#I know this ones named Link so I’ll just find him every time
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Look at Us Now - ch. 25
Fic masterlist
Omfg it was about time!!
I used a prompt Diana sent me forever ago about mom&daughter matching outfits but I’ll never find it again to attach the link. Thanks @autumnbabylon! <3
Also, things got a liiittle freaky in the last scene. Is it because I re-outlined URDAD while writing this? We’ll never know!
Warnings: NSFW, golden lingerie
Words: 3,1k
To Maisie’s dismay, she was stuck with her father’s poor braiding skills until she could do better herself. Ever since Rowan found out that he could get himself and Maisie ready in the time Aelin did only her hair and makeup, getting ready to go out became a lot less chaotic.
Simpler, but not simple.
His daughter was almost ready to be dropped off at Aedion’s to go to the movies with him, Lys and her son Timmy, while Rowan and Aelin went to a small party at Dorian’s and Fen’s.
He thought he was prepared for the evening, but one sentence, five words were enough for Maisie to shake his entire world.
“I want the fishtail one,” the little girl said in her bedroom, after he asked her what she wanted to do with her hair.
“Not the one with the ribbons?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Of course,” Rowan said, trying not to show his defeat.
Shit. He had just learned how to do the double french braid with ribbons.
But that what was YouTube was for, anyway. His learning process wasn’t so slow after years of this, but Rowan still praised Maisie for staying still every now and then—he’d never forget the ordeal that was learning how to do her hair from scratch, all alone with an overactive toddler. He had it easy these days.
Aelin burst through the door when he was adding his finishing touches, and her eyes lit up when she saw the little girl’s outfit.
Maisie jumped from the chair and said, “Mommy, we’re twins!”
Rowan may or may not have peeked into Aelin’s closet while she was getting dressed to coordinate her outfit with Maisie’s. Now they were both wearing jean pants and jacket with a white shirt, and it looked adorable. He was even considering taking a picture for when Aelin mocked him for not having a “sense of style”.
Aelin’s eyes widened. “Maisy Daisy! Is your dad trying a new hairstyle on you?”
“Yep!” The little girl turned around to show off her dad’s work.
She swallowed, then plastered on the fakest smile he’d ever seen. “I love to see that, honey! Can I just fix…” Aelin put her thumb and index finger close together to indicate a small amount. “One little thing before we go?”
When Maisie sat back, her mother undid Rowan’s entire work and redid it in the blink of an eye. Flawlessly. And with a jellyfish hair clip.
He blinked, stunned while his daughter picked a toy to take out with her.
Aelin wrapped both arms around his middle and kissed his cheek. “This one’s all about tension,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ll show you later.”
Her breath against his flesh and the double meaning behind her words sent a shiver down his spine, but it was quickly stifled by his daughter’s next words.
“Come on!” she shouted. “Uncle Aedy is waiting!”
Rowan froze. That name triggered a rush of memories, dragging him back to a time and place he wished he could forget. It came back in flashes, his last visit to the sex shop. His unwanted encounter with the man he wanted to call a brother, while Rowan held a purple clit sucker in his hand.
The fact that they found out about each other’s new girlfriends between then and now didn’t make it any better.
“Buzzard, you coming?” Aelin’s voice brought him back, and for a moment he wondered if she saw something haunted in his eyes.
“Do we really have to go see Aedion?”
“You wanna drop Maisie off like she’s an Amazon package?”
“We could.”
Aelin crossed her arms, eyes squinted and scrutinizing him. “Why are you avoiding Aedion tonight?’
Rowan mirrored her position, trying to mimic his girlfriend’s bravado. “What makes you think I’m avoiding Aedion in the first place?”
Truth is, he absolutely was. But admitting it meant explaining the reason why, and there was only so much a man could take.
˜˜
“Munchkin didn’t wanna come?” Was the first thing Fenrys asked, crestfallen when he first saw them at the entrance of his modern apartment downtown. If their friends hadn’t been at the front door to guide them inside, the incense smell and the mixed sound of chatter and little paws on the floor would.
Today’s party was more like a small gathering, so Maisie and Fleetfoot had been invited—Dorian and Fenrys stopped asking Rowan and Aelin for their ragers a long time ago, but it was still nice to make sure exactly how kid-friendly the evening will be.
For a moment, Rowan felt bad for them. Maybe it was because they chose not to have kids, but they really did uphold that vow to become the cool, doting uncles.
And Maisie absolutely adored them back. Until Aedion blurted out that Dorian used to date her mother years back—now the kid got all weird whenever someone mentions his name.
But she’ll get over it. If Rowan did, Maisie will too.
Aelin’s eyes darted between her two friends, a truly apologetic look on her face. “She’s at the movies.” A sigh. “She still hasn’t processed all that… history. Between Dorian and I. But she’ll come around.”
“She will.” Dorian nodded with a mournful look and a curling corner of his lip that betrayed his somberness. “They always get like this when I fuck their moms.”
Rowan tensed, his teeth gritted, but before he could give the man a piece of his mind, Aelin slapped the back of her ex’s head. Still, her scolding expression twitched with suppressed laughter.
She pointed a finger at him. “Do. Not.”
The man took a step back with two hands up in apology and surrender, and gestured for them to wait there.
The living room was large enough to defy the concept of an ‘apartment’, but that and the expensive furniture were the only clues of Dorian’s generational wealth. The place had a bunch of shelves and it still was a huge mess of books scattered everywhere, likely because the man didn’t let anyone help organize them.
The one time he asked about it, Dorian said it ‘fits the aesthetic’. Rowan asked if it was his architect’s first intention to go for an ‘untidy look’. Aelin carefully redirected the subject and it was never brought up again.
Out of thin air, Dorian came back with one drink in each hand.
“Sangrias,” he said before handing them to Aelin and Rowan.
By her eager eyes on the drink, Rowan knew he wouldn’t be drinking much of it today.
Aelin tilted her head, a question in her eyes only he could read. He nodded and squeezed her waist, wordlessly knowing what she wanted.
He’d be glad to be tonight’s driver if it meant his Fireheart was having fun.
Aelin’s first sip was eager; however, her face soon contorted into disgust, her grimace turned into a cough, and soon something in that drink had her gagging. Rowan ran a soothing hand on her back, confused at this reaction.
After a few deep breaths, she turned to Dorian and said, “Did you slide some rotten fruit into this?”
The man gasped. “I find this question highly insulting, Aelin Galathynius.”
Rowan took the drink from Aelin’s hand and smelled it, at the same time Fenrys took Rowan’s untouched drink. Both men sipped it, then gave each other confused glances.
Aelin gaped. “You like it?” she screeched.
He shrugged. It was a little too sweet for his taste, but good sangria still. Dorian and Fenrys were great bartenders.
She waved him off. “You can have it.”
Aelin and Dorian excused themselves to talk with two people from their residency days, so Rowan sat on an armchair by a tall, arched lamp and his friend brought an empty chair so he could sit by his side. Which meant he was alone with Fenrys and his big mouth.
He perched on the edge of his chair with both forearms on his thighs and his trademark smirk. “Now that Maisie won’t come here anymore, I think it’s time for you to make Munchkin No. 2.”
Rowan remained silent. He refused to believe he agreed with one of Fenrys’ jokes.
His friend continued, “And you need to make an honest woman out of Aelin.”
Rowan’s brows went up. “Are you making an honest man out of Dorian anytime soon?”
“And you need to make me a godfather this time…” Fenrys added, completely disregarding what Rowan last said. His friend kept going on the subject, and he zoned out a little, having his own related thoughts.
The ‘marriage and more kids’ subject had been brought up constantly when they finally told everyone about their relationship—nothing Rowan wasn’t thinking about himself.
He had things figured out and was ready to do it, the only problem was finding the right timing.
On one hand, he didn’t want to get ahead of himself, rush it and risk fucking up again. He and Aelin had been dating for a little over three months, not the usual time to wait until the proposal—then again, they weren’t an usual couple.
He caught her eye from across the room, gold and turquoise glinting with excitement that soon turned back to the group she was talking to.
On the other hand, a four-letter word plagued his thoughts all day, every day. When Aelin wore his t-shirt after sex in the morning, when he saw the button of her nose on his daughter’s face, when he held her to sleep, drunk in the smell of her hair.
Day and night, Rowan ached to call her his wife.
˜˜
“Buzzard,” Aelin called at his suite, from outside the bathroom. “Why did I find a gift box with my name on it in your closet?”
“You weren’t supposed to find it!” Rowan shouted, quickly wrapping a towel around his waist.
They’d just gotten home after the party at Dorian’s and Fen’s, and were their way to bed. The gift she’d just found was from the sex shop he visited a while ago, but Aelin had been so tired from work lately, he was struggling to find the right opportunity to give it to her.
When Rowan finally got out of the bathroom, the sight of Aelin holding the golden lingerie set he hadn’t given to her yet made his heart hammer inside his chest.
“Menace,” he teased.
She stared at the set with her mouth ajar. “When were you giving it to me?”
Leaned against the doorframe, he cocked his head. “Why were you snooping in my closet?”
“Afraid I might find something, Buzzard?”
Very.
Rowan squinted his eyes at her. “I thought you were ‘so sleepy’ you could ‘die from it’. Your words exactly.”
“Well, Buzzard, I’ve just changed our plans,” she said on her way to the bathroom. Right after closing herself in, Aelin opened a crack in the door to face him and ask, “Is it clean?”
He chuckled. “I washed everything so we could use it right away.”
“Perfect.” Her smile was so bright it lit him up.
She had been suggestive enough that Rowan hung his towel without bothering to put his clothes on, and it gave him time to think.
First, he needed to keep an eye on Aelin’s curiosity regarding his closet.
Second—there was no second. He was just dying to see Aelin in gold again.
“You okay there, Ae?”
“Eager much?” she asked on her way out of the bedroom. Aelin squared her shoulders and did a little twirl, cocky as ever, but then adjusted a strap. “It feels a little weird on the breasts, but it fits.”
“Pity,” Rowan said, unable to keep his eyes off her. “I think my hands need to get more acquainted with them.”
His movements were languid as he slid his hands from her hips to the sides of her chest, trembling with desire. His Fireheart looked like a living flame and, fucking hell, he couldn’t believe his luck to be the one that got to touch her.
Rowan felt the warmth and softness of her skin, her shiver as his ravenous eyes devoured the curve of her hips to the slope of her breasts. It was dizzying, the creamy of her skin, the brown of her freckles, dusty rose round tissue poorly hidden, taut with the need to be touched.
All wrapped in thin straps and golden lace.
Rowan’s loins grew near feverish with just the sight of her, and so far the way he touched her only worsened the ache in his fingers.
“Buzzard?” Aelin’s eyes were filled with something he’d recently realized that stood between mirth and desire. “Are you gonna stare at me all night?”
He chuckled, a pained sound, and hid his face on the side of her neck. “I could, you know.”
Before she got the chance to tease him further, Rowan brushed his lips against her pulse point. Standing in the middle of his room with both hands on her hips, he intensified his ministrations on her neck until Aelin’s teasing disappeared, leaving him with small whimpers and the goosebumps she left with those nails on the roots of his hair.
She pulled his mouth to hers, fingers now busy tracing his abs and pecs. His muscles were mostly a welcome consequence of his job and lifestyle, but it did make him feel smug when Aelin openly delighted in it the way she did.
Rowan grabbed her waist tighter and pinned their waists together, his naked length pressed against her stomach while he flicked his tongue against hers. She held his neck and let out a breathy moan, chasing the friction as much as he did.
That is, until Aelin took a step back and turned around. He stopped her by the foot of the bed, one hand splayed across her lower belly, the other covering her breast.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Rowan asked before he tilted her head to the side and sucked the skin of her neck into his mouth.
Her breath hitched, then she let out a breathless chuckle. “Going to our bed?”
Our. Not quite, but he liked the sound of that.
Rowan sneaked one hand in between her folds and cursed. “You’re so wet, baby.” A peck on her shoulder. “Is that for me?”
“Um—“ He pinched a nipple, and the back of Aelin’s head fell against his shoulder. “I did take a good look in the mirror before too.”
So fucking sassy.
In one quick thrust, Rowan slid all the way in, spreading her cunt open to fill it whole at once. Aelin cried out, and her body jerked forward a little—would’ve been a lot if he hadn’t held her so closely.
“Shit, I—“ Rowan could barely think, his thoughts clouded with lust. “Too rough?”
“Too good. Lemme just…” Aelin kneeled on the edge of the bed, making herself taller so Rowan could and fuck her from behind better.
And that he did.
Standing still with her kneeling on bed before him, her back to his chest, Rowan ruthlessly snapped his hips against hers. Aelin gave it as good as she got, back arched as she met his thrusts and pushed against them—there wasn’t much she could do in this position, but he liked having her at his mercy like this.
With tension bursting under his skin, Rowan brought one hand to Aelin’s neck, slightly choking her. He felt her tremble under his touch, and the shaky way she moaned his name in return was enough to make his skin burn.
The other hand went back to her pussy, muscle memory eased his finger’s path to her clit. The friction made her gasp, then Aelin ground her hips against his hand and cock both. The way she writhed on his arms was telling enough, so Rowan held himself back to keep her preferred pace constant. Soon enough she screamed his name and collapsed on his arms. Rowan pulled out, but watching Aelin orgasm so prettily for him it didn’t ease his ache in the slightest.
He placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder. “You alright, honey?”
“Perfect.” She had a dazed smile on. “Did you—“
Rowan snapped his cock back inside her because no, he did not. And he wouldn’t until she did again.
Aelin whimpered, then continued to roll her hips against his as he picked the pace once again. She took his cock until Rowan decided otherwise, like the good girl she was.
The only problem being that Rowan didn’t exactly choose when his cock would give out, and he was already too excited from Aelin’s first round. He did have his tongue and fingers in case the worst happened, but…
He pulled out took a step back—which didn’t go unnoticed by Aelin, given her frown—to grab the clit sucker.
Rowan aligned himself with her but didn’t thrust, earning him a whine from her.
“Greedy much, love?” He grabbed a fistful of her hair with one hand, while he figured out the vibrator with the other.
Before Aelin could complain further, he turned it on and put it on her clit at the same time he pounded into her again. Aelin screamed, her hips moved in a lost, frenzied pace as she tried to grab whichever parts of him she could with her back to him.
“Do you want to…” Rowan managed while panting, “The speed.”
“I—“
A thrust, or the spot it hit, made her moan and clench around him, which brought the messy string of curses uttered by Rowan. Well, she’d change the speed if she wanted to.
Aelin covered his hand with hers to change the vibrator’s speed, chasing her second climax. And Rowan—fucking hell, he wasn’t lasting much longer. His muscles felt as tight as they could be, surrounded by fire, and in this pre-orgasm state, if Rowan had the spare mental energy to pray and ask to last any longer, he would.
Aelin went still, calling out his name with a shattered breath. He waited until she completely fell apart to turn the vibrator off, and a few thrusts later Rowan shattered with her. With a blurred vision, he emptied himself around her walls, which still spasmed and contracted around his cock.
A brief kiss with a tug on the strap of her golden bra. “Take this off for me and lay down on the bed, will ya?” Rowan asked from behind, his hands still holding onto her body. “I’m not done with you yet.”
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#rowaelin#rowan whitethorn#throne of glass#rowaelin fanfiction#rowan x aelin#look at us now#aelin x rowan#rowaelin fanfic#throne of glass fanfic
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Anyone else notice that Sky’s the one the postman gave the mail to each time?
#linkeduniverse#linked universe#Lu#lu sky#loz#poor postman must be so confused#I don’t know who the hell link is or why it’s such a common name but this dude took the mail last time#I know this ones named Link so I’ll just find him every time#yes good#*politely ignores that there are eight other links and the letters are all of different origin
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❛I’ll give you lessons, it’s so much to know. ❜ ⸺ Gojo Satoru
【⠀♱⠀】 SYNOPSIS. satoru just wants to show you how different real sex and literature sex is.
【⠀♱⠀】 WARNINGS. self-indulgent. | reader is black coded & chubby | satoru teases a lot | pet names | i tried to keep this as realistic as possible so idk if this is boring i’m sorry | oral sex | fingering | reader is a virgin & is a little insecure about that | reader is also a smut writer | no penetrative sex | praise | minor overstimulation & dacryphilia | satoru is lowkey jealous of the book lol | etc.
【⠀♱⠀】 AUTHOR’S NOTE. i know there’s like plenty of virgin x experienced satoru fics but i just wanted to write this one based off my own experience. so yeah, hope you enjoy there may be a part 2. 3K+ WORDS & PLEASE EXCUSE GRAMMAR MISTAKES
Novels were so easy to get lost in. The moment your eyes landed upon a link of words you were lost to the world; glued to the seat underneath you for hours until your eyes demanded rest.
This was your current situation; glued to your bed, back pressed against the hill of plush pillows whilst your eyes skimmed the sentences within the book. You held the paperback delicately, lips parting every so often to giddily act out a piece of dialogue.
You loved books. Loved reading them, writing them, and much more.
What you didn’t love, was being interrupted while reading one.
The knock against your door was enough to cause your head to snap to it, bottom lip curled tight under your teeth as annoyance threatened to bubble over. With a heavy sigh you slumped into your pillows, “Yes, Satoru?” Your voice ranged monotone, something you used frequently whenever your beloved roommate and friend; Gojo Satoru, decided he needed attention during your reading time.
The door opened with haste, the tall white-haired male entering with a small frown. “You never sound excited to see me.” Satoru breathed, hand rising and lowering against his chest as if truly wounded by your behavior. An act that dissipated the moment you rolled your eyes— the man chuckling and entering the room fully to sit upon the corner of your bed. “I’m bored.. The rain killed all my plans.”
His complaints were barely registered the moment your eyes landed back to your book— a single mhm escaping you instead. A silence covered the room, feeling your bed sink as his long form stretched out upon the edge. Still, your eyes remained on the manilla pages; far too consumed in the utter debauchery playing before your eyes.
Unfortunately for you, Satoru didn’t let this slide for long; given his hand rose to poke the bottom of your foot.
You blinked harshly, lowering the book to cast a glare his way; Satoru’s eyes elsewhere as if innocent. The moment you returned to your book however— he poked you again, going in for a third one just for good measure.
Your legs slid up quickly, book falling to your lap as you glared at the man. “Satoru, how old are you?!”
“I’m bored..” He repeated, cheek sinking into your soft blankets as his pretty eyes stared up at you. Any other time you would have gave into the infamous pout, but not this time. You were enjoying your book far too much.
“Not my problem, find something safe to do.” You huffed, grabbing your book from your lap to slap Satoru’s reaching hand with.
With a quick recoil of his hand, the man sat up, huffing softly. “Like what?”
You groaned, leaning back against your pillows. “I don’t know, Gojo. Cook a dish, sleep, maybe read a damn book— just stop worrying me to death!”
Silence carried around the room for a moment, a bout of anxiety settling deep in your stomach at the man’s unreadable expression. Have I upset him? Was the single thought running in your mind. There were times he was unbearably annoying but again— Satoru was your friend and someone you held very dear.
“Sato—“
“I’ll read a book.” The man rose from your bed slowly with a soft sigh. This alone caused the small bout to quickly grow; your eyebrows furrowing and racking your mind for the perfect apology.
Until.. your beloved roommate and great friend snatched your book right from your hands— dashing out of your room before you could even blink.
Your eyes slowly widened as you registered the situation, fighting with your blankets to throw off as expletives escaped your lips rapidly. You were finally free from the web of comfort— rushing out of your bedroom towards where you loudly heard Satoru reading your book.
“His voice was husky, low; a tone that caused warmth to spread from my stomach all the way to my toes..”
“Satoru— give me back my book!” You rushed towards his spot standing beside the coffee table, watching him raise the book higher and crane his neck to continue to read; all while with a shit eating grin.
“He was close now, eyelids low with plump lips slick with my..” Satoru’s words slowed, eyebrows coming close together for a split moment. “— arousal.” His eyes were wide at this point, falling to your face which held a mix between embarrassment and anger.
The two of you watched each other for a moment, lips forming into a grin and the other a frown; the silence breaking the moment you groaned and landed onto the couch. Satoru quickly followed, snickering to himself as he quickly went back a page;
“Looks like I need to reread for the full effect..“
“Satoru, bite your tongue and die—“
Your harsh words were over shown by his downright maniacal giggling as he read over the pages, leaning back against the cushions. You spared a glance to spot the bright smile drawn across his features, glossy lips parting to softly read out the scene.
Another groan escaped you as you leaned back, balling up the shirt you wore in your hands. You shouldn’t be this embarrassed, really— or should you? Sex was sex, obviously; but it was a little different to be sexually active and simply being reading about. Plus, it was no secret you were a virgin— so you were sure you looked like a perverted hornball.
You wanted to die right then and there.
Soon enough, however; your stolen book made contact with your lap, which caused your eyes to open and land onto the culprit.
Whose grin was still intact.
“So that’s why you wanted me to leave so badly.”
“Satoru, please..”
The man snorted softly, dimples deep and turning to face you. “I’m not making fun of you [Name], it’s normal— it’s like a guy watching porn..” His eyes trailed off for a moment, dancing about the room before clicking back to you. “— Though I have to ask, is this the same stuff you spend time writing about?”
The heat growing within you was becoming too much, washing over your face and causing the embarrassment to dive deeper and deeper. “N—not all of it!” You huffed, eyebrows pinched close as you watched the man raise his hands defensively.
“Like I said I’m not judging either way. It’s just, interesting is all..” He shrugged to himself, leaning back against the cushions as his arms stretched out upon the couch. Satoru’s eyes flicked to your own, grin deepening the moment he noticed your bewildered expression. The man, as teasing as ever— leaned over just a bit closer. “Because you’re a virgin, that’s why.”
“Oh.” You spoke softly, eyes falling from his face to your lap, lips pushed close for a moment— the heat in your face seething at this point. “Well yeah, it’s uh.. ya know, my imagination so it kind makes up for.. lack of experience?”
Satoru stifled a short laugh, slinking away and facing forward. “Your smut is completely different from the real thing, though.” He claimed, tone teetering between cocky and just a tad playful.
You rolled your eyes as a soft obviously escaped your lips hearing the man chuckle. Satoru wasn’t wrong, you were sure real life sex and literature were completely different. From reactions down to positions, it was bound to be very distinct.
Still, the question of how different lingered within you.
Slowly your eyes rose from your lap to settle upon your roommate and great friend, only to suck in a breath the moment you noticed his gaze already upon you. Nervously you wetted your bottom lip, bringing your arms even closer to your chest.
“H..how different?”
Without missing a beat the man was turning to face you, one arm falling to his lap.
“I could show you.”
Satoru’s words took a moment to register, you being unable to hear anything but your rapid heartbeat. It felt as if you were lit on fire, staring up at the man who glanced down at you with clear intent swirling in his eyes. His hand remained on his lap, waiting patiently for a response from your quivering lips.
He was your friend and roommate too; he was supposed to nothing more and nothing less. Every alarm was going off in your head, stating getting entangled in such a way would be a bad idea all around.
But, you ignored them. Wholeheartedly. The stiff nod you gave a clear response.
Except Satoru wasn’t having that, scooting closer as he shook his head at you. “I’m not words on paper,” He spoke cooly, staring down at you carefully. “—I need you to say it.”
You struggled to hold his intense gaze, eyes dancing just about anywhere to avoid it. Your hands fell to the pajama bottoms you wore, carefully clearing your throat. “I… Want you to show me.” You spoke softly, finally glancing back up at the man.
You breathed softly as he drew closer, feeling his hand fall to your thigh to part and intrude the space between them. Satoru lowered towards you, your eyes fluttering shut the moment you two kissed.
It was a embarrassing how inexperienced you were; barely being able to keep up with his lips despite the already slow pace. Your hands rose to grasp his arms, eyebrows pinching close as his tongue treaded across your mouth. A soft moan escaped you, causing his tongue to slither in and tangle with your own.
It was a foreign feeling, one that caused your mouth to ache and for a flutter to occur between your thighs. You gasped softly as his hand slid off the couch to your back, carefully pressing against it and lowering you onto the couch.
Satoru’s long form hovered over you, hand smoothing across your thigh for a moment before rising to the waistband of your pants. It simply rested there as he continued to mark your mouth as his own; lathering his tongue in the wet cavern and sucking on your own appendage to hear you whine. By the time he released from the kiss, drool was trickling down the side of your mouth, lips a mess and red from his own.
You panted softly, watching as he rested on his haunches. Satoru’s other hand met your waistband, toying with the fabric for a moment before removing his hands all together.
The action caused you to raise your eyebrow, biting the inside of your cheek. “Satoru, are y—“
“‘M waiting until you take your pants off.” He said as if the answer was obvious. The man made a show of leaning back to sit on his ass, arms crossed infront of him.
Whether to show he meant business or to restraint himself was something you would never know nor care for seeing as you were currently groaning at his words. You knew your pants would be off in the end anyway, but something about him doing it would.. well, ease your nerves somehow? Who knows, you can’t find an excuse in the moment.
Especially not when the man is simply grinning at you, refusing to make a move until you listened to his request.
Knots formed in your stomach as you rose your bottom half off the couch a bit, thumbs hooking on your pants and panties and slowly tugging them down your legs.
About halfway Satoru was helping, clearly impatient despite the look he was giving you just a moment ago. He tossed the garments off to the side, turning back to spot your thighs closed tight together.
The man blinked in response, even laughing a little to himself as his hands rose to rest upon your knees. “You always look so expressionless while reading your little books..” Satoru spoke coyly, thumbs lowering to press into your heated skin. “Yet here you are; legs closed and barely looking at me.”
“I’m nervous, Satoru. You can’t blame me.” You spoke softly, blinking up at the male who only smiled back. You hissed as his hands fell to the side of your thighs, his fingers trailing the skin to allow you to get used to the feeling.
“There’s no need to be. It’s just me, sweetheart.. no one else,” His voice was calm, easing your mind just a little. His hands lowered to the underside of your legs the moment he noticed you sinking into the couch more, thumbs peeking through the tiny slit between your legs. “— just you and Satoru.” That was enough to allow him to ease your legs apart, revealing your slick slit and more as he widened them further.
You grew uncomfortable under his gaze, adjusting yourself as your hands balled up the shirt you wore. Your stomach leaped however the moment you watched him began to lower and situate himself between your legs, face hovering just a breath away from your wet heat.
You hissed as his breath fanned against you, shivering the moment you felt his thumbs lower to gently pull your folds. “Satoru..” You whimpered softly, gasping as you felt his lips graze your pussy.
“Just relax for me..” Satoru hummed softly against you, tongue lolling out to lick a stripe up your slit. His hands tightened against your legs the moment you twitched, keeping your hips down against the couch as his tongue continued to work up and down your cunt.
You’ve never felt something like this before, it was well… weird. It’s not as if you were unfamiliar with pleasure in general. You’ve touched yourself enough to know what does and doesn’t feel good, or what type of response you would receive from yourself.
But Satoru was.. territory you have never encountered before. It was different, far too different to get used to in the moment. You were unable to contain the soft breaths and moans that escaped you, eyes screwed shut and not daring to look at the man currently ravishing you with just his tongue.
It was as if he had already studied your body; tongue dancing across your slit for a moment before lapping at your clit, squeezing your legs the moment they began to rise from the attention. Hearing your rushed cries was pure bliss, soft breathy moans escaping his mouth as he refused to allow you to move away from the pleasure.
Your back was arched now, arousal dripping down to your taint and surely the couch as Satoru sucked and licked your little bud raw. Your toes were curling, legs shaking, and your breath became labored; eyes peeking open to spot his gaze settled onto your face— clearly happy the moment you looked at him.
Satoru’s hand rose from your thigh and allowed his thumb to replace his mouth; rubbing your clit into circles, watching you carefully. “So wet, baby.. you hear it don’t you?” The man went silent whilst his thumb sped up, allowing you to hear the soft squelches of your pussy over the heavy breaths that were escaping you.
You gripped your shirt harshly, whimpering as your legs threatened to close from the pleasure. “S—satoru.. fuck, fuck..” You hissed the moment he leaned down again, feeling his tongue replace his thumb and set a harsh pace against your clit again.
What’s more, you felt his hand low, finger circling your sopping entrance for a moment before slowly pushing the long digit in. You whimpered at the sudden intrusion, but recovered quickly given the continued sucks and licks on your bud.
“Sato—satoru, fuck..!” You cried out, hands lowering to his fluffy white hair, taking the tresses between your fingers for something to hold. Your legs shook, bouncing about and threatening to close as his tongue sped up, while his finger slowly pushed in and out of your opening.
Your stomach was tense, grip tight, and mouth loose with moans as your orgasm hit you far too quickly; a beautiful string of sounds escaping you, as your legs shook around him. Satoru groaned into your sopping sex, gripping your leg as his actions never let up; carrying you through your orgasm effortlessly.
Little tears pricked at your eyes as pants escaped you and with shaky legs you were gripping his hair, pulling him away from your pussy quickly.
“Need to.. breath, Satoru.” You huffed softly, mouth hanging open and whining as you felt his finger slowly slide out of you. Through hazy vision you took in his beautiful features; spotting the red flushing his pale skin and the absolute mess of saliva and your essence coating the lower half of his face.
Satoru smiled up at you with low eyelids, circling the inside of your thigh with his thumb. “Breathe.” He hummed to you, rising up from between your legs to hover above you. The moment your eyes rose to meet his own, his head was lowering to plant a wet kiss to your cheek. “You don’t know how pretty you look like this, [Name].”
The warmth from both his actions and words were burning you up, your eyes shutting and not daring to look at him as a soft whine escaped you. You heard the man chuckle at you, feeling his hand gently squeeze your thigh.
“So shy..” Satoru teased, hand lowering to glide his fingers up and down your messy slit, paying extra attention to your bud with each pass. His eyes lowered as he spotted your legs widening, smile deepening in response. “You want more, huh? You want my mouth on this pretty pussy again, don’t you?”
The vulgar language had you whining, hips rising as soft pleas escaped you. This was enough for the man; slinking back to his previous position all while pushing at your thigh again.
His tongue moved up and down, side to side; reaching places that erupted feeling after feeling within you. Your mouth became raw from how loud you were becoming, arousal pooling under you as your grip never loosened on his hair.
Satoru’s breathing was heavy against you, tongue lowering to your hole and slowly pushing in; fucking you with the slimy appendage while working circles into your bud with his fingers. Despite these expert actions his eyes never left your face, feeling his cock strain within the confinements of his clothes.
Everything about you was addictive at this point. The moans you tried to cover, the way you absolutely refused to look at him, hell; even the twitches of your legs when the pleasure became too much. Satoru could only focus on you and nothing else. Especially not some dumb book that couldn’t make you feel half as good as he was right now.
Satoru’s tongue rose to allow his long digits to push into your awaiting entrance. The man hissed as your velvety walls clamped around them, using his thumb to circle your clit while he rose. “Can barely move my fingers, princess— you have to relax for me.”
You slowly nodded, a subtle pout forming as your hips rose. “‘M trying Satoru..” You huffed softly, eyes threatening to close as you felt his fingers pull back before pushing back in slowly. The pressure and pain dissipated the more you settled into the couch, pleasure even forming the moment his fingers curled. A moan escaped you shortly after, watching his grin widen.
“Good girl, that’s it..” He spoke sweetly. Yet his eyebrows furrowed the moment you closed your eyes, hand rising from your thigh take your cheeks in his hand— turning you forward again. “Mm.. don’t do that, lemme see you. Don’t look away.”
With how easily he was ruining you with his fingers, the task was difficult— but you obeyed; hands falling to his shoulders to hold tightly.
Your hips shook, rising to meet the thrusts of his fingers as a continuous honeyed melody fell from your swollen lips. Praises escaped the man above you as he felt your walls pulse rapidly, his thrusts increasing the moment your moans began to pitch.
“Fuck..! Satoru, I’m close!”
Your whimpers went unheeded, his pace quickening as he leaned down to press his lips against your neck. Your hips rose in the air for the last time as a prolonged moan escaped you, making a mess all over his hand.
This time Satoru pulled his hand away, allowing you to regain your breath while kissing your skin. Your grip loosened upon his body, eyelids falling shut as your pants slowed carefully.
A silence carried in the room until Satoru leaned down, resting his forehead against your own as he spoke;
“Do you know the difference now, [Name]?”
Regaining your breath, your hand rose to smooth across his neat undercut.
“Yeah, yeah I do..”
COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !
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Second Chances
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Pairing | Emmett x reader
Summary | Emmett takes advantage of your kindness and hospitality.
Warnings | Smut, 18+, non con, emotional manipulation, praise, guilt tripping, very large age gap, painful sex, first time, breeding, crying, bro has hella trauma fr.
Words | 2.5 k
Notes | Direct result of my Emmett brain rot (Also two fics in one day??🫣)
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
“Here you go.” You smiled, handing the steaming mug to him.
“Thanks.” His voice was quiet as he took it from you and held it in his lap.
“What’s your name?” You asked, sitting down next to him, hoping you weren’t intruding too much. He paused for a moment, seemingly debating if he actually wanted to make conversation with you and give you “personal” information about himself.
“Emmett.” He finally said.
You gave him your name and watched as his eyes dragged down your body, taking in every inch of you. With a blush, you cleared your throat and looked away for a moment to gather your thoughts. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? Are you warm enough?” He looked over you again with a neutral expression that made you squirm a little.
“Actually I’m still a little cold. Is there anywhere I could go that’s inside?”
“Oh- yes! Of course.” You said quickly as you got to your feet. “My parents will be out of the house for another couple of hours so you can use some extra blankets and maybe lay down on the couch for a while.” You smiled. He didn’t return the expression as he stood up and followed you for a couple minutes until you finally walked up a porch to the front door.
“Okay, let me just grab another blanket and then I’ll start the fire place as well.” You ran off to retrieve a blanket and when you came back, he was sitting on the couch looking around the room.
He gave you a small “thank you” after you handed him the blanket and you could feel his eyes on you as you walked forward, then kneeled down in front of the fireplace. “You live here with your parents?” He suddenly asked, almost startling you.
“Yeah. Since there’s three of us, we got our own place. A lot of other people had to share.” He hummed in acknowledgment and you finished up with starting the fire before turning around to face him, finding his eyes already on you. “Can I get you anything else?”
“This is more than enough.” He said softly.
“Okay… Well, I’ll let you rest. If you’re hungry I can try to make something?” You offered with a kind smile.
“Actually I’d rather talk with you.”
“Oh-” You said, eyes widening in surprise— He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would want to make small talk with a stranger. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to someone like this.” You hesitantly got up and sat down next to him on the couch.
“Like what?” You asked curiously.
“So loud… and about things other than survival.” His voice was still quiet, but this time there was a bit of a solemn undertone to it.
“Oh.” You bit your lip, trying to think of what to say, but not really knowing how to approach this. “You never… had anyone to talk to about normal stuff? Surely it wasn’t all survival.” You can’t even imagine what he must have experienced. When he suddenly looked away and clenched his jaw, you realized that you might’ve over stepped. “I’m sorry, that was— I shouldn't have pried…”
“It’s fine. I had a family, but they’re gone now.” He still wasn’t looking at you. Taking one last sip from the mug, he leaned forward, then placed it on the coffee table.
“God, I- I’m so sorry.” You said quietly.
“It’s silly, but… I miss being able to hug them— to hug people.” He finally looked at you again, this time with a sad smile. “I remember the last time I felt someone’s touch… 11 weeks ago.” That must have been when his family died…
“Would you like a hug?” You offered nervously, hoping you weren’t too bold again. He studied you for another moment before nodding.
“That would be really nice.” Once you had his approval, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around him, letting him do the same even though his wet clothes were starting to dampen yours. He let out a quiet breath and relaxed into the embrace. “Thank you… I’ve been so lonely.” He whispered, making you frown.
“You won’t have to be anymore. The people here are very kind, you’ll make plenty of friends.”
“I can tell.” His voice was a little amused now and he pulled back just enough to look at you. “If it’s not too much trouble… could I hug you a little more?”
“Of course.” You said instantly, then let out a startled sound when he lifted you onto his lap so you were straddling his thighs. You thought he meant more as in for a longer period of time, not.. this…
“Thank you.” He said again, pulling you closer and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You were stiff for a few seconds, still trying to process this new development, but finally you relaxed into him and hugged him a little tighter. “I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.” He whispered against your neck.
“To hug?” You wondered, trying to understand.
“Yes. But also the gentle touch of a woman.” A blush took over your face and you cleared your throat awkwardly. “You know, my wife… I was with her when she passed.” He said quietly. You were already dreading where this was going, not sure you could handle learning about any more of the pain he’s suffered since the start of everything. “I had a really hard time understanding and accepting this… but she said she wanted me to move on. To be happy again.” One of his arms stayed wrapped around your upper body, but the other moved a little lower, pulling you closer so your hips were also flush with his.
“Emmett…” You said quietly, trying to pull away, but he just tightened his grip and you finally felt the bulge pressed up against your heat. You tried not to gasp at the realization.
“Shh… It’s okay. I just— You look so much like her…” You had no idea what to say. You’ve never been in a position like this before. “I’m sorry.” He suddenly pulled away and you stared down at him in confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve this. Not after everything I’ve done— everything I didn’t do.” Your lips parted, but no words could come out for a moment.
“You deserve feeling safe and cared for. Everything you had to do was for the sake of staying alive.” At least you assumed it was. Honestly you have no idea what he’s done. “And it’s not your fault— what happened to your family. You did everything you could.” You said softly and he started shaking his head. “Yes. You can’t blame yourself, Emmett. Maybe that’s why your wife said that to you before she passed… because she knew how much you’d struggle with it.”
“You remind me of her so much.” He said through a choked sob, making you freeze. You had no idea he’d get so emotional. Not knowing what else to do, you just pulled him back into the hug and held him tightly. “That’s exactly the kind of response she would’ve given.” He croaked. In response, you just hugged him even tighter.
“It’s okay…” You whispered. “I’m so sorry, Emmett. No one deserves to go through what you have.”
“It hurts.” He cried, making your heart ache for him.
“Tell me what you need. How can I help?” You said quickly, not wanting to see him like this any longer.
“Can I— can I kiss you?”
“What?!” You choked out, making him pull back to look at you. The tear tracks on his cheeks were far less than what you thought they’d be, but maybe they just wiped off on your dress.
“Please. I miss her so much and… god you look exactly like her.” He whispered, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek.
“I…” You’ve never kissed anyone before. Are you really about to give it away to a stranger you just met less than an hour ago? “Emmett…”
“I know I don’t deserve it— I know. But I just… it hurts so bad, I can’t take it.” He all but whimpered, making your hesitant expression melt into something softer and more sympathetic.
“…I’ve never kissed anyone before.” You admitted quietly and you swore his eyes darkened, but it was too hard to really tell.
“I know I’m asking far too much of you— I know I don’t deserve your kindness,”
“Stop saying things like that.” You frowned. “You deserve kindness, you deserve to feel loved, just like everyone else.” He stared at you for a moment, his eyes still glossy with tears, then he was suddenly leaning forward and capturing your lips in a kiss. You let out a muffled sound of surprise and brought your hands to his chest, trying to push him away. In response, he snaked his hand around your head to grasp your hair, holding you still as he moaned quietly.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled against your lips. You let out another startled sound when he suddenly threw you off of him so you were laying on your back on the couch. Before you could move away, he was crawling over you, kissing you again as his hands roamed your body.
“Emmett-” You tried to say as you continued pushing his chest, but he was too strong. “Stop!”
“I know.” He panted before snaking his hand down your stomach all the way to the apex of your thighs. He slipped under your dress easily and roughly cupped your sex, making you whimper.
“Emmett, please stop.”
“I will. I will— I just need this. I haven’t been with a woman in so long…” He whispered. “I promise I’ll be fast.”
“Please don’t,” You whimpered, already feeling tears brimming in your eyes.
“I know. I’m sorry.” His hand suddenly left your body to open his pants and free his cock, then he was pulling your panties to the side and lining up.
“Please! I- I’m a..” You sobbed, trying anything to get this to stop.
“I’ll be gentle.” He promised, then faltered and added, “At least… I’ll try to be.” When you felt the head of his cock drag through your folds, your body went completely rigid.
“Please! Emmett, please don’t,” You cried, still trying to push him away.
“Shh…” The blunt head of his cock was against your entrance now, pushing as hard as possible, trying to fit inside you. When he finally breached your opening, his hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your shrill scream. “Oh— fuck… I'm not gonna last.” He moaned loudly, letting his head drop down for a moment. The tears in your eyes were finally falling and you sobbed almost violently behind his hand. Your crying only got worse though when he continued pushing in.
“Almost there.” He whispered and you let out an anguished sob in response. It felt like you were being ripped open as he continued pushing deeper, a lot farther than what you could comfortably take. “Good girl… Just a little more.” Your body was trembling from the pain and you started clawing at him, trying anything to get this to stop. But he was undeterred. When he finally bottomed out, he let out a low groan that was overshadowed by your cry of pain.
“I know… I’m sorry. Fuck, you feel so good. Just like how she felt.” He whispered. “I think she’d be happy that it’s you.” He gave you a small smile, then slowly pulled out until only the tip was inside before forcing it back in.
“Please!” You cried, the word coming out muffled from behind his hand.
“God- your cunt is so good.” He groaned, picking up the pace, making you cry harder.
“Stop! Please…” You whimpered brokenly.
“I know, baby. I’m almost done, I promise.” He said breathily. You tried kicking your legs, thrashing under him, pushing him away, but he was too strong. “Just a little longer, you’re doing so good.” He removed his hand, but before you could scream, he was kissing you again. This time, he shoved his tongue passed your parted lips, licking into your mouth in a desperate, almost feral manner. That, along with the fact that you couldn’t focus on this kiss because of how hard you were crying, made it incredibly messy and sloppy and wet.
He snapped his hips into you, chasing his orgasm as he kissed you like he’d never be able to kiss anyone ever again, making it feel like you could barely breathe. Mostly because of the kiss, but also because of how overwhelming the pain of the stretch was. He continued kissing you and his facial hair felt scratchy against face, only furthering your discomfort.
“I’m close.” He whispered against your lips. At least it was almost over. “I haven’t filled up a cunt in over a year.” He practically growled, making you stiffen again.
“N-no… Emmett, please don’t. Please pull out.” You begged desperately, trying to speak coherently through all of the crying.
“I thought you said I deserve this? That I deserve to finally be happy after everything.” He frowned, making you falter.
“I didn’t mean… this.” You choked out, not sure what else to say.
“I know…” He said quietly, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I’ll try to pull out.”
“Emmett, please. You have to,” He leaned down and cut you off with another kiss as his thrusts became even rougher.
“You’re such a good girl…” He murmured against your lips, breathing heavily as he neared his release. “So good. I’m gonna make you mine. I’ll take care of you, just like I took care of her. But we’ll be safe this time...” You shook your head, unable to do anything else. “No monsters, no illness— It’s gonna be perfect. We’ll even have some boys, yeah?”
“No,” You sobbed, quickly feeling defeated. You couldn’t stop this no matter how hard you tried. “Please, Emmett… I just turned 18, I- I can’t…” He moaned quietly when you said that.
“Shh. Yes you can. I’ll help you, baby, we’ll do it together.” You shook your head in disagreement as you continued to cry. “Fuck,” He choked out, eyes closing again. “Ready?”
“No— no, Emmett… please. Please pull out!” You yelled, making him curse under his breath. With one final groan, he forced his cock all the way in, pushing up against your cervix uncomfortably.
“Oh, good girl.” He moaned, lazily rutting into you as he rode out his high. “So fucking good. So tight… milking every fucking drop.” He said proudly, making you cry harder at the verbal reminder that he just came inside you.
“Emmett…” You whimpered, feeling his cock twitch inside you.
“Thank you.” He said through a breath. “Thank you so much.” He almost sounded like he was about to cry in relief and that made you falter. This man has been alone for weeks, just haunted by the memories of his family with no real outlet or source of comfort. So when someone finally offered him some… he jumped at the chance immediately. You probably would’ve done the same, had you lost your entire family.
“And I meant what I said. I’m going to keep you safe this time, I promise.” He said quietly, reaching down to feel where his cock was bulging your stomach— where a baby would be growing soon enough. “All of you.”
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Words Left Unsaid
jason todd x f!reader
ao3 link
summary: jason todd is your childhood best friend. he dies before his Words come in, the first words his soulmate will say to him, and you have to pick up the pieces.
tags: soulmate au, major character death (temporary), grief
rated mature | wc: 8.8k
a/n: so this monster of a story was based on an ask i sent to @jasonsmirrorball a while back (don’t read for spoilers). it pretty much took on a life of its own, and now here we are nearly 9k later. it does get pretty dark in its exploration of grief, so please take care of yourselves my lovelies.
Everyone’s born with Words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your Words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your Words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. You could meet your soulmate a hundred times and not know it, not until you’ve both grown into the people you need to be. The youngest person to get their Words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young. Or so the stories go. When you’re young, still poking at your loose front tooth with your tongue, it’s a story that comforts you. It’s the story you beg your parents for before bed every night. It’s the carrot they use to get you to try new things and go new places. What if you meet your soulmate at the new movie theatre downtown? How do you know eating your veggies won’t develop you into who your soulmate needs you to be?
It’s what your mother uses to try and coax you out of the car for your first day at a new school. She’s driven you to school for your first day, a one off so she can finish up your admittance paperwork. In this moment you hate her for it. It’s February and the year is more than halfway over. The snow has melted into dirty grey slush in the streets and the pinching Mary Janes the school mandates as part of the uniform are going to provide no protection. It’s halfway through the year and you’re certain no one is going to be your friend at a new school in a new city. You’re twelve years old and to you this is the end of the world. You’re trying so hard not to cry, hugging yourself together and burying your chin in your chest.
“Come on, honey, this is a school. It’ll help you become who you need to be.”
Your mother’s voice is cajoling, trying to coax you out the same way she coaxed a stray cat into her arms. It worked on the cat, now named Haley after the comet, but it doesn’t work on you. She tries to catch your eye in the rear view mirror but you stubbornly turn your head to look out the window instead.
“Please. Work with me here. We’ll go in together, you’ll have a wonderful day and make so many friends. And after school, I’ll take you out for donuts and you can tell me all about it before your Dad gets home.”
You keep silent, continue to stare out the window at all the other kids walking into the building.
“Honey, please. Can you just do this one thing for me, please.”
She’s almost begging now, and you hate the way it makes her sound. You want to tell her how scared you are, how there’s nothing more you want to do except huddle under your covers in your unfamiliar bed and hold Haley close. But your fear is a hot ball in your chest, choking off any words that might come out. You look at her though, plead with her with your eyes to understand how much you don’t want to do this. She stares back at you, an exhausted slump to her shoulders and lines around her eyes you don’t remember being there. Slowly, you unwrap your arms from around your rib cage. Place a hand on each knobbly knee and slowly curl them into fists before nodding, once, sharply, eyes firmly fixed on the car seat in front of you. Your eyes burn, but the sigh of relief your mother heaves out is worth it.
Gotham Academy is housed in a collection of gothic stone buildings which should have been strange in a large city like Gotham but weirdly works. You just think it’s creepy. Head down, you follow your mother’s back weaving through the crowds of students. You don’t want to see the stares, but you can already feel them boring into you. Sitting in the secretary’s office, you pick at invisible lint on your knitted tights. You know your mother’s having a conversation with the secretary but it all flies over your head in shushing murmurs. Your back aches from the overstuffed chair. The Mary Janes do pinch, makes you worried that you’ve already twisted your ankles from the way they throb.
“I’ve got to get to work now sweet pea, but I just now you’re going to have a great first day. I’ll pick you up at 4:00 and we can go get those donuts okay?”
Your mother’s crouched down in front of you, eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. She looks worried and that’s what causes you to crack. You fling yourself out of the chair and into her arms, allow yourself one great heaving sob into her shoulder. She strokes your hair and hushes you, squeezes you tight like she could make you part of her.
“Oh honey. Everything’s scary right now but I promise it’s not going to stay that way. I believe in you and you’re going to get through this.”
You draw back from her, scrub at your face with your fists. Heaving breaths don’t help but they don’t make it worse. You go with the secretary, new schedule twisted tight in your hands. She lets you discard your coat and backpack in a locker, before walking you to your new homeroom. You only hope that you’ll remember the locker combination.
You hate the way your new homeroom teacher makes you stand at the front of the room. Mr. Mulligan won’t let you sit down until you introduce yourself to the class, a thing he could have done so easily himself. Pulling at your sleeves and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, you stutter out a few basic facts. Hate the way you can feel the other students catalogue you, the way your hair doesn’t look shiny and straight like its fresh out of a salon, your too small shoes, the unfashionably long length of your skirt and the lack of designer accessories. Your cheeks and eyes are burning by the time you can slide down into your assigned seat near the back of the class. There’s only one other person sitting in your row, a boy with dark curling hair and a shy grin. He leans over to your desk just Mr. Mulligan starts the lecture.
Whispers, “Hi! My name’s Jason. I already know your name, figured if we’re going to be seat mates its only fair you know mine.”
You smile tightly and turn back to the lesson. You’re desperate not to miss anything, already feeling like you’ve been left behind. At your old school, you were in the middle of The Great Gatsby, but Gotham Academy is doing Romeo and Juliet for their seventh grade English class. You don’t have the play book, have no idea what part of the text they’re talking about, and this is the first time you’ve actually heard Shakespeare read out loud. Writing as fast you can, you try to keep up but it doesn’t matter how good your notes are if you don’t understand what the teacher’s talking about.
Usually you love English class, how uncovering symbolism and hidden meanings make you feel like you’re uncovering secret messages sent by the authors years in the past. Now it’s all going over your head and you hate it here so much already. The one class that you might have been looking forward to and you’re overwhelmed by it. You press too hard with your pencil, tear through the sheet of paper in front of you.
A notebook slides across your desk. Messy but legible writing on the first few scenes of the Act are written on it. Looking in the direction it came from, you make eye contact with Jason. He grins toothily before turning back to the front, Mr. Mulligan having moved on to a different quotation. The gesture makes your chest tight.
The rest of the class goes by uneventfully if still a challenge. There’s a short break between classes in which you frantically copy down the notes and slide the notebook back to him before your next teacher arrives. The next class isn’t so bad, still difficult and you’ve never liked math as much as you probably should, but it’s less intimidating than English. Someone must have fiddled with the thermostat during the break because the room feels colder than before. You wish you were on your old school’s schedule with shorter classes and more breaks. Sitting still for so long at your desk is making your back ache and cramp up. Math is almost over, Miss Lewis writing out the assigned homework on the board, when a wave of something comes over you. It’s an effort of will not to curl up on your desk.
The bell rings for lunch break and you just about bolt to the first bathroom you can find. Something’s wrong with you, more than just nerves over the first day. You’re cold but you’re sweating, nausea burning at the back of your throat. The ache in your back and stomach are almost unbearable, makes you want to curl into the fetal position to ward off invisible blows. Rolling down your tights in a hurry, you sit down on the cold toilet as fast as you can. Your hand is wet, and for a moment you worry that you’d lost control of your bladder on the way to the bathroom. But the stain on your hand is dark, matches the blood slick crotch of your panties. You hang your head and can feel the tears you’ve been holding onto all morning drop onto the floor. Just another thing you can’t control in this shitty new town and its stupid new school. Your first period.
The bathroom is cold, hard tile under your feet and wintery sunlight weak through the windows near the ceiling. The blood on your fingers is cold and tacky now. There’s a boundary here, between childhood and being an adult that you aren’t ready to cross yet. I want my mom, you think, only on the edge of hysteria. But she’s at work, wouldn’t be able to come if you called.
So you do what needs to be done, stop your tears as best as you can and sniffle. Wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and do your best to dab at your underwear with the single ply toilet paper. Layer sheets of toilet paper between your tights and underwear, build a makeshift pad in your sort-of dry underwear out of toilet paper and hope that it will hold up. Luckily you’ve escaped staining the regulation uniform skirt, so no one should be able to tell what happened. You get transfixed by the swirls of blood washing down the sink drain, hands gone numb under the stream of water. Splash cold water on your face in the vain hope it’ll calm down your puffy eyes. As ready as you can be in this situation, you eye yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to get moving before the bell for third period rings.
The boy from the back row is waiting outside the classroom for you. He looks nervous until he sees you, lights up with that shy smile again.
“Hi! I uh noticed you weren’t at lunch today so I grabbed you an apple in case you didn’t grab anything to eat.”
He’s babbling on about the cafeteria food not being that bad if you’d just try it, even though finding a table the first time can be rough. All you can do is stare at the apple in his hands, transfixed. You’re only shaken out of your stupor by the sound of him calling your name.
“So… are you going to take it? The bell’s going to ring soon and the teachers really don’t like us eating during class.”
“Thank you,” you say, genuinely shocked and touched.
He goes a little bashful at that, looks away as you take the apple from him. The apple’s good, sweet and crisp under your teeth. You make quick work of it in the hallway, finishing it up just as the bell rings. Jason stands right in front of you the whole time, hides you from the penetrating eyes of your classmates.
“All done? We should probably find our seats now. Monty,” and here he adopts a snooty British accent, “Archibald the Third is a real stickler for being on time. He’ll mark you late if you’re not sitting in your seat, even if you’re in the classroom.”
His impression makes you snicker and forget, just for a moment, how miserable you are. Mr. Archibald the Third is just as ridiculous as Jason’s impression of him predicted, but you get through it by making eye contact with Jason over the most ridiculous moments. Mr. Archibald really does have you call him “the Third”. It’s probably got something to do with his Words, a flowing script running vertically down the side of his face reading, “The Third, dear God how many of you are there?”. History with Mr. Archibald manages to be fun despite his absurd demeanor and your own private hurt seeming less terrible for a few scattered moments.
The final class of the day drags on, the pain in your front and back growing. Your hand moves across the page but your mind isn’t really paying attention. There’s a commotion as people gather their things and stand, already streaming out the door. You blink, stupefied, then slowly gather your things.
“Same time, same place tomorrow then?”
“—Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Jason.”
Your mother’s waiting for you in front of the school, car idling puffs of smoke into the darkening afternoon. Your backpack lands in the back seat and you crush your face into her coat across the console. Her hands come to your back, patting and rubbing circles until your breath comes in long, even draws.
“Honey I’m so proud of you. Your first day done! Let’s go celebrate, hmm? How was it? Did you make any new friends?”
“Can we get the donuts to go? I— uh, um I— I might have started my period today?”
Your voice lifts on the end of the sentence, suddenly absurdly worried about her reaction. You needn’t have worried though.
“Oh sweet pea, on your first day too? We can go home, get you a bath and something for your cramps.”
“No, I just really want to go get donuts with you because today kind of sucked and I’ll still feel kinda shitty but at least then I get donuts while I feel bad.”
“No more swearing and we’ll get a whole box to go, okay?”
Lying in bed that night, wrapped around a hot water bottle with Haley on your feet, you think that your day wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse, and Jason was surprisingly nice. You stare at the shiny patch of skin on your wrist and hope that one day it will all be worth it. You drift off to the thought of blue eyes.
For the rest of that week you join Jason at his corner in the cafeteria. Between Math and History you slowly start to get to know one another. He offers to let you borrow his notes for the upcoming test in English, gets a little sheepish when he mentions that he practically knows the content by heart anyway. Jason’s sweet and funny and by Friday you two are the best of friends.
Once your mother is confident that you can handle the commute to school on your own, she doesn’t mind if you’re home late as long as you send a text first. Something about socializing with more kids your age being good for you, not that you’re listening too distracted in the haze of victory. So the two of you hang out after school, the city your shared playground. Jason treats you to your first chili dog and laughs when you get some on your nose. In revenge, you dare him to cover his lunch in chili oil at lunch the next day. The way Mr. Archibald threatens you both with detention for being disruptive is so worth it.
It’s not until the middle of April that you get the courage to ask Jason why you. Why out of everyone in the school he chose to reach out to the new kid and make her his friend. It’s probably the most personal thing you’ve asked him yet.
“It’s ‘cause no one else would’ve. Most of the kids here, their families founded Gotham and they’re not keen on outsiders. Most of the scholarship kids, they start at the same time, form a group so the rich kids don’t pick on them so much.” He pauses here, has to look away before he goes on. “Most of the others don’t like me ‘cause I don’t really fit into either category, you know? Like my dad’s a big name in Gotham but he only just adopted me so I’m not really one the rich kids but he’s doing more than just paying my school fees. You looked just as lonely as I was,” here he turns to grin, “and I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to make someone carry my lunch tray.”
“Hey, idiot, if I remember right it was you bringing me lunch the first time.” You shove at him indignantly, but he dodges too quickly for you.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t remember, on account of me being an idiot.” He flicks you on the tip of the nose and goes running.
And then it’s on. You chase him around the park, laughing and swearing to get your revenge on him. The two of you collapse breathlessly onto a mostly dry patch of dirt under a skeletal tree. Staring up at the sky and trying to catch your breath, you feel Jason nudge at your should beside you.
“So what about you? What brought you to the happiest place on earth?”
“My dad got headhunted for a promotion. He’s researching something for Wayne Industries and all of us had to move here for it. So mom gets a new job and I get transferred to a new school.” You sit up suddenly, look down at Jason lying in the grass. “Promise not to tell anyone?” You wait for him to nod first before continuing. “I only got into Gotham Academy because of my dad. I heard him and my mom arguing about it; he made it part of his contract that I’d get to go to school there if he accepted the job.”
“So? I’m only at GA because of my dad too. You think a kid from Crime Alley gets to go to private school without a little nepotism?”
You slump back down on to the grass, stretch a hand out to the sky and look up at it.
“To nepotism I guess.”
A hand reaches up to the sky next to yours. Slowly, ever so slowly he reaches a pinky out and links it with yours.
“To two misfits only here because of nepotism.”
School lets out in June, the city air ridiculously hot and humid. You can’t say that you’ve made any good friends outside of Jason, but there’s some girls you say hello to in the halls. You mourn not being able to see Jason everyday, but the plans you have to meet up are enough to soothe the ache.
He takes you to an arcade first, the two of you spending hours trying to beat each other at Pac Man. Tired but happy you split a basket of fries at the attached cafeteria. You’re enjoying the greasy fried goodness of the snack but you notice Jason isn’t reaching for the basket as quickly as you are. Looking over at him, you notice him staring at a pair of brothers playing a game. The younger whoops, jumps up and down in excitement. The older one ruffles his brother’s hair and challenges him to a new round. You toss a fry in Jason’s direction, surprised when he actually manages to catch it.
“You good?”
“—Yeah. It’s just, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it? But I kind of have an older brother and he was supposed to take me to the arcade last weekend but he got in a fight with Dad and just left.”
“That’s a real dick move, ditching you over his issues.” At that, Jason breaks out in hysterical laughter, almost choking on the fry in his mouth. There are tears in his eyes by the time he stops coughing but he looks slightly less like a kicked puppy.
“It really, really was. You don’t know how much it was.”
Happy that the mood has lifted, the two of you finish off the basket of fries. You challenge Jason to Dance Dance Revolution and he wipes the floor with you. He’s way more athletic than you’d expected from him. The two of you part ways happy, already planning your next hang out. It is enough.
You meet up almost every week that summer. Jason shows you the Gotham he knows, little hidden gems only locals know about. A movie theatre that only shows movies made before 1980, a diner with the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, the best places in the public library to read undisturbed. Teaches you about the safest places to evacuate when disaster hits, which parts of the city are most dangerous. The park and its chili dog stand quickly become a favourite for you, a place to just hang out without any responsibilities. It also becomes a kind of confessional of sorts, where you end up telling each other your worst fears and secret hopes.
You confess once, after riding out your first Rogue attack with your fingers buried in Jason’s T-shirt, that you’re worried you’ll never feel at home again. That you can never go back now to your old house and feel at home there now, but that Gotham still feels too alien to be called home yet. Your darkest fear, that you’ll end up alone one day, deserted by everyone that you know and love. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day. That the big brother he looks up to will never start to like him. Every time the two of you bare your souls to each other, Jason will hook his pinky over yours and squeeze. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better.
Your last year of middle school is largely uneventful. You got to classes, have lunch with Jason, hang out after class with Jason, text Jason. You get into a routine and that brings you comfort. There’s a slight period of awkwardness right before the 8th grade formal. A weird tension envelopes you both, the nebulous question of if you’re going together hanging over you. You don’t like it, the way Jason seems almost hesitant in all your conversations these days. It sets your teeth to itching and you can’t stand it anymore.
Slamming down your textbook, you say “Okay that’s it. I can’t stand whatever this is. You and I are going to the formal as friends. We’ll get all dressed up and if it’s lame we can ditch and go get Batburgers.”
“Oh thank God. I didn’t want to say anything in case it made it awkward but then it was just getting more awkward and then I just didn’t know what to do.”
The party is lame, but the burgers make up for it. Your dress is nice though. Your mother helped you pick it out, the fitted bodice and loose swing of the skirt making you feel passably pretty. It’s been hard to feel pretty with the way your body’s changed over the year, hips widening and chest starting to grow in ways you can’t predict. Jason cleans up nice, though whoever slicked back his hair went overboard on the gel. You pose for a picture all dressed up together, faces pulled into silly expressions, your burgers held in front of you like trophies. You pin a copy of the photo up in your bedroom. It makes you smile every time you see it, something warm in your chest.
The first day of high school brings back those first day jitters. You’re not even transferring schools, just switching to a different building and still your palms are sweating. It’s not until you see Jason, sitting in the back row with an empty seat behind him that you can release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s different teachers and different subjects, but in some ways it’s like the day you met again. Scribbling notes until your hands cramp, Jason passing you notes in class, struggling to keep up with what the teachers are saying. At lunch, you and Jason even split an apple between you. It’s terrifying and familiar and all the more bearable because you aren’t going through it alone.
High school is different. Everyone’s more aware of each other in ways they weren’t in middle school. Girls wear brighter lip glosses and flaunt the shiny spaces where their marks will come in. Boys douse themselves in too much body spray and start eyeing up anything that moves. But through out it all, your friendship remains the same. Something about high school solidifies things, has you go from You and Jason to YouandJason. At school you’re a unit, almost impossible to think of you as separate beings. After school, you still spend time together, still explore the city, still message all the time. But you’ve still never been to each other’s houses. Never met each other’s families yet.
Jason offers, once, to have you over to the manor during the winter break, but you’re not keen on it. Crinkle up your nose and ask to think about it.
“It’s not that I don’t want to see you over the holiday, or meet your family Jason. It’s just that I kind of like the way things are? My family knows that you’re my best friend, they’ve seen pictures of us, but the way things are now, you’re still entirely mine. Our friendship’s just for us. Meeting your family kind of changes that.”
“I like us being us. But would it really be that different to come hang out for a few hours? You could come over when Dad’s out and it’d just be me and Alfred.”
Eventually you agree, spend an afternoon with Jason at the manor to cram for your next round of tests. Mr. Pennyworth is lovely, keeps bringing snacks up to the library as an excuse to check up on you. Bent over your books, you miss the significant looks Alfred is sending Jason over your head and the blush that lights up his face in response. Mr. Wayne is thankfully not home. You’re not sure you could have handled meeting Jason’s grandfather and father in the same visit.
Jason makes it over to your apartment a few times over the spring semester. Your father’s always working, but your mother likes him well enough. She makes him stay over for dinner, won’t let him leave without feeding him first. She calls him a nice boy and tells him to come back any time. Still, you two prefer going out to coffee shops or the library to hang out, uninterrupted by well-meaning adults.
It’s on one of those summer nights, the two of you some of the last people in the public library, that the subject of your Words comes up. The skin across your left wrist catches the warm light of the lamps in a way that’s distracting. You’re startled by the feeling of fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin.
“You ever wonder it about it sometimes? What it’ll say or who’ll say it?” The tone is unreadable but Jason’s voice is above the whisper he usually uses in the library, but with so few people around you figure there’s no harm in mimicking his volume.
“I used to. I was obsessed with Words when I was little. Couldn’t go to sleep without hearing about them as a bed time story.”
“Used to?” And Jason’s fingers are still there, drawing maddening little patterns across the thin skin of your wrist.
“Well, I’ve got other things to think about now, things that are actually within my control.”
Jason presses down, gently, with the broad of his thumb on your pulse. You snatch back your wrist, cradle it to your chest, uncertain of how intimate that gesture felt.
“Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, now you’ve gotta show me yours.” Your tone is teasing, trying to capture the earlier lightness of the afternoon.
“Oh I do, do I?”
He reaches for the top button on his uniform button down, starts undoing two more. Horrified, you reach across the table and grab at his hands.
“What are you doing?! You can’t just go around stripping in public!” Your hissed whisper may not have been said at all for all the impact it makes. Jason shakes off your hands and goes back to undoing his shirt.
“Not all of us are blessed with easily accessible Words. Relax, I just have to get the shirt wide enough to show how far the Words will go.”
Across his collarbone is a thin strip of shiny skin, reaching from one side of his neck to the other like a necklace. Whatever it will say looks pretty lengthy for someone’s Words. Mesmerized, you reach out to trace it with your fingertips. Jason shifts back before you can make contact.
“Gotta buy me dinner first sweetheart. I’m a classy lady like that.”
You flush at the term of endearment, but cover it with indignation.
“Hey! What do you call the tacos I bought for us yesterday?”
He laughs it off and the tense moment is broken. You pack up your things, smiling at the ground. You like the way sweetheart sounds coming from Jason, not that you’d give him that to tease you with. Despite how much you tell each other, there’s one secret you haven’t told him yet. That privately you hope your Words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason, or at least what passes for love at this age. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.
You don’t see Jason much after that, that summer. Your texts and calls still get answered, but he’s frustratingly vague about meeting up. He says that his dad has him in a kind of summer school, wants him to learn from private tutors before school starts up in the Fall again. Asking about what it is that he’s supposed to learn (his marks are already incredibly good) makes him cagey about it. You don’t want to push, but it feels like he’s pulling away from you. Phone calls get shorter, sentences more clipped. Your offers to just drop by the manor to see him get turned down automatically. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you’ve met. You’re terrified that he’s done with you. That for some unnameable reason he’s decided to end your years of friendship and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gotham seems colder without Jason at your side, the dangers more obvious and your usual haunts less welcoming.
Finally, after nearly two months you manage to pin him down, get him to agree to meet the day after his birthday. Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for him on a bench in the park. There’s a trickle of sweat running down your back. It’s a hot day but the park is a lush green, an after effect from an Ivy attack the night before. You release your grip on your present for Jason, smooth the envelope and hope you didn’t crease it with your sweaty fingers. A voice is calling your name.
Jason’s been changed by the weeks apart. He’s a few inches taller now, filled out in the shoulders more. You have to crane your neck back to see his face. The anxiety in you is reflected in his face, the way he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, his darting eyes. Uncertain how to proceed, you thrust the envelope out between you.
“Happy Birthday.”
“I— thank you.”
There’s silence again, and the awkwardness between you is a tangible thing. It’s worse than it was in eighth grade only this time you don’t know how to bridge the gap. You look down at your shoes, the toes scuffed.
“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” It comes out of him in a rush. “I’ve been a really shitty friend lately. Just, all summer my dad’s been on me about studying with these private tutors except they’re all friends with Dick so nothing I do can ever be good enough in comparison and every day I’ve felt like crap but I didn’t want you to see me like this which only made me feel worse ‘cause then I basically had to avoid you all the time which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do and all I wanted to do was have you tell me there’s nothing wrong with me and they can all go kick dirt but then I’d have to talk to you about it which I wasn’t ‘cause I was already embarrassed.” He has to pause here to catch his breath, words running together at the speed which he was going.
“You planning to breathe any time soon?”
He deflates, collapses onto the bench next to you, an arm tucked around his right side awkwardly holding the card so it doesn’t get crushed. You sigh, heavily.
“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” Your confession is barely above a whisper. You can’t even look at him as you say it.
“I didn’t— I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I never, ever don’t want to be your friend okay? I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”
“Promise not to cut me out again and that you won’t take out your own issues on our friendship, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”
“Pinky promise.”
Jason places the card in his lap, goes to link your fingers together, then winces at the movement of his arm. Suddenly sirens are going off in your brain.
“What’s wrong with your side?”
“Nothing, must have just pulled a muscle or something.” He tries to laugh it off nervously, but you can tell when he’s lying. His eyes dart to the left over your head, knee bounces almost imperceptibly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know he’s not telling you the truth.
“You can’t even go a full minute without cutting me out! Jason, I know something is wrong. Now tell me.”
He hesitates, and you’ve had it with the lies and the avoidance and the being kept in the dark. You fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you start tugging.
“Hey! Wh-what are you doing?”
He tries to squirm away, batting at your hands but you get his shirt up far enough to see the bruise on his ribs in the shape of a boot. It’s purple going a sickly yellow, mottled and stark against the dips of his ribs. You can feel all the blood drain from your face. Jason’s pushed up against the far side of the bench, pulling his shirt down with shaking hands.
“Jason. Jason if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone. If it's your dad or one of the tutors, we can find someone to tell together.”
“No one— no one’s hurting me, all right? I just didn’t get out of the way fast enough during a Rogue attack. I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all. No one’s abusing me, okay?”
“But you’d tell me if they were?”
“I tell you everything important.”
It’s not enough, not nearly for you. From the look in his eyes Jason knows this too, but its all he’s willing to give. There’s a crossroads in your relationship here, a road where you push and push until you get the full story but shatter the tattered strands of your friendship or you accept that you’ll never have all of Jason but maybe your friendship will survive. So you do what needs to be done.
“Okay. If you say that’s what happened then I trust you.”
It’s a low blow, to twist your trust in him like a knife, but it’s your only way to express your frustration with him. You gesture to the envelope, fishing around to change the subject.
“So you going to open that or what?”
And just like that, there’s a new normal. You see Jason everyday in class but he begs off your after school hangouts as often as you two actually spend time together. Conversation is stilted, hidden undercurrents to them of subjects neither one of you wants to address. You’re wary, suspicious of every bump and bruise Jason shows up with. The ease to your friendship has gone, disappeared to the realm of the past.
At the end of October, Jason becomes obsessed with the news. Keeps checking headlines and obituaries, fearful like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death of Felipe Garzonas makes the news and the tension in Jason ratchets up. He’s irritable, stops paying attention in classes, blows up when you try to feel out what’s wrong. He’s apologetic every time, promises it won’t happen again until you eventually stop trying to ask questions. Hope that your presence is enough to steady him through whatever it is that is tormenting him.
He asks you once, if you’d believe in his word, no matter what the evidence of something told you otherwise. You tell him you would, always, but that answer doesn’t seem to make a difference.
Winter break comes and goes, without an invitation to visit this time. If anything, Jason comes back more irritable and closed lipped. Mutters something about a fight over Christmas dinner, his brother and Bruce clashing over something. You’re worried about him all the time now. He’s more reckless with himself, won’t look before crossing the road, reacts aggressively to every perceived challenge, throws things when he gets frustrated. He’s changing into someone you don’t recognize in front of your eyes.
April comes and there’s a new light in his eyes. It’s manic and hopeful and the first emotion you’ve seen in him other than fear in months. He won’t tell you what it is, just that there’s something new he’s found out, something about his mother. This time you hope, fingers crossed and a wish on every star that whatever has brought him this hope won’t hurt him.
On Monday, Jason doesn’t come to school. He doesn’t answer your messages or pick up any of your calls. Even when he’s been out sick he at least lets you know. On Tuesday you get called into the office in the middle of first period. You haven’t been back to the secretary’s office since the day you enrolled. The seats are still as overstuffed as you remember. The secretary is the same, a few more grey streaks in her perfectly set hair. Her eyes are red, and she’s got one of those old fashioned handkerchiefs in her hands.
“I’ve got some bad news honey, and I— I think it would be best if you sit down for it.”
“Oh— will this take long? Only I got pulled out of class and we’re reviewing for the exam next week.”
“Oh honey.” She has to pause to dab at her eyes before continuing. “You’re going to be excused from all exams next week, okay? I need you to know that the school will do whatever we can to support you through this.”
Now, now you are scared. “Support me through what? It’s not my mom is it?”
“Honey it’s Jason, Jason Todd. I’m so sorry but he passed away yesterday. I’ve contacted your parents and your mother is on the way to come pick you up.”
Her words don’t make any sense.
“But he can’t be. I saw him on Saturday. There’s been a mistake. He’s not dead.” Your legs don’t work anymore and you hit the couch, hard, sliding off the overstuffed pillows to kneel on the floor. You don’t feel any of it. There’s copper in your mouth, you must have bitten your tongue on the way down but you can’t feel it. There’s movement in your peripheries, and your mother crouches down into your field of vision.
“Mom, mom they made a mistake. She’s— she’s saying that Jason’s dead, but he can’t be. Mom he’s not dead.”
“Sweet pea, I’m so, so sorry. It’s been on the news all morning.”
It rips through you then, grief. Sobs shake your whole body, your mother doing her best to hold you together. There’s a roaring in your ears like you’re caught in a vacuum. You can’t see through the tears. Your body is trembling violently and you can’t care enough to try and stop it. Nothing matters anymore. Jason’s dead.
To get to the car, your mother has to half carry you. There’s no point in moving. You’re not sure how you end up in your bed at home but you do. You don’t sleep but you aren’t really awake either. The tears don’t stop coming. You’re nothing but an open wound, not even really a whole person. The world’s burned down to ash and you’re just floating through it. You know your parents come in to talk to you, can hear the murmur of their voices but you don’t care. There’s food put in front of you but it holds no interest to you. You might have had sips of water, maybe some broth but you don’t remember and you don’t care. The only thing you really register is Haley, nestling up to you and making biscuits with his paws in your blankets.
Jason’s funeral is on Friday and you can’t get out of bed to go. Jason’s not in that coffin, not really. He won’t be there and so you won’t be. Jason’s never coming home. Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead plays on a loop. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death has ripped you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving, of going anywhere. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave?
Grief swallows you whole, but over time you learn to live with it. Days blur together. The tears dry up but the not caring doesn’t. Inside of your head is a wall, separating you from the reality of a world without Jason. You’re wrapped in wool and safe behind glass, unable to care about anything. It’s easier that way.
The school passes you for the year, citing personal tragedy, and you don’t care. Summer comes and the only difference is that your mother comes in and throws your windows open every morning. It’s Jason’s birthday soon, too soon. He’ll never be sixteen but you will be. He’ll never have his Words come in. He’ll never get the chance to do all the things he talked about, make Gotham a better place, travel the world. But you can.
It makes no sense to live for a dead boy but it’s all you’ve got. So you do what you have to do. It gets you to leave your bed for the first time in months. To start eating again, even if there’s no taste to the food in your mouth. To shower and take care of yourself for the first time in ages. Your room is clean for the first time in months and the first thing you do is take down your photograph from the 8th grade formal and put it away in a desk drawer.
By September, you have gathered yourself enough to return to school despite the worried looks of your family. It is hard, the hardest thing you have ever done but you do it for the boy that will never graduate high school. You sit by yourself at your desk, you eat lunch by yourself, you go straight home after class without any detours. The school play this year is Romeo and Juliet. You take home the sign up flyer and consider it, hard. In the end you decide to leave it. Jason may have always wanted to try out for the play but you won’t survive torturing yourself with this. On opening night you tell your parents you’re going to see it and get drunk on the gymnasium roof.
You make it through your last two years of high school a ghost. Administration tries to pressure you into meeting with a therapist but you refuse. You don’t want to experience your grief at all. Numbness is the only way you are going to survive this, your new reality. You do take them up on their suggestion of volunteering. Working with the Martha Wayne Foundation for Underprivileged Children gives you a sense of purpose. Of helping other Crime Alley kids without the benefit of nepotism to get them into places like Gotham Academy. It stokes the first emotion in you other than numbness, and that’s rage for all the ways in which these kids have been failed.
You accept a full scholarship to Gotham University. Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your achievement but you can barely muster the energy to smile. Keep up the volunteer work while rushing through your degree in two years instead of four. With nothing else to drive you, you’ve got nothing but time for school. The Martha Wayne Foundation offers you a position in fundraising, and you accept. It’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but it’s a path forward with purpose.
You move out, into your own apartment in an area that’s probably too dangerous for a girl of your age but you can’t stand to be at home anymore. The job consumes your life and you are grateful for it. It’s important work, even if some of the policy meetings on accepting donations from the Red Hood make you want to fall asleep. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. It’s ridiculous but the higher ups trot you out to entertain at fundraising events, a pretty young face to pull in more donors. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. The numbness carries you through your life but there are limits to it and you’re not eager to test them.
Even five years later, you can’t go back to the park. You’ve never had another chili dog, though you’ll hire the vendor to cater community events. You’ve worked your way back into the public library, but still avoid the alcove on the second floor in the encyclopedia section. There’s a handful of arcade tokens in a plastic bag in your apartment still unused. Batburger is still your favourite, but you still can’t set foot in the location nearest to the Academy.
You keep yourself so busy that when your Words come in, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. Carry on with the rest of your morning routine and head into the office. From that point on, your sleeves are always long and your gala outfits gain elbow length opera gloves. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.
It’s a cold February morning. The bus broke down two stops from the office and now you have to walk the rest of the way in the snow. Standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, you pass the time by scanning the headlines on the nearest newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. Picking your bag up out of the slush, you run into the nearest bodega bathroom and lock the door with trembling hands. Shove a fist into your mouth and scream as the tears pour down your face. You’re shaking, worse than you were all those years ago. Snot blocks your nose and you have to stop screaming to breathe. So you do what needs to be done. Fumbling with your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and call the office, call out sick. It’s the only time you’ve done it in all the time your supervisor has known you but the tremor in your voice and frequent sniffles must alarm her enough.
In a fog, you somehow make it from the bodega bathroom to the front gate of Wayne manor. It doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since your last visit over five years ago, except for the heaving mass of press. You circle round the property and enter through the bushes, the way Jason showed you years ago on a tour of the property. You slip on the snow, fall to your knees but get back up. This is the only thing that matters now. The back door has an elaborate knocker that takes both of your hands to lift. It takes what feels like ages for someone to answer the door. It’s poor Mr. Pennyworth, looking more ruffled than you’ve ever seen him. You’re indescribably rude to the poor man, pushing right past him and into the building. Only one thing matters now and your vision has narrowed out anything outside of achieving your goal.
There’s voices coming from somewhere inside, up the stairs and in the direction of the library. A hand, probably Mr. Pennyworth’s, tries to grab at your wrist but you’re too quick for that. You’re running now, clutching at the bannister as though it will pull you up the stairs faster. A shout from behind and the tone of the voices change, a door slamming in the distance. Finally, finally you reach the library but a body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time.
Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Dick, I presume? You don’t know me, and I’ve heard very little about you from Jason and what I did hear I didn’t like. I’m going to make this simple.” The door behind him cracks open, but you soldier on anyway. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason.
Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. He’s alive and he’s real and you can touch him. You draw back to look at him, drink in the sharpened angle of his jaw, the blue-green of his eyes, the white streak in his hair. He’s grown taller and broader than he had over that wretched summer so many years ago. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones exposed by the v of his t-shirt. Jason Todd was my best friend and first love, it reads.
“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you felt the same.” He says and your wrist starts to burn.
#jason todd x you#jason todd x reader#jason todd x fem!reader#red hood x you#red hood x reader#jason todd fic#jason todd imagine#jason todd#soulmate au#tw grief#sunnie writes 🌻
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Just like how botw had small details telling us the probable ‘canonical’ route Link took (aka Zora, Rito, Goron, and then Gerudo), totk has something similar. I’m sure all players noticed that the newspapers will feature one region that is meant to direct Link to go aid the people there. First is Rito, next is Goron, third is Zora, and last is Gerudo. BUT! They also added something else.
Zelda’s role in the story. Namely, her interactions with Tulin, Yunobo, King Dorephan, and Riju. Annnnnnddd Link’s reactions to her!
Tulin’s interaction with her is one meant to confuse players: Zelda was in the past, but Tulin saw her? So she’s here in the present and we’re chasing after her. Sounds a lot like Skyward Sword, okay (which was released on the switch last year, so anyone who didn’t play it back in 2012 had another chance to). It confuses Link, but spurs him to become a journalist ? Cool, I’m here for it. I did journalism for 4 years, I’m sure Link can do it too!
Then, for Yunobo, he actively speaks to Zelda, we see her figure, and Link will actively gasp whenever we see her. He has a genuine reaction to her presence, because he’s surprised, but then we see pink gloom glow in the mask that Zelda have Yunobo and it makes him freak out land turn against Link. That’s when we start to put together that maybe Zelda is being controlled? Or she’s NOT Zelda, just as Yunobo begins to theorize but can’t quite wrap his head around it.
Next, we have King Dorephan who is actually attacked by Zelda and is injured to the point that he decides to hide from his people as to not create more chaos in this time. He chooses to give Zelda the benefit of the doubt here— he could have easily had his people turn against Hyrule and all Hylians because of Zelda’s actions. But he doesn’t! Because it simply doesn’t make sense. And by the end of the quest, Sidon comes to the conclusion that the Zelda in the past and the Zelda in the present are NOT the same.
And we see that thought truly stick with Link in a cutscene in Gerudo. After defending Kara Kara Bazaar, Zelda appears and Riju calls out for her. There is no gasp from Link like with Yunobo’s story, instead he watches Zelda with a slightly narrowed gaze and does not stop watching where she was last seen until Riju directly addresses him. They actively show the players that Link is suspicious, but he is still so very dedicated.
And it happens again, in the center of the light triangle. Zelda appears and Link begins to walk toward her, but there is no intake of breath, no shock at seeing her… instead he slowly walks until Riju calls out for him.
After Link finishes each phenomenon, going to Lookout Landing gives the players a clue in how Link is reacting. Specifically, if you speak to Buliara before going to see Purah, she says something along the lines of “Purah is up on the top deck, but don’t miss a wrung in your haste to get up there.”
Link is expected to rush. Because everyone is muttering about a figure that MIGHT be Zelda. At the castle. Right. Then. And. There.
Link GASPS when he first looks into the scope— Purah doesn’t even say it’s Zelda, not before Link sees for himself. It’s seeing her, clear as day, and even if Link KNOWS it’s not her… there’s still that seed of doubt that lives in his mind. And then at the castle, Link does twist and turn whenever he hears Zelda. He rushes after her every. Single. Time. She disappears. Despite that he knows it isn’t her, he can’t give up. He can’t. It’s quite literally not in his DNA. He sees it through; he needs to make sure it isn’t her. And it’s all a trap, one he walks right into, because he just HAS to see that it isn’t her.
And if you want to say “but Ash… this is just a recap of the storyline in the present.. not small details” let us just remember that Link’s driving motivation in this game is to find Zelda and bring her home. So many people just ignore these little moments or miss them completely.
And I’ll be damned if I don’t talk about link’s gasps or his twists and turns or his micro expressions that tell us so much about how he is feeling.
#I’m so exhausted someone please yell at me to sleep#I can’t wait to find Mineru#for a totk replay is truly good for the soul#loz tears of the kingdom spoilers#loz totk spoilers#loz totk#totk spoilers#totk zelda#totk link#totk sages#totk zelink#zelink#botw zelink#the legend of zelda
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Can I request a San x Female Reader where It's her first time having sex and first time having an orgasmn. So San makes her squirt over and over before fuckin her. But at the end she notices blood and freaks out so he comforts her? Very smutty and fluffy please?
-AA
Im too embarrassed
dearest AA, “very smutty”, “very fluffy” and “too embarrassed” don’t co-exist in my universe, so i hope with this fic i could get some of your shame (?) away, babes <33 indulge in your desires and don’t hesitate to revisit me anytime !!! thank you for being my first requester xoxo
ʟᴇᴛ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ! | choi san x fem!reader
“Don't go around calling me baby right now, or I'll turn like the San in your dream.”
𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : Your boyfriend is a wet dream, but this only goes so far, when your real dream leaves you confused and most importantly, curious. San is more than happy to help.
“How does an orgasm feel like, Sannie?”
𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : fluff (slice of life-ish), smut
𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 10k
𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : 1st time, sex with communication, first orgasm, foreplay, explicit consent, fingering, squirting, protected (!) penetrative sex, bleeding, after-care; san is a great boyfriend, san has a big dick, that is actually important to the plot, established relationship, living together, a lot of sweet pet-names, teasing, domestic humour
𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : LMAO i’ll be honest i got carried away with the build-up (pls know this abt me; i’m a WHORE for build-up (sorry not sorry)) but if you want to jump to the spicy part immediately, go find the second border, the smut will start there!! enjoy in any way you want !!! <33 feedback would be greatly appreciated xoxo
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“Good night, Y/N. Dream of me~”, your boyfriend lulls, as you’re cuddled into his breast, San’s sturdy arm cushioning your body from below, stroking your head that’s under his. He just finished talking about his lucid dreaming recently, fascinated that he can remember more details now, but you interrupted his talking, when he iterated a fight to you where he got his nose bleeding.
“I don’t have to dream of you when you’re the dream already, Sannie,” you whisper, and with a giggle, he kisses your forehead. San has warned you about calling him ‘dream boyfriend’ multiple times, since he’s aways got, quote, “things to improve on”, but since it’s not dream husband yet, you’re left with no other description.
“Ohh, sugarplum,” he coos and and pushes your face deeper into the crook of his neck, “don’t say that.”
San is a special case in every which way; in the way he’s this buff guy with guns for arms that he uses to keep you warm when you sleep — in the way San is has the energy of a bull that he stashes away to sing his girlfriend a lullaby — in the way that the Choi San who has dated so many women in his past and hooked up with them (with no ill feelings in the present, of course) has settled down with you, Y/N, a woman with no prior experience other than the media she has consumed.
So you keep telling it yourself in secret. San is, and will forever be, a dream boyfriend. He’s as good to you as you are seemingly to him, but course the topic of sex, at least the lack thereof, crosses you two’s conversations from time to time.
It’s not like you had tried to save yourself for something, really not. It just… didn’t sound appealing to you, ever. You’ve shared to San that you don’t even masturbate that often, since you’ve never been able to get a satisfactory end— an orgasm— out of it. And while other men would laugh about such a thing, San has shown you nothing but understanding and support.
When you feel sorry for not being able to meet his sexual needs, he tells you he’s happy enough that you feel comfortable to share your discomforts with you. There is not one cell of his body that would mutate and judge you, San is fully devoted to your well-being.
What you forget sometimes is that while San is your first boyfriend, it’s your first time being a girlfriend, too. So being sorry for San is one thing, but wanting to love San more is another. At least you realised that this morning, when you woke up from your first ever wet dream.
You have been able to just ‘shake it off’ during the day and not think about it, but after San, being your soulmate he is, came up with the topic of “lucid dreaming”, and you could barely listen to his wild stories because of how distracted you were.
Maybe that’s why San thought you were tired and cuddled you to slumber so soon. Him cuddling you and getting your head under his chin is you two’s usual sleeping position, but well, huh… You’re not tired, not at all.
“I mean it,” you choke out, San humming, touched by your compliment, but of course he doesn’t know that by saying he’s a dream,you’re also referencing to how his hands were touching your private areas all around, his mouth in places that it’s never been in before in real life. ‘Tastes so good…’
“I love you so much, Y/N,” San exhales delightfully, fed by your fuzzy feelings, still caressing your head with gentle fingers, “but you know that I want you to hold me accountable.”
“Saaannie,” you murmur, your breath turning into a hot patch on his shirt, “just take it as it is.”
San notices your slightly agitated tone and chuckles, kissing your forehead again. “Y/N, my sugar-pie, what’s bothering you?” There has been no doubt in you that San wouldn’t catch on that you’re being weird, and though you’re really glad he did, it, for some reason, doesn’t make the topic any more easier.
“It’s—“, you begin to stammer, and with your struggle comes San’s immediate help. He shuffles back a little bit so he can take an analytical look at you, all blushed and worked up over a dream you can’t even remember the half of. San’s eyes are droopy, and while right now, it’s because he’s tired, in your dream, it was because he wanted to ‘eat you up…’
“It’s too embarrassing to explain.”
San gets the arm away from below and leans his head against his hand, propping himself up. “Embarrassing?”, he asks and pouts with a slight smile, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks. “Is it an embarrassing matter or just you who’s soooo easy to embarrass, huh?”, San grins and taps your nose one time with his finger to loosen you up, looking you straight in the eyes to give you all his attention. He’s showing to you that you, dearest, could never be embarrassing to him. Everything you do, he’ll take serious and anything you say, San will listen to it, as he’s shown you over and over again, reaffirming it to you every day and night.
‘I’m going to show you my love, all of it.’
San sees you licking your lips and putting your words together in your overwhelmed brain. You’re not nervous of how San will react, that is for sure, it’s just that… Where do you start? ‘Hey, boyfriend, I think I want to have sex with you?’ That does get the message across, but the words have to leave your mouth first.
It’s hard. You don’t think you’ve ever said the word, ‘sex’ in the context of… actually having it, let alone desiring it. San watches you spiral— starting to inhale, but then losing your words— and strokes over your head, humming “Just start with the basic outline—“
“I had sex with you in my dream.”
San stops stroking your head for a hot second and you two are just looking into each other’s eyes. San notices now how red you have become, how flushed you look, what a cute girlfriend you are for being embarrassed about this and shit, how lucky he is that you’re his and not anybody else’s girlfriend who you are so adorable playing with your hair right after you just dropped the “s-bomb” on him.
You don’t know what’s worse: Him, waiting for you to continue your talking before he can react to your … attention-grabbing introductory sentence, or you, not having anything to follow up. He probably expects you to tell your dream, but— but not in front of San himself, no! You’re quiet and continue to be, until he takes it upon himself to break the silence.
“… Did you wake up?”
Huh?
“What? Of course I woke up, I’m here now.”
“No, sweetie,” San wheezes softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, while you finally let your eyes stray away (his gaze is unbearable), “I’m asking whether you got to see the end of it.”
“The—“, you parrot him, and while you do San smiles sheepishly, apparently finding you so endearing while you are in mutilation, a foreign warmth growing in your stomach, “— end?”
“I just don’t want to scare you, Y/N,” San hums and twirls your hair around on his finger. “This is me asking where your head is in this situation.”
You blink and San pushes his lips out to indicate that he’s waiting for an answer, or at least something to give him to know if you’re in need of consolation or advice. “Uhm,” you inhale, “I… saw almost everything, I guess.”
His reaction could mean a lot. The dimple in his cheek getting deeper, his nose crunch, him sucking in his lip — it could mean a lot, but also so little.
“Almost everything,” San re-confirms, you know that this description is still very vague.
Gathering your shards of confidence, you murmur, “I mean… We saw each other naked often, so I think that’s why my brain could— do that, but when it came to that, it… You know. It surprised me.”
“That,” San repeats and by now, he definitely understands the superficial parts of your dream, but you have yet to drop any details. Was the dream a good one? Or well, was he good?
As expected, he wouldn’t dare to ask you that right now, looking at how you’re stammering awkwardly. You can still read it in his eyes though; his curiosity is asking you whether your dream has changed your attitude about sex, let it be for the better or worse.
You know San is going to show understanding regardless, right?
Yes, absolutely right.
“Y/N, sugar, we can talk about this tomorrow or any other day you like. I’ll keep it in mind, if that’s what you want.”
Maybe you should say something before San thinks the dream has made you negatively speechless. Well, it did make you speechless the whole day, but now, you’re almost bursting with the things you want to say, like they’re brewing inside you but not getting flavourful yet.
“No, Sannie,” you whine and put your hand on your eyes to hide yourself from his way-too sincere eyes. This isn’t how people do it in the movies or in the books. They usually just… get it on, no? Like they eat each other up, like it’s a necessity for survival, like eating to meet hunger, like quenching your thirst. You don’t know if this is a feeling like that. Whether the uncomfortable warmth inside you is truly the embarrassment but rather the reaction of your memories. ‘Let yourself be all over me.’
“Yes, sweetie,” San croons, removing his hand from your head to leave you by yourself even more, your palms resting on your eye sockets.
You love him. You’ve never doubted this, and you’re not doubting it now. From the moment he confessed his love to you, you having to get used to the idea of being in a relationship to now, almost a year later. You’ve mentioned it to him haphazardly already, but you’ve done everything except have sex. It had been San’s idea to ease you into the twosome-ness of it all; ‘let’s be each other’s person’. He said that in your dream, too, and finally you understood it.
You remember your long-lived confusion before today too well. San was your person as you were his, him with his own set of needs and expectations, you with your own — but weren’t they contradictory? San needed the sex, didn’t he? Like… sexual needs?
No, “sex isn’t a need”, San explained to you back then, “it’s a way!“
You tried to bring up the whole concept of orgasming being healthy to him, but he continued with “to me,” and you are reciting these words in your head as you try to think of something good to say, “sex is just one of many ways to love you, Y/N.”
So, truth be told, despite having a virgin girlfriend, he orgasms a healthy amount still. Sometimes San does it while you’re sleeping next to him, sometimes he feels like he can’t resist to look at your peaceful, tranquil, breathtaking face and does it in the bathroom, but essentially, he is not having sex, just getting rid of his ‘bodily mishaps’.
While you thought of sex as this strange way to get rid of stress, San thought of it as something way more, but he wouldn’t try to convince you of it, if you didn’t give him your “okay” to talk about it at all.
But here you are. Okay. You’re finally ready. Or maybe you’re not, but you’re ready to try, try with San, try San. He’ll be your person, get to know where you like to be touched, get to know where your sweet spots are and you will hopefully do just the same— touch, no, lick, no, touch, lick and suck everywhere he wants, pour your yourself over him. You’ve wanted to find out how to do that since you’ve dreamt of it since last night, processing the brain-sensation it has left you with for the whole day.
“Do you think you want to tell me about your dream first?“
“Can you kiss me?”
“H- huh?”
You get your hands from your eyes and your vision is too blurry to precisely get the picture of his rather shaken expression in. San thinks you’re bold. Mostly because that’s what you are right now. Bold. Still embarrassed, but encouraged and desperate. “Can you kiss me?”, you ask again before you fall into another pile of self-embarrassment.
“I can, but I don’t know how it’s going to help—“
You pull his face closer to yours with both of your hands and San is the one who slightly turns red now. “Y/N,” he pants, and you have to suppress a cheeky smile, when you push his cheeks together to form a duck-face.
Until you notice he’s not being sulky with the way he’s trying to push you away.
It takes you a while, how would you know that it was so easy to get men erected? Okay, you’ve seen San get a boner in the most uncomfortable situations several occasions, but usually they weren’t because of a direct cause.
If he had worn a baggier set of pants, you probably wouldn’t have seen it, but it’s only his shorts today, and the whole outline of it is almost jumping into your face, you couldn’t have not seen it. Not remarking it also wouldn’t have helped the situation. Your situation. ‘I won’t stop, I won’t stop fucking you all night.’
“Is that why you don’t wanna kiss me, Sannie?”, you murmur and flutter with your eye-lids, once your realise you’ve been staring for too long down there.
In contrast the voyeuristic scene, it strangely does not become one of those erotic moments; with San’s whiny chuckle, it actually becomes kind of … bonny. Him getting a hard-on, when his girlfriend is quite figuratively trying to open up with him, it becomes a small detail to poke fun at, one to laugh about it with an amiable awareness that you’re not mocking each other.
“I’m sorry— ignore this— I can ignore this,” San tells you and flops on his back, grabbing all of the blanket to roll around it and leaving you cold with less. “Hey!”, you pout and grab the seam of the blanket to get under it, but San gets ahold of your wrists to prevent you from cuddling to his side.
Maybe it’s because there’s nothing else occupying San’s mind and body right now, with you knowing it, or the way you can’t keep your hands off of him and he’s desperately trying to avoid your touch, it seems like a short game of cat-and-mouse.
“I don’t care that you’re hard, Sannie!”, you whine and search for his vicinity, but he wiggles away, forcing you to be a bit more assertive and wring with him.
“But I do!”, he exclaims, not really understanding the weight that your words hold. You just told him that you’re not appalled by his erection, that should be a big sign that you’re, uh, up for conversation, no? Why are you being like this? Maybe to keep up the tension? Because it’s fun? Fun playing around with San— to watch him try to use as little strength as possible, knowing that once he gets just the tiniest bit of muscle in, you’ll be overthrown?
“Sannie,” you make a sullen face, breathing out, at your third try to get your arms around him with San’s hands on your wrist, but when you get caught in the blanket with your leg that he keeps pulling, it’s over the second he yanks you to the side.
Yanking you to the side meaning pulling you by your whole body— you landing on his belly, arms awkwardly angled towards your torso, leaning into his face.
“You men”, you theatrically moan to tease him even more and San is fighting with all his inner voices right now. Most of them are just empty screams of ‘what is happening?!’, but also muscle memory persuading him to wrap his arms around your perfect waist and pin you down— he’s trying, that’s what he’s yearning to tell you by pushing his eyebrows down. “I’m sorry.”
“Ohh, Sannie,” you sigh, letting your head drop on top of his breast, crossing your fingers into San’s, while he manages his breathing.
“This is why I’m no dream man, Y/N,” San pouts, feeling guilty having used his power over you.
“It’s natural, isn’t it?”, you answer — letting your hands fall to each side of San’s body, and you feel like one of those people that usually tell you the same thing when the fact that you’re a virgin slips off your tongue. ‘It’s natural, isn’t it? That couples have sex?’ It should be and it’s going to be, thank you.
“I’m sorry, it’s just… I was really not prepared for that,” San wheezes and he raises one of your intertwined hands to touch your fingers with his lips.
“What? The cuddling or the dream?”
“The cuddling, in the context of the dream,” he answers honestly and inhales your sleepy scent from your fingertips, feeling how comfortable you lay on top of him.
“It was a good dream,” you conclude.
This was what San was trying to find out. Good or bad. And to his luck, it was good. Very good. ‘Such a good girl… So good to me.’
“Y/N?”
You accidentally zoned out, re-imagining your reverie; San all over you, sweat dripping down from his skin onto yours, his pelvis pistoning into your raised legs. How had your brain come up with that? It felt so… real. “Sorry, I got lost there for a second. What did you say?”
“How was he, that San in your dream?”
“The San in my dream, he,” you chuckle, feeling your breathing accumulate to your boyfriend’s, “… did everything, but he wasn’t careful, no.”
“What?!”, San exclaims, and it seems like he’s offended by his alter-ego to dare such a thing— he lets go off your hands in the shock and grabs you by your shoulders. “Not careful?!”
“Hmm,” you try and calm him down, letting your hands glide onto his pillowy breasts, massaging your fingers into his flesh by circling them, “he was inside… But a bit… Too fast for my liking? I mean, I don’t know my liking… I was enjoying it in my dream, but— uhm, I don’t think I could handle so much right now?”
San hums, as in to show that he heard what you said, but it took him a second of you burying your hands inside his armpits to inhale, “wait, right now?”, and remove his hands from your shoulders.
“Sannie,” you murmur with closed eyes, the buzzing feeling inside your lower abdomen swaying you to something like slumber, but if you’re not mistaken— and you’re sure that you can’t be mistaken about your own thoughts— it’s not a slumber that can be cured by sleep, but rather something else, “I couldn’t think of anything else today.”
He’s silent. He’s still breathing— thank goodness— but even though you can hear his breath leave his mouth, it doesn’t seem like San is going to say something. Pushing your upper body up, you tilt your head down.
He’s silent, sweaty and breathing, breathing heavily, staring upwards at you with sunken eyes, unable to let any of his thoughts leave the safe space of his mouth, because if San did, he’d give himself trouble for it. Seeing you fix your gaze— eyelids droopy from having been smushed into his breast— seems to only be adding fuel to his loss of good sense, and San is praying in his head that you won’t lick your lips once more, because oh god, if you did, you are going to be in so much more trouble than he is.
“Baby?”, you ask, and you swear you’re not trying to provoke him, since you only call him baby in the most special occasions, but right now, it just slipped out of you because San is being a bit strange.
Boyfriends don’t act like this, do they? Your boyfriend doesn’t; that, you can be sure about.
“Sorry,” you correct yourself, hopefully to get rid of some of his— well, what was it— anxiousness?— no, frustration?, “I didn’t mean to say ‘baby’. It just slipped out.”
“N- no, Y/N, it’s not your fault, it’s mine,” San whines. “This may sound really weird, but while I would rather die than hurt you, sugar-pie,” he murmurs, avoiding your heavy gaze on him, “I am… a man. And I don’t know how comfortable you are with me, but I am fully, undeniably erected, Y/N. Don’t go around calling me baby right now, or I’ll turn like the San in your dream.”
“How does an orgasm feel like, Sannie?”, you ask, purposefully innocent, but still in a way that makes it obviously suggestive, your tone dropping in an octave from its initial high-tone embarrassment. Where is your sudden confidence coming from? You don’t know, but- uh- well, you’re kinda over San here, both mentally and physically, it seems like.
“It feels like…”, San sighs, both reminiscing his lifetime of orgasms and feeling pretty fucking awkward in general, to be explaining this to you, while his body is screaming for him to do anything but talking.
“… It feels like being washed over by refreshing water on a hot summer day, after easing yourself into it with small splashes.” San is no poet and he sees this by how you’re flexing your face together, trying hard to understand.
“It feels like…,” he starts again, and you can swear you are feeling something twitch underneath you, and it’s probably his hard erection. “… Orgasm feel like, wow… How do they feel like, they— Uh…”
Somewhere between his words, San is looking at the ceiling, letting his eyes wander around everywhere your body isn’t laying dangerously close to his throbbing genital, but having to tell you how orgasms feel like is just the end of his senses. Now it’s not only his body urging him on, his girlfriend is trying to find out how they feel like without having experienced one, ever.
“… They are worth it.”
He’s trying to be a good boyfriend, but up until now, he’s been used to being the boyfriend of a virgin girlfriend who didn’t want sex at the moment. And that was the end of it. Definitely more than manageable, more doable than … this.
“Do you think I can enjoy them too?”, you question, revealing to him the true nature of your curiosity.
You’ve confirmed the pulsation between your legs seconds ago, when San let out a whine from his mouth, that was definitely not intended to sound as sexual as it did. You’re a virgin, not dumb, you know what’s seductive, sultry and arousing. Oh, you’re aroused, alright, maybe for the first time in your life— and your boyfriend is, too, so if this puzzle isn’t going to be put together this night, there must be something wrong in the air.
“I can’t speak for you, sugarplum. It was your dream, Y/N.”
“I don’t know how we started, but we were here, on our bed, naked, and you were… thrusting into me with this… almost scary vigour, it was— It was rough. And that one, I didn’t enjoy. You looked mean, Sannie.”
“I’m sorry,” San pouts and he looks downwards to show how sorry he is, but also to focus on your words only. If he sees your sweet face describing those things one more time, then he’ll have to disappear into the toilet soon. “I would never treat you like that.”
You blink a couple of times and lick your lips. “How would you treat me?”
“I would,” San mutters, finally meeting your eyes again, while he slowly, but surely begins to prop himself up by angling his arms, getting to your face-level. “I would treat you with care, reverence—with tenderness; I would get every inch of your skin to understand how it feels to be seen and loved, I would—“, he pants, he’s unable to breathe through his nose, and he just keeps on talking, he…
“YN, I— I would do everything to get to make your body flourish with my love, to make your heart grow with all I have, I want to—“
He goes silent.
Yes, San is a man. But it’s strange to you how he blames being a man for his weakness, but if there is a strong suit that your boyfriend has over you, it’s not being so strong that he can pull you down in a second— it’s having the mind of a lover, and a lover who promises to protect everyone he loves with his strength, and not because he’s getting his own satisfying release out of it.
A man and a lover; San is also your boyfriend, who knows what to tell you to make you grow weak. Let’s say he doesn’t do it a lot for reasons that include wanting to protect you, but as you are on top of him, listening to his words from beneath you, his words melt like fizzled honey on your tummy, crumbling with them.
“I want you, Y/N. And that’s my selfish dream.”
Being pulled down by gravity as San’s upper body rises, down to his crotch, you let him work his silent ways. He pushes himself up the last inch that it takes to be under your face, and his skin radiates heat onto yours.
There is not even a centimetre separating you two and San finally finds his words. “Please”, he begs, his voice above a whisper, “let me be your dream, Y/N.”
“I thought we already went through that,” you chuckle, getting your arms on each of San’s shoulders now, “baby.”
You can see he’s enjoying this a little too much, the way San is thoroughly covering every inch of your skin with butterfly kisses, as he has you laying on your back, letting you rub your hands over his torso to get used to the ‘intimacy’-part of it all.
Getting naked was an easy process, being exposed to the very last skin on the other hand, not. You’ve never been naked in front of him for this specific occasion, and since he knows, San doesn’t dare to rush you into more touching than needed, allowing your underwear to wrap around your privates until he’s finished giving you goosebumps all over the body.
With his soft lips, San kisses your shoulders and collarbones, whispering words of comfort into them, while you try your best to not make any lewd sounds. You didn’t know they came naturally, you had thought it was acting but — oh, goodness — no.
“Sugar,” San sputters— rearranging himself over you, one knee between your legs, the other over your leg, “let ‘em out. Let the sounds out.”
You gulp, as he glides his hand across your stomach to your lower abdomen, slightly scratching the seam of your panties, and San has placed his lips at your jawline, his voice vibrating in your ear, peppering kisses around the corner of your neck, entrancing you to fall deeper into your mattress, sighing in the calming feeling of your boyfriend.
“Only because you wanna hear me,” you murmur and wrap your arms around his upper body, running your hands across his back muscles that ease into your touch. “And that’s a bad thing, because…?”, San hums and begins to get lower with his kisses and his thumbs caressing where your pantyliner meets your thighs, warming up the small patch of skin there.
“Hmm,” you breathe out, San’s lips working their way down your cleavage, “Good… point.”
San smirks and brings his hands up, not letting a second pass where he is not feeling you under his fingertips. “There is nothing more that I want to hear,” he murmurs, his eyes appearing to become a bit foggy from your scent, San becoming absolutely lost in it, “except you, my love.”
Your breath comes out stuttered and stroke his bangs away to the side in order to have a better view on his face above your breast. He’s radiant, but as much as he’s excited to be doing this, San will stop as soon anything leaves your mouth asking him to, he promised you. In your dream, San just kept going. That’s why you didn’t want to retell the story. He forced you around, he thrusted into you with no choice, and he wouldn’t stop, until your dream cut off without you having orgasmed once throughout the thing.
So the dream itself didn’t get you to want this, and San knows this, the curiosity did. Curiosity of reaching the edge that you missed in your sleep, which you think you can only reach with the real San, with your real boyfriend.
“Can I touch you here, sugar?”, San asks, his upper body hovering over your torso, lips approaching your face, hands gliding up by your waist to meet your ribs. He’s done a good job not staring at your exposed nipples, but following the way from your jawline, neck, and collarbones, this is the next area to appreciate.
“Yes, please,” you answer, cupping your boyfriend’s cheek with one hand, inviting him to kiss you softly. San encloses your breast with a hand that has up to no muscle tension in it, kindly allowing it to get used to the new, but warm contact.
His rosy lips meet yours and he presses several kisses on them, reminding you of how much familiarity you’re dealing with right now. You kiss San all of the time, for all the reasons you love him, and as he kisses you right now, at this sleepy midnight, he’s showing you why sexual intercourse is just a fancy term to describe something so complex, that it actually becomes simple. He loves you. That’s all he has to do to have or not have sex with you.
With his palm, San brushes over your nipple, and by wonder, it hardens and makes goosebumps run over your back.
“You look so beautiful,” San lulls, smooching your lips one more time before he can finally take a look at your breasts and gulp, lick his lips, and ask you, “may I?”
“You may.”
The last kiss lingers delicately on your opened lips, as San breathes in your breast, kneading and softening it up. Automatically, you exhale and run your fingers through his uncombed hair. He sucks once and twirls his tongue around your hardened nipple, and with your very valuable feedback, his other hand draws a long line across your curvature.
“Sannie... Baby…”, you whine, the slow, but sensual licking sending you down a sensation of being tickled and being caressed at the same time.
“Yes, pie?”, San grins, proud that he’s making you feel this way, no, that it’s him that is making you feel this way for the first time in your life. With each of your sweet sounds, his pride and ego grows and his lips lap around your nipples razzingly.
You tug at his hair and send him down deeper into your skin, slightly pushing him to get his head where you’ve found that you feel best, grabbing the fabric of the bedsheets under you with your other hand.
“It feels so good,” you whine, and San chuckles after seeing your grip, gliding his hand right between your ticklish fingers.
“Yeah?”, he coos and presses another kiss onto your mouth, adoring the way your eyebrows twitch inside according to his voice. “I’ll make you feel even better…”
San caresses the area under your boob, whispers into your ear, “Will you let me?”, and you nod, words inside your head turning into hazy exhales out of your mouth.
“You won’t regret it,” San chuckles and crosses his fingers into the surface of your hand, using your own hand to slowly, but surely slide down your stomach. You kind of get the idea of what he’s trying to do, but not really the image.
“You think I won’t regret it?”, you ask him, a bit anxious, — it’s your first time, after all— your soft skin under both of your fingertips becoming one, as he leads the hand down. “I don’t know so,” San admits, comforting you by kissing your forehead, “so I’m going to make you believe it, first.”
“Hm?”
San pushes his upper body up with the hand that has been at your breast and glides it behind your back, so he can get between you and the mattress, his naked upper body pressed against your shoulder. He plants an uncountable number of kisses onto your neck, and assists you down to your panties, keeping his eyes on you to confirm you’re okay with all that he’s doing.
You’ve never touched yourself on this bed. The last time you did was somewhere in your gleeful high-school teens, long before you met San, and if you’re honest, you’d rather have him touch you, but when San kisses you on the lips and both of your hands slide under the seam of your underwear. The rough fabric of the lace scrapes San’s hand and you meet the hot slickness you’ve become inside.
“Would you look at that,” San purrs, voice wispy— his finger is the only one to glide against your wet labia and explore the untouched lips. It helps that your hand is down there too, and it feels like a rubber hand illusion, you touching yourself while San does it for you.
“Y/N,” San moans into your ear, stirred by the sensation that is you. “You feel so good, don’t you, sugar?”
You inhale sharply, when San’s finger strokes over your clitoris, and straight away, your boyfriend presses kisses onto your temple. “S- Sannie,” you whine and provoked by your sounds, his finger circles around your clit again.
Sparks, tingles — you name it. With San kissing you all around the face to counteract the new stimulation, you can’t keep your legs straightened, folding your thighs around your and San’s arm with an overwhelmed sigh. “Sannie…”, you repeat yourself and look him in the eye.
“Aww, sugar,” San smiles and catches your forlorn gaze, flushed and drowned in his kisses. Your cheeks are burning red, but the same thing goes for San. Both of you are drunk in love, falling for each other deeper with every breath you take.
“Is this good?”, he asks and rubs your back with his thumb, the other finger teasing the slick entrance. “Y- yes,” you answer and San crunches his nose in admiration, slowly easing his finger around the tissue.
“Can you touch yourself for me?”, is San’s second question and you gulp at the sincerity in your boyfriend’s voice. He’s talking two octaves deeper, raspy, lascivious; he’s promiscuous in all he is doing, let it be nibbling at your earlobe, rubbing your clit, caressing your spine with utmost libertine care— you have a feeling you’re developing another crush for your boyfriend.
“Y- yes,” you stutter, but a bit anxious about doing something wrong. It feels so right when San does it, but he’s the more experienced one in this— at least that’s what you think. He removes his hand from the surface of yours and lets you do the rubbing for a short moment, and you try to replicate what he did to you, flicking your finger over your clitoris.
“Doing it so well,” San comments and he raises your upper body with his arm, making you sit up, slithering down while smothering your lower abdomen with sloppy kisses.
“R- really?”, you ask, and San nods, while kissing the inner sides of your thighs, his eyes looking at you sideways. “Of course. It’s your body, Y/N. Your beautiful, gorgeous body.”
As San gutters, you feel something swaying on your clit, when your boyfriend smirks and looks directly at your pussy. He’s so handsome, San is making you nervous, and his eyes are drilling into you lustfully.
“You’re so beautiful everywhere, sugar, what have I done to deserve this?”, he pants, hooking himself from under your thigh, hands resting on your hip bone.
You don’t know what to answer and just flutter with your eyelashes, exhaling, when San sticks his tongue out and slides across your slickness it in one stroke, looking up at you to catch your whiny reaction. He deserves all of it, not because he was patient enough to wait for it, but because San is the one to make you feel this pretty in the first place.
“It’s probably really predictable I was going to say this, but I can’t not say it, ” San gutters, his dimple dug deep into his cheek— he’s smiling, licking his lips, “you taste amazingly sweet, my love.”
You press your lips together and feel like you have to push San into your arousal again by his hair, combing through it. “D- do it again,” you beg, and San’s heart flutters. Not letting you wait, he inhales through his nose and laps his mouth around your glistening cunt. You already knew he was good with his tongue for you have french-kissed him before, but— but this is another type of tongue-work.
It’s slow, it’s sensual, but it still feels so exhilarating— how he’s sucking in your clitoris, laving over your muscled entrance that reacts to the movement of his tongue; it makes you breathe heavily and let out feathery moans.
“Feels so good,” you hush, and stroke his hair. San hums and at smiles with his eyes, getting one hand away from your leg to slowly run it towards your vagina.
“Are you really going to … make me cum?”, you ask, a bit plumply, both out of rush and nervousness.
“I would like to, yes,” San answers, kissing you all around the pelvis bone. His lips have become plump and his nose is also painted rosy red from how he planted his face into you. “Will you allow me to?”
“Please be careful,” you appeal and San nods. “Yes, Y/N. I promise I will never do anything to you that will hurt you. Not like that stupid… dream-San you talked about.”
You chuckle and caress his jawline with your thumb, San leaning his head into your hand. “I know you would never do that, Sannie,” you say and prop yourself with an elbow. “Please make me cum.”
San wants to say something, but he bites his lip and suppresses it, crawling closer to your throbbing, heated pussy. “What is it, baby?”, you ask him, and this time, you deliberatelywant to tease him by calling him that, winking slyly at him.
Your boyfriend blinks in disbelief and lets out a light-hearted scoff, his breathing comes in and out stuttered. “Y/N,” San hums, putting a leg over his shoulder and you feel like more air is hitting your wetness, “you have no… idea… what those words are doing to me.”
Your boyfriend gulps, and as you peek at him innocently, having to get used to the new position, he looks amazed and set ablaze. Is this your ‘aroused face’? You, with your lips parted ever-so soppily, looking sultry and lovable— San is savouring this sight, oh, this sight, and saving it into his brain so it will never leave his mind, add it to the collection of his memories of you.
“Show me,” you whisper, a fire starting to enflame in you, demanding San to extinguish it.
“There’s nothing else in the world I’d rather do,” San hums and with that sentence, he’s at your cunt again, but more eager this time. The tongue flicks faster over your clitoris, his pants are getting breathier against your skin— San wants you, wants all of you, and before you know it, there’s a thumb rubbing at the entrance, notifying you that he is going to be penetrating soon.
“I’ll make you come over and over,” San breathes, and his eyes are filled with lust, hunger, desire, thirst— and you gasp at the sight of it alone, but his voice, his heart, his mind, is all painted and drowned in something purely innocent that is love. “Is that alright with you, sweetheart?”
He asks as if you stand a chance to resist him, but San seems to be doing this for the enjoyment that is pleasing you, and you’re more than happy to allow him to have his body all over yours for the sakes or it, because you love him so much. You’re already excited for when you know how to get your body all over his.
“That,” you exhale, feeling his thumb be replaced by his digit, the muscle of your entrance closing in on the finger tip, “is alright with me. I’m in, Mr. Choi, the deal’s settled.”
San chuckles at your light-hearted joke and you giggle as well, which allows his finger to glide into you slowly. Of course you’re tight, but you find it fascinating how your muscles ease around him and suck his finger in, the slickness squelching, as he licks over your slit.
“Looking forward to our cooperation,” he grins, lips pressed against your pussy and you can feel yourself slowly turning into mush. Your abdomen feels strangely ticklish, and there’s this pulling feeling that makes your body rock.
“… Ms. Choi.”
You scoff— San gave you his last name, how silly of him— but your amusement doesn’t hold on for too long, when San begins to move his finger around, angling it up and down.
“Mmhf,” you gutter and your legs close down on his head, the second leg finding its place on his other shoulder. “That—“, you try to gasp, but San being the quick learner he is, keeps stroking that one spot which got to this reaction in the first place.
“S- San!”, you whine; fuzzy, dizzy, light-heated, feeling like you’re going to shoot into space, to other worlds, and come right back to earth. In the meanwhile, your boyfriend’s tongue flicks even faster, head stuck between your thighs, his finger sliding in and out of you until you’re a whimpering mess.
“I’m here, baby,” he murmurs, finally looking up to you, wishing to meet your eyes again, but your head is rolling to the back, your upper body feels heavy and you slightly fall to the back, having to grab his hair to support yourself.
“I- I,” you stutter, feeling like there’s something that’s sizzling for explosion, and it seems San is feeling it too, in the way your pussy is tightening around his finger, and half-laughing out of glee about this discovery, San props himself up a little bit, your lower body raised from the mattress.
“Cum, sugar, cum,” he whispers, and as he adds a second finger that fills you up in a way that one finger couldn’t achieve, you fully suffocate him with your thighs, the thin string holding you away from release finally snapping.
“Fuck!”, you moan, and at first, San is surprised about your cussing, but then his eyes grow big, when there is more fluid coming out of your vagina that hasn’t been there beforehand. Explosion, sweet release, what should you call it? An orgasm— that’s what this is, but no, you’re also squirting, lower body spasming as you do so, and San is trying to react quickly by slurping it all in, but it’s too much— your bed gets wet. He drives the two fingers in and out and makes you a mess, makes a mess, makes you messy, getting all your squirt out and inside his mouth.
“San— Sannie— Baby!”, you pant, overstimulated by his fingers and lips that will just not stop, and you fear you’re going to choke your boyfriend to death with your thighs, but the same tingle appears in your lower abdomen again, felt everywhere in your tightness.
“Come on, come on, come on,” San growls, short of breath, and by angling his fingers upwards your walls, you see stars again, throwing your head into the bed and you pull at his hair, harshly and roughly, gripping his scalp for dear life, when you’re shot into bliss again.
“Ooooh baby,” San howls wispily, repeating his motion, but less ecstatic this time in order to not make you pass out from pleasure, if that happens at all.
And as licks the remaining fluid of his lips, and gets you back down again, San doesn’t lose any of his excitement, hair ruffled by your grip, lips swollen from using them so much. “Can I do that again? Can I please do that again?”
“Wha— What about you?”, you ask, panting, knowing that the penis inside his pyjamas has been hard since almost an eternity, but it seems like San doesn’t care about that at all. He looks euphoric, he looks like he saw a god (a goddess, mind you) and San just shakes his head.
“Don’t think about me, I’m,” he admits, and what you don’t know is that he just came inside his pants, when San saw your stunning orgasm-face— and he definitely has to clean it up before it soaks through, “all cared for here.”
San shuffles away from your legs to your face and kisses your forehead, wiping a bit of sweat away. “I’m gonna get towels and you’re gonna make yourself ready for a second time, alright?”
“But—“
“Will there be a ‘but’?”, San asks, and he’s prepared to let all go and just take a shower, but you just scratch your neck. “Don’t you want to fuck … me?”
“Ohhh, don’t worry, sugar, I want and will,” San grins and you smile, feeling a bit light-headed because of your first orgasm. For this to be your first orgasm, while many of your friends had their first time without having orgasmed—… it’s a lot, to admit the least.
Not to say that you’re trying to compare with them and feel superior, but if this is what’s waiting for is worth, you’d spend all that time again.
Again. And again, and—
“Again!”
You’re breathing heavily, skin slippy from your sweat — or, well, both of you are covered in body fluids, there are pearls of sweat dropping down on San, who, despite rubbing you clean with his hands, doesn’t even bother anymore to dry his wet arm anymore.
“Sannie,” you exhale, when San kisses your from behind, as you sit between his legs, “I- I th-think this is enough, I’m r-ready.”
“Hmmm?”, he hums, pressing his naked upper body at your back, his two fingers coming out of you for the nth time. Your hips have been spasming around for a long while now, and you feel sensitive and over-stimulated at your clitoris, but if there is one thing you’re still curious about after all those orgasms, it’s how San feels inside you not with his fingers but his girth.
“I want your dick inside,” you command directly, too sex-drunk to express your wish in any other way.
“Are you sure?”, San asks and kisses the nape of your neck. “We can do it any other time, sugar-pie, aren’t you tired by now?”
“Are you?”
“Of course not.”
You turn your head around and slightly pant, seeing San not lose any of his desirous colour in his eyes. “Then let’s not lose any time.”
San presses a deep kiss on your temple before he leaves your back, and you feel the warmth of his lips sit there, as he positions himself at the front, on his knees. He still has his boxer-shorts on, but that only goes so far, when he’s been leaking with pre-cum, never-mind has come in the same set an hour ago.
You can see it perfectly— San’s length, his girth, the way it moves by itself under the fabric; it looks captivating as much as it is arousing you again after all the times you’ve orgasmed this evening.
“Do you want to touch me?”, San asks, and trails his own hand over his breast, giving you an idea of what you can do to pleasure him.
“Yes, baby,” you answer and get on your knees as well, grabbing San by the hips and caressing the seam of his shorts with your thumbs. In the meanwhile, your lips seek for his vicinity and you place kisses on his neck. “I’d love to.”
“I love you so much,” San sighs and holds you by your head tenderly with both hands, cupping the circular form, feeling you get a taste of his sweaty skin at his neck. His Adam’s apple bops, when you slightly pull his boxers down and there’s resistance from his erection.
“You have a big dick, right?”, you ask, and San coughs— he was expecting you to say ‘I love you’ back first.
“U- uh,” he stammers, “yeah. It’s- uhm. I hope it’s not too big, Y/N.”
“Can it be too big?”
You ask him with genuine curiosity and San scratches the back of his head. “I was preparing you thoroughly for it, honey, that’s all… I can say.”
He harrumphes in the awkward conversation, and before he can get shy from your stare, you chuckle and kiss him, “I love you too, Sannie. I couldn’t imagine doing this with any other person.”
Your boyfriend slides his hand to your jaw and pulls up your head to kiss you, mumbling, “only do this with me, Y/N,” into your lips.
As his lips work against yours, you slide down your hands into his boxer-shorts and use your wrists to spread the spandex, getting San’s underwear off.
With your eyes closed, you hear San breathe in deeply through his nose and he rubs your back with both of his hands to push your naked body against his.
His dick feels hot, wet and mild, when it presses against your abdomen, and you subconsciously grind your lower body to identify it better. It is big. The two fingers don’t even come close to what you’re working with here, and in the moment, it’s really good that you feel loosened up by the numerous times San made you come.
“Please touch me,” San instructs you and you nod, opening your eyes to see his glistening tip pointed towards you. Without waiting, you leniently wrap your hand around it and San parts your lips to pant.
“I don’t think I’ll hold on for long,” he whimpers, and his pelvis twitches, when you squeeze your hand around the soft, heated, slick muscle.
“Wait, Sannie… Do we have condoms?”, you ask and to your surprise, San opens up the cupboard. You loosely remember when San asked you if he should buy condoms at the beginning of your relationship, and you know that you answered with an ‘I don’t know’ back then.
A year later, it turns out San has bought a pack, but didn’t talk about it until the time was ripe. “Do you want to do it for me?”, he asks you, ripping apart the plastic wrapper with his finger and mouth. That this took a wet dream to realise is funny to you, but as you’re in the moment, you can only gulp in anticipation.
You nod and continue to pump his length in your grasp, when you’re handed the flimsy condom. Is that even going to fit around him?
“Yes, it is going to fit,” San giggles at your subconsciously asked question, and then kisses you, “did dream-San wear a condom?”
You place the center of the condom on the tip of penis and slowly glide down the lubed silicone by the ring.
“No, I don’t think so,” you murmur, though you couldn’t care any less about your dream right now. San hums and bucks up his hip into your hand, making the condom hit the end of his length.
It frankly looks quite comical, the way the white outlines your boyfriend’s dick, but before you can laugh, San delicately pushes you at your ass— other hand on the back of your head to not make you hit the bed-frame, with you landing on your back, legs angled towards the sky.
San tsk’s about his alter-ego’s wrong-doings and shakes his head. “I think your brain has a very twisted image of me.”
You chuckle at how sulky San is about it, though you can’t take any responsibility. You also don’t know how your brain cooked up the imagination of San ramming into you raw, especially when your biggest fear has been that things were going to hurt. (Now that you know they don’t, you’re good to go, you think.)
But the real San touches you softly, carefully, endearingly faintly, even if his dick looks intimidatingly big; you’re covering your mouth at the sight of it alone.
“Come on, don’t be shy now,” San grins and flops his protected peen on your pussy, the girth of it weighing down on your sensitive bud.
“Sannie, baby, please be gentle,” you whine and San caresses your cheek, not finding your plead in any way offensive.
“I will, sweetheart,” he whispers, and his voice sounds sweet, melts sweetly in your ears, but when his tip is there, at your entrance, you have to grab his hand at your cheek forcefully.
It’s a stretch. If you had known it would have come to this, you would have asked San to add a third, no, maybe even a fourth finger, but maybe he knew too, that even that wouldn’t have helped with a lot.
Not to say that it hurts, but to feel your muscle be extended as he just pushes in the tip, you’re already panting. San intertwines his fingers and leans forward, trying to calm you down. “Are you okay, baby?”, he asks, pouting. “I can stop.”
“N- no,” you stutter, though the bit of movement has had him slide in deeper and thus, your cunt be stretched further. “It’s okay. Just be slow. I can do it.”
“No, Y/N, you have to want it,” San sighs and you press your face against his hand. “I want it,” you murmur, glancing up at him. “I want you, Sannie.”
He smiles in awe of your droopy eyes and luscious lips reaffirming your love to him, and San inhales deeply. “I’ll move a bit more, okay?”
“Okay.”
Both of you inhale at the same time, but it’s San this time to moan it out. “Oh, god,” he whimpers, “feels so good, Y/N. Feels so fucking good.”
And this is where you close your eyes and let your boyfriend do his thing over you, because San’s sounds are candy to your ears. He’s doing it slowly, and heaven knows he can’t push it just entirely just yet, but the first third that San has inside you is enough to make you grip the sheets.
“Are you alright? Baby, is it too much? Can I do more?”, San whines, and you’re too weak-hearted for his arousal-sake, that you sigh sultrily and say, “Sannie, you know what to do.”
“No, no, baby, please don’t say things like that, I really won’t—“
He groans and pushes himself further in. You have to strain your forehead and pull in your eyebrows to work around the fact that you have never felt your cunt be stuffed in like this, and oh god, you feel so stuffed.
“Baby, please tell me when you want me to stop,” San begs you, concerned about your facial expression, kissing your cheek repeatedly.
“This just feels unfamiliar, that’s all,” you whimper and San pulls out a little bit while you talk. “But you will tell me, right?”, he asks you, and gets a nod in return. You should be seeing black in front of you, given that you’ve closed your eyes, but after San pushes himself in again, there’s a piercing zap that makes you open your eyes wide.
“Sannie, wait—“
He immediately stops and both of you look at each other. San doesn’t move, anxious that anything will make you more anxious, when you grab him by his arms.
And with one glance down, you see it.
Blood.
Not a lot, fortunately so, but still, bleeding from your privates outside your period is terrifying, and it makes all of your heat flee away—
Blood!
There’s not a scream or a gasp leaving your mouth, rather just a short soundless inhale that indicates your surprise, when you close your eyes and cover them with the surface of your hands.
Blood?!
“Oh my god, sugar,” San exclaims silently, you don’t know if this is a first for him as well— and though both of you don’t panic as loudly as you could have, your boyfriend still looks mortified, eyes ripped open, mouth opened by a slit, when you remove your palms from your eyelids. “Did I hurt you? Did it hurt? Oh my god, Y/N, I’m so sorry, I—“
“No, Sannie, it didn’t hurt— It didn’t—“
Not panicking, but still both stammering and not aware of what to do with your hands.
He pulls out and covers your private with the towel that he used to catch your fluid before, and San immediately claims a serious expression on his face, looking around to find something for you to hold onto. He finds you a pillow, puts it over your stomach, and you cuddle into it, trying to catch a breath.
You didn’t lie. It didn’t hurt, it really didn’t. At least not even half the the amount of blood that is covering the towel, and you don’t think anything else (let it be more preparation or whatever) could have had helped you two in this situation. Is it just a matter of luck? Of your body? Well, maybe you’re out of luck and your body is going lax as well.
San is removing the condom from his dick and fetching his boxer-shorts again to fully call it quits, using approximately 4 seconds before he disappears in your arms again and smothers you with kisses.
“But— but Sannie…”, you whimper, feeling kind of guilty to be leaving him hanging like this after he’s done so much for you, but he silences you with his lips.
“Don’t you dare say sorry, sugar-pie,” San smiles and brushes over your hair, continuing to peck your face, as he hugs you from aside, and his warm skin soothes the goosebumps you got from seeing red on yourself. “As long you’re not hurting.”
“Do you want to take a shower or do you want to sleep?”, San asks you and you shiver a little bit once the adrenaline has worn down and all that provides you comfort is your boyfriend’s vicinity. “I don’t know, Sannie,” you murmur into his breast and a hand rubs your back. You’re still naked, but San covers you up with a blanket. “You don’t have to know, sugar,” San whispers and rests his chin on top of your head. “Just be here with me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Y/N.”
You nod into his embrace, feeling exhausted, worn out and tired, and you start to breathe heavily into his skin, San rubbing his thumb across your lower back to match the rhythm of your breathing, your heartbeat slowing down.
You’re safe.
You’re home.
You’re not dreaming, you’re with your boyfriend, Choi San, and even though nobody will know what kind of dreams will visit you, what nightmares will make you wake up in the middle of the night, you’re, well, in love.
Comfortable, soft, warm, at ease, serene — happy; this is what love feels like. A dream doesn’t come close to the unworried warmth love provides, to the warmth the real San provides, and while you doze off, you and San whisper affirmations into each other’s presence that you’ll,
“Dream of me, Y/N.”
#choi san x y/n#choi san x reader#choi san smut#choi san scenarios#choi san x you#ateez x reader#ateez smut#if you wanna see an epilogue pls request it because i find boyfie san so endearing#chokkiwa#chokko
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Eddie’s Memory Log Day 1:
part 2 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 5 here | part 6 here
(ao3 link here)
The only reason Steve volunteers to keep a journal to track Eddie Munson’s skim-milk memories, is because of the twerps.
They have school, they can’t commute to the government-protected hospital that’s all the way in the city. That, and they gave Steve this well-rehearsed, tearjerker performance about how grateful they would be.
About how grateful Eddie would be.
Pfft like shit on a stick, he’ll be grateful. The dude doesn’t even remember how old he is, how the hell is supposed to be grateful for Steve Harrington jotting down notes in binder?
But those kids have been through Spielberg-level disaster shit. Steve has too, but they’re just kids.
So he’ll do it. He’ll do it for them and only them.
Eddie knows his name today.
He’s pissy - he’s always pissy cause Eddie is battered up beyond belief. But still, he’s extra pissy today because Dustin is his favorite visitor and he hasn’t stopped by in almost a week.
Eddie knows Dustin’s name today too.
And guess who’s his least favorite visitor?
“Harrington.” Eddie grumbles, mouth full of lime jello. “Who paid you to be here today?”
Remembers Steve’s name… last name.
“No one.” Steve makes himself comfy in the vinyl armchair. “Call me crazy, but I’m not too big on taking lunch money from sophomores.”
Speaking of which…
“Do you know you know how old you are?”
Eddie crumples the plastic jello container. “You’re a patronizing sack of shit.”
Steve rolls his eyes, starts to write down:
Eddie doesn’t know his age.
“Twenty.”
Eddie does know his age (20).
“Swell.” Steve fakes his amusement. The kids are much better at cheerleading Eddie along in this process. But Steve’s poker face is nonexistent. Sarcasm and assholery occupy every seat in his brain these days.
They go through a few more questions before Eddie begins to get tired. He’s tired a lot, even though the coma knocked him out for almost four months.
Guess holding hands with Death really takes it out of a person.
Eddie doesn’t know his birthday.
But Eddie does remember it’s in the winter (has a memory of seeing leafless trees from an early childhood birthday party).
Eddie remembers his uncle’s name.
Eddie doesn’t remember which street he lives on.
Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).
“I’ll let you rest.” Steve folds the binder shut, sort of desperate to do anything to get Eddie to stop whining. Seriously, he thought this guy was funnier pre-bat attack.
Eddie doesn’t remember he has a sense of humor.
“You don’t have to stay, you know.” Eddie settles into his pillows.
Steve shrugs, puts his hands behind his head. “I took the bus from Hawkins today. The next one doesn’t leave for another few hours.”
“Still… it’s a city, right? You can go explore or whatever. Be a tourist.”
Yeah Eddie’s persuasive skills aren’t completely back either, it’s all very half-assed.
“Been here before.” Steve lounges deeper into the squeaky chair material. “I’m good.”
“Probably haven’t seen everything is all I’m saying -”
“Do you want me to leave that bad?”
Steve doesn’t shout, but his tone takes up space. Makes the room feel crowded with accusations and cutthroat honesty.
Eddie stares back hard. Sometimes, he doesn’t look like Eddie Munson - he looks like this war victim with knotted-up hair and sulky brown eyes.
Like a John Doe cadaver - tagging his foot with the possibility of Eddie Munson.
Anyways, that’s how he looks right now as he stares at Steve. Barely Eddie.
“Just. I don’t know you.” That’s a shitty ass comeback for someone with a memory-tank that’s perpetually blinking with the low-engine light on.
Eddie continues with his weak argument. “Were we close enough back home that you’d stay here while I sleep?”
Eddie doesn’t remember Steve ignoring him in high school for four years.
Steve finds no reason to lie. “No. We weren’t close at all.”
“Right.” Eddie nods once. “So why do this? What are you getting out of this?”
This is a complicated situation to explain to anyone, let alone to someone with fuzzy comprehension abilities. But Steve gives it a whirl:
“Look, we have mutual friends that are… younger. Dustin’s age. And whether I like it or not, they’re like siblings to me now - I’d do anything for them. But they’re in school, they can’t be here every day like I can.”
“Why can you be here?” Eddie asks.
“I lost my job.”
Eddie attempts sympathy. “Sorry.”
Eh, Steve gives him a B-minus.
“Didn’t like it anyways.” Steve reassure him plainly. “The point, I’m doing this for them. For you too, but they’re the anchors in this.”
Eddie thinks for a moment - readjusts to laying on his side, facing Steve. “Won’t you need a new job eventually?”
“Nah. Trust Fund Baby.” Steve points both thumbs at his chest.
“Yeesh.” Eddie rolls to the other side, away from Steve. Disgusted by his comment, yet still chuckling very quietly.
Okay… Eddie does remember he has a sense of humor (just a teensy bit).
His breathing becomes long and hard - sleep heavy breathing. It doesn’t take long, sleep seems more natural to Eddie right now than being awake.
Steve watches him for a moment. There’s always the ghostly-distant fear that Eddie might stop breathing. He’s done it before - four months ago and once more while he was still at the hospital in Hawkins.
Max is still asleep. Steve hates thinking about that detail because it’s cruel. This twisted game that the universe is playing is truly unjust.
Like an Almighty Asshole rolled Eddie’s stupid dice and decided, ‘I’ll let one of your friends wake up, but he won’t remember that he battled along side you in the trenches of darkness. Take it or leave it, douchebag.’
Steve will take it.
Eddie is still sleeping when Steve decides to head out - the bus will be arriving soon and he’s gotta get a window seat. Needs control over the window cause he gets carsick way too fucking easily these days.
“Heading out?” Eddie mumbles, eyes not even open.
“Yeah - sorry.” Steve doesn’t know why he whispered that. “Didn’t think I should wake you.”
“I gotcha. I’m assuming you’ll be back tomorrow?”
Huh… Steve thinks there might be a hint of implication that Eddie wants him to come back tomorrow. Interesting.
“Your memory isn’t as shitty as you think it is.” He’s overly smug when he says it.
Eddie gives him a closed-lip smile. Only Dustin and Wayne receive those.
“Want me to pick up some food on my way in?” Steve decides to give generosity a try, since Eddie is tolerable enough to give him a smile. “Get you off of this lousy hospital meal-plan temporarily?”
The smile is gone. “Nah, you don’t have to do that.”
Right.
Eddie definitely remembers how to be Stubborn with a capital ‘S’
But Steve is a Trust Fund Baby, so he’s unfazed with difficult behaviors. He can match difficulties all damn day if he wanted to.
Which he does.
“Suit yourself, Munson.” Steve acts so uncaring. Very uppity and douchey. “I’m thinking Chinese takeout for me personally.”
“Cool.”
“Cool. See you tomorrow then.”
There’s a pause, so Steve takes that as his sign to turn the handle, get the hell out of here.
“Steve?” Eddie calls weakly just before he shuts the door behind him.
He cracks it open, peeks his face back in. “Yeah?”
Eddie sighs. “Kung Pao Chicken.”
“Excellent choice.”
Eddie gives him another closed-lip smile.
Steve grins wildly, with all of his teeth. “In fact, I think I’ll do the same.”
And as Steve claims his middle seat on the bus, he pulls the binder back out of his backpack to add one more note for the day:
Eddie remembers that he likes Kung Pao Chicken.
#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#post s4 au#trying to decide if I should make this a thing or not#I’m not even sure if this is any good so please ignore if it is incoherent#my mind is being cruel today so if it’s bad pretend it never happened 🙂
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Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m still in love. And it made me do some crazy stuff.
Let me talk to you about my first love. Unrequited, of course, but still, first love.
His name was Liam. Skinny, tall, handsome, you know how late middle-school crushes look like. He was sociable, unlike me, but we still did have the kind of deep discussions that I like having, about niche interests, walking back and forth the schoolyard.
I was obsessed with him, letting my imagination run wild with scenarios involving him, ranging from seeing him out of school (shock horror ! … it was actually a big deal for me...) to being somehow abducted inside his body and living life as him, with him at the helm and me helping him in daily activities. I also imagined fantastic stories about him being a herald of a magical organization of which I was also part or to which he initiated me. I even wrote them, and hold dear to my heart those worlds I made involving me and Liam.
I even planned on marrying his sister just to be close to him, because I could of course not be in a relationship with him.
Oh, sorry, did I not mention that I was denying I was anything but straight at the time ? Sorry for the misunderstanding. But yes, the whole time I interacted with my first love, I thought he was just a very important friend.
How shocking it was to find out just a few years later that I was indeed in love with him.
Sigh.
The problem is that it didn’t stop there, when life drew us to continue school in separate places.
After that time, and even now, I see him in anyone looking anything like him. For example, take this guy :
It’s not him.
He’s older, and if I look more closely, I find more and more differences.
However, I look at him, and can only see Liam.
It drove me crazy. Those look-alikes didn’t all look alike, some being buff, some having some stubble, some even being quite short, but all sharing the same short hairstyle, and that unmistakable face.
I just… couldn’t move on, move on from a crush on a straight guy on which I never made any move. I tried finding other people to have crushes on, to fall in love with, perhaps even date, yet I failed at every step.
Failed in seeing attractive men as anything more than just that, attractive, failed in meeting men with which to create meaningful relationship, failed in finding any place in the LGBT community.
And punctuating all of that, a slow but steady stream of Liam look-alikes were met in the street.
So don’t blame me if I finished by believing in my own fantasies, that we were in a magical world, with him seeking me to be a part of it, whence all of his appearances in the street.
Plus, growing more and more isolated, who was there to bring me back to reality ? Certainly not the internet, as I sought out more and more obscure websites in the quest to understand what was happening to me.
It lead me first of all to psychological knowledge, most of which I have forgotten since then, then to occult, to erotica in a strange turn of events, and then, finally, to that one website that seemed to be the key to all my questions.
It was on a weird Weibo post, that kind that leaves links to websites with passwords to open pirated content, that I first encountered. Thankfully, all of my yearning gave me enough frustration to study Chinese enough to read it with a dictionary on the side, so I was able to understand what that post was about.
At first I was skeptical. It was sketchy, plus what it promised was ludicrous… a simple app that would be able to answer any question with 100% accuracy, plus it claimed to use no AI.
It also promised to get some “real experience of the answer”, whatever that may mean – assuming my translation of “实际的答案经历” is even correct.
However, at that point, I was desperate to get anything conclusive from this endeavor.
So I entered my question inside the machine, in the best of my poor Chinese, and asked “為什麼我遇到很多像Liam的人？” (Why do I meet a lot of people like Liam ?).
Looking back, I should have written my question using simplified characters instead of traditional characters, it might have confused the app…
When I entered the question, it simply answered “谢谢您的问题！请等一下答案经验准备好了！” (Thank you for your question ! Please wait a bit for the experience of the answer to be prepared !).
I felt like I was cheated on, even though I didn’t really expect much. At least give me a paywall to be angry at, but no, it was an empty sentence, giving me no catharsis for the long search for any answer to all the Liams I saw. Of why he was still sticking in my mind, of why I couldn’t move on properly.
At that point, it was already late, so, with no catharsis, I decided that this was just not worth it. I uninstalled the app, looking back likely also a mistake, and decided to clock out for the night.
I didn’t sleep well that night, moving a lot, and never able to completely enter the realm of dreams. Instead of plunging in a seemingly instant coma, I was slowly and painfully experiencing all the hallucinations of slumber, tense and sweating.
The next day, when I woke up, nothing felt right.
The bed didn’t feel right, the room didn’t feel right, the weight didn’t feel right, the hair didn’t feel right… even the morning wood didn’t feel right. Yet… there was something undeniably familiar to everything. As if it’s inside the uncanny valley between being what is known to me and what isn’t.
I stood up, the height also didn’t feel right… I walked a bit dizzily, and though I could blame my recent waking for that, the way my weight was distributed was too strange to dismiss it on this basis.
So, as any good protagonist in the erotica stories I read in my futile quest, I headed for the bathroom.
The house layout wasn’t what I remembered, yet it still felt familiar and easy to navigate, so I found my way to it.
And although I already expected it, all the clues pointing to this very fact, I was still shocked when I saw my reflection.
Let me tell you, nothing, nothing can prepare you for the experience of looking at a stranger in the mirror. Not even dysphoria, I tell you.
Because it was so unsettling, seeing the one thing that is supposed to always be familiar, that is supposed to only change little by little, so slowly enough that the human brain cannot process it changing, be so radically different.
To not look like oneself, to not have even the same shape, as I was suddenly buff.
And to look like Liam.
I was unable to do anything but stand, bewildered, in front of the mirror, for quite a long while, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. However, finally, I snapped out of my inaction.
I automatically reached for the gel and spiked my hair up, even though I never even touched hair gel in my entire life, before going back to my bedroom to find my computer.
All I found was a laptop, but it sufficed.
I go little by little to find back the trace of that Weibo post – installing a Chinese keyboard at the same time – but find little luck. Although I did find some familiar-looking webpages and links, I had a hard time finding anything…
Then, suddenly, it was 10AM, and I remembered that I was supposed to go to the gym.
And that I didn’t even take the time to prepare my protein shake… God, I was so taken by my sudden transformation that I didn’t even think about the essential !
It took me until I was greeted by the gym receptionist as “Liam” to notice that I wasn’t actually supposed to work out, only the body I was in was.
It shook me, but not enough to forget to answer the receptionist as I always do.
I put away my things in the locker room, and made my way to the machines, performing a well-oiled routine, going from one machine to the other automatically. It was good that everything came to me this naturally, as otherwise I would have found myself silly, standing in front of the machines wondering how they worked.
As I was working out, I was thinking on this whole… experience. Quite clearly, I am not who I used to be, nor where I used to be, yet I was acting perfectly reasonably inside the role of the one who is called Liam – that is not, to my disappointment, the Liam I knew. I only look like him.
It seems that, somehow, the Liam I inhabit and I merged, letting me insert myself in the life of that Liam seamlessly, yet still keeping my shock, my interests and my wishes intact. As if I was living the life of the one I had taken the body of, only really acting like myself when the Liam I now am has no obligations.
Coming back “home”, I continued my search, and found the original app that triggered this whole thing. Yet, I couldn’t find a way to reverse what it had done, not within the app, nor inside the documentation, plus the app wouldn’t grand any other answer but “谢谢您使用我们应用，请跟朋友转转！” (Thanks for using our app, please share a bit with friends !).
So I guess I now have to live inside this alien body that is in all manners similar to my first love, even in name. I mean, there are worse fates, especially as this Liam thankfully also seems to be into men, yet I cannot help but feel unhappy about this arrangement.
Although I now partly am the Liam I inhabit, I can’t help but feel like I have robbed him of his life, forcing him to sit at the back of my mind, experiencing his life in the third person. Plus, I can’t possibly get used to not being me, and especially not to looking just like the Liam of my memories.
Which lead me to my realization that motivated me to write about this.
The reason why I still find Liam everywhere in the streets (even now, inside the body of one of his look-alikes) isn’t that he has facial features rare enough to be noticeable, yet common enough to be shared by a big number of people.
No, it’s the fact that I’m still thinking of him, which makes my brain look for people who look like him, whence seeing the resemblances with the Liam I knew rather than all the differences.
And why do I still think of him ? The answer seems to be that I still haven’t moved on, that I’m still in love with my first love.
However, now that his face is the one that is reflected in the mirror...
Am I ever going to be able to move on and find love ?
#male tf#male transformation#gay tf#nerd to jock#jock tf#body swap#mental change#transformation#tf story
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the gift that keeps giving | marcus pike
Summary | Isn't it just your luck to get the office hottie as your secret santa this year?
Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader
Word Count | 1.4K
Warnings | Just... Marcus Pike being Marcus Pike, some flirting and general office banter and a steamy kiss but nothing explicit!
Authors Note | To my Cheese & Crackers. My Darling Friend. I hope this makes your festive season that little bit lighter. I hope you love this because I love you, to the moon and back and beyond. Thank you for making 2023 that little bit easier. Happy Christmas @undercoverpena 🧡
“That’s looking a little worse for wear.” Marcus, stood at your desk, waiting for his report, finger pointed at the very much dead succulent on your desk.
You look up from your desk, fingers still flitting across the keyboard as you race to finish the notes he’d asked for.
“It’s looking dead, Marcus.”
“I was trying not to rub it in,” He shrugs, running a finger over one of the branches, a look of remorse on his face when he snaps off and lands on the white of the desk, “But yeah, that’s very much dead.”
“Frank deserved it.” You shrug, eyes never leaving your screen.
“Frank?”
“Yes, Frank,” You nod your head towards the succulent, “You’re meant to name plants, makes you more attached to them, more likely to care properly for them,” Another shrug of your shoulders, “Now look at him, showing me up as a bad mother.”
Marcus can’t help but chuckle a little, “You’ll have to get yourself another.”
“If I can’t keep a succulent alive,” You sigh, fingers slowing ever-so-slightly on the keyboard, “There isn’t much hope for anything else.”
“I believe in you.” He offers.
You stare at him through your lashes, a look that warns him that he needs to be quiet, “You know, the longer you stand there distracting me, the longer it’ll take me to type these notes up?”
“I always thought you thrived on pressure?” He teases, reminding you of a conversation a few months ago where you’d admitted that the best work you produce is always to a time crunch.
“Marcus, respectfully,” You finally look up at him properly, “You need to leave me alone, if you go and sit down in your office and leave me to it, this report will be on your desk in the next twenty minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re late.” Your voice is monotone as Marcus hurries out of the elevator.
“I know.” He’s stressed, twenty minutes late to his debrief meeting.
“I told you last night what time you needed to be here.”
He runs a hand over his face, taking the manila file from your hand, flicking through it to make sure he knows what the fuck is going on right now.
“I’ve just moved.”
You sigh, shake your head, but keep up his pace as you race through the office, “What’s that got to do with you being late?”
“The fridge magnet,” He offers, as if you’ll know exactly what he’s talking about, “I lost it when I moved.”
“Am I supposed to make the link myself?”
He stops at his desk, blindly opening drawers, rooting through papers to try and find something, “I used it to pin important things on the fridge, like when I need to be in to speak to the big boss.”
You shake your head, trailing behind him again as he starts walking again, “You can get a damn fridge magnet on every street corner, Marcus.”
“I know,” He says, a little breathless, as he finally comes to the meeting room door, “I’ll get around to it eventually, promise.”
There’s a small gift bag sitting on your desk when you come back from the Christmas lunch. There are an array of other gift bags and small wrapped presents on everyone’s desk. You sigh, flopping into your chair. Someone from the finance team is already passing around glasses of something fizzy, work clearly done for the day. Someone is hooking their phone up to the a speaker. You look left and right, making sure that no-one is looking, before you pull open the top of the back and peer in.
You can’t quite believe it, reaching your hand inside to grasp the pot, pulling it out. A scoff leaves your mouth, a small cactus sitting in a pot that’s been painted like a Christmas jumper. You shake your head, a laugh escaping as you drag a finger over the little spines, like you always do when trying to choose a new plant. You push the bag out of the way, setting the small plant down on your desk, right where Frank had been before.
You use your fingers to turn it around, setting it perfectly in place, when those familiar legs come into view, perfectly pressed trousers right in your eyeline, but it isn’t the legs you’re really looking at, although you do sometimes, it’s his fingers, pressing a fridge magnet onto your desk, sliding it across to you, a magnet that is now so familiar to you, having stood in that damn gift shop for almost thirty minutes try to choose the right one. One with a watercolour painting splashed across it, one that you know he likes, never shutting about what the colours mean and how it makes him feel.
“Oh my god,” You feign surprise, “Does this mean you’ll be on time from now on?”
“It looks like,” He’s got a smile on his mouth when you look at him, “Also means you’ll be able to get off my case.”
You smile back at him, “I’m pretty sure I’m the only reason you still have a job after your timekeeping this past month,” You tease, “But sure, if you want me off your case that bad, I’ll leave you alone.”
His attention moves from the magnet to the cactus already having pride of place on your desk. He picks it up, annoying you slightly as you’d just got it in the right position for you, “What are you going to name it?”
You raise your eyebrow, a knowing look in your eye, “It’s your gift, Marcus, you should name it.”
Marcus drops his head, a snort of a laugh breathing from his nostrils, “That obvious, huh?”
“About as obvious as this.” You bring your fingers to the fridge magnet.
You hold his eyes, watching as he thinks for a second, before he offers his name, “Vincent.”
There’s an actual laugh that drops from your mouth now, “You’re so predictable, Pike,” You shake your head, “Of course it would be an artist.”
He shifts from foot to foot a little, “You know,” His hand comes nervously to the back of his neck, “If it wasn’t for the damn $5 cap, I’d have gotten us a gift certificate to this restaurant downtown that I like.”
You breath catches in your throat slightly, because there’s no way, there’s no way that means what it means, “Us?”
“Yeah, I mean, if you’d like it of course,” His nervous hand running up and down the side of his neck, “I don’t need a secret santa to take you out.”
You shake your head a little, bite your bottom lip, “It’s funny, because if it hadn’t been for the $5 dollar cap, I would have got us tickets to the new exhibition at the gallery.”
Your words sink in, him realising you want him just as much as he wants you, outside of this office and the professional relationship you have.
“And what if dinner came with a kiss?”
“What if the exhibition came with one too?”
He’s taking hold of your wrist, dragging you from your chair, back out of the office and down towards the privacy of the alcove near the elevator. Your back, pressed against the wall, Marcus’ hands on your waist as his mouth finally slants over your own. It’s exactly how you’d imagined it for all these months, soft but sure, warm hands seeping through the layers of your clothes. And he tastes exactly as you thought he would, slightly sweet, considering his sweet tooth, and you can taste the beer he drank at lunch. It’s intoxicating. You slip your hands under the shoulders of his suit jacket, gripping the broadness of him as he pulls away.
“Gotta keep your hands to yourself,” He whispers against your mouth, “If you don’t we’re gonna be sat with HR in the morning.”
You bite your lip, leaning towards him a little to press your lips gently to his own, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, agent.”
He looks at you, fire in his eyes, “Go and get your things,” It’s a strict order, that floats straight to settle in your tummy, “I’m sure I can get us in for dinner somewhere.”
“Yes, sir.”
#space sisters secret santa 2023#Marcus Pike x reader#Marcus Pike x you#Marcus Pike x female reader#Marcus Pike x F!reader#Marcus Pike#Marcus Pike fic#Marcus Pike fanfic#Marcus Pike fluff#Marcus Pike smut#Marcus Pike fanfiction#Pedro pascal#Marcus Pike Pedro pascal
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Leon kennedy dad hc’s
Tw: no actually trigger warnings, just fluff. Leon being a dad.
a/n hope you enjoy loves, feedback is appreciated 💕 discord server link ( last time I’ll talk about it, I swear)
[] funny enough he always knew that he would have a daughter, so he picked out the name Arabella, and he always promised himself that he would find her mom.
[] he’s such a girl dad. Would do anything for his daughter
[] he allows her to paint his nails. He attends every tea party as well.
“Daddy do you like you tea?” You could hear the both of the playing with her tea set.
“Of course peach.” This made you stop in your tracks, Arabella wasn’t tall enough to reach the sink. You walked into her room and leaned again the door frame.
“Hunny, where did you get the water from.” You asked her and you looked over at your husband and his face dropped.
“From the dog water bowl mommy.” She said excitedly. Leon never again trusted the water from her tea pot.
[] she comes before everything, his work, his friends everything. Besides he would rather stay home with her anyway.
[] he wanted to give her the childhood he didn’t have.
[] the both of you definitely have the white picket fence house. With the big White House and a Labrador dog. Leon didn’t see how the dog would project the both of you while he was gone, but if it made you happy. Then so be it.
[] the three of you have a tiny garden that consists of daisy’s, irises and many more.
[] she has a mini toy motorcycle, to match his
[] everyday at dinner she has to drink apple juice, because she can’t have the apple wine that he drinks. She loves to match with her daddy.
[] he bought her a mini leather jacket.she always would take his, so he found a mini version. Aunt Claire fell in love with it.
[] sometimes their outfits coordinate. Every night before bed, they picked out their outfits
[] since he played football, in high school. She wanted to play football so he signed her up for the practices.
[] he’s never told her what his job was like, she just knows that daddy does something dangerous
[] one day older kids were making fun of her pink dress, and she got shoved in the mud. Then they started laughing when she said her daddy would take care of it.
[] after school closed, Leon stormed there with her in tow. You hadn’t ever seen him that mad before. The principal was walking to his car and him and Leon shared a few words.
[] let’s just say an event like that never happened again.
#┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ allyse talks ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚#resident evil#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x you#leon x you#id!leon kennedy#leon kennedy x fem!reader#leon kennedy x reader#dad leon kennedy#leon kennedy x y/n#leon s kennedy x you#leon headcanons#leon kennedy imagine#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy resident evil#leon Kennedy fluff#leon Kennedy fanfic
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Hummingbird - Part 3
Summary: You didn't want to break into someone's party but you were desperate to see the art at the gallery before it was gone. You're so busy trying to make sure no one sees you that you miss the ever present gaze of Steve Rogers who is wondering why you crashed his party.
Word Count: ~1000 (definitely a shorter chapter, hope that's okay!)
A/N: Reader is female but no physical descriptors are used.
A/N2: This takes place at the same time as Dream Come True - Part 3.
Warnings: I don't think there are any, but please let me know if I'm wrong on that!
Part 2 -- Part 4
Series Masterlist
You’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with attending Steve’s parties. So much so that he asked if you’d be willing to attend some that weren’t at an art gallery. Specifically one being held at his house.
“It will be more than just the two of us,” he assures. “It’s a fundraiser for Rhodes, the current DA.”
“Why would you want me to attend? I don’t have any kind of influence.”
“Oh but you do, Hummingbird,” he counters. “You have an influence on me.” Your eyes widen at his confession and he continues, “you keep me calm. You help me get more business because I’m able to smile genuinely every time I see you.” He gently cups your face with his giant hand and you lean into his touch. “Please help me out?”
“It’ll cost you,” you smirk. His eyebrows raise in surprise at your boldness. “I want the school supplies for at least 5 teachers and their wish lists fulfilled. I’ll send you the link?”
Steve laughs so hard he throws his head back. “Absolutely! I suppose I should be investing more in the education system, shouldn’t I?”
“Thank you, Steve.”
“Thank you, Hummingbird," Steve coos as he kisses your hand.
A couple of hours into the party Steve couldn’t be more happy that you’re in attendance. Ransom, one of his key players with donors, still hasn’t shown up and he is pissed. If it weren’t for having you on his arm he’d likely have lost a few donors because of his anger. He quickly excuses himself to a side room to call Ransom and find out where the hell he is.
While he’s gone, you let yourself take a breather and visit the kitchen. You’re definitely out of your depth and can’t wait for this to be over with. The entire time you’ve been on Steve’s arm, you can’t help but feel you’ve been having daggers stared at you by some of the other ladies in attendance. A couple of the men as well. It’s kept you on edge all night.
Unsure of how long Steve’s phone call would take you decide to head back to the party. Once you leave the kitchen you’re intercepted by a couple of guests, Ms. Lane and Mrs. Carter, as Steve had whispered to you when they first arrived. Ms. Lane pulled you aside and asked, with a venomous smile, “so what’s your angle with Steve?”
“I’m sorry?” You gently shake your head in confusion.
“You’ve been on his arm all night,” Mrs. Carter added. “He’s never done that before. How’d you snag him?”
“I…I haven’t,” your confusion shows on your face. “He just asked me to attend. I didn’t know he’d want me next to him the entire time.”
“Well,” Ms. Lane ponders, “what’s your family name? Are you new money that he’s trying to win over?”
“Um, no,” you nervously shake your head. “My family doesn’t have money or influence. At least not at your levels.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Carter exclaims. “You’re a charity case!”
Ms. Lane laughs, “yes! That makes sense! All of us with money and influence can't nab him. He wants someone who’s completely indebted to him. Someone he can be a hero to! That makes so much sense! Thank you for the insight, dear. I’ll have to play up the sad and pathetic tones next time I talk to him.”
The ladies laugh to each other as they walk back to the party, leaving you alone and feeling conflicted.
You think back over every interaction with Steve. He admitted to enjoying watching you look at the art. The art you wouldn’t be able to see without his help. Wearing the dresses you wouldn’t be able to afford on your own. Attending parties with people you had no business being around. You’d turned down some of his gifts, only accepting the dresses because of the need to look appropriate for his parties. Were you really just a doll to dress up? Did he really just want to prop you up in such a way that you needed to lean on him?
You lose track of how long you’ve been standing there, when Steve finds you. “Hummingbird,” he brightens. “That’s where you flitted off to.” His smile drops when he sees your face. He tilts your chin up, “what happened?”
You feel the tears forming in your eyes and gulp, “am…am I just a charity case to you?”
Steve’s blood starts to boil. “No,” he states firmly. “I have never once thought of you in such a way. And I will do whatever you need me to in order to convince you.”
“Then…what am I to you?”
The tears in your eyes break Steve’s heart. All of his anger is drained away in favor of taking care of you. “You’re a breath of fresh air,” he starts. “The fireflies on a summer night. The port in the storm. You’ve given me air to breathe, magic to delight and the safety and comfort to rest so I can keep going.” He brings his face close to yours, “I should’ve done this a while ago but I didn’t want to scare you away.”
He holds you close and kisses you with a gentle firmness that makes your heart flutter. You eagerly return the kiss, making him moan before you gently pull away. His eyes have darkened considerably and you chuckle.
“Thank you,” you sigh. “I shouldn’t let other people’s thoughts get in the way.”
“Whoever told you those things, I’ll make sure they never get invited to another party.”
“No,” you shake your head. He sees an almost evil glint in your eyes as you smile, “let them see how badly they failed.” You take his arm and move to walk back to the party.
“You are damn amazing, Hummingbird,” he smiles and walks back with you.
Part 2 -- Part 4
Series Masterlist
Tags:
@alicedopey
@aryhyuuga
@cynic-spirit
@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory
@ktficworld
@rebekahdawkins
@texmexdarling
If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know.
#mob boss!steve rogers#mob!steve rogers#mafia!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x female reader#mob!steve rogers x reader
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Russian Roulette
Pairing | Mitch Rapp x reader
Summary | Assassin!reader won’t talk. mitch knows just what to do to fix that
Warnings | Sexual content, 18+, gun play, fear play, degradation, cnc (barely), breeding, face fucking, crying, edging, light praise, choking, brat taming, deep throating,
Words | 8k
Notes | Here it is folks! The long awaited russian roulette fic😌 I do plan to edit this again and republish it in the future but I’m happy with it for now. Enjoy!! (p.s. I’m more likely to post stuff that isn’t completely perfect in my eyes (even tho it’s literally still good lmao) if I have positive reinforcement😭 just an fyi if y’all want more💀)
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
It was supposed to be a simple mission. One you’ve done hundreds of times by now.
Seduce the target, then kill the target.
Every mission, your boss gives you a name, picture, location, and time. That’s how you found yourself at a hotel bar, wearing a skimpy dress and strappy heels, waiting for Mitch Rapp.
You’re excited for this one. Usually the men are either old perverts or young, inexperienced, and cocky. But every once in a while there'd be a man who’d challenge you. A man who made the game exciting. And Mitch seems like that kind of man.
You sipped your drink and looked around the bar. Finally you saw him walk in. He went to the opposite side of the bar and ordered a drink. When he looked up, he caught your eyes. You didn’t look away and just gave him a small smile. His face was emotionless but you didn’t let that deter you. You leaned forward with your elbows on the bar, pushing your breasts together, and watched as his eyes followed the movement. When his drink was set in front of him, he grabbed it then started walking toward you, making you laugh internally. Men are so easy.
“Hi.” You said, setting your drink down after he sat next to you.
“Hi.” His voice definitely matches his face.
“I’m Evelyn.” You lied.
“Dylan.” He lied as well. Your targets were rarely smart enough to use a fake name, usually too focused on your tits and the promise of a good fuck instead.
“Do you live around here?” You asked, twirling a piece of hair around your finger.
“No. I’m here on business.” He took a sip of his drink and looked you up and down, this time spending more time on your legs.
“Oh me too. Well, business and then a little vacation time before I have to go back.” Which was another lie. You never stay anywhere right after a mission. “Although I do have time for some fun before I have to work.” You gave him a small smirk and crossed your legs, making your dress ride up your thigh.
“Oh yeah? How much time?”
“Probably a couple hours. My boss is flexible.” Lie. He hates when you’re late. But you’re horny and, target or not, there’s a hot man in front of you. He can wait a little longer than planned.
“What do you say, Dylan? Wanna keep me company for a few hours?” You set your hand on his thigh lightly. When you started sliding it up, he grabbed your wrist, his fingers completely encircling it. Probably to keep you from finding a concealed weapon.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He said lowly.
“I think I have a pretty good idea.” You bit your lip, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “C’mon, let’s have some fun.” You leaned your face closer to his and felt his grip on your wrist tighten.
“I promise I’ll be a good girl.” You whispered, breath fanning against his lips. His eyes roamed your face for a few seconds before suddenly using his grip to pull you from your seat, over to the elevator. You’re thankful your purse was already on your shoulder because you definitely wouldn’t have remembered to grab it… And you definitely need it to finish the mission. Not that you can’t kill someone without a gun, it’s just easier.
You entered the elevator and he pushed the button for his floor. When the doors closed he slammed your back against the wall and pressed his lips to yours, making you moan in surprise. His hands gripped your waist tightly and yours went to his hair. He kissed you passionately, his tongue fighting for dominance with yours. When he rolled his hips into you, you pulled back with a gasp. He was quick to move to your neck, pressing kisses and leaving hickeys along the sides. You moaned again and his hand snaked down your leg then up your dress on the outside of your thigh.
“Oh my god!”
You both pulled away quickly. An older lady stood outside the elevator with her mouth open in shock. You hadn’t even heard the elevator ding. Mitch checked the floor number then swiftly exited, pulling you behind him.
“Sorry.” You gave the lady a sheepish smile as you walked past her. You entered his room quickly and he slammed you against the wall again. When his lips met yours, you started trying to push his jacket off his shoulders. He obliged then pulled back to take his shirt off.
You were too horny to think about what the proper reply should be when someone has scars like this. Maybe that’s what gave you away.
He pulled your purse off your shoulder and threw it on the dresser next to you. You internally cringed when it landed with a really loud thump, seeing as your phone and gun are both in it.
He kissed you again and started sliding both of his hands up the outside of your thighs, this time making sure to pull your dress up. He placed his leg between yours and you stifled a moan. When he bit your lip, you gave in, starting to grind on his thigh. His hands reached your hips and he gripped them tightly, forcing you to continue rocking against him.
Mitch moved to your neck again, leaving more hickeys and occasionally biting the sensitive skin. He reached your collar bones and continued down your chest but pulled back when he reached your dress. He looked at you with dark eyes then placed his hand on your neck. You gasped and started rutting against him harder.
He leaned his head down next to yours, putting his mouth by your ear, then whispered, “Who are you?”
“W-what?” You didn’t register the question, still focusing on grinding against him. He leaned back to look at you and tightened his hand on your neck, making you release a choked moan.
“Who the fuck are you?” Your hips stuttered to a stop. Shit. They never figure it out until there’s a gun to their head. Maybe he means something else. “Who do you work for?” He said, harsher this time.
Okay so he definitely doesn’t mean something else. Fuck. He slammed your head against the wall and you winced.
“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about. Dylan, you’re scaring me.” You said quietly.
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He growled. He tightened his grip, and even pushed on your windpipe, making you claw at his hand, trying to remove it.
“You’re hurting me.” You whimpered, feeling tears pool in your eyes from the lack of oxygen. “Dylan, please.” You gasped, letting the tears fall- all of it adding to your performance. His grip loosened and your chest heaved, trying to take in as much air as possible. Finally you caught your breath and then made your move- it’s too risky to stay in this position when you don’t know what he’s capable of.
You punched him in the nose and he stumbled back, clearly surprised. You ran the couple of steps to reach for your purse but were yanked back by your hair until you landed on the ground in front of him, his gun aimed at your head.
“Who are you?” He asked again, his voice harsher now.
There are three ways you can play this. Accept your fate, continue with the act and hope you fool him, or fight and finish the assignment. In reality, there was only one option because of your ego.
“Honestly I’m surprised you figured it out so soon. Most of them don’t until they’re already dead.” You smirked, looking up at him. “Although the few that do figure it out usually are smart enough to try and get their dick wet before doing anything.” His face remained emotionless and it only spurred you on.
“What gave me away?” You started taking off your heels, preparing for a fight or a quick escape. “C’mon Mitch,” You continued when he didn’t reply, “I gotta know how to improve for my next job.”
“Who are you?” You kept looking up at him and moved onto your knees, not giving him an answer. Suddenly, his gun hit your temple, the force making you fall onto your hip. You brought your hand up to feel the injury, no blood at least but it’ll definitely bruise.
“Fucking, dick! What was that for?”
“It’s going to get a whole lot worse for you if you don’t start answering my questions.”
“What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” He cocked the gun and held it closer to your head making you chuckle. “You won’t do that.”
“Why’s that?” He deadpanned.
“Because your dick’s still hard.” You whispered, placing a hand on his bulge, waiting for him to remove it. He looked you up and down and you could only imagine what you look like right now. Because based on what you can feel, your dress is dangerously low on your chest and high on your thighs, and not to mention the number of hickeys you probably have. He put his gun in the waistband of his pants behind him and you smirked triumphantly.
Mitch crouched in front of you and you tried to plan how you could grab either his gun off him or your own. One hand fisted your hair and roughly pulled your head back, making you gasp.
“I’m going to ask you again. And I’m going to keep asking and hurting you more and more until you finally tell me.”
“Who are you?” You kept your mouth shut and stared at him. He removed his hand from your hair to land a swift punch on your cheek before grabbing it again. The dull throbbing hurt like hell but you kept your poker face.
“Who do you work for?” When you didn’t answer, he punched you twice this time. You could taste the blood in your mouth and you debated spitting it in his face.
“You’re wasting your time. You might as well just kill me.” You wiped off some blood you felt dripping on the corner of your mouth. “I’ve been trained to endure every type of torture in the book.” He examined you again but this time you grew nervous under his gaze. Finally he hummed and stood up.
“You’re right. I’m going about this all wrong.”
“What?” You barely got the word out before he grabbed your hair again, lifting you off the floor and throwing you onto the bed. “What the hell are you doing??” You scrambled backwards to the head of the bed when he started moving toward you.
“Luckiky for you, I know a type of torture that’s not in the book. Take your dress off.”
“W- no!” He sighed and got on the bed, grabbing your ankles and pulling you until you laid on your back. Mitch grabbed the hem of your dress and ripped it in half easily. You wanted to be angry with him so badly… but the horny part of your brain is outweighing any logic right now.
He pulled the shreds of fabric off your body until you were left in just underwear- foregoing a bra earlier because of the dress’s low back.
Mitch straddled your hips and placed a hand on your neck, leaning down so his nose brushed yours. You closed your eyes, waiting, but you only felt his breath fan against your lips as he chuckled.
“You’re lucky I don’t just kill you right now.” He rasped. His hand moved up to grip your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. “What do you say when I’m being so generous?”
Fuck you. Is what you wanted to say.
“Thank you…” You muttered, looking at the wall next to you. You assumed Mitch was satisfied because he released your face and sat up. He dragged his nails down your ribs and you hissed at the sting. Finally he reached your underwear.
“Such a fucking slut.” He mumbled under his breath and you bit your tongue. “No bra and this pathetic excuse for underwear? Baby, you’re just asking for it aren’t you?” He cooed. You wanted to beat the patronizing tone right out of him, but you couldn’t help the reaction you actually had. He smirked when he noticed you clenching your thighs together beneath him.
Mitch grabbed your underwear and ripped it in half, a lot easier than your dress. He removed the fabric and you started squirming under him. His hands held your hips still and his thumb brushed across your mound, teasing you. You bucked your hips and whined.
“Oh I’m sorry. Did you want something?” You glared at him and his smirk returned.
“You know, if you don’t know how to please a woman you can just say that. You don’t have to drag it out and stall.” His smirk immediately turned into a scowl and he raised his hand to hit you again but froze when he heard an unfamiliar phone go off. He got off you and you started to sit up but he grabbed his gun, pointing it at you.
“Stay.”
You rolled your eyes at the command. He grabbed your purse from the dresser and walked back over to the bed, gun still aimed at you.
“That’s my boss probably wondering where I am.” You said when the ringing stopped.
“I thought you said he’s flexible.”
“I lied.”
The ringing started again and he pulled the phone out of your purse. He looked at the unknown number then to you.
“You’re going to answer and you’re going to lie. Otherwise it’s a bullet in your head. Understand?” You nodded and he answered the phone, putting it on speaker.
“What’s taking so long?” He snapped.
“I’m just wrapping up. I’ll be in tomorrow instead of tonight… This guy was a lot more trained than you said.”
“You better not have slept with him again-“
“That literally happened one time and I still finished the assignment. How many more times are you going to bring it up?” You asked, very annoyed and wanting to get back to Mitch. Speaking of him, you looked up at him and saw his eyebrows were raised. You just rolled your eyes and flipped him off.
“Don’t be late.” The call abruptly ended and you found yourself wondering why you had covered for him. You’re not afraid to die… but it was almost instinctual to lie to your boss and that scared you. Because if Mitch had the power to make you do that… what else could he make you do?
You cleared your throat and looked up at him. He tossed your phone on the floor then continued digging through your purse. He pulled out your revolver and smirked.
“Cute.”
“Yeah I bet you’ll think it’s really cute when one of those bullets goes through dick-“
“Watch your fucking mouth. That’s your final warning.”
“Or what?” You challenged him. He set your gun on the bed behind him and kneeled over your hips again.
“Open.” You kept your mouth shut as tight as possible and he sighed. Mitch grabbed your cheeks and forced your jaw down then slid his gun into your mouth. You gagged at the taste and tried to get away from it but he was practically holding your head down. When you gagged again, this time it was because he shoved it further into your mouth. You felt tears well up in your eyes, then fall down your temples.
“Poor baby, crying over a few inches. How do you think you’re going to take my cock if you can’t even take this, hm?” You attempted to whine around the gun but it just sounded like a garbled moan. Mitch fucked his gun in and out of your mouth slowly and you continued to squirm under him.
“Careful, baby. One wrong move and I could accidentally pull the trigger. We don’t want that now do we?” You whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut, your body going stiff.
“There you go.” He purred. You continued gagging and crying, just wanting to be done with this part already.
“Take it.” He uttered softly. After a few more long seconds he removed it, a trail of saliva connecting the barrel and your lips. You coughed and tried to catch your breath, then looked up at him through your lashes, your lips were slightly parted as you panted.
He reached up and placed a hand on your cheek. You tried not to read into it when you leaned your head against his palm. His thumb wiped the remainder of your tears, then moved down to trace your lips. He just barely put his thumb in your mouth when you closed your lips around it and sucked lightly. You swirled your tongue around his finger, then opened your lips slightly. He removed his thumb, dragging your bottom lip down on the way out.
Your thighs were squeezed together and you bucked your hips before you could stop yourself. He chuckled and removed his hand from your face, groping your breasts instead. You gasped when he pinched your nipples and then winced when he tugged even harder.
“Ow.” You mumbled. He ignored you and did it again. “You know, you don’t have to be so rough with it. It feels perfectly fine when you do it lighter.”
“Oh I know. But here’s the thing,” He leaned down in front of your face, “I’m not trying to make you feel good, and I especially don’t care if it feels good or not.” He glanced at your lips, then leaned back up.
“I’m going to keep hurting you. And if your slutty little head can’t tell the difference, that’s not my fault.” He shrugged and you pouted.
“There’s not even a small part of you that wants to make me feel good?” You looked up at him through your lashes. His hands grabbed your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles on your stomach.
“You know, usually when someone tries to kill me… that’s not a very good incentive for me to pleasure them.” You just rolled your eyes.
“But I understand why you’re confused, baby.” His tone was dripping with condescension. “Because we both know you’re not leaving here alive and yet, I’d bet you’re all too willing and eager to please me.” You scoffed and he raised his eyebrows, as if to say am I wrong?
“Tough luck.” You snickered, feeling his grip tighten on your waist. “I’m a pillow princess. So I’m perfectly content right here.” You smirked and tilted your head slightly from its place on the pillows, as if to give him a physical example of just how content you are. He gripped your neck in one hand, the other holding himself up on the bed next to your shoulder while he leaned over you.
“That may be true, but even as a pillow princess I can tell you’d do just about anything for some praise.” You felt your cheeks heat up at that. There’s no way you’re this easy to read…?
“Please.” You scoffed. “I wasn’t loved enough by my daddy and now I’ll do anything a man asks in bed? Is that it?” You said sarcastically.
“No I don’t think it’s that.” Mitch tilted his head, studying you. “I think, being a female assassin, you rarely get the recognition and praise that you deserve. So you crave it in other forms.” You swallowed, your neck moving under his palm.
“What is this, a fucking therapy session?” You spat, growing uncomfortable under his gaze.
“No.” He smirked. “I’m just having some fun by getting under your skin.”
“Or are you just stalling cause you’ve never been with a woman before?” You flashed an innocent smile as his hand tightened on your neck. “Or is it that you can’t get it up? There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mitch. Impotence isn’t uncommon.” You feigned seriousness, almost laughing at his expression.
Eventually though, he just chuckled darkly and your stomach dropped a little. He grabbed your ripped underwear and shoved it in your mouth. You looked at him with wide eyes, but before you could do anything, his hand was leaving your neck and sliding down your stomach. He reached your leg and traced over your hip bone, not going down any farther. You tried to spread your legs under him but you barely moved.
Mitch leaned up then settled between your legs on his knees. He grabbed your hips roughly and dragged his nails down your thighs, touching you just about everywhere except where you actually wanted him to.
You whined, squirming and opening your legs wider. Finally, his fingers ghosted over your clit, making you instantly buck your hips into his hand. To retaliate, he slapped your clit, hard, and shot you a warning look. You choked on a gasp at the sting but it faded quickly.
His fingers lightly dragged down your clit to your folds, then back up to start again. You were just about to rip the underwear from your mouth and tell him to hurry up when a finger entered you. You let out a muffled moan and closed your eyes, tilting your head back. He curled his finger inside you over and over again until you were bucking your hips against his hand. He inserted another finger and you let out another relieved moan.
This continued for a few minutes until you felt yourself nearing the edge. His palm pressed down against your clit, adding even more stimulation. Your hips were rocking against his hand and your eyes closed as you were about to come. He pulled his hand away suddenly, making you whine loudly.
“Ready for some torture?” Mitch smirked and you pouted around the makeshift gag. His fingers entered you, picking up where they left off. You fisted the sheets in both hands and arched your back slightly as you got close again. He stopped and you cried out as you came down from the edge for a second time.
“You gonna answer me now?” He looked at you with a dark glint in his eyes. He wasn’t really asking since he didn’t remove the gag to let you speak. “That’s fine. I have all night.” He curled his fingers inside of you and picked up the speed, making you release a muffled moan. He edged you a few more times- after the fourth time you started losing count- and you were so desperate that you were on the verge of tears.
You tried talking around the underwear in your mouth but it just came out as incoherent, muffled sounds. He removed it and you didn’t waste a second before begging.
“Please- I want…” You cut off with a sharp inhale when a third finger entered you, “I want to come. Please make me come.” He was silent for a moment and then he removed his fingers, sucking your arousal off of them quickly.
“How about this?” He picked up your gun and took out the bullets, leaving one in, and then spun the cylinder. “I’m going to shoot this four times,” he leaned over on his elbow, aiming the gun at your temple, “and if you’re still alive by the end of it, then you can come.” You choked on a gasp and his fingers brushed your entrance again.
“If you’re not alive by the end of it…” He leaned down so his nose almost brushed yours, “Well, I’m still going to fuck you.” He whispered with a dark look in his eyes that made you shiver. He inserted his fingers again and you whimpered at the intrusion.
“Ready?” He smirked, cocking the gun. You shook your head and furrowed your brows.
“N-no, I don’t-“ You flinched when he pulled the trigger, the click deafening right next to your ear because of the sudden fear you got hit with. You shuddered and squeezed your eyes shut.
“One.” He rasped. You whimpered and shook your head more.
“M-Mitch, I-I don’t wanna…” You gasped out.
“Why not, baby?” He worked his fingers inside you faster now. “I thought you wanted to come?” And the thing is… you do. You want to come so fucking badly. The gun aimed at your head is only adding to the growing knot of arousal in your stomach. But you watched him load the gun. And you have every reason to believe that he truly doesn’t care whether he fucks you before or after he kills you. While the thought makes you clench around his fingers, you’d rather be alive for that.
“Just three more, princess. I know you can take it. You wanna come right?” The saccharinity in his voice was quickly taking down all of your defenses. You nodded hesitantly, still shaking out of fear and arousal. He pulled the trigger again, the sound making you release a choked sob.
“Two more.” You felt tears welling in your eyes quickly. You’ve dabbled with fear play as a kink in the past, but it was never anything like this. He inserted a fourth finger and you whimpered at the stretch, but didn’t tell him to stop.
“You deserve this, princess.” His fingers contrasted the gentleness in his tone. “Maybe I should just fire all six rounds.” You moaned through a cry, feeling too overwhelmed emotionally and physically. “Cause we both know your holes are all you’re good for. At least when you’re dead you won’t be able to talk.” He fired the third shot and you felt the tears start to fall.
“Poor thing. Are you scared?” He cooed softly and you nodded with a whimper. “Little girls like you shouldn’t be carrying weapons around. It makes it too easy for just anyone to turn the tables and have you at the other end.” The way he reprimanded you was infantilizing. And you hated the fact that you don’t hate it…
“I-I’m sorry.” You whimpered, not sure what else to say.
“You’re so fucking pathetic. Look at you, humping my hand.” You didn’t even realize you were doing that. “Even with a gun to your head you’re still only thinking with your cunt. That’s why you’re a shitty assassin.” He whispered the last part bitterly.
“Dumb little whores like you aren’t cut out for this, you know why? Because you’d rather fuck your target than finish the assignment.” He ground the palm of his hand down hard on your clit, making you moan. “Say it, princess. Say ‘I’m a dumb whore who only thinks with my cunt.’” You whined loudly in protest, but he pressed the gun hard into your temple, reminding you of your position right now.
“I-“ You cut off with a choked sob, “I’m a…” You squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassed.
“Open your eyes, baby. Open your eyes and look at me.” You complied. “There you go. Now keep looking at me and say it. Don’t make me tell you again or one more shot will turn into two.”
“I’m a- a dumb whore who only thinks with my- with my cunt.” You whispered and Mitch looked satisfied.
“You ready to come?” You whimpered and nodded eagerly, thinking he’d let you come before firing the last shot. “Then just one more, baby.” Your stomach dropped and you felt the fear come back, full force. The coil in your stomach was about as tight as it could get and you tried to come before he could have a chance to fire another round, but your body would not obey you.
“Ready?” You choked on a sob and shook your head. “Oh come on, don’t be such a little bitch about it. Do you want to come or not?”
“Yes!” You cried.
“Then beg.” He said and you paused.
“W-what?”
“Beg me to shoot you so you can finally come, humping my hand like a fucking bitch in heat.” He growled, his fingers somehow going faster. You stared at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.
“Go on, baby.”
“Please…” You mumbled.
“Remember what I said would happen if I had to tell you again?” You swallowed, giving him a small nod.
“Please s-shoot me…” You whimpered, eyeing the gun. He raised his eyebrows so you continued, “so you can finally make me come.”
“Good girl.” He smirked, grinding his palm harder against your clit, bringing you impossibly closer to the edge. He fired the gun and you froze, then let out a heavy breath.
“Can- can I come now please?” You all but sobbed in relief.
“Go ahead, princess. Keep humping my hand just like that… good girl. Grind on it, baby. Make yourself cum.” He set the gun on the bed then wrapped his hand around your throat, pressing on the sides hard enough to make you light headed. You gripped his bicep and squeezed your eyes shut. Finally the knot inside you snapped and your back arched as your head tilted back, pushing your throat into his hand. Your other hand reached up to grab the wrist of the hand on your neck. You didn’t try to pull him away, you just needed something to ground yourself.
As you came down from your orgasm, your body sagged into the bed. Your eyes were closed as you panted, trying to catch your breath. He pulled his fingers from you then took his ring and pinky fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean and groaning at the taste. He placed his pointer and middle fingers in your already open mouth and you moaned, leaning forward to take them deeper.
“Who do you work for?” He asked softly, removing his fingers and using his other hand to cup your cheek. The tenderness of his touch and his voice distracted you from the weight of the question.
“Piece of shit.” You mumbled sleepily, leaning into his hand. “Hate him.” You sighed and closed your eyes that were growing heavier the longer you tried to keep them open.
“Why does he want me dead?” He brushed his thumb against your cheek, his other hand moving some hair behind your ear.
“You’re being so sweet. Dunno why anyone would want that.” You pouted, opening your eyes to look at him. He gave you a soft smile, but his eyes showed his confusion. “I didn’t wanna kill you. Dunno why… just had a feeling I guess.” You returned his smile then closed your eyes again.
“I’m not done with you yet, princess. Don’t go falling asleep on me now.” He chuckled, his breath fanning against your lips. “Remember what I said? I’m fucking you whether you’re alive or not.”
“Alive doesn’t mean conscious.” You smiled mischievously, not opening your eyes.
“Alright then. If you don’t want to be conscious when I fuck your face and then your cunt, then by all means. Go ahead and sleep. Makes no difference to me.” You could practically hear his smirk, and yet… you still took the bait. You opened your eyes and glared at him.
“Fine. I guess I’ll be conscious.” You huffed dramatically, rolling your eyes. You did your best to suppress a giggle.
“I’m honored.” His faux seriousness is what made you break out into a fit of laughter. He didn’t really laugh with you, but he smiled so you counted that as a win.
“Alright get it over with.” You settled into your spot on the bed and opened your mouth with a glint in your eyes.
“You’re such a pillow princess.” He muttered, shaking his head with an amused smile.
“Hey! Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing. I’m proud to be a pillow princess.” You grinned and he just scoffed.
“Yeah, okay.” He laid down on the spot next to you, one hand resting on his stomach and the other behind his head. “Sorry, princess but you’re gonna have to do some of the work. I’ve been on top the whole time.”
“So what I’m hearing is… you want to bottom? I mean I’m down for that but I don’t think we have the right materials, unless you’re hiding a strap somewhere.” You smirked, sitting up.
“Cute. Remember what happened last time you didn’t watch your mouth?” You flushed at the memory.
“How are you gonna fuck my face if you gag me with my underwear again?”
“I’m really starting to reconsider accepting your decision to stay conscious.” You gaped at him.
“You wound me, Mitch.” You put a hand over your heart dramatically.
“I’m going to wound you if you don’t hurry up.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You know, you telling me to hurry up makes me want to do the opposite.” You crossed your arms and he huffed.
“You’re a brat too. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Yeah actually. It usually goes hand in hand with the whole pillow princess thing.” You condescended him and he raised his eyebrows.
“Fine.” He rolled his eyes then looked up at you through his lashes. “Please suck my cock, baby. You wanna make me feel good right? Wanna prove that you really are a good girl? Cause I’m aching for you, princess. I know you can make me feel so fucking good.” He all but whined and you faltered. That was not what you were expecting at all. You figured you’d get another sarcastic reply, not- not that. You settled between his legs on your knees.
“I want to state for the record that I am doing this because I want to, not because you told me to.” You started unbuttoning his pants and you glanced up when he didn’t reply. He had a satisfied smirk on his stupid, pretty face. You just glared at him and kept working on taking his pants off. When you removed his black briefs you were mesmerized as his cock slapped against his stomach, big and red and did you mention he was big??
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“I would but you threw my phone somewhere so…” You reached out to touch him but he grabbed your wrist.
“Take them off all the way.” You huffed but did what he said then reached for him again, he didn’t stop you this time. It looked even bigger in your hand and you could see the vein on the bottom and the precum surfacing at the tip. You leaned down and licked the clear bead, moaning at the taste and then laying down on your stomach between his legs.
You looked up at him and god what a sight. The veins in his arm behind his head are bulging and you could see the veins in the hand resting on his stomach. His pupils were blown wide and he had a light blush on his face.
“C’mon, princess. We don’t have all night.” You ignored him and continued trailing your gaze over his body. You wanted to kiss all of the moles littering his face. Your hand reached up and you brushed your fingers down his happy trail until you reached the base of his cock. You grasped it and looked up at him before starting to move your hand.
His eyes fluttering was the only indication that he even felt anything, so you decided to do more. You put the tip in your mouth and lightly sucked and then swirled your tongue around it, your hand still pumping him. He muttered a ‘fuck’ and you wanted more.
You took him deeper into your mouth, until your lips met your hand, then went back up, still keeping your mouth on him. You looked up at him and when you met his eyes he groaned. He tangled a hand in your hair but didn’t push you yet.
“That’s it. Fuck- good girl. No hands, baby. Just your mouth.” You removed your hand and continued bobbing your head up and down his length. He started taking control, moving you further down each time. When you gagged and tried to pull back is when he lost all control.
His other hand joined your hair and he didn’t even move your head. He just held you still and bucked up into your mouth at a punishing pace. Each time he thrusted in, you were nearly all the way down, but not fully. His thrusting came to an abrupt stop when he buried his cock as far as your throat would allow.
“Fuck- Relax your throat, princess. C’mon, take me all the way in.” You did your best to relax and he pushed inside until you gagged around him and tried moving off him. His grip didn’t loosen and you clawed at his thighs, feeling your airways start to burn from lack of oxygen. When he finally let you pull back, you took a huge breath in and coughed. Mitch was stroking your hair and you looked up at him with tears in your eyes.
“Ready for more?” You glanced at his cock again and nodded, licking your lips. He eased your mouth back over him and started with slow thrusts. He moved your head up and down his length, the slow place allowing you to concentrate on breathing and not gagging.
“You’re just the perfect little fuck toy for my cock, aren’t you?” You moaned around him and he started to speed up. “Just a fleshlight for me to use however I want. Fuck- you were made for this.” He grunted. His hips started to meet your mouth every time he pushed you down.
“Fuck- take it, princess.” He groaned when you choked around him. He held you down until your lips were at the base of his cock, paying no mind to your struggling. Your hands gripped his thighs again, nails digging into the skin. Even though he was holding you flush against his hips, he was still thrusting into your mouth slightly.
Finally he released you, a trail of spit connecting your lips and his cock. One of his hands fell to his side, the other brushing the tears of your face.
“Come here.” He muttered, pulling your body up his. He kissed you slowly, nails dragging down your back, making you groan. He rolled both of you over until he was on top of you, never breaking the kiss.
“I’m gonna fuck you now.” He rasped. You nodded your head, eager for him to start. “Condom?” He took his cock in his hand, rubbing the tip against your opening and your clit.
“Don’t have one. I’m on the pill though.” You breathed, bucking your hips into him. He connected his lips to yours again, this time faster and more eager. He pressed the tip against your opening, pushing in the tiniest amount. When he finally breached your walls you gasped. Obviously you knew he was big… but it’s a whole other story when he’s actually inside you.
He slowly slid his length into you, your legs being pushed up to his hips the closer he got. When his hips were flush against yours, your chest started heaving as you tried to relax around him.
“Fuck,” You whimpered, grabbing his bicep in one hand and the sheets in the other, “oh my god. You’re so fucking big.” You gasped out. He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth in a silent moan. Mitch grabbed your thigh and pushed it up higher, the new angle making you whimper.
“Oh fuck- your little cunt is so tight around me.” He groaned, finally starting to pull back slowly. He dragged his length out of you until only the tip was inside, then snapped his hips forward quickly. The force pushed you up the bed slightly but he continued that rhythm.
“Fuck- please go faster.” You whined, dragging your nails down his back and making him groan. His thrusts sped up slightly, the sound of his hips hitting yours was resonating through the room, along with your moans. His mouth attached to your neck as he bit and sucked the skin everywhere he could reach. You put a hand in his hair and pulled on it hard. To retaliate, his hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing the sides and making your head feel lighter.
Mitch kissed you again briefly, then pulled out. You whimpered at the empty feeling but he quickly grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach. He pulled you onto your knees then pressed down on your upper back, making you arch even further. His cock entered you again and you let out a loud moan at the sudden thrust. His pace picked up quickly and you fisted the sheets near your head and squeezed your eyes shut. His hand left your back to grab your hips, using the leverage to thrust harder and faster.
He landed a sharp slap on your ass and you cried out from the sudden sting. He leaned over you and brushed the hair on your face behind your ear. His thrusts never ceased as his lips brushed your ear.
“You take my cock so fucking well, baby.” He said through a moan. Your breath hitched and you felt his words add to the growing warmth in your belly. “It’s like you were made for me. Made to be my little cock sleeve.” Mitch grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, making you gasp. His other hand wrapped around your throat, pushing your head back slightly. The harshness of his thrusts coupled with the sting on your scalp and the floaty feeling from his hand on your neck was driving you closer to the edge.
No matter how much you hated your boss or your job… you couldn’t help but feel glad that you didn’t quit yet. Because this was probably the best fuck of your life. Sure, most of the other men you’ve been with couldn’t please a woman to save their life- literally and metaphorically- but there’s just something different about him. About the way that he’s rough and soft at the same time. Not just in his actions but in his words too. It’s almost like he had a fucking manual for all of your kinks and turn ons.
“Where do you want me to come?” He whispered, lips grazing your ear. And fuck- you clenched around him, making him moan lowly.
“Inside.” You whispered breathily. His grip on your neck tightened and he cursed under his breath.
“Yeah? You want me to fill you up?” He put all his weight on the arm holding your throat, then released your hair and moved his hand down to start rubbing your clit.
“Please.” You whined, clenching down on him again.
“Such a fucking slut- wanting a stranger to come inside you.” You whimpered at that because… even though it doesn’t feel like it, he still is a stranger. “What if I knock you up, huh? I guess it won’t matter either way since, like I said, you’re not leaving here alive.” His thrusts got harder and faster and he was panting next to your head.
“Please, I-“ You cut off with a choked sob, getting closer to your release with every thrust. “I wanna live. Wanna be your cock sleeve.” Despite you being 90% sure this was all roleplay, there was still some truth to your words.
“Begging for your life and all you have to offer are your holes?” Your breath hitched and his words just added to the growing knot in your stomach. “I might consider that. But it depends… are you offering all your holes?”
“Yes!” You said through a moan. “Yes- all of them.” He chuckled darkly. “Please, I- I need to come.” You cried, feeling yourself nearing the edge.
“Go ahead, baby. Come and I’ll fill you up, okay?” He rasped, his hand rubbing your clit faster. Your body obeyed his command and you cried out when your orgasm hit. You heard him curse under his breath and felt as he fucked into you faster. You buried your face in the bed, muffling your loud moans. His hips stilled and you felt hot come paint your walls. You let out a loud whine as his hips just barely bucked against you, trying to bury himself deeper.
After both of you stilling and just panting for a few seconds, you lifted your face from the bed so you could breathe better and he moved off of you so he was kneeling. Mitch slowly dragged his cock out and you clenched at the emptiness. You felt his come drip out of you, down your clit, and he groaned loudly. He rubbed the head of his cock on you, spreading his come around, and you hissed at how sensitive you were. He moved to lay beside you and you dropped down from your knees on your stomach.
“You don’t seem like the type to cuddle after sex.” You chuckled and the corners of his lips turned up.
“You’d be surprised. But we aren’t exactly cuddling right now.”
“Well what’s stopping you?” You smirked and he rolled his eyes before pulling you to lay partially on top of him.
“Better?” He raised his brows and you laughed quietly.
“Much.” You said, laying your head on his chest. His fingertips lightly dragged up and down your arm and you traced the moles and freckles on his chest. What now? You thought. He’s not actually going to kill you… is he? “Are you actually gonna kill me?” You mumbled against his chest.
“I don’t know…” He sighed. “No. But I can’t just let you go.” He was silent for a moment before continuing. “I think I should bring you to my superiors and let them decide what to do with you.”
“Your superiors? That doesn’t sound ominous at all.” You laughed, feeling his chest vibrate as he chuckled quietly. “What are they like mob bosses or something?” You said teasingly.
“More like a former navy seal and director of the CIA.”
“The C-“ You lifted yourself off his chest to look at him. “CIA? You work for the CIA??” Your voice rose in shock and he raised his brows, amused by your reaction.
“Oh my god- I almost killed someone from the CIA. That would’ve been so bad.” You put a hand over your mouth and stared at him with wide eyes. “You didn’t even get close to killing me.” He chuckled.
“Only because I didn’t want to. I totally could’ve killed you.” He just smirked at you but you were too hung up on the fact that your boss basically sent you on a suicide mission. If not suicide, then life in jail.
“That bastard! He sent me to kill an agent of the US government and didn’t even fucking tell me.” You seethed before calmly stating, “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Don’t kill him.” He chuckled. “Actually it depends. Who is he?” You told him the name and his eyebrows raised before he let out a small laugh.
“What?” You asked, confused.
“That’s the guy we’ve been after right now. We’re actually really close too.”
“Oh... What’d he do?” You asked.
“He’s a terrorist.” He deadpanned and your whole expression dropped.
“Oh shit.” You breathed. “Okay well now I definitely want to kill him.” You shrugged. “After I get paid though.”
“But you didn’t kill me.”
“That’s what’s funny about it though. It’d be even more ironic if you were the one to kill him.” Suddenly, you realized that you, an assassin, are talking to an agent of the US government about killing someone. “Are you gonna arrest me?” You asked nervously and he let out a small chuckle.
“I don’t think I can even do that… but no.” You sighed in relief. “Plus, what good is a fuck toy if it’s in jail?” He smirked and you felt your cheeks heat up.
I’M SORRY IDK HOW TO END THIS 😭💀
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The one where your water breaks | Rúben Dias imagine
Rating / genre: pure fluff
Pairings: Reader x Rúben Dias
Summary: The moment your water breaks.
Warnings: can't think of any beside use of pet names "baby girl", "babe", "baby"
Word Count: 628 words
This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
“Babe.” Nothing.
“Baabe.” you called louder, but again, nothing.
Then you pulled out the one you knew for sure was going to work.
“Baaabe help.”
“What happened? Are you okay? Is it time?” Your husband rushes into the bedroom only in a towel wrapped around his waist. Hair wet. So hot. What a view. You allow yourself to gawk at him for a couple of seconds, then you remember why you called him.
“No. I can’t get up. Help, please.” Rúben chuckles softly at you, figure buried underneath the covers of the king sized bed, hands reaching our for him to grab and help you up.
“Here, I got you. On three. 1-2..” He leans over, links his forearms under your armpits then pulls you up.
“-3. God. When is this baby going to come out?” You whine.
“You’re adorable pregnant. The waddle is iconic.” He states, giving your temple a kiss before he let’s go of your hands once he's sure you regained your balance.
And he’s being honest. He’s been enjoying watching you walking around with a huge belly and a small pout. It’s been the best when the days were easy on you. No pain, no nausea..On days when it was too much, he internally conversed with the little one, trying to convince her to come out sooner. That’s when he stops enjoying it, when you’re struggling.
“This..” You point to your swollen tummy. "..is your fault.”
“Well it took two, didn’t it?” He smiles as he speaks knowingly. You know he’s joking. It’s annoying but true.
“It’s been 41 weeks tho. I’m about to request an extra fee.” Your hand caresses the tiny bump within your bump where he has his foot rested now. It’s never not weird. But cute nonetheless.
“Baby girl, the accommodation was for 39 weeks. Start packing up already. Rent is due.” You said while looking down at your bump.
Your husband also puts his hand on top of yours to join the conversation. “Does she have a penthouse or what in there? Sure seems very comfy.” Your heart swells whenever you three have a moment like this. Another reason why you want her here with you two. You get to feel her every second of the day but you want Rúben to form the same bond you feel like you have with her. For him to hold her..
“She sure will be a spoiled one.”
“Yeah. Daddy will spoil his girl.” You raise a brow. It takes him a second, then he catches it. “-sss. Girls. My girls.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” You smirk, then go on to ask “Daddy, why don’t you spoil the one who’s actually physically here by giving her a backrub?"
“Let me change into something first.” He looks down to remind you he’s naked under that towel. You feel your cheeks get hot at the thought, as if you’ve never seen what’s underneath. The hormones. God, it’s been too long.
“Make it quick.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Same goes for you little one. We can’t wait to meet you. And I can’t wait for these back and pelvic pains to go away. No offense.” You said while continuing to rub on your belly.
Something’s wrong.
“Is she offended?” You dumbly think to yourself.
What the..?
“Babe!” You gasp. Wait. Oh. Is this..?
“Coming. Can’t find my hoodie. Be there in a second. Oh there it is!”
“Rúben!" You call for him louder this time despite the nerves kicking in.
“Babe, I said I’ll rub your back. I ain't going nowhere. Relax."
“Baby, please, come here right now!” you squealed.
“I’m here. What’s-”
“I-I think my water just broke.” You say with wide eyes as you feel liquid slide down your legs. Oh boy, It’s happening.
#ruben dias#ruben gato dias#ruben dias fic#ruben dias imagine#ruben dias imagines#ruben dias x reader#ruben dias x you#ruben dias x y/n#ruben dias fluff#football imagine#football imagines
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Do you think it was a date?
[DP x DC fic]
[Love at first... murder? - part 5]
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Part 1
Ao3
---
In-chat nicknames:
Daniel = Danny
Sharpshooter = Jazz
TooFine= Tucker
Chaos = Sam
TheCoolerDaniel = Danielle/Dani/Ellie
---
Private chat nicknames:
Bill = Danny
Pants = Jazz
---
As soon as Danny enters his apartment, face bright red, he takes his head into his hands and lets out a silent scream.
He could have said anything, and he panicked and went with Toodealoo Kangaroo???
At this rate, he’ll never get a partner.
As Danny stands there in misery, his phone starts buzzing with messages. Curious, he checks his phone to see what going on.
Uh oh.
---
Team Phantom 👻😎
Chaos: Guys check this out
Chaos: *link*
Chaos: The Joker escaped from Arkham again, but no one’s heard anything of him since, nor have they been able to find him
TooFine: @Daniel 👀
TooFine: ok the @ had been a joke but the fact that he has read it and not replied is concerning
Sharpshooter: @Daniel, what did you do?
Sharpshooter: @Daniel
Sharpshooter: I can see that you’re reading this, don’t ignore me.
TooFine: ohhhh someones in troubleee 👀
Sharpshooter: Tucker.
TooFine: 🤐
---
Danny takes a deep breath.
Well, it’s now or never. Let’s hope Jazz is feeling merciful.
---
Private chat
Bill: ok so you know how you said you would still love me if I was a worm?
Pants: I have no clue how this ties into the previous conversation, but yes. Why?
Bill: hypothetically
Bill: would you also still love me if I
Bill: hypothetically
Bill: accidentally
Bill: vibe checked someone that tried to uh
Bill: hypothetically
Bill: kidnap and or kill me??
Bill: 🥺🥺🙏
Pants: Danny, did you accidentally kill the Joker?
Bill: yes or no Jazz??!? 😩🥺
Pants: Yes, Danny. I would still love you if you, hypothetically, accidentally killed the Joker.
Bill: this is why you’re my favorite sister 🥹🥰😘
Bill: don’t tell Ellie 😳🫣
Pants: Danny, what happened?
---
Danny lets out a sigh of relief before proceeding to tell Jazz what happened.
---
Pants: Oh Danny.
Bill: are you mad at me?
Pants: I’m not mad at you, I just want you to stay safe.
Pants: While I don’t condone murder, I understand that it was self-defense and an accident. I‘m just glad that you’re alright.
Bill: 🥰💞😘
---
With a small smile on his face, Danny goes back to the groupchat.
---
Team Phantom 👻😎
Daniel: you know
Daniel: if I had a nickel for every time I’ve had to fight off an insane clown that attacked me 🤡
Daniel: I’d have two nickels
Daniel: which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened twice, right? 🤔
Chaos: Damnit Danny, we leave you alone in a new city for a week and you already manage to get into a fight with one of Gotham City’s most infamous rogues
TooFine: actually its been 6 days 10 hours and 17 minutes
TooFine: so not even a full week yet
Chaos: Did you at least get a good few punches in?
Chaos: Danny?
TooFine: @Daniel ???
TooFine: if i had a nickel for every time danny said something concerning and then didnt provide context id be richer than vlad
Daniel: anyway, for completely unrelated reasons, @TooFine I need you to wipe some cams for me 😃
TooFine: danny im not wiping the cams again so no one will have proof of you tripping backward and falling ass-first into a trashcan
Chaos: Speaking of, Tucker do you still have that footage and can you send it to me?
TooFine: already done
Daniel: noo it’s nothing like that this time 😫
Daniel: pleaseeee 🥺🙏🙏
Daniel: I’ll get you an autograph from Tim Drake-Wayne?
TooFine: deal.
Daniel: 🥳🎉
Daniel: ok so the footage from somewhere around 3 am last night
Daniel: around some place named park row??
Daniel: I think it’s called?? 🤔
Daniel: though I’m pretty sure I’ve also heard some people refer to it as crime alley
Daniel: not sure why tho 🤷
TooTine: aye aye captain o7
Chaos: Danny, in an alley getting attacked by the fucking Joker: I wonder why this place is called crime alley
Daniel: stop bullying me 😠
Chaos: No
TooFine: hey danny r u sure thats right? i checked the cams n stuff but theres no available footage from the area n time u described
TooFine: its like someones already wiped it all
Daniel: oh!
Daniel: that’s so sweet of him 😊
Chaos: Wait who is this ‘him’?
TooFine: the joker????
Daniel: oh no not the Joker
Daniel: just some cute guy I met last night
Daniel: he witnessed me killing the Joker 🫣
Daniel: and didn’t call the cops on me afterward 🥰💞
TooFine: def green flag
Chaos: Oh hell yeah, he’s a keeper
Chaos: Wait you killed the Joker?! I thought you just fought him off!
Daniel: it was an accident!! 😭😭
Daniel: he crept up on me and tried to grab me 😓
Daniel: so I got startled and because all I saw was a clown
Daniel: I just kinda punched his face in with my ghost strength… 😰
TooFine: f
Chaos: f
Sharpshooter: Have you gotten rid of the body yet? Did you leave behind DNA at the crime scene? Will I need to start saving up bail money or getting ready to enact the Fenton Break Out plan?
Chaos: Jazz asking the important questions here
Daniel: well, considering the footage was wiped
Daniel: and also the fact that no one’s found him yet
Daniel: I think it’s safe to assume it’s all taken care of
Daniel: that’s honestly really sweet of him though 🥰😊
TooFine: oohhhhh ur mystery boo??
Daniel: yeah, this random guy saw me vibe-checking the Joker
Daniel: and let me go home without any trouble
Daniel: pretty sure he’s the one who wiped the cams 🤔
Daniel: and then today he showed up at my apartment with flowers 🥺
Daniel: they were sweat peas!!!! 🥰🤩
Chaos: Was that to thank you for the murder orrrr?
Sharpshooter: Oh those are your favorite, was that on purpose?
Daniel: well I didn’t tell him
Daniel: so I’m not sure if he knew or if it was a coincidence 🤷
Daniel: but yeah then he took me out to this restaurant called Pete’s for dinner
Daniel: they had some amazing cannoli
Daniel: you should try it sometime if you get the chance
Daniel: and then after dinner he took me to the observatory!!!!!!! 🤩🥰
Sharpshooter: Gotham observatory?
Sharpshooter: Isn’t that the one with the special telescope, I think you mentioned it before
Daniel: yeah, the crystal-powered telescope!! 😍💞✨🤩❤️
Daniel: and at the end, he brought me home
Daniel: and he asked for my number!!!
TooFine: nice dude!
Chaos: The guy really went all-out and planned your dream date hu? So, what’s this mystery hunk’s name?
Daniel: oh I’m not sure, I didn’t ask 🙃🤭
Sharpshooter: Danny…
Daniel: yes?
Sharpshooter: Did you go on a date with a complete stranger who witnessed you commit a murder?
Chaos: How do you not even know his name?
Daniel: two words Jazz: Johnny 13
Daniel: and he’s not a stranger!! 😠
Sharpshooter: But you don’t know his name?
Chaos: We just can’t leave him alone, can we? Less than a week on his own and he already murdered one of Gotham’s most infamous rogues and then completely forgets the concept of Stranger Danger
Daniel: I mean he probably just found it when he tried to do some research on me or something
Daniel: probably got it from the school’s system now that I think of it 🤔
TooFine: dude who the hell is this guy??
Chaos: Who the fuck did you go on a date with?
Daniel: do you really think it was a date? 🥺😳
Daniel: I wasn’t sure
Daniel: cause he mainly took me out for dinner to thank me for the night before
Daniel: but then again
Daniel: he did get me flowers and ask for my number after he brought me back to my apartment 🤔
Daniel: like I wasn’t sure if I was reading the signals right…..
Daniel: but do you think that was a date? 🫣
Sharpshooter: Danny, for the love of the Ancients.
Sharpshooter: Who was it?
Daniel: oh, it was Red Hood 🥰
TooFine: damn dannys got that vigilante rizz
Sharpshooter: Red Hood? The crime lord?!
TooFine: former, actually
Daniel: what he said ^^
Chaos: Danny, you really have a type huh? Vigilantes with a Red theme. Who’s next? Red Robin?
Daniel: stop bullying me
TooFine: never
Chaos: Never
Daniel: on a different note, who changed my name in the chat again?
Sharpshooter: Ellie did.
Chaos: Ellie
TooFine: @TheCoolerDaniel
TheCoolerDaniel: 😎
TheCoolerDaniel: wait i just read back, danny’s dating a crime lord?? :0 👀
---
Taglist (for now, I’ll probably stop if I cant keep up):
@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard
#i had more planned for this chapter#but this already started to become too long#so the batfam reactions will hae to be in the next chap#sorry#anyway#dp x dc#dp x dc fic#dpxdc#dcxdp#dp x dc crossover#dead on main#dead on main ship#Danny in an alley getting attacked by the fucking Joker: I wonder why this place called crime alley#team phantom has questions#but then again weirder shit has happened#danny killing the joker and going on a date with red hood is barely in the top 10 of weird/fucked up shit he's done#he seems fine and happy so theyre not too worried#might be planning a shovel talk in a private chat tho#sam: alright ill get the creep stick#sam: jazz--#jazz: already getting the ecto-skeleton ready as we speak#oh for those who are curious#jazz and danny's private chat nicknames are references to invis-o-bill and jazzie-pants the nicknames#question: would anyone mind me adding some plot? it'll still be mainly crack of course#but i got a thought of how i could add in a lil plot#tho i won't do it if people prefer it like this#so let me know what y'all think
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Do we actually know what happens in the basement? Or did I miss it somewhere?It sounds terrfying but I can’t seem to find or remeber what happens in it
I haven't exactly written what goes on in the basement, but from a few oneshots etc, you can piece together that there are probably a lot of isolation, starvation, mental manipulation and physical things. I want/plan to make a one-shot where yn is in the basement after doing something they shouldn't:)
Examples/times the basement is mentioned to get a better understanding of just how bad it can be (with links in case you want to read the stories<3):
Best for you:
You messed up badly. You should not have tried to escape. Look where you ended up — in the darkest corner of his basement with your ankles chained to the stone floor. Reduced to nothing more than a dog.
You're not sure how long you've been down here, but you've been given the opportunity to use the degrading potty four times by now by rough, evil men. Or was it more?
You press yourself closer to the wall, wishing nothing else than to melt into it and disappear.
"No, no, no, shh, it's okay", he says quickly. "I'm not going to hurt you anymore. Everything is over. I'm here to help."
You doubt that.
His hand comes up to massage your roots. All of these actions are so soft and after being chained up in this cold, hard and unforgiving basement, you can't do anything else but slowly relax.
The witty and uncanny part 1
Resting now might be crucial in case Silas decides to find you again. Otherwise you might be too vulnerable for Silas's harsh manipulation. You won’t survive the basement if you’re not rested up.
Intruder part 2
The chains around your wrists, ankles and throat kep you in place. Like a filthy dog. You start to feel less and less human and more like an animal for every day that passes by. You remind yourself of your name, your background and your family to avoid going insane. But maybe that's what he wants? He wants you dumb and dusted for him so you won't try to escape. Maybe he wants you to be a blank canvas that only he can paint in whatever color and shapes he wants. Maybe he wants to mold your brain into his perfect servant. Someone that does everything he wants at the blink of an eye.
Can't hide from me
Every motion is quiet and terrified. You’re horrified you’ll turn around and see him stand right behind you with his death glare, ready to throw you back into the basement. You’d rather die than end up there again. You don’t think you can take another day, week or month in the basement. To be fair, you never know how long you’re down there. One time you entered when the snow was falling outside and came out when the first flowers bloomed.
“Listen, baby, you have two choices. Either, you come with me like a good little pet and don’t cause trouble. That way, your punishment will be much lighter. Or, you can continue to act like a brat and I’ll knock you unconscious and throw you into the basement until you grow mold. What do you say? Are you going to behave?”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere drabbles#yandere oc x you#yandere mafia#yandere oc x reader
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