#but the consent is what makes the murder-fucking hot! At! Every! Step!
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Warhammer/Marazhai brainrot has me so fucking stupid.
#me ranting all day:#but the consent is what makes the murder-fucking hot! At! Every! Step!#(remembers murdered crew) well okay consent between /him and the RT/ is important#Scary Elf Pain Frenzy or no the fact that you can say “nah” even mid-murder high is nice!#and it doesnt even necessarily feel OOC for that happen cuz of why he's even doing this#the fact that he waits until the RT /reaches for him/ in the first Feast even after the yes#he wants them to say yes and want more until they either meet his level or give up and feel bad about themselves cuz like Drukhari and all#and like iirc the only time he gets upset @ the RT saying “no” is after the branding but thats more like#a personal “why are you divorcing me” upset and he still doesnt like touch them or hurt them or anything#like idk are you getting what im putting down?#i like that the messed up Murder Elf likes and /wants/ the RTs sign off on every step of the romance and its nice#but also this is a Drukhari and all of this is done on a pile of bodies so what the fuck am i talking about yk?#insanity! why am i blabbing about this#marazhai aezyrraesh#<-for finding later
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Teen Aliza: background: I came out to my parents as lesbian last month.
this easter morning, i come downstairs to find my basket (a tradition in my family) and i can’t find it anywhere.
my mom gives me a hint: “it’s where you were last year”
the basket was in the fucking closet.
Get ready for some @pmseymourva shit-
✨Random Quotes From The Fam✨
Adam: Somebody told me that Genderfluid and Transgender people don't exist...*opens the closet* but I found these things in my closet (눈‸눈)
Celeste (trans) and Ditto (genderfluid): We like bread~ (꒪꒳꒪)
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Adam: okay guys, we gotta be careful, someone here is possessed by an owl.
Mewtwo: who?
Adam: that's the thing, we don't-
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Mewtwo: eat ASS, Adam! *Whips Adam with his tail*
Adam: *he dodges it* sorry, i'm on an ass-free diet!
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Adam: vegans make peace with honey
Adam: no shut up do it
Mewtwo:
vegans will pretend not to hear when natives tell them their agave products are unsustainable because they have whimsical feelings about, and i cannot stress this enough, the freedom of hive insects
Some vegan: Honey is literally murder but go off
Adam: Prove it.
Some vegan: They literally puke their guts up to make your honey
Mewtwo: I have not seen any evidence tonsugges they are harmed or die in the process of production. They do regurgitate the nectar as part of the process to concentrate it into honey (an interesting process) but they do not suffer any injury during this process. If they did, the cost to produce honey, which is done naturally as a measure to survive over winter and through times of lower availability, would outweigh the benefits. If you kill several bees to produce enough honey to make one more bee, It makes no sense. Any animal that did that would die, even with human intervention.
Mewtwo: Do you have any sources which suggest otherwise? I’d be interested to hear of this (relatively publicly available) information was false or misunderstood.
Some vegan: Bee farmers use whats called a honey maker. It’s a crude devices. It similar to a meat grinder. They force the bees in and grind them up. What comes out is a paste. That paste is later filtered into what we know as honey
Mary: This is the funniest thing i've read.
Celeste: Mary, please show us pics of your bee grinder.
Mary:
they might be falsely thinking about a honey extractor machine. but all these do is you place the beehive frames inside and a motor rotates it at a speed that removes the honey, which is then tapped through a tap at the bottom.
Mewtwo: …do they think they put bees in that and spin them around until they vomit…?
Mew: bee carnival.
Adam: bad and naughty bees get put into the b e e c e n t r i f u g e to extract their honey.
Mewtwo: Vegans coming after beekeepers is one of my major teeth grinding annoyances. For many reasons, because there’s so many lies. And to go one step further because it’s such a waste. You see, the strongest vegan argument is that they don’t want to exploit animals or take from them without their consent.
Mewtwo: … but… Bees consent. NO. I’M NOT KIDDING.
Mewtwo: How? Bee hives aren’t kept on leashes. They’re outside, the bees can travel miles every day. They follow their queen. Who is also outside, not on a leash, and can travel miles every day. If she doesn’t like the hive for any reason - for example: it got too hot, too cold, too messy, too filled with sugary stuff and they need more space… then the queen leaves. And with her the hive.
Mewtwo: The queen stays in the hive because the hive is the best place to live. Period. Done. End of. If the hive is staying with the beekeeper it’s because the keeper is doing their job correctly and keeping them happy because the bees can, and do, leave bad beekeepers.
Mewtwo: Of all the animals we have domesticated as livestock, bees are the ones you can most easily argue are consenting participants in their keeping.
Adam:
Mew, a while later: Here it is. The bee post is back.
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Adam:
Clarification.
Mary:
Mewtwo, feeling out of character today:
rehehehehe
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Adam:
Mewtwo: This is one of my favorite pictures on the Internet, because all of the combined elements make it delightful.
Mewtwo: 1. The woman in the background, clearly horrified
Mewtwo: 2. The neatly arranged plants, so you know that this is not a house often visited by the chaos gods.
Mewtwo: 3. And of course, the mighty D E S C E N D I N G P U F F, who is coming in for a landing on your face whether you like it or not.
Mew: World Heritage Post
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Adam: WHO ARE WE?!
The crowd: WRITERS!
Adam: WHAT DO WE DO?!
The crowd: WRITE!
Adam: WHEN ARE WE GONNA DO IT?!
Someone: distant sobbing.
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Mewtwo: man it's great to have comfort sons.
Mewtwo:
SONGS I MEANT SONGS.
Adam:
Comfort sons.
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SketchTwo: turns you into a .zip file and doesn't extract you lol.
Berdly: *THIS IS FUCKING SICK, YOU MONSTER, HOW DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT.
SketchTwo: renames you to "loser.zip" lol.
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Mewtwo: people keep asking me if i'm a "morning person or an evening person" and i'm like "buddy, i'm barely even a person"
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MEMORY: good thing there's no requests with Adam in them yet.
Adam: bacteria.
MEMORY: AAAAAAAAA-
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Mewtwo, flirting with Celeste: hey, are you Google? Cuz you got everything i was looking for~
Mewtwo: almost to the point where i'm scared of how much you know.
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Adam: Sometimes I get so caught up on being gay that I forget I’m actually bi.
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Mewtwo: *writing a letter*
Mewtwo: Dear Santa,
I'm writing to let you know I've been naughty...
And it was worth it you fat, judgemental bastard.
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Adam: *watching their house burn down*
Adam:
Adam: *starts filming* Waddup, guys, welcome to my vlog, today's topic: how to get away with accidentally committing arson because you forgot Spaghetti O's cans are metal and thus non-microwavable! Step one: deny everything.
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Mewtwo: Oh, so when crows remember people who wronged them and hold grudges, its “intelligent” and “really cool”.
Mewtwo: But when I do it, I’m “petty” and “need to let it go”.
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Mewtwo: *Plays Slender: The Eight Pages*
*Jumpscare*
Mewtwo: *Jumps back* OH SHIT, IT'S A WHITE GUY!!!
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Mewtwo: I wish I was a cat, but not in a furry kinda way, more like a “I can sleep all day and hit people with no consequences” kinda way.
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Mew: My gender is in a constant state of flux.
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Adam: Capitalization is the difference between "I had to help my uncle Jack off a horse.." and "I had to help my uncle jack off a horse.."
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Adam: Well, needless to say. Uh-oh Spaghetti-os.
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Mew: I like wearing oversized sweaters. Not just because they're extremely comfy and cuddly, but because whenever the sleeves are really big, I get to flop them around and smack people.
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Mewtwo, slamming pots and pans together to the rhythm of "Give it to me, I'm worth it": I didn't get no sleep cause a' y'all! Y'all never gonna sleep cause a' me!
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Adam I love saying 'fuck me' because it can either be sexual or self-loathing and those are two things that describe me perfectly.
.
Mewtwo: New challenge! Don't say stupid shit for 24 hours!
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Unknown Caller
Ghostface x Reader Smut
Summary: Late at night, you start getting texts from the serial killer and your stalker, Ghostface.
Mentions of: Threats, Death, Stabbing, Sexting, Phone sex, Knife play, Oral Sex, Voyeurism, Recording w/out Consent and Danny being super horny
Word Count: 2.4K
With an exhausted groan, you collapsed back onto your bed, letting the mattress suck you in. It had been yet another long, shitty work day, leaving you mentally drained and wanting to sleep.
The only thing that kept you from sleeping was how gross, sticky, and sweaty you felt from walking around in that shitty waitress uniform. It was a summer day in Florida, after all. Of course you would be burning your ass off. And somehow, the urge to take a shower overpowered your fatigue.
So after an extra moment or two of laying down, you got up, grabbing your phone and a towel, heading into the bathroom and locking the door behind you, just in case any unwelcome visitors came in. You knew exactly who that visitor was.
You tried to shake the thought of the masked murderer, not even daring to think his name. The last thing you needed tonight was having him come around. Maybe he would just give you a break for once and leave you alone. Maybe…
Sighing, you tapped at your phone, playing some music and stripping down. Stepping into the shower, you turned the heat all the way up, letting the hot water pour down onto your skin until it turned red. You washed off all the stress and trouble from the day, finally being able to relax.
Once you got out of the shower, you slipped on a black lacy bra with matching panties, using a robe to cover it up. You had grown used to spending the nights alone, with no one to take home, no friends to speak with.
You lost them all, since they all thought you were being crazy and paranoid about being stalked by Ghostface. Even after one of your dear friends died, (the only one who believed you) they still thought you were crazy. In fact, they thought you killed him. And the cops were no help either, thinking all the threats were just some prankster or copycat.
So now, here you sat on your bed, scrolling through social media, when you got a text.
Unknown: Evening, gorgeous
You stared at the message blankly, feeling your heart drop in your stomach. It was him.
You cast a protective glance over at your bedroom window, which had the curtains drawn and the blinds shut, as an attempt of giving yourself some sort of privacy from the stalker. Was he out there? Waiting outside the window to peek, or behind your door to jump out at you. Even though he’s been doing this for a while, you’d still never get used to it.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you began to type up a message to respond to him. You learned the hard way to answer his texts and calls.
(Y/N): What do you want to torture me with now?
Even though you were still quite afraid of the killer, there were times where you found him a complete nuisance, and got the guts to told him. This was one of those times.
Unknown: C’mon, don’t be like that. I have fun with the games we play. But I want to try something different tonight.
(Y/N): Like what?
Unknown: Like how I can see what you’re wearing and can’t help but wonder if you put all of that on just for me
You felt your face go a bright red, looking around and grabbing the hem over your robe, moving it over, attempting to cover up your body.
Unknown: There’s no use in covering it up now, I’ve already seen everything and it’s gotten me so hard
Looking at the text, you blinked a few times, making sure this was real. Maybe it was just some weird sex dream. You pinched yourself. Nope. This was real. The feared serial killer of Roseville was sexting you.
Unknown: You look so cute like that, all surprised and scared, it makes me want to cut you up and fuck you until you can’t walk.
Unknown: You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
Your mouth went dry as you tried to think of something to text him back with, your body running hot with arousal. You can’t believe this is turning you on. It really shouldn’t be.
Unknown: There’s no need to be so shy, (y/n). You know we can be honest with each other.
(Y/N): Yes I would
Unknown: Good girl
Unknown: My cock is just throbbing thinking about how nice and tight you would be, how good you would squeeze me, how I’d love to fill you up with my cum. And you’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you, baby?
(Y/N): Fuck yes
You rubbed your thighs together, feeling how drenched you were getting, a silent moan leaving your lips, not even realizing he was paying attention to every little detail.
Unknown: Shit, that was so hot. I’m really turning you on, aren’t I?
Unknown: You want to touch yourself don’t you? Want to get off on the dirty things I’m telling you? Well you can’t. Not unless you beg for it like a good girl.
You would object, but you knew you were too far in to stop yourself. It had been quite a long time since you had done something like this, and a part of you felt desperate. So, you did it. You begged.
(Y/N): Please, Ghostface. Please let me touch myself.
Unknown: Good. Go ahead, but take off that robe. You won’t be needing it.
Moving your arm out, you shrugged the robe off your shoulders, spreading your legs ever so slightly. Might as well give him a show.
You ran your hand down your stomach, moving it down to your hips, and then your thigh, while your other hand stayed high on your chest, running your finger over your clothed nipple. After a moment or two, you dipped your finger under the fabric, running it up and down your drenched slit. You played with your clit, leaning back and moaning softly.
Unknown: Fuck, I just want to run my knife all over the curves of your body
Unknown: Put two fingers in
You did as told, pushing two fingers into your opening, thrusting them in slowly. You didn’t even notice the distant flash of a camera recording you peeking out from behind your window.
You shut your eyes, biting your lip and arching your back, as you began to pick up the pace. The sound of your phone chiming managed to make you open your eyes, and snap out of your little fantasy, looking down at your phone.
Unknown: You look so fucking hot right now, I want to come in there and ruin you
(Y/N): Why don’t you?
Unknown: It’s tempting, but I need to do one thing first.
Unknown Number is calling…
You picked up, slowing your fingers. “Why’d you- why’d you stop?” He questioned between groans, his voice strained. So he was touching himself too.
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to-”
“Keep on going. Don’t stop. Add a finger.” He instructed.
An image of Ghostface stroking himself popped into your mind, making you pick up the pace. A string of mewls and whimpers left your mouth as you went even faster, feeling yourself grow close.
“You sound- shit, so nice babe. Makes me want to- even more-”
“Fuck, I’m g-going to- ah” Your body froze up, feeling yourself clench around your fingers.
It seemed like he was close too, considering how much he was panting, low groans and grunts. There was a brief silence on the other line, and you wondered if he hung up on you. But then, he spoke. “I’m coming in.”
He ended the call and you felt your heart leap in excitement, calming down from your high, and preparing for him to come in. You looked from the window to the door, wondering where he’d be entering.
A few minutes went by, and he still hadn’t shown up. A part of you wondered if this was some sort of sick game to humiliate you. If he was just going to leave you all alone.
“Miss me?” A familiar voice whispered into your ear, making you jump.
“Jesus don’t scare me like that.” You muttered, turning to face him.
“Why so grumpy? Is it because I kept you waiting? So impatient, so needy. I love it.” He grasped your chin, tilting your head and making you look up at him. He ran a gloved finger over your lips, tracing your cupid’s bow.
You felt your body grow hot at the contact, your thighs clenching together. He noticed, moving his hand away to finally give you what you so desperately craved. Grabbing your shoulders, he pushed you down on the bed, straddling you.
Slowly, he ran his knife over your skin, tracing it from your throat, down to your collar bones, and to your chest. It seemed he was being merciful tonight, because you could barely feel the blade against your skin, only a light tickle.
Moving his weapon to the middle of your chest, Ghostface sliced open your brassiere, splitting it in half and revealing your breasts. Well, there went your good underwear.
He ran his finger over your nipple, watching it harden under his touch, pinching it softly. The killer studied your expressions closely, taking in every single detail. The way your lips parted slightly, the way your cheeks heated up, and the way your eyebrows knitted together. God, you were so adorable.
Ghostface shifted his attention to your panties, cutting them off on the side, and pulling them down to your ankles slowly. He moved his hand back up to your opening, running his finger up your wet slit, feeling how soaked it was.
“So wet, all for me? I must’ve really left you waiting. Guess I better get to it then, huh?” His voice was smug, low, and full of mischief. You knew he was playing with you.
He rutted against his hips against you, making you whimper slightly. You knew he wouldn’t do anything, until you said it. “Please, fuck me, Ghostface.”
“Danny.”
You felt your eyes widen at his words. “What?”
“Call me Danny.” In all the time that you had known him, you never got a name out of him. But he was telling you it now. Why? Why was he doing this?
You were too busy processing what just happened to notice the sound of his buckle clicking, and his knife dropping onto the floor, while he was now holding his phone instead. The flash of a camera burned into your eyes, making you look up at him and snap out of your thoughts.
“What’re you doing?” You asked, squinting at the light and covering your eyes with one hand trying to hide the glare.
“Makin a little movie.” He grabbed your hands with his free one, moving them from your face and pinning them above your head. “And you’re the star. Aren’t you excited?”
“I- shit-” Before you could even respond to what he was saying, you felt his cock press up against your soaked folds.
He moved his camera down to your breasts, watching your chest heave, before moving it back up to your face. “Now what’s the magic word? C’mon, you know what to say. You’ve been saying it all night.”
“Please, Danny.” You begged, bucking your hips up against his hardened member. “Please what?”
“Please just fuck me.” You rolled your head against the pillow. He was driving you crazy at this point with how much he was teasing you and making you beg.
Finally, he gave you what you had grown desperate for, entering you with a rough thrust. It was painful at first, the killer not showing any mercy, but you forced yourself to grow used to it.
You moaned out, the feeling of fulfillment overcoming your already sensitive hole. You arched your back, grabbing onto his forearm, digging your nails into his muscle under his robe.
Tears began to stream down your face as you babbled, incoherent words slipping from your lips. It was too good, and you couldn’t think of something, anything, to say to describe it. He was fucking you stupid.
He zoomed in on your tears, watching as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Damn, baby. Is it really that good? Do you love getting fucked by my cock that much?”
You didn’t speak, not even sure if you could. He pinched your nipple, making you yelp. “Y-yes! Its- it’s so g-good.”
Danny moved his free hand to your clit, thrusting even deeper, until he hit just at the right spot. You cried out, clenching around him. Moaning out for him to please never stop, to keep going.
“Oh baby, you think I could stop? Not with the way you’re clenching around and calling out my name, begging for- shit.” He grunted, feeling your walls begin to massage him, you were getting close. And so was he.
He nestled his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder, pulling his mask up his face, and biting down, breaking your skin and drawing your blood, his movements growing even harsher. While you dug your nails into his back, reaching your orgasm, Danny not too far behind.
The half-masked killer wiped the blood from his lips, grinning down at you. “There, I marked you as mine. You’re my little slut, got it? Say it.”
You nodded, eyes still shut, your mouth open with only moans and gasps escaping. You forced yourself to speak, voice all hoarse and raw. “I’m your slut, Ghostface- Danny- whatever, I’m all yours.”
“That’s it. Such a good girl. Fuck-” His thrusts grew sloppy, and he rubbed at your clit even harder, making you climax once again with him. He pulled out, releasing on your stomach, and ending the video.
He pressed a rough kiss to your lips, before readjusting his mask, cleaning himself off, and fixing his clothes up. All the while you laid there, nude, panting, and coming down from the intense high you just had. You felt another flash blind your eyes, and the sound of a camera clicking, knowing he just took another picture.
Moving aside your curtains and blinds, Ghostface unlocked your window, pulling it up and stepping through. “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime. See you soon.”
#dbd#dead by deadlight#dbd x reader#dbd killer#ghostface dbd#dbd ghostface#ghostface#ghostface x reader#dbd jed olsen#jed olsen#danny johnson dbd#dbd danny#danny johnson#smut tag
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Family Matters
Kinktober 2020 — stepcest
A/N: This idea had been sitting in my brain for months and getting to write it out AND be on time for the last day of kinktober is the perfect wrap up for this crazy month.
Description: You would do anything to get yourself a place in this family.
Pairing: Todoroki siblings (Touya, Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shouto)x reader
Warning: stepcest/pseudo-incest (absolutely do not proceed if this isn’t something you’re comfortable reading), no relationships portrayed in this fic is healthy, toxic family dynamics, reader is bit of a manipulative bitch, consensual but not exactly the traditional sense of consent, Rei died, brief mention of cheating, nee san/nii san kink, vaginal penetration, oral (giving), choking, face fucking, creampie, marking, voyeurism, threesome, spitting, degradation, thigh riding, fingering
Word count: 16025 (wtfwtfwtf-)
**please read the warnings through before clicking the read more, very important**
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You attended your mother’s wedding with the sweetest smile you could manage and a painful ring in your ear the moment she said: “I do”.
It was a small ceremony with only close friends and family, which also meant that there was little to no one in the audience as your mother walked down the aisle to meet the man at the other end.
You would think that marrying the reigning no 1 pro-hero would finally bring your mother the fantasy of being part of a fortunate family she never got to have, but we couldn’t always get what we want, could we?
You and your mother were the family underdog, the number of your relatives you had met up with the last several years since your birth father passed away and left a huge loan on your back waiting to be cleared up could be counted with less than the fingers on one hand. The first time someone showed up at your doorsteps screaming murder was a blur to you. You were around 17 at the time, not young enough to forge ignorance to what was going on but not mature enough to push the foul words seeping into your ears away, all you could remember was the way your mother clutching you close to her chest like it wasn’t her that was sobbing until the banging at the door finally ceased.
You switched schools, having no way to afford the tuition of the one you were attending when your family was struggling to stay under a proper roof, essentially disappearing from the circle you used to exist within in a matter of days. Sometimes, you would feel the impulse to cackle at the thought that there was a time when you thought you were so brilliant and you had a whole life ahead. You got into the hero course of one of the best schools in the country, you were not the best but you did think there was something in you that people must not be willing to let go of this easily. You truly did think the world wouldn’t just let you sunk down like that, but it turned out that dropping out of the spotlight was enough for people to forget about you when there were hundreds and thousands of other equally brilliant people stepping under the public eye each day.
You realised at the point in your life that some days you were simply alone, and no one would help you without a good enough reason for them to do so, something that your mother seemed to have either genuinely or deliberately chose to ignore. She went from person to person, hoping that one of them would be the answer but it was a fruitless journey. When you needed someone, people would pick it up, and it was a dangerous thing to be the one that was in need and couldn’t get away. You had witnessed countless of arguments, a scary amount of things crashing and frantic sobbing late at night when the crying echoed in the darkness you tried to surround yourself with by burying your face deeper and deeper into your pillow like it blacking out could make things go away.
This went on for years, and at some point you chose to turn your head away from it like not going home meant you could run away from the broken family you were bound to. Until one day, your mother crashed into you with a suffocating hug the moment you stepped into those doors you had so dreaded returning to every day, her voice barely coherent as she choked her words out through broken sobs and hiccups.
“We’re free... we’re finally free!”
She said it with such relief that you couldn’t even process the emptiness in your heart when she held your face in her hands before pulling you close to her again.
You figured out from bits and pieces that she let slip through her giddy words that someone had paid up the rest of the loan and interests that was left, and from the way her voice got just a little louder when she talked about that someone and the flush on her face, you knew it wasn’t just some chivalrous stranger that stepped in during a time of need like she had wanted to mask it up to be.
You had never met Todoroki Enji until your mother announced at the dining table one night with an expression so sheepish and girly that she was to marry this man you had only ever heard the name of. But even with the lack of exchanges before you sat down opposite to him the first time when you accompanied her to discuss the details of the wedding, you would expect that someone of his status and respect would at least have someone other than his own kids at his wedding.
His kids. You knew things wouldn’t go as easily as your mother had made it out to be. She had acted like you were finally out of the hot waters and secured comfort for the rest of your life just because she married a wealthy man but you knew the moment you met the eyes of the four Todoroki children, sitting side by side in one straight row opposite to you, that it wasn’t just the man of the house that had a say in what would become of you.
Touya was the eldest and the least bothered to pretend like he was pleased about this arrangement. He was leaning back against the chair with one leg propped up when you walked in, his eyes scanning you from top to bottom in a scruntinising stare until he was given a hiss in warning from his sister, to which he replied with a snort and a very showing eye roll as you sat down. There was no hiding the sneer in his voice whenever he spoke up, each word lacing with an evidential edge and the clear distaste he was showing towards his new stepfamily. The way he looked down at you when he bumped against your shoulder before walking out the door was nearly uncomfortable, but he seemed to be somewhat pleased when you didn’t shy away from his gaze, walking out with his hands in his pockets and a smirk toying against his features as his father sighed.
The sister, Fuyumi, had apologised when Touya offhandedly pointed out that his father didn’t even wait until his mother’s corpse was cold before finding another woman. Her smile was empathetic and the way she carefully picked up your hand when she greeted you should have been enough to make up for the hostility her brother had showcased but if you had paid attention enough, you would pick up that despite the apology, she didn’t exactly disagree with the statement either. She was always friendly, her eyes curling into two thin strands behind her glasses as she walked you through each step of the ceremony without a chance for you to interrupt. She was nice enough, but also just enough and the distance she kept from you was something that you picked up on in your initial encounter. It was also through her that you found out what happened to Enji’s last wife, and the practiced look on Fuyumi’s face when she recalled how her mother died after a long battle against her illness sent chills creeping up your back far more than any mean remarks could.
Which explained why the wedding venue looked eerily empty as the march played. After all, what would the world say about how little it took for the man to step out of mourning for his dead wife and found himself another one?
Todoroki Natsuo gave you nothing but a hasty nod when you sat down opposite to him, staying quiet for the most parts of the meeting except for a short word of reply here and there when Fuyumi cued him. He had his arms crossed in front of his broad chest all during the process, his eyes looking down at the document but clearly not focused on any of the things that his sister was explaining. There were a few times when you caught him glancing at you for the brief moment when you looked up, flicking his gaze away from you almost immediately with your eyes barely meeting. Of the four siblings, he seemed the most... normal, if you would. The way he acted almost a bit awkward around the new sister that he suddenly had around when he was well into his twenties and gave nothing but bare minimal answers whenever you even tried to initiate a conversation was what you thought would happen.
Then there was Shouto. Oh, sweet Shouto. You had never expected that this was the way you met your formal underclassmen once again after you dropped off of your road in being a hero completely without so much as a proper announcement. There was no mistaking the way his eyes widened and shoulders tensed up when you walked into the room that he remembered you well which came as quite the surprise to you. You had heard of him even after leaving Yuuei, of course. A real star, so talented and came from such a background, already climbing up near the top even though it had only been a good year since his real debut into the professional world. You simply found the boy one year your junior endearing when you were still his senpai, the way he was so serious about every little tease and remark you made could only be described as adorable.
But certainly, he had changed so much since you last saw him years ago. His back just a little wider, his jaw stronger, the look in his eyes did not belong to the same boy who did not shy away from staring when you walked past but of a man who had seen his handful of the world to know what you being there meant. You had a strong feeling that he would have acted way more hostile than he did have you been anyone else, his lips pursing tightly together like he was forcing himself to hold back as he stared straight at you.
All in all, sneers or polite chuckles or skittering glances or straightened backs, it did not take much to know that none of them was particularly pleased about their father’s remarriage and if the empty wedding was any sign, you and your mother were still utterly outsiders despite the documents with your changed names claiming otherwise.
The tall wall they had built was all the more apparent when you moved into the Todoroki residence, feeling more like you were mouse scrambling to find a gap you could hide into under this roof that had taken you in than anything else. If the four had gave your mother a cold shoulder or straight up pretend like she wasn’t there, then each and every single little gesture they made towards you reminded you time and time again that you did not belong.
Touya always bumped against your side just a little bit too hard for it to be an accident when he walked past you into the dining room, the “apology” he threw down sounding almost like a cackle as you were nearly knocked off your feet. Fuyumi always bringing up childhood memories or family traditions that you wouldn’t know of, only to brush it off with a smile and explaining it to you like she was the silly one for assuming that you would know about these things when you “only just moved in”. Natsuo was rarely around due to his job at the hospital as a whole, but when he did he made sure that his interactions with you remained to be limited to standard small talk. Each mundane topic always ending on a dead end and both of you looking away. Shoto was decent to you, but there was still an evidential wariness in his gaze as he walked past you and somehow it was the deliberate distance from him that acted like a stake right through your heart, a constant reminder that you took up a space that was never yours to begin with.
There was hurt, but then it was the unwavering fear of being isolated that sent chills down your spine at the cold stare from your supposed family.
Your mother was convinced that she unlocked the key to a life of security by marrying Todoroki Enji, but you knew better than to be fooled by the current state of you getting a pass because of the one mountain this shaking wall called family was leaning against.
Once he was out of the picture, it was his four children that would get to have a say on what they were to do with you, and you swore you could already see how that would go for you.
You were not going back to that low point in your life, not ever again, and you would do anything to make sure you secured a place for yourself within the family one way or another.
-
Jerking up awake at night in cold sweat was not fun, especially when it still took your brain a good few moments before registering where you were when your eyes shot open to see the high ceiling that you still hadn’t gotten used to yet.
You wonder if you would ever get used to it.
You groaned inwardly as you rolled to your side, wincing at how tight your throat felt at each swallow of the burning liquid that pooled in your mouth. You dreamt of your old life again, one when you still hadn’t gone to living under someone else’s roof. You had thought that you were over it by now but the hollowness left in your chest somehow irritated you even more than the dream itself.
Fucking hell, it felt like every muscle in your back was hurting.
Slowly stretching your limbs out, you held your head in your palm as you suffered through the dizziness in your head when you sat upright at the edge of your bed. A string of shivers crept up your spine when your toe touched the cold floor, the tatami rough under the tip as you fumbled to find your room slippers. It took some adjusting for you to find your way out of the pitch black room, trying your hardest to slide the door open as lightly as you could as you clutched your arms closed to your body under the chill on your exposed arms.
The house was in radio silence and you were cautious of the drag of your slippers as you made way down to the kitchen, careful to lower the volume of your steps with your feet arched and holding the slipper tight to the heel.
You let out a shaky breath when you finally got downstairs. Your hand felt around the side of the door to find the switch, pressing your eyes tightly together as the light pained you the moment you flicked the switch and light blazed in the kitchen.
The clink of the ceramic made you feel alive again as the water ran down your throat, the cold soothing the tautness at the back as you gulped down. A content sigh slipped out of your lips as you put the mug down, a droplet threatening to roll down your chin and you brought the tip of your finger up to wipe it away.
“Look what we have here...”
You jumped at the sudden voice, earning you a wolfish chuckle from the man who was leaning against the door frame. Touya looked a lot more at ease than he usually was when he was around his family, the sweatpants that were almost a bit too big for his lean frame hanging loosely around his waist as his back arched, pushing himself off the wooden frame before sauntering to your side.
You straightened your back, feeling tensed as he seemingly ignored your presence as he got his own cup and poured it full of water with his other hand on his waist. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to look as he tilted the cup up, his slender neck arching back as his throat bobbed, the muscles at his stomach flexing with each swallow.
Your fingers clutched tightly around the mug you were holding when he let out a muffled cough, piercing up at you from the back of his hand when he saw that you were not moving away.
You were taken aback when he snorted, throwing his head back a little before fixing his gaze on you again with an amused smirk lingering his pierced lips.
“Oh, relax,” your eyebrows locked together at the dismissive huff from your usually sneering stepbrother, “it’s too early for me to start making your life miserable, save the defense for after 8.”
His stare was almost invasive as he grinned at you but despite the twist in your stomach at being alone with arguably the most unbearable of the siblings, you did not move your own eyes away as you put down the cup in your hand. “So you do it on purpose,” you said, trying to make yourself sound sterner as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.
You did not think anyone else other than you would be up at this hour, or else you would have grabbed a jacket before slipping out of your room. If his gaze was already uncomfortable to be under, than the fact that your body was covered by nothing but a thin spaghetti strap and cotton shorts did not help how exposed you feel.
Touya laughed and it took all the will in you to not shrink your form down even more at the cackle. “Why else would I bother?” he said matter-of-factly, "Someone has got to tell the old man that none of us is happy with what he did.” He paused, “It isn’t really about you, if that’s something you want to hear.”
“I’m not interested in your family drama.”
“Well, too bad you’re part of the family now,” he mused, his eyes still following you as he slowly strided towards the door. “Remember to look just as pissed as you are now when I poke fun at you in the morning.”
The swaying of his frame stopped when you opened your mouth.
“What do I have to do for you to leave me alone?”
Your heart was pounding in your chest when he stopped in his tracks before slowly, very slowly turning around to face you again.
“Leave you alone?” he repeated, accentuating each syllable that rolled off his tongue as he stepped closer and closer to you.
“I’m just trying to get by,” you looked straight at him when he stopped right in front of you, towering over you slightly as he stared down, “if you want to stir shit up then I can help as long as you leave me a piece of what’s left.”
“Hm... a fighter, aren’t you?” his voice came out as a purr, the rumbling in his chest almost transferring to you with how close he was. His eyes raked across your form when he saw that you didn’t back away, the defined dent of your collar bone and the supple skin that was pressing against the elastic of your low collar.
He could allow a change of plans if it meant he could get a piece of a little something for himself.
“Then tell me,” he licked his lips, “what are you willing to do for my help?”
“Anything.”
The glint in his eyes grew at how you didn’t hesitate with your words.
“Anything?” he asked with a crock of his head to the side, his fingers barely trailing along your bare arms as he drank in the way you were fighting against the shivers rising on your skin, “because I can think of a few ways for cute little sisters to get on their big brother’s good graces..."
His touch on your arm was distracting but your mouth still ran dry at the implication of his offer. You could not deny that when you lie awake on your bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking of how you could possibly slither your way through in this house that you had briefly contemplated if you could get intimate with your siblings in a less morally-accepted way but you brushed it off as a silly thought almost as quick as you came up with it when you felt how hostile they were towards you.
You were convinced that they would not wait until Enji was gone to kick you out if you made a move on them, but the fixed stare and gravel in Touya’s voice was telling you a whole other truth.
The chills on your spine settled into the pit of your stomach as excitement when you made the realisation that he wanted you, and it meant the others could too.
His grin looked like it was spilling his face in half when you pushed yourself against his chest, your thinly clad breast pressed up against his bare skin when the light touch on your arms turned into full blown caresses as his hand got bolder. He could feel the slight pebble of your nipples taunt against the fabric and the thrill sent his blood boiling.
“Anything.”
His palm was burning against your skin as he got rougher and rougher, the press of his fingers turning into gropes when he reached the swell of your waist and down to your hips. The sudden dug of his nails into your flesh took you by surprise when he shoved you away from him, smiling from ear to ear like the chesire cat when he hooked his hand at the elastic of his sweats where a print was starting to strain against the fabric.
“Then get on your knees, baby sister.”
The tiles were not forgiving on your skin when you sunk down, looking up at the man who was palming himself from under his pants with his eyes slanted and fixed on your kneeling form. You winced when he fisted your hair in his hand, pulling your head back a bit too forcefully when he pulled his half-hard cock out of its constraints. The pain on your scalp seeped through your head until it was nothing but a tingle on your skin when his slender fingers wrapped around the base of his length that was right at your eye level, drinking in the way you could only stare at him from behind your lashes as he held you still.
He hummed in approval when you parted your lips, your tongue lolling out almost performatively when he gave a firm tuck to his cock. The silver bud at the crown of his cock left a strange numbness on your lips as he traced his tip along the rim of your mouth, leaving a slight sting on your tongue when he brushed against the muscle.
“Make sure to get all of it...” he whispered, releasing the tension of his pull on your scalp when he pushed his cock in with a languish surge of his hips. You bit back a whine when you felt the many more piercings at the underside as it brushed against your tongue, your hands flying up to grip at his thighs when he gave a slight pat to the back of your head.
He groaned when you took more of him in, hollowing your cheeks out as you set a pace for the bobbing of your head. The piercings were rigid against your tongue and you made sure to give each nub equal attention while your hand fisted around where you could not fit into your mouth. He kept one hand in your hair while the other found support on the kitchen counter, eyeing the way your lips wrapped around his cock as you tried to please him.
His head tilted back with a sigh when you cupped his balls, your palm warm on his sack when you sucked in a deep breath and sunk in all the way. Tears prickled at the corner of your eyes when his hard tip hit the back of your throat, the burn shooting up to your nose as its tip brushed against his pubic hair. Touya felt the pulse at the side of his neck as your throat contracted around him, the tightness making his hand clutch at the back of your head as his length throbbed in your mouth. He snapped down to look at you when you pulled away with a cough, sucking in a deep breath as your chest heaved and your hand pumped his cock sloppily with your spit that was coating him.
You could sense his muscles taut under his skin as you let him go, his thighs flexing under your hands while you jerked him off like he was holding himself back deliberately.
To have someone that was just mocking you earlier today now stiff in your hand, lips parted and biting back a moan felt really, really good.
You were staring up at him, almost in challenge as you run your tongue along his shaft. “Someone’s good at this,” he cooed, sounding a little breathless when he laughed. The sound was replaced by a chocked moan when you took him in again, a soft hum from the back of your throat in reply had him nearly losing control when the vibration sent shocks down his core.
You gagged when he pulled you off his cock, the string of saliva that connected your lips and his leaking tip sending him into an overdrive as he decided that he could not wait any longer. A yelp was ripped from the back of your throat when he pulled you up, shoving you against the counter with your face facing down.
Your hand fumbled to prop your body up with your palms flat on the marble surface, a silent whimper leaking pass your lips when you felt your shorts and underwear being peeled off of you with a swift pull. He pressed on your back with the tips of his fingers, each knuckle of his digits propping up as he arched your ass up with the help of his hand. Your face heated up at the way you perched up, bare cunt exposed for him to see as you clenched around nothing in reflex with the cold air that fanned against your folds.
Your body shifted with each exhale, the warm breaths spreading over your face as your cheek squished against the marble that was growing hotter and hotter from the heat on your face. Touya gripped onto the side of your hips, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulled the cheeks apart, licking his lips at the sight of the light sheen on your slit.
You whimpered when he ran a finger along your folds and the uncontrollable gush of wetness as the calloused pad pressed down on your hooded clit. His eyes were fixed on your cunt and how you immediately pushed your hips back for more friction when he positioned his tip at your opening, rubbing the bead of pre along the slit as your folds parted around him.
“Who knew our new sister is such a whore...”
His hand was fast to clasp around your mouth when he sheathed in you without a warning, the stretch leaving a burn in your core and threatening to make the cry slip past your lips when he held himself still. His cock was hot inside your walls, like he was melting in with your guts until all that was left of you was a puddle.
You moaned into his palm when he started thrusting up. His hand might be able to muffle the lewd noises you made but there was no way to hide the sounds of skin slapping against skin that bounced off the walls. The position you were in made each slam of his pelvis against your ass hilting his cock deep in you until you could feel him leaving a print in your womb, the piercings adorning his length dredging along your insides with each snap of his hips. The nubs rubbing against you made your back arched and your knees weakened, leaving a permanent feeling in you even as he bottomed out.
“To- Touya!”
His hand ran down your neck at the panting call of his name, fumbling with the elastic of your top before yanking it down and spilling your tits. You turned your head back with a struggle, his hand that was groping your chest pulling you up against his back until he could meet your lips in a sloppy kiss.
“Nu-uh, that’s not how you should call me,” he growled into your mouth, a mean-spirited pinch at your nipple had you squeaking against his hot touch.
“Touya nii-”
The mewl earned you a forceful plow of his length in you, the coil in you tightening when he drilled into you at a much more vicious speed.
“That’s a good little sister...” he mumbled in your ear, his hand now right below your chest while the other held tightly onto your ass. You threw your head back, pushing yourself deeper on his cock as he grunted, pulsing in you as he fug his nails into your skin.
Your lips fell open but nothing came out when he wrapped his free hand around your exposed throat, pressing down just enough for you to feel a rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins into your head when he hilted in you one more time before shooting ropes of his release deep into your core. His breath was shaky and warm at your earlobe as he cum in you, his load filling you up as he squeezed down on your neck to rip a breathless gag from you.
You could feel his cock going limp inside of you while he held you still, his cum threatening to leak out of your fluttering folds but was stopped by his cock still pressing snugly against your sex. You could smell the sweat on his body when he leaned down, heaving chest right at your back as he brought his hands up to cup your tits. His breath tickled against your skin, the piercing at the corner of his lip brushing at the sensitive area as he spoke lowly and slowly.
“Let’s have a lot of fun helping each other.”
-
Touya was always the latest to show up for breakfast each morning and this morning was no exception, but the entire table fell into deadly silence when he looked at you first before he did everyone else as he slammed himself down on his chair.
“Good morning, sis.”
The silence was almost uncomfortable and the sickly sweet tone of his voice echoed in the room before vanishing into thin air. You were facing him directly but your eyes did a brief glance around the room. Your mother and Enji were dumbfounded, Natsuo had his mouth agape, Shouto’s eyes were as big as the moon and Fuyumi’s eyebrows locked together slowly but visibly.
A lot of fun indeed.
You smiled, and the crisp ring of your voice shocked everyone when you parted your lips.
“Good morning, nii san.”
-
The mutually beneficial relationship with Touya continued. Some nights, you would feel a slight brush against your calf under the dining table and you knew he was to pay you a visit. He slipped into your room when everyone else was asleep, jackhammered you onto the mattress and make you scream into your pillow before whispering things about the family that you would otherwise never know of against your lips as his cum spilled out of your abused hole.
He was rough with his hands, especially when he was taking out his frustration on you, but there was no denying that the fucking was good and the information was valuable. He told you about how he had three siblings instead of being an only child because he was a disappointment and why his mother was sent away. The snort he let out was chilling as he told you how his sister was desperately holding the family together through the years and that the second son of the Todoroki family could be worse than him in terms of temper once the right buttons were pushed.
And they knew, they had to know or had made a guess at the very least, because there’s no other way you could explain why there were bruises littering all across your inner thighs when the skin just showing below the edge of your shorts was clean the night before. Occasionally, you would catch the boys staring at the barely visible mark right at your collar at the table, Natsuo a little bit more subtle with his eyes flickering away the moment you looked up and Shoto not hiding the fact that he was looking as he pressed his eyebrows together. Fuyumi was a whole lot more nonchalant about it, either she really didn’t know or she was very good at staying away from things that weren’t her business. Your guess leaned towards the latter.
You were waiting to see which one of them would finally let their concern snap first and approach you about it, and it seemed like what Touya told you about his siblings was rather accurate when you were left along the house with your second stepbrother one weekday afternoon.
You were rarely left alone at the house with any of your step siblings, much less Natsuo. Doctor Todoroki was always the first one out the door and the last one to come back each day, slipping into his room by the time he got back in the early mornings from the hospital and not appearing until he had to go back again.
Today was a bit different. Today, Todoroki Natsuo got to sleep past his alarm and sat in the living room as the sun shined through the window while the rest of his family was out doing their own thing. Except you, who coincidentally had nowhere to do during his precious day off and was staring absentmindedly at the tv while he tried to not pay too much attention to the limp in your walk and the hickey that was very much so not hidden by your loose shirt.
Natsuo gulped down the words that were stuck at the back of his throat, feeling his tongue laying flatly against his mouth as he felt the air around him thicken.
No one had said anything about the clear elephant in the room when the rest of the family was around. His father and your mother were clearly oblivious, but he was sure the same question definitely appeared in his siblings’ heads. It frustrated him that Fuyumi only brushed it off as him being overly suspicious when he tried to hint that something but be going on between the new stepsister and the oldest Todoroki, even more so when Shouto was straight up in denial about how obvious it was.
If anything, he was more concerned than anything else. He was sure Touya couldn’t be the nicest man to be involved with especially when he recalled all the malicious things his brother had said about how much he loathed the idea of a new stepsibling before his father got married.
“Did he hurt you?”
You froze in place at the abrupt question. Turning your head to the side, you saw Natsuo with his jaw clenched and lips pursed together at the other end of the coffee table. “He?”
“Touya,” he repeated, this time sounding a little firmer than before, “he is taking advantage of you, isn’t he?”
Oh.
Oh.
You glanced to the side, lowering your head a little as you toyed with the hem of your shorts. A slight thrill welled up in your chest when you heard him scooching closer to where you sat at your timid posture. He looked so concerned, like he was truly believing that you were in a compromisable position that you couldn’t tell anyone about.
What a good man he was, Todoroki Natsuo, you almost feel bad for pretending to hesitate before you slowly hook your finger under your shirt and lifted it over your head.
Natsuo’s breath hitched when he saw the bruises that covered your chest in the areas that weren’t covered by your bra. Bite marks darted along your skin, the subtle scars in the shape of finer prints burnt into the side of your waist. Touya got into a particularly fiery argument with Enji last night, and the aftermath was what Natsuo was now seeing as you stripped of your top in front of him. You had winced when you woke up that morning to see how fucked up you looked, fully planning to get Touya back for bruising you up this badly next time he touched you but you didn’t expect that his lost of control would be of use later on.
You looked battered, and you didn’t miss the gasp that left his lips as you folded your arms in front of your chest to make yourself smaller, pressing the marked skin of your chest together and pushing your cleavage out in the process.
“He’s so rough with me, Natsu nii...”
You sounded like you wanted to cry as you shy away from him, and his heart broke when you flinched away from his touch as he gently held onto your forearm.
You were so delicate and fragile, how could anyone treat you as horribly as this?
He let out a shaky breath when you latched onto his broad chest the moment he pulled you onto his lap. “Poor baby...” he whispered against your skin as he dipped his head down caging over you as he gingerly pulled your folded arms away. His throat bobbed at the sight of your curves and the many bruises dotting on your supple skin. You whimpered when he planted a soft peck on your neck, tilting your head back to allow him more access as his hand fumbled with the hook of your bra.
You whimpered when he took it off of you, the strap sliding off your arms until it was thrown to the side. He could see all the marks and scars on your skin much more clearly now and it only fueled his urge to touch you all over and make sure he drowned you in affection even more.
You whimpered when he rubbed circles against the side of your hips, his lips pressing against a particularly gruesome bruise below your collar bone.
“Natsu nii-
“Shh... it’s ok,” he hushed you with a peck on your pouting lips, pulling at your bottom lip softly when he pulled away, “nii chan will take care of you.”
His hand was cautious as he caressed your skin, soft lips trailing down your neck and darting his tongue out to swipe across each bruise and mark along the way. The brush of the tip tickled, leaving a spark of numbing tingles down your spine as his miniatures took over your head. Natsuo took his time, reducing you into mush with each press of his thumb at the side of your thighs and nibble of his teeth. A breathy moan slipped past your lips when he traced your pebbled nipple with his tongue, the air fanning against your skin making you all the more sensitive as he rolled the perked bud between his fingers. He treaded against the clouds of purple at the underside of your chest lightly, placing open kisses at each bruise like he was trying to erase the trails of what his brother had left on you.
Your hands held onto his shoulders when he buried his face in your chest, cupping the soft mounds in his palm as he licked each swell and dent on your torso. You whimpered as his large hands slipped past the elastic of your shorts, groping your ass as he lifted you off his lap just enough to pull the article off of your limbs. You felt a strange bashfulness when he eyed your naked form, almost looking like he was in awe when he slid his arms around your waist.
Perhaps you were getting too into the mindset of a sweet baby sister wanting their brother’s attention that your body was starting to adopt the role a little bit too well.
“Lay down.”
His hand supported you at the small of your back, his much larger frame shadowing over you almost immediately at you touched the cold surface of the floor. The textured front of the tatami rubbed against your skin as he planted a firm kiss on your lips and you hissed into his mouth when the scratches down your back from last night by one very impatient Touya burned on your senses.
Natsuo noticed your discomfort, cooing into your lips as his tongue slipped past your teeth and explored the warm cavity greedily. Your eyes were glassy when he pulled away, looking like a veil had draped over your vision hastily as you stared at him blankly and your lips parted.
If he thought the marks on your upper body was bad, then seeing your naked form proved that he had severely underestimated what you had gone through before he took notice. You looked dazed as he perched on top of you, his eyes raking all over your body as he took count of the many bite marks and bruises that dipped down the v that led to your sex and your thighs that were pressed together tightly. There were clear marks of fingerprints littered over the plump flesh of your legs, evidential of how exactly did Touya take you last night.
You shuddered underneath Natsuo when he gripped onto your knees and parted your legs, arching your back off the ground and looking to the side to hide your face when he stared straight at your bare cunt. Your folds clenched with each heave of your chest, looking all the more inviting with the sheer shine that coated your core from his earlier touches. But he found himself immediately noticing the faded marks at the back of your thighs where they were connected to your hips, the prints permanent on your skin and whispering to him exactly what you had been doing with his brother when no one was around.
The image of Touya digging his fingers into your thighs as he folded your legs up despite your whines burned into his head, his vision growing redder and redder at the thought of your tight hole being railed so hard you tear up in pleas but to no avail.
He was supposed to be the nice brother, the gentle one who kiss you all over and holds you in the center of his palm before putting you back into one piece after the other had shattered you, but all he could think of was how much he wanted to replace the same tears with his own marks right now when he was looking right at the tiny body that his brother had messed with.
“Natsuo...? Ah-” you squeaked when his previously soft hold was replaced with a sudden squeeze at your inner thigh, your limbs being manhandled into a position that was challenging your flexibility. You could not help but throw your head back when he pushed your legs all the way up until they were hooked over his shoulders, the back of your knees almost touching your chest when he leaned down once again.
His tongue tangling with yours distracted you from the sounds of belt buckles rattling for a second, until the feeling of something prodding at your entrance brought your eyes snapping open.
“Don’t worry about a thing...” he muttered against your lips as he dragged his leaking tip along your folds, his hand pulling the hood of your clit back and rubbing at the sensitive nub to ease more of your wetness out until his cock threatened to glide past your fluttering folds with the lubrication. His eyes were fixed on your face, but your reflection appearing on his blown out eyes seemed almost empty as he talked but more like to himself than to you.
His length felt heavy as the tip pushed past the muscle of your walls, earning him a breathless sigh from you as you took his hot inch bit by bit until it settled at the pit of your stomach. You could feel every part of his pressing against you in this position, your core flexing to accommodate his girth but still felt a white burn at the back of your head when he rolled his hips before slamming down again.
He was much... thicker than Touya, and the vein that was throbbing at the side of his shaft left a phantoming feeling in your walls with every thrust. His face was buried at the crook of your neck, each grunt and pant warm on your skin and seeping into your core as vibrations from his chest. There was no space between your bodies as he drilled into you, his plows short and rapid like he did not even want to have a second of his body not touching yours.
Your voice sounded foreign to your ears as you gripped onto his hair for leverage, the broken notes of each mewl and the pathetic cries making you feel possessed as your knees shook with each hilt of his tip in that spongey spot deep inside of you.
“Na- Natsuo nii...”
He groaned at the sweet moans of his name rolling off your tongue, his hand running up and down at the back of your thigh in encouragement when you clamped down strongly around him with each slap of his balls against your ass.
“Fuck-” he gritted in your ear, his thrusts growing sloppy as you tried to lift your hips up to meet him and pushing his cock deeper into you, “you’re so pretty like this... so pretty taking your nii chan’s cock-”
You whined at the compliment, even though the reaction felt so off for the mindset you went into this with. There was something about how differently demanding he was when he was fucking into your tight cunt, the way he wanted to drink in all of your attention and send you into a spiral making thrills boil up in the waves of pleasure that crashed onto you.
He thought he was the one with the power, but we all take what we need from who we want it from.
“Cum around me- that’s it... that’s it...”
He let out a choked moan as your walls spasmed around his aching cock, his hands holding your legs firmly as he held himself still with his hips pressed up snugly against your hips. Your head fell back as your lips parted when you felt the warmth of each spurt of his cum painting your insides, each pulse and throb of his length printing against your walls. A soft whimper was pulled from the back of your throat when he pulled out, the last few drops of his load darting across your lower stomach as he remained his hold on your legs. Natsuo felt breathless at the beads of white that was seeping past your slit, his hands moving before he could think to push the leaking substance back into your hole despite the weak moans you made as you shook under his touch.
Natsuo pressed his palm flat against your sex like he was blocking the mixture of your arousal and his released from slipping out when he brought his hand under your arm. You couldn’t do anything but laid soundly in his arms when he lifted you up, your legs felt like jelly as he held you close to his chest.
“Get some rest, baby, I’ll tuck you in after cleaning you up...”
-
The arrangement continued, but this time with one more man into the mix.
Every night after Touya arrange your guts, Natsuo would put you back together with languish thrusts and not an inch of your skin untouched the next day. Where the eldest burned, the other would soothe over with icy breaths and gentle coos. All Natsu nii asked for return was the loving stare you gave him from behind your fluttering lashes and sheepish nods when he asked you if you feel good from your nii chan’s touch.
What you nearly forgot about, however, was that every night there was another Todoroki you had pushed to the back of your head just a wall next to you while you were getting your brains fucked out.
Todoroki Shouto was probably the most conflicted of the bunch when you walked into the meeting room for the first time. If anyone had asked, he would not deny that back when you were still his upperclassman by a year, before you suddenly dropped off his horizons one day out of nowhere, he was head over heels smitten with you. He was not the only one, if the way you surround yourself with others that gave a sickly sweet grin as they came up to you was any sign, but he liked to believe that he was the only one that really caught your eye. How could you not? If anything, it sufficiently flattered you that someone like Todoroki Shouto would eye you like a dumbfounded puppy when you came down to his year. You made sure to be extra nice to him too, smiling widely and laughing louder than you did for anyone else when he replied to each of your teasing questions with a degree of seriousness that you could not help but found yourself cooing at.
(You never liked him the way he hoped you had, not that he would know or you would ever hint at it. It was just fun for you to have his attention and you would be the first one to say that you could not be blamed. Anyone else would have said the same thing had they been in your place.)
By the spring he was about to move into your second year, you were gone. He had tried to ask around about your whereabouts but no one could give an answer. There were rumours, but all of them were so drastically different that it was near impossible to narrow down the possibilities. And so his innocent, bittersweet school crush was shattered into dust without even a proper heartbreak or revelation.
Now imagine how he felt when he saw his dead crush appearing in front of him years after he last saw them, now as his new stepsister that he never asked for.
You seemed to have latched onto him at first, striking up a conversation with him when everyone else made it clear that you were not welcomed. He felt an overbearing weight in his chest every time you flashed him a wide smile that was so nostalgic but also felt oddly different, like it was you had the same shell as before but the contents in it were missing. He told himself again and again that he had been over you for years now, but the pounding in his chest whenever you laughed around him was a brutal reminder that this could be the chance for him to finally get his hands on what was never his.
The thoughts that clouded his head when he thought of how you were just a room away from him at night was terrifying, and he wasn’t sure what to do with the realisation that there was something as ugly as that stirring deep in his mind. So he took the complete opposite approach to what his yearning was whispering at the back of his head and stayed away from you as far as possible, even when the center of his palms felt like they were about to start seeping blood at how deep his nails dug in at the sight of his brothers getting friendlier and friendlier with you.
Then one day, at the unholy hour when he had to lower each step he took striding back to his room after a late patrol, he heard a soft noise coming from the back of your door that could not be anything other than a moan.
He froze, his eyes widening as he questioned his own hearing when the same sweet sound rang again. It was subtle and he would not have caught on unless he was expecting it, but it sounded almost mocking in his ear as his leg moved on their own until his ear was pressing right at the wooden board that blocked him from seeing what you were doing inside that drew those tempting notes out of your lips.
This was wrong, he swallowed the bitterness in his mouth as the stir in his stomach sunk in, very wrong, but he could not stop himself from wondering how good you must be looking at that moment with your legs parted and fingers pumping in your cunt, your back arching as you tried to bury your face in your pillow as you imagined that it was someone else touching you.
The wire in his head snapped into half when he heard a voice so familiar but yet so strange that mixed into the incoherent string of lewd noises.
“Stay quiet, or do you want people to hear how much of a whore you are?”
His head went blank, and then he turned almost robotically stiff towards his own room when he finally connected the dots of what was going on.
He did not look any bit suspicious when you greeted him the next morning, but he swore he was seeing white when he spotted the way Touya’s hand lingered at your forearm just too long for it to be friendly when he was asking you to pass him the milk.
It got incredibly hard for him to ignore everything that was going on once he found out what happened every night when the house was supposed to be asleep. It was Touya most of the time, but occasionally he would hear the muffled voice of his other brother seeping into his ears through the thin walls too. He should not have listened, especially with how clearly he knew the burn in his chest was a result of anger. How could they just fuck around with you like this when he was there, suffering because you were so close but he could not reach out?
Yet when his hand ghosted over the bulge in his pants as he listened to the broken cries of someone else’s name from the back of your throat, it was jealousy that made him tug at his length almost violently as the squelching and panting died down until there was nothing left but the stickiness lacing his fingers as an evidence of what happened.
He listened with intent, wondering if you would eventually come onto him too. He heard the way you call his brothers’ “nii san” and found it harder and harder for him to even look at you straight without imagining the way you would look coming undone underneath him when he heard the same words dripping off your tongue in a seemingly innocent manner in the day.
But you never did, and he was starting to lose patience from waiting.
Why his brothers but not him when he was the one that had wanted you for so long? What was it that his nee san never wanted to fall into his bed when you so gladly let other men crash into yours?
You did not hear the door creaked open as you laid with your stomach on the bed, your legs arching from the knees onwards as you lounge around with a book in hand. You jumped with a gasp when you saw Shoto standing at the side of your bed, putting your book down carefully with the page you stopped at facing down as you looked up.
“Why are you here, Shouto kun?”
You called him “Shouto kun” when it was “nii chan” for Touya and Natsuo.
He furrowed his eyebrows at how clueless you looked as you stared at him. Your chest were pushed together against the mattress as you rolled to your side, the exposed skin of your legs ticking him off as a reminder of how different you sounded from when he eavesdropped at your little rendezvous every night.
He took your by surprise when he leaped onto the bed, his knees causing a dent at each side of your body when you could not react except allowing your mouth to fall apart at his sudden and strange behaviour.
“Shouto! What are you- mhp-”
You were taken back by the force at which he crashed down on you. You could not process what was going on until the feeling of his burning lips kissing and nibbling at your own settle in as a numbing pain, his tongue forcing it’s way past your teeth as he trapped you underneath his frame.
You took a hasty breath when he pulled away, his eyes staring you down like he was waiting for a reaction as you looked at him with wide eyes.
“Do you not like it when I kiss you, nee san?”
All the words got caught at the back of your throat when his voice rang in your ear, almost eerily calm considering how his teeth were just clashing against yours moments ago. You did not put as much thought into buying your way into Shouto’s side as much as you did the rest of the family, knowing that no matter how small, there had got to be a certain place for you in his heart from the melancholy of an old crush somewhere.
“Even though you like it when it was Touya nii and Natsu nii touching you?”
But now he was on top of you, his eyes quirking up as his hand gripped onto the sheets at the side of your head, his lips almost like he was pouting as he trapped you there.
Nee san...
Right, how foolish of you to forget.
He was your brother too.
“Come here,” he leaned into your touch almost immediately when you reached out for him. His breath was shaky as you sat up, your lips ghosting against his before you whispered all while looking into his eyes. “let nee san show you how to do it...”
He did not react at first when you kissed him, your fingers threading into where the white met the red at the back of his head as you deepened the kiss. The little whimper he made when you moved his hand onto the side of your waist did something to you, and suddenly you wondered why you waited so long before doing this.
You chuckled into his mouth when he clumsily held onto your jaw, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip before slipping past. You made sure to moan almost a bit exaggeratedly when you felt his hand running up your abdomen and stopping at your tits, pressing down encouragingly when he fondled with the soft mound.
He got bolder and bolder as you replied to each miniature, the years of longing erupting in him as he gripped onto your thigh and hooked it at the side of his hip. You yelped at the sudden shake of your vision when he flipped you so that you were straddling his lap. You whimpered when you felt the hardness that was poking against you, his hand now sliding underneath your shirt to toy with your perked nipples as your hand planted firmly on hid toned stomach.
“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long...”
His breath was feverish on your skin when he peeled your shirt off, his lips latching onto your chest almost immediately once you were bare as his fingers dug deeper into your skin like he wanted to leave a bruise. You moaned when he flicked his tongue against the hard bud, licking and nibbling as he stared at your face while holding onto your ribcage.
“Wanted to kiss you for so long...”
You mewled when he bit down a little too hard on your collarbone, his tongue swiping across the dents of the mark as his hand continued to knead your soft flesh.
“Now you’re finally here- with me...”
A roll of his hips had his hard one pressing against your thinly covered pussy, the friction and the heat that was burning against you making you bit down on your lips to stop the moan from slipping past your lips. He gave a dissatisfied pinch to your breast when he saw the action, humming in content when the sudden shock of pain made you hiss.
“No, no, don’t hold it in,” his two toned eyes sent a chilling shiver down your spine as he glared at you in warning, one hand finding grip on the base of your thigh while the other slid into the band of your shorts before pulling it down the curve of your ass, “I want to hear every sound you makes while you get fuck by your little brother...”
His skin heated up when your face contorted together in pleasure when his hands gripped onto the cheeks of your ass and parted them roughly, the flesh jiggling when he released it from his hold with a pull.
“Hm!” you whimpered when he felt his palm rubbing at your folds, the tip of his fingers pressing down on your clit before he dragged each digit up along your slit to gather the wetness that was starting to form from his stimulation. Your lips fell apart when he slipped the first finger in, then added another, and the third. He watched in amazement at each pull of the muscle of your face as he stretched you out around his slender fingers, feeling your cunt sucking him in as he slowly pumped them in and out of your hole.
It was almost unreal, the person that had lingered in his dreams for years on end now naked in his lap and moaning because of his fingers scissoring inside of her. His cock felt painful straining against his pants when you rolled your hips back, impatient for how he moved agonisingly slow inside of you in order to draw out each reaction you gave him. His chest swelled at the sight of you slamming yourself down on his fingers as you laid on his body, your hands gripping at the cotton of his shirt all while arching your ass up so he could rub every inch of your walls.
“You look so pretty fucking yourself on my fingers, nee san...” Shouto whispered against your lips, his free hand bringing you close to him to kiss your quivering lips as he crocked his fingers inside of you and ripping a sharp mewl from the back of your throat.
“Sho- Shoto-” the syllables of his name chocked out of your tongue that felt heavy in your mouth, your knees that prop you up on his lap feeling weak as you alternated the speed at which you threw yourself back at him to chase the tightening of your core.
The drop yanked you back by the seams when you were greeted with a sudden emptiness as you were close to snapping, a squeak spilled out from the back of your throat when you clenched around nothing. Your instinct was to press your legs together to stop the running arousal from dripping down your thighs from the flex of your walls but Shouto held you still with his hands, the wetness that was coating his fingers smearing over your skin as he brushed against your thighs before bringing them to his face.
Your face was burning when he moved his digits apart, showing you the string of your essence that was sticking to his skin before he brought it to his lips. Your stomach flipped when he darted his tongue out, licking his fingers clean like a kitten as he groaned.
“You taste so sweet...” he pulled you close to him like he wanted to give you a taste of it too, the saltiness of yourself tickling your cavity as his words were muffled by his lips on you, “I would have gotten a taste for myself directly much earlier if I knew this is how you taste, but right now...”
He brought your hand to his bulge, the hardness filling under your palm as you cupped his erection. Your hand wrapped around the base of his girth the moment you pulled it out of the band of his sweats and it pressed against his lower stomach, the vein that climbed up the side pulsing under your touch as you ran your finger along his cock.
Your breath hitched at the back of your throat when he lifted you up, your cunt hovering above his tip as he muttered against your neck.
“I want to be in you, nee san.”
It took every fiber in your being to stop yourself from screaming out when he let go of you, slamming you down all the way until he was balls deep inside of you. He sighed at how warm you were all wrapped up around him, his arms snaking around your waist as he started bouncing you on his cock.
You scratched down on his chest through his shirt with each hilt of his length in you, your eyes pressing tightly into thin lines as you fought against the shocks that ran down your spine. He bit down on your skin in discontent, glaring at you like he was warning you to keep your focus on him as he railed in you.
It was fear that made your eyes snapped wide open when you heard a click of someone’s tongue from your back.
“Take this as a lesson to lock your door.”
Shouto’s nails on your skin felt like they could draw blood when he shot up to see the grinning face of his eldest brother, his blood curling when you clamped down around him at a moment of panic.
“Touya!"
He hated the way your eyes moved away from him onto the man leaning against the door, the name that wasn’t his sounding so breathless as it rolled off your tongue.
Touya had already gotten his fair share of your time, now he wanted to interrupt when it was finally his turn?
“Fuck off,” Shouto sneered but the other Todoroki only let out a dry chuckle at his defensive state as he walked towards where you were. His eyed you up and down, how tense you were as you froze under the intrusion evidential as the muscles of your legs pulled taut against your skin.
“Aw, don’t shut me out so quickly, I’m sure she doesn’t mind,” Touya mused, seeming to be egged on even more when he saw his brother tightening his hold on your hips when he shamelessly gripped himself on the crotch over his sweats. “You’re at it already,” you let out a soundless hiss when he pulled your head back just the way he liked it as he yanked his pants down, eyeing his little brother that was staring daggers at him out of the corner of his eyes as he pulled his cock out, “why not take another one?”
Almost like he was asserting his claim, Shouto snapped you out of your trance with a thrust up into your cunt. The sudden friction made your mouth fell apart as a moan was ripped from the back of your throat but it was quickly muffled into a gag when Touya took the chance to shove his cock in your mouth. He hardened and filled inside of you as he held your head still, pulling you to the side so that you were staring helplessly at the man who was slamming into you as he pushed his cock deep at the back of your throat with each surge of his hips.
This was nowhere near the same time Touya treated your mouth as nothing but another hole to fuck but the hilt of his tip at the back of your cavity still made your eyes tear up immediately as the burn settled into the pit of your stomach. Shouto did not give up easily, determined to make sure that his brother’s cock drilling in your mouth was not enough to divide your attention away from him as he threw you up and down on his length vigorously as the lewd squelches and slapping noises echoed off the walls.
Touya’s laugh came out like a howl when he felt the vibrations of your moans around his girth, loving the way you had drool leaking from the corner of your lips as he gripped your head with both hands and pivoted in you. He was laughing, but the stare he cast his brother was no less competitive than the younger boy who was clearly not happy about sharing.
The tension was thick in the air, like they were taking out whatever rivalry that had rooted between them out on you as they treated you like nothing but a toy that they could break if they fight over it hard enough. You had never seen Shouto this visibly angered before, his handsome face twisted together as the scowl tugging at his lips stayed permanent. Your muffled pants and gags as well as the sound of skin against skin was all that could be heard as the two men bared their teeth at each other, Touya in a menacing grin and Shouto like he was ready to tear the other’s smile off his face.
You felt like you were being pulled apart by the threads, with Touya pulling your hair until your scalp felt numb from the pain and Shouto digging his fingers in your ass a little bit too forcefully. The way Touya forced your face away was enough to get under his skin but Shouto could not look away as tears tainted your cheeks as his brother held you still at the base of his cock, your nose brushing against his pubic hair while your nostrails flared in a desperate attempt to breathe. Each thrust of his hips sent both cocks deeper inside you, the burn pulsing all through your body as your toes curled.
“Hnpm-”
“Go on,” Touya gave a tug at your scalp, pulling at the side of your eyes and forcing you to look right at Shouto, “stare into his eyes while you swallow my cum.”
And you did, the bitter and salty mixture pouring down your throat and almost scorching where it touched as you gulped down his load as he held you still, almost choking on your own spit as you stared at the younger boy from behind your glassy eyes. His pupils were blown out as he fixated on the sight of your throat bobbing and white leaking out of the corner of your lips which were wrapped around his brother’s cock, your jaw almost slack as Touya pulled out and pressed your jugulars tight to make sure you drank everything he had to give you.
You did not dare to move as Touya tucked his limp cock back into his pants, still smiling ear to ear before he turned around but not without throwing down another snarky remark.
“Treat her rougher,” his glance darted towards you for a second before looking back at his brother, “she likes it that way.”
The acidity welled up in your mouth as Shouto stayed put, the lack of even a sound or movement somehow stirring in your stomach until it was all tied up as a knot. Your skin felt clammy with your sweat when he shifted under you, his cock very much so still pressing hard against your gut as he moved and sending sparks all the way to the tip of your toes.
“Open your mouth."
His voice was scary calm as he commanded and you reacted before even processing his words. Shouto gripped onto your jaw, his teeth hurting from how hard he was clenching down as he looked at the trails of white along your chin and the residues of cum on your tongue.
You shivered when something cold landed in your open mouth, a silver string connected his lips and dripping down your tongue.
“Swallow.”
The last bit of cum mixed together with his spit slid down your throat as you felt small under his gaze. It was like a switch was flipped inside of him when he slammed you on the bed, him now taking full control as he perched on top of you much like when he initially came onto you tonight and thrusting up hard, fast, deep into your cunt.
Your mind was too muddled for you to think straight at the shocks of electricity spiking across your skin when the tip of his cock rubbed along your walls furiously, your pants and moans coming out as slurred strings of incomprehensible noises. He sounded animalistic as his teeth graced past your pulse point at the side of his neck, the muscles in his stomach tensing up both from getting close to his edge and the scene from earlier of you getting face fucked by his brother right in front of his eyes replaying in his head again and again.
“When I’m done,” you could barely make out what he said as you slammed your head back, “my cock will be all you can think of- all you need...”
You whined when his cock sheathed against the spongey spot right below your pelvis, a sharp cramp creeping onto your legs that were already close to giving in at the melting pleasure.
“I’ll fuck you again and again if that’s what it takes,” he grunted.
Again and again, until all the traces of other people’s hand tainting your skin was wiped off with his mark instead.
“Starting-” his shoulders shook as his hips surged forward, his cock throbbing in you as he dipped his head down, your legs threw weakly around his waist as you felt the heat from his chest blazing against your skin.
“Now.”
You arched yourself off the mattress at the feeling of his cum filling you up, his body stiff on top of you as he pumped his load in you. He gripped onto your knees almost immediately when you wanted to put your legs down, giving a few more thrust before finally pulling out of you but still not letting go.
He tried to go a few rounds more that night, but you managed to settle him at your side in your bed with a soft whine and your arms latching onto his waist tightly as you buried your face in his chest.
Shouto was the only person who had fallen asleep next to you of all the ones that had gotten into your bed at night, looking almost angelically serene as he drifted into slumber that you didn’t have the heart to wake him up even though the fear of someone catching him sneaking out at daybreak next morning scared you.
No one did, of course, and even if they do, they all did a very good job not saying a word about it.
-
Todoroki Fuyumi did nothing but furrow her eyebrows and sighed when she saw her own brother slipping out from your room at the crack of dawn, before going back to her normal day-to-day routine like she did not just witness the confirmation that she could no longer pretend she did not sense things stirring under the roof she called home as she did ever since you moved into the house.
If anyone asked, Fuyumi would be very honest with the fact that while less obvious about her dismay, she was about as keen on the prospect of a woman no one had met before marrying into the family and bringing an adult child with her as the rest of her siblings. The family was messed up enough as it was, no need to bring an outsider into the mix to further complicate the matter. There was also the convenient fact that the buffer period between her birth mother’s death and the announcement of the engagement was far too short for anyone’s comfort, and the speculation of an overlaps in the timeline where Enji started seeing his new wife while his now deceased wife was hanging onto the last breath of her life by a thread.
But she hid the urge to scrunch her face up the first time she met her new stepsister and stepmother and smiled, knowing full well that the others would take up the role of pushing you away until eventually you would have to break under their scrutinising gaze.
Fuyumi had always been the one trying to hold the family together, even if it meant turning a blind eye on the cracks that were starting to form.
The first siren call was when Touya came downstairs one morning acting like a completely different person around you then he was the night before. She felt her guts twisting together at how sickly sweet his voice was as he passed by you, his arms draping over your shoulder slightly before he slumped down on his own seat. Touya was supposed to be the one that was the least likely to wield out of the four, god knows how much of a tantrum he threw when he learnt of the engagement. Something must have happened over night for him to go from sneering at you to cooing at you in the matter of hours, and what the something might be was not a pleasant thing to guess around on.
Still, Fuyumi didn’t confront her brother on his strange antics. Even after she became rather certain on how accurate her guess was regarding your relationship as the bruises on your thigh and offhanded teases got more and more blatant each day. Touya had always been one to play around, she had sent many pretty young things off in the mornings when she came to the living room to find them sitting there with their clothes very wrinkled and legs very much so wobbling with each step.
He was probably doing it as a protest like most other things he had done and it would take no time for him to get bored of you.
But one morning turned into a week, and Todoroki Touya only seemed to grow closer and closer to you as each day passed.
Natsuo was much worse when it came to playing things off compared to his older brother and Fuyumi noticed almost immediately when he started getting involved with you too. It should not have come as a surprised, it certainly was not to her. Sentimentally, the two older Todoroki boys were often similar but expressing it in different ways. Fuyumi was aware of how a yearning for being needed was in place of his head where the desire for chaos was cemented in Touya’s.
It took her a while to see how tightly you had Natsuo wrapped around your fingers, how he very much so ignored the way you amped up your helplessness and dependence when he was around that seemed almost painfully blatant to her. But it didn’t unsettle her as much as it did when the dynamic between you and the siblings switched the first time. If anything, this was the more logical progression. Natsuo had always been the more passive one with his attitude towards you, and him shifting stances would not do much to the scene.
It got harder and harder to bite on her tongue and stay quiet ever since she caught Shouto walking out of your room. She was the most concerned about the youngest Todoroki and his almost dangerous affection towards you. She had connected the dots herself after some baiting fished out that you two were already acquainted before the untimely marriage. She saw the way Shouto watched you with so much fever in his eyes when the other two even inched close to you, the unhidden teeth marks on your arms and legs almost too deliberate for her to not think too much about it. It was the self-righteousness of finally getting something that was lost, and Fuyumi found this one particular budding flame to burn hotter and more destructive than the rest.
You were playing a very dangerous game here, and she was the only one that was left out of it until right now.
Right now, it was a heavy silence in the room at the far end of the house where no one would go to. Fuyumi was sitting right opposite you, both of your postures looking extremely formal with your feet tucked under your legs, hands planed flat on both thighs as you waited for her to say something.
You had a dreadful feeling you knew what this was about when she asked you to go with her for something important with a face so expressionless it scared you.
She had not said a word after she motioned you to sit down on the tatami, looking blankly at the empty floor in front of you like she was deep in thought. All you could hear was the pounding in your eardrum and the steady breaths the left your own nostrils, your hands wanting to claw at the fabric of your shorts to ease the shaking nerves but your head fighting it back with an unwillingness to look like you did not have the upper hand.
You did not, and you were genuinely horrid by the direct confrontation that you did not have to go through with the rest of the family.
“I know you’re sleeping with my brothers.”
Her voice came out like the notes of a lullaby, ghosting in the air but knocking you right in the lungs. She said it like it was nothing but a trivial fact, not a question but a statement that she knew you could not deny.
Fuyumi looked right at you now, like she could see right through your soul and all the gears running in your head as they spun like mad while thoughts trampled your head. Her eyes were clear, so clear behind the frame of her glasses and at the moment you knew she did not leave room for you to lie or try to get your way out of it.
"I am,” you replied.
It felt almost cathartic to say out loud. There was no need for you to pretend or lie or appease towards someone who already had your game figured out, and there was something about being on the same page that anchored you on your footing.
“Why?”
Yes, why?
“I need to find my place in this house,” you answered, feeling your mind go blank as you reached to the pit of your core and dragged out the words you were searching for, “and they wanted me.”
They wanted you.
You gave them what they wanted in exchange for what you needed, the simple equation that formed the beauty, the complexity and the rotting of human desires.
Your breathing shifted to go with her rhythm without even knowing as she sighed, long and shaky as she dropped her head.
She went into this with the determination that one way or another, she would get you to stop with whatever you were doing with her brothers so things would go back to normal once and for all without lingering glances and hints that weren’t so subtle and glares at the dining table, but now she wasn’t so determined anymore. Fuyumi now realised that things had never been normal, the cracks gad always been here and you simply found a way to slip through.
They wanted you, but what did she want?
Todoroki Fuyumi was the one who desperately tried to hold the family together through the years when her siblings were deep in resentment and her father obsessed with making a legacy out of what was left, even if it took filling up the growing cracks bit by bit until she didn’t even know who she was doing it for anymore.
If the cracks had managed to close because they all wanted the same thing, then so be it.
You did not flinch away when Fuyumi leaned forward, her lips stilled on yours as she held herself up with her palms on the floor. Her lips were cold, like the first rain drop that fell into the calm ocean before the surface started to ripple into many, many silver rings, until it melted into the heat on your skin and seeped right under.
You felt a tingle unlike any you had experienced when you snapped out of your shock and kissed her back, subtle closing and opening of lips turned into gentle nibbling as you gravitated towards her body. Her skin was so soft, and the way she held onto your jaw with the tips of her finger as she made you parted your mouth wider was almost tender in a way.
You couldn’t stop the whimper from slipping out when she sucked on your tongue, hand placed at the base of your spine to press your body closer to hers. Her chest squished against yours and you whined when she shoved her knee between your legs. Her palm smoothed over your curves and down to the swell of your hips as she cradled your face, gripping on the doughy flesh encouragingly as she guided you to hump against her thigh.
Her breath was shaky when she pulled away, the one drum in her heart particularly loud when her eyes landed on your misted stare behind hooded lids.
So this was why they were all so crazy about you.
One tilt of her head was enough of a sign as you latched onto her, your lips trailing along her exposed neck and down to the collar of her shirt. She sighed when you rolled it up from the hem, your hands cupping her tits before placing open kisses on the delicate skin. The way her skin flushed under your touch was an intoxicating sight and you found yourself wanting more as you pushed the cup of her bra down to wrap your lips around her nipple. It was the moan she made when you sucked on the bud that set you off, the way it hardened in your mouth as you swirled your tongue around it had you bucking your hips against her legs uncontrollably.
The saltiness that lingered on her skin provoked your senses as you trailed down, making sure to kiss every soft curve and dent of her body before settling at the waistband of her pants. Her legs were tight around your head when you pulled it down, the muscles of her thighs flexing when your mouth hovered right above her sex. She laid back to allow you better access and you could see her breasts heaving with each heavy exhale above you as she leaned against the tatami. You tested the waters with a kitten lick along her folds, getting a little bolder when her legs clenched around your shoulders and she let her head fell back with a hum. Her cunt clenched around nothing when you pulled away, the silver string of your saliva connecting her folds and your lips was sinful as you took in the clear essence that was starting to form.
She mewled when you dipped back down, your hand kneading her soft thighs as your tongue parted her folds and savoured the taste of her arousal. Your finger brushed past her pubic hair as you pulled back the hood of her clit, the shudder of her legs hitting you in full force when you flicked your tongue against the engorged bud. Fuyumi brought her hand to the back of your head, her fingers lacing into your hair to shove your face closer against her pussy as she rolled her hips, pressing herself on your face for more friction.
Her lips fell open when you eased a finger into her tight hole, the velvet walls gushing with wetness sucking your digit in as you pumped it in her cunt. Toes curling under the pleasure when you added in another one while your lips focused on her clit.
“Hm- right there!” she panted when you scissored your fingers in her, stretching her out as you slurped up her juices that were trailing down your wrist and seeping with each flick of your wrist. You could feel her tightening around your fingers and you looked up only to feel a rush of heat down your core when you saw her face.
Her glasses had fallen half way down the bridge of her nose, the lenses were not enough to hide her blown out pupils that were hazy with lust. A furious flush dusted across her cheek and reached the tip of her ear, plump lips parted as her tits bounced with each heave of her chest. Her throat bobbed when you arched your fingers inside of her, strumming along her clenching walls encouragingly as meek moans rolled off her tongue.
The musky scent overwhelmed you when you sucked down hard on her clit, her legs kicking mid-air as a lewd moan rippled out from her lungs while you held her still. The pad of your fingers dragging along her insides rang tingles on her scalp as she came on your mouth, the squelch from her wet cunt loud in your ear when you pulled your hand away and earning you a whimper.
Fuyumi’s vision was still clouded over by the aftershocks of her orgasm but she found herself unable to look away when you darted your tongue out to lick your fingers clean between her legs. The grip on your shoulder as she ushered you up was almost painful before it was replaced by the feeling of her fumbling hands trying to stripe you down, her whining into your mouth at the taste of her arousal on your tongue as she cupped your ass.
Your moan as she pulled you to straddle her thigh was muffled when she pushed your head down against her chest, the soft mounds pillowing you as she dug her fingers into your hips and pressed down. Your cunt throbbed when it rubbed against the smooth skin of her leg, the muscle beneath flexing and coaxing out numbing shivers along your spine. Your hands flew to find hold on her arm as she bounced the leg you were riding, your back arching and pushing you closer to her as your eyes shut tight.
The coil in the pit of your stomach tightened with each drag of your folds along her thigh, feeling her hot skin under your touch as your hands roamed all over her body. Your breath fanned against her skin, each moan and pant rumbling against her in weak vibrations. She kept one arm around your waist as the other slid down her stomach and stopping at her slit. Every hair on her skin stood up at the sight of your shoulders tensing up, slipping her fingers in as the speed at which you rolled your hips against her flesh increased and setting a feverish pace like she was rushing to tip over.
You tried to follow the rhythm of her fingers jamming in her cunt with the thrust of your hips, your legs almost cramping up as your toes curled and uncurled. She thumped her leg up and down more vigorously as muscles pulled taut under her skin, fighting back the urge to roll her eyes back so she wouldn’t miss the miniatures on your expression as you came undone.
“Are you close?” she let out a hasty chuckle when you nodded rapidly, her hand that was on your torso gripping down encouragingly as she aimed her fingers at the spot that had shocks pulsing through her veins, “then cum on me- cum on nee chan-”
The band in you snapped at the coo, your nails leaving white lines on her skin as you scratched down. Your hips dragged sloppily along her skin as you rode out your high, lying weakly on her shoulder as you looked up at her. Fuyumi threw her head back as her arm tensed, the joint of her wrist popping out as a sharp moan spilled from her mouth.
All that could be heard in the room was the pants that were under your ear as you leaned on her chest, the steady rise and fall under your cheek luring you into a state of serenity. A mellow heat slowly imploded from your core, spreading through your skin and planting at the back of your head.
Fuyumi’s arm draped over your frame loosely, her breaths slowly calming down as she drummed a soothing rhythm against your skin, the tempo synching with the pounding under your ear.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Your eyelids felt heavier and heavier as the warmth seeped in, your shoulders almost weightless for the first time in a while.
So you closed your eyes, and listened to the steady beats of your sister’s heart, until you could hear nothing at all.
-
“Sometimes I feel bad for always leaving you at the house on your own.”
Your mother’s smile was apologetic as she rummaged her bag for her keys as she shoved her feet in her heels. You leaned against the frame of the door, tilting your head as you tap your feet against the ground.
“It’s alright, I have company around,” you said with a hum, “leave it, I’ll lock the door for you.”
Your mother paused, looking up from her bag with an almost sheepish sounding chuckle as you leaned over for the knob. She had been worried about whether you would get alienated by the Todoroki children when she married into the family, but it seemed like her worries were unneeded after all.
Sometimes she would walk in on you with the rest of Enji’s children and laugh to herself at how silly she was for even thinking that you would have an issue blending in.
You were a strong girl, you could always find a way to manage yourself through anything.
Your throat felt dry when your mother suddenly gripped your hands in her palm, the calloused pad of her fingers rubbing against your wrist as she looked at you, looking almost teary eyed as she shook her head with a laugh.
“I’m so glad that you are happy here,” she said, the wrinkles at the corner of her eye crinkling up as she smiled, “I really am.”
The tug at the corner of your lips felt almost stiff as you squeezed her hand, nodding to the way she shook your clasped hands like words could not do her thoughts justice. Her touch lingered, even after you gave her a light chuckle and reminded her that she would be late if she doesn’t head out soon.
She gave you one last look before stepping out the door, the beaming grin on her face not once faltering before she was gone from your sight.
She did not need to know. You thought to yourself as you turned around, your hand rubbing at where your mother’s emotionally tight grip had left a warm sting on your skin as you headed back upstairs.
Your family was waiting for you, after all.
#bnha imagines#bnha x reader#bnha smut#todoroki x reader#todoroki smut#kinktober 2020#tw: stepcest#tw: pseudo-incest
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Brahms Heelshire Nsfw Alphabet
A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Oh, he’ll let you clean up, usually. But keep in mind that sex always will end in cuddles. No doubt about it. Even if you get up to shower, Brahms willl go and follow you in eventually, demanding as usual.
B: Bodypart (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Brahms loves his chest. His broad shoulders too. Makes him look all mighty and strong, which isn’t a lie.
Brahms also really likes it when you lay on said chest and shoulders.
His partner?... he can’t decide. Whatever he can hold and/or fondle is fair game in his eyes.
…
Though he does like a nice rack. And love handles.
C: Cum (anything to do with cum)
Even if he’s caught up in the heat of the moment, Brahms still somewhat of a gentleman and will warn you when he’s about to bust one so you can avoid it; or direct it away from your face.
Though if given permission, this man will nut in you every chance he gets. He much prefers to fill you.
D: Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Oh. Oh, this man is into watching you do everything. He’ll jerk off into your underwear while watching you shower. He’s a stinky man that can get away with jerking off behind a wall.
E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
Not experienced at all, but all that lack of sex in his earlier years makes it seem like he’s real good.
All that awkwardness dissolves once you get him going. If he’s on top, he can take the reigns.
F: Favorite Position (This goes without saying)
If you asked Brahms, (with the knowledge that he’ll freeze up and blush so hard his mask turns all hot), he would say he wouldn’t know. Whatever gets the job done.
But he does enjoy holding his partner’s hands. He’s adamant about that.
G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
Brahms takes it pretty seriously. And even if he’s making a silly face during, it’s not going to stop him from drilling into you till you scream bloody murder.
H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
Have you seen this man. Do you think this man, having an ungroomed head of hair, a thick ass beard, chest hair so thick it makes him sweat, has perfectly hairless junk.
He’s swamped down there.
I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
Very intimate. Brahms loves proving how much he adores you. How much he wants to make sweet love to you. Now, he isn’t as poetic as that, but he loves to make sure you’re appreciated every second you’re screwing.
This man cannot fuck. He makes love that just happens to also include fucking your brains out.
J: Jack/Jill Off (Masturbation headcanon)
This man has the whole inner walls of the house to himself. He can drop trou and crank one out whenever he wishes, moaning as loud as he wants.
Then again, if you’re in the same room (expanded on letter K), he’ll pipe down and won’t be as vigorous.
K: Kink (One or more of their kinks)
MAJOR VOYEUR. As I’ve said, this man can watch anyone and anything at all times behind the walls. He loves to watch you masturbate, hear you moan, hear you at your most private. Double points if you moan his name. (He actually might barrel out of the wall and spice things up, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.)
As much hype Brahms gives watching others, he doesn’t like to be watched. He likes to be in control, and he just doesn’t want to be spectated. Give this poor man some head.
Brahms’s other kinks include mild choking and clothing fetishism. He does like biting, but you’re going to have to fish that kink out of him. He’ll kill a man but there’s no way he’ll bite his beloved without consent.
L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)
You’re alone in this giant mansion. You’re getting that Brahms cock everywhere.
But his favorite place? His room. He loves it, makes him feel good. Surrounded by his territory. You both are safe here, no one’s getting caught, even if it were possible.
M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
He’s so easy to turn on. Brahms is so touched starved it’s not even funny at this point. Just tell him he looks ‘kinda hot’ and you’ve earned yourself a clingy, horny Brahms for the rest of the day.
N: NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)
Please don’t degrade him, oh my god he’s going to cry. He needs to be praised, he needs to be reinforced, tell what he’s doing is good. It’s more rewarding anyway for both parties.
Don’t light candles/use candle wax either, that should be a given. You can probably get away with incense, but even still.
O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Brahms enjoys head as much as the next guy, but the moment you show him some new trick or maneuver he’ll enjoy it a whole lot more. He’s a very dramatic receiver and will not stop looking at you. Hope you like eyes being burned into the crown of your head.
Don’t underestimate his giving skills though. He’s not well versed in oral, but the moment he hits your sweet spot he’s going to absolutely pounce on it. He can feign skill pretty well.
P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
It all depends on how he’s feeling; Brahms doesn’t choose one over the other. His sweet innocent voice makes it seem like the latter, but don’t be surprised when you get the pounding of your life. It’s just how he is, be ready for both (unless you explicitly ask)!
Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
He doesn’t mind a quickie! He’ll bend you over the dining table or pin you to the laundry room wall. Brahms is a big pushover though, and if you want to take it to the bedroom, he’ll carry you right over!
Brahms also enjoys quickies for the sake of how many positions can he get you in! All depends on the room.
R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Not much to risk, unfortunately. Living in a big empty house, far away from the big city. He could fuck you on that tiny balcony as much as he wants, but there’s no risk of you both getting caught (plus it’s England and cold, don’t do it outside hello).
If there was a chance, even, he’s game. He’s been jerking off in the walls for years now without so much as a peep, he knows he can shush.
S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
He’s always satisfied with a single round, but you better be in for the long haul if you want to wear him out for good. He loves your enthusiasm! But don’t be surprised if on round four you’re exhausted. Your determination is funny to Brahms, but he’s a horny man!
T: Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
Brahms totally would have a fleshlight, wouldn’t he. He’d be a creep and fix your underwear on it. But I don’t think he’d own one; he prefers to not leave the house and his parents would never buy such a crude item.
I think vibrators would be too overwhelming. He’d be happy to try, though. He’ll always humor you!
U: Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Fuck yes, Brahms loves to tease. He’ll grab your waist, tickle your neck with his beard. He won’t take his mask off, but you can feel his hot breath emanating from inside.
He haaates being teased though. He gets all huffy, he immediately thinks that you want sex now, but when you step away to make lunch is the moment he gets cranky. How can you leave him like this!!! You know how easily worked up he gets!!!
V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
Very. Sure, you’d think Brahms prefers to be quiet during his life in the walls, but he’s just a ball of loud moans, ranging in severity. His voice gets all loud and squeaky, begging and whining, you’d wonder if he’s crying at this point.
W: Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
Hugs are the only thing that doesn’t rile him up. He recognizes that hold as something sweet, something to treasure, something he’s never felt in so long. Brahms loves to be doted on.
Unless you buck on his hips. Oho, don’t get him started.
X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)
Bushy man. Decently thick. Perfectly rounded tip that has a slight curve. Cut. Seven inches when hard. Sports a noticeable thick vein trailing on the side.
Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Everything gets him hard. It’s not difficult to turn him on, just looking at his junk can make a night different.
Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)
Most of the time, he’ll park himself on the nearest nappable surface and pass out with you.
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jealous
pairing: chris evans x black!reader
warnings: age gap, language
word count: 2k
a/n: this lowkey sucks and i’m sorry for that but i really wanted to post it🤭
i do not consent to my work being copied in any way, shape or form or reposted on any other platform
not my picture
You’re sitting on your couch, eating popcorn and watch Fresh Prince reruns when your phone starts to ring. As expected.
“Hello?”
“Y/N, where the hell are you? You said you would come.”
You groan loudly. “I know, but I started to feel kind of sick and I didn’t want to get everyone else sick, you know?”
There’s a pause at the other end of the phone for a couple of seconds before, “You’re such a liar. You’re never sick.” You roll your eyes at that. Of course he would know that.
Ah yes, Scott Evans, your best friend of multiple years. You had met in college and practically hated each other at first. You both were very sarcastic people and it annoyed each of you in the beginning, but you ended bonding because you were the only people that really understood each other’s humour.
“Fine, I just didn’t want to come, okay? I’m tired and I just wanted to chill at home.”
“But Y/N, you never miss the mid-summer barbeque. My mom keeps asking when you’re getting here. And I freaking miss you. Just like pop over and eat a burger or something than you can go back to your popcorn and your cat boyfriend.”
“Hey! Leave Mr. Business alone, he didn’t go anything to you.”
Scott bursts into laughter at that.
“Okay, okay, sorry Mr. Business. But Y/N, seriously, please, just come for a while.”
You groan even louder than the first time, “Fine. But I’m eating a hot-dog and fruit salad and then I’m leaving.”
“Yes! Okay, see you in 30!”
You hang up the phone and reluctantly get up from your couch, headed to take a shower.
You normally didn’t mind going to Lisa’s house because you adored Scott’s family. Since the beginning, they had all been so nice and welcoming to you. Well, you know, except Chris.
Chris and you did not get along, to say the least. He annoyed the shit out of you, always showing up with a new bimbo on his arm, making out like there’s no tomorrow in front of everybody. Like, literally. Every single time you saw him, he was with a new girl. He also spent the entire time you were at the house taking digs at you. Always for different reasons, which kudos for the originality, but they were always increasingly mean. This meant that you could never stay too long when Chris was there or you would lose your shit, like at that one Christmas dinner. Oof, bad memories.
As you’re standing in front of your closet, you contemplate all of your summer clothes. You end up deciding on a sheer long sleeve top and black dress. You rapidly do your hair and makeup as you hear Scott sending multiple texts, probably asking where you are.
You finally arrive at the house about 45 minutes later. You immediately head to the backyard, where lively noise and soft music are coming from.
As soon as you get in the backyard, you spot Scott, sitting on a chair, beer in hand, talking with his mom.
When he sees you, his face lights up and he excitedly waves you over.
“Hi guys!”
“Y/N! We were starting to think that you weren’t going to show up!”
You laugh slightly, “You know me, always have to make an entrance and all!”
You sit down on a chair next to them and listen distractedly as they continue with their conversation.
As you’re starting to think about getting yourself to eat, Chris enters the backyard with another one of his hook-ups, as on schedule. You roll your eyes slightly as you tell Scott and Lisa that you’ll be right back and head to the food table.
You’re distracted by the customization of your food and don’t realize that your seat is now occupied by your least favorite Evans.
“Um, excuse me. I was sitting there.”
Chris barely spares you a glance as his hook-up looks at you, offended, and scoffs. “So? There’s plenty of chairs in the backyard.”
“Okay, well, this chair has my phone on it so obviously I was going to come back to sit here, so move.”
Chris makes a mocking pout at you and says, “Oh, you’re right, sorry.” He then rolls his eyes and smirks, “Or not.”
You grind your jaw and swallow your pride. There’s no need to make a scene. You give Chris the fakest smile you can muster and bend down to take your phone from the chair’s drink holder and turn around to sit on the other side of the pool.
Unfortunately for you, this gives you a direct view of Chris’ make-out session. You shudder and groan as you direct your attention to the children playing in the pool.
After eating, you head to the cooler to get a beer but, of course, it’s empty.
Knowing that Scott always keeps a secret stash of his favorite beers in the basement, you leave your plate and phone on the chair before heading inside. As you go down the stairs, you remember that they didn’t have any light down here. Would have been pretty smart to bring your phone but, oh well, too late.
You get a bottle from the fridge before cracking it open on the door. You’re about to go back upstairs when a sound surprises you and you let out a scream while throwing a punch out in the dark.
“Ow, you hit my face! What the fuck is your problem?”
Of course it would be him.
“Well, you scared the shit out of me so not my fault.”
You skirt around him and head back upstairs. However, before you can pass through the kitchen and head back to the backyard, you feel a hand around your arm.
“Wait. I wanna talk to you for a second.”
You turn around and shake your arm out of his grip. You take a sip of your beer while you wait for him to speak. Chris sighs loudly before asking, “Why do you hate me?”
You choke on your beer before looking at him with wide eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re always super rude to me whenever you see me, and you always leave parties after like an hour when I’m here.”
“Okay, so we’re doing this.” Chris frowns in confusion at this.
“First of all, I don’t hate you, you just really annoy me. You’re always showing up with a new girl, always more plastic than the one before. You’re always eating their faces in front of everyone, which like, ew. And you’re the one that’s rude to me, by the way, so…”
You shrug and are ready to down your beer and leave when Chris whispers, “Wait, you don’t like that?”
“Why the fuck would I want to see you making out with a different girl every few weeks?”
“But Scott said that-” When he realizes what he’s saying, he stops abruptly and puts a hand in front of his mouth.
You tilt your head in confusion, “Scott said what?”
“Umm… Well, he said that… Uh, you liked bad boys?’
You feel heat making its way from your belly all the way up to your cheeks. You were attracted to the more edgy ones but what the hell did that have to do with anything?
“And?’
“Well… I thought that, you know, if I was like that, you would like me?”
Realization hits you and you mutter, “Oh my God, I’m way too sober for this shit.”
You gulp down the rest of your beer and try to think of what to say when you hear, “Baby, come back outside.”
Chris’ date saunters into the kitchen and glares at you as she practically hangs herself from his arm.
“Yeah, um, good luck with that,” you gesture to the girl next to Chris and finish with, “and I’m gonna go.”
You put your beer bottle in the trash and head to the backyard. You get your phone and rapidly say by to Scott and Lisa before practically running out to your car.
Once you’re back home, back in your pyjamas and watching TV, you ponder over your short conversation with Chris. It kind of made sense that he suddenly started acting all macho around you. The first few times you had met Chris, he had been pretty nice to you but was very reserved. You just assumed that fame had gotten to his head and that’s why he had started acting like that. You roll your eyes as you remember that Chris had said that he was acting like that because of Scott.
you, 6:45pm:
so why exactly and in what circumstances did you reveal my type to chris?
You put your phone down but almost immediately receive a response.
scott, 6:45pm:
I didn’t know you guys could have a conversation without murdering each other.
I don’t even remember talking about this with him
you, 6:46pm:
he told me that you told him that i liked “bad boys”
scott, 6:46pm:
Oh, that
I’m pretty sure I told him that like 15 years ago when you met him
You frown at this. He’s been acting like a dumbass for 15 years and for what? You shake your head as you look for Chris’ name in your phone contacts.
you, 6:47pm:
where are you right now?
You put your phone down and head to the kitchen to make yourself a quick snack to eat. As you’re washing the things you used, you hear a text message coming in.
christopher, 7:03pm:
I just got home.
Why?
you, 7:03pm:
we need to talk, come over
You were kind of nervous. Chris had never come inside your house and you were sure that he would have plenty to say about it, but you were not in the mood at all.
About 15 minutes later, you hear your doorbell ring. You exhale slowly before opening the door and stepping aside to let Chris in.
He walks in and looks around before turning back to you and saying, “It’s pretty.” You could feel that he was different from the other times you had seen each other.
You mutter a “thanks” and motion for Chris to follow you in the living room.
“Okay, so you said that Scott told you the type of guys that I liked but you didn’t say why he told you that.”
“Um, I asked him, a long time ago.”
“Why?”
“Well, you know…”
You start to get annoyed and reply, “No, I don’t know, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting here right now, would you?”
Chris exhales loudly before responding, “I thought you were beautiful and smart, and I liked you and I wanted to be like the other guys you liked.”
“I- huh?”
“At first, I thought it would make you laugh or something but then you didn’t react so I thought that if I was a little mean, you would notice me but then it didn’t work so I thought that I would try to make you jealous and here we are.”
You look at Chris with your mouth agape as you try to register what he just said.
“That seems rather cliché, no?”
“Yeah, I know, it was dumb and weird, but I didn’t know what else to do to make you notice me.”
“I don’t really know what to say, to be honest…”
“How about I take out sometime and you can get to know the real me?”
“Umm… I guess?”
Chris gets up, a grin on his face, as he heads towards your front door.
“I’ll text you then.”
As you hear Chris start his car and leave, you’re still sitting on the couch, completely shocked.
What the fuck just happened?
#chris evans#chris evans x black!reader#chris evans x reader#chris evans imagine#chris evans fanfic#chris evans x black reader#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x woc#chris evans fanfictions#chris evans fanfics
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Trying something a little different today for @whataboutthebard. Another tale. Another life, one that was lived by other people*. On the subject of sex pollen. Consent is freely given. A grand total of 3k words. Rated M/E. Enjoy, my darlings.
~
There is a shining golden band around Oswald’s finger. This is a recent development, and everywhere he goes people ask him about it. He wishes they wouldn’t. He should be happy, he knows; should be full of that fizzing, new-love excitement.
But he feels nothing. It had been a suggestion, paired with gentle pushing from his mother and significantly less gentle pushing from his father. He should have said no, he knows. He’s a bard, for fuck’s sake, he should have followed his truth or his desire or whatever the fuck it is artistic types are supposed to do.
But he didn’t say no. He said yes, because all he could think of was what the alternative might be. A life lived in solitude, forever. He’ll never have what he wants - who he wants - and perhaps it might not be so bad. Perhaps a loveless life shackled to another will be better than a loveless life alone.
The band squeezes his finger, cutting off the circulation.
It is Belleteyn eve. This should be the night for celebrating love. He’s horribly aware of this; and horribly aware that his fiance is elsewhere this evening. He should be more upset about that than he is. He wants to be alone.
He wants to be with him. Larkspur, they call him. It’s what he calls himself, having shrugged off the name his parents burdened him with when he was born.
Usually, Belleteyn is celebrated with bonfires and dancing and singing, mingling with crowds. Tonight, a party of perhaps a dozen artists have snuck from the city walls towards the forest a few miles beyond. They say that magic happens on Belleteyn night, and while there are a few cynics amongst their numbers, it promises to be a wonderful evening.
Larkspur leads the way - he’s well-versed in magic, he claims, thanks to his travels up and down the Continent.
“Who knows what could happen?” He trills, looking over his shoulder at the group. “Anything could happen.”
His gaze lands on Oswald. Often, that gaze is mocking or antagonistic. A threat. A challenge. Today, it’s like a question. Oswald doesn’t have time to probe before he’s looking away again with a laugh - a floating, melodic noise that makes Oswald’s skin tingle.
He nervously fingers at the band around his finger. His fiance has never met Larkspur. She would hate him. She would really hate him, not just in the way Oswald pretends to.
He’s struck with the sudden urge to tear away the maddening ring and hurl it into the Pontar.
But he doesn’t, of course.
The forest beyond the city is wide and dark and sprawling. Oswald cannot help but feel nervous as they step between the trees, looking for seasonal chaos. He sniffs cynically at Larkspur’s assertions that anything could happen; he is sure he knows what will happen. Drinking and laughing and singing. He has already picked out the couples in the group that he is sure will sneak away for more traditional Belleteyn celebrations, and he is not amongst them.
They are seated on fallen trees, passing around a bottle of mead, when there is a hand on Oswald’s shoulder. He looks up. It’s Larkspur, eyes shining in the low light of their tiny bonfire.
“Come with me,” he says.
Oswald sniffs. “You’re going to lead me into the forest to murder me,” he says. “To be rid of the competition before next week’s contest.”
Larkspur grins, his teeth shining. “You know me so well,” he says. He turns away. “Are you coming or not?”
Oswald passes the bottle to their nearest friend. He stands. “I want it known,” he says, “that I want a dignified death.”
“Noted.”
The forest is dense enough that the chattering of their group fades away eerily quickly. It is dark - yet not too dark - and the odd silence is oppressive. It seems they can both feel it, and slip easily into bickering to fill the quiet.
“Perhaps you intend to do away with me,” Larkspur teases. “It would be easier to kill me than win by your own merit.”
“You invited me out here,” Oswald spits, pushing past him and taking the lead. “Unless I tricked you into that, too?”
“Perhaps you did. I would not put it past you. You used some psychological trick on me to lure me here.”
“Hmm.”
“You surely have nothing to fear,” Larkspur says, “only last week you said I had no talent. Does that not make you confident that you will win?”
“I will win,” Oswald says, pushing aside a branch and pausing to allow Larkspur to follow before letting go, “and on my own merit, not because I eliminated the competition. Besides,” he edges through the trees, “I didn’t say that you were untalented, just that you were— oh.”
He stands in a clearing perhaps a few meters wide, the leaves and debris beneath their feet giving way to soft, springy moss in an unnaturally bright green. The trees here are green, too, covered in sprawling vines, the leaves shimmering. It smells of honey and syrup, of living things. Larkspur bumps into him from behind, equally enraptured.
Surrounding the edge of the clearing - bursting from the vines and hanging from the boughs and even sprouting from the moss - are hundreds of enormous flowers.
For all the world, they could be enormous daffodils, although Oswald has never seen daffodils in these colours. They glow, like sunlight is seeping from them, the air around them shimmering with heat. The one closest to him is a vibrant cerise, the corona darker and the petals fading to a pearlescent blush. He reaches out, desperate to feel it, to see if it's as warm and soft as it looks.
It is. It feels alive beneath his fingertips, and as he brushes his hand across the petals the flower shudders, as if responding to him. Little motes of pollen shake on the tip of the stamen like water droplets dangling from a rooftop.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” He breathes, keeping his voice low.
“No,” says Larkspur, taking a step towards the one closest to him, the petals an iridescent green colour. “Never. They’re…” he reaches out too, stroking the corona with a single finger. “They’re incredible.”
There’s a breeze, carrying with it the smell of sap and applewood. The precariously clinging pollen shivers, then gets caught on the wind, dancing like dandelion seeds. A speck of it lands on Oswald’s doublet, staining the baby-blue silk yellow.
He brushes it away with a little sniff. He feels warm, like his clothes are suddenly too tight, suddenly aware of all the places the silk and satin touches his body. There’s a minute noise beside him, and he turns - Larkspur is staring at him. His eyes are wide, his pupils huge and round and black.
“Are you all right?” Oswald says. “You look… different.”
There’s a florid flush spreading up Larkspur’s cheeks. His chest, neatly framed in the vee of his unbuttoned chemise, is equally pink.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he says. “I—”
He doesn’t get to finish that sentence. The wind picks up - unusually turbulent for the season - and the flowers around them shake and they’re both suddenly caught in a cascade of pollen, the dusty clumps raining down on them like sweet-smelling snow. Oswald sneezes as it flutters around him, sticking in his hair and tickling his nose. When finally the wind stops, they’re both coated in a fine yellow powder.
It tingles in every place it touches his skin. He feels…
He feels hot all over. Like the fever he contracted when he was a boy, but different. Better. The fever made him feel shuddery and sick, but this… this makes him feel like his skin is lit up, like he’s made of fireworks, the butterflies in his stomach transformed into birds. He can smell the pollen on him, sweet and heady. He can sense Larkspur standing beside him in a way he couldn’t before. He can feel the space he takes up, sense him moving as if through the vibrations in the air.
Oswald looks back at him, his brown hair turned golden. His lips are parted. His tongue - pink and probing - licks at his lips, taking some of the yellow flecks with it. Oswald is struck with the desperate need to taste; to taste him and the flowers, all at once.
They both step forwards together, brightly-painted mirror images of each other. Oswald is no stranger to desire - certainly no stranger to desire for this man - but now it's heightened. The feeling he’s been able to repress for a long and painful decade is now unstoppable. Holding it back would be like trying to stop a tidal wave with his own body: it would batter him, drown him, drag him along regardless.
Larkspur says something. It might be Oswald’s name. He’s too lost in the way his lips move to hear the word.
He forces himself to focus, despite it all. There’s a look of recognition on Larkspur’s face.
“I know what this is,” he mutters, lifting his hands to examine the pollen. Each word sounds like it takes a considerable effort to say. “Eric told me about them last Belleteyn. We were near fae country, and he said…” his eyes go a little unfocused. “What did he say? It only blooms this time of year. It’s powerful. Magical. He told me to avoid it, that I shouldn’t touch it, because the pollen…” he blinks, and Oswald realises there’s dust in his eyelashes, too, clinging like absurd tears. “The pollen is a— a—” he snaps his fingers, frowning. “It’s an aphrodisiac. I told him he was being stupid. I said—”
He looks up. Something shifts in his expression. “I said…” he trails off, unsure.
“Lark…” Oswald says. It’s barely more than a whisper, an exhale.
And then they’re kissing. He doesn’t know how it happens - one moment they’re staring at each other, and the next they’re locked together in a desperate embrace. They’ve kissed before, of course, but this is different. Larkspur sucks at Oswald’s lip, his hands tangling in his hair, and Oswald melts into him, like they’re one person instead of two.
It feels like it could last forever, until Larkspur makes a strangled noise and pulls away, throwing himself backwards, colliding with one of the flower-covered trees. His lips are red.
“We can’t—” he gasps, hand scrambling at his chest. “It’s not right, not like this. It’s not real.”
Oswald’s fingers tingle. “It feels real.”
“But it’s not. I cannot—” Larkspur closes his eyes, pressing his hands over them, taking a deep breath. “It’s not right. I will not—” a short, choking breath, “—I will not take advantage of you because of some stupid fucking flowers.”
“How are you taking advantage?” Oswald shoots back, the tingling growing into an ache, into a burn. “Tell me how.”
“You don’t want me. It’s the fucking pollen. You don’t want me.”
“Yes I do—”
“Don’t say that!” Larkspur is shouting. Pollen falls, dislodged by his yells.
The tingling, rushing, scorching feeling twists around something else in Oswald’s chest - something hard and rusted over. Something he’s forced shut for too long.
“I’ve wanted you for years,” he says, and he’s shouting too, “Of course I have!”
“You’re engaged!”
“Unhappily!”
Silence descends. It’s the first time Oswald has said that out loud. No one was supposed to know. No one was ever supposed to know.
“What?”
He tries to swallow it back, but something has taken over his tongue, and he can’t. “I do not want it,” he says in a rush. “I do not— I tried— but I don’t…”
“You don’t love her?”
Oswald shakes his head.
“You… you want me?”
He nods.
“You want me, or you just want to fuck me?”
His boldness sends a heat to Oswald’s belly, stirring his prick, quickening his pulse.
“I…” He finally regains control of his tongue. “I just want to fuck you.”
[Liar.]
Oswald steps forward. Larkspur is pressed against the tree, but he could flee if he wanted to. He could step aside. He could push him away; they both know he’s stronger. When their chests are pressed together, he sighs. Oswald can smell him: mead and spice and lingering magic.
Larkspur moves first. It isn’t as torrid as before, and he kisses slowly, cautiously, his lips pillow-soft and moist. Oswald lets him into his mouth, sliding his eyes shut, allowing himself to be moved, making himself pliable.
They’re on the ground. The moss is spongy beneath them, soft as a featherbed. Larkspur leans over him, his knees to either side of his hips, and tugs away Oswald’s doublet. He’s moving faster now, and the seams tug, but Oswald doesn’t care about the stitches and the silk when Larkspur is looking at him like that - like he’s going to eat him alive. The doublet is thrown aside, between the darkness of the trees, where it—
[Vanishes. Forever. I never found it again]
—melds into the shadows on the ground beyond the clearing.
Oswald cannot bear it. He surges up, pushing Larkspur back so they’re face to face, tearing his doublet up and away. He doesn’t even pause before he gets to work on the thin undershirt beneath, pulling it over his head and tossing that away too so he can finally touch.
Larkspur’s hairy skin is hot as coals, sheened with sweat. Oswald brushes a thumb over one of his nipples, and he gasps and bucks against him. He pulls his own chemise away too, so he can better feel Larkspur’s skin against his own, so they can touch in all the places he’s desperate for them to touch. Larkspur strokes his hands down Oswald’s arms, tickling in the bend of his elbows, leaning forwards to press open kisses to his forearms and wrists.
When he gets to his hands, he pauses. Larkspur is still straddling him, and he twists their fingers together. He tugs Oswald’s left hand closer, never breaking eye contact.
He sucks his finger into his mouth, slowly. Oswald can feel his tongue pressing against the underside of the digit, wet and unbearably warm. He slides further, taking Oswald’s finger fully into his mouth, until his teeth chink against the gold.
When he pulls back, the ring is gone. He grins, and it’s shining delicately and obscenely between his teeth. He spits it to the ground, where it lands on the moss with a soft thump.
[I remember the argument about that. I lost it, I say. In the woods. I don’t remember how. She asks if we fucked. I cannot find it in me to lie. She ends it. I laugh.]
Oswald leans back. Larkspur follows. The pollen sticks to their sweaty skin like paint, smearing in sunshine streaks across their chests. When Larkspur kisses him, from his lips to his jaw and down his chest to his stomach, he rises again with gold daubing his mouth like a smirking god. When they kiss, it blurs between them. It tastes like spring.
He wants to know how Larkspur tastes, too. All of him. As they kiss, he twists around, spinning their twined bodies so Larkspur is pressed to the moss beneath him, hair splayed and eyes wide. He grins up at him. He laughs, and it’s like music.
Oswald kisses all of him he can reach. His fingers desperately scramble at the waistband of his awful burgundy breeches - the ones he hates - and soon he’s pulling them away. Larkspur is magnificent. Oswald is a poet, he should know the words for this, he should put it to song and sing about him until the sun sets for the last time… but right now all he can think is how much he wants.
When he takes Larkspur in his mouth for the first time, he swears into the sacred space, his hands gripping in Oswald’s hair.
[Did you know you bruised my scalp? I didn’t care. I didn’t tell you, either.]
Osworld works him till he’s a panting wreck, till he’s close and begging, then he stops - rises - slides kisses up his skin. Larkspur gasps into the kiss, slipping his hand between them, finding himself blocked by the fabric of Oswald’s breeches.
“Get rid of these,” he pants. It’s the first thing he’s said in half an hour. Oswald does as he’s told, for once.
When they’re both naked, sprawled on the verdant forest floor, there is a moment of stillness. They’re absurdly coated in pollen, hair in tangles, eyes dark. There is a bruise forming on Larkspur’s neck in the shape of Oswald’s teeth.
“Fuck,” Oswald breathes.
“Yeah.” Larkspur agrees.
Oswald takes him in for a moment, despite the tickling urge in his hands to reach out and finish what they've started. He may never get to do this again.
[I will never get to do this again.]
“You look sad,” Larkspur says, suddenly breaking him from his thoughts.
“I’m not sad,” he says.
[LIAR!]
Larkspur tugs him down. “You think too much,” he chuckles. “You’ll make your wrinkles worse.”
He kisses him soft. He kisses him hard, reaching down between them again, taking them both in his hand. Oswald buries his face in Larkspur’s neck, tonguing at his skin, taking short, laboured breaths as he draws them both out.
It’s hands. Mouths. Fingers slick with spit. They kiss until they cannot breathe any more. They crest together, like the sun rising, as pollen scatters in the air, catching on the wind of their words.
“Fuck, Jaskier Larkspur—”
“Valdo Oswald—”
Afterwards, they lay sprawled on the ground. The flowers still glow, casting them in their warm, comfortable light. They’re in the middle of the forest - full of monsters and dangers that Larkspur can ramble about for hours - yet they’re safe, here. Nothing can reach them in the clearing. This is Belleteyn, after all.
The magic really is powerful, just as Eric had warned Larkspur last year. Even as they lie curled together, regaining their breath,Oswald can feel the urge creeping back up his chest, the press of Larkspur’s naked body against him thrilling him again. He can fill his sensitive cock stirring in interest once more.
“Lark—”
It’s all he manages to say before he’s being kissed again.
Belleteyn night is long, and full of secrets. This is one they can keep. The next morning, they emerge, rumpled and marked in yellow streaks. Their friends ask where they’ve been, when they find them early that afternoon. They peer at each other, but keep their mouths shut.
Next Belleteyn, Oswald is on the coast, and Larkspur is travelling with his— with Eric. The flowers in the woods fade. Oswald wonders every year if they’re still there. He never goes back to check.
#what about the bard#sex pollen#*This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons#living or dead#or actual events#is purely coincidental.#it is a good job i wrote this#before i opened this second bottle#dont you all agree
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Twenty Minutes
Will Graham x reader
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings: smut
Author’s Note: hi yes, prison will could rail me ANY DAY (any will could but lets be real that jumpsuit and hair really did something extra)
Summary: You convince Frederick for a conjugal visit with WIll
Genre: smut
Song: Motivation by Kelly Rowland
I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director
(not my gif)
Will had this look in his eyes ever since he went to prison. You had been beside him for the longest time and that look was almost foregin to you. LIke the world had shattered at his feet and he managed to pick up every single piece of glass to make it a picture that was even messier than before.
But he had done it.
So he controlled it.
And that look in his eyes was no longer unstable. It was no longer scared or filled with confusion.
Will Graham had come into his own in prison and how many people could say that?
“Conjugal visit? Please, I know you don’t think he’s the Ripper but everyone else is pretty sure he is,” Frederick said as he sat at his desk. “And may I just say, you look different. A could be different.” You gave him a thinned lipped smile.
“Thanks it's the fact my boyfriend went to jail for serial murder.” You sat down at the seat in front of his desk. You missed Will. And you were curious as to what he was doing at this point. If his mind had changed. You imagined pieces that hadn’t healed yet that weren’t being treated. Or rather, were being treated by doctors with their own agendas. “One visit. Twenty minutes. That’s all I ask. I may even be able to bring you back information if you aren’t watching all the time. If you can assure me that we will have a private twenty minutes I will give you pieces I never gave to Hannibal.”
“Pieces of Will?”
“Well of course. Who else?”
Frederick weighed the ideas here. He thought about the fact that you would likely feed him lies to get Will out quicker. His mind thought about what you would do during that visit and he came up with things he couldn’t imagine a murderer doing to any consenting women.
Then again, you and Will had always been a bit much.
But perhaps you were going to give him secret information. Swap stories of what had happened in secret. Maybe you were just a girl missing her closest friend.
“You don’t think he’ll hurt you?” he asked. You scoffed.
“If Will murders me that’ll be on me. I’ll sign something so no one sues if you want although I’m fairly certain he won’t lay an unwanted hand at me.”
“Twenty minutes. And if you fail to give me anything of substance I’ll make sure he has a living hell for the next few weeks.” You smiled. You figured you’d tell him some bullshit story about Will fishing to add to the symbolism of the book he wanted to write.
“Thank you Fredreick.”
“Anything for you dear.”
You set up an afternoon and Will had no idea. Chilton was always one for a good surprise and watching Will unsure where he was going was something he enjoyed. You walked beside Chilton to one of the private offices. You had picked it and sweeped it once before for bugs and cameras. You were prepared to look again once you got in.
“You look stunning,” Chilton commented. Your heels hit the floor with a powerful click as you entered the room.
“Thank you. When will he be here?”
“Just a few minutes.”
You looked at Frederick and he nodded, shutting the door behind him. You looked across the place once more and found that Frederick must have kept his words. The room wasn’t built for these kinds of meetings. It seemed to be something of a forgotten office. Two chairs and a desk with bare walls. A bookcase with no books in it. You watched the door for a minute until Will walked in, wearing his gray jumpsuit.
His mouth opened a tad at the sight of you which turned quickly to a laugh.
“I thought Frederick finally gave up and was sending me to the electric chair.” You and Frederick laughed.
“Twenty minutes.” You nodded.
“We won’t need long. Are you going to take those off?” you asked, pointing to the cuffs. Chilton shook his head.
“Not gonna give up that precaution. You’re on the clock.”
He shut and locked the door behind him. You quickly shut the only window and turned to Will who was looking at you with curiosity. What would have usually been worry or comfort was something different now.
“What are you doing here?”
You walked up to him and he backed up a step, hitting the lone desk. You put a hand on his cheek gently and looked into his eyes.
“What is going on in that head? I used to know. Now I feel like it’s so foreign.” Your voice was laced with an underlying lust that Will’s knees started to tremble over. He touched your hair with his hand, the other dangling from the cuffs.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again.
You kissed him and he kissed you with such force that you almost stumbled over. His wrists tugged at the cuffs angrily and it would probably leave marks later. He moved you so that you were sitting on the desk, kissing him hungrily.
Your hands ran through his curls and gasped as his lips moved to your chin. You were desperately trying to find out how his jumpsuit came off, struggling with the buttons and the white undershirt. You wanted to touch every piece of him, inhale him as though you would never touch him again.
“Take off your shirt,” he demanded and his voice sent shivers down your spine. You did as you were told and he cupped your breast, allowing you to take off his jumpsuit, kicking it to the ground and off of him.
“Will your shirt,” you breathed and he nodded, allowing you to take off the white undershirt so that your hands could roam his bare back and chest. He paused and looked at you, right in your eyes.
And there it was again.
That look.
Like he wasn’t broken anymore.
Like he was about to wreck you.
And fuck was it hot.
He put himself inside you and put his hands on your thighs, as best he could with the restraint. He wasn’t being gentle and you didn’t mind. This was nowhere near your first time together.
You gripped his shoulders and was so full of adrenaline that you came like putty very quickly. It didn’t take him long either, the prison time taking a toll on him.
You breathed heavily against each other before backing up to look at each other's expression.
“Is that all?” he asked, laughing dryly.
“We could go again?”
“Chilton will be back soon and I don’t know how you got this jumpsuit off me,” he said laughing. There he was. Your Will was still there.
“I’ll help. Lemme just get my pants back on.”
It took you a few minutes to retrieve every bit of clothing again but you did manage to put it all on by the time Chillton burst into the room. He looked disappointed.
“Did you enjoy your time?”
You put a hand on Will’s beard, kissing him softly one more time.
“Yes we did. Why, you want details Frederick?” you teased. He chuckled but you could tell he secretly wanted to say yes.
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Daring - Chapter 2
This is part two of my Abby Mordern!Au, you can read Chapter 1 here.
Masterlist
Abby and the reader have dinner at Abby's place. There is music playing and referenced, so I'd recommend you listen to this playlist with all the songs playing in order as soon as the date night begins. About 10k words.
CW for alcohol consumption, mention of death/murder, mention of dubious consent (and possibly terrible grammar. It's 10pm, I just finished this, I don't have a proofreader atm)
Thyme and Tree Bark
“Don’t mess this up, airhead. Take care!”
“Yeah, yeah. Bye, idiot!”
You closed the door behind Mark as he vanished down the stairs and headed straight for your bed. Though you were less wobbly on your feet after devouring half of a perfectly cheesy pizza with just the right amount of jalapenos, it had thrown you straight into a food coma. Your angel of a brother had come over at noon with two chilled cans of coke and a large pizza from your favorite Italian place and not even ripped open the curtains as he usually did. Instead, he had thrown himself on the bed right next to you, handed you a slice, and demanded you start talking.
Of course, he already knew about Abby and your embarrassing shyness when it came to the buff blonde, so he was extremely proud of the progress you had made with your excruciating crush. You both agreed that Abby had definitely invited you over for a date this week - alone, without Manny there - and that it had to mean she was interested, too. He had laughed about the little bar stint when Abby had shut down your flirt with the hot waitress in an instant and was now 100% sure this was going to go great. As long as you kept it together and didn’t ruin everything. As you often did. This needed some tactical planning.
Mouths full of cheesy delight and laughing at each other’s stupid ideas, you and your brother had come up with a fairly foolproof plan. You would text Abby in 1-2 days, keeping it cool and asking when you should come over. Then, you would suggest making cocktails at home, already granting a fun activity and something to loosen the mood. You would keep it casual and bring over some nice liquor and maybe a bag of chips, perfect for watching a movie. You’d try to keep the conversation casual and try to speak mostly about Abby, asking lots of questions so you didn’t get tangled up in speaking about yourself. If you steered the conversation toward movies, you could watch something exciting and maybe even scary together so you could cuddle up on the couch together. And well, if you got that far, things would probably fall into place naturally. Foolproof. Y/N-proof.
You groaned as you reached over to grab your phone from your nightstand. You had a message from your mom asking if you wanted to come over for dinner next weekend and an email from your professor who wanted to submit your last essay to some kind of grant application. You’d have to answer her later, your head still felt like it was filled with cotton. Instead, you sent Leah a message.
-Hey, you still alive? There’s leftover pizza and coke over here.
Five seconds later, there was a delighted squeal at the other side of the wall and you heard the click of your roommate’s door before yours opened and Leah tiptoe-danced inside, beaming at you. She was wearing nothing but an extremely tight-fitting cropped wifebeater and a khaki thong, accentuating her long legs as she leaped right onto your bed and almost made you fly as her weight hit the mattress. You tried not to stare at her perfectly toned abs as she opened the gigantic carton and held up a slice of pizza over her head, letting the tip dangle in her mouth before biting down with a moan that made you snort awkwardly.
“Good morning, you animal.”
Leah just moaned again, making a grabbing motion with her hand and pointing toward the second can of coke on your nightstand. You laughed silently as you handed her the cold can, condensed water running down the sides and wetting your fingers. You wiped them on the blanket. The tall brunette swallowed hard and took a sip of coke.
“Good morning, womanizer.” She grinned widely. “I’m so proud of you, man. This is the first time I’ve seen you in action and I can safely say Abby was just as surprised as I was.”
You buried your face in your hands.
“Oh god, was I that obvious? Did I do anything inappropriate? I thought it went well, but now I’m not so sure.” You spread your fingers to peak at your roommate who was currently chewing on a ginormous bite, tomato juice running down her chin. No manners, that girl. She just shook her head and made a noise somewhere between protest and encouragement.
“No, you were fine,” she said with a full mouth, “very tipsy, but cute. I hope you remember Abby inviting you to her place.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
You ran your fingers through your hair, immediately getting stuck in a tangle of knots. God, you needed a shower.
“Yeah, I already went over it with Mark. We made a plan so I won’t embarrass myself.”
“Good. I hope it goes well, you two would be cute together. Hot, even. I mean, no one can deny the allure of those biceps. And her ass?! Godly.” She easily evaded the kick you aimed at her ribs, laughing and slapping your shin away.
“Come on, let’s not act like you’re not ogling her every chance you get. I am, too - the woman looks like a greek goddess!”
“That’s enough,” you giggled, aiming another playful kick in her direction but only lightly hitting her in the thigh. “I know what she looks like.”
“Right. And soon, you’ll hopefully see a lot more of her.” This time, Leah jumped off the bed before your toes could sink right into her side. You tried to suppress a grin as you two stared at each other for a moment before Leah sat back down cross-legged and began eating the last slice of pizza.
“I mean,” she said casually, “you have seen more of a woman before, right?”
You grabbed your coke and turned it in your hands before answering.
“Yeah, I have. It wasn’t… It wasn’t all that, though. Just one time and we were both so nervous it was just awkward.”
Now Leah looked at you with a mixture of shock and pity.
“Come on, Y/N. Only once? You’ve never seen stars because of a woman’s tongue? Never screamed into a pillow because of some skilled sapphic strap game? Never lost your mi-”
“Leaahhhh!” You groaned, feeling blood shoot into your cheeks. “No, okay? I… I made the other girl cum, but for me, it was just… it was too unfamiliar and I didn’t know her well enough to really let myself enjoy it.”
Suddenly a thought crossed your mind and you felt your eyes open wide.
“Wait. Has Abby…? Is she..?”
Leah paused mid-bite and thought for a second.
“Well, she does have experience with men, obviously. As far as women go… I honestly don’t know. She’s dated a few, but it never went longer than a couple of weeks. I don’t know how fast things go with her and she’s never gone into detail with me. I have to ask Nora about that.”
“Don’t you dare! She’ll know this is about me and tell Abby!”
“Oh come on, I’m interested, too.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you so you know what to prepare for, win-win!” She nudged your foot and gave you a mischievous half-smile.
“For god’s sake, do what you must.” You finished your coke and threw it perfectly into the bin beside your desk. Leah gave you an impressed nod. “And now I desperately need a shower. There is a literal nest on top of my head.”
“True,” Leah said and stood up, stretching her limbs as she walked to the door. “Thanks for the pizza. I’m gonna ask Jordan if he wants to come over, so don’t walk out naked if you don’t want a threesome.” She winked at you before closing the door, but a small part at the back of your brain knew that she wasn’t completely joking. You sighed and swung your legs off your bed. No point in lying around, it was past 3 pm anyway.
Grabbing your phone, a shirt, and some clean boxers, you headed for the bathroom. You took your time showering, detangling the mess on your head with lots of conditioner, humming along to Marika Hackman’s cover of I Follow Rivers as you stood under the hot stream of water and brushing your teeth for at least five minutes while waiting for a hair mask to do its magic. When you stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was filled with hot steam and you felt like a whole new person. You slipped into your fresh clothes and held the blow dryer to the mirror until your reflection was clear.
So. Here you were. Finally, you had spoken to the woman of your dreams and even flirted with her. She may have even been jealous of your short conversation with Ellie, the bartender. Tomorrow, you would text her, you would be brave and cool and not at all awkward. As you collected your clothes off the floor and took your phone, you suddenly realized something that would destroy your entire plan. You didn’t even have Abby’s phone number. Why hadn’t you asked her? Of course, you could ask Leah for it, but Abby would know because she knew she hadn’t given it to you. It would be a lot less cool and casual. Fuck.
You stepped into the hallway and ran straight into Jordan. Perfect. Good thing Leah had warned you.
“Oh, hi Y/N! You doing alright after all those tequila shots?” Jordan’s face was open and kind. You immediately relaxed. Just a guy, not a threat.
“Better than I thought I would, actually. What about you?”
“Well, I sent them back out the way they came as soon as I got home.” He grimaced and shrugged. “Just glad I’m still alive, to be honest.”
You had to laugh. “I’m glad, too. Leah would have been devastated.”
“I hope so.” He grinned back. The silence between you stretched a little bit too long.
“Anyways, I’m gonna see what she’s up to. See you later?”
“Yeah, sure!” You said, relieved that he didn’t make it awkward. You quickly slipped into your room and sank down on the bed, composing a text to Mark.
-Minor hiccup - I don’t have her number.
His reply came immediately.
-Shit. What now?
You let yourself fall back on the mattress and covered your face with your arm. Your phone vibrated again and you lifted it up, hoping for a brilliant idea.
-Hey, this is Abby. Are we still on for next week?
You almost dropped your phone on your face. For a minute, you just stared at the message. Then you rolled over onto your stomach and screamed into your pillow.
-Hi Abby. We absolutely are. Y/N.
You tried to suppress a fit of giggles as you texted your brother.
-Nvm, she just texted me.
-Omg what!! Play it cool, don’t answer yet. What did she say???
-Oops already answered. Still on for next week.
-Incredibly casual lol. Whatever, good for you!
-Shut up!
Another text by Abby came in and you actually started drumming your feet on the bed with excitement.
-Tuesday? I could cook for us
-Very impressive, I’ll bite. What time should I come over?
-Very clever. 6pm? Any allergies?
-Vegetarian, hope that’s okay. 6 is great, text me your address?
You watched the little text bubble pop up and vanish again for a good minute, getting more and more nervous for her answer.
- No problem. 2425 Constance.
There was nothing else to do but scream into your pillow again.
-
The next two days went excruciatingly slow. You spent the rest of your Sunday in bed, watching a terrible zombie movie and later ordering curry because you couldn’t be bothered with preparing any food. As it got late, you suddenly heard a knock on the wall. At first, you thought it was accidental, until the knocking started to continue in a steady rhythm. With a death glare that you hoped would reach through the concrete, you plugged your headphones into your laptop and continued watching your movie.
On Monday, you threw yourself into art history coursework and caught up on your studies, emailed your professor, and spent three hours on an essay about the depiction of blood in paintings of Judith beheading Holofernes. Lovely subject. Even though you got through a lot of your tasks for the day, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at your phone every 10 minutes to see if you had missed a message. Of course, nothing came up. Around 4 pm, your phone buzzed and you leapt for it only to find out it was Leah asking you to buy toilet paper later. At 6pm, you shut off your laptop and grabbed your backpack to go grocery shopping.
Standing in the liquor store you realized you hadn’t asked Abby about cocktails.
“Looking for something in particular?” the elderly lady behind the counter asked. It seemed to be her own shop and to have been hers for a while, judging by the elegant wooden shelves and the warm, nice feeling of the room instead of neon lights and rows of white metal.
“Uh, yeah, actually. I have a date tomorrow and I thought we could make cocktails, but I forgot to ask what she likes. So now I don’t know what to bring.” You gave her an apologetic half smile. She stood up from her seat behind the register, growing not even 2 inches standing compared to sitting and made her way over to you. Her eyes twinkled behind thick glasses that made her look a little bit like an owl.
“Well, dear. I don’t know if I would go straight into the hard liquor on a first date. On my last first date, we had a delicious red wine, a Merlot. Couldn’t that be something? Are you going to eat anything?”
“Oh yes, she said she’d cook for us, but I don’t know what exactly.”
The shop owner gently put a hand on your arm and guided you to a shelf of dark bottles.
“Well, Merlot goes well with any food, so I think it would be perfect. Cocktails come later, when you dress up and go out together or after a night of theater.” You felt a surge of warmth spread through your chest. Theater? Well, why not? For a second, you began to trail off, imagining Abby in a perfectly tailored suit, you at her arm just as dressed up, every head turning as you entered the room and ordered Gin Tonics at the bar during the break. The voice next to you pulled you back to the present.
“If you’re cooking at home, wine is the thing to bring, trust me.”
“I trust you,” you said with a smile as you took the bottle she handed you. The label was a creamy white, with beautiful golden letters. Hopefully this wouldn’t bankrupt you. “Thank you for your help.”
The shopkeeper sat back down in her chair with a sigh and typed into the cash register. 15.99$. That wasn’t so bad. You paid and gently put the bottle inside your backpack.
“You know, you should come by soon and let me know how it went. I think that Merlot will bring you good luck. My wife and I still have it every Sunday.” Your head snapped up and your eyes met that charming, smart twinkle again, flashing at you out of dark brown irises. For a moment, all of the things you wanted to say were stuck in your throat, then you just broke into a smile.
“That’s wonderful, ma’am. I hope I can have that, in the future.”
“Of course you will, dear.” She really sounded like she meant it. A small lump suddenly appeared in your throat.
“Thank you so much. I wish you all the best.”
“Go get her!”
You laughed and waved at her again as you exited the shop, taking the warmth and comfort of it with you and tucking it right beneath the bottom of your heart and the top of your stomach where you knew it would fuel you for a few days. You had already decided that you would come back and make it your mission to befriend that old lady. What a wonderful woman.
Only 23 hours to go. That night, it was almost impossible to fall asleep.
-
You got through the next day by once again banning any thought of the evening from your mind and diving head first into your assignments. You were going to lead a discussion on different planes of language or communications in women’s art and literature and reading up on the historical differences between male and female narratives, beginning with the ancient poet Sappho. It was an exciting topic, something you were extremely thankful for. Otherwise you might have been looking at your phone every 3 minutes instead of every 20. Of course, no message from Abby.
The bottle of wine was standing on your nightstand, reminding you of your plans with an exciting tingle in your stomach. At 4pm, you gave up on doing anything productive. You spent forever in the shower, stealing some of Leah’s expensive pink body scrub, shaving everywhere and regretting it immediately because you felt stupid for assuming anything, entertaining the but what if thoughts while you thoroughly lathered your entire body in Leah’s shampoo and shower gel and spending a good 10 minutes just standing under the hot water because you weren’t ready to leave that fantasy yet. When you stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was an actual steam bath and you could hardly see the door through the thick waves of wonderfully scented fog. You took your time stealing some more of Leah’s skincare products, having come to the conclusion that if she noticed anything and scolded you for it, you might as well try out the whole arsenal.
When you finally opened your closet door, feeling luxurious and clean and fresh, it was 5.10pm. What the hell were you going to wear? You and Mark had agreed on casual, but what the hell did that even mean? You decided to ask him.
-Help!!! Freaking out over my outfit, need a definition for casual
-Jeans and T-Shirt, just your standard outfit. Imagine meeting me for sushi.
-I’m bringing red wine. It seems wrong to bring wine in jeans and a t-shirt..
-What happened to cocktails?? Trust me, keep it simple. You don’t wanna turn up in a dress and she opens the door in sweatpants.
-I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in sweatpants. Ughh fuck I don’t have time for this. Jeans and t-shirt it is. Lesbian grandma recommended wine, I’ll tell you about it tomorrow x
-Go get her x
You quickly slipped into some black jeans that were just the right amount of tightly fitting around your ass and a white shirt with a tiny pomegranate embroidered on the front. Then you put on your jacket and quickly threw your wallet, phone and keys into a tote before grabbing the wine and putting it in as well. With a last look into the hallway mirror and a yelled goodbye to Leah, you rushed out of your apartment.
The evening air was not as cool as you had expected and the sun was just about to set. On your way to the train station, you typed out an on my way! message to Abby and quickly deleted it again. No sense in sending it now when you hadn’t spoken since Sunday and were about to see her. The train ride was annoying, the wagon stuffed with commuters and some guy trying to convince you the apocalypse was upon you all. Zombies, not the last judgement - something different at least.
During the walk from the station to Abby’s house, you were sure it wouldn’t take much more for you to actually start levitating. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your throat was so cramped up it was hard to breathe. When you pulled out your phone, your fingers were actually shaking. Jesus Christ, get a grip. 5.58 pm.
And there it was, 2425 Constance. Just a normal suburban white house, like any other in the street. It actually seemed a bit weird, Manny and Abby living here in the midst of what seemed to be a family neighborhood with real adults . Then again, they both weren’t in college, so you supposed they actually were real adults. When you walked up to the front door, you could hear faint music from inside - jazz? You wouldn’t have guessed she was the jazz type, but then again you knew almost nothing about her. Right. Ask questions, keep the conversation about her. Be cool.
You knocked.
Abby opened the door, a wave of warm air hitting you from inside. It smelled delightful. Her face was slightly flushed, her lips parted as she took in a deep breath. She had tied her hair back in a low bun, but a few strands had fallen out and framed her face. One was standing up in a funny angle.
“Hi, Abby,” you said, trying to keep your voice level and not stare at her body. Fuck, she had dressed up. And she looked hot.
“Hi!” A smile slowly grew wide on her face. When she realized that she was blocking the door, she quickly shook her head and stepped aside. “Come in! Can I take your jacket?”
Oh God, this was hopeless. You already knew you were hers. Thanking her, you took off your jacket and she hung it in a closet next to the entrance. When she turned around, you got a chance to admire her fully. She wore wide dress pants that perfectly accentuated all of her muscles, topped with a loose white shirt with wide sleeves, reminding you a little bit of a pirate. Her jewelry rounded off the pirate look and you had to bite back a grin. She raised her eyebrows at you.
“What?” Her cheeks were still slightly red, but you attributed it to standing in a hot kitchen for probably the last hour, judging by the variety of smells overlapping and mixing together, already making your mouth water.
“Uh, I brought wine,” you said and held out the bottle. Eloquent as always. Abby took it and whistled through her teeth as she inspected the label.
“That looks classic. The sauce I made has some wine in it as well, this is perfect. Thank you, what a great idea!”
You were overwhelmed with her generous praise and didn’t know where to look, so you settled on her hands. You had always sneaked looks at her hands, at the way she held a glass or drummed on a table or clasped them when she was intently listening to someone. They looked strong and rough from work, but there was also a delicacy in their movement and you were sure her touch could be as gentle as the brush of a hummingbird flying past. Realizing you were staring, you tore your gaze away.
“It smells delicious in here, I can’t wait to see what you cooked.” You followed her into the kitchen, where she placed the bottle on the counter and took a corkscrew from a drawer. A big red pot was standing on the gas stove over a tiny flame, the lid still hiding its contents. Your stomach suddenly growled loudly into the silence.
“Someone’s hungry.” Abby gave you a side glance and an amused smirk as she screwed the silver device into the cork. “Everything’s already set, we can get started right away.”
You covered your eyes with your hand for a second before laughing.
“Yeah, I kind of forgot to have lunch earlier and then I figured I’d just wait so I could really savour this.”
“Smart thinking. I made patates au vin , a vegetarian version of coq au vin which is chicken in wine. It’s basically potatoes and vegetables in a thick brown sauce, served with some good rustic bread.” You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back at the thought of getting to eat home cooked french cuisine made by Abby in a few minutes.
“Oh my God, say that again.” You could barely stop yourself from moaning. Abby laughed and opened the wine with a loud pop.
“Here, take this over to the dinner table. I’m right behind you.” You took the bottle and followed her nod into the dining room. The wooden table was beautifully set with big and small plates, glasses for water and wine, candles, two blue glass bottles of water and a bowl of salad topped with what looked like apples, pomegranate seeds and feta cheese. You carefully placed the bottle of wine next to the water bottles and stepped aside for Abby, who came out of the kitchen carrying the heavy pot and placed it on a cork coaster in the middle of the table.
“Wait, let me just…” she trailed off as she grabbed her phone from the sideboard and changed the music. A saxophone led a jazz band into the song before a beautiful female voice set in, soft as butter and filling the room like the smell of roses. The voice was familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite place it. As Abby sat down, the music came to a crescendo before breaking off, the voice setting in again with a soft
is it a crime?
“Who sings this?” you asked as Abby opened the water bottle and filled your glasses.
“Oh, it’s Sade. She was my dad’s favorite.”
And I want you to want me too, the woman sang, and your eyes met over the table. You swallowed. Was? Not the right time.
“Sade? Oh, she sings Smooth Operator, right? I know that one, but I never checked out more of her music.”
Abby smiled at you and opened the lid of the pot.
“Yeah. This is the Promise album, my favorite. She is a force.”
A wave of steam erupted from the pot and you bent forward to look inside. Thick, roasted wedges of yellow potatoes lay in a bed of orange and purple carrots, mushrooms and tomatoes in a thick brown sauce, a stalk of thyme on top and a bay leaf poking out from the sauce. You weren’t sure if you were drooling, but you didn’t care.
“Abby, oh my God! This is fantastic.”
A spark had lit in her eyes when she heard you say her name. She elegantly stood up again, grabbed a serving spoon, and held out her hand for your plate. You watched her hands again as she plated an array of vegetables for you and used the spoon to draw a little sauce heart on the rim of the plate. Your ribs felt two sizes too small around your chest. This woman was actually going to be the death of you.
“Thanks,” you quietly said and waited as Abby helped herself to a plate. She sat down and gestured toward the small basket with thick slices of grey bread with a dark brown crust.
“Help yourself. Bon appétit.”
After a few moments of eating in comfortable silence before you showered the blonde in an array of compliments, this time not able to refrain from moaning when you bit into a tender, sweet purple carrot, the conversation began to flow. Abby complimented the wine, you talked about your studies, Abby told a few work stories in which both she and Nora were involved, you told her about your close relationship with your brother and she bittersweetly reminisced about her upbringing as an only child with a single dad. It had just been the two of them, moving frequently because of his changing jobs in different hospitals. He had been a neurosurgeon, and a brilliant one at that, but always humble and ready to help wherever he could. Abby sat up straighter when she talked about him, her chest actually swelling with pride when she told you about one time they had rescued an injured horse that had run away and been hit by a car in front of them.
“I think I was 16 back then. It’s one of my favorite memories of him. It actually wasn’t long before…” Her eyebrows moved into a frown and she bit her lip, pushing a small piece of onion around her plate. Fuck, maybe it would have been easier to talk about you, after all.
“We don’t have to talk about it. You can tell me when you’re ready.”
She looked up and you expected to see tears, but her eyes were full of love and her face smoothed out into a gentle smile.
“No, it’s okay. I’m still working on it, and part of my therapy is telling people who don’t know yet. You know, I don’t really have a lot of friends.” She suddenly laughed, easing the tension at the bottom of your lungs. “That sounds stupid, of course I do. I have Manny and Nora and Leah and Jordan and Owen, I guess. But the thing is, they all knew me before. I haven’t really made friends ever since my dad.. passed away. The idea of needing to open up to someone about all this so I can develop a real connection and friendship with them is just a lot to bear.”
“The mortifying ordeal of being known,” you mumbled, more to yourself, crumpling up your napkin in one hand.
“Sorry?”
“Oh, it’s this quote from a New York Times article that has been floating around the internet for a while. ‘If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known’.” You looked up at her and inhaled deeply. “It’s something I’m also terrified of. Although it seems kind of stupid sometimes, because compared to you for example, I don’t really have a good reason.”
Abby looks at you like she’s just discovered something extremely interesting. She takes a sip of her wine before answering, her silver rings blinking at you in the candlelight.
“It’s not at all stupid. I’ve always been very careful with who I open up to, even before my dad died. It’s horrifying, laying yourself bare for a person, putting yourself on a silver plate and handing it to them and saying there, now do with it what you wish. Maybe they’ll look at it and say no, thanks. Maybe they’ll call everyone and say hey, look at this mad woman with her twisted insides, isn’t that funny? Maybe they’ll see it and think, I can do this, and then after a few years they suddenly realize they actually can’t and you’re way too much and so they leave for someone with a more simple, prettier silver plate. Maybe they’ll even take a few pieces with them as they go.”
She didn’t sound bitter as she said it, and she didn’t look terribly sad either, more as if she was making an observation about something she was mildly interested in. You didn’t know what to say except for show me your silver plate, please show me your all, and I will devour it, savor it, keep it with me forever. But you stayed silent, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.
“I’m quite the handful, am I? Sorry, I shouldn’t have thrown all this” - she gestured toward herself - “at you during our first date.” Then her eyes widened as she realized what she had said. “Fuck, sorry, I just assumed… you probably don’t…”
Finally, movement came back into you. You jumped from your chair and were next to her in a few paces. She lifted a hand and you took it in yours.
“Of course this is a date,” you said gently and smiled at her. “Otherwise why would I have been this nervous for the past three days, thinking of nothing but you, constantly checking my phone to see if you texted me? And I brought red wine, come on.” That brought a smile to her face. She chuckled lightly.
“So I haven’t just ruined everything?” The hope in her eyes was mixed with real, honest fear.
“No, of course not. I’m glad you’re being open with me. You know, I planned not to reveal too much about myself tonight, fearing I would scare you away or say something stupid and make you suddenly lose interest.”
The current song ended and a soft, funky beat came on. There it was again, that twinkle in Abby’s eyes. Your hands were still clasped around hers and she made no move to pull back.
“Well, now I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me. Lay it on me. Over dessert, maybe?”
You raised your eyebrows.
“There’s dessert? You’re going to have to roll me out of here later.”
She laughed, warm and genuine, and the pride you had felt back in The Closet filled your chest again. You would do anything just to be the one to make her laugh every day for the rest of your life. She got up and you both started clearing the table together.
Never going to know
What fate is going to blow
Your way, just hope that it feels right
Could that Sade lady be any more on the nose? You risked a glance at Abby, who was smiling to herself. You followed her into the kitchen and she opened the fridge to produce a large glass dish, showing the several layers of biscuit and white cream, topped with dark cacao.
“Tiramisu? Seriously Abby, how much time did you spend in the kitchen today?”
She gave you a crooked grin before exiting the kitchen.
“Took the day off.”
You just sighed and went back into the dining room.
Such a fine time as this
“Here.” Abby handed you a small plate with a piece of her gourmet tiramisu. Your fingers brushed against each other and you both paused for just the blink of an eye.
What could equal the bliss
The thrill of the first kiss
You sat down and grabbed the small fork left next to your wine glass. On second thought, you took another sip of Merlot. It really was exquisite.
“Buon’ appetito,” you said and sliced off a perfect edge of tiramisu. The soft, coffee-drenched biscuit fell apart on your tongue, mixing with the heavy vanilla-flavored mascarpone. “Did you know where the name tiramisu comes from?”
Abby lifted her fork to her mouth and softly closed her lips around the piece of creamy dessert. You were entranced, watching her hand sink down to the table again, then her jaw moving and flexing as she chewed. She raised her eyebrows questioningly and you cleared your throat, taking another piece on your fork.
“ Tira mi su is Italian for ‘pull me down’. It’s the last thing you eat after dinner and the thing that makes you tired, pulls you right into the food coma. In restaurants, it rounds off the meal and guests will probably leave in the following hour because they feel they’re ready to go home.”
Never as good as the first time
Natural as the way we came to be
“Oh,” Abby said, her voice quiet. She looked up at you through dark lashes. “And are you going home after this?”
“No.” You said it without thinking, only knowing what was true in your heart. “I don’t want to.”
“I’m glad.” Taking a deep breath, Abby straightened up, then reached a hand across the table, her palm facing up. You stared at it for a fraction of a second before placing your hand in hers, feeling something fall into place inside you. The glances you exchanged said so much more than you could possibly dare to say out loud right now.
You used your free hand to stab the last piece of tiramisu. This time it was Abby who was watching you with hungry eyes as the fork vanished between your lips and emerged clean.
“This tiramisu could be the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” you said after swallowing and Abby’s fingers twitched ever so slightly around your hand.
“Thank you. I’m really into French and Italian cuisine, as you may have noticed.”
You leaned back in your chair, careful not to pull back your hand.
“I couldn’t do it, honestly. Spending so much time in the kitchen. Especially not with a job like yours, on your feet all day. I’d probably survive off of pasta and takeout.”
Abby smiled and began slowly drawing circles on the back of your hand with her thumb. You were already hyper-aware of how your blood rushed through every vein of your body, a side-effect of the red wine, but now it came to a roar in your ears.
“I guess I need some kind of hobby besides lifting weights. It calms me down. And it’s not just about the end result, about getting to eat something, but also about picking the right ingredients, taking my time cutting them up, trying new recipes with new flavors, and learning more about food and culture, and honestly about myself. It’s like meditating.”
“That sounds…” you were at a loss for words, “unbelievable? I’ve never heard someone talk about cooking like that. And I’ve never felt that way about it, too. I guess I’d like to, though. It sounds nice.”
Abby brushed her thumb over your knuckles.
“Well, I could show you.” You tilted your head slightly. “I mean, we could cook together. Next time. If you want to?”
Sade’s voice, smooth as polished wood and dripping with honey cut into the moment.
How could I have doubted
Honey, it's with me that you belong
“Yeah, I’d love to. What do you have in mind?”
“Do you like lasagna? We could make a vegetable lasagna and substitute the meat for soy. I could show you how to make a béchamel.”
You laughed and squeezed her hand.
“I love lasagna, although I have no idea what a beshmel is.”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Abby’s face was glowing with happiness.
As the last two songs of the album played, you helped Abby clean up the table. You got into an argument about doing the dishes - Abby said she’d do it later but you insisted you would do them now or at least help because so far you had not lifted a finger.
“Come on, Abby, please let me help?” You tried your best doe eyes at her. She grinned and playfully slapped your upper arm.
“Okay. But I’ll put on different music.”
She vanished to the dining room while you began filling the sink with water. A high note filled the room before a man spoke.
You broke my heart / 'Cause I couldn't dance
You didn't even want me around
And now I'm back / To let you know
I can really shake 'em down
Abby stepped into your field of vision. The music set in, a delightful 60’s rock and roll melody, and Abby began dancing toward you with tiny steps and shaking shoulders. She was lip synching to the coarse voice of the singer and reaching out her hands for you. Snapping out of your frozen position, you shook your head, grabbed her hands, and were immediately twirled through the kitchen. A squeak escaped you as Abby pulled you back toward her and with another pirouette, you almost slammed into her chest. You both laughed out loud, continuing to dance through the kitchen with big, overexaggerated moves, flailing your arms and shuffling your feet across the tile.
I can do the twist
Now, tell me baby
Do you like it like this?
You quickly began singing along to the simple lyrics and both of you were giggling at each other’s dance moves. The next song was Stand By Me and you both settled down, beginning to clean the pots and dishes. You did the washing while Abby dried off the pieces you gave her and put them back into the right cupboards. Both of you were swaying and humming along to the music.
During the second chorus, both of you began belting along, filling the kitchen with the wonderfully familiar sound of slightly drunk women singing together. As the song ended, you both comically froze and waited for the next song to set in. When it was La Bamba by Ritchie Valens, you both continued singing along and showing off some probably terrible salsa moves. You were done in no time and Abby took your hand, pulling you into the dining room and sliding across the wooden floors with you. Your stomach hurt from laughing and you couldn’t stop smiling.
Next came the bittersweet Be My Baby by the Ronettes, a song you remembered from your childhood, vague memories of your parents slow dancing together after another terrible fight. You swallowed down the hint of bitterness creeping up from your stomach. Instead, you looked up at Abby, almost a full head taller than you, and dared yourself to step forward. You placed your right hand in Abby’s and your left on her tricep, coming unbearably and exhilaratingly close. Abby put her hand on your back, right below your shoulder blade, warming you through the fabric of your shirt. Your faces were incredibly close, her breath warm on your nose, and you could have counted every single freckle on her beautiful face. There was a slim ring of gold around her pupil, complimenting the green of her iris. She was breathtaking.
You couldn’t take this any longer. Should you kiss her? Everything inside you wanted to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to close the last inch of distance. It felt like wanting to do a handstand but pulling back at the last second every time because of a deep fear of failing and hurting yourself. It was terribly frustrating.
Instead, you leaned your head against the round muscle of Abby’s shoulder, turning your face toward her chest and pressing your temple to her collarbone. You could smell the herbs she had used to cook earlier in the fabric of her shirt, but her skin smelled like pine and something else, earthy and dark, like tree bark or wool. Abby rested her chin against your forehead and her low hum of contentment vibrated against your cheek.
A light waltz melody began, Unchained Melody, a song you knew from some commercial and had listened to for a few weeks straight after.
I need your love
God speed your love to me
You smiled to yourself and could sense Abby was doing the same. You kept slowly turning, dancing through the candle-lit room and swaying side to side. The band set in louder and you lifted your head again. Abby’s eyes were fixed to yours, but you couldn’t stop yours from wandering lower, finding those perfectly pink lips, hanging open ever so slightly. Your hand wandered upward, along her shoulder, and to the back of her neck. As the last verse of the song began, you stood on your tiptoes and brushed your lips against her. Abby inhaled sharply, her fingers spreading on your back and pressing against your skin. You gently pressed your lips to hers again and this time, she kissed you back. You dug your fingertips into the back of her neck, desperately wanting to come closer, to pull her down to you, hell, you would climb her like a tree if you had to.
Feeling courageous, you stuck your tongue out and ran the tip upward over her lips. Abby instantly reacted, opening her mouth for you and greeting your tongue with hers. She tasted like wine and cacao, and faintly like thyme. Releasing your hand, she wrapped her arms around your waist. You reached up and buried your hand in her hair. She gasped into your mouth. You tucked that sound away for later, swearing to yourself you would make her do it again as often as you could.
A few seconds of silence between songs were disrupted by your wonderfully frivolous wet kissing sounds and a small whine that escaped you when Abby’s hand wandered lower to cup your ass. The first guitar chords of Nights In White Satin vibrated through the air and Abby grabbed you tightly before lifting you off the ground and wrapping your legs around her hips. She carried you over to the dining table and set you down.
The dramatic crescendo in the song you loved so much began.
And I love you
Yes I love you
Oh, how I love you
The singer’s voice filled every corner of the room, his declaration hovering above you, the high voices of the background singers ringing in your ears and Abby’s hands everywhere, her body leaning over you, her hips pressed between your legs. You flexed your legs to pull her in closer, almost falling apart when Abby let out a low moan and rocked her hips forward against you. Then she suddenly slowed down and broke the kiss.
“Wait, let’s talk for a second.”
You kept your legs clamped around her, but relaxed back a little, brushing back a strand of hair from her forehead and giving her an encouraging nod to go ahead.
“I haven’t… I’m not that experienced with - with women. And generally. And I don’t want to rush things and do something wrong and lose you. I don’t really know how this works and I want to do it right.”
Her hands on your waist tightened slightly. You gave her a shy smile.
“Me neither. I’m scared, too.” You surprised yourself with your openness. “How about we take this slow, then? Talk about everything openly? And just go one step at a time?”
Abby nodded and pulled you closer again.
Holding Back The Years began playing.
“One kiss at a time.” She gave you a gentle peck on the lips.
“Oh, really? I would have never picked you as the sappy type,” you laughed against her lips.
“You wouldn’t?” She acted shocked. “Let me remind you of how I took the day off to cook a gourmet french dish for you.”
“True.” You shrugged and pulled her in for another kiss. “It’s probably the muscles. With those guns, you can do anything and still be taken seriously.”
Abby snorted and you realized that had been the wine talking. For a second, you were mortified, then she scooped you up again, holding your body with one arm as she ran her free hand through your hair.
“Oh, those? You know, they’re specifically for carrying you around all day. Anything for my - princess.” You had very well noticed the little pause there, but you decided not to say anything yet. Instead, you lifted your chin and eyebrows, imitating what you thought a royal would look like.
“Well, what does that make you? You’re obviously not a prince. My lady knight?”
Abby nodded solemnly.
“Sworn to protect and defend you. And to carry you wherever.”
“Well, do you have a sofa you could carry me to?” You tightened your hold on her shoulders and leaned in closer again.
“Of course, my lady.”
Abby carried you through a doorway at the back of the dining room into a cozy living room, equipped with a large sofa and a gigantic flatscreen tv, two vintage armchairs, a wooden bookshelf with at least 100 books, and a desk facing the window, medical books spread across the surface. The blonde sat down on the sofa and you knelt left and right of her hips, straddling her as you gave her another soft kiss.
“You know,” you began, “I’ve been crushing on you for months now. I thought you had absolutely no interest in me. I didn’t even know you liked women.”
Abby’s eyes widened at your confession.
“Shit, I had no idea. You weren’t exactly forward, you know. The first time we met, you already had this pull on me. But you were so shy and I didn’t want to jump you or annoy you, so I tried to keep my distance and wait if you would come around.”
“You have Leah to thank for that. Me coming around. I kind of forgot to come out to her until karaoke night and she told me you were dating women as well. She knows I’ve been a hopeless case when it comes to you, but she wanted me to figure this out on my own.”
Abby thought about this for a second.
“Yeah, Leah probably only told you because she knew I liked you, too. I haven’t been that open about dating women in the past, just because talking about dating in general was weird with Owen and Mel around and I also just don’t like everyone knowing my personal business.”
“I get that.” You nodded. “As I said, I hadn’t even been out to Leah. Mostly because I haven’t dated anyone in forever and the last time was a disaster not worth talking about.” You winced at the memory.
“You wanna tell me anyway?”
You thought about it for a second, then you climbed off Abby’s lap and laid down on the sofa, resting your head on her thigh. Her fingers immediately began brushing through your hair and massaging your scalp.
“Well, I met this girl during a freshman party at a sorority house the weekend before my first semester in college,” you began. You had felt weirdly out of place, but were determined to speak to at least one person. A few hours and an almost-lethal amount of tequila later, the girl you had talked to all night had dragged you into one of the bedrooms. You both had no previous experience, were extremely drunk and it was already 5am. You had fun making out and were both eager to try more, but it had been more out of curiosity than desire for each other and so the experience had not ended in the expected bliss of lesbian sex. Rather, she had come pretty quickly and afterward she'd begun crying and told you she had a boyfriend, and you had gotten dressed and fled the house. After that, dating in college was not really something you thought about much.
Abby listened to your story with interest and sympathy, laughing at a few parts and stroking your hair as you told her about the end of that fateful night. She felt deeply sorry for your experience of strangeness and betrayal, immediately promising to you that she would always tell you what was going on inside her head and what she wanted.
“Like you just did,” you smiled at her. “That was brave. It’s what I should have done that night.”
“I mean, I had a few weird moments, too, before I learned to speak my mind.” Abby’s gaze unfocused and she frowned as she clearly recalled some not very pleasant memories.
“Wanna tell me, too?” you asked, keeping your voice light. She nodded, looking down at you again.
“I mean, there's Owen, obviously. That didn’t work out well and now he is with Mel, leaving me wondering if he was interested in her while we were still together. After we broke up, Nora and I went on a little bender.” Your heart jumped into your throat. Did Abby and Nora...? A wave of jealousy rose from the bottom of your stomach, but you forced yourself to keep your calm, smiling at Abby as she continued.
“We spent every weekend at a different bar, and one of them was actually at The Closet. Nora was making out with a woman in actual overalls” - she snorted - “and I just hung out at the bar, drinking Long Islands and not brave enough to make eye contact with anyone. And then the bartender started talking to me.”
Suddenly realization dawned on you. You sat up and stared at Abby.
“Wait, Ellie? The short-haired one?”
Abby grimaced.
“Yeah. We talked for a while and I came back the next week with Leah and Jordan. They didn’t even notice I was spending a lot of time at the bar. Ellie and I met for coffee a few days later and I mentioned my dad and she got really quiet and strange. Turns out, she’s related to the guy that murdered my dad, so...”
You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a moment, all the air in your chest building up pressure as you tried to figure out how to breathe out. Abby noticed and gently guided you to lay back down, continuing to weave her fingers into your hair.
“It’s okay, Y/N. I’ll tell you the whole story another time. So yeah, Ellie and I. It was horrible, but we still stayed and talked for a while. She couldn’t tell me a lot about what happened, but she had no idea that I even existed and she was about to have a panic attack over it all. I helped her calm down and then she felt terrible for reacting so badly when it should be me panicking and I just told her that there’s nothing any of us can do now and we should probably leave it at that.” She sighed. “I hadn’t been to The Closet until a few days ago. I only came because I knew you’d be there.”
“Fuck, that’s terrible,” you mumbled. “I don’t think I could have gone back there. I’m still glad you did, though.”
“Me too,” Abby said, her voice gentle and honest. She leaned down to kiss you, deeply and passionately.
You stayed on the sofa for the next few hours, talking about school crushes and gay awakenings, about women constantly hitting on Abby and her being confused for a long time. She told you more about her relationship with Mel and you started to actually resent that woman. Who did she think she was? You told Abby about living with Leah and about your current research projects and she listened intently, asking a lot of questions about the art you were analyzing. You began diving into queer art and Sappho and your theory on the different languages of different social groups. Abby actually gave you some great new ideas and some good questions you couldn’t yet answer and you were actually beginning to look forward to writing tomorrow.
As the clock moved past midnight, it became clear you would have to leave at some point soon. Abby had to get up at 7 in the morning for a 10-hour shift, and you had stifled one too many yawns. You were cuddled up on the couch, kisses interchanging with long, deep conversations and more kisses.
“I can accompany you to the station,” Abby suggested as you looked up the departure times on your phone.
“You don’t have to. That’s sweet of you, but I’ll find the way.” You kissed her for her generosity, but she pulled back.
“Honestly. I don’t want you walking alone. I’ll go with you.” A sheepish smile appeared on her face and she did a tiny bow. “My lady.”
You rolled your eyes and got up, making your way to the entrance hall. Abby gently helped you into your coat and put on a black bomber jacket, a strange but hot combination with her fancy pants. She opened the door for you and you stepped out into the cold night together.
You held hands on the way to the station, stopping at every corner to make out, laughing together, and making plans for your lasagna night. You would come over on Thursday, promising to yourself you would finish all your coursework until then. Manny would come back on Friday, so you’d have the house to yourself again.
You arrived at the station way too soon, but your train was announced to arrive in two minutes. Heavy-hearted, you flung your arms around the tall blonde and she wrapped hers around your waist, lifting you up for another deep kiss.
“I can’t wait to see you again,” she whispered against your lips.
“I’ll even dress up next time,” you mumbled and she grinned at you.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt. I’m excited.” Well, now you had to go shopping. Leah would be delighted to go with you.
You pressed a last kiss to Abby’s lips before unwrapping yourself from her arms as the train rolled into the station. As you stepped away, she caught your hand and pulled you back for another one, cheekily running her tongue over your bottom lip. You sighed and kissed her hand, wrapped firmly around yours, before stepping back and boarding the train. You waved at her through the window as you departed and watched her stand on the platform until she was out of sight.
Letting yourself fall into one of the seats, you pulled out your phone and texted your brother.
-We kissed!!!! Call me when you can
Then you texted Leah about shopping tomorrow, just able to send the text before your phone vibrated with a new message.
-You looked beautiful tonight. I’m the luckiest person in the world.
You tried to keep your squeal as quiet as possible. A woman a few seats ahead of you briefly looked up from her phone.
-Can’t believe I have a personal knight who will carry me wherever I want to go
The reply came in seconds.
-Anywhere and anything you want. Text me when you’re home!
-Can I text you before I’m home? I miss you already :(
You had to wait a few minutes before your phone vibrated again. This time, Abby was calling.
“Sorry, I was cleaning up and getting ready for bed.” She sounded a bit breathless.
“No worries,” you said. “What are you wearing for bed?”
Abby let out a surprised laugh.
“Really, now?”
“I’m serious. I want to imagine being with you.”
“Well, I’m wearing a gigantic black t-shirt with a ton of holes and boxers.”
You closed your eyes, envisioning Abby’s thighs straining against the hem of her shorts and the soft cotton of her shirt that you could bury your face in. She would smell like nature and like home somewhere far away.
“I wish I was there.” You noticed you were sounding desperate. Fucking hell, were you about to turn into a 13-year-old? You could hear the smile in Abby’s voice when she spoke.
“I wish you were here with me, too.” She paused for a moment. Then, “Do you want to sleep over on Thursday?”
“Uhm -” you had to think for a second, remembering you only had dinner plans for Friday with your mom. Before you could answer, Abby cut in again
“Fuck, am I rushing you? I didn’t mean - I just thought it would be nice, falling asleep together. But I totally get if that’s -”
“Abby! Of course I want to stay over!” You clenched your free hand into a fist, punching your thigh a few times in order to divert the explosion of energy inside your chest.
“Oh, thank god,” Abby’s shaky laugh was heart-wrenching. “I thought I messed up already.”
You stood up to exit at your station.
“No, not at all. I’d love to fall asleep with you.”
The way to your apartment was over faster than you wanted it to be.
“I’m home now. I think I should hang up, Leah is probably sleeping.”
“Yeah, don’t wake the monster.” Abby chuckled.
“Good night, Abby. Tonight was incredible.”
“Good night, Y/N. You’re incredible. Sleep tight.”
--
Author's note: Thank you so much for your comments and kudos! If you'd like to support me, you can buy me a coffee here
#abby anderson#abby tlou#abby tlou2#the last of us 2#tlou abby#abigail anderson#abby fic#abby anderson fluff#abby anderson fanfiction#ellie#ellie tlou#leah tlou#jordan tlou#owen moore#owen x mel#mel tlou#owen tlou#abby x reader#abby anderson x reader
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Auriga Hills: Part One (Javier Peña x f!Reader) (1930′s AU) (ON HIATUS)
Auriga Hills ~ Part One
masterlist / next part
pairing: javier peña (narcos) x f!reader
warnings: rated M for adult language; violence; smoking; allusions to sex
word count: 3.9k
story summary:
Javier Peña- brash, arrogant, a real jerk.
And now he’s your damn husband.
Allured by the prospect of mischief and money, you consent to marry Javier Peña to assist him in his undercover mission for justice. You’re only in it for the fun, nothing more, nothing less. But traveling together in close quarters on a train bound for the West Coast comes with some unexpected ramifications- you’re actually beginning to like the damn idiot.
A 1930’s Enemies to Lovers AU
a/n: Train setting? Check. Enemies to lovers? Check. One bed trope? Check. Fake marriage? Hecc yea! Enjoy!
also found on: Ao3
Auriga Hills
Part One:
You’ve had your fair share of near-death experiences, but this one certainly takes the cake-
-Because you’re actually about to die.
Urg!
You wanted a heroic death, a front-page-newspaper-worthy death! Something along the lines of: “Woman Dies Saving Drowning Child!” or “Woman Throws Self in Front of Gun, Saving Pregnant Mother!”
Damn it, “Woman Strangled in Dark Alley!” doesn’t have nearly the same ring.
You continue whispering curses under your breath, leaping over a crate blocking the entrance to a darkness-draped alleyway. Your feet slip as you bolt forward, fighting for just an ounce of traction against the wet, gravel-coated ground. Eyelashes fluttering against the night air hanging thick with the fog rolling in off of the sea, you squint, spying the eerie, deserted docks in the distance.
Oh, no, no, no, no.
You can already see it- your corpse floating face-down in the water.
Oh, there’s no way in hell you’re running down there! You’re not about to hide somewhere so convenient for your killer.
No, if he’s gunna kill you, he’ll have to work to dispose of your body, thank you very much.
Growling through clenched teeth, you spin on the ball of your foot, cutting around the corner of a brick wall as tightly as you can without stumbling. You groan with relief when your feet finally trade the gravel for solid ground, easily doubling your speed with the added traction.
You strain your ears as you bound in between two buildings, listening for that tell-tell crunch of pursuing footfall.
…
Nothing.
You grin.
Tightening your cap against your head, you do not slow down- not even for one instant. You dare not- not until you get to a- ah! There!
You snicker as you bolt towards the abandoned warehouse towering before you, energy returning to you in droves. The building’s nothing but an empty shell now, long since abandoned by the drifters, such as yourself, who once haunted its interior, so it should be safe enough to settle down and hide within.
Home sweet home, baby.
Grinning, you blast the door wide open, storming inside as the noise reverberates throughout the barren building.
“Geez Louise!” You slide to a stop, panting heavily for air. Slapping both hands down against your knees, you whine at the stab, the sting in your side from the exertion of running.
Hell.
You deserved this.
You deserved to have a close call- to have the pants scared off you. Hell, what a sloppy job! You should be ashamed of yourself- you’re more talented than this!
With a heavy, forlorn sigh, you sink down to the ground, pressing your back up against the metal wall of the warehouse, shivering against the chill.
“Damn,” you groan, reaching into your coat to pull out the object responsible for all this bloody trouble.
Your wallet.
Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly your wallet…
It’s a…. borrowed wallet…
Borrowed from someone else’s pocket, that is.
You stare at the worn leather, letting your thumb trace the maker’s mark.
Well, what can you say?
You need the cash more than the man you pickpocketed this from, that’s for certain. He’ll get over it… eventually… If he ever stops searching for you, that is.
Your grin only widens.
With a snort, you paw it open and begin fumbling through the wads of….
…Hundred-dollar bills?
Your eyes blast open.
“Jumpin’ Jahosafat!” you hiss through your teeth, fingers tightening around the wallet. You-you can’t believe your luck!
“Bloody hell!” you gasp, shuffling through the bills, holding them up in the air to get a better look. This-this can’t be real! How many grand is this?
You throw your head back, your sharp bark of laughter bouncing off the thin, metal walls. “Ooooh-boy! Oh, that man wants to murder me right about now, absolutely murder me.” Oh, you wish you could see his face right about now!
Fighting against a fit of giggles bubbling up your throat, you pull out an identification card from the wallet, eager to discover the name and face of the man who’s, no doubt, off somewhere spitting every curse word under the sun at you.
You squint your eyes, attempting to read the card in the dark.
“Javier… Peña…” You pull the identification card further away from your face, trying to angle it just right in the moonlight so you could make out his image.
Two dark, soulful eyes and a moustache glare back at you.
“He looks like a damn grump.” Your grin falls into a frown at the judgement in his frozen stare. You toss the card off to the side. “Glad I stole from him.”
You reach back into the wallet, pulling out-
“Oh!”
Oh….?
Another card? And another… Another… Hell! How many….? All with different names, and-
Your eyes stretch, your stomach squeezes…
An… an ordinary citizen would never have this many… If- if he’s part of the mafia, or a copper, or…or…
Oh shit.
No, no, you’re washing your hands of this- immediately.
You cram the cards back into the wallet, removing the cash and stuffing it in your coat pocket.
“Nope, nope!” you grumble, leaping up to your feet. You spin around, not exactly sure what it is you’re looking for, but- ah, there! An open window, right above your head! And that side of the warehouse boarders the water- perfect!
You hurl your arm back, eager to rid yourself of-
“Throw that and see what happens.”
…oh shit.
You’re dead.
“Turn around.” The voice lowers. “Slowly.”
…
Rage.
Rage edged in his tone.
Oh, hell.
Oh hell!
Your blood pulses, throbs in your ear. How- how do you get out of this?
You’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die.
Shit, shit, shit!
You raise both trembling hands. “Sir- I… There’s been a- a, uh, misunderstanding-” You slowly twist, meeting the two dark orbs of-
Javier Peña.
Or John Buckley.
Or Fred Matthews.
Or- or whatever his real name is.
You blink, refusing to drop his gaze, swallowing back the fear gurgling in the pit of your stomach.
Both of his hands rest calmly on his waist, but there’s nothing calm in his expression. His eyes flash at you, furor radiating off of him in waves.
“Five words.”
His voice is deep, raspy- made all the more terrifying when paired with the searing I’m-going-to-kill-you glare. He rolls his shoulders forward, taking on the presence of an even larger man.
“Give me-” he takes a step forward, his shadow crawling across your face- “my damn wallet.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lower your brows. “And get the hell out of my house!”
He quirks his brow, watching you with a deepening expression.
Damn it, what are you doing?
“Stop playing games with me, mujer.” Something… dark edges in his tone. He raises a finger, pointing at your hand. “It’s in your fist.”
Your eyes lower.
“Ah, oh my! Thought this was mine!” You toss him a cheeky grin. “No harm done?”
You don’t wait for an answer.
You spin around.
The window.
Arm back- aim-
“Ack!” you squeal, throwing all of your weight at the ground. “Let go of me, you creep!” You thrust out your feet, aiming over and over and over for his shins, but missing each time.
His grip on your wrist is painful, unforgiving, holding you partially up off the floor.
“You little shit,” he growls, plucking the wallet from your grasp. He frees your wrist, letting you flop back against the floor with a hard oof.
Groaning, you scramble away from him, stumbling up to your feet. “Fuck you!” you shout, launching towards the door.
So close-
A hand slaps on your shoulder- heaves you backwards. “Yipes!” you yelp, stumbling to the ground at the sudden reversal of momentum.
You throw out an elbow, but it lands nowhere.
You squirm- kick-
But then-
Two large hands press your shoulders against the ground-
-you’re pinned.
“Stop fighting,” he hisses in your ear, breath hot against your skin- a faint hint of cigarettes. “And stop yelling.” He reaches down, digging through your coat pockets.
“Why?” you growl, wriggling beneath his weight. “S-so you can kill me without any w-witnesses?”
He doesn’t answer.
You blink.
Oh… not… good.
“W-wait- sir!”
He pulls back, flashing you the wad of cash. “A misunderstanding?”
“Give me that!” you hiss, raising up off the floor. “I need it more than you!” You throw out a hand, but he swiftly pulls it away, tucking the cash within his coat.
He’s up on his feet and stalking away before you can barely think.
“I saw all those cards, Mr. Peña!”
He freezes.
"Give me a hundred, and I’ll… uh, forget what I saw.”
He turns, faces you- but it’s not anger that’s etched on his face.
Amusement.
At you.
He grunts, reaches into his coat-
Your eyes blast open. “Don’t shoot!” You throw your hands in front of you, stumbling back a few steps.
“Relax.” His voice is buttery smooth- almost mocking. He sticks a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it as he watches you, the layer of sweat on his face reflecting against the moonlight.
He puffs on the cigarette, silent.
Staring at you.
Wet curls plastered against his brow.
You raise your chin defiantly. “Don’t think I won’t-”
“As if anyone would listen to a thief.”
You blink.
A small smirk quirks up in the corner of his mouth. He takes another puff of his cigarette, dabbing the ashes off to the side.
“Go home-” he takes a puff of his cigarette- “kid.”
“I told you-” you take a step forward, red flashing in the corner of your vision- “you’re in my home.”
“Here?” His voice deepens, and he throws a glance up, eyeing the hole in the roof of the warehouse.
“Yeah,” you growl through gritted teeth. You cross your arms tightly across your chest. “Don’t pretend you care. You don’t care- care if I’m hungry or cold tonight!” You throw your hand out towards the door. “Just take your money and get the hell away from me.”
The amusement slips from his face, the irritable expression from his identification card swiftly replacing it.
“Goodnight then-” he tosses his cigarette to the ground, putting it out with his heel- “And careful-” his voice lowers, deep, raspy- “who you steal from next.”
You watch as he slips out the door, stalking beneath the shadows of the buildings lining the docks.
And then-
He’s gone.
Along with the cash-
-Your chance at a new start in life.
Rage explodes behind your eyes.
“ARG!”
You kick at the side of the building, cringing against the jolt of pain that shoots up your leg.
“Damn you, Javier Peña!” you scream into the dark. “And damn your stupid mustache!”
You really hope he heard you.
-------
It was a bad idea to stay in the warehouse for the night. Damn, you forgot how cold it could get by the sea. You can’t stop shivering.
With a pathetic groan, you sit up, eyeing the moon through the window, trying your best to assess what time it could be.
You raise a brow. Maybe… Four o’clock? Five o’clock?
You sigh.
Fine. Whatever.
Guess you’re up for the day.
Leaning down, you dust off your baggy pants, lamenting your current status. Maybe it’s time to jump another train… try a new location.
Tucking your hands in your pockets, you sneer over at the cigarette on the ground, trying to avoid thinking about…. him.
Hell! If it wasn’t for… him, you- you could have used that cash to have a bed tonight- warm food! A… a hot bath!
You groan pathetically, inching the door open. “Oh, curse my bad luck,” you grumble, flopping your head back as you stumble out into the chilly sea breeze. You wish you never held that cash at all if you couldn’t keep it for yourself.
It was all just a cruel joke.
But then again… it was kind of your fault for stealing it to begin with…
Oh, no matter.
Soon, you’ll find a way to get back on your feet. This is all just temp-
“Good morning, Mujer.”
“Yipes!” You all but jump off the dock and into the water. “Wha- oh, you!” Gritting your teeth, you all but growl at him like a feral dog. “What the hell do you want?” Tapping your foot rapidly against the dock, you throw both hands on your hips.
He leans up against the wall of the warehouse, taking another puff of his cigarette. He glances up at the setting moon, utterly unbothered by your anger.
“I have a… proposition for you.” His voice is low, still and calm.
“…What’s this proposition, Mustache?”
“Call me that again-” his voice drops- “and you’re taking a swim.”
You’re almost tempted to test him… almost.
Rolling your eyes, you saunter a few feet closer to him. “What. Do. You. Want?”
His eyes darken- piercing into your own. His raspy voice is all but a hoarse whisper-
“I want you to marry me.”
Silence.
…
You burst into laughter. “Oh- hell! G-good one!” Reaching out, you give him a slap on the arm. “Damn, I’m-”
“One grand, for your trouble.” He takes a puff of his cigarette, his dark gaze holding your own. “And a quick annulment when we get to the West Coast.”
You blink.
“Wait… you’re serious? Actually… serious?”
“I don’t joke, hermosa.” He shifts forward, passing you by as he steps to the edge of the dock. “I’ve… run into a complication.”
Your eyes widen. “Oh, wait a minute, are you a cop?” You run forward to stand beside him, staring up at his face. “A mobster? What exactly am I getting into here?”
He tilts his head, glancing down at your gaping mouth.
“You don’t need to know.”
“Like hell I don’t! I’m getting the hell out of here!”
“Hold on-”
You stare down at his hand clutching your wrist. “Fifteen hundred.” His eyes shift away from your face, his voice… tightening. “I… work for the government, hermosa. That’s all you need to know. My partner… she fell through.”
“You better not tell me she got bumped off, I swear I will-”
"The California Express train leaves today, and I must be on it, with a wife. I’m… out of options.”
Ripping your arm back, you furrow your brows at him. “Then, be on it? I don’t want the money- you’re insane. You don’t need a wife; you need a doctor.”
Spinning around, you begin to rush down the dock.
No amount of money is worth-
“Two grand.”
Freeze.
Slowly, carefully, you turn back around, watching with wide eyes as he saunters towards you.
“Two grand.” He tilts his head. “Two grand. This is…. important, Hermosa.”
“Two… grand?” you whisper, eyes widening. “Jumping Jahosafat, it must be important…”
Tossing the cigarette into the water, he steps right up beside you, hovering over your face.
"Very.”
A small smile tickles the corner of your mouth.
“Three grand.”
“No.”
“Then bye.”
“Wait-”
He growls, rubbing his eyes. “Fine, three grand.”
“And an annulment? Once the train arrives in California?”
He releases a heavy sigh. “Yes.”
Slowly, a grin inches its way across your face.
“Well, Javi-” you slap him against his shoulder- “you just bought yourself a wife.”
His frown only deepens.
“Let’s get one thing clear-” his fingers dig into your upper arm, pulling you into him. “If you break my cover or once- even once- ignore my any of my orders, I will not hesitate to throw you off a moving train.” His voice is cold, hard. You believe his every word. “Are we clear?”
You only sweeten your smile.
“Javi, dear-”
“Don’t call me Javi.”
“Let me make one thing clear-” you stand up on your tiptoes, resting your arm atop his shoulder- “If you touch me- even once- I’ll lob your head off.” You wink. “Are we clear?”
He has the audacity to return your smile.
“Indeed.”
It hits you at once- three grand.
Three grand! You- you can’t believe it! Three grand! And a free trip to California? You- you can maybe open that bakery! Just like Mother’s!
You clasp your hands together, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Damn, three grand!”
"Calm down,” he grumbles, lowering his brow. “We don’t have much time. You’ll need some clothes, I imagine, before we go to the courthouse.”
“Clothes?”
“You can’t wear that-” he motions at your baggy pants and much-too-large coat- “on the California Express.”
“Fine, guess we’re going shopping?”
“You need a bath before I’m taking you in anywhere,” he grumbles under his breath, spinning around on his heel as he stalks away.
“Hey!” you yelp, jogging up behind him. “Excuse me, sir. What exactly are you trying to insinuate?”
“You stink.”
“Of all the nerve!” You stumble over your feet trying to keep pace with his strides. “I’m- I’m not bathing in your hotel room, you peeping tom!”
He stops- you run straight into his back.
“Oof, Javi!”
“We’re going to be married, sharing a train compartment-” he angles his head to the side- “and you’re worried about this?”
Silence.
He has a point.
…Not that you’re going to admit that.
“Javi, I will not, you mustached bastard- what- wait! What are you doing? JAVI!”
He swings you forward- and you flail- off the dock-
-straight into the water below.
“J-Javi!” you shriek, splashing the water around you as you fight to stay afloat.
“You can bathe down there,” he grumbles, amusement lacing his tone, “or you can bathe in my hotel room. Your choice.”
“I- I hate you!”
He has the nerve to grin at you.
-------
You stare at yourself in the mirror.
Hell, you make a real lady. A grin stretches across your face, and you adjust the hat on your head until it’s angled just right.
Yup. A real lady.
Heh.
No one would know the truth.
You gasp at loud rapping on the bathroom door.
“Out. Now,” Javier barks.
“Fine! Fine!” you grumble, gathering up the last of your newly purchased items into your bag.
“Now, Hermosa.”
Flinging the door wide open, you come nose-to-nose with one angry, glaring Javier.
“Javi,” you bark, “Is this any way to treat your soon-to-be wife?” You smirk, spinning around to show off the dress you chose to wear to the courthouse. “How do I look?”
He just… stares at you, eyes darkening as they sweep down your figure. Taking a languid puff of his cigarette, he angles his head to the side.
“Not my type.”
You huff, sneering up at him. “Well, good! You’re ugly too!” You cross your arms tightly across your chest, scowl deepening. “Let’s get our marriage the hell over with.”
A smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s go, Hermosa.”
-------
“What a handsome couple!”
“Who? Us?” You raise an eyebrow at the old woman, a court-assigned witness to your vows. “I mean, I think I’m handsome, but Javi?” You sneak a glance over at him, his back facing you, still engrossed in a conversation with the Judge.
You raise an eyebrow. “I mean, he has a nice ass, I guess.”
“W-what?”
“Nothing!”
“Let’s begin, shall we!”
You turn to find the Judge and Javier both watching you- the Judge beaming ear-to-ear.
With a visible exhale of air, Javier lumbers forward, a neutral- almost bored- expression etched on his face. Reaching out, he takes your hand in his.
“Remember my rule,” you hiss under your breath, “when we’re on that train, keep your paws off of me.”
He tilts his head to the side, lowering his brows at you.
“Do not worry yourself.” He pulls you in closer to whisper in your ear, “I only go for handsome women.”
“Fuck you!” you shriek.
…
The Judge and old woman gape at you.
“Uh, um…”
“That’s how she says, ‘I love you,’” Javier mumbles. “Precious, isn’t it?”
The Judge blinks.
…
“…Dearly beloved, we have gathered here-”
“Just the vows.” Javier tightens his grip on your hand. “We’re in a hurry.”
The Judge’s eyes widen further, and he sneaks a glance over at the old lady-
-She has a hand pressed against her mouth.
“….Right. That’s fine. Uh… read the vows aloud then, and we’ll… finish this up.”
The Judge motions at Javier to begin.
"I, Javier Peña,” he rasps, his voice tightening with each word spoken, “take thee to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish-” his hand tightens around your own- “till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you."
He drops his eyes to the ground- almost… shamefully.
The Judge, still very much perplexed by you both, turns his attention now to you.
Oh.
Damn.
This… is really happening.
…What on Earth are you doing?
"I,” you squeak, barely audible even to your own self, “take thee to be my wedded… husband, to have and to h-hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for… richer, for poorer, in- in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish-” you pause, swallowing back your anxiety. You sneak a glance up into Javier’s eyes- immediately regretting it.
He’s… staring at you.
Just remember- this is for three grand- a new beginning.
This isn’t real-
It… will be annulled.
“Till… death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to… you."
You drop both Javi’s burning gaze and hand as soon as the last word drops from your lips.
“I pronounce you husband and wife!” the Judge chirps. “You may kiss the bride.”
You blink-
Kiss?
You forgot about-
Javier’s lips press gently against your own- he pulls away before you even have a chance to react.
He… kissed you.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Peña!” the old woman smiles, clapping her hands.
Mrs. Peña…
Mr. and Mrs. Peña.
Married…
You’re married.
To Mr. Peña.
…To an idiot.
You- you refuse to look at him.
You… think you’re gunna be sick.
What have you gotten yourself into?
"Enjoy your honeymoon!” the old woman whispers, giving you a quick kiss on your cheek. “Have fun, Mrs. Peña.” She winks.
You crinkle your nose, deciding to have a bit of fun with her- distract yourself from your current mental crisis.
“Oh, no. You think I’d want him touching me?”
…
You grin at the perplexed old woman.
“Thanks for everything, lady!” you giggle.
A large, warm hand encircles your own.
“Come, Hermosa.” Javier’s voice is low, tense. “We cannot miss our train.”
You glance up, meeting the eyes of your husband.
Dark.
Hard.
Unreadable.
He brushes a quick finger along your jawline.
You can only nod.
“Let’s go.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
masterlist / next part
taglist: (in the reblog)
a/n: Ahhhh!!! I’ve been working on this one since early December! I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! It was a nice change of pace from In Fields of White (of which chapter 9 is coming late this week!) PLEASE comment/reblog letting me know what you think! I spent a really long time on this, lol! (Shameless begging, I know.) Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to check it out on Ao3 as well!
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I Wonder What It’s Like (2/3) - fic
Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Kathy Brandon
Pairing: jondami
Summary: Damian is a mess. A big, sappy, romantic mess.
A/N: This hot *~garbage~*. Sorry.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
~~
He was just walking down the hallway in their team’s shared apartment. A loft that overlooked the city of Chicago, the ridiculous rent paid for by his father, no questions asked.
The little kitten he’d found on patrol the night before was pattering excitedly after him as he walked, Titus protectively on the little thing’s tail while she meowed loudly. Damian was laughing as he walked, and had just felt her jump at his ankle and stumble, so turned to make sure she was righting herself.
But then he froze.
In his attempt to glance down at the kitten, his gaze caught movement nearby, in the bedroom he was passing.
Jon’s bedroom.
The door was open and Jon stood there in front of a mirror, fiddling with the collar of a white dress shirt he was already practically busting out of. Not that Damian noticed the shirt too much. No, he was too busy staring at the perfectly form-fitting black slacks that hugged Jon’s ass and thighs – and that in the mirror he could clearly see they were not buttoned yet.
“Jon…”
He felt the name come out of his mouth without consent, and instantly snapped his lips closed, practically sucked them between his teeth.
Kept staring, though.
Refocused back on the shirt, on the sliver of chest he could still see, and the muscles rippling as Jon shifted. Stared at those long fingers fumbling against each other. Felt his breath catch in his throat, as Jon slowly glanced over his shoulder at him.
Jon blinked and his face brightened, and Damian – motherfucking Damian goddamn Wayne – felt his knees go weak as Jon smiled at him. As his violet eyes shone, and absolute joy radiated from his being.
“Hey, D.” He said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, I…” Damian cleared his throat, thanking his lucky stars. Jon had heard him, but he hadn’t heard his…tone. Good, that was good. As he exhaled his relief, he glanced down and saw the kitten, Titus still tight on her heels, stomping forward into Jon’s room. “Theadora!”
The kitten mewed grumpily as Damian stepped into the room and swooped her up into his hands. She wiggled even as he held her to his chest, and tried to bite at his fingers.
“We do not enter rooms uninvited.” He scolded, touching his finger to her nose. He looked back up at Jon. “My apologies.”
Jon snorted. “You know you and your animals are welcome any time. I don’t mind.” He turned back to the mirror. “In fact, I enjoy it. Always a nice break.”
Damian hummed, biting the words on his tongue. A nice break from what, doing nothing? No, that would be rude. He was working on not being rude, on saving the sarcasm for when it was warranted, not every word out of his mouth. He was better than that. He should be better than that.
(Especially to Jon.)
“…What’s the occasion?” Damian nodded towards him. “I don’t recall you being much into suits.”
“I’m not. It’s some shindig at the Planet. Mom’s getting an award. Again.” Jon chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “She said since I’m barely home any more the least I could do is come tonight.”
Damian couldn’t stop his eyes from darting downwards again. “I doubt it’s an…ahem…open-trouser affair…”
Internally, Damian winced at himself. It wasn’t sarcasm, but it was still rude. Jon wasn’t an idiot. Obviously he wasn’t done getting dressed. There was no need to tease. There was no need to open his stupid mouth.
But Jon laughed anyway. “I’m getting there, I’m getting there.” He stuck his tongue out thoughtfully, returning to his task at his collar. “I’m going to tuck my shirt in, but I can’t get these stupid buttons up top, here.” He tried for another second, then spun back to Damian. “A little help?”
Damian felt himself smiling, almost instinctively stepping forward. “Sure.”
Jon cooed as he grabbed Theadora from Damian’s hands, petting her as Damian took over button duty, gently folding the little round plastic through the fabric of the shirt. He ignored how close he was to Jon’s skin, how easily it would be to reach out and just touch him.
(Just caress his jaw, just lean forward and kiss him, just–)
The buttons were finished, and he quickly stepped back. Jon twisted his torso back towards the mirror. “Perfect.”
But then he turned back to Damian with a sheepish grin. “Help with one more thing?”
Damian shrugged.
And he watched, almost bewildered, as Jon didn’t give his kitten back (much to Titus’s disappointment in the doorway) but instead placed her on top of his head, right in the center of his nest of curls. Then he turned towards his bed, hastily shoving the shirt tails into those unbuttoned pants before grabbing a red ribbon that was lying across his comforter.
“I know you’re going to think it’s cheesy, but it’s kind of an inside thing between me and my dad.” He spun around, balancing Theadora perfectly, and held the ribbon out. “But I never learned how to properly tie one.”
Damian glanced between Jon’s kitten crown, and the ribbon in his hand. “A…bowtie?”
“It’s a thing, I promise. Inside joke.” He walked closer. “Please?”
Damian sighed, annoyed that his default exhale made him sound put off, when in reality, he really wasn’t. Not at all. He was happy to help.
He was always happy to help Jon.
But he took the ribbon and looped it carefully around Jon’s neck. Ignored the urge to pull the other forward with it, ignored those thoughts already popping back into his brain, and began to knot it.
“…I’m really only going to make my mom happy.” Jon let out his own sigh as he finally buttoned the stupid pants. Damian was happy to have a task, anything to stop him from looking down again. “These things are so boring.”
Damian snorted. “Welcome to my life.”
“Hey, I bet your dad will be there. And Diana. Apparently this is like. A huge award. Wouldn’t be surprised if Bruce Wayne showed up for some reason. You know, beyond my dad inviting him and Diana as a friends or something.”
“Unfortunately I do not know my father’s schedule.” Damian hummed. “I can call and ask if he or any of the family are going. While my siblings are complete Neanderthals, they might ease some of your boredom.”
“Or better yet…” Jon grinned. “Why don’t you just come with me? I’m sure no one will mind if I bring a plus-one. Besides, it’s been a while since you’ve been home too, right? Might be nice to see your dad.”
Damian laughed before he thought about it. “Absolutely not.”
And he wanted to absolutely stab himself, immediately, at the disappointment that flashed through Jon’s eyes, the way his smile faltered just a little. All because Damian laughed.
At him. In his face.
God, he was the worst.
“I mean,” Damian coughed. He slowly pulled Jon’s bowtie through its last loop, and then carefully tugged Theadora from Jon’s hair. “I’m on monitor duty tonight. And the girls are already out for their own night off.”
Jon’s grin, though it never disappeared, softened now. “D, when was the last time you took a night off?” Damian opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out because he didn’t have one. “The world would survive if all four of us were out acting like normal people for one night.”
“That’s how all apocalypse stories start, isn’t it?” Damian mumbled, keeping his gaze lowered. “Besides, if it’s like you said, half of the Justice League will be at this event. Someone needs to be out there watching.”
“No one said it had to be you.”
Damian glanced up, felt his cheeks warm as he realized Jon had stepped closer. Was staring gently down at him, that simple smile still on his face.
But Damian was a coward.
Emotions were a weakness. Wanting was selfish, and selfishness was unbecoming. Rejection was a useless pain and so easily avoidable.
He would not mess this up. He would not mess up one of the only friendships he had. He would not mess up Jon.
So he stepped back, an apologetic smile on his face. “Enjoy your party, Jonathan.”
He scurried from the room with his pets before he could see Jon frown.
~~
“Damian?!” Jon practically screamed, even over Maya’s attempts at soothing him. He smacked his hand against the door again. “D, please, just open the door!”
Damian, instead, turned away from it, rubbing his fist angrily against the tears pouring from his eyes.
“He just wants to help.” Kathy whispered from the desk. “You know him.”
“And he knows me.” Damian spat. “He knows better than to do this.”
“You just heard your mother might be dead, what else did you think he was going to do? Shrug it off and go play video games?” Kathy snapped back. “You’re his best friend, of course he’s going to want to comfort you. Take care of you.”
“I don’t need it. I don’t need comforted. I don’t need…” His face twisted in disgust. “Taken care of.” He shook his head. “I don’t even need you here.”
“Well, sucks I was there when Batman called and can move faster than you, huh?” Kathy smirked. “Jon may respect your boundaries, but that doesn’t mean I have to.” She let her smile drop. “Besides, I know what it’s like. Losing…questionable family. Not knowing how to feel about it. I…I get it.”
“…I know.” Damian sighed. Sniffed and ran his hand across his nose. “I know you do, Kathy. And I…despite everything, I do appreciate it.”
“Damian, please!” Jon whined.
“I can’t.” Damian whispered, twisting purposefully away from the door. “I…I can’t look at him right now.”
“Why, because he’s trying too hard? Or because he wouldn’t get it?”
“Both, maybe.” Damian shrugged, reaching for the tissue box on his nightstand. “And because…it’s embarrassing.”
“What is?”
“I’m mourning the not-yet-confirmed-death of a mass murderer, and here the son of fucking Superman wants to make sure I’m okay.” He shook his head. “This is not worth his time. I’m not worth his time. When’s he going to see that? Why does he think I am?”
“He’s your…best friend.” Kathy reiterated, but she seemed to struggle with the words. Like best friend wasn’t supposed to mean that. “He just wants to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am okay. I’m always okay.” He dabbed the tissue at his eyes. “I have to always be okay.”
“Why, because you’re the son of Batman and anything less than okay is a weakness?” Kathy mocked. “I thought you were over that line of thinking. Years ago.”
“It’s…I am, it’s not just that, it’s…” Damian sighed, dropped to sit on the edge of his bed. He pulled the photo of him and his mother back into his hands, the one he’d had in his desk drawer up until his father had called. “If I’m okay, people think I’m good. That I’m a good person.” He gently touched Talia’s face. The smile was warm in this photo. It wasn’t always. “If I’m not okay. I’ll…then I’ll go back to being bad. I’ll lose control. I’ll…be that monster again. The one I used to be.”
Kathy blinked. “And?”
Damian waited a beat. Listened as Jon continued to bang on the door, desperately call his name.
“Jon deserves better than a monster as a best friend.” Damian whispered.
“Wha…that’s it? You have to be okay for his benefit?” Kathy drawled. “That is the most convoluted bullshit I’ve ever heard. Especially because Jon loves you no matter how messed up you are. Jon loves all of us, no matter how messed up we all are.”
Damian remained silent. Listened as Jon pleaded with him still to open the door.
“Meanwhile he’s crumbling at the mere idea that something’s wrong with you and he can’t personally fix it.” Kathy grumbled, standing from the chair. She paused there, for a moment, looking between Damian and the door. “…You know?”
Damian glanced up at her.
“If you asked me, it almost sounds like you’re more upset about upsetting Jon than your mother potentially being dead.”
Damian didn’t answer the accusation, just shrunk deeper into himself, into his own brain. Let guilt swirl in his gut, both for Jon and Talia.
He closed his eyes. He truly was a monster, wasn’t he? In more ways than one.
After another second, Kathy sighed, and Damian opened his eyes to see her moving. “…You two, I swear.”
Damian watched as she walked over to the door, throwing it open.
“Jon!” She yelled. Jon jerked back at her tone. “Give it a rest, okay?!” Gentler, as he lowered his hand. “He’s fine. He just needs a little time to himself.”
Jon, the epitome of a kicked puppy, glanced over Kathy’s shoulder. “D?”
Damian sniffed, wiped at his eye. “It’s fine, Jon. I’ll…be out later.”
“You shouldn’t be alone right now, D.” Jon rattled off immediately. “I can-”
“You can leave him alone.” Maya cut off, pulling Jon back. “Now you saw him, okay? With your own eyes. He is alive and he’s in his room.”
“Damian…”
“Don’t worry on my account, Jon. Please.” Damian tried, offering a weak smile. It just made Jon frown deeper. “I’m fine. In fact, feel free to take Kathy with you.” Kathy glanced back at him. “I give you full permission to give him all the details of my father’s phone call, and everything we’ve talked about, if you believe it will help.”
Kathy looked at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes.
“You need therapy.” She sighed. Then she turned to Jon. “Both of you.”
Jon blinked dumbly as she took his other arm and began to pull him down the hall. Maya leaned into the room to grab his doorknob and gave him a wink.
“Preferably some couples therapy.” She hummed. “And, like, soon. Or Kathy and I are gonna lose our minds.”
She pulled the door shut. Damian just sighed, rubbed at his tears, and stared at the picture of his maybe-dead mother.
~~
Damian Wayne didn’t dream.
He had nightmares. He had flashbacks, absolutely. He woke up in cold sweats, screaming, crying, whatever. You name it.
But he didn’t dream. He had nightmares, or nothing at all.
So…this didn’t make sense. This didn’t make any sense. He was lucid, he knew this wasn’t real. He recognized it as a dream.
Because he didn’t own an antique shop.
But here he was, behind the counter of one, refurbishing an old cabinet, carefully painting along its edges, listening contently as a pair of customers were rung up.
By…by Jon.
“Thanks for stopping by K.W. and Sons. Have a great day!” He called as the old couple waved and walked out the front door, bell above the door chiming. As soon as the door slammed shut, Jon gave a happy sigh. Damian, still facing the cabinet, sensed more than heard Jon turn around. “…I still can’t believe you did it.”
“Hm?” Was all the response Damian had.
“I cannot believe you found the book Mr. Hamada used to propose to his wife.” Suddenly there was a weight on Damian’s back, arms wrapping around his waist. “Like…how do you find that? How do you even know where to start looking? They didn’t even realize they’d accidentally given it away until three years after the fact!”
“Well, for starters,” Damian laughed as Jon kissed his cheek. “It’s nice to know a private detective or two. Then it’s just a simple retracing of steps.” Damian placed his paintbrush along the edge of his paint tray. “Also – the internet is a great tool. There’s only so many books with the phrase ‘will you marry me?’ written in English and Japanese in the front cover. That kind of thing goes viral all the time.”
Jon hummed, leaning his chin into Damian’s shoulder. “Mrs. Hamada cried when I brought it out. It was sweet.”
“Such a shame I missed it.” Damian drawled cheekily. Jon squeezed his sides.
“Don’t be rude.”
Damian turned his head, keeping his smirk. “You love it when I’m rude.”
Jon hummed again, glancing downwards. Damian was so distracted by the lashes splaying across his rosy cheeks that he didn’t notice Jon dipping his finger into the pastel teal paint until he was dabbing it against his nose.
“I don’t know if I said love.”
“I don’t know.” Damian said thoughtfully, leaning over until his nose brushed Jon’s, smearing the paint against his skin as well. “I think you did.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yeah-huh.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yeah-huh.”
“Nuh-uh, times a thousand.” Jon countered, dragging his nose along Damian’s jaw to make a bigger mess. At the same time, he squeezed Damian’s torso again in an attempted tickle. “No take-backsies.”
And despite the childishness, Damian laughed, leaned into Jon’s embrace. Accepted paint-filled butterfly kisses and real ones too. Gently twisted in Jon’s arms to face him completely, and take a tender hold of Jon’s face.
He had a beard here. A small one. And it was graying. How old were they? Do you age in dreams? Damian found himself not caring.
He let his laugh drop into a sigh, stroking a thumb across Jon’s face as he stared into his eyes. After a moment, he smiled. “I love you.”
Jon beamed. Like it was the first time he’d ever heard it. Like it was the only thing he ever wanted to hear in his whole life. He pressed his forehead to Damian’s and closed his eyes. “I-”
“I love you too.”
Damian jerked, his head shooting up.
Wha…what?
He blinked rapidly, wiping at his lip instinctively. There was drool there. Since when did he drool while he slept?
Since when was he sleeping?
He blinked a few more times, the room becoming clearer. It was still a dark space, but he recognized it. Their apartment living room. The girls were in the loveseat nearby, also asleep. There was light coming from the TV across the room.
Oh yeah. It was their monthly team movie night.
“You okay?” Came a whisper to his right. He flinched again, spinning around to see Jon staring down at him with an amused look. Damian let his eyes dart around, and the situation became clear.
He’d fallen asleep during the movie. On Jon’s shoulder.
And dear god, he was drooling.
“Uh…y-yeah.” Damian stuttered, throat dry. “Is the movie over?”
“Just about. Guess I’m the only one who made it.” Jon laughed softly. “I don’t blame you though. It’s pretty boring.”
Damian nodded silently, trying to look at anything but Jon. Glanced over to their teammates. No modesty there, Maya had Kathy’s head pressed to her breasts, her own legs contorted around Kathy’s waist. He frowned – there was no way that was comfortable for either of them. Freaks.
“You can…uh…go back to sleep, if you want.” Jon murmured. Damian turned back to him as he yawned. “I was about to fall asleep myself, actually. And…honestly, I don’t feel like getting up to go back to my own bed.” Even in the dark, Damian noticed Jon’s cheeks brighten. “And, uh…you’re warm.”
Damian smirked. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Jon snorted, fiddling with a nearby blanket, and throwing it over the both of them as Damian resituated himself closer. Without a word, Jon slouched, throwing his arm across the back of the sofa, forcing Damian closer into his side.
“Team slumber party.” Jon said absently. “Been a while since the four of us did one of these.”
“Indeed.” Damian breathed. His heart was pounding as dared to lay his head back on Jon’s shoulder. Waited for the other shoe to drop, waited for Jon to say something. To tell him off.
Instead, Jon just…leaned his head against Damian’s in return. Whispered: “Goodnight, Damian.”
Damian – giddy, frozen, and oh-so pleased – just closed his eyes once more.
“…Goodnight, Jon.”
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We really really really need a pt 2 nsfw slasher hc’s , maybe this time include Jason aswell ? Only if you want to of course 💋
more N//SF//W it is.
Don’t worry the yearning is strong today so I’m more than willing to continue.
Starting soft:
Bubba Sawyer:
• Fight me on this, but Bubba is ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE IN EVERYTHING HE DOES.
• He’s an obedient boy, always looking out for you, be it during the day or at night when finally, FINALLY his brother/s leave you alone.
• And then you’re sitting on the bed, he’s below you, doing his best eating you tf out, that sloppy tongue making you a wet, slippery mess. And be sure that Bubba goes DEEP.
• He’s a strong man, so his hair is your driving stick, pull him in when you want him deeper, tug it when he’s going too fast, growl at him if his teeth touches your sex, you’ll soon find out that he’s very, VERY responsive.
• He’ll worship your body, from your magnificent hair, through your beautiful face, your waist, your fingers, even your feet if you want him to, he’ll make you feel like a divine being with his shaky touch, his unsure hands that have touched you so many times but still feel like you’re going to disappear if he touches you wrong. Gosh, he’s adorable.
• Ride him, for god’s sake! He’s a mess underneath you, squirming, whining, moaning something that sounds like your name and when you smile at him, replying to his call, he literally melts.
• Through all this adorable stuff it’s often difficult to remember that this man is an absolute beast if you let him off the leash.
• The last time you told him it’s okay to take the lead he was groping you in a heart beat, trembling hands squeezing your curves through your clothing, making you bend under his weight, the room just filling with his arousal as he ripped your poor shirt from your chest and you squeaked in surprise. Well, there goes that.
• He grabbed your hands above your head, keeping both in his one, as the other palmed your face, exploring it’s features closely and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was thinking of making a mask out of you.
• He wasn’t, but he thought it would be absolutely stunning if he did and he’d never make another because you’re just too perfect for him.
• Soon enough his tongue’s over your nipples, licking, sucking and biting, taking in your smell and taste, his hand squeezing onto your thighs, awestruck at how soft they felt in his calloused hands.
• He’s a messy lover, that’s for sure, but his hot breath makes everything just so much better.
• You felt more of his weight moving onto you as his hips grinding against your leg, the tent in his pants way too obvious to be ignored and you couldn’t help but whimper, wondering what he was going to do to you.
• He’s quick to answer your mute question, as he rips your pants off you and janks his own belt and clothes down, pushing your legs apart before him, a nervous yet aroused giggle leaving him just before he slips into you, taking your breath away.
• Excuse him, he isn’t that well versed in preparing a lover for his adoration. Good thing you were already horny as all hell.
• His thrusts are fast, uneven and heavy, with every move you can feel yourself sink into the mattress, his weight crushing your frailer body and it’s just too fucking good. He’s so big, so damn warm and smells so goddamn sweet and the way he squeezes your breast is so hungry you’re afraid he’s going to bite it off.
• He doesn’t but his teeth find their way onto you anyhow as he moans and grunts with your neck in his mouth, leaving a big, fat mark and drawing just a tiny bit of blood. It’s adorable that he’s afraid to hurt you even when he’s allowed to.
• When he’s about to cum he cups your face and whimpers nervously, asking for your allowance. Nod and he’ll have you dripping with his head, shake your head and he’ll pull out with a cry, heartbroken that he has to abandon your warm insides and leaving a hot, thick trail of cum on your belly.
• He quickly perks up watching you breath heavy underneath him, covered in his come. Bubba will never get over how beautiful you are, NEVER.
Jason Voorhees:
• Fight me on this, but I believe Jason is actually less reserved about sex than what people often think. I believe he understands what’s the main focus of the activity and what is means for the people involved, his mommy was a smart woman, she most likely explained to him all the stuff about birds and bees.
• But tell me you wouldn’t feel like murder if a group of unattended teenagers/young adults invaded your place of death and started fucking? It’s the worst thing and after that is somebody screwing on your front yard. In Jason’s cause, it’s both.
• Still, he’s definitely a virgin, so starting off everything is pure instinct.
• That’s a good thing though, because instinct is how he learned to kill, to hunt and to survive, that and probably some books.
• Starting off he’s gonna fuck like he hunts - Holding you in his iron grip, squeezing your body tight, his gaze focused on you and you only, it’s as terrifying as it is arousing, and his relentless thrusting ain’t helping nobody.
• Good thing he actually cares about your consent and instructions before, preparing you with his long tongue and thick fingers, following your every demand, not breaking eye contact, so he can see that he’s doing it right, that man rarely blinks, get used to it.
• By the way his tongue is AMAZING?? If you gave him a cherry he’d definitely be able to tie a knot, it’s just that goddamn good and once it leaves you it’ll leave and empty, needy void that he’s more than happy to fill with his enormous cock.
• And here’s the bad thing - no matter what, you’re gonna be so sore after your first time. Jason’s a tight fit, probably not even coming in fully, because as the slasher community is well aware of - Momma’s boy is one of the biggest guys around.
• So you’ll be definitely moaning and screaming his name into the woods, overcome with joy, pleasure and sweet pain.
• Don’t worry, he WILL carry you to bed. It’s his fault that you’re outside anyways, he just couldn’t handle you being so close and so adorable anymore, so he hopes his jacket is thick enough to counteract the harsh wood behind you.
• Once he learns that you can enjoy a slower pace too, he’ll make sure to take his time with you, teasing you lovingly with a bright smile on his face, it’s really unfair, but don’t complain, you love it.
• While he’s a good boy™ don’t expect him to be as submissive as Bubba. He’s well aware of how strong he is and isn’t afraid to use this strength to overpower you and make you shiver under his touch.
• Jason isn’t a sadist, at least he swears he isn’t, but there is a certain glint in his eyes when you tremble as he closes his huge hand around your neck, aware that he could snap it in a second, but trusting him not to do that.
• Don’t worry, he’d never hurt you without your consent.
• Still, Jason’s a playful boy. Rough house with him and if you win (aka. he takes mercy on you and let’s you win) he’ll give you a bit of control. You lose it as soon as his dick slips into you though, but enjoy the moments of glory he’s happy to provide you with.
• His biggest kink though, which he’s a bit ashamed and disappointed with himself to admit, is hunting. He’s been literally resurrected to hunt and damn it if it doesn’t make his cold heart beat faster when he sees you put on some more comfortable shoes and look at him to start counting 5 minutes, giving you a head start. You’ll need it.
• You can’t see his amused head tilt as he cheats a bit and watches you run into the thick of the forest, but not following you yet, it’s always more fun when you think he doesn’t know where you are.
• It’s during those hunts that you remember that he IS the Crystal Lake Killer. Everything about him scream terror as he scans the surrounding for you, his heavy steps completely silent, how, you have no idea. He’s tall, muscular and dressed to kill, if he took of his jacket you can see how his muscles shift under each breath he takes. You realize how powerful his arms are when with one swift motion he hurls a bunch of boats down to see if you’re not hiding under one of them, his senses sharp enough to catch a small crunch of leaves under your foot as you shift towards a building and he follows.
• The wooden boards creak in complaint under his weight and you hide in a closet in alarm, your breathing quick and uneven, you can feel your whole body tensing as he passes the old piece of furniture and moves onto the beds. There’s a quiet squeak as you can hear him lifting one of them, letting it fall down with a loud thud when he realized nobody’s there.
• But the sound was just loud enough for you to let out a silenced squeak. Don’t worry, he heard that.
• You can see his shadow in front of the wardrobe and you’re trembling, fear mixing with excitement, part of you screaming that you’re going to die and the other adding “in the best possible way”.
• And that thought makes you whimper almost silently, but his quiet laughter let’s you know he heard, knocking onto the slightly open door politely, mocking you for losing. In a fit of rebellious spirit you stand up and pull the wardrobe closed, there’s a moment of silence.
• There’s a huff and before you know it he has pulled both doors open, leaning inside with a small head tilt, eyes smiling devilishly.
•“Not fair…” you whimper and his body shakes under his voiceless chuckle. He knows, you little cutie, you!
• He takes you right there and then, making your clothes nothing more than garbage with the precise cut of his machete, the cold metal making you shiver, arousal building even more as the realization that you’re at his mercy hits you, hard. “Be nice… okay?” you ask and he lifts his mask up just enough for you to see him mouthing the word “no” and smashing his lips into a heated kiss with you, squeezing your ass in his huge hands, lifting you up onto his cock.
• You tear up at the sheer size of this thing spreading you open and you know you’re in trouble. He knows it too, but in his attempt to humor your wish just a little bit he lets you adjust, pushing you back into the wardrobe and pressing his hand onto the old wood to stabilize himself as he still held you, warming you with his length, pressing his masked forehead against yours, watching as your eyes flutter closed and then open, gaze filled with lust, but don’t worry, his is exactly the same.
• Once he can feel you getting wet around him there’s no more mercy, he thrusts into you, relishing in your offended gasp, his eyes sparking with amusement, before he starts fucking you senseless.
• You ain’t leaving until cum’s spiling out of you, darling.
• When he’s done with you, however, you can expect a load of kisses, hugs, nuzzles and gentle caresses in the cabin. He’ll make you tea too and once he’s sure you’ve calmed down he’ll go around the camp looking for books for you to read. You ain’t gonna be walking tomorrow.
• Once you can walk you can go to his momma to tell her that her son is a BULLY.
• How rude.
Trigger warning for the next boy: blood play, bdsm, abuse??, some might call it that, cutting, hitting, Mikey is a nasty fuck ok?
Michael Myers (OG)
• When I think about the original Shape of Haddonfield all I can think of is one word - Beg.
• Mikey is the definition of a dom, rough, cold, decisive, unshaken. Some may argue you’d be better of if he just killed you, but one way or another you ended up as his fuck toy obsession.
• Call him Daddy, Master, Sir, any of those will get you on his good side during sex, but even his good side is BAD.
• This man has barely any limits when it comes to using you, sure, sometimes he’ll just push you onto the bed and lazily take you, his hips hitting you like an iron pump, but that’s rare. Most of the time he comes to you is to ruin you and you’re lucky if you live alone.
• He loves fucking your face, tilling your face back and making you choke on his dick repeatedly, only giving you seconds to breathe or to swallow back puke if it comes to that. If you see him grabbing a knife in the morning or just notice on of your missing, don’t eat that day. Just a precaution.
• No matter how he takes you choking is a must and not just lightly gripping your throat, no, he will make a mark, you’re his and the world needs to know. Nobody else is allowed to touch you, he’s even showing mercy by letting people talk to you when he’s around. You threw a fit about it at one point and while he made sure to leave you bruised and used as punishment, he understood.
• There’s just no back talking him, ever.
• While he’s well capable of destroying you with his bare hands a knife is Michael’s best friend and some friends are worth taking to bed.
• There’s many scars on your body and only one or two are from before meeting him, you can’t count the sheets he ruined when something in his head sang for you to bleed, his hands painting you in red, pushing your blood deep down your throat, a raging bliss in his eyes as you cried underneath him, getting dizzy, weak, cold. That man doesn’t know how much blood you can lose and honestly he just doesn’t care. If you faint he will patch you up, but most likely not because of concern, he’d just hate to lose a grateful toy like you.
• Speaking of which, he LOVES it when you thank him for fucking you, when you beg for him to fill you up or to let you finish, if you don’t beg, you ain’t getting anything.
• He’ll make you sit on all fours before him, gripping your hair tightly, forcing you to look him in the eye and slapping your face if you dare turn your eyes away, but don’t worry, the slap is almost loving, your face is the only thing he won’t scar or bruise, he actually likes it, well, he likes all of you, won’t admit it though, but you can’t make those adorable expressions if your face is all swollen, right?
• His biggest kink is fucking on corpses and YES, he has forced you to do that, you should know what you’re singing up for when asking MICHAEL-fucking-MYERS to be your mate. Yeah, mate, that man ain’t boyfriend material, I’m sorry.
• Surprisingly he isn’t that much into tying you up - why waste tame on that when he can keep you still with his hands and a simple knife?
• DON’T EVER ASK HIM TO BE SUBMISSIVE. This is a threat.
• Bitting, hitting, pushing and pulling his hair are forbidden. He can accepts scratches though, they feel pleasant. Also if he ever get’s high or drunk you might get to cut him. He’s a daredevil when intoxicated and seeing how much pain his body can handle sets something off in him. Still won’t submit to you though.
• To be honest the most docile you’ll ever see him is from the morning in the kitchen. He’ll laze up to you, enveloping you in his arms, pressing you firm against his powerful chest so you can feel his body rumble in a sleepy purr.
• While he never takes time to do aftercare with you (unless you get a panic attack, then he’ll just pin you down until you calm down), at those times you can sometimes hear small, caring phrases like “mine”, “you okay?” and “darling”. I know, shocking, but there’s SOME human in there still.
•“You okay?” he asks, voice deep and hoarse form the lack of use, but so damn handsome. You stop breathing, unsure if you didn’t accidentally die and go to heaven, but no, the way he grips you makes your bruises from yesterday hurt, this ain’t heaven, darling. “Y…yes, I’m fine…” you murmur back and all too suddenly you can feel his nails digging into your skin. “I’m fine…what?” he growls and you search your head for an answer, panicking lightly. Finally something clicks. “Yes, I-I’m fine… Sir.” you say and he hums in approval, letting you go for a second to turn you towards him, his mask lifting for a millisecond so he can kiss your forehead. “Adorable.” you hear him say, before he shifts away, grabbing one of your knives and leaving.
• And all you can think is - ‘but… my hips are still dying…’ Because you know damn well what will happen when he comes back tonight.
#Michael Myers#jason voorhees#bubba sawyer#halloween#friday the 13th#the texas chainsaw massacre#texas chainsaw massacre#leatherface#The Shape#Michael Myers x reader#jason voorhees x reader#bubba saywer x reader#virgo writes#slashers#slasher#slashers x reader#slasher x reader#writting request#I said if one person (1!!) asks me for more i shall provide#it's a bit messier though bc I'm a sleepless mess ha#hope you enjoy never the less and feel free to request stuff from time to time if ya feeling like it#I won't promise to anwser but i MIGHT
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In honour of Faye Dunaway's 80th birthday today (she was born 14 January 1941) - my analysis of The Temp (1993). Tagline: “Don’t get mad. Get promoted.”
Following the box office triumph of Basic Instinct in 1987, it felt like every other film was some variation of the “erotic thriller” or the “psychological thriller” (or better yet, the “erotic psychological thriller”). Basic Instinct, Single White Female and The Hand That Rocks the Cradle all emerged in 1992, which clearly represented the cycle’s zenith. The more forgettable examples had generic, interchangeable titles like Body of Evidence, Body of Influence, Consenting Adult and Gross Misconduct.
The Temp is a threadbare and hackneyed late addition to the genre that also manages to be an unintentionally hilarious camp fest. It tells the deeply implausible “yuppie-in-peril” story of Peter Derns (Timothy Hutton). He’s a thirty-something marketing executive at Appleby, a struggling cookie company in the midst of a merger with a major food conglomerate (tense management shouts things like “our asses are on the line!”). As if this wasn’t already stressful enough, he’s estranged from his wife and son and it’s implied he’s also recovering from a recent nervous breakdown. Peter urgently requires a new personal assistant and into the breach steps “the temp” of the title – the ultra-efficient, enigmatic and alluring Kris Bolin (Lara Flynn Boyle). It soon becomes apparent Kris is a manipulative psychopath who will do anything – ANYTHING! – to climb the corporate ladder. Even resort to murder! (You will never look at a paper shredder the same way again). Rest assured The Temp’s climactic finale will leave you scratching your head and saying, “What?!”
Lara Flynn Boyle really sinks her teeth into the role of Kris and has a good line in knowing smirks while scheming. (Remember when nineties starlet Boyle was a ubiquitous red-hot leading lady following the success of Twin Peaks? Since then she completely vanished off the radar. A cursory Google search uncovered some really tragic stories about alcoholism, health problems and botched plastic surgery. David Lynch pointedly didn’t invite her back for the Twin Peaks re-boot last year).
But it’s Faye Dunaway in the secondary role of Charlene Towne – Appleby’s power-suited, cappuccino-drinking, icily composed, tough-but-vulnerable female chief executive - who truly owns The Temp. The scary, surgically enhanced veteran diva attacks every scene with her customary blowtorch ferocity and intensity (and won the Razzie Award for Worst Supporting Actress that year for her efforts). As far as Faye is concerned, The Temp isn’t low-grade schlock. She’s reprising her triumphant 1976 Oscar-winning role as a driven career bitch in Network here, in the same way Joan Crawford in decline brought her A-game to late-period hagsploitation horror b-movies like Straitjacket and Trog.
Speaking of Crawford: Charlene is definitely a kissin’ cousin to Mommie Dearest. “Don’t fuck with me fellas! This ain’t my first time at the rodeo!” Dunaway’s Crawford memorably lambasted Pepsi executives. She gets an equivalent speech here. “This is just my latest battlefield, Peter,” she hisses. “Sexism. Cronyism. Now it’s ageism. But if they think I’m going down without a fight - they’re mistaken! Don’t be fooled. People still stomp on your toes and stab you in the back, just like they did in the eighties! Now they just smile in your face while they do it. Believe me – I’ve had more knives stuck in me than Julius Caesar!” Dunaway’s finest moment: Appleby is in a PR disaster meltdown because a batch of the oatmeal and raisin cookies has been sabotaged with broken glass! Charlene – yanked straight from the tennis court, glowing with perspiration and still clutching her racket - is in crisis mode and raging at underlings. She announces Kris will be appearing on the evening news to make an official statement. When another female employee protests, “But I handle media relations” Faye snaps, “Kris is more camera-ready!”
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You're telling me, Seungho's been drinking all night racking his brain analyzing this strange and yet so poignant feelings he has for Nakyum while Nakyum was sleeping? Like, he just sat there, drank all the leftover alcohols and probably inhaled all the leftover opiums? He obviously didn't know how to deal or what to do with his feelings. He's like in panic and yet just stands there doing whatnot.
Nakyum literally just woke up after a circus of a night and the first thing he sees is Seungho being defeated by his feelings, drunk and dazed. And the first thing he hears is Seungho confessing all the the truths he has tried to suppress.
I really didn't expect that we'd actually get Seungho to confess all his frustrations and worries in this week's chapter update. I'm literally baffled and at awe. We barely or even never get to see or hear his emotions out and loud in the open. As a reader, I personally didn't know how to deal with him being open. I literally had to pause every after each panel to hold my chest because it's aching or cover my mouth 'coz hearing him say those words is too surreal.
Fucking Deokjae! 😡 I know you're dead but I'm still cursing you for twisting my precious Nakyum's hand! 😭💔 If his wrist won't work like it used to be and deter his painting, Imma dig your grave and kill you again 😭
My precious son, please, go get that hand treated. I'm so worried 😭💔
None of us know what Seungho went through yet for him to turn out the way he is right now and for him to even think of committing murder & suicide. Although whatever happened to him is still not a valid reason to justify what he did to Nakyum, I wasn't ready to hear that coming from him. It's like a scream for help. He's been desperately trying to kill the bugging feeling inside by living in debauchery but still to no avail. Maybe, if there's anything I feel for him, it's pity. I feel like hugging him last night while reading. Dammit, I'm such a sucker for men like Seungho 🤦
The great and mighty Yoon Seungho could actually fall ill, huh. Dude, how can you look so fuckin' hot even when you're sick? You'd expect him to be okay with everything that's happening but we also don't know and understand the mental toll that this turmoil is causing him. The confusion and the frustration he has with having Nakyum around made him recall all the ugly past he've tried to bury by living in debauchery which probably gave him the feeling of superficial freedom and temporary peace.
The thing is, even Seungho is also denying himself of loving and being loved. If there's anything Seungho & Nakyum has in common, it's self-denial.
Nakyum isn't even mad anymore despite of what they did to him, despite of what he've gone through especially that night. He just no longer have the energy to fight back anymore as if he've given up and surrendered all the authority and consent he has for his own body. He's not mad nor cursing Deokjae for twisting his hand. He just sat there feeling the pain.
He's not mad that Seungho dragged him to that room, and yet he knows that Seungho shouldn't have done that. He knows that this is not how love should be like, this is not how he should be treated if it's love that Seungho feels. And yet he kept telling himself that it isn't true, he kept denying himself, his worth. At the same time, Nakyum asking the sleeping and sick Seungho if he has feelings for him has a tinge of hope. When Seungho nodded and instinctively and unconsciously rubbed is cheeks into Nakyum's hand, it seemed and felt like an unexpected answer which flustered Nakyum.
Seungho told himself that he'll only let his body lead, that they don't have to share what's on their mind. It is true, in the middle of his illness and slumber, his body instinctively responded to Nakyum. Nakyum has so much questions and probably Seungho partially confessing to him made things somehow clearer than it did just last night but he isn't the type to just assume things for his own convenience, not after what he experienced with Inhun.
Seungho mentioning the word 'love' is even inconceivable to me. He might not have said it directly but he've implied his jealousy over Inhun. He's jealous as fuck.
He just wants Nakyum to look at him like the way he looks at Inhun. And it hurts him that he doesn't even after Inhun went away for the Civil Service Exam. What's worse is that he doesn't understand why he's feeling that way when he only brought Nakyum to his residence to be his new plaything. He probably didn't even realize it himself how much he has changed ever since he brought Nakyum into his life not until Min pointed it out to his face. So he tried to resort to his old habits, his old lifestyle, thinking that it'd make things go back to how it used to be and probably it'd also make him feel this superficial freedom and temporary peace once again just like it did before. That one week he tried so hard to avoid Nakyum was to 'save' himself but he ended up ruining his health. He've always been the kind of guy who tries to deal with circumstances all by himself, that he grew so overprotective building those high walls so no one could get in and hurt him. And yet, here comes Nakyum who is unconsciously shaking his walls. Who is as clueless as him. They're both like two little toddlers lost in the dark. Don't know how to articulate what they feel, don't know where to hold to steady there steps towards each other and ended up stumblin' on their way.
Chapter 55 is such a big step into Seungho & Nakyum's development with Seungho opening up about his feelings. The way he did it is still so hazy but still made a bit of release and relief. I just didn't like how Nakyum didn't even have the time and luxury to deal with his own pain but to cater immediately to Seungho's as soon as he woke up from that night. *sigh* When will my precious son see the light of the day for him?
#rogeeii#painter of the night season 2#painter of the night nakyum#painter of the night seungho#painter of the night spoilers#painter of the night#painter of the nightpotn#potn ch55#seungho x nakyum#byeonduck#yahwacheop#yahwacheop analysis
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Soosly - Week 4 - Family
This monster took forever but I finally got the @soosly week 4 prompt done. Uh... this one needs a content warning so CW Death Mention (its not a major character though don’t worry)
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“Anyone seen Soos? I gotta discuss a new display with him.” Stan pushed his way into the giftshop, balancing a box of half-finished taxidermy parts on one arm and trying to hold open the door with the other.
Melody looked up from the register with a frown, hands paused on her end of day count. “I thought maybe you'd pass him on the way in. He went to check the mail a little while ago but hasn't come back yet.”
“Huh.” Stan set down his box on the counter and cracked his back with a grimace. “I didn't see him by the mailbox but we might'a passed each other.”
Melody's frown deepened. “Seems unlikely. Try the back porch if you don't see him near the mailbox. He likes to grab a Pitt and sit on the couch sometimes.”
“Ain't that familiar,” laughed Stan. He nodded thanks to Melody before tucking his hands in his pockets and wandering back outside.
Soos certainly wasn't at the mailbox, or anywhere visible from the gift shop steps either. Stan frowned and thumped down the steps and around to the back of the house. He relaxed for a brief moment as Soos's familiar form came into view, sitting not on the couch but on the steps, shoulders shaking... Stan's blood ran cold and he swore as he saw Soos lift a hand to scrub at his face.
It took every ounce of self-control he had not to sprint across the backyard. Instead he opted for a more casual yet still purposeful stride, scuffing his feet when he got within earshot so he didn't startle the poor kid when he eased down onto the steps next to him. Soos barely looked over, which was a bad sign, and stared sightlessly across the scrubby late summer grass towards the woods with eyes red-rimmed from crying, which was an even worse sign.
“Hey, gumdrop,” said Stan gently after a long moment of silence punctuated only by a quiet sniffle. He hadn't used the nickname in a while but it was all he could think of in the moment. He didn't expect Soos to full-body flinch at being addressed and cut off the are you okay? that Stan had been about to follow up with by holding out what looked like a letter.
“What is this?” Stan asked, and took the paper from Soos when he merely shook the paper. It may have been just his hand shaking, the way his shoulders trembled. “You want me to read it?” Soos nodded, and Stan saw his eyes welling with more tears before he looked away again.
“Jesus,” read Stan, and he had to suppress a snort because honestly, when was the last time anyone had called Soos by his legal first name?
“I've started this letter a hundred times and every formal introduction seems callous, given the circumstances. I wish that we were being introduced in more pleasant times, but you deserve to know the truth. You have two half-sisters in New Orleans.
“Until last week, when your wedding invitation arrived, my sister and I were unaware we had a brother. We suspect that any mail from you was intercepted by our father to prevent us from finding out he had other family. Unfortunately, that brings me to the heart of the matter.
“Dad passed away a month ago. I've included a copy of the obituary if you wanted the information for family records. I wish... I wish we had known sooner, so that we could have told you. [several lines here were covered in a thick line of whiteout and written over again] I did some digging in Dad's office and, if it is any consolation, he kept every letter you sent. They were in the locked drawer of his filing cabinet, but he did keep them.
“I understand if you want nothing to do with us, but if you ever want to reach out I included my email and phone number. Even though I don't know you yet, it is nice knowing that somewhere in Oregon I have an older brother.
“I am truly sorry you had to find out like this.
“Sincerely, Sandy Oaks”
Wordlessly, Stan picked up the crumpled envelope from where it had fluttered to the ground and pulled out a newspaper clipping. The image of a bland white-bread man stared back at him and Stan folded the picture over so he wouldn't have to stare him in the face as he read.
“Harold Greene, aged 58, passed away peacefully surrounded by family last week. He is survived by his two daughters and 2 grandchildren. All who knew Mr. Oak remember him fondly as a hard-working family man...” Stan stopped reading, rage flickering red at the edges of his vision. Family Man? The man who walked out and never visited his son? The man who Sophie Ramirez would threaten to hunt down and maim if you got more than one drink in her? That man, a family man?
Stan sat seething, unable to put into words exactly what he was feeling. He mechanically folded the letter and newspaper clipping, sliding them back into the envelope with a stony expression. Another miserable sniff came from the stoop beside him and he carefully wrapped an arm around Soos's shoulders.
“I'm sorry, Soos.” Stan said quietly and that was really all it took. With a choked off exhale Soos turned and wrapped his arms around Stan, face buried against his shoulder, great wracking sobs shuddering through his body. Stan froze for all of a second before he pulled Soos tight into a hug, one large hand rubbing soothing circles across his back.
“I... I never even met him,” Soos managed to say between wet gasps for air. “I didn't have the chance, and... and now he's gone. I knew his address, I... I could've gone down to see him but it... I waited too long. I waited too long and now I'll never get to... to...” he trailed off in a hicupping swallow, shoulders tense and shaking.
There were a lot of things Stan wanted to say in the moment. He'd harbored a deep, intense anger at the man for many years. He resented how one man could have such a negative impact on such a cheerful, well-meaning soul. He'd never thought he could dislike a man just as much as his own father, but apparently some deadbeat asshole named Harold fucking Greene was neck in neck for that contest. Stan couldn't say any of that in that moment, with Soos' fingers white-knuckling fistfuls of his t-shirt and tears soaking through to his shoulder. Instead he sighed and tightened his arms around the young man, letting long moments pass as he gathered his thoughts.
“I'd like to say the grief will pass, son,” said Stan after a while, not quite aware of his own words as he thought back to his own lonely mourning when Filbrick passed away. The man had been horrible, sure, but he'd still been his father. “It might be a while before you really come to terms with it and...” he stopped, concerned as Soos suddenly froze against his shoulder and then let out a single wheezing laugh. “Uh, you ok there?”
“I...” Soos sat back, cheeks blotchy with tears but a shaky smile breaking across his face. “Here I am crying about a guy I never even met when...” he swallowed and looked down at his own hands as he clenched and unclenched them in his lap. His next words were a whisper Stan had to strain to hear. “When you were really all the father figure I really needed.”
Aw hell.
Stan felt his own eyes start burning and as he blinked a single hot trail wound its way from his eye and settled in the crease of his nose. “For fuck's sake, Soos. Warn a man before you attempt to murder him.” The words came out strangled, and Soos's gaze snapped over to meet his. They held eye contact for mere seconds before they both broke out in somewhat hysterical laughter, arms slung over each others shoulders more for support than anything else.
“I was saving it for a wedding present but I might as well tell you now,” said Stan once they both calmed down enough for words to make sense. “First of all, kid... you really have to read what people hand you to sign. Even if it's me. Actually, especially if it's me.”
“What?”
“Remember those papers I had you sign a few weeks ago that I said were some legal bullshit for the shack since Ford and I had to sort out the 'not being dead' thing? They had nothing to do with the shack.” It was Stan's turn to look sightlessly into the treeline as his heartbeat seemed loud enough to shake the stoop. “They were adoption papers. Turns out all you need to adopt an adult in Oregon is the adult's consent.”
There was complete silence from Stan's left side and he swallowed hard. “I haven't filed them yet, it was a pretty major invasion of privacy and...” His apology cut off abruptly as Soos nearly bowled him over in another hug.
“DO YOU MEAN IT, MR PINES??” The yelling was right in his ear but Stan couldn't bring himself to care.
“Of course I mean it, gumdrop. Why the fuck wouldn't I mean it? I had to go talk to a lawyer and everything!” He made a token struggle against Soos' very tight grip before chuckling and hugging him back. “And if you call me, your father, 'Mr. Pines' one more time, I'm going to have some words for you, young man.” The threat was empty and they both laughed a little damply.
“Thanks, Dad.” Soos leaned heavily on Stan's shoulder and Stan pressed a whiskery kiss to the top of his head.
“You're welcome, Son.”
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I Am Having a Snuggle -10
18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]
Summary: Princess doesn’t sleep much after her long distance meltdown. Soft Murder Panther to the rescue! Well, except for that one hard part.
WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???
FEELS. SMUT (aka The Good Stuff), the L word, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego (srsly disgusting and if you bring it up later he will stab you), coddled Princess, mentions of... The Belt*tm, is a relationship happening?? apparently. Leftover high school Spanish.
A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!
I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.
Special thanks to @chelsfic for the shared Diego headcanons re: coffee preferences. ILY Mommy
TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons
You snap awake with a gasp. What woke you up? You lay there for a second, holding your breath and listening. With your vision being so horrible your hearing is a much more reliable sense. Its pitch black tonight, no moonlight breaking through the cloud cover. You don't keep any ambient lighting on while you sleep so you couldn't see anything if you tried.
There. A soft bang outside somewhere. Then another. It almost sounds like car doors. I wonder if the baby is sick again and First Floor Mark is taking her to the hospital?
Your worry is cut short when you jolt to full awareness because your apartment door is opening. You flip over to your back and dive for the nightstand. Glasses first, Smithfield 911 second. You sit up to brace yourself against the wall and hold the gun in your lap, fingering the safety.
The door closes and you hear it being locked.
With a heaved sigh you make sure the safety is on and wait. Heavy footsteps come ever closer to your bedroom and you can see the light of his phone before he appears in your doorway.
Diego freezes when he sees you sitting up in bed. Then he smiles. Wide and sparkling in the low light, you can't see them but you know the dimples are there.
"Princess, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." He greets you warmly, voice like liquid velvet, wrapping you in heated comfort. You can tell he is wearing most of a suit, the jacket is gone, but you have no idea what color. His collar is unbuttoned. That's not distracting at all.
You arch one brow and struggle not to smirk. "Damnit Diego, you almost got shot." You display the gun, barrel pointed to the ceiling.
He rumbles lowly at you, purring in pleasure, as he spreads his arms open. "Princess, that is hot. Come here, now!"
With a bark of laughter you drop the gun to the bed and launch yourself at him. He staggers back a step but catches you securely. You wrap all your limbs around him and squeeze. His hands cup your ass and he returns the gesture with enthusiasm. Diego turns his face into yours, you know exactly what he wants and you give it to him with no hesitation.
His lips are soft but his beard is all scratchy tickles. You delight in the contrasting textures, moaning softly as you try to merge your bodies into one entity. His left hand climbs up your back to squeeze your neck right where you always carry all of your tension.
"Ohhhhhh..." Your mouth drops open and you go boneless in his grip. He gives no quarter and shuts you up with his tongue while his groan vibrates against your chest. Your nipples respond with alacrity.
He tastes like coffee and chocolate, maybe a hint of cinnamon. What the hell did he eat? You can't get enough of it.
You never favored long bouts of kissing, makeout sessions were too intimate and your previous partners were more than happy to skip right to the main event. But its different with Diego. He doesn't drool on you and his mouth is consistently at least ten degrees hotter than your own. He always tastes like coffee and some outlandishly ridiculous flavored creamer. The instant a new variety of non-dairy creamer is released he has to try it. His child-like excitement over it is incredibly endearing to witness.
You sink both hands into his hair to pull him back. His eyes are huge and you watch with rapt attention as he licks his bottom lip. "Princess. Bed. Now." He croaks, nodding his own head like he's trying to peer pressure you into consenting.
Completely unnecessary, baby.
"Yeah." Your soft whimper is stupidly needy. Only Diego does this to you. Has this effect on you. You feel like the cover of a really bad romance novel. A strumpet. The ludicrous term makes you giggle. You gaspingly add another request, "But naked!"
Diego jumps into motion and takes two huge steps to the bed. You're already fighting with the buttons on his shirt and you don't quit as he lays you down on your back. There is only absolute faith that he won't drop you.
The moment you're down his hands go to your cami, fingers sliding under the elastic band of the shelf bra and gathering the whole thing up to go over your head. You have to let go of him for a split second so he can fully remove it and that makes you whine unhappily. Diego tosses the shirt over his shoulder carelessly and smushes both of your breasts together to attempt a self-smothering. You laugh breathlessly until he latches onto a nipple.
"Ohhhhhh. Fuck. Yeah. Yeahhh." Nice porn moan, only practicing self-affirmation here. You still can't believe this works. The strong suckling sensations go straight to your cunt. No wonder other women always said they liked it. This is unique to Diego, too. He is the only person that your body has ever responded to in this. Sure, you liked your breasts fondled, squeezed, compressed utterly flat. But your nipples? No, they had some kind of epiphany the first time Diego sealed his lips around one and sucked.
You pet over his hair and he rumbles into your skin, the vibrations make your back arch. Your hands push on his shirt collar. You wanted bare skin earlier, now you need it. His hands disappear, then so does his shirt, but the attention to your nipple never falters. His sneaky fingers snake down over your stomach, he pauses to squeeze the squishy middle, then continue to your pants.
"No!" You yelp and Diego freezes. He releases your harried nipple to look up at you in puzzlement.
With his brows drawn together he questions you, "Princess. What is--"
You don't let him finish. "Take your damn pants off right fucking now! I missed you, not your clothes!" You even sound frantic to yourself. Desperate. And you don't care.
He growls at you but straightens up and reaches for his belt.
Oh god. His belt. Your gulp is audible. Its the same belt from that time he detained you on the jet. Spanked you delirious with it and then fucked you over a seat. All as punishment, of course, for sending a booty pic to Julio. You spent the next day on your belly while Diego torturously worshiped your ass. It was amazing.
His slow, evil smile confirms that he witnessed the entire memory play out across your face. That predatory stare never leaves yours as he opens the buckle and whips the soft leather free of the pant loops. He holds the belt up in the air, then drops it to the floor off the side of the bed. "Next time, Princess. We have the whole flight together. Maybe this time I'll make you keep count of how many times you come."
The threatening promise (promising threat??) makes you keen, high and piercing. Diego laughs at your obvious need, but he resumes stripping at a faster pace. You pop upright to get your pants off and complete the maneuver just in time to witness his cock achieve freedom. Before either one of you realizes it your hand is wrapped around him.
Diego collapses forward into you but catches himself on his hands before you get crushed. Not a bad way to go. You think. Crushed by hottest criminal sugar daddy with a heart of gold just for her. A beautiful obituary.
You tighten your fingers around him; each one individually and in consecutive order, creating a rippling effect. He drops his forehead to your shoulder with a purr. You turn into his face to nuzzle up along his jawline. "Baby," you breathe, punctuating it with a long lick up the shell of his ear. "I missed you. So. Much."
His answering growl triggers violent shivers. He uses those wide shoulders to force you down onto your back. Planting one knee on the bed between your legs, he insinuates both hands under your ribcage and shoulders to slide you up the bed. His hands are so massive that they span the entire width of your back. That fact should scare you, instead you feel secure, even treasured, with how gently he handles you. He can be delightfully rough, you've been on the receiving end of that before. But right now is Soft Murder Panther hours.
He has to move up with you because you are not relinquishing that magnificent erection.
"Princess," he rumbles directly into your ear, "Let go now or you will be disappointed later. I spent the entire flight thinking about every soft inch of you. Need to be inside you. Nowww." His confession ends in a breathy sigh as he begins pressing kisses over your entire face.
You reach up to take off your glasses but he's already there, holding them by the frame around the lenses and not the easily bent arms. You blink back tears as you watch him stretch over to set them on your nightstand exactly how you do it.
When he comes back you cradle his face with your hands, holding him still so you can just take this all in. His eyes search your face, looking for any hint of discomfort as he rests more of weight onto you. You nod gently and he gingerly, deliberately gives you the rest of his bulk. His presence drowns out everything else. All you know is Diego. Everything you ever wanted.
With minimal effort you guide him down until his forehead meets yours. He whimpers softly for you and your hands pet down his stubbled cheeks. This kiss is no less passionate than the wild ones earlier but somehow sweeter. You open your eyes to find him watching you, gaze unguarded and face completely open.
You stroke over his cheeks again, one thumb gliding along his plush lower lip. Diego nips your thumb, then engulfs it in his mouth to suck. Your moan is pure need, "Please, baby."
His hips roll and you feel the underside of his shaft rub the entire length of your labia. You arch and move with him this next time. The third pass lands the perfect angle and his thick heat spreads you wide. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out as you press your head back into the bed. He keeps pushing until you're completely filled. And then he pushes a little more. Just enough.
You gasp in a shuddering breath and your back arches off the bed while you clench down around him in waves. He groans long and low as he watches you come on him. "Ohh, Bonita. Good girl."
Your quiet huff of laughter dissolves into a moan as he sets a steady pace. Long, solid strokes so you can feel every glorious inch, an inexorable push on your cervix every time he bottoms out. Your fingers claw into his shoulders, clinging like your life depends on it.
He burrows into your neck to sear your skin with his beard, soothing the burn with soft licks and velvet kisses. "Princess. Diego's perfect little princess. Its good? Tell me." He pants, open-mouthed and greedy.
You nod into his hair. "Perfect. Is perfect. You're perfect." He shakes his head 'no', rubbing his face on you. His right hand reaches down, gripping your thigh with purpose. He pulls your leg up, wrapping it around his waist, the other follows of its own accord. His knees spread, widening his stance and shifting the angle of his thrusts. Incredibly, he manages to get deeper inside you. Without a conscious command your mouth opens to spill out pure desperation and mangled ecstasy. "Yes, baby. All of you. Give me everything…"
He drops frenzied kisses all over your face while you two share the same air. His tone turns emotional, raspier, "Want to. Please. Please, please, please let me. Take care of my princess, be better. Just for you. Please, mi amor."
That's new. New and heart-wrenching. You can't decide if its being used as a pet name or a declaration. It doesn't matter, the agonizing emotion behind it still makes you seize up with pleasure. He moans in approval, moving continuously throughout your entire climax. Just as your back begins to loosen he accelerates his thrusts, driving you right back up into another orgasm. You realize the ringing in your ears is actually a noise being made by your mouth.
"Yes, Princess. Come for me. Let Diego please this pretty little pussy." I am never going to regret admitting that I love his dirty talk. You congratulate yourself for that moment of successful communication. Diego hasn't shut up since then and you are so very grateful.
He sweeps hands down your sides to grasp your hips. Even at your current size 16 his fingers still curve around both your front and back. He makes you feel small and delicate, vulnerable and fiercely protected. Cherished. Loved.
He half kneels under you, pulling your pelvis into his lap. Every intense, short thrust hits your g-spot and makes your vision swim. Your trembling never stops, its just constant rolling pleasure. You reach up for him, needing to be joined together endlessly. The muscles in his arms ripple and contract as he scoops you up.
He has you sitting upright in his lap, legs around his waist and your arms tight behind his neck. Your entire weight rests on his left arm under your butt, holding you steady while he thrusts up into you with abandon. The right arm climbs up your back for him to thread fingers into your curls and press your forehead to his. Your mouth hangs open while you sob in bliss.
"Si, Princess. Dame uno mas, come for your Diego. Be mine." You have no defense for his fierce begging whispered directly into your face.
"Diego. Diego, baby, yes I-I-" Your voice cuts out as your orgasm sends you into convulsions. He presses your hips down fast to his so he can pump his own climax deep with a gravelly moan.
He collapses forward, both of you dropping to the bed like a stone, then proceeds to just lay on you and pant. After an undefinable amount of time, Diego rubs his cheek against yours. He is purring again, the deep vibrations rumble through your chest. You pet over his hair, scratching his scalp with your short, practical nails. His back arches and his hips roll; he's still buried deep inside you. "Princessss. Bicki. Mi amor." His sigh is content.
You kiss his temple. Murmuring breathlessly to him, "Love you too, Murder Panther." You nuzzle into his beard, relishing all the textures. His breath catches, then his chest heaves. He pulls back from you, extricating his limbs so he can flop onto his side next to you. Your head turns for a kiss and he is already there, sealing his mouth to your own languidly.
With one last fleeting peck to your chin, he rolls you onto your side and pulls you back against him in one fluid movement. Your head is pillowed on his left bicep and you wrap his right arm up tight to your chest. The entire length of his body is spooned up behind you. Instead of being suffocating you find it soothing. His soft little snuffling snores lull you back to sleep.
I am having a snuggle.
#damnit diego#murder panther#soft murder panther#rough me up then dick me down#24 fucking 7 hours in this house#zash writes#feeeels#seriously this is disgustingly soft
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