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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

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𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 | boyfriend's dad!cillian murphy x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | for some reason, your first instinct after the breakup was to talk to his parents; maybe because you'd come sort of uniquely close to them, for a relatively short relationship. you might not have gone to their house if you'd known you'd find mr. murphy there alone...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ ONLY!! unprotected sex, creampie, oral m and f receiving), age gap (reader's age unspecified, cillian is 45+), hurt/comfort (but, you know, sexual comfort), infidelity, slight manipulation/coercion since the reader is very vulnerable at the time, somewhat inexperienced reader, degradation and praise, a little bit of breathplay, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia?, reader is slightly implied to be an immigrant/foreigner

note: yes I use his real name but this is just fiction and not meant to have anything to do with the real cillian murphy or his life/family so please keep that in mind!

He had a smile on his face as he opened the door and greeted you, but it fell instantly when he saw you biting down on your quivering lip, looking down to hide how red and watery your eyes were.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, voice heavy with concern as he reached out and rubbed your shoulder. "Oh, god— come in, come in— what's going on?"

He ushered you into the house, shutting the door behind you and wrapping his arm around you as you sniffled. "I-I'm sorry—" you began instantly. “I thought— I don’t know why I even came here…”

But, actually, you sort of did. You’d been wanting to talk to Cillian’s wife, hoping for some motherly advice, until he answered the door and you abruptly remembered she was in England on business for a week or something. And you couldn’t exactly show up on somebody’s doorstep crying and say ‘oh, sorry, I thought your wife would be home— I’ll come back in a few days’.

You weren’t disappointed by running into him instead, really, you just felt a little weirder about it. The two of you had never actually been alone before.

"Don't apologise," he soothed, "it's okay, just tell me what's happened. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you sighed, trying to compose yourself a bit as he guided you to sit on the couch with him. "Yeah, I'm okay, I just... um, well, it's sort of stupid—"

"I'm sure it's not," he offered with a small laugh, "if it's got you this worked up."

"We, um... I think we broke up?"

"What?" he breathed, knitting his eyebrows together— he cared more than you expected... but it sort of made sense, Mr. Murphy had always made you feel welcome here. Mrs. Murphy too, maybe ina different way. Yes, it's bizarre to respond to being dumped by going to visit the guy's parents, you needed a sort of... mature, familial presence right now while you were so far from your own.

You took him through the whole drama as efficiently as possible, trying to regulate your crying so he could actually attempt to make out what you were saying. He listened thoughtfully, perhaps with too much attention compared to what you expected— after all, this was stupid college drama and he was so much more mature than all that. Still, you appreciated a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on.

"And, uh, that's how he ended it," you finished with a sigh, sniffling as you recalled the heartbreaking conversation. "He basically told me that he's too young to be stuck with one person, and he needs to 'explore his options'..."

"Then he's an idiot," Cillian groaned, "and I hate to say that about my own son— but he's a fuckin' idiot."

"Well," you mumbled, "I don't know— I thought maybe he had a point. I mean, we're pretty young..."

"But look at you, honey," he offered pityingly, "you can't tell me this is what you wanted."

"No, but—"

"And yes, you're young," he added, "but not too young— not if it's real."

You bit your lip to stop it from shaking any more, and he cooed at you gently as he reached up to rub your shoulder.

“Poor girl,” he breathed. “Honestly, I always… well, maybe I shouldn’t say it now…”

You looked up at him expectantly, and he smiled nervously as he glanced away.

“Well… I guess I always thought that you could do better,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but, you know, I didn’t want to say anything, of course. He was lucky to have you, and I just hoped he would treat you right, but…”

“I thought I was the lucky one,” you replied with a thin smile and another little sniffle. “He could be really sweet, you know— he used to be. And I always thought he was, uh, sort of… you know, out of my league.”

“Oh, honey, no,” Cillian frowned, moving his hand up to your face and holding your cheek, wiping a small tear away with his thumb. “You’re gorgeous.”

You laughed awkwardly, not sure what to think— or how to think— with him looking at you like that. “I… I don’t know, you’re sweet, but—”

“No, really,” he assured, and only when you met his gaze did you realise how close he was. You wouldn’t call it too close, only because it didn’t bother you like you knew it should. “You’re so beautiful.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing actually came out… there was nothing to say. He was coming closer, you knew it, and you wanted to reach up to stop him just as much as you wanted to shut your eyes and give into it. You ended up sort of splitting the difference: you rested your hands on his shoulders, but didn’t push him away, and gasped slightly just before he kissed you. Even a second of resistance could’ve given you some plausible deniability, but no, you fluttered your eyes shut and kissed him back; it didn’t help that you could feel how warm and strong he was through the t-shirt, holding on tighter to his shoulders with a hum.

His hands wandered to your waist, pulling you into him— and you were like putty, embarrassingly enough. With him kissing you like that, you really couldn’t do anything but let him pull you around wherever he wanted. His lips were soft and gentle, his tongue teased you so carefully, and he even sighed against your skin in the sweetest way… you were totally helpless already.

Sure, some part of you knew how fucking bizarre this was— that you were kissing Mr. Murphy, your boyfriend’s dad— well… ex-boyfriend’s. You weren’t blind, you noticed how attractive he was when you met him, but you’d managed to successfully ignore it since then. It made sense, after all, since the first thing you’d noticed about your boyfriend was his good looks… but Mr. Murphy was handsome in a totally different way. Strong and broad— not especially massive or anything, still a lean guy— with thin streaks of grey in his hair, a patient sort of smile, subtle wrinkles around his eyes that added a sense of wisdom to his expression… really, he was a bit more of your type. But that was something you had forced yourself not to acknowledge— until now.

You sat up slightly, holding onto his neck, breathing in sharply through your nose as you kissed him back a little harder. You could feel him smiling— god, even just that made you feel so desperate— and he even moaned ever-so-quietly when you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed against your lips, breaking away just enough to make you open your eyes— his lashes seemed especially long as he looked down at your legs curled up on the couch (and his hands petting them slowly. “You haven’t been treated properly for a long time, have you?”

You whined in the back of your throat involuntarily as you nodded— how could he see right through you like that? It wasn’t like it was bad with your ex, it was just… not good. Not enough. You wanted to feel wanted, not used— not a means to an end.

“Will you let me?” he asked softly, breathing beside your ear on his way in to kiss your neck. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close, head falling back to give him as much of you as he wanted. His tongue was fucking fiendish, the way he used it to tickle along your pulse, the sharpness of his teeth making you jolt only for him to soothe you with his plush lips.

“Yes,” you panted, “fuck— I, god, I can’t believe we’re doing this…”

He laughed a little. “I can,” he admitted. “All I could fucking think about since I met you…”

That surprised you— you’d never noticed anything that would’ve made you think he thought of you that way… but knowing that he, apparently, had made a shiver run up your spine.

He certainly hid it well, playing the part of the slightly-embarrassing dad and polite husband so well that you never would’ve known… oh god, his wife. You didn’t want to think of her now, yet the unavoidable memory stirred arousal alongside guilt in your gut. You had no idea you were this sort of person— but you weren’t really operating logically right now, anyway.

He held your face again as he pulled back, petting your cheek— it made you feel especially juvenile when he did that, holding your chin to examine you. This wasn’t really the ideal state for you to be looked at, in your opinion, with you having been crying all evening. But he looked amazed by you, even if it was just for a moment before he looked down at your body and smirked.

“Take this off,” he instructed, tugging at your shirt slightly. You thought it would’ve been a little more romantic if he helped you out of it, but it was alternatively a bit sexier that he was just going to sit back and watch you strip for him. It must have been his way of demonstrating his power over you, that you were just going to take it off and toss it aside without question. Which, of course, you did.

He smiled proudly at the sight, and before you could even get your bra off, he started to carefully tease you through it— fingers running around the edge, moving the straps off your shoulders, tickling up your sides as you shifted nervously on the couch.

“Look’t that,” he whispered proudly, and you took a second to realise that he was referring to your nipples getting hard enough to poke visibly through the fabric; you felt self-conscious all of a sudden, even if he was clearly enjoying what he was seeing. “So needy, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you admitted, whining when he reached inside the cups and ran his fingers over your breasts— they usually weren’t so sensitive. “Fuck,” you breathed, shutting your eyes as a way to try to escape his gaze. “I… I need you.”

“Fuck, baby, don’t talk like that,” he groaned, “m’gonna try to take my time with you— how am I supposed to do that if you say such lovely things?”

His lips were on your neck again— and he was leaning you back, laying you down under him, tugging your shorts down with a bit more urgency than he’d had before.

When you were basically naked— or at least, your bra and panties pushed out of the way enough that he could see what he needed to— he purred at the sight, grinning as you hastily undressed yourself the rest of the way.

"Of course he couldn't appreciate this," Cillian sighed, baring his teeth just a bit. "Of course he couldn't appreciate a perfect fucking body like this— a perfect little pussy like this..."

You were about to open your mouth to say something, though you hadn't even decided yet what it would be, but only a low moan came out when he held your legs open and dove between them, humming as he lapped at your clit. You couldn't imagine why you were so sensitive, but your whole body was shaking already just from the gentlest motions of his tongue...

"Fuck," he said, muffled against your skin, before he pulled back enough to bite playfully on your thigh. "Fuck, darling, you taste delicious. Christ. You're too perfect..."

He devoured you again, exploring all over you with his tongue as your thighs kept instinctively clamping down on his head. He kept looking up at you through it all, even when you couldn't stand to meet his gaze and had to arch your back from the pleasure. "Fuck!" you yelped, grabbing tightly onto his hair. "Fuck, Mr. Murphy, I— oh, god..."

"He never made you come like this, did he?" Cillian realised with a groan, nearly growling when you shook your head. "Has anyone?"

"N-no," you shakily admitted, and he moaned around you as he suckled harder on your clit for a moment until you whined loudly.

"Oh, poor thing," he cooed, "how could anyone taste this sweet cunt of yours, and not want to spend hours between your legs?"

He didn’t need to spend hours, though— the taboo nature of the situation seemed to turn your body into overdrive, making you so sensitive and desperate… or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, but it was hard to say.

The point is, all too soon, you were shivering under him, back arching up off the couch, holding on tightly to his hair. He hummed approvingly, even moaning against you as he slid his tongue inside; he must have been able to feel you pulsing, moving closer and closer to the edge, because he shut his eyes tight and seemed to focus harder and pushing you further until you couldn’t take anymore.

“Fuck, fuck!” you sobbed, thighs shaking around his head; there really was no exploration to it, no teasing, he just went right in and expertly played you like he’d done this a thousand times. Maybe he had… but, obviously, he’d never done it to you. Were you that easy to solve?

Obviously, that question suddenly became the last thing on your mind as your orgasm wracked through you. He growled encouragingly, still keeping his pace, but you could barely hear it past the ringing in your ears— and your own cries of his name, of course.

He only broke away when your squirms turned into real avoidance: you could only take so much, especially with him suckling on your clit like that.

You were almost nervous to open your eyes again— and you were right, he looked so gorgeous between your legs, obviously smug with having just made you come, it was nearly criminal.

“Is it really that easy to make you come, honey?” he laughed, petting your legs sweetly as he pulled back, looking up at you with a proud grin. “That’s so fucking cute, baby…”

As he sat up again, wiping the slick off his mouth with the back of his hand, you got this weird, clingy feeling— wanting to chase him even just as he barely moved away.

But he’d sat up for a reason, and you started to realise it when you sat up, too, and noticed the thick bulge in his jeans.

"Why don't you show me what you can do, sweetheart?" he encouraged with a smile, opening his belt for you. "I'm sure you've learned a thing or two..."

Though you still felt terribly nervous about it, you leaned forward towards his lap. Would it be awful to admit your mouth watered when he freed his cock from his jeans and boxers, holding it out for you as a little bead of precum formed at the tip?

"Show me, baby," he whispered again, "and look up at me."

You nervously blinked up at him, meeting his gaze from his lap, as you wrapped your lips around his swollen head. He bit his lip right away and reached up to hold onto your hair, groaning as you swirled your tongue.

"Fuck," he smirked, "you're sort of a tease, aren't you?"

You weren't trying to be, really, but it didn't sound like he minded too much...

"Oh, fuck," he moaned deeply, making you pulse inside as he tilted his head back. "Fuck, baby, that's good— your mouth is so fucking warm..."

He gasped and panted as he held your head, guiding it to bob just a little faster than you had been moving. "Sweetheart," he choked, "you're so fucking good... fuck!"

The praise made your chest fill with warmth, even if there was still some part of your brain that was recovered enough from the orgasm to remember how horrible this all was. It was horrible, but perfect— and feeling his cock throb against your tongue was perfect, too.

You’d never been told you were so good at this before, but he kept moaning and petting your head encouragingly, whispering the most wonderful and filthy things. “Just like that, honey,” he cooed, “mm— pretty thing… knew that mouth of yours would feel so fuckin’ good… just keep sucking my cock, sweetheart.”

That you did— harder and faster, stroking what your mouth couldn’t fit, moaning softly around him. As you tried to take it deeper, desperate to please him, you gagged on his thick head.

“God, it’s so cute when you choke on it, baby,” he chuckled. “Do it again.”

This time it was almost too much, but he held your head down and groaned deeply. It would’ve bothered you more— not being able to breathe— if he didn’t sound so sexy right then…

Thankfully, he pulled you off just in time, making you yelp as he held you by your hair— only to kiss you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Moaning, you melted into his arms, and let him guide you to straddle his lap. Feeling his jeans against your thighs and his shirt against your chest made your heart skip.

He took another long look at you when he broke away, a new darkness in his bright eyes.

“You’re so sexy,” he laughed softly, running his hands over your nude form and raising a brow as he watched goosebumps break out over your skin. “God, I need to be inside you…”

You bit down on your lip but it didn’t do much to suppress your whimper; lifting yourself up a bit, you grasped his cock and slid it through your folds, guiding him to your entrance.

You both gasped when he slipped inside, even when it was the slightest penetration— his whole head wasn’t in yet, and you just knew it would stretch you more than you were used to.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned loudly, tilting his head back, “you’re so wet, sweetheart…”

Lowering yourself, you took in a shaky breath, whining slightly as he opened you up one inch at a time... and each one seemed somehow thicker than the last. His fingers seemed to dig deeper into the skin at your hips and ass the lower that you sank onto him.

You could barely believe that you took it all; that you relaxed into his lap fully even when you feared being split in half by how thick he was. “Oh my god,” you blurted out, operating on instinct as you started to move— grinding back and forth, desperate for friction despite having been satisfied by his incredible mouth just a few minutes ago.

"Fuck, there you go," he encouraged with a growl, looking down at your hips rocking in his lap. "Ride me, just like that— fuck, ride my cock, little fuckin' whore..."

You whimpered at the insult, holding tighter onto his shoulders, but it only made you move faster. "S-so... so deep, Mr. Murphy," you whimpered.

"Yeah? You can take it," he promised darkly, holding tighter onto your waist as he dropped his head back with a low groan. "God, you're tight— fuck."

You gasped as he bucked his hips up, creating more pressure against your over-sensitive clit. "Oh, fuck," you breathed, struggling to cope with all the sensations he was giving you.

Both of you settled on the right pace, and he switched between resting his head back against the couch (giving you a nice view of his gorgeous neck, how could just a neck be so sexy?!) and looking down to watch you go. “So fuckin’ cute,” he praised— though you were sort of surprised to hear him describe you that way at a time like this. “So needy, honey… you want more, don’t you? You wanna go even faster.”

Now that he said it: yeah, you did. You bounced up and down, your moans coming out all shaky and uneven because of the movement, and he grinned proudly.

His hands wandered up from your waist to your chest, groping you eagerly as you gasped out his name in response. “Love these tits of yours,” he informed you, sounding oddly sweet for how dirty of a compliment it was. “Took everything in me not to stare at them when you’d come over for dinner… see what you do to me, sweetheart? Haven’t felt this desperate since I was your age.”

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, reminding you of how much older he was at a time like this. He purred when he felt you clench on him, obviously affected by the comment.

“Should’ve known you’d give in right away,” he went on, softening his voice to nearly a whisper as he watched you move with heavy eyes; you angled your hips back and moaned louder, his cock rubbing against just the right spot every time now. “Hungry little thing like you— now I wish I hadn’t waited so long. We could’ve been doing this the whole time… I could’ve shown you how much better it can be, when somebody really takes care of you.”

Whimpering, you felt another heady pang inside you— if he kept talking like that, you wouldn’t be able to keep your head on straight… then again, the fact that you were here proved that you were less stable than you thought.

“Faster, sweetheart,” he ordered again suddenly. “I wanna see how desperate you can get.”

You furrowed your brows together, almost pouting, but did exactly what he wanted— you wondered if you looked as pathetic as you sounded, riding him recklessly, chasing another peak even when it took all of your strength in those shaking legs.

He grabbed you by the jaw and guided you into another desperate kiss— all teeth and tongue and low moans. “Good fucking girl,” he snarled. “Good little slut.”

“Fuck,” you panted, moving faster. “Fuck, I’m close—”

“I know, honey,” he cooed, nodding as he moved his hand down to your neck. “Show me how bad you need it, sweetheart. Let me see it, I wanna see you come for me.”

Tossing your head back, you cried out his name again— why did you always do that when you came?— and felt it overtake you. It was even heavier than the last one, even more numbing and draining, and you didn’t even notice how hard you were digging your nails into his shoulders.

When your body failed and you came to a shaky stop, he didn’t give you much time to catch your breath: he grabbed you tight, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder, and began to buck his hips up into you quickly.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” you whined, overwhelmed by the feeling, holding onto him tightly just to have something to keep you grounded.

“Fuck, m’gonna come inside you,” he warned with a growl. “Gonna fill you, baby, you’ll be so fuckin’ full of my come—”

You sobbed and buried your face in his neck, starting to cry again for a completely different reason than before.

“Tell me you want it,” he ordered, speaking roughly right against your ear.

“F-fuck, I want it,” you gasped, “I want you to come— fuck— come inside me—”

He choked out a few more swears, he held you tight enough that you started to imagine what his bruises would look like on you tomorrow, and with a low groan of your name, it all suddenly slowed to a stop. You moaned weakly when you felt his cock flexing against your walls, even more heat pooling inside you. With what little energy you had left, you softly kissed his neck— until he seemed to come back to reality and pushed you back enough to be face-to-face with you again.

You realised suddenly that you were still sort of crying from the intensity of it all, and got nervous with him staring at you like that. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled as you wiped your face.

“Don’t apologise,” he told you again, moving your hands away so he could look at you himself. “Besides, you look even cuter when you cry.”

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #dilf!cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy rpf

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redflagshipwriter · 2 months

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Fast Car Chapter One (of four)

Masterpost

Danny hit the brakes hard and veered into a bicycle lane with a very Fenton sort of style and disregard for physics. He dodged the gunman in the carpool lane. He stuck his tongue out as he passed and then steered back into the right lane once he’d cleared the pedestrian.

It turned out that Gotham rewarded the sort of drivers forged in the crucible of the Fenton tactical GAV, which was great. Jazz had gotten a job as a barista for her third year at Gotham U, so he had inherited the car that she had used as a delivery driver. She’d even somehow managed to pay the taxes on it despite the restraining orders that most government offices had on the Fenton family.

Jazz had been a pizza girl, but Danny wasn’t willing to work the late nights. He worked for three different rideshare companies. It was.. Well. It was a terrible way to make a living, if he was honest. It was wretched. But it worked! Until the car crapped out on him, this was a viable option to feed himself while he was enrolled full time at the university. He was available to drive early in the mornings and for a few peak hours on the weekends.

Danny brought an order of 17 coffees to a warehouse with serious ‘murders will happen here today’ vibes and whistled as he left. People in murder warehouses actually tipped pretty well. Worker solidarity or something. He left the early birds to enjoy their 3 am drinks and then idly checked the app to see if there was anyone else waiting for a ride or delivery.

“Victor,” he read, and took a glance at the address. It was close! He snagged the request and turned on some bubblegum pop to enhance the ride over.

He saw a man standing outside, haunting a storefront with metal shutters pulled down. Must be the guy! Danny pulled over, checked the app, and then furrowed his eyebrows. Huh. Seemed wrong. He fixed his face before he looked back over.

In the app, Victor didn’t look especially young or fit. In person, he was easily over 6 feet tall and lugged a huge bulky bag like it weighed nothing.

He also had a giant ugly motorcycle helmet with the vague impression of a caveman brow ridge built into it. Danny hid his judgmental thoughts and rolled down the window to chirp, “Hi! Victor?”

“That’s me.” Victor sounded like he was auditioning for the Deft Punks, electronics grinding out his voice to a silly robot autotune. Danny hid the way his lips wanted to tremble. You can’t laugh at clients. “Can I put this in the trunk?”

Danny hated that. “Go for it.” He opened the trunk with the button and hid his real thoughts. He didn’t like people using the trunk. Why not just put it in the backseat like a normal person? There was enough room for a person and a bag there.

‘Is there enough room for this guy, actually?’ Danny wondered, looking Victor up and down subtly. Were his shoulders padded or was he actually built like that? Bizarre.

He had the sense that Victor was tense.

‘Ah., fuck. He caught me checking out his shoulders.’

Danny cleared his throat and whipped his face forwards again. “Normally I say to sit in the backseat, but I'm not sure that's enough room for your legs. Either is fine.”

Victor took him up on the front seat option and readjusted the passenger seat back with a casual ease.

Danny waited a moment.

Victor cocked his head at him.

“Seatbelt,” Danny prompted.

There was a long moment. Victor silently buckled his seatbelt.

“Awesome.” Danny put on his turn signals and pulled out. He went slower than he preferred. He’d learned the hard way that most passengers didn’t like his driving. It was great for cutting time off when he was delivering food, but no good for nervous cargo like poor Victor here. The poor guy was so anxious that he kept his emotional support helmet on when a passenger in a car.

Danny thoughtfully drove the speed limit and let Victor change music.

They didn’t have much to talk about. Danny didn’t mind much either way. He liked quiet rides and he liked chatting alright.

“Stop the car two blocks early,” Victor said. He pointed. “There’s fine.”

Obligingly Danny guided the car to a stop and shifted to park. He jumped out of the car. “I’ll grab your bag!” He called over his shoulder. He popped open the trunk and lifted Victor’s bag with a winning smile that said ‘I deserve a good tip.’

Victor had moved to the back of the car faster than Danny expected. He paused. He looked weirdly stiff. “Thanks.” He took the bag. “...Here’s your tip.”

“Have a wonderful day!” Danny said, pretending not to be interested in how much money it was. He waved Victor goodbye and pulled out. As soon as he was a block away he counted the bills. “Fuck yeah,” he hissed. Victor tipped like a crime boss. He stuffed them into his wallet and made a mental note of the account. He’d definitely try to accept requests from him in future.

He gave two more rides before he could go back to his shitty apartment and get ready for classes. Danny parked in the little underground garage near his place where he paid a monthly fee and jogged to his place. He got his bag and left on foot.

He had a pretty normal day. The only hiccup was that it was kind of hard to focus on his lectures when he could faintly hear what had to be every TV on campus playing the same news bulletin. Danny did his best to block it out, grimacing. Having advanced senses really sucked sometimes. If he heard the breaking news jingle one more time, he might cry.

By the time he was free he felt pushed to his limit. He went back to his place and turned off all his electronics for some peace of mind.

The next morning felt better. He turned on the tab that said he was available for work at 3 am and ended up bringing a huge delivery of breakfast materials to the same police station that he’d left Victor at yesterday. Danny hummed as he jogged up the concrete steps with three bulging bags of baked goods and coffee grounds. He handed them to a weary-eyed receptionist and accepted his tip without looking at it. He considered cracking a joke about them being busy and decided it was better not to.

He was still an illegal entity, after all. His parents were covering for him, but scrutiny was not his friend. He didn’t want any interaction with the police or the rogue band of detective freakazoids that ran this crime town.

Back in the car, he checked his tip. Danny clicked his tongue and made a disgusted sound. He hated cops. Cheap! There was nothing worse than being cheap.

His next customer tried to rob him at gunpoint as soon as he got in the car. Danny wrestled the gun away from him and ate it while the guy watched. “Just try and report me to the app,” Danny sneered between crunches of metal. It tasted like shit and the guy probably hadn’t washed his hands, so like, yuck. But it was a choice he was making for the intimidation factor, not because it was yummy.

‘Bet my iron intake is good now.’ Danny held out his hand. “My tip,” he said, and did not unlock the car door until the shaking wannabe carjacker had given him three dollars American money. Hell yeah. “Have a good morning.”

He went into the app and canceled the ride. There was another request waiting, so he drove to it. It wasn’t the name that the app’s request had shown, but- “Good morning, Victor!” Danny waved. “Call from a friend’s app this time?”

Victor stared at him dumbly. At least, that was Danny’s best guess of what was going on inside the helmet. “Yes.” He eventually said.

Cool, cool. Very weird. But he was an ok guy and he tipped well. “Hop in,” Danny said, and unlocked the car.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #red fast car

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kedreeva · 9 days

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Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

#the quails #WT celadon line #my pets #dash stretcher

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sophiethewitch1 · 4 months

Text

What We Want - Chpt. 7 - Black N' White Knight

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dick tells Tim, hand carting through his hair. The two of them are in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar. Tim sitting in front of his laptop with his legs crossed, and Dick tapping one foot agitatedly against the marble floor. While Tim might not be grinning ear to ear, it’s pretty obvious for anyone who knows him that he’s delighted by the tale Dick just regaled to him.

And what a tale it was. He hasn’t seen you in a year and a half, and then when he does, he finds you teary eyed staring at a picture of him shirtless at the gym. Bruce had always told him the way he played with the paparazzi would come to bite him in the ass one day, but he really can’t say he expected… that.

Obviously, it had to be a prank. That’s his first thought. That’s his only thought, really. What other explanation could there be? An accident? Maybe you’d forgotten what his room looked like. It wasn’t like he kept much personal stuff in his Wayne manor room, the only markers his clothes and the letters he kept in his drawer from his parents.

And you were wearing his clothes, of all things. He’d be surprised if you forgot how much of a Superman fanboy he was, seeing as he’d spent many hours ranting to you before the explosion. So, a prank. A show of good will, an olive branch maybe? It was more likely you were just fucking with his head, as you’d done in the past. Never like this, though.

This was just… bizarre.

“I can’t either,” and of course, Tim sounds near estatic saying that. The love of chaos ran true in that one.

Dick had managed to wrangle his life under control a few years back, and despite the universe seeming to try to unravel it at the seams, he was indisposed to let it simply happen. Even if you of all people had changed. No, Dick was getting older, and he was finding his taste for chaos a lot more… limited.

He didn’t want to suffer it’s affects. He was currently suffering it’s affects.

“I knew something was going on when she showed up to the party, but this…” Tim pauses, leaning back in his chair, “It’s gotta be a prank, right?”

It said a lot about their family that this was all the assumption they defaulted to.

“It could be something else. Did you even take her to the hospital after?” Dick offers instead, overthinking as always. This situation seemed to be made for overthinking, though.

Tim hums. “No, we did not.”

Then he turns his stare to Dick, like he’s expecting something from him.

“Seriously?”

“What? You’re the friendly one.”

Dick very much did his best to seem like the friendly one, at least. Tim was well aware it was a complete farce, though. Dick was nice but he could also be a bit… well… a bit of a dick. Another thing he’d been trying to overcome. He was doing better than when he’d been seven, at least.

Dick sighs, pressing his hand to his forehead, “I’d probably just end up accidentally nagging her, and then she’d never speak to me again.”

“That’s not my problem,” Tim shrugs, glancing back down at his laptop and squinting.

“It is, actually. Because if she stopped talking to me you’d probably be the next one till the girls and Duke came home who has to talk to her.”

“She could talk to Jay,” Tim offers, because he’s a shithead. Dick bets he did the same with Bruce, “And besides, I’m busy doing surveillance.”

“You mean stalking.”

“I do it to everybody, stop making such a big deal out of it.”

Dick sighs again.

“Hm, you might want to check your phone,” Tim says, in a way that suggests he has once again tapped the network. Keeping him out of Dick’s private life was like Sisyphus and his boulder. He still wasn't going to give up, and the time Tim and Steph mercilessly bullied him for getting dumped over text had made him all the more so.

‘Dont_try’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

“Please, tell me you sent that and are just messing with me,” Dick begs, staring down at his phone in mild despair. Chaos. Always fucking chaos. Despite how hard he tried, he could not keep his family out of trouble. God damn it, when he’d gotten this job he’d been the one made for trouble. Where did he go wrong?

“Honestly, sounds like the sort of thing I’d do, but the girl just got bitch slapped so I really think you should respond fast.”

“What?!”

“She’s fine now, run to the bathrooms I think. You know for such an upstate place you’d think they had better camera positioning,” Tim mutters, complaining that he can’t watch every single little movement you make. Dick thinks he should probably worry about this, as it’s a clear sign of another decline for his sanity, but he’s now got this shit to deal with.

“Why, Tim? What is going on? Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Hm?” he’s engrossed by the computer, “Ah, the shitty boyfriend… some soup- ha, how is she such a clutz? Maybe we should get her head checked again- and… an altercation of some kind? I don’t know, I can’t see it properly.”

Dick leans forward in his stool, clasped hands covering his face for a moment.

“Are you going to reply? If you don’t soon, she’ll probably make it a bigger shitshow,” Tim says, nudging his foot against Dick’s. Dick, good big brother that he is, takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Even if this is really not what he wanted for his holiday, he’s dealt with much, much worse.

The press will have forgotten about this within the week. You, however, likely not. He’d promised to help you all those years ago, and even if he had no idea why you were reaching out to him, or if you would even be amicable when you met again, he’d still damn well do it.

He glances back down at his phone.

“What is going on?” Dick repeats to himself, and Tim’s head cocks to the side. There’s that familiar cat that got the cream grin spreading across his younger brother’s face, and it just really isn’t welcome right now.

“Intrigued yet?”

Unfortunately for both him, Tim and especially you, Dick already was.

He’s in his car in five minutes flat, finger tapping against the premium leather wheel. The sound of it is the only thing that manages to keep him sane.

Riding up to the place, Dick realises that no, maybe the press won’t be over this within the week. Considering the amount of paparazzi swarming the place, he doubted you’d be free for at least a few months. To be fair, the mysterious ex-wayne making such a scene was a bit of a big deal. Before you’d been basically invisible, despite your immense wealth and past.

Invisible? Dick thinks he spots at least twenty cameras. And that’s not even mentioning all the phones inside that would’ve gotten up close videos of whatever happened. Their legal team would handle it fine, that which Barbara or Tim couldn’t wipe from the face of the earth. And that was very little, all things considered.

Dick has to push past the calls of his name, ignoring all the intrusive questions volleyed his way like the pro he was. He still makes sure to listen carefully and store away every vital bit of information, as well as remember the logos on the film crew’s van. Eventually he makes his way to the front of the line, and the flustered front of house immediately recognises his face and sweeps him inside. Dick ducks in with a thankful smile, which he admits, falters when he enters the scene.

A scene which you are not in. Your gold digging boyfriend was, though. Of all the things Dick regrets with you, it’s not breaking the horrid relationship the two of you had apart. Or well, the fact that you totally, loudly hated his guts. He was a sensitive guy, y’know!

He sees your terribly boyfriend - George, Dick remembers - raging at some poor servers, and he knows he need to go sweep in and save the pour soul. It’ll be a hard fight, he can already tell.

Before he does so, he sends a quick text to his phone.

Underwear_guy: Where are you?

Don’t_try: I’ll be right out.

Shockingly, that was the truth. You come striding into the restaurant, and immediately all eyes are on you. It makes you stutter-step. Dick can see you visibly stiffen up, before you manage to gather your courage and keep walking. You don’t even pay him a single glance as you walk straight towards your fuming boyfriend.

You try to whisper, keeping your voice quiet and your conversation private. The boyfriend seems uninterested in the idea.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he cuts you off.

You glance around, and then say something else. It seems like you’re trying to defuse the situation, but George seems uninterested by the idea.

“This behaviour is ridiculous. You need to get it together, we’re in public!” he yells, like he isn’t the one causing a scene. He seems to be trying to intimidate you back into silence. But today and well, yesterday too, something is different about you.

Okay, that’s enough of that. Dick’s intervening.

“You cheated on me! You deserve it and everything that’s coming to you!”

Or, uh, maybe you’ve got it covered.

George’s shocked face is almost worse than when you literally bit him. Guess he expected you to be a bit more demure after that encounter. He should know better, the other version of you seemed to have been even more spiteful in nature.

Today again, you prove you are a less than stellar person. You’d stopped caring about George as soon as you’d discovered he’d cheated, but you were still angry. Not jealous, but furious. Bubbling up your throat, rage and bile and the urge to attack him once again, even if you just want to go home.

Your teeth grind. Your jaw ticks. And oddly, you realise you have a real taste for George Lancaster’s limbs.

Though your life had changed (literally) in the past few days, you were still the same girl from your first twenty-first. You wanted George Lancaster to suffer. Even more so, now that the evil cunt had hit you right in the face. The hit had stunned you, though. More emotionally than physically, but it had shocked you.

You couldn’t say you were a coward. You’d spent far too many days in your teenage years indulging in self-destructive behaviours to think that. But something about this pathetic man was scaring the shit out of you. You think that made you more pathetic, but you couldn’t quite tell. That’d be victim blaming, right?

You did have a habit of blaming yourself. It was just usually your fault.

…Maybe you shouldn’t have bit him, no matter how much the response was instinctual or his screech was satisfying. This was all too confusing, all too much. You needed to get back to your apartment, lock the doors and barricade them so nobody bothers you. And then maybe hibernate for a week. You needed some time to process all the stupid bullshit you were experiencing. The wayne manor was too much, your horrible white apartment was too much, George fucking Lancaster was too fucking god damn much.

You take a deep breath, and manage to stop yourself from bolting like a deer. Deal with the problem at hand. Deal with it now, deal with it!

“I’m leaving, and we are done. It’s that simple,” you tell George, trying to drill in a message that he seems unable to comprehend. At this point you’d assume he’d be trying to apologise, manipulate back into his good graces, but you think you might’ve completely broke him. Broke the script.

Good. That was damn well good.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else at least?” George replies, eyes flicking to Richard Grayson’s angry gaze. At least you think he’s angry. You can’t quite gather the courage to look directly at him.

Also, there’s the manipulation! You wish you weren’t right this time.

“Sure, but I’m bringing him, and my answer will absolutely not change. You hit me.”

“You bit me!”

Well, yeah, not your best moment. You don’t think you can regret it, though.

“Then I think this relationship is ending on equal terms,” you reply, trying your best to just get him to quit it. It is obviously not working by the way his expression darkens.

“I’ll tell the press everything,” George threatens, which, well, is sort of a shitty threat because I don’t even know what he’s threatening. ‘Everything’? Couldn’t he be a bit more specific?

You shrug. It is the wrong response, you know it is, but you’ve completely ran dry of fucks to give. Couldn’t be much worse than the bullshit happening right now. The press were already very well fed, considering the situation that was today. George makes a small sound of fury.

“We’ll sue,” Richard Grayson, the white knight that you’d daydreamed about, comes to your rescue. Is it odd that it’s kind of flustering? You probably shouldn’t be flustered.

George immediately snaps his gaze to Grayson’s, giving the man a look with a healthy dose of fear. Couldn’t blame the guy. Even if he was the second smallest of the three remaining brothers, he was still well known for being strong. His family often did kick-boxing, and their sister, Cass, often whooped their asses. It was sort of satisfying to watch. Anyway, his physical prowess from fighting to weirdo gymnastic bullshit was evident in his svelte build.

George was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot. With just the one threat from the Waynes legal team, he skitters away like the little rat you know him to be. He leaves the restaurant, and he very obviously does not pay or even leave a tip. You suppose you have the cash to make up for it. Then, ignoring the paparazzi, you were technically home free. You glance to the side. Richard Grayson’s beautiful face looks a mix of confuddled, frustrated, and exhausted. He still saved you, though, even after the fool you made of yourself.

White knight, indeed. It almost feels a bit anticlimactic, but it’s the results you wanted. And yet, an ominous feeling befalls you. Somehow, you don’t feel you’ve seen the last of George Lancaster. You just really hope the old you hadn’t committed any crimes. A tabloid? Humiliating, but livable. Prison? Not so much.

Not that the rich stayed in prison in Gotham, or even the rest of the world. It was kind of strange to realise you were sort of above the law now.

You glance at Dick, pulling your uncomfortably wet shirt away from your chest. You’ve sort of been bled dry of any shits you could give at this point, so you decide, very maturely, to make jokes and ignore all your problems. It had gotten you this far.

You’d seen this behaviour before. Many, many times. It was what usually got you fired. But now you didn’t really have to worry about that, so why should you worry about causing a scene and ruining your life a bit more? It wasn’t yours, after all.

“What do you think?” you joke, elbowing Dick. He looks down from glaring at the entrance George just slipped out of, to you. His blue eyes are a damn near shock to the soul. It takes everything in you not to start fidgeting.

“Think of what?” he responds, and despite how hard you try, you can not read his expression.

“I’m trying to make some more news. Don’t think the reporters got enough the other day,” you say, gesturing to the giant stain. It’s still Dick’s shirt. You hadn’t realised till now, but the Beatles was now some sort of green soup. Is it kind of gross of you to acknowledge that at least the soup smelled good?

Probably. You didn’t actually get to eat anything here. It’s also probably a bit weird that you’re thinking about eating at a time like this. Probably.

“I think you’ve done enough, honestly,” he says, glancing at the camera flashes from outside.

He sounds exactly like your mother, it’s almost uncanny. Well, this version of him technically knew her. You’re still not sure how well en-meshed your two families had been before the disaster, but maybe he’d picked up some traits from her.

…That… you’re not sure how to feel about the idea. The old green monster bubbles up at the thought, and you can’t tell if you’re jealous your mum got to meet Dick Grayson, or that Dick Grayson might’ve gotten to know your mum.

“We should leave,” he says, cutting off your bitter inner thoughts, “I know you don’t like it when the magazines bother you.”

You don’t? You don’t. Yes, that makes sense, ‘you’ definitely wouldn’t have. And it’s not like you feel comfortable with them either. In fact, if you think about the fact your drowned rat appearance will be on every tabloid in the city by tomorrow, probably alongside photos from your birthday, you feel so nauseous you could collapse. Going to compartmentalise that one.

“Yes, going, let’s go,” you say, following Dick out of the restaurant.

Despite the fact that the security guards are trying their best, it’s getting quite rowdy out here. When Dick wraps an arm around your shoulder, shielding you with his body, you almost just pass out right there. His muscles… Your heart simply can’t take it. As it is, Dick notices you jump like a foot in the air, and backs off. He still makes sure to try and protect you from their vision as much as possible.

Still, in an act that is purely rebellious, you turn and give them a big smile and a wave. Even as you hate every single person on the other side of the divide, you want to make one thing very clear. You will not be cowed by someone like George fucking Lancaster. Your peace sign and wink are a message to them, to him, and to yourself.

Despite the fact that this new life is one you have no idea how to handle, you know one thing. Put on a face, and it’ll always be easier.

Dick is probably wondering what the hell happened to you for you to be acting this way. Your shirt has a giant stain on it, you just broke up with your cheating boyfriend, went through a traumatising experience just a few days ago, and you’ve got the biggest grin on your face. This behaviour speaks more and more of a full blown mental breakdown. And it’s not the first you’ve had or the last.

There’s paparazzi snapping thousands of photos of the two of you, and instead of shying away as ‘you’ used to, you throw up a peace sign. One of the papps drops their camera. That confuses you a bit, as your peace sign deflates slightly. Didn’t they want more pictures? Weren’t you supposed to pose…?

For all you stalked celebrities online, you realise you have no idea how to pretend to be one. This is going to become an issue, you can already tell.

He points at a car, and you assume it’s his because he starts making his way over. He’s obviously done this sort of thing before, using and guiding the security with a smooth confidence. Even still, the two of you are a bit too close for comfort.

Which you prove, by putting your foot directly in your mouth.

“I don’t have abs, but do you think the press would like my stomach like they like yours?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. Another poor joke. You are deflecting so hard. And why the hell did you bring that up, you dunce? You feel your brain cells draining the more you’re around this guy, it’s not healthy for you.

“Please don’t pull your shirt up in public,” Dick sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. It’s spreading, like the plague. You’re patient zero, of course. Even still he gets you guys to the car, and opens the side door for you. You follow his wordless command and slip into the passenger seat.

“I won’t. Sorry, sorry,” you reply, to relieve him of some of the trauma you’re currently inflicting.

He glances back to the papps, and then back down at you. His smile bowls you over like he’s getting the last strike in a fucking 300. He genuinely is the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen. Thankfully, he closes the door so you have a moment to gather your sanity before he goes around the car and gets in the driver’s seat.

You hope you’re subtle when you shift away from him slightly. It shouldn’t be that surprising really. You were stupid on average. You would be stupider around attractive people. You would be frankly disastrous around someone as blastingly hot as Dick Grayson. The Waynes in general turned you into a drooling idiot.

Good god, you need to get out of this car. As soon as you think that, Dick is pulling away from the parking spot and out onto the streets. He makes slow progress because Gotham traffic, but eventually you manage to flee the horrifying stares of the cameras. Already you can tell it’ll be giving you nightmares. Probably along with images of the guy who tried to rape you and Damian Wayne sneering at you.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Despite how you wish it not, Mr. Grayson decides he’s going to start a conversation with you.

“Good,” you reply, the answer instinctive and an obvious lie.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare return it.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and his voice is gentle. Sort of infantilising if you’ll be honest.

While it is very clear to anyone who looks at you that you have no idea what you’re doing, you’d rather he didn’t bring it up. You’ll figure it out. You’ve always managed to figure it out. This is what you get for asking for help. Really, despite your momentary panic you could’ve taken George. Probably not physically, but…

“You can talk to me if you want, you know?”

“Can you stop the car, please?” you respond, when that question immediately activates your fight or flight response. Dick must notice something about you, because he quickly shoots forward and into a momentarily available parking spot.

You scramble with the door, shoving your way back out onto the asphalt. The immediate distinct smell of Gotham, even Gotham’s richer districts, calms you down. Sewage, the ocean, and the ever present smoke and fog.

Fuck’s sake. You aren’t making yourself look anymore well put together.

Clearing your throat, you turn and find Richard Grayson coming around the car hood towards you. There’s a worried look in his eyes, and you really don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like you made a deal with the devil. By getting rid of George, you’d gotten a new problem - and an infinitely more complicated one.

Shit, you need to stop making rash decisions when you’re having panic attacks. You’d say you should probably try and stop having panic attacks entirely, but you don’t really know how to do that.

The sound of your name has you snapping back to attention. Dick looks even more worried.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, taking a few slow steps towards you. Again, infantilizing. Like you’re a wild animal about to run. Wait, weren’t you just comparing yourself to a chihuahua? Well, it’s not the same when other people do it.

“I’d like to take a walk,” you say, hand scrunching into your pyjama pants, “Alone, I’d like some time alone.”

“…In that?” He glances down at the stain that is slowly starting to dry. It’s making your skin itchy, but at least it’s not as cold.

“I can buy something,” you say, remembering one of the apps on your phone was connected to your bank account, which you had to assume was pretty full. It’s kind of stupid that you haven’t checked that yet.

You’re starting to feel a bit defensive towards your own intelligence. Maybe it’s because you seemingly keep making all the worst decisions.

Dick doesn’t make it any better.

“Do you have cash on you?” he asks, showing how little faith he has in your general abilities to survive as an adult in Gotham.

“I do, I’ll be fine,” you insist, because god damn it, you will be. You just need a fucking minute.

You ran from the Wayne manor because you felt like you were being watched, and then as soon as you showed up at the world’s most uncomfortable apartment, the haunting wraith known as George dragged you out in your P.J.s. You could figure it the fuck out, if these people would give you some fucking space.

Richard Grayson seems to realise that you’re getting upset, because he goes quiet for a moment. After staring at you for a moment longer, for which you manage to find the courage to maintain eye contact through pure stubborn will, he asks you one final question.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home or something?” he asks, still seeming so determined to help you.

His suggestion brings flashes of images of you breaking down in front of the Bruce Wayne to mind. From almost a birds eye view, you see yourself sobbing against your own ruined dress as the billionaire looked on. Bile literally jumps up your throat, and it takes a lot of willpower not to grimace at the suggestion.

“Look, Mr. Grayson, I really appreciate-”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

Once again, you feel the urge to simply sprint away from your own problems, but you manage to hold yourself still. Still, you can’t think of a solution. You can’t really think much of anything. Instead you stare at Richard Grayson with your hands threaded together and your lips pressed into a thin line.

Though you open your mouth to speak, you find you have no excuses ready or available. You’ve talked yourself into a corner already, and it’s your third day in this world. Marvellous. Maybe you should just tell the truth.

Still, the dangers outweigh the pros. They don’t know you, they don’t have any real reason to take care of you. If they believe you, they’ll toss you out onto the streets penniless. And if they don’t-

You blink. There’s a highway sign behind Dick, and it catches your attention like a lightning bolt. ‘Arkham Asylum 800 miles’. It’s white blocky letters on green panelling feels like a sign from god, warning you from the path you consider taking.

And then you realise that you might actually get sent to Arkham if you say anything, and you resolve to never tell a single soul about what has happened to you. You’ve heard enough stories about the asylum, and by god, you are not being roommates with the fucking Joker of all people.

Eventually Dick realises he’s not getting anything out of you and he sighs, shaking his head. His annoyingly perfect hair mesmerises you for a second, but you manage to wrangle your brain back under control. He really doesn’t make it easy.

“I just want to know if you’re safe. If you’re going through anything, you know we’re always happy to help-”

“Dick,” you say his name, face twisting in discomfort, “This was a… a one time thing. Usually I can handle my problems. It just… it caught me off guard. George cheating was a huge shock, and I needed someone to stand by me.”

“And you know I always will, right?”

Ah. That’s… Dick Grayson was a stranger. You didn’t know him, and more than that he did not know you. He did not know what you would do, could do. You didn’t think anyone did, not even yourself.

It’s a silly idea to expect your celebrity crush to save you, and it’s one you find you can’t stomach it at the moment. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself at the idea. It’s too indulgent, too silly. It’s very simply, not possible.

You’ve given up on relying on miracles. These lessons had been beaten into you, really. You didn’t want to have to learn them again.

Your feelings must show on your face.

Dick lets out a whoosh of air, frustration palpable. He carts his hand through his hair. It still looks perfect. The world is unfair, yadda yadda.

“You run hot and cold, you know?” he gives you a grin. It says a lot about his ability to act, seeing as it seems almost natural. Almost, being the key word.

Also, he is absolutely correct. The chihuahua effect is in full-swing. And you know what? You are probably going to continue to run hot and cold, because you’ve never made a decision in your life. He’ll just have to get used to it.

You raise your hands and shrug, in the universal ‘what-can-you-do?’ motion. He wasn’t wrong. You were being completely erratic. Not even you knew what you’d do next. At least life isn’t boring these days, right Right? You wonder who you are trying to fool, because it’s certainly not yourself.

“I’ll contact you if I need anything,” you lie, because it seems to be the right thing to end this torturous conversation, “And I’ll make sure to keep contact with Alfred. You can talk to Jeanine if you need anything, as well.”

Dick, unfortunately, calls you out on your bullshit.

“But not you, right?” he says, smile still printed on his face.

Woof. You think… you’ve hurt his feelings? Ah shit, you instantly feel like the scum of the earth. Still, you don’t know how you could fix this. Arkham is a genuine threat lingering over your shoulder, you don’t know enough about your new cut-throat billionaire world, and you can not lose any faith they have in you. Any that you have left, that is.

You’re sorry, but this is coming down to survival. And you are a greedy person, after all.

In the end, you don’t have anything to say, and Richard Grayson leaves without a word. Watching him walk towards his car, you feel… bad. Really bad. The part of you that is still crushing on this guy, a very large part of you, feels like you’ve ended the earth. The other part, the one that recognises that once again you’re going to have to fight for yourself… well, she thinks so too.

Maybe… maybe you could fix this. Apologise. Once you’ve gotten your bearings and know you’re safe and 100% financially stable, maybe you’ll figure it out. Give him his shirt back after you’ve dry-cleaned it.

For now, you give him your back as well.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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luveline · 1 year

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hiyaa girlyy!! so i have a fic request and it's totally fine if you don't want to write / don't feel comfortable reading or doing it: and also, i'm not sure if someone thought of this yet, but how about spencer just being friends with a stripper. like their are murders ongoing abt strippers and spencer sees reader at one of the crime scènes and everybody's shocked since their sooo sweet and comfortable together? (and bonus point if she wears his jacket or something since it's cold)

thank you for your request! if you have more requests for this pairing please send them my way!

"I tried to call you!"

Hotch looks up from his phone at the shout. He'd been texting Jessica one handed in an attempt to tell her and Jack that he won't be home tonight, and he isn't usually easily startled, but he isn't expecting you to talk to him. Or call him.

He blinks back his fatigue —you're obviously not talking to him. You're almost nondescript in your hoodie, but Hotch isn't confident you're wearing any pants, or underwear. It was a rush job to bring everyone out from the club, and you and the rest of the dancers stand on the sidewalk in various states of undress.

"Can we get some jackets, please?" Hotch asks, turning back to the beat cops standing by. "Thermal blankets? Anything?"

When he turns back, Spencer's not where he was. Hotch casts his gaze back to you near the club doors, your hair messed up from the scuffle but your face intricate and untouched, just as pretty as the rest of your fellow dancers, and doubly so as you throw your arms around Spencer Reid's tall shoulders.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Spencer says, squeezing you hard, your heels lifting off of the rain-sullied sidewalk. "I told you to stay home!"

"I can't stay home, Spencer. How would I make money?"

"I'll pay for the hours you miss, I told you that, too."

"Baby, you couldn't afford it," you tease lightly, setting back down. Your hand immediately rises to Spencer's cheek, your painted nails scratching delicately at his skin. "I've missed you. Where have you been?"

"California, then Albuquerque."

"Killing bad guys?"

Hotch doesn't consider Spencer a lonely guy, and he doesn't think he'd ever be collected enough to enter a strip club, and yet. There he is, hugging and checking over a stripper with as much care and tenderness as he'd show any member of the team. And judging by your smile, you're enamoured with him. Whether romantically or otherwise is anyone's guess.

Morgan's, apparently. "Sorry, I'm sorry, does Reid have a girlfriend? Like, a…?"

"You can say stripper," Emily says, though she's similarly nonplussed. "I mean, there's no way. Right?"

"They're just friends," JJ says.

The team turns to her in betrayal. Clearly, JJ knew about this and said nothing, and Hotch has things to do but this is so thoroughly bizarre that he gives himself five minutes of curiosity; he lets the others berate her for answers.

"Come on, JJ! When did this happen? How did this happen?" Emily asks, her voice dropping to a scandalised whisper.

In the background, Spencer peels out of his jacket that barely fits around your shoulders. You wear it anyhow, wrapping your arm through his and leaning on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dr. Reid."

"I really wish you'd stay home when I tell you too." He rubs your arm amicably.

"Her old boss was a typical heavy-handed sleaze," JJ explains, voice soft with sympathy. "Spence said he used to see her at the grocery store with bruises. She stayed with him for a few days and found a new club… He said she can smile through anything, even a broken wrist."

Hotch understands. This part of Virginia pretends to be better than it is, and while you seem happy enough now in your profession, he knows it can't be easy. Spencer did for you what he would've done for anyone. You've clearly seen the good in him, treating him with a real and easy affection, adoring through shivers as you look up at him and ask, "Are you eating enough? You look tired."

"I'm exhausted worrying about you. You're exhausting. Like, where are the sweatpants I got you? You'll get hypothermia."

"I was trying not to get murdered. You're lucky I grabbed the hoodie." You turn to the team, as though you've known they were watching the entire time. "You wanna introduce me to your friends?" you ask. Hotch detects a hint of insecurity under all your bubbly sweetness.

Spencer laughs loudly, ushering you forward with a hand on your shoulder. "Don't chicken out this time."

"Don't embarrass me in front of the special agents!" you whisper.

"I'm a special agent."

"No, you're a doctor. He's a special agent." Your gaze narrows in on Hotch. "Hi, you're the boss, huh?" You eye his naked marriage finger briefly, and he knows you're kidding, but he still has to fight to stay expressionless as you continue, "How come handsome guys like you don't ever wanna see me dance?"

Hotch puts out his hand. "Aaron Hotchner. It's nice to meet you."

You shake his hand, though you stay as close to Spencer as you can manage without stepping on his shoes. "Right. Too respectful. It's really nice to meet you too, Agent Hotchner. Can you catch the bad guy soon? I'll end up on Spencer's cough again if I don't make rent."

Morgan opens his mouth and Hotch promptly shuts him down with a raised hand. "We will. You have my word."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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rubiehart · 4 months

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JJ and reader sneak away on the island of Poguelandia to get some… “alone time” iykwim

when obx3 first came out this was like my main scenario to sleep lol.. i love u nonnie

all the pogues sit around the makeshift fire, faces illuminated and cheeks blushed from the heat, listening to cleo’s bizarre stories from before she fell in with all of you, but you’re not really listening.

you adjust yourself on the log you’d used for seating, digging your toes into the sun warmed sand as you eyes jj across the flames, he was focused on cooking whatever he’d caught that day, the only thing you were focused on was the way his biceps flexed, deep blues occasionally flitting over and meeting your own eyes before correcting himself when he realised he’d been caught, smirk playing on his lips.

you’d had this arrangement far before this misfortune, stranded on an abandoned island in the middle of nowhere. you’d sit on his work bench, watching him fix up his bike, popsicle slotted between your lips as you watched him. before he’d had enough for your teasing and bent you over the warm metal, denim shorts pulled down to your knees as he pounded into you.

but something had changed ever since you landed on the island, he was so much softer, kinder, a lot less demanding when he’d fuck you. he really took his time with you when he could, he’d make you feel so good, it didn’t happen as much as it used to back home, so you’d learned to appreciate it a lot more when it did.

you clinged onto his tan shoulders, outgrown fingernails digging into the muscle as he finger fucked you behind a tree, the squelch of your wet cunt the only sound heard as he clamped a ringed hand over your mouth, willing you to be quiet with praise as he hit that spot over and over again. his jaw clenched as he kept half on eye on pope and cleo not too far away collecting fruits for your breakfast, fixing you up and giving you a quick peck before sending you off back to the group, strolling back a few after you like nothing had happened.

that was last week, and he hadn’t even touched you since. to say you were desperate was an understatement. sure, the island was desolate but that didn’t mean it was big, and sneaking away to fuck yourself and risk getting caught wasn’t something you wanted to do. so you thought eye fucking was enough of a hint for him, spoiler, it wasn’t.

he kept you on the edge of your seat all night, he knew what he was doing and he loved the power. concealing his grin when he caught you discretely rub your thighs together whenever you’d look a him.

you got what you wanted soon enough, when everyone was pretty much knocked out on their makeshift leaf mattresses, stepping over john b cautiously as you made your way up the sandy bank where you knew he would be.

you were finally at peace when he had you splayed out against a large tree, legs spread around his his head, his matted blonde tresses tickling your inner thighs as he devoured you like a starved man. his cocky persona dropped as he practically begged for you, even though he already had you in your head.

“wanted to taste this fuckin’ pussy all day.” he mutters, tongue dipping into your clenching hole as he brings two fingers up to steadily rub at your clit, your back arching beautifully against the rough bark of the tree, hand forcefully gripping his hair and keeping him right where you wanted him.

“strutting around in that little top, you dunno’ what you do to me, infront of all our fuckin’ friends.” he admits, skilled fingers punching your g-spot, a loud moan leaving your lips as your climax approached, immediately recoiling back into yourself as the sound echoes over the extensive ocean surrounding you, hoping your friends didn’t hear.

jj sensed your sudden shyness and tapped your thigh, one hand shaking up to grasp at your boob, calloused thumb teasing your nipple as he circles your throbbing but with his tongue. “nah- let it all out, wanna hear how good i make you feel.”

“yeah- gooooood girl. you got it.”

#jj maybank blurbs #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj maybank blurb #outer banks #jj x reader #jj maybank headcanon #obx #jj maybank obx #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank fluff

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fanstuffrantings · 1 month

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The further we've gone into fairy tail the more I've enjoyed one specific aspect of the show that I feel like some people completely ignore or drop when they do redesigns and rewrites, sometimes even fans of the show themselves who like it as is don't focus on it. Erza's odd ways of expressing femininity and finding joy in it.

She's a militiristic character who adores being girly and cute and it leads to some truly unhinged behavior that is so funny to watch. She loves collecting armors regardless of how pointless or strange they are and thinks each of them is truly lovely in their own way. She loves cakes more than probably anything in the world.

I know there's this urge to simply make her masculine when changing her but I really kind of feel like it's a missed opportunity to think about how someone could have difficulties with fitting into feminity when so much of their life is based on appearing strong and foreboding. How feminity is often treated as something separate from strength and incapable of being tied to it.

And even more than that, Erza being odd and off putting plays into how many little girls can be just super strange. Running around in dresses as they reenact soap opera level plotlines of death and betrayal, digging in the dirt for worms they find cute. Becoming obsessed with the strangest looking creatures you've ever seen cause they think they're neat or pretty. Erza being a strong and intimidating lady knight who is bizarre in her own special way is so much fun.

I don't even necessarily like how her character arc got written in canon personally, but seeing how erza is written as the show goes has given me a new appreciation for the idea of leaning more into her being girly as she heals and figures herself out.

#molten rambles #fairy tail #erza scarlet #i think its fun to play with more masculine presentstion for characters like cana tbh

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avis-writeshq · 1 year

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platform ten – spencer reid

summary: two months after he embarrassingly got caught ogling at the pretty girl on the train, Spencer’s team begins to suspect something.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: friends to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).

warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!), reader wears lipgloss, excessive mentions of Edgar Allen Poe (one of my favourite Gothic authors), not proof read

wc: 3.4k

part one: carriage six

“So, I’ve been reading Poe’s works,” you begin, your headphones around your neck and you pull out ‘The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe’, flipping to ‘Annabel Lee’.

Spencer watches as you flick to the page, his heart soaring at the sight of the annotations that litter the page. There are different colours and highlighters across the words and from what he could tell pink talked about language and that was the colour that stood out to him most. You bring the book closer so that he can read your annotations too and his heart stutters in his chest at the close proximity. He can smell the strawberry and honey shampoo in your hair and the heat rises up to his cheeks. It’s intoxicating.

“I really don’t think the narrator is a crazy psychopath,” you say, glancing at him. “It just sounds like he’s really, seriously in love with her which just makes a bunch of people jealous.”

He watches the way you point to a certain line, ‘But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee.’

“Does that not sound like something you would say when you’re in love?” You ask, swooning a little. “It’s romantic, don’t you think? And their love is so brilliant and pure that the angels stole her away from him. I mean, it’s sad, but it’s kind of a picture of how amazing their love is.”

He nods along, his cheeks flushed because that’s what he thinks when he thinks of you. But he’ll never tell you that. How could he even dream of you feeling the same? The idea in itself is just so bizarre that he doesn’t even dare to entertain the thought. Not even when it’s late at night and he’s by himself, thinking through every single interaction you’ve had with him since he finally talked to you two months ago.

“And I mean, think about it,” you continue, gesticulating with every word, eyes wide with excitement. “The last stanza. He’s still in love with her even after she’s passed away. How romantic is that?”

“Very romantic,” Spencer agrees, and he wonders if that’s how he looks when he rambles. “Alright, it’s definitely a love poem.”

He relishes in the way your eyes light up at his acceptance, the way you grin up at him and he wants to make you smile this way every day. His eyes wander to your lips and he swallows thickly. You’re wearing that lipgloss again, a cool berry tone that makes your lips shine and–

“Spencer? Are you okay?”

He all but jolts out of his trance and he coughs awkwardly, his cheeks flushed. “Yes!” He squeaks, before clearing his throat and repeating the word. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

He watches as an amused smile quirks at your lips as you ask, “are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he manages to croak, his ears red.

He can’t even look at you. His eyes turn back to the book you’re holding, reading through the annotations you’ve made on the page for the nth time over. This is an example of one of the instances he doesn’t want to remember and prays that his stop would miraculously be next.

“I’ve been reading The Tell-Tale Heart,” you say, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Spencer forces himself to maintain eye contact with you and he manages a small, “really?”

You laugh and nod. “Yep! It’s really good. Kinda creepy.”

“It is a little creepy,” he admits, his gaze flicking to your lips again. He’s kicking himself internally, asking, ‘who’s the creepy one now, weirdo?!’

He figures that you’re either incredibly gracious or incredibly used to it because you don’t mention the way his attention wavers.

“You don’t seem okay.”

Or so he thought.

“What— um— what makes you say that?” He asks, clearing his throat.

You shoot him a smile. “You’re not going on about the text like you usually do.”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his brain short circuiting. He can imagine Derek snickering and Emily commenting her usual, ‘IQ of 187, slashed to 60’.

“Spencer?” You look amused, a smile on his face and a mischievous glimmer in your eye. “Are you—“

“I’m fine!” Spencer says quickly, ears burning. “I’m just— thinking? Yes, thinking.”

You laugh. “Dangerous pastime.”

“What?”

“I— never mind,” you shake your head, continuing to laugh. “But I do want to hear your thoughts on ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ at some point.”

“Totally!” He jolts, and he’s kicking himself internally for being so eager. “Yes. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

The train lurches to a stop and Spencer gets up from his seat.

“Bye, Spencer,” you say, smiling brilliantly at him, and it takes every ounce of self control in him to not just grab your face and kiss you.

“Bye,” he says, saying your name, before getting off the train.

***

Spencer has been acting weird. That is the conclusion Derek has come to as he watches the youngest member of their team enter the bullpen with the widest grin on the planet for the fourth time that week. He watches as Spencer sits down at his desk, looking like a literal teenager, and gets down to work. He has his earphones plugged in, the kind you would get at a dollar store, or the complementary ones you get from airports that never fit your ears right and leave you with headaches because of the horrible audio quality. Derek supposes he’s just listening to Beethoven or Bach or another dead classical musician. But as he passes Spencer’s desk, he hears something that makes him stop in his tracks. Spencer is humming. No, not just humming. He’s muttering lyrics under his breath. Since when did classical music have lyrics?

“What the hell…?” Derek asks under his breath to no one in particular.

“You talking about Reid?” Emily asks, an amused grin on her face. “He’s acting weird.”

“Thank God, I thought I was the only one.” JJ seemingly appears out of nowhere, standing beside them with her arms crossed and a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Rossi enters the bullpen, nodding towards Spencer who was sitting at his desk, blissfully unaware. “We talking about the kid?”

“He’s been acting weird all week,” Derek insists, his brows furrowing. “What do you think it is?”

“Maybe he won a chess tournament,” JJ says with a soft laugh.

Emily rolls her eyes at the idea. “Please, Reid’s probably the winner of every single chess tournament in the state.”

“Maybe his mother is doing better?” Rossi suggests.

“Doesn’t explain why he’s listening to, I don’t know, not Mozart,” Derek points out.

There’s a silence that pulls over the group as they stare at the back of Reid’s head. It isn’t long before he turns around to face his coworkers, raising an eyebrow.

“… Why are you staring at me?” Spencer asks, giving them all pointed looks.

“You’re acting weird,” Morgan says, cutting straight to the chase. “Care to share with the class?”

Spencer offers them all confused looks. “I’m… not acting weird? If anything, you guys are the ones acting weird.”

“Ohh, no, don’t turn this around on us.” Emily grins, walking over to him. “What’s going on?”

“What— guys, what happened to ‘no profiling each other’?” Spencer spluttered, shooting accusatory looks towards his coworkers.

“We’re just worried, that’s all,” JJ says with maternal sympathy, but Spencer can tell that she’s hiding a smile.

He groans, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “I’m fine guys. I’m not acting ‘weird’ or anything.”

“Who are you listening to, Reid?” Rossi asks quickly, nodding towards the ear phones.

“What?” Spencer’s head snaps up, redness crawling up to his ears.

Emily smirks. “Yeah Reid. Who are you listening to?”

“No one,” he answers, avoiding their gaze. “I’m uh— I’m going back to work.”

He quickly turns his chair around, busting himself with his files. His co-workers all exchange glances, mischievous grins on their faces.

“You know, I could just ask Garcia to dig into your phone,” Derek says with a shrug. “Or you could tell us yourself.”

Spencer shoots him a light hearted glare. “You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You wouldn’t.”

***

Spencer thinks he’s going to die of mortification. He spent that entire week downloading all of the released songs by Taylor Swift, dutifully listening to each song and reporting back to you on his opinions. He has since come to a conclusion: Taylor Swift is a lyrical genius. Granted, he doesn’t have much experience with other branches of music that involves lyrics, but he figures it’s pretty similar to poetry. Regardless, he’s one hundred percent sure that he’s in for a world of teasing and tasteful jabs towards his sudden shift in music taste.

He’s also been doing this thing called texting, and he even went as far as getting a new phone and email address just so that he could properly contact you. He’s been in contact with you for the past eight weeks, going as far as messaging and calling you during break times and hiding in the bathroom to have an ounce of privacy. He feels like a changed person, all because of a tiny handheld device that fits in his back pocket. And you. Mostly you. The worst thing about this entire situation is the fact that Morgan did in fact manage to convince Garcia to snoop into his phone.

“Alright, Reid, quit hiding. Who’s the girl?” Derek demands, slapping a piece of paper onto Spencer’s desk. It’s a log of calls and downloads. In other words, it’s a log of all the times he’s called the same number and all the Taylor Swift songs he’s downloaded.

“Girl? What— what girl?” Spencer asks, playing dumb and willing himself to look Derek in the eye. His mind is spinning. ‘Blink evenly. Maintain eye contact. Don’t stutter. Answer his questions evenly. Play dumb. There is no girl, there is no girl there is no—‘

“Reid? Reid? Spencer!” Derek snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him out of his trance.

“Huh?” Spencer jolts, snapping out of his trance. “What?”

Derek snorts at his reaction. “Look, kid. This person calls your cell every day at 12:30, which just so happens to be in two minutes. So, either you tell me and I let you have your fun, or she calls you and she’ll be hearing my voice instead of yours.”

Spencer scoffs, holding his phone firmly in the palm of his hand. “There is no girl, Morgan.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious!” Spencer says, his voice going up and octave and he cringes internally. Smooth. “There is no girl.”

“Totally believe you.”

He groans, wiping a hand over his face to calm himself down. Before he could respond, the phone in his hand begins to ring. A smirk tugs at Derek’s lips and he immediately lunges for the phone, eliciting a yelp from Spencer who leaps from his seat.

“Morgan— Morgan no—“

“C’mon kid, it’ll be a lot easier if you just give in!”

“No! Nope, nope, Morgan I swear to-“

In seconds, Derek snatches Spencer’s phone out of his hand, a triumphant look on his face. He keeps Spencer at arm’s length as he picks up the phone.

“Hey Spence!” A voice rings through the phone.

“Sorry, sweetheart, not Spencer,” Derek responds, his voice smug.

“… that’s concerning,” The voice responds slowly, cautiously. “Who is this?”

Spencer grabs the phone out of Derek’s hand, running out of the bullpen as quickly as his long legs could carry him, flipping his coworker the finger before he leaves.

“Hello?” He asks into the phone. “I’m so sorry, that was Derek, my co-worker.”

“Oh, the bald one!” You say quickly, recalling his name from the photos Spencer had shown you beforehand. “I thought it was like… a bad guy or something.”

He laughs softly into the phone, his cheeks warm and wearing a smile that could split his face in two. “Don’t worry, he’s not a bad guy. A pain in the ass, maybe, but not a bad guy.”

He hears you chuckle from the other side of the line. “Yeah, he seems like a nice person. Your entire team sounds really cool.”

“Maybe you could meet them at some point,” Spencer says quietly, his heart thundering in his chest. “I mean, they kind of already know you exist.”

“That would be fun,” You muse, and he hears the soft ruffling of cling wrap in the background.

“Lunch?”

He hears you hum in response, and he can’t help but chuckle. There’s a silence for a few seconds, and he assumes you were eating, before your voice picks up again.

“I’d love to meet your team at some point, Spence. They seem like really amazing people.”

He can’t help but smile, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. They are. You’d love them, and I’m sure they’d love you just as much.”

Before long, lunch break is over and Spencer begrudgingly hangs up and returns to the bullpen, his team all wearing frustratingly smug faces. He rolls his eyes, not paying them any kind as he returns to his desk. He ignores the very blatant whistle Derek does in his direction and the snort Emily fails to hide.

“So…” JJ begins, dragging her words out. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”

Spencer chokes on air and bites his tongue, grimacing at the taste of blood. “I do not have a girlfriend.” It’s not a lie.

“But you want her to be,” Emily says, smirking.

“No! Yes. I don’t know, maybe?” Spencer feels like a teenage boy being lectured by his parents. Not that he knows what that feels like.

“Alright, well, have you asked her on a date?” Derek asks as he raises an eyebrow.

Spencer coughs, reaching for his mug of stale coffee. That’s all he needs to do to answer Derek’s question, because in moments Derek is screaming in his ear.

“Why haven’t you asked her out yet?!”

“We talk loads of times,” Spencer insists, hiding behind his disgustingly old coffee. “We just never… we’re just friends.”

Rossi bites back a chuckle. “Yes, because friends call each other every day during their lunch breaks.”

Spencer feels his face grow impossibly hotter and he chugs the last of his coffee. He cringes before turning his attention back to his files in an attempt to calm himself down. It doesn’t work.

“How did you meet her?” JJ asks, gentler this time.

Spencer flushes and plays with his watch. “On the train.”

“That’s very you,” she laughs, ruffling his hair. “She seems really nice, Spencer.”

He preens at the compliment, his mind drifting to your pretty hair and glossy lips. He sports a grin and he nods. “She’s really, really nice.”

***

Spencer sits next to you on the train as usual. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is combed to be a little neater, only for his efforts to be destroyed when a strong gust of wind hits his face the moment he left his apartment. He reminds himself to put a comb into his bag after work. You’re talking about another one of Poe’s works, this time ‘The Raven’, another love poem. Your eyes are bright with excitement as you go on and on about the writing style and whatever else.

Spencer is far from religious but your existence alone is enough to have him thanking the heaven’s that he is alive. He can’t help but smile every time you do, his gaze perpetually on your lips. He feels a little guilty about it, about how he can’t even control himself when he’s around you but you’re just so beautiful that he can’t help himself. He feels even guiltier when he realises he hasn’t processed a word you’ve said.

“... and that’s why I think Edgar Allen Poe is really just a huge softie who wants to be loved,” you finish, snapping the book closed. “What do you think, Doctor Genius?”

“Totally,” Spencer agrees quickly, almost biting his tongue. “Absolutely.”

You laugh and Spencer thinks he’s going to faint.

“Where are you up to in your Taylor Swift project?” You ask teasingly, nudging his arm. If it were anyone else, Spencer would have grimaced and shrugged them off but you aren’t just ‘anyone’. You’re the most amazing person in the world.

“I’m up to 1989 track 9, Wildest Dreams,” Spencer recites, pulling out his notebook from his inner jacket pocket. It’s a small leatherbound notebook that he’s been writing all his thoughts in regards to the Taylor Swift songs, all in chronological order. He’s actually quite proud of it as he flicks to the latest page. “I really like this one. I did some research and I found out that the bass sound in the background is actually her heartbeat. That’s pretty interesting.”

You almost scream in excitement, leaning closer to him to read his notes. “I love this song! It’s my favourite Taylor Swift song ever and it’s just so pretty, you know?”

He nods in agreement, his cheeks flushed at the close proximity and he finds that he can no longer feel his tongue. He should get that checked out.

“It reminds me of you sometimes,” you say, completely unabashed. Spencer thinks you’re trying to kill him.

“What?” He asks meekly, recalling every lyric from the song.

You freeze, flustered and you pull away from him. Spencer frowns at the sudden space but he watches as you stammer and stumble over your words.

“I just meant– you know, it’s a good song! That’s all.” You laugh anxiously, fiddling with the book in your hand. “Never mind, just ignore me. Tell me more about what you like about the song.”

In an almost uncharacteristic bout of confidence, Spencer reaches out to take your hand in his. At first, he thought his head was going to explode. It felt heavy and light all at the same time and he was almost about to pull his hand away when you squeezed his fingers. Just like that, all doubts are gone. You’re smiling at him and Spencer knows that he would do absolutely anything to make sure to keep it there.

When the train lurches to a stop at Quantico, Spencer doesn’t make any effort to move. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Isn’t this your stop?” You ask gently, loosening your hold on his hand.

He shrugs, holding onto your hand tighter. “I’m always early. I can be late for once.”

Besides, he thinks to himself, inching closer to you, this is so worth it.

Pride bubbles in his heart when he hears you laugh again and his smile grows impossibly wider.

“We’re almost at my stop,” you say, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand. “We should go out. You know, instead of just meeting on the train.”

Spencer nods immediately at the suggestion. “I’d like that. Are you free on Saturday?”

“I’m definitely free on Saturday,” you respond, squeezing his hand again.

Spencer sits there with you until you make it to your stop. The corners of his eyes are crinkled and he feels happy, so goddamn happy, and he wonders how he’s lived without you. Before you get off the train, he calls your name. He relishes in the way you turn around, the confusion palpable in your eyes.

“Yeah?”

He takes a step closer to you, his face in front of yours. His heartbeat is in his ears but at the same time he feels an incredibly ironic sense of calm. In seconds, he presses his lips to yours in a short kiss. He grins at you as you stumble out of the train dazed, waving goodbye. From the window he could see you press your cold hands to your cheeks before reaching for your phone.

The smile that grows on his face when he sees your face light up his phone is embarrassing. It’s goofy and silly and he is so grateful that the carriage is empty.

“Hello?”

“You cannot–” your voice comes through the speaker and he grins again– “you cannot just kiss me randomly and then leave.”

“Technically the train left, not me,” Spencer says with a small laugh.

You’re quiet on the other end before replying, “We need a re-do on Saturday.”

Spencer has no complaints.

reblogs are always appreciated!

taglist: @sunshineyottie @cerulean-turtle @tortelliniturtle7 @bucxkysdoll @awitadecoca

strikethrough means couldn't be tagged

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubler x reader fluff #mgg #mgg x reader

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joltrify · 2 months

Text

experimentations ft. the Artpop queen herself

Silly little (not so little) unrelated HC I developed later under the cut

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

🎀- HC that EVE's most normal hobby - when not occupied with other things - is repainting dolls 🎀- Like in a blue moon you can catch her at the hobby lobby in mom jeans and a cardigan just looking for materials

★- In her down time (which is a bit rare these days) Nadia'll pick those ball-jointed Barbie/Bratz/MH dolls and give them a complete makeover ☆- While she's making them she's fervently thinking 'I will love you in a way that no one else EVER has' and she treats them all that way ★- She'll repaint them in the most unconventional ways possible but they're still gorgeous; a perfect reflection of her studio artwork on a body that isn't her own ☆- Sometimes if she's low on fabrics, instead of making a full-sized mockup of her exhibition fits she'll use her dolls to test the outfit design and make a mini version of the fit with small pieces of the final material ★- She's got this HUGE shelf on her pad that's got these fashion icon dolls displayed with their name and inspiration on a little plaque ☆- Whenever something significant happens and she doesn't want to paint, she'll hold onto the feeling, good or bad, and jot down an idea for a new doll's look ★- and she DOES truly love each of them - though she may have had to learn to love one in particular

🎀- She picked up the hobby in college (before she met Zuke) but didn't really think anything of it 🌸- It was just a means to practice different makeup looks and pencil techniques without sculpting something - and it was fun! She liked having a cute little gal at the end of the process 🎀- When she came up with the idea of using the dolls as models, she created a doll of herself but made the decision to make its skin completely white 🌸- When Nadia met Zuke, she sort of put the hobby aside to focus on her other art mediums, but she looked at the doll of herself and felt comfortable enough to repaint the right side pink (and she laughed a bit to herself looking at the final result, because it looked... Cute! Just like her other gorgeous dolls...) 🎀- After Rapturica, she didn't feel the need to create a doll based on her feelings as she didn't feel as hurt as she expected, but she did find it really, REALLY hard to look at the doll of herself, so she hid it away... 🎀- she picked up repainting again later but went in HARD - they began to look more artsy and alien, just like her other art pieces 🌸- After graduating she didn't really have time to repaint dolls and focused on creating other arts/music again, only occasionally using them to test outfits (but never the one of herself) 🎀- After the events of NSR though, she picked it up again as a form of self-care. It's something she doesn't have to create for the public eye, and she's rekindled the joy of creating a strange little gal and loving them despite their bizarre quirks. 🌸- ... I think she feels a bit more comfortable looking at the doll of herself now, too.

★- She's probably still got doll repaint videos up on her channel from her college days, hehe. ☆- (She's debating whether or not to make a mini exhibition about the concept of dolls.* Likely not, as she doesn't want to taint the tranquility of the act, but she still likes the idea. It's better to not mix work art with home art, anyway.) (* (How they can reflect their caretaker, they exhibit both confidence and vulnerability, they can be broken and discarded but repaired, they're still images that can be moved in a 3d space however you desire, they rely on a person to actually be 'real' ykyk that kind of thing. the symbolism of dolls.)

The doodle I made in the 3rd picture (above the cut) is inspired by those really pretty doll repaints... I think that that look in particular is one that she tested on a doll first... pre-ugly cry, that is.

Thanks for reading my very silly idea... decorated the bullets with Bows and stars because I felt like it, haha. Have a lovely day~🌸

#how does she even get her hair to do that she's so powerful...#(kinda popped off with the last one ngl ✋🙄)#i had a doodle of little Eve in my folders almost 4 years now so i decided to draw her again to see how my style's changed #i really forgot how much fun it is to just throw colors on the board... highly recommend!!!#also doubles as a destresser so it was a little relaxing :]#art #digital art #digital painting #fanart #nsr #nsr fanart #no straight roads #no straight roads fanart #no straight roads eve #nsr eve #nsr nadia #nsr eve fanart #end my suffering

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pin-k-ink · 2 months

Note

OMG AJABAJANAUABAJA I WANNA KNOW HOSHINA'S REACTION IF HE GOT U PREGNANT AND U GUYS ARE NOT READY FOR THE BABY YET!!! 🤭🤭🤭 (idk how u can add sum smut in it but pls do)

the sidelines // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ hoshina being extremely overprotective, mentions of marriage, unplanned pregnancy, hoshina is absolutely down bad, dry humping, grinding, making out, cunnilingus, cum-eating, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, dirty talk, daddy kink, manhandling

wc ⇢ 7.8k

a/n: did i do it right?? 😭

"I'm tellin' ya Captain, she called me a kumquat-headed skid mark!" Hoshina groaned, raking a hand through his already disheveled bob. "My own girl hittin' me with bizarre insults before I've even had my morning coffee."

Ashiro leveled him with a long-suffering look over the rim of her mug. "Is that so? And what prompted such...creative name-calling from your girlfriend this morning, pray tell?"

Hoshina opened his mouth to respond, but then his expression did an abrupt 180 as his mind seemed to drift elsewhere entirely. A slow, dopey grin spread across his face as his eyes went slightly unfocused in a way Ashiro recognized all too well.

"Actually, funny you should mention promptin'..." he began in a tone thick with suggestion. "Because just last night, [Y/N] was feelin' pretty prompt herself when I—"

"Nope!" Ashiro swiftly cut him off with a raised palm, having heard enough. "I'm going to stop you right there before you start oversharing details that will scar me for life again, Hoshina."

Hoshina blinked, the hazy reverie evaporating as he registered her irritation. He had the decency to look slightly abashed, the tips of his ears pinking.

"Err...right. My bad, Captain." Clearing his throat gruffly, he forcibly dragged his mind back on topic. "Anyway, like I was sayin' - for some reason [Y/N] was in a totally foul mood this morning. Snappin' at me, stormin' around, almost took my head off with a shoe when I asked if she was okay..."

Trailing off with a perplexed frown, Hoshina searched Ashiro's impassive features. "Ya don't think...I mean, she can't be, y'know..."

He made a vague gesture towards his midsection accompanied by an exaggerated widening of his eyes.

Ashiro's brows hiked upwards as she processed his insinuation. "You're wondering if she's expecting?"

She watched realization slowly bloom across Hoshina’s features, only for him to instantly dismiss it with an indignant shake of his head.

"What? No way, there's no chance of that!" he scoffed, a touch too emphatic to be completely convincing. "We're always super careful, if ya know what I mean."

Here he waggled his eyebrows in a ridiculous attempt at subtlety that made Ashiro want to down the rest of her coffee in one burning gulp.

"Trust me, Captain, she’s not pregnant. At least not yet..." Hoshina added with a wolfish grin. "But a guy can dream, am I right?"

Smothering the urge to drop her head into her hands, Ashiro simply gave a longsuffering sigh. "Then if not an incoming arrival, what does the esteemed Vice Captain believe is causing his girlfriend's...let's call it, mercurial morning temperament?"

Hoshina’s bravado dimmed slightly as he actually stopped to ponder the question, fingers drumming idly on the tabletop.

"Well, could be she's still pissed about me forgettin' to fill up her snack stash again," he mused, brow furrowed. "You know how [Y/N] gets when she runs low on munchies..."

Trailing off, a lightbulb seemed to blink on behind his eyes as the truth dawned on him.

"Oh damn, it's 'cause I turned the TV off durin' that romantic movie marathon last night!" Hoshina burst out with a groan, smacking his palm to his forehead dramatically. "She always gets bent out of shape when I ruin her 'stories' like that. Shoulda just stuck it out through the last five Mr. Darcy remakes instead of suggestin' we fu—"

"Not another word!" Ashiro hastily cut him off again, fighting off the burning creep of a blush. "I think I have enough of an idea what triggered your girlfriend's...mood without the graphic play-by-play, thank you."

Snatching up her emptied mug, she fixed Hoshina with a flat look over one shoulder. "My advice? Buy her some fresh snacks, rent a few cheesy romance movies, and do not try to distract or debate her until this blows over. Consider it an order from your commanding officer."

With that, she pivoted on her heel and strode off, leaving a mildly cowed Hoshina sipping his coffee in begrudging silence. Buying peace with treats and chick flicks it was then...at least until your mercurial spell passed for whatever incomprehensible reason.

Hoshiro wandered the halls of the Defense Force headquarters feeling vaguely unsettled after his chat with Ashiro over breakfast. Sure, he had joked and waved off her suggestion that your recent moodiness could be due to pregnancy. But a nagging little voice persisted in the back of his mind, whispering 'what if?'

Shaking his head firmly, he tried to dislodge the notion. No, there was absolutely no way you could be...in that condition without him realizing, right? He knew your body's cycles and patterns like the back of his hand after all this time together. If you were unexpectedly harboring a bun in the oven, Hoshina was confident he would have sensed it.

With a self-assured nod, he rounded the corner towards the usual sectors where he expected to find you catching up on training sims or combat prep. Except after poking his head into the third empty rec room, realization dawned that you must have already deployed for a mission while he was grabbing food.

"Dummy," Hoshina chided himself, spinning on his heel to trace his steps back towards the central operations hub. "Shoulda checked the boards first before wanderin' around aimlessly."

Sure enough, as soon as he entered the massive tech-walled nerve center, the main display showed a seemingly routine reconnaissance op already underway. There you were, rendered in a slightly grainy live feed from your combat suit's visual input - deftly scouting the rubbled outskirts of a kaiju-ravaged sector.

Despite himself, Hoshiro felt his lips quirking up in a fond smile as he watched your focused movements, the slight furrow in your brow as you signaled for your platoon to hold position. Even just the tiny visual was enough to settled him, the lingering worries from Ashiro's suggestion fading like bad static.

You looked alert, capable, radiating that intense air of quiet fortitude he had come to love and admire over the years. Ashiro had been way off base with her misguided theory - there was clearly nothing out of the ordinary with his girl as far as Hoshina could tell.

His attention drifted from the main visual feed to the peripheral unit showing the hard data and biometrics streaming in from each combat suit. It was there that Hoshina frowned, perplexed by the readout displayed next to your name. Unless he was misreading things, which seemed unlikely given his extensive field experience, the sensors appeared to be detecting...two separate life signatures?

A second heartbeat synced up alongside the expected readouts from your suit's internal monitoring array.

"Okonogi-chan, ya seein' this too?" he called out, tone laced with confusion as he angled towards the operations leader overseeing the various data streams. "These readings from [Y/N]'s suit can't be right..."

The girl frowned, fingers already flying across her haptic interface as she pored over the same readouts. There was a strange tension lingering around her brown eyes that immediately set off warning flares in the back of Hoshina’s mind.

"No, Vice Captain, I'm afraid the data isn't glitching or throwing false positives," she said at last, voice carefully measured in a way that did nothing to settle his growing disquiet. "Those two biorhythmic signatures are genuine."

She glanced back up, finding Hoshina's gaze laser-locked on her with sudden, undivided intensity boring straight through. For a long moment, the only sound was the filtered ambient noise of your voice calling out terse status updates over the open channel.

Then Okonogi cleared her throat slightly, realizing she would have to be the one to voice the breathtaking implication they were both rapidly arriving at despite his earlier dismissals.

"It seems Platoon Leader [Y/N] is...well, she's currently tracking with metabolic readings consistent with...with an active pregnancy."

Hoshina could only gape at Okonogi, her words rebounding inside his skull in a maddening loop as the undertones gradually sank in. An active pregnancy...metabolic readings...biorhythmic signatures...

For a suspended moment, every shred of the Vice Captain's renowned unflappability and combat poise deserted him entirely. He simply stared, dumbstruck, as the revelation washed over his consciousness in a cascading torrent.

His [Y/N] was…

Pregnant. With child. His child. Harboring new life within that deceptively sturdy frame he had mapped with fevered lips and calloused palms more times than he could count over their years together.

The very idea should have sparked euphoria, giddy elation, any number of transcendent emotional responses from the man who secretly harbored dreams about one day starting a family with you. And yet, as the implications filtered through Hoshiro's whirlwind thoughts, all he could latch onto was a single, fervent litany pounding through his psyche:

Danger.

You were in danger, even if the current mission objective read as relatively low-stakes recon. Hell, you, his beautiful, strong-willed warrior was unknowingly putting yourself in harm's way just by waking up and drawing breath each morning in that condition. Every cell in Hoshina’s body combusted with the compulsive drive to neutralize that threat immediately.

The realization of your undetected pregnancy catalyzed an instantaneous shift within Hoshina’s demeanor, as if someone had thrown an switch converting him to maximum combat-readiness in a nanosecond. Gone was the usual sly, irreverent banter - his features settled into an immutable mask of grim determination.

"Okonogi-chan, abort [Y/N]'s mission immediately and recall her back to base," he barked out in a tone broking zero disagreement. "Platoon Leader [L/N] is officially relieved of all active duty obligations until further notice."

The young operations leader started at his clipped order, eyes widening slightly before darting back towards the readouts in evident uncertainty. "Vice-Captain, this is merely a recon run through the city’s outskirts," she began carefully. "All environmental scans have confirmed no kaijus remaining in that area. [Y/N]'s platoon is at virtually zero risk carrying out their objective."

Hoshina’s jaw tightened fractionally, terse patience already fraying in the wake of her mild pushback. "Your data interpretation is duly noted, Okonogi-chan," he ground out through gritted teeth. "But I ain’t takin' any chances, no matter how small, where [Y/N]'s wellbein' is concerned right now. Not with..."

He trailed off, subtly inclining his head towards the secondary monitor displaying those two synced biorhythmic signatures. Okonogi's expression flickered with understanding, but she still looked torn about defying protocols over something so seemingly innocuous.

"Okonogi," Hoshiro growled out her name in low warning as the tense beat stretched. He took a single step forwards, unconsciously widening his stance in an unmistakable tell of escalating aggression. "I said abort the operation and recall [Y/N]. That's a direct order I expect ya to carry out immediately, do I make myself clear?"

The sudden spike in intensity made the younger woman flinch back reflexively, mahogany eyes going wide. For several charged seconds, she could only stare back at Hoshina’s stonefaced scowl, tension radiating off him in palpable waves. Then, seeming to wilt beneath the weight of his authority, Okonogi gave a tight nod of acquiescence.

Swallowing hard, she began executing a series of inputs on the holographic interface, opening a priority channel to feed directly into your active earpiece. Hoshina followed her motions peripherally, arms crossed over his chest and jaw still locked in a rictus line.

"Platoon Leader [L/N], this is Okonogi from the Operation Room," Okonogi spoke steadily into the comm pickups, keeping her tone officially neutral. "Your reconnaissance mission has been cancelled due to unspecified priority reassignment. Please confirm."

For a long stretch, there was only silence broken by faint audible static. Hoshina felt his heartrate kick up another notch as the delay stretched on, every instinct screaming at him to intervene and force your compliance through sheer verbal dominance if need be. Then your voice crackled back over the speakers, clear surprise and defiance laced through each clipped syllable.

"Say again? I must have had some interference, because I could have sworn you just recalled my team from a routine operation without explanation."

Okonogi darted a nervous glance towards Hoshiro, but received only a hard, expectant look in return. She wet her lips before repeating, "Affirmative, Platoon Leader. All Third Division assets currently in Sector Delta are to immediately abort their mission profile and return to—"

"The hell?!!" Your sharp retort crackled with enough force to make the operator flinch. "We're barely three klicks from the primary recon area and holding steady positions. I demand justification for this inexplicable overruling."

Your obstinance was to be expected, of course - Hoshina felt his lip twitch fondly even despite the urgency of the situation. But this was hardly the time to coddle your predictable prickliness. Not when such vast, unknowable dangers now surrounded your unwitting circumstances. Stepping up to the console, he brusquely took over the broadcast with a hand wave dismissing Okonogi.

"Sounds like ya didn't get the full meanin' the first time, Platoon Leader," he growled out in a tone dripping with iron authority. "So allow me to make this order explicitly clear - you and yer team are to disengage from yer current objective and report back to Tachikawa Base for immediate stand-down and reassignment under my direct supervision."

He paused a beat to allow the weight of his words to settle before continuing in an octave that brokered zero argument.

"Non-compliance will result in official charges of willful insubordination towards yer Vice Captain with all resulting disciplinary actions and demerits. Is that understood?"

There was another protracted silence over the open channel. Hoshina could vividly envision you practically sputtering with indignant rage at the brush-off, practically able to see the way your eyes would narrow to thin slits of mutiny while your jawline grew taut and unyielding. But behind it all lurked a deeper current of defiance fueled by something beyond mere wounded pride - the foundational belief in your own fortitude and unwavering capability. The self-same strengths he had always loved, even as they set you frustratingly at odds when he tried to implement protective measures.

When your response finally filtered through, it was clipped and frosty with clearly audible displeasure. "Orders received and understood, Vice Captain. We're heading back now."

But Hoshina already knew that wouldn't be the end of this particular confrontation...

The armored transport rumbled into the hangar bay, and Hoshina was right there waiting - arms folded and combat boots planted wide in an unmistakable stance of stern authority. The moment you stepped out, he could see the spark of defiance blazing in your eyes, lips already parted to let him have it.

Before you could unleash your tirade, Hoshina closed the gap in two long strides. He grabbed you by the shoulders and crushed his mouth against yours in a forceful, searing kiss that instantly doused the righteous flames licking at your tongue.

You went rigid initially, taken by surprise at his bold move to shut you up. But within moments, Hoshina felt the fight bleed out of your lithe frame as you melted against his solid bulk with a muffled whimper. Just as he knew you would.

Hoshina drank down the needy little noises spilling from your lips greedily, delving his tongue past the plush seam to explore the warm cavern of your mouth with slow, thorough sweeps. His large hands roamed down to palm the sloping curves of your waist and hips, pulling your lower body flush against the insistent bulge rapidly straining at the front of his fatigues.

Only once he had mapped every lush inch and left you a trembling, breathless mess did Hoshina finally tear his mouth away with a final nip at your swollen lower lip. He didn't even try to hide the smug satisfaction curling his lips as he took in your dazed, lust-blown expression.

"Save the bitching for later, baby girl," he rumbled in that low, gruff timbre that never failed to make your thighs clench. "We've got way more important things to discuss first..."

Without waiting for your inevitable objection, Hoshina snagged your wrist in one calloused hand and tugged you along behind him, leading you down the nearest unoccupied corridor. As soon as you rounded the corner into the vacant passage, he spun and pinned you against the wall with his solid weight, caging you in with tree-trunk forearms braced on either side of your head.

"Let's start with ya tellin' me why the fuck my girl thought it was okay to suit up for combat while keeping a pretty big secret from me," Hoshina ground out, eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You blinked up at him, utterly bewildered by the sudden accusation and possessive fervor radiating off him in palpable waves.

"Wh-what secret?" you managed after a moment, mind racing to figure out what had him so riled up. "Soshiro, I have no idea what you're talking abou—"

He cut you off with a low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate straight through your bones. Abruptly, his entire demeanor shifted from simmering anger into tightly leashed intensity. Hoshina leaned back just enough to allow his piercing stare to rake over your body in a heavy, lingering caress.

You squirmed self-consciously under the smoldering weight of his scrutiny until his gaze finally settled on your midsection with undisguised focus. One of his large, calloused hands drifted down to splay over the soft plane of your abdomen, fingers flexing almost...possessively against the material of your suit.

"You're pregnant, [Y/N]," he stated in a low rasp choked with barely restrained emotion. "Carrying my brat whether ya realized it or not."

The blunt words hung in the hushed air for a suspended beat, seeming to leech all oxygen from the cramped corridor. You could only gape up at him, speechless and reeling as the enormity of his revelation ricocheted through your consciousness.

Pregnant? You were pregnant? With...with Hoshina’s child?

A thousand different thoughts and responses clamored for attention in your mind as the reality slowly sank its razor-tipped hooks past the layers of shock. But before you could sort through the jumbled tangle of emotions, Hoshina pressed on in that same low, gravelly murmur.

"The readings from yer latest mission tripped the recognition protocols," he explained, hand still molding to the subtle swell of your abdomen with soul-searing tenderness. "Showed two distinct heartbeats synchronized together - yours..." He paused, swallowing hard as his throat worked convulsively. "And our baby's."

On the last two words, Hoshina’s voice cracked audibly with a hairline fracture of vulnerability he rarely allowed to breach his tough exterior. You saw his jaw ticking as he visibly struggled to regain his composure, thick lashes lowering to veil the maelstrom swirling in those indigo depths.

For several thumping heartbeats, the only sound was the hollow pounding of blood roaring in your ears as your mind attempted to catch up. Then you felt Hoshina shift fractionally, the first stirrings of tension re-entering the iron-carved lines of his shoulders and neck.

"The real question is..." he rumbled out after clearing his throat gruffly. "Did ya already know about this, and just neglected to tell me? Or are ya as oblivious as I was until a few goddamn minutes ago?"

The spark of anger reigniting in the graveled rasp made you flinch instinctively. You quickly shook your head in a frantic negative, still too overwhelmed to vocalize any response beyond the raw, visceral turmoil of emotions roiling in your gut.

For a fleeting moment, Hoshina’s expression wavered in what you could've sworn was disappointment before the fierce scowl slammed back into place. That split-second flicker was all the confirmation you needed to understand his meaning.

Just like that, your voice found itself again on a trembling exhalation edged with the first fissures of hurt and confusion cracking through the layered shock.

"You thought...you thought I would deliberately keep something like this from you?" you rasped out in a bare whisper. "That I would risk not just my own safety, but our...our child's life by..."

You broke off, throat constricting as a swell of tears blurred your vision unexpectedly. Swiping at them angrily, you leveled Hoshina with a wounded glare as a protective arm curled around your midsection.

"How could you even consider that I would—"

Before you could finish that accusatory question, Hoshina surged forward and silenced you with another fierce, claiming kiss. This time there was no initial surprise or hesitation on your part - you melted against him instantly with a low keen muffled between your joined mouths.

Hoshina wasted no time deepening the liplock, his questing tongue sweeping past your pliant defenses to map every velvet inch with ardent dedication. One hand cradled the back of your skull, thick fingers threading through your hair as he angled your faces for even deeper penetration. The other roamed down your side to palm your hip and grind your lower bodies flush together, ensuring you felt every rigid inch of his erection.

You arched helplessly against him with a whimpering exhalation, suddenly unbearably aware of Hoshina’s sheer size and virile strength engulfing you so completely. Tiny sparks of pleasure lanced straight to your core each time his hips rolled in a possessive grind, rekindling the deepest cravings he always stoked so easily within you.

Just as your lungs began burning with the need for air, Hoshina finally relented enough to tear his mouth from yours with a harsh inhalation. You panted harshly against each other's slick, swollen lips, gazes locked in a heated battle of wills as the world slowly reoriented around you.

"Ya know why I considered it, baby girl," he growled out at last, voice rendered even more gravel-rough from your passionate exchange. Hoshina shifted his stance infinitesimally, using his superior bulk to crowd you more thoroughly against the bulkhead. "Because ya have a nasty habit of puttin' everyone else's safety before yer own without hesitation. And I'll be damned if I stand by and let that selfless bullshit continue now that you've got precious cargo on board."

As if to punctuate his point, Hoshina dragged his palm from the flare of your hip down to cup your abdomen again in a shockingly tender caress completely at odds with his gruff demeanor. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he stroked your skin reverently, eyelashes fluttering.

"This changes everything, [Y/N]," he murmured in a tone caught between wonder and quiet ferocity. "Our priorities, the risks we can’t allow, the future we need to start considering beyond just the next mission... Yer gonna be a mother to my child, ready or not. And I'll rip this entire base apart before I let ya jeopardize that role over some misguided sense of duty."

There was an edge of steel underscoring every word, daring you to defy the irrefutable truth he laid out. You could feel tension re-accumulating between your joined frames once more as the severity of the situation reasserted itself in the wake of Hoshiro's brief emotional lapse.

Drawing yourself up as much as his looming stance would allow, you opened your mouth to offer a retort - only to be silenced again as Hoshina’s palm flattened against the wall beside your head with a muted thump of emphasis.

"Don't even try arguin'," he cut you off with a low, impatient growl as your lips pursed mutinously. "I know you, [Y/N]. I know that stubborn defiance yer gearin' up to unleash because ya can't stand being sidelined or coddled for any reason. Well this time there's no goddamn debate - yer grounded."

You sucked in an outraged breath, fully prepared to vehemently protest such a unilateral decision curtailing your duties. But before you could unleash the torrent of objections burning in your larynx, Hoshina leaned in until his forehead was nearly touching yours and his next words emerged in a resonant, thrumming murmur.

"I don't give a fuck how indignant ya are, baby. You can rage and scream at me all ya want once we get back to my quarters. But while my child resides beneath yer heart..." Here he paused to splay his palm over the slight swell of your abdomen again with clear reverence. "Ya belong hidden away from any harm, understood? This isn't open for discussion."

The charged silence hung between you like a taut highwire after Hoshina’s implacable declaration. You could feel the sparks of defiance sizzling beneath your skin, that infamous stubborn streak demanding you not acquiesce so easily to being sidelined. And yet...when you parted your lips to unleash your objections, all that emerged was a soft, begrudging huff.

Some deep-rooted part of you instinctively understood the simple truth driving Hoshina’s hardline stance. He wasn't trying to control you out of some misplaced alpha male bluster. In that moment, with his palm reverently cupped over the slight swell harboring your shared offspring, Hoshina embodied the pure essence of an ancient protector archetype. His sole priority was safeguarding the new life taking root, no matter how it constrained either of your usual roles.

And truly, what objection could you muster against that? What retort could possibly overcome the blazing intensity of love and ferocious devotion burning in his eyes as they bored into yours?

So instead of spitting denials, you held Hoshina’s smoldering stare and gave a terse nod of reluctant acceptance. You wouldn't fight him on this, not now...not when the two of you were now defending much more than just your own lives.

The minuscule surrender had an instantaneous effect on Hoshina’s granite countenance. You saw the bands of tension framing his eyes and jaw loosen infinitesimally as the rigid line of his shoulders lost some of its coiled potential energy. Silently confirming he had emerged victorious in this pivotal round, if only for the moment.

Before you could ponder the implications of where this new dynamic shift might lead your relationship, Hoshina was ducking his head to capture your lips again. But where the previous kisses were fueled by scorching desire and unrelenting dominance, this one was almost...soft. Tender, even, as he took his time mapping the seam of your mouth with tender, coaxing sweeps of his tongue.

You melted against him with a shuddering exhalation, palms flattening against the solid contours of his chest as you instinctively pressed closer. Hoshina angled his head to deepen the intoxicating exchange, one hand cupping the back of your skull to hold you in place as he thoroughly ravaged your senses.

Just as you were teetering into a hazy, lust-drunk delirium, Hoshina abruptly broke away with a sharp inhalation. You blinked up at him, bemused by his sudden retreat, only to suck in a shaky gasp at the blazing heat now smoldering in those indigo depths.

Hoshina’s pupils were blown wide with naked hunger, his lips already reddened and slick from your passionate communion. You watched, utterly transfixed, as his tongue swept out to capture the lingering taste of you glossing his lower lip. The unconscious gesture punched straight through the core of your increasingly liqefied determination with devastating impact.

Then his gaze dropped to rake over your body in a molten caress, sweeping down from your flushed cheeks to linger on the swells of your breasts straining against your combat suit. Lower still, mapping the flare of your hips and the taut vee accentuated between your thighs from his muscular bulk pressing you into the unforgiving bulkhead.

"Shit, baby girl..." Hoshina ground out in a gravel-rough timbre laced with undisguised sin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were tryna rile me up over here. Get me all worked up so I'd forget the little reminder waitin' at home for us..."

He punctuated the words by rocking his hips against you in a wicked grind, allowing you to feel every hardened inch of his cock outlined against your abdomen. A breathy whine slipped unbidden from your parted lips, nerves alight and sparking wildly at the delicious friction.

Shamelessly, Hoshina rutted against you again with a low, appreciative rumble stoked straight from the depths of his chest. His head dipped to nuzzle against the sloped column of your throat, lips skating across your thundering pulse point in a scorching brush of contact.

"That's it, pretty girl..." he growled against your oversensitized skin. "Let Daddy see how much his touch still affects ya, even with my spawn takin' root inside..."

The words were pure molten sin caressed over your psyche in Hoshina’s distinctive timbre. You felt your core liquidize in a heady rush, thighs reflexively parting to accommodate the insistent bulk pinning you against the unyielding steel at your back. Somewhere beneath the haze of awakening lust, you were dimly aware of the cloying reminder you shouldn't be indulging these rampant cravings while being in such a…delicate condition.

Yet every rational synapse in your consciousness whited out as Hoshina sealed his lips over the thundering pulse at the hollow of your throat. The glide of his tongue bathing your scorching skin in unhurried, sumptuous strokes obliterated any last vestiges of higher thought still clinging on.

"That's my good girl..." he purred against your straining tendons in graveled approval. "Soon as we get behind closed doors, Daddy's going to remind ya exactly who ya belong to while worshippin' every inch of this pretty little body..."

Hoshina didn't give you a chance to formulate any response before he was already moving. With a low, feral growl reverberating from his depths, he hitched you up against his powerful frame, calloused hands cupping beneath your thighs to anchor you in place.

You gasped out a breathy sound of surprise that morphed into a throaty whimper as he ground his clothed cock against your core with wicked intent. Hoshina rumbled an approving noise against the thundering pulse at your throat, lips blazing a scorching path along the vulnerable column bared to his questing mouth.

"That's it, pretty girl...let me hear how much ya need this," he rasped out between openmouthed kisses and teasing nips. "Need me to take ya home and make it official before this brat gets any bigger."

You shuddered hard at the blatant suggestion laced into his rough timbre, feeling a fresh gush of slick heat flood your core at the thought of being well and truly claimed by this wrecking ball of a man. There would be no more delaying or skirting around the inevitable anymore - not with ironclad proof of your union now taking root.

Ankles locking behind the sinewy V of Hoshina’s back, you arched shamelessly against the rigid bulge grinding against your clothed pussy. Chasing that delicious friction, that smoldering promise of being staked and bound to him permanently in the most primal way imaginable.

"Please..." you heard yourself whining out, beyond caring how desperate and needy you sounded. "Soshiro, I need...need you to—"

"Hush now, mama," he cut you off with a rasping growl, already stalking down the vacant corridor with you cradled snugly in his embrace. "Save it for when I've got ya laid out and beggin' properly."

The words punched straight through you with merciless impact, robbing you of breath. You could only cling to Hoshina with trembling limbs, knuckles whitening from your death grip on his shoulders as the world seemed to blur around you. All that existed was the scorching heat of his body surrounding yours, the rasp of his graveled tone thrumming through your very marrow, and the dizzying spiral of want hazed in your very bones.

Hoshina didn't bother with niceties or propriety as he carried you through the installation's winding passageways. He moved with liquid speed and purpose, not breaking stride or sparing a single glance to anyone you passed. At some point, you were vaguely aware of one young officer actually leaping out of his path with wide, panicked eyes - clearly recognizing the danger of crossing the Vice Captain in this state.

Nobody else dared hinder Hoshina’s determined strides as he bore you rapidly through the maze of corridors and security checkpoints towards the restricted command quarters. You felt your pulse kick up as the armored bulkhead to his private room finally loomed into view.

Then you were through the portal and ensconced in Hoshina’s familiar sanctum, alone at last. The instant the door cycled shut behind you, cutting off the outside world entirely, his mouth crashed back over yours in a searing, demanding kiss.

This time, there was no preamble or softness - only raw, unrestrained need fueled by emotion too volatile to contain any longer. Hoshina devoured you with lashing sweeps of his tongue and teasing nips from blunted teeth, robbing you of breath entirely with his merciless onslaught.

You hardly even registered the scorching path he carried you along, or when your back met the broad expanse of his bed. All that existed was the searing brand of Hoshina’s calloused palms skating over every available inch of bare skin as he started peeling away layers with frantic urgency.

Only once he had you stripped to just your underwear did he finally tear his lips from yours, leaving you gasping and squirming against the rumpled sheets. Hoshina reared up onto his knees, straddling your thighs as he drank in the sight of you splayed out before him - hair tousled, cheeks flushed, lips already rubied from his voracious attention.

More importantly, his gaze raked lower to linger on the subtle swell of your abdomen, pupils blowing even wider. His large hand drift down to map the gentle curve with soul-searing reverence.

"Perfect...fuckin' perfect," Hoshina ground out in a sandpaper rasp choked with too many conflicting emotions to parse. "And soon as this next round is over, I'm locking ya down for good as my wife. No more puttin' it off or dancin' around what ya are to me."

With that growled vow, he dipped his head to seal his mouth over your inner ankle, already working his way up your calf with a meandering path of scorching, openmouthed kisses and teasing sweeps of his tongue.

"Mine..." he purred against the quivering skin of your inner thigh between each sinuous lap of that wicked appendage. "My woman...my wife... gonna lock ya away and keep ya naked and dripping for me at all hours,"

You arched off the mattress with a keening cry as Hoshina reached the crease where thigh met groin, his hot breath ghosting across the thin lace separating him from his destination. Then he was latching his lips onto your swollen clit, suckling through the barrier with a low groan of satisfaction.

"Mmm, yeah, just like this..." Hoshina hummed his approval against your soaked core, drawing another helpless moan from your lips. "Keep ya ready and waiting on Daddy's cock so I can breed this tight little cunt whenever I want. That sound good, baby girl?"

A ragged whine was the only coherent response you could muster as Hoshina continued teasing you with languid laps of his tongue. You were already reduced to a writhing, trembling mess, the last shreds of your self-control fraying by the moment under his masterful attentions.

When he finally dragged your panties down your legs with a few quick tugs, you were already panting harshly and clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled death grip. But before you could beg him to hurry, to stop torturing you with his wicked ministrations, Hoshina was diving back between your thighs and sealing his lips around your clit again.

This time there was no lace barrier separating you - only the slick heat of his tongue lashing across your pulsing bundle of nerves and two thick fingers pumping into your dripping core.

"S-shiro, I-I'm..."

You couldn't even finish the plea, your words dissolving into a shattered moan as a fresh flood of wetness coated Hoshina's knuckles. He growled against your pussy in clear approval, the reverberations thrumming through your nerve endings.

"That's it, pretty girl, cream all over Daddy's fingers..."

He punctuated the order with a particularly sharp curl and twist of his digits, raking over that spongy patch of flesh just beyond the second knuckle. You saw stars and bucked against his face, riding the wave of ecstasy cresting through your senses.

Hoshina continued his assault, wringing you dry until you collapsed back onto the sheets, panting and shaking. Even then, he didn't relinquish his hold, still lazily sucking and lapping at your hypersensitive clit until you were twitching with overstimulation.

When he finally tore himself away from his favorite pastime, your mind was still so hazed with lust and pleasure you hardly noticed him stripping his fatigues. You didn't fully register the moment he crawled over you, his massive bulk caging you in with familiar warmth. Not until he was nudging your legs apart to nestle the broad crown of his cock against your drooling entrance.

Then his mouth crashed over yours, swallowing the needy keen as he surged forward in one forceful thrust. You felt the breath punch from your lungs as Hoshina immediately set a bruising pace, his hips pistoning back and forth with unrestrained fervor.

"Ah, f-fuck..." Hoshina hissed between gritted teeth as his entire body bowed above you, muscles straining and tendons popping out against his skin. ""Knew...knew you'd look so fuckin' gorgeous like this, breeding ya up nice an' deep..."

His hips snapped forward with each word, burying his cock to the hilt in your dripping channel. The filthy promises he was rasping against your ear only made the sensations more acute, spiraling your need higher.

"Mine...fuck, yer all mine now, sweet girl. My beautiful baby mama..."

Hoshina growled against the column of your throat as his hips continued pounding away between your thighs, every thrust driving him impossibly deeper. Your nails raked across his shoulders, his nape, his biceps - everywhere you could reach, anchoring yourself against the onslaught of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

You were barely aware of the sounds pouring from your throat, the pleading, breathless moans and keens spilling from your parted lips. Then Hoshina angled his thrusts to grind against that spongy spot within, and your back arched off the mattress with a piercing wail of delight.

"Go 'head an' moan f'me, mama. Let the whole base hear who owns this pretty cunt..."

He punctuated the words with an especially forceful thrust, slamming his hips against yours and grinding his pubic bone against your swollen clit. Your thighs locked around his waist instinctively, clinging to him with every last scrap of strength in your trembling frame.

"Fuck, baby, don't get greedy now. Daddy's close, an' he needs to see ya cream all over his cock first. You can do that f'me, can't you?" He punctuated the request by rolling his hips in a filthy grind, raking the flared head over your g-spot with deliberate precision. "Don't hold back, gotta let it all out when I'm fuckin' ya deep. Need to hear my gorgeous mama squeal for Daddy's cum..."

His hands shifted to cradle the curve of your ass, angling your hips upward and tilting your pelvis just enough for him to grind even deeper. Your eyes rolled back and your jaw dropped, a breathy exhalation catching on a keening moan as he continued pummeling your pussy into the mattress.

"Shiro, please, I-I can't, I need..."

Your words trailed off into a whimpering keen as his thrusts became impossibly faster, rougher. Hoshina's entire frame was taut as a bowstring above you, every muscle flexing and straining with the effort of his punishing pace.

"So slick and swollen for me...fuck, yer pussy was made to grip Daddy's fat cock like this..." he snarled against your lips, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Now cum, baby, I need ya to milk me fuckin' dry..."

On cue, his hand slid between your writhing bodies, fingers circling and teasing your throbbing clit. It was the final shove over the edge.

You screamed his name, vision whiting out as a surge of rapture crashed over you. Waves of sensation wracked your entire body, leaving you shaking and shuddering as your walls clenched down around his pounding cock.

"Fuck, yes..." Hoshina groaned hoarsely as you came apart beneath him, his own rhythm becoming choppy and erratic. "Say my name, mama. Let me hear ya scream for yer husband's cum."

It was too much, the combination of his cock pistoning away between your thighs and his rough, possessive rasp filling your senses. You cried out incoherently as your release spiraled even higher, feeling the delicious burn of his girth stretching you to your limit.

"Soshiro! Yes, please, Daddy, cum in me...please!"

The words were little more than a keening sob, but they had the desired effect. With a feral snarl, Hoshina buried himself to the hilt and went rigid, his entire body bowing beneath the weight of his release. You felt him pulsing within your depths, coating your quivering walls with molten heat.

"Fuuuuck, baby girl...yeah, take it, take Daddy's cum...that's my good little wife, milkin' my cock dry with her sweet cunt." His hips were still rocking back and forth, though much more shallowly now. You moaned and squirmed beneath him, hypersensitive from the force of your shared orgasm.

Finally, he seemed to run dry, and collapsed forward onto his forearms, panting harshly against the sweat-slicked column of your throat. For a few moments, the only sound was the ragged rasp of your joined breaths.

Then Hoshina shifted his weight, hissing softly as he slowly withdrew from your still-fluttering depths. You shivered at the sensation, the sudden feeling of emptiness left behind by his absence.

He settled back on his haunches and nudged your thighs further apart, gaze lingering with palpable heat on the pearly mixture oozing from your entrance. With a low rumble of approval, Hoshina's thick fingers delved into the mess, pushing the cum-slickened digits back into your core.

You whimpered and tried to squirm away, oversensitive and sore from his thorough use. But he merely shot you a stern look and held you firmly in place, continuing to toy with your dripping entrance.

"Hold still," he ordered gruffly. "Need to get my mouth on that pretty pussy, baby. Let Daddy clean up his pregnant wife..."

Before you could offer any objection or protest, he was already ducking down to lap the mixture of both your fluids from your swollen folds. You moaned and arched against the bed, fingers twisting in his sweat-dampened locks.

Hoshina hummed his approval as his tongue dipped and swirled, collecting every drop from your quivering flesh. Each time his mouth latched onto your clit, you couldn't suppress a needy keen, still too sensitive from the force of your shared release.

When he finally reared back onto his knees again, the smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips was thoroughly satisfied. Hoshina swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, still eyeing the apex of your thighs as if contemplating diving right back in.

"There we go, baby girl. Nice and clean," he rumbled out after a beat. "But just 'cause I took care of the mess doesn't mean yer done getting fucked."

With that, Hoshina was already scooping you into his arms and shifting your positions so he was the one sprawled against the mattress, with you straddling his hips. You blinked down at him in wide-eyed shock, still too dazed and overwhelmed to formulate any words.

Not that you got the chance. Within seconds, he had already lifted you effortlessly and lowered you back onto his throbbing cock. You moaned, spine arching as he stretched you open again, feeling the thick length pulse within your depths.

Hoshina didn't wait for you to adjust before he was already guiding you into a smooth, rolling rhythm. His hands were clamped on your hips, lifting and dropping you on his cock in time with his own upward thrusts.

"Go ahead, wifey, ride Daddy's cock just like that..." he purred, pupils blown wide as he watched you bounce atop him with an expression caught somewhere between rapture and ferocity. "Gonna keep this pussy nice and wet and full, until my seed's drippin' down yer thighs again."

You didn't even try fighting the tide of ecstasy washing over you, letting Hoshina steer the tempo of your lovemaking. His hips bucked up off the bed to meet your downward plunge, burying himself as deep as possible in your quivering depths.

"So fuckin' gorgeous," he grunted, palms gliding up your sides to palm your breasts. "Look at these pretty tits, all swollen an' ready for when our brat arrives. Can't wait to see 'em all nice and full, baby..."

You keened in response, not trusting yourself to speak while lost in the sensations of him filling you over and over. Your hands splayed across his rippling abdomen, using the solid muscles for leverage as you rode him.

"That's it, mama, bounce on Daddy's fat cock like you were born for it. Such a perfect little cock-sleeve..." Hoshina punctuated the words with a sharp, upward thrust, his hips rising off the mattress. You gasped and rocked back against him, grinding down with needy intent.

"Fuck, yeah, just like that, sweet girl," he growled approvingly. "Take what ya need, go 'head an' use me to get yerself off."

Your eyelashes fluttered and a fresh surge of wetness flooded your core, leaving you gasping and trembling as his words hit you straight in the gut. He gave a rumbling laugh, the sound pure sex laced through his graveled voice.

"Shit, that does it for ya, baby? My greedy little mama, always so needy for her husband's cock..."

Hoshina surged upright suddenly, his mouth crashing over yours in a ravenous kiss. You melted into the embrace with a whimper, fingers tangling in his sweat-dampened locks. When his tongue thrust past your lips, you could taste the heady mixture of your combined flavors, and something within you sparked to life.

With a breathless groan, you ground down harder against him, chasing that elusive friction that would push you over the edge. Hoshina responded by wrapping his arm around your waist, crushing you against his chest as he helped guide the motion of your hips.

The two of you continued rocking and grinding, tongues tangling and breaths mingling. The heady combination was intoxicating, robbing you of all higher thought until nothing remained but the pleasure and need spiraling through your veins.

Hoshina was the first to succumb, his rhythm growing increasingly choppy and desperate. Finally, he broke away from your lips with a strangled curse and a shudder. Then he was hilting himself in your depths, cock pulsing and spilling deep within.

You followed suit instantly, keening out his name as your release slammed into you, a white-hot surge of ecstasy. Your head tipped back and your hips bucked against his, riding the crest of pleasure until you were spent and sagging bonelessly in his embrace.

Hoshina cradled you close, peppering kisses across the sweat-slicked column of your throat, his breath still coming in harsh pants. Neither of you moved for a long time, simply reveling in the afterglow and each other's presence.

At some point, Hoshina carefully shifted you to his side, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. You curled into his broad chest, sighing contentedly as he nuzzled against the crown of your head.

"Rest now, sweet girl," he murmured against your hair. "Daddy's got ya. We've got plenty of time before I'm ready to take ya again."

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