she'd break eventually, that she'd realize how much she missed him, he just needed this trip to get her to that desperate point.

Soarynn can be feisty when she wants, but she can also be so fucking needy and he's learned to love both sides of her, knowing how to play each to his advantage.

By the time his car pulled up to their apartment building, he's already thinking about all the positions he's going to put her in.

He takes his bag from the driver, thanking him before making his way into the building lobby where he's greeted by the doorman and the security officer. Both men make leaving Soarynn behind a little bit easier for Coriolanus who constantly worries for his girlfriend's safety when he's not around.

"Welcome back Mr. Snow."

Coriolanus flashes the doorman a blinding smile, "Thank you, it's good to be back."

Indeed it is.

Coriolanus taps his foot while the elevator takes him up to the top floor, humming a tune Soarynn likes to sing in the shower, something about willows and meadows. It sounds so pretty when she sings it.

He's nearly shaking with anticipation as he fishes his keys from his coat pocket, sliding them into the door, and listening to the familiar click of the lock turning.

Coriolanus quietly opens the doors, peering into the dark penthouse. It seems as if no one is home. He steps inside, closing the doors behind him before setting down his suitcase and shrugging off his coat, "Darling, I'm ho-"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before he's attacked by a smaller body, the scent of vanilla hits his nostrils like a train and he groans when he feels Soarynn's hands on his shoulders. It's dark but he can still make out the silhouette of his girlfriend and the black lingerie she's chosen to wear tonight.

She's got this feral look in her eyes.

"I need you," she whispers, pressing her body flush against his. Coriolanus groans when she reaches down to cup his covered cock, her fingers already working their magic, "Are you giving up then? Do I win?"

Soarynn scoffs and drops her hand, looking him up and down, "You still care about this stupid bet?" Coriolanus grabs her chin with his fingers, tilting her head back to look him in the eye, "I care about winning my love, so just say the magic words and I'll fuck you until you can't walk anymore."

His words go straight to her core and he smirks when he sees Soarynn pressing her thighs together.

He can see Soarynn trying to stay strong, but she's also growing weaker as the seconds pass and he's got her right where he wants her.

Soarynn lets out a frustrated sound, so similar to the sound Petunia makes when she doesn't get her way. "Fine," she huffs, "you win Coryo."

That's all he needs to hear.

He's on her in seconds. His hands are in her hair while his lips crash onto hers. A whole month of not truly getting to touch Soarynn has been pure torture and he's ready to make up for it tenfold. Soarynn moans into the kiss while her fingers work on his button-up shirt, fumbling to get it off of him.

"Fuck me," she whispers agasint his lips, "please fuck me."

Well how can he say no to that?

Coriolanus crouches down to pick her up, smiling when she squeals and wraps her legs around his torso, her fingers carding through his golden curls while he stumbles towards the bedroom.

His palms grip her flesh, feeling how good it is to have her back in his hands once again. The lacy black thong she's wearing makes her even more enticing. Coriolanus pushes his way into their bedroom and doesn't waste a moment dropping Soarynn onto the bed. She gasps and sits up on her elbows, watching as he gets undressed. Coriolanus has never gotten naked so fast in his life.

He's kicking off his pants and ripping off his shirt, jumping on top of Soarynn the second his clothes are off. Soarynn moans into the kiss while their bodies grind against one another, making up for lost time.

"Please," she whimpers when his lips move down to her neck, "please Coryo I need you."

Normally Coriolanus would tease her, kiss up and down her body then eat her out to get her nice and wet but one swipe between her legs tells him that she's more than ready for him.

Coriolanus tugs his boxers down and flips Soarynn onto her stomach, "Ass up darling, you know what to do." Soarynn doesn't even give him any sass, she just arches her back giving him a perfect view of her barely covered cunt. "You little tease," he mumbles, slapping her ass, "made the past month so fucking difficult for me huh? Thought you could just prance around here without any consequences."

Soarynn whines, wiggling her hips side to side and Coriolanus is quick to land another slap to her ass, watching how red it turns, "Such a slut for me, even when you say you're not. Your cunt always tells me how you really feel."

Soarynn lifts her face from the mattress and shoots him a look from over her shoulder, "Just fuck me!"

Coriolanus rips her panties off in seconds, throwing them onto the floor and soaking up the gorgeous view of Soarynn's cunt. So pink and wet, and all for him. "Oh how I've missed this," he murmurs, thumbing at her entrance and listening to her whine, "Please," she begs, "please, please, please."

His girl is so polite when she's begging to be fucked like the whore she is.

Coriolanus takes his cock in his other hand, stroking it a few times until it's at its fully hardened length and he slowly pushes into her cunt, both of them moaning so loudly at the intrusion.

His eyes roll back and his knees nearly buckle when he feels her tight walls wrapped around him once again.

Heaven on earth really.

Coriolanus grabs her hips and immediately starts pounding into her, listening to the sounds she makes, the moans, the gasps, the whines, and how wet her cunt is.

"Fucking missed this," he groans, watching his cock go in and out of her cunt, watching how she takes him over and over again like she should.

Soarynn's moans echo throughout their bedroom, his name leaves her lips like a prayer, "Right there," she moans, arching her back even more, "right there Coryo, please don't stop." He'd usually oblige to her request but after a month of what she's put him through, he's in the mood for some teasing.

He grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her up until her back is flush with his chest, providing him with an entirely new angle to fuck her in. Both of them moan and his other hand slides down to her lower abdomen where he can feel the smallest bulge from his cock, "You miss me?" He asks, his voice husky and deep. Soarynn opens her mouth to speak but fails to find any words, only moans.

He smirks, "Looks like you did angel, tell me, when you were touching yourself in the bathtub, was it me you thought of? Or something else?" Coriolanus fucks her at a steady yet punishing pace, his hips slamming into her again and again. "I thought of you," Soarynn gasps, her nails digging into his thighs, "thought about...about you fucking me, and fingering me."

Coriolanus tilts his head and adopts a taunting tone, "Thought about being stuck on my cock where you belong? Because you've clearly been off of it for way too long, your attitude has gotten completely out of control these past few weeks."

Soarynn whimpers when his hand presses down on her lower stomach, making her feel every thrust, "Who owns this cunt Soarynn?"

"You," she moans, her walls fluttering around him, a sign that she's about to reach her first orgasm, "you own it."

He nods, pleased to see she hasn't forgotten, "Good girl, now cum for me, be my good girl, and cum for me Soarynn." It only takes a few more seconds until she's falling apart on his cock, her cum making it that much easier for him to fuck her. Coriolanus doesn't slow down at all, in fact, he picks up the pace, going harder and faster. "I take it you want more than one round?" He muses, letting go of her hair and pushing her back onto the bed.

Soarynn gasps and her hands claw at the sheets, the pleasure already overwhelming her after only one orgasm, "Yes please."

Perfect, he was planning on fucking her either way.

Coriolanus can feel himself reaching his first orgasm and he doesn't hold back when he finally does, coating her walls with his cum, and watching it drip down from her cunt, "You look so perfect like this," he tells her, "dumb on my cock, just taking it like you should. Do you like it, angel? Do you like being stuck on my cock like the little slut you are?"

Soarynn's always gone weak in the knees at dirty talk and tonight is no exception. "Yes," she moans, "yes I love it, love being stuck on your cock." She's such a good girl for him.

He just hopes she's ready for at least five more rounds.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn is so beautiful.

Coriolanus watches her sleep, her face pressed against his bare chest, her naked body somewhat covered by their bedsheets while he drags his hand up and down her side, feeling how warm her skin is.

Her breathing is slow and measured, a stark comparison to how it was half an hour ago when they finally stopped fucking. She's going to be so sore tomorrow.

Soarynn mumbles something when he stops stroking her side and he chuckles, "So needy and demanding." Soarynn cracks an eye open, looking up at him, "You love it though," she says, her voice half slurred from sleep. Coriolanus nods, resuming his duty of stroking her side, "That I do."

They still have to clean up, shower, and get dressed, and he has to unpack his suitcase that they left in the hallway. But he wanted to let Soarynn rest, aftercare is just as important as everything else to him. The first few times they had sex she was so emotional after, shedding a few tears while whimpering that she never wanted him to leave her.

Funny how that girl later suggested that they start a little bet to see who could go longer without fucking the other person.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Soarynn shakes her head, nuzzling further into his chest, "I ate before you got home."

He hums, absentmindedly drumming his fingers against her skin, "I wasn't too rough with you, right? Nothing hurts?" Soarynn smiles and her hand reaches up to cup his face, her eyes still closed, "You could never hurt me Coryo."

Well isn't she just the sweetest little thing?

He presses a soft kiss to the palm of her hand and sighs, "That doesn't mean accidents can't happen my darling, so I need you to tell me if I ever do something to hurt you or that makes you uncomfortable, okay?"

Coriolanus knows one thing for certain, he'd never forgive himself if he hurt Soarynn during sex. Never.

Sure he likes to be rough and at times, degrading, but aggressive and hurtful is just unacceptable. He can't imagine ever wanting to hurt Soarynn on purpose, to see her looking at him fearfully. He'd rather die.

"Okay," she whispers, her body relaxing once again meaning she's about to fall asleep.

"Why don't we shower hmm? Then you can go to sleep."

This isn't what she wants to hear but Coriolanus is desperate to shower the day off of him, with or without Soarynn at this point. "I suppose," she says with a yawn, slowly stretching out before sitting up. She looks so gorgeous like this, with tangled hair, skin covered in love bites, and that hazy look in her eyes that she always has after they have sex.

"How was your trip by the way?"

Coriolanus shrugs, flexing his shoulders, "Quite dull, but that's to be expected from District factories. I missed you though." Her face softens and she doesn't hesitate to crawl back on top of him straddling him and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. Both of them move in sync, his hand wrapping around her waist while her hand rests on the back of his neck, "I missed you too," she whispers, her teeth gently tugging on his bottom lip, "I've missed you a lot lately."

Boy does he understand that. Even though they've been together this whole month, the bet has made it feel as if they've been oceans apart. Not touching your significant other can do wonders to the brain.

"Then lets never be apart again," he says, earning him a soft giggle from Soarynn who kisses him back so sweetly. "Okay," she agrees, "no more bets."

Music to his ears.

Coriolanus much prefers a relationship where he doesn't have to keep his hands to himself.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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claimedcrossbows · 1 year

Text

Served! Sanji x Fem!reader Pt. 2

Slight anime spoilers/foreshadowing.

THANKS FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ON THE FIRST CHAPTER!!! <3

Your anxiety was at a full ten as all you could do was listen to pots banging and clattering and Sanji yelling at his makeshift team of chef’s that consisted of a green haired sword fighter, a liar, and a rubber man who wanted to eat everything he saw.

You almost got up from your bed when you heard what sounded a awful lot like a fire extinguisher.

“Oh my God i’m doomed.” You mumbled still clutching your stomach.

You sighed looking over at the orange haired woman occupying your sisters bed and wondered how this woman had managed to make it this far with a crew full of idiots.

If she survived she definitely had your full sympathy.

You sighed looking back over your recipe book that contained numerous healing recipes that you had mastered over the years.

From the looks of the woman it seems she has been bitten by some type of insect, probably from a warm island climate if you had to take a guess.

You skimmed through your book trying to see what recipe would best suit the woman.

Your thoughts were however interrupted by a knock on your door.

You slowly got up and answered the door surprised to see Sanji standing before you.

“How’s Nami?” He immediately asked, looking slightly past you into your room to see his friend still unconscious.

“She’ll get better when I start on the recipe I need to heal her, I already have a few in mind, but that’s not going to happen anyway unless you serve a meal worthy of a outstanding letter of recommendation from the food critic.” You said crossing your arms.

He nods, “That’s why I came up here, come down stairs for a food test.” He said.

You nod your stomach still doing sommersaults but you’d brave anything to make sure your got a good review tonight. So you followed Sanji down stairs and nearly fell out when you saw the state of your kitchen.

It looked like a sea beast had torn apart your kitchen.

“Sweet Jesus…” You said.

“I promise I will clean it thoroughly.” Sanji quickly intercepts seeing you look like you were about to collapse from the sheer shock. “LUFFY I TOLD YOU TO STOP STANDING ON THE TABLES!” Sanji yelled kicking him off.

“Owwww Sanjiii!! I was trying to reach the pots!!” Luffy groaned.

“I Put you on untensil cleaning what could you possibly need a pot for!?” Sanji angrily yelled.

“TO BOIL THE CRAB DUH!” Luffy yelled back.

“WHY ISN’T THE CRAB BOILED!?” Sanji seethed.

“BECAUSE USOPP DIDN’T WANNA TOUCH IT!!” Luffy yells pointing at Usopp.

“IT PINCHED MY NOSE!” Usopp exclaimed.

“I’m lost..” Zoro says holding up two spoons one which was the soup spoon and the other the tea spoon.

“WHEN ARE YOU NOT!?” Sanji hissed throwing a ladle at the mans head.

“WATCH IT CASANOVA!” Zoro seethed.

Sanji sighed turning to you, “Come this way Y/N.” He said directing you out to the dining hall that to your surprise had been miraculously fixed up and in front of you were the main courses and appetizers for the night.

“These are the samples that your sister helped me make, she’s currently looking for some more seasonings for the seafood gumbo.” He paused then continued, “She’s a really fantastic cook, i’m sure she learned from you.” Sanji said giving you a more pollite smile than the flirtatious ones he used earlier.

All you gave was a nod as you began trying some of the lobster mac and jambalaya.

You watched Sanji stare at you with the upmost confidence in his dishes as you chewed and swallowed the rest making sure to have a complete poker face all throughout.

Your little sister enters the room and sees you testing the food.

“Y/N how is it!? I made sure he followed your recipe’s to the highest degree!” She boasted.

You put your fork down and stared at both of them, “The jambalaya could definitely use more kick, the lobster mac a bit more salt, and i’m assuming you prepared the alligator?” You said looking at your little sister.

You take the entire platter of alligator and basically shove it at her.

“Y-yes!” She said shakily.

“It’s too tough, 86 it, and do it over again.” You said flatly.

“R-right!” She said taking the platter and immediately running off her face heavily dissapointed.

You look back over at Sanji who to your surprise had sat down pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and was already mid smoke watching you and your sister interact.

“Ooh your tough, reminds me of Zeff.” He notes blowing out a puff of smoke.

“Who told you you could smoke in my restaurant?” You said plucking the cigarette out of his hand.

He smiles, “My apologies.” He says. “So back to the cutting board?” He asks.

“No. Yours was actually good it can go out.” You said then added, “Guess Zeff instilled some sense in you when it comes to cooking.” You noted.

Sanji laughs, “I can out cook him on my worst day.”

“Hmm, add some more seasonings to those dishes and they’ll be set.” You said. “Just no oregano okay?” You stressed.

Sanji paused and stared at you with a awe struck look followed by a bright smile that nearly blinded you, “I think I just fell for you harder.” He said breathlessly.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight.” You say flatly.

“Then maybe I should walk in again?” He offered a flirty smile gracing his lips once again.

“You are really making me sick.” You sighed feeling the nausea creep back upon you.

“Love sick?” He raised a brow.

“No. Just sick, sick.” You plainly say as his smitten look remained on his face.

You shoot the cook a puzzled look and shake your head, “Okay lover boy, dinners in a few, i’m going back upstairs to look through my healing recipes.” You say turning to leave before the love cook could utter another word.

Before you went upstairs you could hear Luffy screaming, “SANJIII ONE OF THE CRABS ESCAPED!!”

“HOW!?” You could hear sanji angrily yell back.

“IT’S NOT OUR FAULT IT HAD A KNIFE!” Usopp could be heard squealing.

“ZORO FIGHT IT!” Luffy could be heard yelling.

Next thing you heard was “THREE SWORD STYLE!!” Followed be a whole lot of ruckus.

It would be a miracle if you pulled this dinner service off you thought.

It was dinner time and you had succesfully managed to find a recipe you think would work on the bedridden woman now it was just time for Sanji to uphold his end of the deal you. Your stomach was still in knots but you managed to dress yourself up for the dinner service and walk yourself down the stairs to a restaurant full of customers some seated, some waiting to be seated.

Your sister along with Zoro and Usopp seemed to be waiting tables, you laughed just a bit when your sister had to instruct Zoro more than several times where the empty tables were for people to be seated.

Your sight suddenly caught a man to the far right back corner of the restaurant by himself and every chef’s insight when it came to food critics kicked in and you knew this must be the food critic.

You nearly threw up again this time anxiety induced as you quickly ran towards the kitchen and screamed for Sanji.

“Sanji!” You yell out of breath by the time you entered the kitchen.

“Mon cheri is everything okay?” He asks setting the frosting down since he was in the middle of decorating desserts.

“The-The Critic is out there far right back corner table.” You stressed. “ I cannot meet him in the state i’m in.” You explain.

“You look stunning though.” He said admiring your outfit.

“If sweaty, pale, and exasperated is stunning I must be frickin gorgeous then, Sanji go out there and talk to them!” You say grabbing the man by the tie and dragging him towards the door but not before the door opened and your sister stood their smiling.

“I met the food critic!!” She boasted.

Your blood ran cold immediately.

“You what?” You asked.

“I met the food critic!” She repeated, “And guess what since we were running out of appetizers due to the crawfish shipment being delayed I offered him some of the shrimp skewers I made left over from last night, they were such a big hit I thought he’d like them!” She excitedly said.

“There were leftovers…I thought we ate them all-”

“Well yeah but I saved a plate for myself for later, it’s a good thing I didn’t eat them though.” She smiled excitedly.

Your heart rate was in over drive and you had never ran so fast in your entire life.

“Don’t eat that shrimp skewer!!” You yell in a room full of crowded people who all pause and look at you appauled.

Your eyes meet the food critic and his empty appetizer plate and you nearly collapse right there.

Your sister hurries behind you followed by Sanji who looked just as lost as everyone else in the room.

You watch the food critic approach you and you swear the world is spinning at this point.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” The critic says their eyes boring into you with peak interest.

You couldn’t read his face which only heightened your panic, “Y-yes sir..” You stutter.

“Well Ms, I suggest your get some new wait staff, that gentleman over there ate my appetizer before I could even take a bite!” He angrily says.

Your eyes widen in confusion until the critic points to the back of the restaurant where you could see Luffy laying flat on his back on a table surrounded by gobbled up scraps from desserted plates.

“LUFFY!” Sanji yells.

“Uhhgggg I don’t feel so well.” He groans.

“Ah..I apologize sir, please allow us to get you another appetizer and perhaps a bottle of our fancy wine?” You offer.

The critic contemplates for a minute and then nods, you sigh and relief and Sanji quickly goes to serve the critic his food.

You let out a sigh of relief as your sister still looks at you puzzled by everything that had just occured.

You say nothing as you walk back upstairs suddenly needing to lie down.

The dinner service ended and you were too scared to go back downstairs to see what had happened. It wasn’t until you heard a knock on your door that you got up and answered it. There stood Sanji still wearing his suit and famous smile.

“Come downstairs?” He asked.

You nodded following him downstairs as he lead you past the dining room, past the kitchen, and outside at the back of the restaurant where a nice deck stood over looking the ocean.

“So you found the deck huh?” You quipped as you saw a table and two chairs set up that hadn’t been there before.

“It’s peaceful back here.” He noted.

“It is.” You agree sitting down noticing a lidded tray in the middle of the table.

You shoot him a bewildered look and he just smiles unveiling the plate just like he would any other customer.

There in front of you on a plate layed a single letter, and a drink.

“The drink is a pear ginger smoothie to help settle your stomach, and the letter is from the critic, bon appetite.” He says smiling warmly as he sits across from you.

You give him a short smile and sip the smoothie actually surprised with just how good it is.

“It’s not a healing recipe, but it should still help ease the nausea” He says.

“Thank you.” You say as you focus your attention back onto the letter, “Did you read it?” You ask.

“It’s your restaurant Mi’lady.” He says, “You should do the honors.” He says.

You nod as you pick up the letter and take a deep breath before reading it.

As you read you could feel Sanji’s eyes locked onto you and you weren’t sure if it was due to anticipation or something else as you could feel his inquistive eyes never leave you.

You set the letter down and look at him.

“Well East Blue Boy, you did it!” You smiled watching a wide smile spread upon his face.

“Great review?” He asked happily.

“4 out of 5 stars, mostly because of the poor wait staff-”

“I Apologize for Luffy.” Sanji immediately cuts in.

“Actually I think he saved me.” You sigh putting the letter down as sitting further back in your chair.

“Yeah what was that about earlier?” He asks shooting you that same questioning look as he reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a lighter and another cigarette.

“Geez what are you a chimney?” You quip.

“I’m assuming it’s okay now that we’re outside?” He asks before he lights.

“Eh it’s your lungs.” You shrug.

He gently laughs, “You trying to stall?” He asks.

You sigh frowning a bit, “I know what caused me and my entire staff to contract food poisoning.” You admit.

“Yeah I was wondering about that, how does a chef as talented as you get food poisoning?” He asks.

“It wasn’t me..” You admit. “It was my sisters shrimp skewers.” You explain.

“Wait-the ones she gave the critic!?” Sanji eyes widen. ”Those very ones.” You nod, “Thank God Luffy ate them before he did, ohh wait he’s okay right?” You ask kind of worried about the bouncy kid.

“Luffy’s immune to most poisons, he’s fine just a mild stomach ache I gave him one of the ginger smoothies as well.” Sanji says.

“That’s good.” You say tiredly.

“Your sister though? She’s so talented?” Sanji asks.

You shake your head, “She’s amazing, she’ll probably be better than me at some point..but she’s young, passionate and quite forgetful, always so quick to move from one thing to the other, like leaving those shrimp skewers out for hours and only fridgerating it after it had been out most of the day.” You sigh.

“Ah..so that’s how it happened.” Sanji sort of chuckles. “Zeff would’ve had my head if i had let something like that happen, but you made her my sous chef?” He wonders.

“She’s young, and makes mistakes, but when she’s serious she’s one of the most talented upcomers i’ve ever seen.” You say proudly. “I knew with a critic coming in she was going to give it her all.”

“You trusted her even though it could’ve meant the end of your restaurant?” He states admiration for you ghosting his face.

“Of course, she’s my sister.” You shrug giving a small smile.

He returns the smile as you both fall into silence.

You can’t help but notice his blue eyes and how much they shined looking at you in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You clear your throat and stand up, “Well since you fulfilled your end of the bargain I better start making the recipe to heal your friend.” You say.

He nods and you begin walk to the door turning around as you see him still seated there.

“Aren’t you coming?” You ask.

He raises a brow in confusion.

“Come on your going to help me.” You say watching his eyes light up.

“Yes Chef!” He says smiling as he puts his cigarette out and follows you in.

Hey guys wow this was supposed to be 2 parter at most, but now I'm thinking I might make a 3rd part, let me know if it’s something you want though.

Oh and here's a video of the crab fighting Luffy, Usopp and Zoro!!

youtube

#sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #sanji #roronoa zoro #usopp #one piece netflix #Youtube

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mochinek0 · 2 years

Text

Diner Girl

"So, we finally get to meet your girlfriend, in person?" Tim questioned.

"I'm already regretting this decision." Damian declared.

Jason chuckled, "Why? You think she'll like us more?"

"More like drive her away." Damian snarled.

"Relax, Little D." Dick smiled, "We won't do anything of the sort. Besides, it's been three years."

Damian sighed as they pulled up to the diner. Marinette had stated she was busy working until 5pm. The Wayne boys couldn't wait to meet her and asked if they could meet her at her work for a quick bite. They even said they could head out from there and take her home. He knew his brothers would try to convince her to change and go out instead.

Marinette heard the ding of the door opening and turned to see her boyfriend and his family. She smiled and looked at the clock.

'Thirty more minutes until I get off the clock. Maybe they'd like some appetizers.'

The Waynes sat down and saw Marinette subtly wave at them.

"My God, did you see her?"

"It suits her."

"I'm shocked she hasn't dropped anything yet."

Tim quickly took out his phone. He made sure to look interested at it, as he noticed the people in the booth behind them point at Marinette. He made sure his phone was still focused on them as his little brother's girlfriend approached the table.

"Sorry, for the wait." Mari spoke, "What can I get you to drink?"

"Hey, Pixie. Can I get a strawberry milkshake?" Jason questioned.

"Pixie?" she repeated.

"Because you're tiny and cute." he smiled.

His answered earned him a quick kick to the shin by Damian.

"Ow! You brat!" Jason yelled.

Damian flipped him off.

"Ignore them." Dick commented, "I'll take a limoncello float."

"Black coffee." declared Tim.

"Damian?" Marinette questioned, "Chai tea?"

"Yes." he answered.

Marinette smiled and walked away from their table.

"Oh, so she knows you favorites now?" Jason teased.

"Shut up." Damian growled.

"The butter knives aren't sharp enough and you know it." Tim sighed, noticing the girls in the next booth glaring at them.

Tim continued to appear interested in his phone.

'This isn't going to end well.'

Lila smirked as she tipped over her drink and it clattered to the floor.

"Oops." she spoke.

Alya snickered as the drink covered the floor.

"Clean it up, Lila." Adrien declared, "Now."

"Why would I do that, Adrien?" Lila questioned, "I don't work here."

"Well, if that is how you think, I can say you won't have a job anywhere." he replied.

Alya, Nino, and Lila looked at him shocked.

"You can't do that!" Alya shouted.

Adrien smiled and leaned back, "It's my father's company. Father expects perfection everywhere; especially in public."

"But my wrist hurts!" Lila whined, "It's why I spilled it. It was an accident."

He sighed, "We both know you're full of shit."

"Adrien!" Alya gasped.

"You are only special in your own head and it shows." he declared.

"Dude!" Nino cried out, surprised.

Marinette walked towards the table behind them and slipped on the scattered ice. Damian quickly grabbed her, preventing an accident, but the drinks still fell to the floor.

"Marinette!" the manager shouted.

"It-it wasn't my fault!" she stammered.

"You're fired!" he roared.

"But-" Marinette tried to refute.

"It's fine, Habibiti." Damian spoke.

"Yeah." Jason replied, "We'll leave."

The manager glared at her, "See! Now, you are making the patrons leave."

"The only reason we came here was to see Marinette." Dick annouced.

"Besides, " Tim spoke, "maybe you should hire Sausage Hair, there. Seems she'll be out of a job soon."

"Were you spying on us?" Alya shrieked.

"Recorded your conversations, too." Tim commented, "Planning to trip her? Classic."

"You're just jealous that Pixie Pop is better than you." Jason replied.

Lila stood up, in outrage, "I'm the daughter of an ambassador! I am a model for Gabriel Agreste! I travel the world and help with various charities! I know Prince Ali of Achu and Jagged Stone. I help Prince Ali in his environmental charities and I'm Jagged Stone's niece!"

The Waynes laughed. The manager noticed Marinette covering her mouth, but she was laughing, none the less.

'What is going on?'

"One: Prince Ali works in children's hospitals, not environmental projects." Dick stated, "He donates to our charities, all the time."

"Two: Marinette knows Jagged Stone. She is his 'niece', as well as his personal designer." Tim declared, "She doesn't even need this job, but she thought it would get her out of having kids thrown her way for unpaid babysitting gigs, at the last moment."

"Three: You are a waste of space from what Blondie was saying." Jason scoffed.

Damian smirked, "Go ahead. Tell her who we are Agreste. You've spoken to us before."

Adrien relaxed and smiled, "You're the Waynes. Your father is an international billionare."

Lila and the manager's faces drained of color.

Damian turned his glare to the manager, "Four: The only reason we were in your pathetic place was because of the angel in my arms."

"What's so special about her, anyways?" Alya snapped.

"She's my girlfriend." Damian announced.

The Waynes smiled behind him. Lila tensed up and looked between Marinette and the Wayne. Adrien just smiled and the manager sensed he had made a huge mistake.

"Come along, Angel." Damian spoke, "We'll take you home and we'll treat you to dinner."

"I have five restaurants ready to take our reservation in three hours." Tim declared.

Dick smiled, "We can settle it in the car."

"Sorry, I was such a bother, Damian." Marinette whispered.

Damian leaned down and placed a kiss on her lips, "You are never a bother to me. Though, you also have to thank Agreste there. He was trying to get the bitch to clean up the mess she made, before you came over."

Marinette smiled, "Thanks, Adrien."

"Oh, you're welcome, Mari." Adrien replied,, "Sorry, you ended up falling and getting fired."

Marinette just shrugged it off, "Like Tim said, I don't need this job. I just tired of Alya and Nino dumping their siblings at me for free babysitting gigs. I mostly took this out of spite. I'll be moving out of my parents' place this year; I didn't want to deal with packing and trying to take care of kids for some people who hate me."

"Come on, Pixie Pop!" Jason shouted, "Let's blow this popsicle stand!"

Dick smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder, "We can drop you off and we can go change in our suits that you made us."

Marinette smiled brighter, "They fit, right? Nothing needs to be adjusted?"

"Are you kidding me?" Jason asked, leading the way out the door, "Like a glove! Best monkey suit I've worn!" making her giggle.

"Do we need to stop anywhere to get you dressed up?" Tim asked.

Mari scoffed, "You think I wouldn't have dressy clothes? I have to travel with Jagged to his functions."

"Rock and Roll!" Jason smiled.

Damian kept his arm snug around Marinette's waist as they left the diner with a smile.

"Move, Lila." Adrien demanded.

"Huh?" she spoke, confused by the hostility coming out of his mouth.

"I need to leave." he declared

"But-" Nino spoke.

Adrien pointed to the door as Natalie walked in. She quickly spotted the blonde's coiffed hair and walked towards them.

"Adrien, those were-" she bean.

"The people Lila just humiliated herself in front of and they recorded the whole thing?" Adrien stated, throwing her fully under the bus.

Natalie glared at her as she quickly moved, allowing Adrine out of the booth. Adrien walked around the mess and spotted one of the dishtowels that Mari had dropped onto the floor. He picked it up and threw it right in Lila's face. She sputtered as she removed the soaked towel from her face. It was painfully obvious by the two toned skin color that most of her makeup was wiped off on the wet towel.

Adrien smiled, "You might want to get use to your new job."

"They know Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" Natalie questioned.

"Marinette is dating the youngest Wayne. Unless, Mari puts him in a good mood, Lila is likely to-" Adrien declared as his phone went off rapidly.

He pulled his phone out as Natalie looked towards her tablet.

"Oh, never mind. Timothy Drake-Wayne blasted Lila on twitter. The co-CEO of Wayne Enterprise just showed the world how two-faced Father's model really is." Adiren overdramatically sighed, "He posted the whole video of Lila pretending to be injured and purposefully making Marinette slip. He also posted Marinette getting horribly fired and all of the Waynes calling Lila a huge liar to her face. That's really not a good look for Gabriel."

Natalie tightened her grip on the tablet, "I'll call your father to see how he wants to deal with this new situation, seeing as we were suppose to meet the Waynes tomorrow."

Adrien smiled, "I'm pretty sure that the girl Lila got fired is the Waynes' personal designer."

Lila gulped and slowly sat back in the booth.

"If that is the case, I agree with Adrien, Miss Rossi; I would start looking for a new job." Natalie commanded.

Adrien walked out of the diner with Natalie in tow. Lila sat there frozen until Alya reached out and touched her hand.

"It's gonna be okay, Lila." Alya smiled, "It's-"

Lila tore her arm away from the journalist grasp and glared at her. She got up quickly and tried to rush out the door. In her hurry, she had forgotten about the spill and slipped. Lila fell forward but landed awkwardly, attempting to catch herself. She was rushed to the hospital with a broken arm.

As Nino drove Alya home, she sniffled as she looked through her phone. Her blog was being torn to shreds by people around the world. They were pointing out every lie and detail on how everything Lila said was fake. The comment that hurt the most was: I can't believe this blogger wants to be a reporter! Doesn't this girl know the basics for a reporter? It's called fact checking! Google isn't that hard to use!

TAGLIST: TAG LIST: @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @meme991001 @vixen-uchiha @abrx2002 @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @animegirlweeb @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus

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jrow · 4 months

Text

May Prompts (12)

Day 11 here. Day 13 here.

Family

It’s funny the degree to which having a real family shifted his priorities.

Maybe not funny, but surprising. At least to him.

His entire life, family had felt like an obligation more than anything else. His mother meant well, but she didn’t really know how to parent. His dad was a drunk arsehole. And the least said about Harry the better.

No wonder he’d ended up fighting in a war across the world.

Obligation was exactly how Mary had felt at the end. But despite his spiral after her death (and the resulting piss poor parenting that took all the worst elements from his own parents style), his love for Rosie had been fierce and unwavering. She hadn’t been an obligation, but a gift he didn’t deserve. She got him through.

Well, her and Sherlock. Once John finally let himself acknowledge that Sherlock had become like family himself, things slowly got easier. John was happier. Suddenly, family was love.

But, that can complicate things at times. Balancing the wants and needs of the two members of his family against each other and his own.

Sherlock has been here with him at the hospital all day. After Sherlock first arrived this morning, they spent about a half hour talking about what happened. The thief, the chase, John’s fall. Not surprising, really, given their choice of profession. Although perhaps a bit of a wake up call. John isn’t as young as he used to be, and now he has a child to consider.

John had also hoped to talk about the intruder and see if Sherlock had any theories. He promptly fell asleep instead. And slept for over six hours. Understandable maybe, but embarrassing all the same.

Sherlock was still there when he woke up. John is fairly certain the man never left his bedside. And for twenty minutes, they have been discussing the intruder—the evidence gathered so far (limited, much to Sherlock’s hilarious annoyance) and theories on motives. It’s wonderful and John hates to cut it short, but he knows he must.

Molly would likely agree to pick up Rosie from nursery. Mrs. Hudson too. But they’ve never done it before and, under the circumstances, that will scare Rosie. Right now her comfort takes precedence over John’s and Sherlock’s wants and needs.

Sherlock is currently ranting about security measures in the hospital. To be honest, John stopped paying attention to the details a couple minutes ago. He opens his mouth to interrupt, but is beaten to the punch when Sherlock stops abruptly and stands up.

“Sorry, John. I need to head to the nursery now. If I pick up Rosie a bit early, there will be time for a short visit here for. The timing will be perfect for her tea.” He puts on his coat. “The cafeteria has cut fruit, goldfish, yogurt, and some rather boring pasta dishes that she’ll probably like. It should be sufficient.”

John finds himself smiling broadly. “You are going to get Rosie.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and the sight warms John’s insides. “Of course, I am getting Rosie. This will be a very stressful time for little Watson. After our visit here, I will take her home and put her to bed. Molly has agreed to spend the night at your house again so I can leave.”

“Oh yes, of course,” John says. “You’ll be wanting to get back to Baker street.”

Sherlock looks at John like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. It’s ridiculous how much John loves that look. “I’m coming back here, John. Why would I go to Baker Street?” He shakes his head and makes his way to the door. “Do sleep now, so we can continue working tonight. Gerald has managed to finagle his way on to the case, so the Yard may actually prove helpful. He will be coming by at 9 to go over what little evidence they have.” He pauses. “Don’t tell Gerald I said he might be useful.”

John chuckles. “I believe visiting hours end at 8.”

“That doesn’t apply to you,” Sherlock says with a dismissive wave. John doesn’t doubt it.

And with that, Sherlock is gone. But, soon to return with Rosie in tow. John smiles to himself. This family thing is pretty great. He doesn’t deserve her. Doesn’t deserve them.

Despite his injuries, he’s one lucky bastard.

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @quimerasyutopias @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels

#johnlock #wip #may prompts 2024

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tinycoded360 · 4 months

Text

Sterling Household-Sick Giant

"I'm going to help Sterling." Cassia declared at the table in their tiny kitchen, hidden within the walls of the human’s home.

Milton jerked back in surprise, choking on his tea. “Wh…what do you mean?”

“He’s been sick for the past day. Throwing up and bedridden. I think it would be good for us to help somehow.” Cassia explained. “He already knows about us and has saved Emma and our kids. I think this would be good for our relations.”

“Relations?! There are no relations with a human!” Milton looked shocked and confused.

“It can’t be helped. We have relations with him now. We either make them good, or we move. What if he gets annoyed with us? Hmmm?” Cassia challenged her husband.

Milton sighed. Cassia grinned, knowing she had won.

“See? Relations can’t be helped now. We might as well take advantage of a tame bean.”

“What do we suggest we do?” Milton asked.

***** “This is insane!” Emma grumbled as she helped Cassia gather supplies- a thimble for carrying water, thread for rope, an upturned metal cap for a pot, and other gear that would be useful for their task.

“Well, we don’t want to seem ungrateful; he did help you, after all.” Cassia pointed out.

“I know, I know. But I don’t have to like it.”

“Did you get what I asked for?” Cassia asked her friend.

“Of course! It was easy, I’m a pro at fishing, I know all the best spots.” Emma said with pride. She pulled off her backpack and opened it showing three big fish. Or big fish compared to the borrowers, to a human the fish would be more like small guppies.

“Perfect! Milton’s gonna use those to lure Whiskers out of the way!”

Cassia took a deep breath and stepped out from the walls, exposed on the giant's countertop.

Milton stood at the bottom with their children. He threw a grappling hook to the counter, which Cassia helped latch. Then, they worked together to get their children to climb up. Next, Cassia lowered the fish down.

“Why can’t I stay with Papa? I can help!” Agnes protested with a pout.

“You stay with your mother; I don’t want you near his cat! It’s better if I do this alone. Now you be good for her. She’ll need all the help she can get for this,” Milton shouted up to his family and disgruntled daughter.

Cassia shot her husband a grateful smile. "It'll be alright, dear. We'll look out for each other," she said gently. “Now, you be careful!”

Milton nodded. Leaving to find the giant feline.

"Here, kitty-kitty..." Milton called in a sing-song voice, watching Whiskers' ears perk up from her dozing spot by the hearth. With a flick of her tail, she rose, her movements graceful and silent—a stark contrast to the frantic beating of Milton's heart. Milton had tied the fish together to a string. He broke out in a run, pulling the treat with him.

Leading her through the open back door, Milton danced just beyond her reach, the string pulling a fat, yummy fish, enticing the cat. Whiskers pounced, playful yet deadly. He darted left, then right, his small size an advantage in the game of cat and mouse they played. He spun around as Whiskers took hold of the fish. Whiskers started purring up a storm as she ate the treat. Giving Milton time to move around her and push the door closed, using all his might.

On top of the counter, the borrowers paused to catch their breath, the vast kitchen spreading out before them. Cassia took charge, pointing out the locations of knives, cutting boards, and ingredients.

"We'll need to work together to manage these giant tools," she said. Emma and her children voiced their agreement.

They slowly dragged the knife across the counter to a potato, then worked in unison to slice off chunks of the hearty vegetable. Their tiny arms strained from the effort.

Emma and Cassia worked together to push one of the pots still on the stovetop onto the burner. They then turned on the stove and filled the pot with water, using their buckets. This took a long time, and they only managed to fill it about ¼ of the way.

Soon, aromatic steam rose from their pot as the broth simmered. Cassia gave an approving nod, heart swelling with pride for her family and friends. By working together, they could achieve the impossible.

Emma turned off the giant stove, the dial clicking loudly in the silence of the kitchen. The rich scent of herbs permeated the air as the borrowers peered into the steaming pot.

"It's ready," Emma declared. "Let's fill up our containers and get this to Sterling."

The group worked efficiently, ladling the fragrant broth into thimble-sized buckets. The tiny containers looked almost comical next to the giant pot, but the borrowers knew every drop could aid in Sterling's recovery. Or, at the very least, Sterling would be flattered they went to all this work for him.

The borrowers entered Sterling's room. The giant bed loomed before them, its great expanse of fabric forming rolling hills and valleys from their minuscule perspective.

Cassia secured her rope and began scaling the bedspread, gripping the fibers like climbing holds. Emma followed close behind until they reached the summit.

Carefully, Cassia slid the bucket off her back and gazed at Sterling. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, face flushed with fever. She felt a pang of sympathy for the ailing man.

Cassia looked over the edge of the bed; she sighed in relief to see that her husband Milton had returned. Cassia tugged on the rope, helping Milton haul up the soaked cloth they had prepared. Though thin as gauze to Sterling, it took all their strength to shift the giant fabric.

Soon, the other borrowers joined them on the bed. Together, they took up positions around the cloth and heaved, maneuvering it towards Sterling's head. Their tiny hands strained against the weight, muscles burning with effort.

Finally, they aligned the cloth over Sterling's forehead. The man sighed, his body relaxing subtly as the cool fabric soothed him. The borrowers released their grip, allowing themselves a moment of rest before moving to administer the broth.

Cassia took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she approached Sterling's head, a thimble of broth in hand. She was struck by how vulnerable the human looked in repose, his usually lively features now slackened by fever. Gingerly, she climbed onto his pillow, boots denting the fabric. At this proximity, she was dwarfed by his enormous size, barely the length of his ear. Still, she felt no malice from the gentle man.

Joining Cassia, the other borrowers followed suit, tiny feet padding over Sterling's blanketed form. Their movements were cautious but purposeful as they positioned themselves around the giant's head.

Lila bounced excitedly.

Pippin looked nervous but determined.

Finn was clinging onto his father’s back in a piggyback ride. He was too small to carry the thimbles by himself. But he was happy to watch from the safety of his papa’s back as they fed the giant.

Agnes stood by Emma with her own thimble. She shifted with nervousness. While Sterling had been gentle with her when he had caught her, she was still scared of his massive presence.

Emma nodded at Cassia, signaling they were ready. Cassia tipped the thimble to Sterling's parted lips with great care, letting the broth trickle in. His throat bobbed reflexively. They continued taking turns, administering the medicine thimble by tiny thimbleful.

Suddenly, Sterling stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. The borrowers froze as his gaze found them, crowded on his pillow. Confusion clouded his expression. Then, awareness lit his eyes.

Cassia met his look unflinchingly. To her surprise, his lips curved into a tired smile.

"Wha….What are you doing?" he rasped, voice hoarse and confused.

Sterling's deep voice rumbled around the tiny borrowers gathered on his pillow.

Cassia steadied herself, pushing down her instinctive fear. This was the first time she had revealed herself to a human, but her family owed him a debt for protecting her children.

"We made you broth with medicine and herbs, so you're welcome," she said, her voice clear and strong. "I'm Cassia. My family and I want to help you get well."

Sterling's gaze shifted to her. Though she barely reached the height of his chin, the look in his eyes was one of respect.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Cassia," he replied. "I wish I wasn’t sick to meet you. You didn’t have to do this; I don’t want you guys to get sick.”

"You've kept my children from harm. I wanted to say Thank you." She smiled up at him. "Now rest. You need your strength back."

Sterling's eyes crinkled happily. He struggled to keep his eyes open, wanting to drink in the tiny people gathered around him. He tried not to shift too much, noticing how his movements caused the little people to stumble on his pillow to catch their balance. His eyes were alight with awe and affection. He found it cute to see them with their tiny thimbles, trying to nurse him back to health. He ponders on how this must have taken so much of their time. Sterling’s heart fills with a warm feeling at the thought.

Sterling froze when a tiny hand patted him on his cheek. He shifted his gaze and landed on the tiny woman, Cassia. She smiled at him. He could only really see her from the corner of his eye. “You need to rest; we can talk more when you’re better.” Sterling was fixated on the feel of such a tiny, delicate hand resting on his cheekbone. Each finger was so tiny. He could hardly see them, and certainly not at this angle, but he could feel the tiny twitches of the tiny hand.

Sterling’s smile softened, his features relaxing into lines of gentle amusement. "I'm glad you feel safe enough to speak to me." With that, Sterling closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

Chapter 8

#giant/tiny #Sterling Household #Sterling #Sterling is sick right now #Cassia gonna take care of him #g/t writing #g/t #borrowers cooking in a giant kitchen #please think of ratatouille #The scene in ratatouille where all the rats cook in the kitchen #borrowers #gentle giant #original work #my writing #giant tiny #g/t writing community #g/t community

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two-braincells-in-total · 1 month

Note

hey there

i just wanted to say i love your writing!!!

and can i request an averyjameson fic? where this time, jameson is sick and avery is taking care of him

thank you!

The one to hold him

Pairing: Avery x Jameson

Word count: 911 words

A/N: This is kinds short and it's my first tig fanfic, so I apologise if it doesn't meet your expectations or if it's ooc

Tagging: @clarissaweasley-10 @alwaysthefangirl @wish-i-were-heather (lmk if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jameson woke up with a terrible headache and a sore throat. Amazing. He wasn’t one to get sick often, but when he did, it sucked. He wasn’t going to let that stop him today though. He and Avery were going to a fundraiser’s event tonight.

He got up and got into the shower. The cold water made his headache less painful, but it didn’t go away completely.

He dragged himself to the dining room for breakfast, trying not to look like a zombie. His whole body hurt because of the fever. Avery was already there, talking to mrs. Laughlin. She had managed to grow on her just a little bit over time. He closed the door and Avery turned around, concern immediately taking over her face. Apparently, he wasn’t hiding his state as well as he thought.

“Jameson, what’s wrong?” she asked, taking a step forward.

“Nothing’s wrong, heiress,” he said, smiling down at her.

“You look like you’re sick.” She crossed the distance between them and put the back of her hand on his forehead. “Jameson, you’re burning!”

“I’m fine, I swe-” a cough interrupted him. Avery’s eyes were on his, her gaze full of worrisome mixed with annoyance at his stubbornness.

“Go back to bed, I’ll bring you breakfast,” she said softly.

Jameson, despite not wanting to go back at all, knew there wasn’t any point in arguing with her, so he just complied.

~~~~~~~~~

Avery found him cuddled in the covers, already half asleep. His hair was ruffled from the pillows and his face relaxed from the exhaustion. She smiled at the picture in front of her.

She crossed the room and put the plate with food and the cup with the tea she prepared for him on the table next to his bed. She sat next to him on the edge of the bed and brushed his hair back from his forehead. She scowled at the heat radiating from his skin, his fever must be bad.

He slowly opened his eyes at her touch. “Heiress?”

“I brought you food.”

“Ah, yes, the way to a man’s heart,” he said, attempting a smirk. “I’m not hungry though.”

“You have to eat,” Avery replied sternly, “you need energy when you’re sick!”

“But I’m not sick, heiress,” he attempted weakly.

“Yeah, then why are you burning unless it’s from the fever?” she said while looking around the room for a cloth. Why was everything so messy?

“That’s because I’m naturally hot,” Jameson lifted the corner of his mouth in another weak attempt for a smirk, “if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Avery replied and then, bingo! She finally found a cloth in his dresser. “That’s exactly what’s going on!”

She walked towards the bathroom to wet the cloth with cold water. That’s what her mother used to do when she was sick as a child, it was a cheap and effective method to fight a fever.

She sat back on Jameson’s bed and pressed the cold material against his forehead. He hissed in discomfort. “Shh, I know, it’s uncomfortable,” she whispered, “but it’s working! You’ll feel better soon, I promise!”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Heiress?”

“Yes, Jameson?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered tiredly.

“What are you sorry for?” Avery was worried now. He had a tendency for apologizing for everything, he thought she’d leave him at the smallest mistake. She didn’t know how to convince him that she’ll always be there.

“I’m sorry that I won’t be able to go to the fundraiser event.”

She stared at him for a second. “Jameson, you’re way more important than the event. I’d rather be here and make sure you’re feeling better than go there!”

“So, you aren’t mad at me?” He looked down at the sheets.

“No, Jameson, I’m not mad at you,” she said softly. “I could never be mad at you for something as pointless as this, my love.”

He looked back up at her. The cloth wasn’t cold anymore, so she removed it. She brushed the hair back from his forehead again and kissed it gently. He closed his eyes, burying his head deeper into the pillow.

“Jameson, I’m going to need you to sit up for a bit,” she whispered. “You have to eat.”

He grunted in complaint, but let her help him up.

~~~~~~~~

She picked up the plate and fed him all of it, bite by bite. She was whispering encouraging words to get him to keep eating and it was slowly finished. She helped him lay back on the bed and got up to get some medicine from the bathroom in case he woke up feeling worse.

“Heiress?”

“Yes?”

“Can you come closer?”

She sat back on the bed and he pulled her hand to get her to lay down with him. He moved a little bit so that his head was on her chest, using her as a pillow. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her as close as possible. She pulled the blanket over him and started gently brushing his hair with her fingers.

He didn’t fall asleep immediately, but the feeling of her hands in his hair calmed his mind down. He has never felt safer than when he was in her arms.

As he was dozing off, he heard a soft whisper, “I love you!”

He fell asleep thinking that she loved him. Him. His heiress. The one to hold him when he needed her to.

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headkiss · 2 years

Note

request:))))

one night after his late shift steve’s like 2 hours late and reader crying and worrying and thinking worse case scenario happened and she couldn’t sleep but he went out with robin and forgot to tell u. when he gets back she’s like crying and hugging him but than gets really mad and like they argue idk work your magic😭😭

hey hey!!! this is a little different (they didn’t end up arguing i’m sorry) but i hope u enjoy it nonetheless :) | 0.9k words angst to fluff

Steve’s late. He’s never late.

He would get home fifteen minutes after his Family Video shifts would end because he’d drive Robin home, too. Every time. Every time except for today, it seemed.

When he was about twenty minutes late, you didn’t worry too much, figuring they had last minute customers and had to close late. That was plausible, made sense to your easily frazzled mind.

Ever since the Upside Down invaded Hawkins, and you went through it all with Steve, you worried constantly. It’s why he would usually come home on time, unless he told you he’d be late. This time, he hadn’t mentioned anything.

You were constantly scared that the darkness would come back, enough that you’d make sure your friends were safe and doing okay at least every other day.

When he’s forty minutes late, you start to get nervous, jittery. Your leg is bouncing where you sit on the couch and your hands shake ever so slightly when you bring your cup of tea to your lips.

You curse when the hot drink spills a little.

At the one hour mark you finally give in to your worries and walk over to the phone and dial the store's number. It rings and rings and rings. Nobody picks up. You slam the phone back to its spot and press the heels of your hands to your eyes, trying to get rid of the tears that are threatening to spill.

You’re frustrated. But mostly, you’re afraid that something might’ve happened to him.

You take a deep breath and try Robin’s number next. The ringing seems to be teasing you, taunting you. This time, her mom picks up, and when you ask her if Robin’s home, she says no but that she’ll tell her you called. You thank her and hang up.

You try your best to stay positive, to reassure yourself that he’s fine, he’s okay, but it doesn’t work for very long. The apartment is empty, the space you share with Steve feels like it’s missing something when he’s not there. He lights it up, and his absence is hard to forget.

You think you might be too dramatic, but you’ve also been through so much.

By the time he finally comes home, you’re on the couch, eyes red from crying and the tear tracks clear down your face.

“Baby?” He can hear you sniffling and he takes off his shoes and drops his keys as quickly as he can before kneeling in front of you.

“Steve,” you breathe out.

Then, you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close, crying again. You think it’s because you’re relieved, the emotions rushing through you for the past two hours echoing through your head. Maybe it’s because of how he looked at you, or, what you saw through your watery eyes. The care and concern, the pinch in his brows and the small frown on his face because you’re upset.

He hugs you back, a gentle hand smoothing down the back of your head to try and soothe you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You’re late,” is all you manage to get out between hiccups.

Steve’s heart sinks because he knows what you mean. You thought he was going to be home hours ago and he forgot to tell you he wouldn’t be. He knows how much you worry and he forgot. He feels awful, so he holds you tighter.

“Baby. I’m so sorry,” he kisses the side of your head. “Went out with Robin for a bit. I forgot to tell you.”

He manœuvres you both so that he’s sitting on the couch, you in his lap so that you’re able to hug more comfortably, bodies closer.

“No,” you say, your tears calming down. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t freak out like this.”

He pulls back just enough to look at your face, to let you look at his. He pushes away the hair that sticks to your face where it’s wet from your crying, then wipes the tears away, too. He presses kisses to both your cheeks, then your forehead.

“Don’t apologize. This is my fault, okay?” When you shake your head and go to disagree, he cuts you off. “No, it is. Should’ve told you but I’m here now, I'm safe, see?”

He takes one of your hands and presses it to his chest, right where his heart is beating. Alive and strong, a rhythm that calms you.

While you focus on breathing with him when he tells you too, in and out, he continues to place pecks across your face, loving and sweet, little apologies buried in the kisses.

“Will you tell me next time?” You speak quietly, slightly embarrassed to still be so affected by the Upside Down. “Please? I know it’s stupid-”

“It’s not stupid, you hear me? Not after what’s happened to you, to all of us,” his hands cradle your face once more, thumbs stroking your skin. “I promise I’ll be better next time.”

You nod, you know he means it. Steve Harrington has never broken a promise.

“I love you, Steve.”

“Love you too, baby. How ’bout we go to bed and I’ll snuggle you all night.”

“All night?”

“Hell yeah. C’mon.”

He pulls you to your shared bedroom, completes your night routine alongside you, he never strays out of your sight. Then, he does as he said he would; he holds you all night.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington request #steve harrington requests #steve stranger things #steve x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stevie blurbs

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justabigassnerd · 2 years

Text

Sleepless Nights

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x daughter!reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Word count - 1,853

Warnings - lack of sleep, mostly fluff and comfort

Summary - after a number of sleepless nights, your dad provides you with the comfort you'd been needing in order to sleep

A/N - hey y'all it's new fic time! And of course, it be a new part of Hangman junior. This was an anon request and honestly, the ideas y'all are coming up with are amazing and are making me so happy! Anyways I'll stop rambling now. As per y'all please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

When you learnt that Bradley would be moving into your house you were overjoyed. You were happy that your dad and Bradley were able to take that next step in their relationship. But when the sleepless nights made a horrible return, you realised you couldn’t seek refuge in your dad's arms anymore now that Bradley was filling the empty space.

At first, it was manageable. You’d manage to doze off enough to be somewhat alert during the day. But then it gradually got to the point where you couldn’t sleep at all and no amount of calming podcasts, lavender oil or chamomile tea could help. You tried every technique in the book but none seemed to work. So most nights you found yourself moving to the living room with a glass of water or tea while finishing any homework you needed to do in order to keep your mind off how tired you were.

Unbeknownst to you, your dad had picked up on your odd behaviour. He’d asked you a few times whether you were feeling okay but you simply brushed him off with a smile, assuring him that you were fine and he had nothing to worry about. He wanted to do some digging to see if he could find out what was going on but Bradley told him not to.

“y/n trusts you. She really does. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.” He had mumbled reassuringly as he rolled over in bed, slinging his arm over Jake’s waist, and burying his face in his pillow. Jake was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he pondered his ideas on getting you to tell him what was going on.

“I know. I’m just worried is all.” Jake replied, looking over and smiling softly at Bradley who returns with a lopsided grin of his own.

“Just give her a little time.” Bradley says, his eyes slipping shut as Jake’s hand finds its way into his hair, humming softly at the familiar feeling of Jake’s hand slipping through his hair. Bradley would never admit it to anyone outside of the four walls of his house but he loved when Jake ran a hand through his hair. It helped him find sleep so much easier. Not long into Jake messing with Bradley’s hair, Bradley fell asleep. Jake observed him sleeping for a moment. Admiring how his parted lips released small puffs of air with each exhale. How relaxed his features were as he slept. Jake then tried to find sleep but it didn’t care to appear before him on this night so he was left to his thoughts only being pulled out of them when he heard a set of footsteps pass his room and make their way downstairs. Jake immediately knew it was you. After all, there was no one in the house other than you, him and Bradley. And since he was in his room with Bradley’s arm over his torso, it was a safe bet to assume it was you. After waiting fifteen minutes to see if you were just grabbing a drink and not hearing you return, Jake decided to get up and check up on you. As Jake went to get up, Bradley’s arm tightens around Jake’s body, pulling him back to the bed. Jake attempted to lift Bradley’s arm to wiggle out from underneath him but Bradley still held on, grumbling in his sleep at Jake trying to leave.

“Bradley, I need to go to the bathroom.” Jake whispers, hoping his words get through to Bradley’s unconscious mind to get him to loosen his grip. He loved Bradley, he really did. But when Bradley cuddled him, he turned into a koala and wouldn’t let go for anything. Thankfully, Jake’s whispered words got through to Bradley and his grip was loosened enough for Jake to wiggle out from underneath him. When Jake had successfully freed himself, he tucked the duvet back around Bradley and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before heading downstairs in search of you. When Jake reaches the bottom of the stairs, he looks into the living room and sees you on the sofa, legs tucked underneath you with a blanket thrown over your lap. You had a cup of tea on the coffee table and were scrolling through your phone in the dim light of the lamp.

“You okay?” The gentle voice of your dad had your head shooting up as you saw him leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded as he smiles softly.

“Fine. I came down a minute ago. I’ll go up soon.” You say with a smile, hoping that your dad had only just stirred and wasn’t aware you’d been down here for nearly twenty minutes.

“You’ve been down here for almost twenty minutes. What’s going on?” Jake asks, unfolding his arms and pushing away from the doorframe so he can cross to you, sitting down next to you. Looking over at your dad and seeing the worry on his face you knew you couldn’t hide it from him anymore.

“I’m just struggling to sleep a little. I’ll be okay soon enough.” You say, shrugging to try and convince your dad it’s not as bad as he might be thinking.

“How long’s this been going on for?” Jake asks quietly, watching you carefully. He sees the internal battle in your eyes about telling him the truth or lying. Eventually, you realise that you’re not going to win the battle before it starts.

“Almost a week I’ve been not sleeping. A few days before that I could kinda sleep but not well enough.” You admit quietly, glancing down at the blanket as you run a finger across the soft material.

“Oh, my sweet girl. You could’ve told me.” Jake says, carefully reaching out to pull you into his arms as you immediately reciprocate the hug.

“Did you try the techniques I taught you?” Jake then asks, shifting so he could look down at you. He knew you had trouble sleeping when you were little and he taught you a variety of techniques to help you to sleep as well as keeping you stocked up with lavender oil for your diffuser.

“None of them worked.” You say, curling further into your dad’s embrace, relishing the comfort his hold could provide you with.

“Do you remember when I was little and I used to sleep with you because it was the only way I could get to sleep?” You ask, not moving to look up at your dad.

“Yeah, of course. You kept sneaking in without me knowing.” He chuckled quietly, remembering how some nights he’d stir in the middle of the night to find you curled up in his bed.

“Sometimes I miss that. It really helped me sleep back then. But I can’t do it anymore because Bradley’s there. Not that I’m upset Bradley moved in. I’m so happy he lives here permanently.” You say, quickly elaborating at the end so your dad doesn’t think you’re upset about Bradley moving in. Jake softened at your words and tightened his hold on you slightly. After a minute or so of silence, Jake suddenly got up and gestured for you to follow him.

“Come on, let's go to bed.” He says softly, watching as you get to your feet, throwing the blanket over the back of the sofa before picking up your cup of now cold tea and downing the remainder before taking the cup into the kitchen and putting it into the dishwasher. When you emerge from the kitchen, you find that your dad has disappeared upstairs already. You were tempted to stay downstairs but you knew that Jake would stay awake until he knew you were upstairs in bed. You begrudgingly head up the stairs after turning the lamp off and when you enter your room you were confused to find Jake already in there, making sure your diffuser was topped up with lavender oil in the soft light of your bedside lamp.

“Dad, you don’t need to do that.” You say, closing the door behind you as you enter.

“I do.” Jake replies simply, turning the diffuser on after making sure there was enough lavender oil. After completing his task, Jake turns to face you before flopping backwards on your bed and shuffling over to make space for you.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“You just told me how you missed this. And who am I to deny my daughter the help she needs to sleep?” Jake says, patting the space beside him on the mattress and waiting for you to join him. You rolled your eyes lightly but still moved to lie beside your dad, tugging the duvet over yourself as Jake wrapped an arm around you and tugged you into his side. You immediately snuggled into your dad's side, curling up and burying yourself as far as you could into his side.

“You comfy there, kiddo?” Jake asks with a grin, watching as you nod your eyes slowly closing when Jake begins to run a hand up and down your back. Within seconds, your breaths evened out and you slipped into a well-deserved sleep. Jake continued to run his hand up and down your back, wanting to ensure you’d be in a deep enough sleep to make it through the night when he stopped the action. Slowly, his eyes began to close too and he fell asleep with his daughter tight in his safe and comforting embrace.

The next morning, Bradley slowly awoke, reaching across the mattress in search of Jake’s warmth but couldn’t locate it. He slowly blinked his eyes open and frowned upon seeing the bed empty. He knew Jake was an early riser, even on weekends but usually Jake would remain in place if it were the weekend, waiting for Bradley to wake up. Bradley grabbed a hoodie and got himself out of bed, heading downstairs where he was expecting to find Jake pouring two cups of coffee while breakfast was cooking. To his confusion, Jake was still nowhere to be found. Bradley couldn’t find a note, nor did he see a text on his phone about Jake going out anywhere so he searched the house. When he still couldn’t find Jake, he found himself outside your room and figured if Jake wasn’t in here, you might know where he was. Bradley knocked gently on the door, opening it a crack when he didn’t get a response and when he stuck his head in he saw a sight that melted his heart.

He saw you curled up in Jake’s arms, your head on his chest as it rose and fell with each breath he took. Jake had an arm wrapped securely around you and he would occasionally squeeze you slightly. Bradley watched the two of you sleep for but a moment before carefully closing the door and heading downstairs to make breakfast himself. As he went down the stairs, he had one thought swimming through his mind.

He couldn’t wait to marry Jake one day.

taglist (comment or ask to be added):

@zbeez-outlet @kaceywithak @tsnelf7 @starkleila @cassadilasworld

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i-mean-y-not · 1 month

Text

TOUCH

Touch A/N: This is the follow up to All This Time, it makes more sense if you read it first, but you don’t have to. If you’d like to request drabbles for this story that would be cool lol. As always, if you’d like more content feel free to send me an ask or message.

Happy Reading!

Sooo maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. And that’s saying a lot, seeing as you were in multiple clubs in high school and college, volunteered at a different animal shelter every weekend, and still managed to snag a decent shag when you were in the mood. Life had been somewhat of a shit show lately, though. Your romantic life becoming almost nonexistent. Jess was the reason you’d smiled at all anymore, and Gojo, the man you’d thought you hated up until 10 minutes ago hadn’t made anything easier.

But this? After Jess clued you in two years ago, you’d thought the supposed “attraction” Gojo felt was nonexistent. But now here you were in the front seat of Gojo’s new sleek black car, an Audi maybe? Shit, who cares? You think to yourself as you start to nervously bite your lip.

What are you thinking?

Sleeping with Gojo of all people? The Gojo that fucked literally everything that batted an eyelash at him? You’re snapped out of your thoughts by him placing a comforting hand on your thigh and caressing it with his thumb, his left hand remaining on the steering wheel.

You shiver and stare out the window, refusing to acknowledge him.

Gojo’s soft, “hey” only serving to make more nervous as you couple your lip biting with the bouncing of your leg.

“Y/N, you know we don’t have to do this. I can just take you back home. Maybe--” you clench your legs together in trepidation and shake your head before words tumble out of your mouth.

“Is that all you want, Gojo? I mean if we’re just going to do it… that’s fine. I just don’t want to get fucked over after you fuck me... ha, that was funny right?” You say, a wince immediately making its way into your face. Gojo slows to red light and proceeds to tilt your face towards him.

“What? Where’s all this coming from?” he says as he coaxes your bottom lip from your teeth. “Talk to me, please?” His gaze remains sharp on you as you clear your throat.

Just as you open your mouth the light turns green and you whisper, “Green light”.

Gojo sighs and starts to move the car and states plainly, “We’re going to my place, okay?” You start to shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. What the fuck is wrong with you? Here you were possibly about to get dug out by one of the finest men on the planet and you’re messing it up.

“We’re going to my place and I’m going to make you some tea. And we’re going to talk and if you allow it, I’m going to fuck you and it’ll be the best you’ve ever had. I’ll have you feeling it for days and if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you cum. Maybe I’ll cum inside you and make you keep it there until work tomorrow, hmm? So, your friend, what’s her name …Jackie? So, she’ll know. So Kento will know, so everyone in that fucking office will know that you’re mine”.

By the time Gojo is finished with his monologue, you’re a panting mess in your seat, eyes closed and hand clenching and unclenching.

“Y-Yeah we can go to your place to talk Gojo, just to talk.” You gulp and once again stare out of the window. You hear his slight chuckle as he takes a right at the next green light and the subsequent left before he pulls into his parking garage.

He parks and gets out with all the grace of a swan and opens your door to help you onto your wobbly knees. He holds your hand as you walk towards the elevator and when he presses the button for the twentieth floor. Its not until the elevator panel asks him for a code that you realize, this asshole lives in a penthouse. You mentally scoff and chuckle to yourself, modest much?

You’re snapped out of your reverie by Gojo grabbing your hand and ushering you in his lavish apartment. Okay, so your apartment was pretty-- fancy at best--but Gojo’s apartment was beautiful. With floor to ceiling windows and a grey and chrome theme, it screamed playboy.

“Would you like sugar or honey in your tea?” Gojo asks as he motions for you to sit at his kitchen table while he makes the tea. Once he’s finished, he brings both the sugar and the honey to the table for you to decide as he takes a seat himself. He reaches to pour your tea and looks at you, head titled.

“I’m just going to assume its honey,” he sighs as he pours the tea adding a squirt of honey.

When he looks at you, you turn away from him and mentally berate yourself. Then the panic ensues. But as you try to get up from the chair Gojo, gently as ever sits you back down.

“What’s wrong? C’mon look at me, Y/N?” He says in perhaps the softest voice you’ve heard.

“I just- Gojo I mean, what would you think if you were me? Do you know how many times I’ve heard people that we work with brag about your dick? I’ve heard a lot, frankly more than I’d ever want to hear about a dick I’ve never personally seen. I mean apparently it’s a beautiful dick, apparently there’s a mole on the underside of it and-” You immediately stop when you see Gojo’s face a distraught red.

Gojo honestly doesn’t know whether to laugh or pull out his “beautiful dick” and show you.

He simply observes you for a second and finally says, “I know you’re thinking I want you because I haven’t had you, but that isn’t the case. The first day I met you, the day I unceremoniously spilled coffee on you, do you know what I thought to myself?”

He waits until you nod your head before continuing, “I didn’t picture fucking you, waiting until you woke up after your third orgasm and telling you to get out. I just honestly- I wanted to take care of you. I still do. When you didn’t give me any inclination that you wanted me back I just wanted a warm body. I know when you look at me you see a guy that’s fucked half the office. I guess I was trying to distract myself from you. You have more power than you know, Y/N. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I’d drop any of them for a chance with you. And I don’t mean just for tonight, I want to date you. Make love to you. Shit, do you want a kidney?”

Your face must exhibit the picture of bewilderment to Gojo because he barrels on with a bashful, “I’m kidding about the kidney, but yeah I just need you to give me a chance. I’ll prove it to you, I want into your heart not just your pants.” He finishes with a rub of his neck and a sheepish smile.

Oh wow, you shrink into your seat and verbalize your thoughts, “Gojo, why didn’t you say anything?”

He looks down at the floor and mumbles, “I just did.”

You laugh and before you say anything else, he shrugs and glances at your tea and says, “What was I supposed to say anyway? Hey, Y/N, I know you’re practically in love with Kento and although I’ve had sex virtually everyone in the office give me a chance?” He ends his tirade with a scoff and you begin to see his lip quiver.

Well damn, maybe we’re both broken you think as you stand up and make your way to Gojo just across the table. You grab his face and softly gaze at him as you chide, “So, you're telling me you could have been blowing my back out the past two years?”

You get a laugh from him then as he cups your face and kisses you. You’ve been kissed before but, oh isn’t just a kiss. He sucks your lips and caresses your tongue with his and moans slightly when you gasp into his mouth.

This, this is everything.

This kiss has you somehow grabbing onto those silky white locks and gasping out, “Take me, take me to your room please.” You moan as he snakes his hand lower and lower until it reaches the hem of your dress.

He chuckles as he toys with your basic ass panties, why didn’t I wear sexier panties? You’re in the middle of your mental sob when Gojo bites your neck, and you cling to him.

“You sure?” he rasps out. “You don’t want me to fuck you against that window? For everyone to see?” You look up at him, panting and desperate, and shake your head. He merely smirks and jests, “What about Kento, you want him to see you falling apart for me?” Your knees buckle at that statement, practically grinding your teeth in frustration.

He seems to sense this as he gets you up and says, “Forward, walk forward.” You stumble and walk on shaky legs to the first room you see which luckily turns out to be Gojo’s bedroom, with a large Alaskan King bed in the middle and mirror on the ceiling.

You don’t marvel for long however because Gojo’s on his floor, your panties in hand, and before you know what’s happening you hear a “Hold this,” as he shoves the bottom part of your dress into your fists, and he licks a long stripe up your pussy.

That has your knees buckling for the second time today as you exclaim, “S-Shit, Gojo, I- wait.”

“You even smell good.” He groans and that has you gasping and whimpering above him. The feeling of his hands opening you up should make you bashful, but you cry out when you feel two fingers slowly start a rhythm inside you.

“Sat-fuck! Gojo, can we p-lease get on the bed?” He hums and picks up his pace and you clutch his raven locks and your pussy spasms, and you let out a guttural moan and before you know it, you’ve spiraled into your first orgasm of the night. You constantly gasp and twitch and Gojo, you notice is looking at you like you hung the moon and he’s groaning too. Then you see the very visible dark spot over his slacks.

You gaze at him vision still hazy and begin to question him, but before you can Gojo stands and abruptly pulls you to his bed. Once you’re standing before his bed, he strips you bare and with the way he’s looking at you, it’s not just physical.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, and you shiver when he traces his fingers over every insecurity on your body and with a groan he starts to strip too.

But you place your hand on his once he gets to his belt buckle.

“Let me,” you say, and he nods fervently. You take your time with his pants too, giving yourself time to mentally prepare yourself for this.

When you get to his boxers, you take a deep breath and a hand reaches out to you, “Are you okay, babe? Do you need a minute?” You shake your head and rather harshly yank his boxers down and damn near moan at the sight.

His dick is beautiful. There’s a slight curve, a pinkish hue and the prettiest tip you’ve ever seen. There’s no mole, you note. That bitch Allison was lying. You must sit on his bed gawking for a bit because when he attempts to lay you down with a chuckle, you remain upright and say, “Can I touch you? Please?” Now it’s his turn to gawk.

He stutters and shakes his head, “So I can cum for the second time? I haven’t even been inside you yet, Y/N. Don’t be greedy”.

You simply nod and say gently, “Do you have a condom? Not that I don’t trust you, I just want to be saf-”

He cuts off your rambling by kissing you and laying you down on the bed and saying, “I understand. My intention never was to take you raw. I know I have to earn that.”

He tries to go back down on you, but you shake your head profusely, just wanting him inside you already,

“Please,” he says nothing as he roots around in his drawer for a condom, you know he’s found it when he rips it open, and you feel him sheath it on.

“How do you want me?” you say as you prepare to get on all fours, but a slap to your ass stops you. You gasp and squint at him before you rub your ass cheek.

He leans down to nip on your ear and says, “Wanna see your face while I split you open, yeah?” You lean up to kiss him and he stares at you for a second and says, “Are you sure?”

You mentally roll your eyes but smile nonetheless and say, “Yes, Gojo I’m very sure.” He licks at your mouth and he slides inside you on a gasp.

He clenches his eyes shut and fists the sheets by your head, “How could you do this to me?” he says on a pained whisper.

You had closed your eyes on a gasp yourself when his dick touched your g-spot upon entry. You open them now and look at Gojo, his eyes look almost teary. As you reach up to touch him, he relaxes into your touch.

You look at him and although his rhythmic thrusting is making you breathless you say, “What’s wrong?”

He merely shakes his head on a chuckle and says, “You didn’t tell me your pussy was this good.” he says almost as out of breath as you.

How the fuck am I supposed to know? You think to yourself and proclaim hoarsely, “I-I’m sorry?”

His gaze darkens and he picks up his pace, his balls slapping your ass cheeks. “Sorry? You’re sorry? The only way you’ll be sorry is if you ever give my pussy to anyone else.”

"S-shit, you’re so warm and wet. Fuck you feel like home,” He says as he somehow gets deeper almost pressing into your cervix. When you don’t answer, he grabs your throat with one hand and pinches your nipple with the other and pins you with a look that has your mouth watering.

“Did you hear me? I said you feel like home, can you take me deeper? Huh? You want me deep in you? As deep as you’ve been inside me the past two years?” You nod and gasp and a litany of whimpers and moans fall out of your mouth.

“Yes, Gojo, fuck I want it deeper,” you choke, and a stray tear falls from your eye.

He flips you over now, and as he crushes your pelvis to the mattress and drags you up by the hair.

You practically scream, “Ah! Gojo, I- I can’t, I-I’m gonna- gonna cum”.

He chuckles wrapping his arm around your midsection and his middle finger finds your clit and as you buckle in on yourself on a choked moan he says, “Fucking take it! You begged for it, take it!” You try to squirm away as he lands a few quick slaps to your clit. “You think anyone else could fuck you like this?”

You let out a cry and damn near yell, “No, fuck Gojo, you’re fucking me so good, never b-been fucked like this. N-never felt so full, sooo good,” you’re practically drooling at this point as Gojo fists your hair and finds your lips with his own.

Your pussy clenches and Gojo groans, still rubbing furiously at your clit. Your mouth opens wide, and you begin gasping for air and your hands try to find purchase on literally anything at this point. You’re flailing and shaking as your second orgasm hits you like a tidal wave.

You collapse onto the mattress and Gojo follows with a long groan and after two more thrusts he cums too pulling off the condom and drenches your still quivering pussy.

You gaze at him and he says, “You okay? I’m gonna go get a towel to clean you up, okay?”

You weakly nod and he goes to the en suite bathroom after throwing the used condom into the bin beside his bed. When you hear water running, you remember the mirror on the ceiling as you glance up at yourself, you gasp. Who the fuck is that? This woman looks nothing like you, hair everywhere and makeup smeared, and legs still twitching.

Gojo rushes out of the bathroom upon hearing your gasp and looks at you, looking at yourself, and smiles.

As he saunters over to the bed, warm rag in hand he says, “I meant what I said earlier, you know? This isn’t a one-time thing for me.”

As he wipes you, you nod your head and bring him in for a gentle kiss and whisper against his lips, “Me either”.

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zzoomacroom · 1 month

Text

Rain Is Coming Down, but the Clouds Will Surely Pass (Chapter 5)

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Dreamling, Retired Dream, Multi-chapter, Mpreg, Fluff, Smut, Angst

(Start from chapter 1 here)

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 5/12 (~6700 words)

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional tags: Retired Dream, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Trans Dream, Fluff, Smut, Angst

✨✨✨✨✨

Chapter 5: 26 Weeks

Today they have a rendezvous with Death.

Hob goes through his mental checklist: he’s put the kettle on and washed the nice cups—the ones for company—and the apple crumble he nabbed from the pub is warming in the oven. He fiddles with the charcuterie board he’s cobbled together, rearranging the cheeses, grapes, and little dishes of olives for the dozenth time this afternoon. He stands back to survey his work, then checks his watch. Almost time. It’ll have to do.

He’s got nothing to be nervous about, really. He’s always happy to see his sister-in-law, despite his aversion to her function, and he knows there’s no need to try and impress her (not that he’s put together a particularly impressive spread, although he hopes it comes across at least somewhat classy). Whatever news or offers she may have regarding their child’s mortality, she’ll let them know regardless of which cup her tea is served in. Even so, his stomach has been roiling all day, and he suspects the prickles of sweat on the back of his neck can’t be blamed on the fact that he’s got the oven on in this suffocating August heat.

He triple-checks that he flicked the kettle on and wipes his damp palms on a tea towel before making his way down the hall. He breathes a sigh of relief at the immediate drop in temperature as he steps into their newly air-conditioned bedroom, where he’s greeted with the sight of his husband frowning at the full-length mirror and fussing with the hem of his shirt. Hob meets his eyes in the reflection as he settles behind him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Morpheus is wearing all black today, he notices. Hob isn’t sure what to make of that, or if there’s anything to make of it at all. It’s not his old uniform of skinny jeans, dramatic coat, and Doc Martens, but he still cuts a striking figure in his soft black joggers and flowy tunic accented with abstract splashes of gold and silver.

“Hey there, handsome,” Hob smiles. “All set?”

(Continue reading below or on ao3)

Morpheus gulps and nods. “Yes. I believe so.”

He’s looking more than a bit peaky, and under any other circumstances Hob would suggest they cancel their plans, even at the risk of suffering the wrathful pout Morpheus would no doubt inflict upon him for daring to presume any weakness in his constitution. But this is important, and they’ve already put it off long enough. This will be Morpheus’ first time seeing his sister since last Christmas; Death keeps a very busy schedule, and Morpheus has been reluctant to call on her for reasons that Hob mostly understands, though he may not fully agree with all of them.

“It’s going to be fine, love. I know it will,” Hob says, stroking and cradling his husband’s belly in an attempt to reassure them both. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together, eh?”

Morpheus nods again, sighs resolutely, and shuffles to the chest of drawers where he keeps his makeshift “gallery,” which consists of an ornate antique jewelry box filled with an array of trinkets they picked up at a flea market. The whole thing is adorable, in Hob’s opinion. There’s a tiny leather-bound notebook, a silver ankh pendant, a tarnished gold heart-shaped locket that neither of them ever managed to open, a single earring with a stylized fish hook, and a large glass marble swirled with a psychedelic rainbow of clashing day-glo colors. No need for Dream’s sigil (where would they even find anything like it?) as Morpheus is a natural lucid dreamer and could easily contact Daniel if he ever needed to. Not that he often calls on any of them, but Hob knows that he feels more secure having the option.

Morpheus removes the ankh from the box and sets it on top of the chest of drawers, staring intently at it as he drums his fingers on the wooden surface. Not quite ready then, evidently. Hob stills his restless fingers by taking his hand—he’s shaking, poor darling—and wrapping him in a hug, gently rocking them from side to side.

He may try to hide it, but it’s obvious to Hob that Morpheus is a nervous wreck. His morning sickness has lasted well into the afternoon, and he’s been hovering restlessly around the flat all day—fidgeting, tidying this and rearranging that, checking his hair every ten minutes, and so on. He’s afraid. Hob empathizes; they’re finally getting an answer to the question that’s been hanging over them for months. What if it’s not the answer they want to hear?

But besides that, Morpheus is apparently worried that Death will scold him or generally disapprove of his recent life choices. It’s quite sweet, really, the way he holds his sister in such high esteem. And it’s understandable; Death is absolutely lovely—when he finally met her for the first time, Hob had been pleasantly surprised to find that he liked her right away. Even more shockingly, she liked him too, despite all the things he’s said about her over the years. He’d felt like a right tit apologizing for calling her stupid, but she’d only laughed and told him he had been forgiven the moment he made her brother smile.

So Hob doesn’t quite share his husband’s fear; he can’t imagine that Death will be anything but happy for them. Morpheus firmly believes he’s done some great wrong just by living his bloody life—the same life his sister enthusiastically bestowed on him specifically so he could finally live after countless lonely, miserable eons of being slowly crushed under the weight of his duties. It’s like—what’s that thing his students are always saying? Like he’s trying to get a good grade in being human, something that’s both normal to want and possible to achieve.

It doesn’t matter whether or not Morpheus’ fear is rational, though. Either way, it’s clearly eating him up inside; he’s so tense, the muscles in his back taut and rigid, unwilling to be soothed as Hob runs his hands up and down his spine. “I can’t do this,” he mumbles into Hob’s neck.

“Oh, sweetheart. You can. I know you can,” Hob whispers, bringing one hand up to the back of his head and caressing his silken hair. “My strong, brave, beautiful husband. You’ve got this, dove.”

Hob pulls back just enough to give Morpheus the most encouraging smile he can muster, although it’s probably not all that convincing. Even if he’s not anticipating a dressing-down from Death, Hob can’t help but be a bit wary of her. As much as he likes Death the Person, his distaste for Death the Actual Thing is so deeply ingrained as to be instinctual, and he’s always a little on edge before her visits. And then there’s that thought he’s been trying in vain to bury for the past four months, clawing its way to the surface once more.

What if the baby is mortal? What if they have to bury another child someday?

Well. They’ll find out, won’t they? Better to rip the band-aid off now. Hob presses himself against his husband and breathes deeply, encouraging him to do the same. “Breathe with me, love. That’s it. I’ve got you, darling. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

Morpheus heaves a shuddering breath before extricating himself from Hob’s embrace and picking up the ankh again. “Sister,” he murmurs, his lips barely moving. “I hold your sigil—”

His invocation is interrupted by a deafening whoosh of wind followed by a flurry of wings, like a bevy of doves startled into sudden flight.

“I’m here!” a cheery voice calls out from the sitting room.

Morpheus gives Hob a pleading look, and Hob strokes his trembling shoulders with sweaty palms. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, leaning in to kiss the deep furrow between his husband’s brows.

There’s a noise from behind them—a faint huff of laughter followed by a tiny “aww.” Hob turns to see a kind face surrounded by a profusion of sable curls peeking through the bedroom door.

“Will you lovebirds get out here?” Death grins, sighing in mock exasperation. “As adorable as this is, I’m afraid I haven’t got much time to spare.”

Hob feels his neck flushing with embarrassment, and Morpheus looks like a deer caught in the headlights after having just sucked on a lemon. He opens his mouth to rejoin, but before he can speak, a shrill beep sounds from down the hall.

“Ah. That’ll be the crumble,” Hob says sheepishly. “I’ll just go and fix the tea while you two get settled, yeah?” He squeezes his husband’s arm apologetically before heading towards the kitchen. On his way out the door, he ducks to give his sister-in-law a friendly peck on the cheek. “Good to see you again, love. How’ve you been?”

“A bit worried about my brother,” she replies. “But I see that he’s in good hands.” She turns to Morpheus, beaming as she takes his hands in her own and surveys him up and down. “Look at you! I hardly recognize you, little brother,” she coos. “You look so…”

“Pregnant?” Morpheus deadpans.

“Alive!” she laughs, putting an arm around his back and herding him towards the sitting room. “Human! You look great, Morpheus. You really do.” Morpheus scoffs, but does not hold back the small, pleased smile that creeps onto his face as he lets his sister drag him to the sofa.

Most of Hob's worry drains away at Death's enthusiastic reaction, bleeding out of him like the inky clouds seeping into steaming water as he makes the tea. He hopes his husband is feeling the same. Morpheus rarely talks about it, but Hob knows he still feels awful about Orpheus, and about Daniel and Lyta, and a thousand other things. And he thinks his sister is going to tell him he’s wrong for starting a new family after all that. Hob gets it, he really does. He often wonders what Eleanor and Robyn would say if they could see him now. Would they be hurt that he’s “replacing” them? Would they hate him? And what would they say about all the other cruel, horrific, unforgivable things he’s done? Someone like him probably shouldn’t have a family at all…

He exhales heavily, shaking his head as he loads up a tray with their tea and nibbles. Now is not the time to go down that road.

He walks into the sitting room just in time to see Death giving her brother a playful punch to the arm before pulling him in for a hug. “...No, you idiot! Of course I’m happy for you! And it’s obvious you’re happy, so stop moping, will you?” she huffs, clutching his narrow shoulders tightly.

“Thank you, my sister,” Morpheus mutters bashfully. “As usual, your words are a balm to my conscience.”

Hob can only stand in the doorway, grinning and shrieking internally at how cute they are. His anxiety dissipates further at seeing his husband so obviously relieved; just as he suspected, Morpheus had no need to worry about any judgment on Death’s part. Hob is so caught up in witnessing this rare display of Endless sibling affection that he momentarily forgets the reason for his sister-in-law’s visit and the very real possibility that she may have bad news for them.

He ambles over to the sofa, only spilling a few drops of tea as he sets the tray on the coffee table. “Tea and a bite to eat, if anyone’s interested,” Hob announces, furtively scanning the room to be sure he didn’t miss any of Morpheus’ risqué artwork when he tidied up earlier. Fortunately, the only paintings visible are perfectly inoffensive sunsets and still lifes, and Hob feels slightly more at ease as he nestles into his husband’s side. He doesn’t fail to notice the way Morpheus melts into him, the knots in his shoulders unwinding as Hob slings his arm around him.

“Thank you, Hob. This looks lovely,” Death says, taking her tea and a generous portion of the crumble. “So,” she continues after taking a bite, glancing between them with a ‘let’s get down to brass tacks’ expression on her face. Right, this is it, Hob thinks, tightening his grip on his husband’s shoulder. “Are you having a baby shower?”

“Er…” Hob begins, just as Morpheus splutters and nearly chokes on his tea. Not what either of them expected her to say, evidently. “We hadn’t planned on it,” he says dimly, looking at his husband and finding him equally nonplussed.

“But you have to have one!” Death insists. “It’s been ages since you’ve seen the rest of the family, and they’re all excited about their new niece or nephew. Del’s been beside herself. Literally; you know how she gets. And everyone in the Dreaming—”

“Sister,” Morpheus interrupts, rolling his eyes in amusement, “I do not think that will be necessary.”

“It’s sweet, but we really don’t need any more baby stuff,” Hob chimes in, hoping to rescue his husband from the mortifying ordeal of spending time with family. While it sounds like quite a nice idea to Hob, he knows Morpheus has been less keen than ever on socializing lately (which is saying something; it’s getting to be concerning, really). “Suze—er, friend of ours, think you met her at the Christmas party—anyway, she’s given us loads of things her grandkids have outgrown. We’ve already got more than we know what to do with.”

“Nonsense,” Death asserts. “I’ll talk to Lucienne about it. I’d throw it in my realm, but it doesn’t exactly have the right atmosphere for a baby shower, you know? I’m sure Daniel won’t mind us having a little get-together in the Dreaming.”

“I don’t suppose I have any say in this,” Morpheus says wearily.

“Nope!” his sister replies brightly.

“Very well,” Morpheus grumbles, looking resigned as he nibbles a morsel of Gouda. “As long as you promise it will indeed be only a ‘little get-together.’”

“Of course! Just the family and inner circle; forty, fifty people tops.”

Morpheus groans dramatically and throws his head back against the cushions, and Hob can’t hold back his snort of laughter. It’s absurdly endearing, the way they act like a pair of perfectly normal human siblings; anyone else witnessing this conversation would never guess that one’s an all-powerful cosmic being and the other used to be just as cosmic and all-powerful.

“Well, I think it sounds wonderful. Thanks, D,” Hob says, earning him a betrayed glare from his husband. Hob shrugs and smiles ruefully at him. It would do Morpheus good to get out of the flat, although if the party’s in the Dreaming they technically won’t be leaving their bed—which, come to think of it, might actually convince him to go along with it. And it would be rude to reject the offer, especially when their child’s future might be hanging in the balance. Speaking of which, Hob is eager to get that conversation over with, but he’s not sure how exactly he should broach the subject. “So, er…”

“You want to know if the baby will be denied my gift,” Death says gently.

Morpheus stiffens in Hob’s embrace. Hob gulps. “Yeah, well, we’ve er. Been wondering, is all. Will—I mean, should the baby be immortal? Don’t imagine there’s much precedent for this sort of thing, is there?” he chuckles, tugging nervously at his ear.

“You’d be surprised,” she smirks. “How about this: the baby will grow up normally, the same as any other human child, and they’ll have my protection until they’re old enough to decide what they want. Then it will be up to them whether or not they want to live forever. They’ll get the same deal I’ve given the two of you unless they choose otherwise. And they may choose to be mortal; you’ll have to be prepared for that possibility.”

Hob lets out a shaky breath. Right. That seems fair. Death’s offer is simultaneously a load off his mind and a whole new source of worry. He can’t imagine any child of his would choose not to live forever, but he supposes it would only be right to give them the option. And at least now they can take solace in the fact that they know what to expect.

Hob takes his husband’s hand and meets his eyes, raising his eyebrows in silent query. Morpheus responds with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. All good, then.

“Thank you, sister. That is a generous offer, and a great comfort,” he pronounces.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s really good to hear,” Hob agrees. “Thank you, Death. Er, I don’t know how we can repay you, but—”

“Don’t be silly,” Death interjects with a wave of her hand. “You’re family. You don’t owe me anything. So. Now that that’s taken care of, tell me, how are you handling prenatal care? Have you been going to Eileithyia again?”

“Yes,” Morpheus says shortly, suddenly taciturn once more. He pops an olive into his mouth, apparently unwilling to elaborate further. It’s still an understandably sore subject, which Death is well aware of, and Hob feels a flash of mild irritation with his sister-in-law for bringing it up.

“She’s been coming to us, actually. Can’t beat the convenience,” Hob chimes in, awkwardly attempting to lighten the mood.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Death replies. “She’s the best there is—on Earth, anyway—and it’s good that you’re mending fences.”

Morpheus scowls at that but doesn’t dispute her words, and Hob squeezes his hand in a silent show of support. He’s glad, too, that his husband just happened to know the ideal person to help them with their medical dilemma, even if they weren’t on the best of terms to start with. Because of course he knows the actual Greek goddess of childbirth and midwifery, and of course there was bad blood between them.

“What do you mean we can’t ask her? She sounds perfect.”

For weeks now, Hob has been agonizing over finding a doctor with a halfway-decent bedside manner who can treat Morpheus and the baby under the radar without asking too many questions. Morpheus hasn’t been much help; if he had his way, they’d avoid that whole mess altogether and he’d lock himself in the bedroom to give birth alone, like a stray cat. So Hob has had his work cut out for him.

And now his husband is presenting him with the answer to all their problems, yet he’s saying they can’t go to her. There’s a story here, Hob’s sure of it, but he’s a little afraid to hear it. “What happened, dove?” he asks softly.

Morpheus sighs—a heavy, creaking thing like an ancient tree toppling over. “She delivered Orpheus,” he murmurs, so quietly that Hob can scarcely hear him over the muffled din of the crowd downstairs. “She is a lady-in-waiting to the Kindly Ones. And a sister of Calliope.”

Ah. Hob can see how that would complicate things. Still, he’s been racking his brain trying to come up with a better solution and consistently coming up blank. “I understand, darling, but are you sure—”

"There is more,” Morpheus interrupts, staring down at his lap. “She—I… sent a dream to her. A portent of things to come. Her son was to be offered up as a champion in battle. Sosipolis—the child—he… he was only a babe, still at his mother’s breast. I…” he trails off, his voice rough.

“Oh, love,” Hob whispers, taking his husband’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

“It was not my wish for him to die. You must understand,” Morpheus pleads, still not meeting Hob’s eyes, “visions of the future are on the border between dreams and Destiny. I was, in essence, only an unwitting messenger—less than that; I was… merely the paper on which the message was written. Nevertheless…”

“Sweetheart,” Hob says, bringing his hand to his husband’s chin and lifting it to look him in the eye, “I know I’m biased, but this sounds like another one of those stories where you blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. Like you said, you were only the messenger. Besides, she chose to do what the dream told her, so it sounds like that was on her.”

“She is a servant of the Fates. She would be a fool to ignore Destiny.”

“Well, then maybe she ought to have taken it up with him,” Hob replies, a bit more harshly than he’d intended. He’s only met Destiny once, and he didn’t much care for him. No sense of humor whatsoever on that one, and he apparently has a history of letting Morpheus take the blame for things that have little to do with him.

“Even so. I… could have been kinder to her.” Morpheus sighs and shakes his head. “When the battle began, the child was transformed into an enormous serpent, and the invaders fled in fear. The serpent survived, but… it was no longer Sosipolis. Not in any way that mattered. Eileithyia came to me then, grief-stricken and enraged. I took no responsibility for my part in her tragedy. Even the boon I offered her was a paltry consolation; I told her to kill the serpent, and her son’s soul would live on in the Dreaming. He would remain a child, and she would never again see him in the Waking World. It was not in my power to offer her more.”

Recognition dawns on Hob as he listens to Morpheus’ tale. He vaguely recalls reading this story in some mythology textbook or other—the bit about the boy turning into a serpent rings a bell, anyway—although at the time, of course, he’d had no idea of his then-stranger-now-husband’s role in the whole thing. It’s always a bit mind-boggling to hear about all the legends, historical events, and even celestial phenomena he’s been involved in, especially when Morpheus talks about them like they happened down the road last Tuesday. Hob is never quite sure what to say, and now is no different.

“Er, that… that just sounds like a tough situation all around, love. And it sounds like you tried to make the best of it; hell, I’d have taken you up on the offer if I were her,” Hob says, rubbing his thumb over his husband’s bony knuckles.

“She did not share your sentiments. She was insulted by the proposition, and she… she told me that she hoped I would know the same pain one day.” Morpheus sniffs and smirks bitterly, his lower lip trembling. “I suppose she ultimately got her wish. In her grief, she eventually killed the serpent. She took some comfort in the dreams of her son, but it was not the same. He was not as he should have been. He should have lived, he…” his voice wobbles as he trails off, and Hob finds himself blinking back tears as he pulls him close, stroking up and down his back.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the parallels to Orpheus, and to Daniel. Hob thinks of Robyn, of the daughter who died before she could ever live, of the child he left behind and never knew. A tangled thread of grief and regret that winds through both of their lives, the same story cropping up again and again… It can’t go that way this time. He won’t let it.

“I’m so sorry, dove. You’re right, things didn’t turn out the way they should’ve. But you did your best. And I understand why you don’t want to ask her for help. We’ll find someone else, I promise.”

In the end, the best candidate Hob managed to find had been a veterinarian with a discreet side practice treating human patients. When he had brought it up to Morpheus, well… if looks could kill and Hob could die, he’d have been reduced to a pile of ash on the spot. He’d almost made a joke about the vet being perfect for his angry cat of a husband, but he didn’t fancy sleeping on the sofa for the next century, so he’d kept his mouth shut.

“I suppose,” Morpheus had conceded through gritted teeth, “I would be willing to speak to Eileithyia. If there is truly no better option.”

Contacting the goddess turned out to be fairly straightforward. Morpheus called on her in much the same way he would call one of his siblings, while holding a talisman that Hob didn’t recognize from the gallery—a small stone figurine that looked a bit like the Venus of Willendorf, apparently the same one he used when he was pregnant with Orpheus. Hob had found it touching that he’d kept it all this time, although Morpheus admitted he hadn’t actually held onto it and had retrieved it from his own dreams with some help from Lucienne. To Hob’s credit, he had only been slightly mystified at this pronouncement and made a mental note to remember that trick the next time he loses his keys.

Eileithyia—who now runs a small private practice in Thessaloniki for people going through difficult pregnancies—had graciously responded to Morpheus’ call and agreed to meet with them at the pub that weekend.

“I’m nervous. Are you nervous?” Hob asks, his leg bouncing involuntarily beneath the table. Not their usual table, but a booth in the back where they will, in theory, have a modicum of privacy.

“For the third time, yes,” Morpheus sighs beside him.

“Sorry, I’m just—”

“Don’t say nervous,” Morpheus snaps. He looks perfectly composed, his shoulders straight and his face that familiar old mask of aloof neutrality that had taken Hob centuries to crack, but Hob knows his husband would rather be literally anywhere else right now (including Hell, probably).

“Sorry,” Hob mutters, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Morpheus gently bumps Hob’s shoulder with his own, and Hob smiles and knocks their knees together in reply.

They sit there in silence for a few long, tense minutes. Hob sips his beer while Morpheus barely touches his lemonade. Hob has never been a particularly introspective bloke, but he’s been making a sincere effort to be better about that, which is exactly why he’s now frantically trying to calculate how he should behave around the literal goddess they’ll be meeting. What’s the right combination of deference, gratitude, and affected nonchalance to avoid embarrassing his husband and himself? He ought to be used to this sort of thing by now, but the giddy thrill of meeting divine beings in pubs never really wears off.

Before he can overthink it any further, a woman slides into the seat across from them. She’s beautiful, in a surprisingly down-to-earth way, and looks casually sophisticated in her long white blouse and loose-cut trousers. She looks like any other middle-aged woman, so much so that Hob is about to politely inform her that they’re actually saving that seat, when—

“Eileithyia,” Morpheus says. “Thank you for coming.”

“Oneiros,” she responds with a curt nod. “You look well.”

“Robert Gadling—er, call me Hob. We really appreciate you coming all this way,” Hob interjects, reaching his hand out before wondering, a split second too late, if Greek gods shake hands or if he looks like an arsehole right now. Fortunately, Eileithyia grasps his hand across the table and shakes it firmly while giving him an appraising look.

“A pleasure to meet you, Hob Gadling. You are the father, I presume?” she asks. Her voice is low and pleasantly accented, with an authoritative and decidedly maternal tone to it.

“Guilty as charged, ma’am,” Hob replies with an awkward laugh.

Suze appears and takes the goddess’ drink order (black coffee), cheerfully oblivious to the fact that she’s speaking to a millennia-old deity, and once she’s gone Eileithyia leans back in her seat, folding her arms on the table. She seems a very no-nonsense sort of person, with shrewd hazel eyes and salt-and-pepper hair swept back into an elegant bun. Nevertheless, her stern gaze is softened by laugh lines, and she actually reminds Hob a bit of his own mother, what little he remembers of her. Formidable, but kind.

Right now, she appears to be waiting for one of them to say something. She doesn’t exactly look happy to be here, but the fact that she was willing to come all the way from Greece must be a good sign, right? Even if she did magically teleport.

Hob clears his throat to begin making awkward small talk, but Morpheus speaks first. “Eileithyia. I… owe you an apology. I am. Sorry,” he says haltingly, like the words are being wrenched from him against his will.

Eileithyia raises her eyebrows. “I have never known you to apologize to anyone. It seems Calliope spoke truly. You have changed, Oneiros.”

Morpheus blanches at the mention of his ex-wife, but he nods and cracks a wry half-smile. “Indeed. I have experienced several significant changes as of late.”

Eileithyia’s face softens as her eyes drift down to Morpheus’ midsection, just barely beginning to swell, and Hob can’t hold back the proud grin that blooms on his face. It’s true—Morpheus has changed, for the better in Hob’s opinion. And he knows very well how hard it is for his husband to apologize; the man’s held grudges for billions of years, so this is big.

“Very well. Apology accepted,” the goddess declares. “In truth, I forgave you long ago. Besides,” she adds gently, “my feud was with Dream of the Endless, and you are no longer that.”

Morpheus’ shoulders sag, in relief or regret or maybe both. “I— thank you. That means… a great deal,” he murmurs.

“So, will you be able to help us, then?” Hob asks.

Eileithyia takes a long sip of coffee before answering. “My abilities are much diminished. There are fewer and fewer worshipers; my shrines have fallen into ruin. However, as long as there are those who pray for a safe pregnancy, I retain some of my power.” Hob nods as she speaks, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation, one that he fully understands and that doesn’t sound like a passage from Homer. “Regardless,” she shrugs, “I am also a certified midwife. I doubt there will be much need for divine intervention.”

“Well, even so, you’ve got at least one new acolyte,” Hob chuckles. “I’ll be lighting a candle every day, or… making an offering? Er, how does this work, exactly?”

“I also take cash,” she says, smiling for the first time since her arrival. “But only in euros. None of your funny English money.”

Hob bursts into surprised laughter. “Yeah, alright, we can do that,” he says, shaking his head in bemusement.

“You are sixteen and a half weeks along,” the goddess says, turning to Morpheus. “We’ll start with visits every four weeks. I will come to you; I imagine that will be simpler than you coming to Thessaloniki. You can accommodate a home birth?”

“I—Yes. That… that would be ideal,” Morpheus replies, looking rather nonplussed.

“Good. We will increase to bi-monthly visits in the third trimester. Possibly once a week if there are any complications, though I don’t sense anything now.” Eileithyia looks Morpheus up and down, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It’s not twins. Do you want to know the sex?”

Hob gapes at her. “You can tell all that just from looking? And you say your powers are diminished?” The goddess simply smirks and shrugs in reply.

“We would prefer not to know the sex,” Morpheus says, and Hob nods in agreement. “Thank you, Eileithyia. Truly. I… I was not sure you would be willing to speak to me again.”

“I would not turn down an expecting parent in need,” Eileithyia assures him. “I am glad you called for me.”

“I’ve got to say, this is all just fantastic news. We’ve been tearing our hair out trying to find a doctor, so we’re really grateful for your help. What a relief, eh darling?” Hob beams, putting an arm around his husband’s shoulders.

Eileithyia surveys the both of them, her expression thawing into something tender and wistful. “Your man cares deeply for you, Oneiros. I am happy for you.”

Morpheus smiles—a full, broad smile that shows his teeth and lights up his whole face. “Yes,” he replies softly, tilting his head to face Hob. “He is a good man. I am lucky to have him.”

“Well, I don’t know about all that,” Hob splutters, his face heating as he tugs at his ear with his free hand. “I’m the lucky one.”

They hammer out the finer details of the agreement, and Hob can feel his husband relaxing further with each question that’s answered. Apparently fathers are not typically welcome at appointments—something about sacred mysteries and arcane knowledge or some such—which Hob isn’t thrilled about, but they at least manage to talk Eileithyia into letting him be present at the birth.

After they’ve discussed and planned and finished their drinks, a muffled chime sounds from somewhere nearby. The goddess pulls a mobile phone from her pocket and frowns at it. “Ah. A patient is going into labor. I must be going.”

The two men thank her again and say their goodbyes, and as she turns to leave Morpheus calls out to her. “Eileithyia, I… If you speak to Calliope before I do, would you… give her my regards?”

Eileithyia nods and smiles warmly at him before vanishing into the crowd.

So everything worked out brilliantly after all, and Hob couldn’t be prouder of Morpheus for burying that two-thousand-year-old hatchet.

“Yeah, Eileithyia’s been a life-saver,” Hob says, nodding in agreement with his sister-in-law. “If it weren’t for her, we would’ve had to go with one of my, er… underground contacts. And they’re all either glorified drug dealers or so-called ‘doctors’ with questionable credentials whose usual gigs involve extracting bullets from mobsters. And of course anything through the NHS is out of the question.”

“Of course. Can’t have your secret getting out,” Death winks.

“Too right,” Hob agrees before downing the last of his tea. It’s a relief talking to someone who understands. “Only it’s a bit frustrating; not like we can tell any of our friends the real reason we’ve got a midwife making house calls instead of going to an obstetrician like normal people living in the 21st century. Suze keeps trying to talk us out of having a home birth. I think now she thinks we’re just artsy-granola-hippie types. What was it she was asking you the other day, darling?”

“She was impressing upon me the importance of vaccinating the baby,” Morpheus replies. “And reminding me that there is no shame in getting an epidural,” he adds with an endearingly perplexed frown, which only deepens as Death hides a snicker behind her teacup.

“And she’s certainly not wrong!” Hob says. “Still, better that we’ll be dealing with all that in the comfort of our own home. Speaking of the birth, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask your sister, dove?”

A tinge of pink appears on Morpheus’ cheekbones as Death leans forward, glancing between them expectantly. “Ah. Yes, I…” Morpheus begins, stumbling over his words. “Sister. Would you… be there? When the baby arrives?”

“It would be my honor, little brother,” she replies, her eyes shining. “Technically I’m present for every birth, but it’s lovely to be invited.” Morpheus nods, looking a little choked up himself, which naturally makes Hob’s eyes water too. “By the way,” Death continues, “are you planning on introducing the little one to mum and dad?”

Morpheus lets out a derisive bark of laughter. “No. No, I think not.”

“Probably for the best,” Death grins, shaking her head. “Oh, that reminds me, I was talking to Despair not too long ago, and she was saying…”

Hob quickly loses the thread of the conversation as the siblings discuss things that probably happened billions of years ago to people he’s never heard of. He simply watches the movements of his husband’s face, his brow gradually unfurrowing and his eyes creasing with laughter as he listens to his sister’s tales. He’s just so bloody beautiful, so extraordinary. Hob still can’t believe he’s his. He can’t believe he’s sitting here, in his flat, having tea with the former anthropomorphic personification of dreams and the current anthropomorphic personification of death, and they’re talking about literal stars that they know, and their midwife is a goddess, as is his husband’s ex, and…

And what is Hob, compared to all that? Just some bloke who became immortal by accident and knocked up someone so far out of his league they’re not even playing the same sport. The baby is going to be an incredible person, though. Hob is already sure of that. And then he’ll have two extraordinary people in his life, and he’ll still just be some doofus with nothing to offer.

His spiraling rumination is cut short as the two siblings erupt into laughter. Hob laughs along, even though he didn’t hear whatever was so funny. Still, it brings a genuine smile to his face to see Morpheus enjoying himself and looking so relaxed.

“Well,” Death sighs, stretching as she rises from her chair, “I’d better be on my way. Got another appointment nearby.”

“Oh! Wait, you’ve got to see the nursery before you leave,” Hob says, standing up with a groan and extending a hand to help Morpheus to his feet. “Mo’s mural is looking spectacular.”

“Next time. I promise,” she beams, pulling both men in for a hug. “It’s been wonderful to see you, brother. And you, Hob. I’m so happy for you both, really.”

“Thank you, my sister. For everything,” Morpheus murmurs.

Death kisses his temple and whispers something that draws a smile from Morpheus, then turns to Hob. “Take good care of him, Hob,” she says softly.

“I will,” Hob promises, nodding fervently. “Always.”

And then, with a blinding flash of blue light and a fluttering of wings, she’s gone.

Morpheus collapses back into the sofa cushions like his strings have been cut. He looks exhausted. Hob is right there with him. He settles back down beside his husband, gathering him into his lap as he begins to knead out the remaining tension in his shoulders. “Proud of you, love,” he whispers. “And hey, great news from your sister, eh? One less thing to stress about.”

“Mmm,” Morpheus purrs in agreement as he luxuriates in Hob’s touch. “Although I am not looking forward to this ‘baby shower’ of hers.”

“Party pooper,” Hob chuckles, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “It won’t be too bad. I’ll set an alarm, wake you up if it gets too painful.”

“I will hold you to that,” Morpheus replies.

“How are you feeling, darling? Time for a nap, do you think?”

Morpheus considers this as Hob continues to work out the knots in his neck. “No,” he says finally, “I feel. Restless. And I am craving chips.”

“Why don’t we head downstairs for a bite, then? Probably do us both good to get out and work off this leftover adrenaline.”

Hob is half expecting Morpheus to insist on staying here while Hob goes and fetches him some chips (a frequent occurrence in the Gadling household), but to his surprise, his husband nods. “Yes. I think I would like that,” Morpheus says, moving to stand up.

“Brilliant!” Hob exclaims, with a bit more gusto than he’d intended, as he hauls them both to their feet. He can’t help it; getting his husband to leave the flat feels like almost as big a victory as the positive news they’ve just received. “Shall we?” He holds his arm out in an exaggerated show of gentlemanliness, and Morpheus takes it with a roll of his eyes that belies the adoring grin on his face.

Hob has a spring in his step as they make their way down to the pub, arm in arm. There’s nothing, he thinks, that could spoil his good mood right now.

Well. Almost nothing.

✨✨✨✨✨

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