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uncouth-the-fifth · 3 years

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imagine damian and the reader at the wayne gala. he gets jealous when he sees her flirting with someone else. he ends up pulling her into a bathroom and fucking her in front of a mirror while saying that other person can’t treat her like he does

and that’s how the reader finds out damian has feelings for her. all this time he acted like he hates her because he’s in denial

Title: More Than They Ever Said

Paring: Robin!Damian (18+) / Canary!Reader

Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, bathroom sex, slight underage drinking (reader is like 20 lol), mentions of golf.

Word Count: 7150

Notes: sooooo.... this def evolved beyond a drabble lol. the way gala sex kills me every time 😭 I was a little mushy w Dami here bc I miss his sweet side. This also sounded a lot like goldenspecs12's request from Wattpad, so I hope you don't mind that I meshed the two together 😚 I leaned toward Damian liking the reader more than being in denial, but that’s the only thing I sacrificed between the two requests. This one is my fluffiest and most romantic yet 💖

"can I request Damian w a Queen reader, like she's Oliver and Dinah's child? say the reader is a hero but not very active, like she comes in when her parents can't. so when she and Damian meet, they hit it off. The main request is that they sneak away at a gala held by Oliver and the reader and Damian have sex."

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

The party was more fun than you thought it would be.

Benefits were usually chalk-full of old, wealthy people that thought they made good conversationalists. The board members of Queen Industries were tired of Oliver trying to escape their claws, so you’d been recruited in his place. While your dad got to play minigolf in the penthouse’s massive party floor, you were confined to the lounge, playing up what an intelligent, capable business partner you’d be when you were CEO. Fellow businessmen gruffed about their plans with you while their wives cooed and drank, pinching your cheeks.

You thought that you’d hate it, but the attention and the praise was nice. It made you feel like you were helping your dad and your family’s company, which was constantly criticized and judged for it’s choice in CEO. Everyone called your father a lazy silver-spooned idiot, but he was one of the only men in Star City who actually cared. By the time you had Q.I’s biggest donors laughing out of their seats, Dinah’s hands slipped over your shoulders and you were kissed on the side of the face. Thank you, she mouthed, and your position as family support-beam was covered.

Since most of the benefit-goers were at least forty years your senior, you gravitated to your dad. From the penthouse’s upper balcony, you could see his friends circling around the tiny green mats they were using as a makeshift golf course. Usually, Ollie made sure his public persona’s aim was as garbage as his taste in drink was. But tonight, he played as Green Arrow, who never missed. Not once. Especially when it came to Bruce Wayne, who’s golf game was abysmal at best.

But like Oliver, Bruce was a new man tonight. It looked like he was ready to break out the batarangs any minute now. The two men were barely civil about the viciousness of their competition, and if the view of the game from the balcony was interesting, then from below it must’ve been the greatest show of fragile masculinity ever displayed. You had to make fun of them.

The only opening in the circle of men, who all had their hands on their chins as Bruce lined up his next shot, was by the floor-to-ceiling windows to one side of the game. Just one man stood there, hands in his pockets. You slid next to him, unbothered, and squinted at the game.

Everyone in the crowd was dead silent. Bruce was lining up his golf ball so it would roll into a mug a couple of feet away, so you helpfully provided, “A little to the left, Mr. Wayne.”

Your words overlapped with someone else’s. Where you had said Mr. Wayne, they had said Father. Then the man next to you was his son, but...

You would have never guessed it would be him.

Reasonably, you knew that Robin was Damian Wayne. Oliver could be a little loose-lipped at times, and by his judgment you’d been a teenager just a year ago - what could a twenty year old do to Batman’s secret identity? Not much.

Until you saw Robin without his mask.

Damian was achingly beautiful. He was your age, but he stood and talked like he was much older. There was an angle to his shoulder that made him seem astute and sexy. His eyes fixed on you when you spoke at the same time, and they were a surprising mossy color that jumped out against his tan skin, like plants flourishing out of rich soil. There was just enough blue in them to make him seem haunting. Any moment, you felt like he was going to corner you and whisper your future throatily in your ear.

Looking into them, those piercing eyes, for longer than a second made you want to blurt, “You’re much prettier without your mask.”

But that would expose his secret to every golf-loving idiot in earshot, so Oliver had been wrong. A twenty-year-old like you could do fatal damage to Batman’s secret identity, but for Damian, the short-tempered, snappish leader of the Teen Titans, you would risk anything.

Damian stared, and you stared. He squinted, wet his lips, then turned back to the game. This was your only acknowledgment that he recognised you. His voice was deeper, smoother, than you remember it. “Queen.”

You shifted in your shoes, almost laughing in shock. “...Wayne.”

The game grew boring and Damian didn’t say anything else, so you said nothing too, sneaking glances at him. The last time you’d spoken to Robin had been in costume, when he’d thanked you for assisting with a mission. He’d really been thanking you for standing up for him. You didn’t team up often with the Titans, but when you did, you found that they were unusually snappy and mean with their leader. Not necessary on purpose, but you could tell that Damian couldn’t take as many bites as he pretended to. Standing up for him had been a simple thing. The good thing to do. Now, with that look in his eyes, it almost felt like he still thought about it.

He must have, because the kiss you shared at the end of that mission had glowed with heat. To be fair, you both may have believed you were going to die (before the team pulled through and saved you), so it could’ve been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But this was Robin - if he didn't want to kiss you, he wouldn't. And yet he did.

You’d kissed. And the energy of that kiss lingered between you now, drawing you closer together, putting tiny smiles on your faces. He was cute. Cuter without that mask on.

You stood in the stupid golf silence, feeling foolish. Flirting with boys was much easier in fishnets. It didn’t help how fine Damian’s profile was. He had soft, feathery lashes that occasionally touched down on beauty marked cheeks. His lips were even fuller from the side, forever drawn in a curious line. And those eyes, when they caught yours and danced away again, were much too nice to hide behind a mask. You couldn’t get that thought out of your mind.

When Bruce finally made his move, you leaned in to whisper something to each other at the same time, accidentally knocking shoulders.

“I - apologies,” Damian flushed.

“Oh, um, my bad,” you rubbed awkwardly at the spot where you’d collided. “...You were going to say something?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to your fathers, then to you, unimpressed. He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “They’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? Father snaps at me everytime I use my skills in public, and yet he’s putting with perfect aim like it’s not the very same.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and scooted closer, ducking your voice into the bubble between your bodies. “My dad’s the same way. Don’t aim in the house, he says, unless it’s him trying to beat Bruce Wayne.”

Your company’s shoulders turned sideways, leaning into you. His breath ghosted the hair on your neck, standing it on end, and again that silky voice sent tingles down your spine. Damian must change his voice as Robin, because he never spoke like this then. So huskily, so low.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You watched him. He watched you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, and Damian subtly adjusted his slacks from his pockets.

At the same time, you asked each other, “Would you like to get a drink?”

Your hiding place was a loveseat in the lounge, between more businessmen and their ditzy heirs. The bartender was your family’s, so he smiled and turned down your request for a drink, courtesy of your dad’s strictness. Luckily, he didn’t recognise Damian. You watched him order it at the bar, his rings catching the light, the muscle in his arms peeking out from under his blazer.

“I think he suspected I wasn’t of age, so he only gave me one.” He took the place next to you, propping his ankle on one knee and lounging out like a panther. Damian offered the cocktail to you, once he’d decided the coast was clear. It was a cute gesture. “Is that acceptable?”

You fished a five dollar bill out of your purse. “Only if you take this for paying. Don’t think I didn’t see you try and sneakily get that past me.”

Damian scrutinized the bill, then you, somehow managing to be a smartass without opening his mouth. Instead of thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss the slight crease between his brows, you traded hands with him so the bill was in his and the drink was in yours. The gentle brush of you palm to his knuckles put way too many butterflies in your belly.

You talked about everything and anything. About home, family life, your cities. The best of it was when Damian dipped his head so only you could hear him, keeping your secrets close and your bodies closer. This was the only way he talked about Robin, so you circled back to any vigilante subject you could think of just so Damian would keep purring into your ear like that. Better yet, he was smart. Talking to him was engaging, and within minutes he'd entranced you, so you sat there talking for more than an hour. Around you, the party rotated and went on.

At one point, you took a drink of the cocktail and passed it to him to share. Damian placed his lips right where yours had been, licking up the cocktail salt and gulping it down slow, adam’s apple bobbing, like it wasn’t the taste of the vodka he was savoring.

Eventually, your bliss was broken. Damian was called over to his father, again, to discuss business, and he left you with your remaining cocktail and the memory of that mission. You couldn’t find a reason to move from your seat. When you’d realized that you and Robin had been led into a trap on that mission, it’d been too late, and your efforts to escape became more and more futile. All you could do was pray the Titans got to you on time. Robin had offered you his glove as the walls closed in, and you’d watched up-close as he assumed you were both about to die. The fear in his eyes was strange - like it was familiar to him. At the same time, you cupped his neck and he held your upper back, and you’d kissed fervently, sweetly.

Damian had put his forehead to yours, and promised even as the trap shrunk around you, “You were excellent. More excellent than they ever said.”

In the big picture, it was a strange last remark to make, and afterwards you’d been too happy about surviving to think about it. But in the moment, you understood. You were understood. Somehow, Damian had reached into your soul and gouged out the words you’d been dying to hear, from your parents, from anyone, and uttered them to you with burning conviction. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he meant it. Damian found you excellent. Someone, somewhere, didn’t think you were a failure.

Odd, how you’d never seen the face of the man you thought you’d die with (until now), and yet he saw you so easily. You watched him follow his father into the party crowd now, wondering. The Titans had saved you before you could ask what he’d meant. More importantly, before you could tell him the same. He was excellent.

Once you’d finished off your drink, you left it at the bar and grinned evilly at your family bartender. He rolled his eyes and slyly delivered you another, which, on your superhero schedule, would not have you drunk yet. Another heir to some big company was seated at your right, ignored by his father enough to look for some small talk with you.

He was one of the cute, nerdy types that were usually in awe of you. Girls, available girls, were typically rare at these kinds of parties, so he took you not having a boyfriend as permission to flirt with you. Unfortunately for him, your seat gave a perfect angle on Damian across the party floor. He was impressing the wives of Wayne business partners, who flocked around him like they’d flocked around you, pinching his cheeks. You could almost read their lips enough to guess what they were saying. What a handsome young man you are! Oh, Bruce must be so proud.

“...and then my father flipped over his kayak! Would you believe it? Two thousand dollars, thrown right in our family’s lake.” Your company snickered, howling at his own story.

You circled the rim of your glass, watching how Damian tried to teach some of the women phrases in Arabic. Unknown to them, they were some pretty funny swear words. It threw you into a bout of giggles, and the man next to you kept talking, spurred on by the noise.

The flock of hens around Damian receded, and his shoulders slouched in relief. That was cute, too. It wasn’t often that people understood how draining these parties were, but for people like you and Damian, it was a racetrack of endless, boring circles. Everything was a formality. Few things were genuine. Damian turned, and you caught his eye to let him know you were going to meet him. He nodded toward a side hall, his mouth a curious line again. If you looked at it long enough, it felt like a smile when he mouthed, escape?

Your company was still talking. He stopped when you grabbed his tie and planted a pity-kiss on his cheek, waving to him as you bounced away. “Sorry, kid. Not my type.”

You planned to bring Damian to the secluded balcony on the second floor to unwind, but instead, you were taken by the wrist and maneuvered into an empty powder room. It was colder than the steaming party air and smelled like champagne, with couches to sit on and mirrors to powder at. For a bathroom, the lights were warm and low. The noise of the party went quiet the instant the door was shut, like you and Damian had entered your own little world. No more circles. No more back and forth.

“Here,” Damian said, noting the mirrors. He tilted his head as he asked, like he was nervous, “Is this acceptable?”

“It is the ladies powder room, but I’ll give you a pass, since you’re cute.” You joked. Damian didn’t make a move to relax on one of the couches yet, hanging in front of you like there was more he wanted to say. There was more you wanted to say, too, but no good words came to mind.

But the silence wasn’t awkward. Again, Damian stared, and you stared. The glass he brought with him was set down. He put one fist on the counter beside the door, and like honey had been poured on your nerves, you realized how easy it would be for him to push you up against it. Kiss you senseless. Heat drooled off of him this close, and you wondered if he’d still lean in to whisper to you even if you were alone.

The lack of words drew to a point where something had to be said, anything, but his eyes felt so good on your skin and it was interesting to see him nervous. Something strange told you that Damian liked the silence, too.

You wet your lips with your tongue. Damian cleared his throat, and took a sip from his glass. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Between me and that guy?” You smiled gently, like you were reassuring him, and laughed to yourself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen it, Damian. Poor kid really thought I was flirting with him. He’d totally convinced himself, it was hilarious.”

His profile was tense in the mirror, which you stole glances at to watch how the amber light played on his handsome skin. When Damian swallowed his drink, his throat rolled in the sexiest way, and immediately your mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, tonguing his neck.

“Why’d you ask?” Your eyes sparkled. Damian drew a step closer, and you used the opportunity to swipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You jealous?”

It was the touch or the suggestion that made Damian pause. He didn’t stutter, but lagged over what to say, eyes vast and wanting as they raked over your face. “I don’t get jealous,” he clarified, “but… I do intend to be the only man to kiss you tonight.”

Damian’s hand took your chin. Your belly exploded with instant arousal, hitting you like a bullet of liquid lust. “You’re the only man who’s kissed me like that,” you whispered, taking his tie in hand. “I hope that’s always true.”

His voice had gone throaty. “May I kiss you again?”

Again, he reminded you.The two of you had kissed before, and it had been spectacular, terrifying, and excellent.

“Please,” you said, and Damian rushed to your aid.

Not a moment more was wasted. Curling his tie into your fist, you drew him in, slow and deep and wonderfully. Damian’s cologne hit you before his lips did, and both made your core throb for friction. Two broad hands slammed your hips into the door. His fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your dress, pressing you back and squeezing you in until you could feel his belt buckle against your belly. Damian was a sweet, magnetic kisser, chasing your lips like he was on a crusade to save them. Each time they met, he swam deeper. The point of his nose bumped against your cheek. You hummed your laugh against his lips, and Damian groaned as he pulled away, readjusting, twisting, testing the limits of the kiss. And you followed him at every step or more, revelling in his taste.

You didn’t want him to think you wanted the kiss to end, so you drew the hands braced under his blazer around his neck. Soon, that didn’t feel close enough, so you cupped each side of his face and pecked Damian until you were breathless. He brought you in until your arms were flat to his chest, the kiss almost vertical in its intensity.

He groaned when you parted, gasping and blinking just inches from your face. Your mouths were still connected by a thick string of drool, which hung until it split and clung to Damian’s chin and fell, marking a wet strip down into his collar. You panted, watching it go.

Damian left your waist to hold your wrists, keeping your hands around his face. He settled warmly into your touch, basking in it, and the pure enjoyment on his face made you smile. You wondered if anyone else had cared for him like this. If Damian had ever felt someone hold his face and treasure it. The thought gave you a strange urge, so you followed it.

You brought Damian’s brow level with your mouth and sweetly kissed his forehead. Then his nose bridge, then his temples. His face was so quickly warm that you giggled. In the most unsubtle way possible, Damian drew back his hips so you couldn’t feel the heat there, and closed his eyes, begging you to continue.

“I want you,” you whispered against his jaw.

Damian shivered. “You have me.”

You shifted one hand to his shoulder, giving yourself more room to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The line of drool was still there, so you cupped his skin and tilted his jaw up, and in one stroke, licked all the way to his earlobe. Damian’s moan poured from his mouth like a growing flood. You even felt his thighs press together between you, and pleasure tingled in your throat when he choked at the glide of your tongue.

He released your wrists, reached beside you, and locked the door with an audible click.

Then, Damian devoured you. Both hands hooked around your back, arching your chest into his, and finally, bringing his bulge between your hips. You clung to him for dear life, helpless as his teeth pressed into your neck like a vampire. Damian fed like one, too, suckling the skin there like he was starved. Your panties were so wet that you were desperate to get out of them, grinding your core against his.

Damian retreated, gasping. He licked the spit off of his lips and glared into your eyes. Bluntly, he said, “I want to eat you out.”

Once more, you kissed him, delirious with excitement. Your lungs burned for air, but your core burned harder for him. “Take off that suit and you can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes gleamed. “I plan to.”

Quickly, you shoved your hands into his sleeves and pushed them off his shoulders, giving you a crisp glimpse at his carved shoulders. Damian's fingers blurred from button to button, but he saved the last for you on purpose. You worked in tandem and with little thought. If he could, Damian would steal a kiss, and you would bite his lip and chase him into more. When that last button was popped, his white button-down parted for a gorgeous plane of hard-earned muscle. His abs, ribs and pecs were pockmarked with scars, shrapnel marks and in some places, bullet holes. You stopped.

At your staring, Damian pressed his lips together.

“It's.. not appealing, I know,” he monotoned.

“No,” you disagreed, palming his stomach, “it’s impressive. All these do is show how strong you are, how long you've survived. You're so… built...” you didn't hide your thorough examination of him, “...I mean, we have to be to do what we do, but still… It suits you. It's sexy.”

You worried you'd ruined the moment with your babbling, but he glimmered under your praise. Damian brightened in the way only Damian could, smirking devilishly and towering over you like a supervillain.

“Sexy?” He pressed his naked chest into yours, whispering hotly in your ear. You could feel his silk tie pinned between you. “Does that mean I'm your type?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“Temptress,” Damian replied, just as easily.

To claim your title, you found Damian's belt and pulled on it until the clasp gave. It made a satisfying whipping noise as you ripped it off of him, shouldered into his space to grab his waist in one hand, and cupped his throbbing boxers in the other. Damian's sigh came hoarsely and wanton from his mouth.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, grinning with delight.

Instead of wasting time on a response, Damian fell to his knees, a faithful worshipper. He did the gentlemanly thing and helped you kick off your heels. The tile was icy on your bare feet, but it only mattered until Damian ran his hands up your thighs. Sliding his fingers underneath the fabric, he bunched it up your middle, peering up at you smugly through his lashes. You could feel the debauchery of it - Damian, on his knees, tie hanging still from his neck, pinning you to the door. You, your legs spread and wanting.

Damian sucked in a breath. Your panties had an obvious wet patch, put there by him. He thumbed it carefully, watching your brows tense and your eyes close, basking in your initial whine. All of it enchanted him. You were soaking because of him, trembling because of him, marked because of him. There was not one place he would rather be than here.

Damian collected your sweetness and sampled the taste on his thumb, trapping it behind his smug smile. He ran his tongue over his teeth, spreading the flavor around his mouth, savoring it. As Damian rolled your underwear down your legs, his cock twitched in his open fly. You were beautiful. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” Damian ordered, smirking, “I want to taste you.”

Warmth exploded in your cheeks. “G-go ahead.”

Gradually, you situated your leg across his back, pussy tensing at the touch of the cooler air. This didn't matter for long. Damian's warm lips nuzzled and kissed the thigh closest to him, painting messy reflective circles on your skin with his kiss. Even that made your legs tense wildly, so Damian shoving his wet, blazing tongue into the folds of you cunt pumped moan after moan from your mouth.

“Damian!” You yelped.

Oh, he definitely liked that. Damian pinched your ass and used his mouth so passionately that his head shook back and forth. He darted right for your clit, sucking it until his cheeks were hollow and humming smugly between your legs with every squeal. Parting your folds with one hand, Damian kissed your core just as dirtily as he'd kissed you. The dangerous glint in his eye never faded. He plunges his tongue inside you in earnest, slurping obscenely, purposefully. There's no need for Damian to shoot you cute looks or put on a show - his skill was the performance, because that skill was unbeatable. Your pussy was already tender, fucked nerveless by Damian's filthy mouth. He vibrated your cunt with a deep groan before he drew away, face dripping with slick like a pornstar’s.

“You're suitably wet,” he said, matter-of-factly, “would you like me to use my fingers?”

All the strength you had went into a weak, pleading nod.

Damian was polite enough to grant you your bearings first, letting you grip his hair and squeeze the counter before he resumes. You give him the sweetest, most precious whine when Damian licks you open again. He wisely starts with one finger and builds from there, earning you with pumps and curls of his digits. Damian's talents quickly become a currency, one that you exchange with mewls and pants of praise.

“So good,” you whine, “oh, fuck - fuck, just like that…”

Damian smirks between your legs, jamming his fingers faster into your sore pussy. Lust sizzles low in your gut, ramped up again and again by his thrusting. It’s so powerful that you roll and buck off the door, your hips in his face. You want him - want him more than you want anything.

“You're ravaging,” Damian hums between licks. His eyes are closed, but that only gives the way he touches you more meaning.

It’s so surprising from his mouth that your hold on his hair slips, setting Damian free. He pants, catching his breath, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The effort has slouched him from his knees to his calves, further spreading his legs and opening up the fly of his pants. A solid bulge has formed and spilled out there, straining to escape his briefs like an arm in a sling that’s too small, way too small, for someone of his size. Three of Damian’s fingers are still twisting inside of you.

Slowly, Damian tipped back his head and hung down, arranging himself beneath your cunt. “So beautiful.” His free hand splayed where your leg met your hip. “May I touch you?”

“I-I get it’s the gentleman thing to do, to - to keep asking, but fuck, Damian,” you cursed, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Damian’s intense jade eyes were so dilated that you could barely make out the color. He dragged his cheek against your thigh, fingers still circling inside you, and grinned like a shark. It was probably a bad idea to give the heir to the Demon’s Head that much power over you.

His other hand squeezed your skin, slow to passionate, from your belly to your breasts beneath your dress. It’s clear by the way Damian looks at you that he loves what he sees. The texture of his veiny, calloused hands feels good on your waist and ass, dragging you closer to him. He chuckles when your back arches, when your nails press into his hands, his back muscles, throwing himself into his task. Damian’s nose prods your folds as he licks you clean, tongue dipping and sliding against your sore clit. It’s like he’s done this for you before, in this exact way. Though he utilizes his tongue the most, his lips too are brutal, matched perfectly to fit your pussy lips.

But that tongue - how Damian’s jaw isn’t tired, you don’t know. He parts your folds and latches onto your clit, flicking his tongue at superspeed until drool and cum bubbles from your sensitive core. Your back winds tighter at every vibrating lick, paralyzing the muscles in your legs with glorious pleasure. It’s so exquisite you start to melt to the floor like warm clay, only to be bolstered back up by Damian, both hands viciously squeezing your ass. He keeps going not for you, but himself, sucking down every last drop of your juices.

Shattered, you twist hopelessly into his mouth, chasing the strained feeling like it’s the last you’ll ever glimpse. “Fuck, fuck - D-Damian, ah…”

“Did it feel good when I made you cum?” He teases, “It certainly tastes good. All those filthy little noises you make for me…” Damian shakes his head at himself, like it’s too fantastic to indulge again. He leaves your clit with a satisfied kiss. “Beautiful.”

Once more, the words are surprising to hear from him. You always considered Damian the prude type, but here he is, on his knees for you, mouth and chin glittering with your juices while he teases you in low, sexy tones. At your surprised look, Damian has the gall to blush.

With his ring finger in his mouth, he ponders, “If a man has never said that to you before...” pop, “consider me surprised.”

“Never while finger-fucking me, at least,” you admited, legs still trembelling. “It was sweet. You… you meant that?”

It was hard to imagine Damian Wayne finding anything beautiful. Even you, who was pretty enamored with him, figured he would judge by quality or skill, not beauty. The words tasted new on his tongue.

Slowly, Damian stood and stretched, his shoulders tight after staying in the strange position for so long. Lifting his arms coincidentally let his waistband sit lower on his hips, flashing his green boxers your way while showing off the huge, carved muscles of his arms. Truly, Damian’s subtlety was unmatched. You didn’t mind his miniature bragging fest - not when he had so much to brag about. Eating you out had put an excited shimmer in his skin, so the gold-toned lights of the room reflected sexily off his sweat, already accenting his kissable tan.

“I did,” he told you, moving on to his sucking middle finger. His other hand played on your thigh, stroking it. “I’ve always been… drawn to you. Every mission we’ve had together. I have a profound feeling that we are very similar.”

You laughed. Not at what he said, but the timing of it. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Damian made a face like his heart was doing jumping jacks. “A few hours ago? No. But now…” he barricaded you against the door, first with his hands and then his hips, closed in so tightly that you had to look past your nose to meet his eyes. “Your crush is adorably obvious. I’m annoyed that I didn’t see it before.”

Your rounded your hands against Damian’s shoulders, then his tie. It twisted nicely around your fingers, silky and cold in comparison to your flushed skin. You were tempted to fix your dress, but nothing, not even the world ending, could make you leave this room.

“My crush is obvious? Damian, all you’ve done for the last two hours is sneak me drinks and imply how much easier it is to be around me.” You grinned, “What’d you say earlier? There you are, Queen. Finally, someone intelligent enough to speak to me.”

Damian shrugged. “It’s true. Your knowledge of bioluminescent ocean life is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you said that after giving me head for ten minutes.”

“It’s actually been closer to twelve,” Damian smirked.

Playfully, you pinched Damian’s cheek, then pulled him by the tie into a starved, energetic kiss. He must’ve been praying for your permission to continue, because the plan he’d been forming is quickly put into action. You’re hugged, arms scooped under your back as you kiss him. Damian surrenders his mouth to a bit of revenge tonguing while undoing your dress. No amount of kissing will pull him from his task, but your hand is a special case - it smooths down the front of his boxers and Damian melts.

“Y/N,” he groans.

Damian petulantly resists the temptation to close his eyes, but your touch is soft and sweet, demanding him to yield. Your lips suckle on his neck and Damian’s knees buckle. If getting his mouth between your legs didn’t turn him on, then this will finish him for sure.

“I missed you. Kissing you.” You purr into his throat. “One could never be enough for me.”

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? Damian asked himself. The only possible answer thrilled him, and he found himself pouring even more passion into the kiss, into you, wanting to share that rush of affection. You respond to his every touch with vigor. Damian’s heart stalls each time your thumb strokes his face, each time the other strokes him through his slacks.

“Me either,” he rasped, and helped you out of your dress. His tone was shy, but his words held too much depth to be meaningless. I want a wealth of them. I always want to kiss you, was what he wanted to say, but Damian was too embarrassed to raise the words. This moment was too special to ruin with his hopeless romanticism. He kissed you again and again, and to his amazement, you kissed him right back.

“Fuck me,” you begged him between breaths. “Right here. I don’t care if we’re caught.”

I don’t care if we’re seen together. I want to be seen with you, I’m not ashamed of you.

Damian cupped your face and almost knocked you both over with the strength of his kiss. Nose-to-nose, eyes closed, he commanded, “Bend over the fucking counter.”

In a blink, Damian turned and there you were, open and waiting for him. The sink was hip-level, so the bend was nothing but perfect - Damian could fuck you from behind and watch your lust-blown reflection without issue. Your perfect pussy drooled leftover cum down your legs, making your sex shine in the light.

In the mirror, you watched Damian’s eyes darken in delight. His pupils followed the line of your ass to your back, appreciating it like an artist would, like he intended to paint you later and needed to memorize the greatest shapes of your figure. The marble was icy against your hard nipples, which Damian had exposed when he’d impatiently shoved down your bra. Now, he cupped one of your breasts as he bent over you, kissing and suckling his way down your back.

“Perfect,” Damian hissed.

Shyly pressing your butt back against him, you buried your face in your arms and bit your lip, waiting for him to open you up. Damian’s shadow came to hover over you, and in the mirror his eyes were vicious, pools of circling sharks. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Take your time.”

Though you weren’t being sarcastic, Damian took it that way and pinched one cheek of your ass. “With you? I will.” Then, with the same smoothness, Damian asked, “Condom?”

“Pill,” you replied, and Damian nodded his approval.

His pants rustled as they fell down his legs. Where you couldn’t see, Damian committed the sight to memory - his cock in hand, your pussy spread open, all for him. You squeaked when his hot tip touched your cooling clit, and squeaked again when it glided down your pussy and tested your opening. He knew he’d found the way when you winced.

In an unsurprising moment of compassion (for those who truly knew him), Damian kissed the top of your head and offered you his hand. “Would you like to hold it while I…?”

You took his hand and squeezed it to your chest, squeezing him closer in the process, too. “Thank you. Go slow, for this part…”

Damian complied. His sweat-sticky chest hovered warmly over your back. Even if Damian was big, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your entire life - any pain would quickly slide into pleasure. He braced himself with a deep inhale, and a hot, sharp sensation told you that he’d entered you. Where you choked in a needy gasp, Damian poured out his version of a whimper. You both held it. Then, breath by breath, you were struck with the realization that you’d been dying to feel this for weeks, for months, and only now was that heat being satisfied. Damian’s tongue and fingers had come close, but this is what would cure that aching emptiness - his big, girthy cock.

The deathgrip you had on Damian’s hand loosened. “You look perfect,” he murmured into your hair, instantly making your core flutter. “Oh,” he chuckled filthily, “you like that? Funny, how badly that idiot at the bar wanted to be in my place right now…but it’s me who gets to pound into—”

“Damian,” you warned.

He smiled smugly against your neck. “Nothing.”

Dutifully, Damian withdrew his hips, taking all of the heat with him. When he rolled back in, a hot, tingling sensation roared over all of your senses, and you let the moan at the top of that tsunami loose. It was clear that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to with one hand fished down at your side, so he glued both to the base of your back and started to thrust in earnest.

“So full...” You mewled, and Damian became a human pile-driver.

Your head seemed to roll off your shoulders with every crazed, rhythmic slam, so you grabbed the faucet and held on for dear life. Every slap was so loud, so powerful, that you prayed this one random bathroom in the penthouse was soundproofed. Anyone walking past would know you were getting railed out of your mind. You tried to compensate by moaning and squeaking quietly, but with force came volume. It didn’t matter how silent you were, Damian’s hips, your ass, the squelch of him inside you - each noise filled the bathroom, echoing off the tile.

The only way you could think to describe him was filling. First, there was the hot, cinching tension of his hands fused to your waist. Then there was his cock, which begged to be squeezed more and more with every pass. You responded to each throb with a mighty clench, which bent Damian over you like an animal, gasping for breath. His balls were painted with your slick. The closer you came to orgasm together, the closer Damian came to you. His hands migrated to higher on your sides, then up by your shoulders, then around you, where Damian kissed your back and rubbed your belly while he made love to you. He talked more than he moaned. Your ear was filled with sweet nothings, with vicious promises of what he would do with a whole night alone with you.

Damian’s reflection was wild with lust. He met your eyes as he fucked you, whispering how beautiful you are, how good you take his dick. His deep green eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out the brown in them anymore. The long muscles on his arms drew taut with each thrust, making his biceps bulge and pin your hips to the sink. Soon enough, a bruise would form from the pressure. One of many treasures from tonight - you would be thinking about Damian in his crisp suit for months to come, and the mess he’d become with you now even longer. Your pleasure built and built and built, like a nail struck further into the ground with a hammer. A very, very big hammer.

“M’ cumming,” Damian husked, slowing his plowing to a sloppy glide. Even his endurance was spent, and you were glad he’d spent it all on you. “Where d’ you…?”

You braced your hands on the counter, then on one of Damian’s. Together, you smoothed his digits down your stomach and between your soft, abused folds. “Inside me, please, please please—” you begged him, “fuck, a-as deep as you can go.”

As a test of your flexibility, Damian turned in and kissed you. Just as he parted your lips with his tongue, he parted your folds with his fingertips, overriding your clit as his cock throbbed inside you to the hilt. He took the invitation as a command. Damian pressed in until you could feel his abs mold to your ass, then stuttered his hips in quick, agonized dips to get himself there. With his fingers and his cock putting stars in your eyes, you finished first.

The white marble counter fizzed in your vision, until all you could see was that powerful, endless white, humming in your mind’s eye. Still, Damian wasn’t finished yet. You bumped your temple against his chin and hummed, “Cum for me, baby… fuck, a-ah!”

Your pussy’s throb raced and raced until it spilled over, pulling Damian right under the current. One clench and he was done for, so the velvety, periodic squeeze of your cunt emptied his store. You hung there, spasming in unison, until that overwhelming heat spurted in a ring around Damian’s cock and flooded out of you. Only then did his fingers stop on your clit, and you settled warmly in each other's arms and tried to remember your names and who you were.

Damian pulled out, then snuggled back in. He would’ve been nervous any other time, but he’d just put his dick inside you, so a little instinctive cuddling could be forgiven. On shaky legs, you turned around and sunk into him. You could tell by how he was eyeing the sink that he was desperate to get clean again, so with one kiss (on the cheek), you set Damian loose.

In companionable silence, Damian cleaned up and you collected the clothes abandoned on the floor. Staring at the corner where you’d just had the best sex of your life put an embarassingly pleasant warmth in your chest. Interesting, how one terrifying moment could become something as special as this. Fascinating, how you’d felt like you’d known him all your life.

“You know… I think you’re excellent, too.” You told him, finishing off the knot for his tie.

Damian dipped his head to hide his smile, but something so bright was impossible to hide.

#damian wayne smut #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader smut #damian wayne x you #robin smut #robin #dc smut #dc comics #dc #user uncouth

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aetherknit · 3 years

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kind of just threw this together in a rush before bed, but here’s a tiny ficlet based on this post about dream putting george to sleep during smp conflict to keep him safe

Dream lugs George through the marshes, soft as shadow.

This far into the bog the soil clumps under his boots, dragging at his heels, wet sticking noises littered amongst the scattered frog croaks -- generally, this kind of travel annoys him, too heavy, too cloying.

But Dream’s eyes cut down, and his temper is sated. A toadstool nestles above the curve of George’s ear, and Dream gently dislodges it with a lingering brush.

“Almost there, George,” he mumbles to no one, words curling at him hotly as they bounce off the back of his mask. Beside him, an egret uncharacteristically befriends a snake, head dipping into a bow, beak a nail-head to the wet earth. The snake understands but does not comprehend -- hunger before compassion. Springjaw, strangled cry, matted feathers in milky reds.

Dream continues forward without looking, heel catching sharply on wing-bone.

George, he muses, won’t thank him -- even if he does realize what Dream’s done. But Dream knows best in this, knows George prefers to avoid the hassle of conflict, knows that war incites loss that incites forced vulnerability. Knows George has architect hands, slim in the wrists and long-palmed, that could but shouldn’t hold a blade or an axe like him. Knows that even with George’s skill in archery, he wouldn’t know who to aim for when the lines are so muddied and blurred.

George won’t thank him, but he never does, Dream reasons. And Dream will give him empires, will gut bellies, just to see that softness in his eyes one more time, to hear his balloon-pop laugh. Like the old days, they’ll both think, even when it’s nothing like that at all.

(There was a time before this, sitting perched on the waterlogged boards of oak splitting their house from the still lake, that George had told him, mouth cluttered with mirth: “To be with you, Dream.”

“Oh, shut up.” Dream shoved him away with an elbow, fingertips sticky from his half-eaten peach. “That’s what you want most in the world? You’re such an idiot. I’m literally right here.”

George burst with laughter, knocking his shoulder into Dream’s roughly. “Maybe I just want it to stay that way. I need insurance.” He stressed this with the sly raise of his eyebrow. Dream rolled his eyes, unamused.

“You don’t need insurance, George,” and it’s coming out too genuine, but it’s too late, the words spilling down his front and making ripples in the lakewater. “I’ll always be here. For you.”

It was some weeks after that, when Dream stumbled from the pine forests, shuddering and broken open, spilling ichor instead of blood. Eyes wild, sharp, untamed and smeared. A god.)

Dream picks a spot carefully, slipping beyond the willows to a drier patch framed by river birches, a fairy circle spiraling a few feet from the roots. Unbelievably gentle (especially to some, to the ones who hadn’t been there before all of this, back when he left flushes instead of frostbite), he places George to the earth; as an afterthought, he tucks an old folded cloak beneath his head, fingers lingering at the base of his skull where his hair is soft and cut short.

Beside George, an orchid lazily rises from the soil, a spray of vibrant blue against the muted neutrals of the marsh.

“Stop,” Dream hisses. “That’s so obvious, stop.”

Unimpressed, it continues to grow, petals gleaming bright where the sun slices through the leaves. And right when it hits its peak, more flowers spring from the ground, pressing up from under George’s splayed palms.

“Ugh!” Dream throws his arms into the air, annoyed.

It’s a side effect, he thinks, of things he doesn’t want to think about. Because this world -- it loves George. Blossoming alliums and hooked fish and sharp sunlight-framing. Bountiful fortune, insistent beauty prying for his attention. Power pressing in eagerly when Dream discretely puts George to sleep to cart him away to safety.

This world loves George. It is, after all, Dream’s world.

In this patch of privacy, alone with a sleeping boy that pulls Dream along with embarrassing ease, a fragment of himself remembers its softness. With a gentle, tired sigh, Dream scoops up George’s hand, playing with the creases along the palm.

“Heart line,” he mutters, thumbpad pressing insistently against the fracture. And then, with a tremor, he shoves his mask up a few inches, surface rubbing hard against his nose.

Quiet -- desperately, achingly quiet, so that even the river reeds will not notice, Dream brushes his mouth to the delicate skin of George’s hand before sharply pulling away.

“I’m still here, George.” He rises unsteadily, readjusting his mask with a firm hand. “Always, for you.”

The forest watches him go. George does not.

#dreamnotfound #dnf #my writing #ig thats a tag now.... this is so sloppy im so tired #in a completely unsurprising turn of events im posting MORE smp!dnf because i care too much about it #not being able to tag it as dsmp because im a dnfie </333 heartbreaking /hj #rpf /

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queensoybean0724 · 3 years

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Succession Chapter 11 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 11

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader

Rating: NC-17 for sex and language (cunniligus, fingering, P in V, unprotected sex *wrap it up, kids*, creampie)

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary. While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village. This is a work of fiction. Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter 11

You and Heisenberg sat side by side against the headboard as he told you everything. The bed sheet was pulled up to his waist while you pulled it higher, covering your nakedness. He reached for a cigar and lighter on his nightstand, puffing and exhaling in between the story. You kept your eyes focused forward: on your legs under the sheets, on your hands in your lap, anywhere but turning your head to look at him.

It took him almost an hour to relay everything to you. His story started over 100 years ago when the woman you now knew as Mother Miranda lost her daughter Eva. You listened as he told you how she discovered an unknown organism under the village known as the Megamycete. Heisenberg stopped periodically, puffed his cigar, and asked if you wanted a break or if you had any questions. All you could do is shake your head and bid him to keep talking.

Your heart broke hearing him talk about how Mother Miranda kidnapped him from his family and infected him with Cadou. The name of the organism sounded familiar, then you remembered that it was the thing in the jar that Moreau had in his laboratory. Heisenberg explained that the Cadou drastically changed an individual...either physically, mentally, metaphysically, and sometimes in every way imaginable. He told you that the Cadou is what gave him the ability to move metal objects with his mind. He also shared the fact that he was able to manipulate electric fields and communicate through electronics like radios, televisions, and the overhead PA system that was installed in the factory.

He shared that the Cadou was why Moreau was trapped in the prison that is his mutated body.

Tears slid down your cheeks at the thought of Moreau being in constant pain and turmoil because this “mother,” as he lovingly called her the last time you were with him, turned him into a monster. But your heart also ached at the thought of Karl being taken as a child, experimented on, and left alone with a family that was not his family. You could only imagine how scared and alone he must have felt, how much he must have missed his family, and how his real family must have searched for him for years until they all eventually died off one by one.

Heisenberg came to the end of his story, stubbed his cigar out in the ashtray, and slowly turned his head to look at you. A part of him was scared, scared that you wouldn’t believe him, or worse, that you would run as far away from him as possible. It was a thought that tied his stomach into knots. He had wanted you from the moment he set eyes on you and had just gotten you into his arms and into his bed...he didn’t want to lose you now.

You shifted next to him and he waited for you to rise from the bed, put your clothes back on, and demand to be taken somewhere where you could call for rescue. He was surprised when instead you looped your arm under his and held his bicep, resting your head on his shoulder. He sighed in relief, a slow smile spreading over his face as he lifted his hand and placed it on your outer leg, pulling your legs closer to him.

“So what do you think?” Heisenberg asked, pressing his lips into your hair.

“It’s unbelievable,” you murmured, “but then again, I’ve seen enough of this village to know that unbelievable things happen and reside here. I should have known when I saw that thing that looked like a tree reach up and rip off the wing of the plane..”

Heisenberg furrowed his brow at your words. A tree? Then it dawned on him that you were referring to the mold. He came to the conclusion that you must have looked out of the plane window and saw it strike. He could only imagine how terrifying it was to be on a plane and experience it not only crashing, but also being the only survivor.

“The mold...the thing you saw is called the mold. I saw it retreating back into the village after your plane crashed. I knew if there were any survivors that Mother Miranda would find them and infect them in hopes that one would bring her daughter back into this life. When I saw you...you looked so frightened, so fragile...and you were so beautiful. You never know what the Cadou will do to a host, Moreau and the lycans being the disastrous part of the spectrum. So I grabbed you, told Moreau I would kill him if he told anyone, and here you are.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder and looked up at him. His penetrating gaze, the scars that peppered his face, his long hair that fell to his chin, and his beard...Heisenberg was incredibly handsome. His physical body was not adversely affected by Mother Miranda’s experimentation. And even though he didn’t tell you why he brought you here at first, you were grateful that he finally confided in you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, smiling at him, “I understand now why you brought me here and why you were so secretive. I would never have believed you at first and automatically would have written you off as crazy. And the bodies in the factory...you need an army to stop Miranda. The bodies from the cemetery, the bodies from the plane crash...you need all the help you can get. It’s...it’s tough to think of Bruce and the others being turned into mindless soldiers, but I understand why you need them…”

Heisenberg’s eyes searched yours. His hand squeezed your leg reassuringly. “I’m so sorry you had to see your friend like that. I didn’t know you had gotten to know him on the plane. To me, they were always just tools to aid me in my battle with Miranda...but they were once people. They had families, friends...I promise you when this is over, I will put their bodies to rest.”

You nodded. “I’ll help you...help you bury them, say a few words...convince their ghosts not to come back and haunt you for all eternity…”

He chuckled and leaned in, kissing your lips softly. You lifted your hand and caressed his cheek, feeling the scruffiness of his beard. A surprised groan formed in his throat as you pushed your tongue out to lick his lips. Both of his hands lifted, cupped your face, and deepened the kiss.

The two of you sat there, kissing and making out like a pair of horny teenagers. You released the sheet that covered your breasts and it pooled in your lap. One of Heisenberg’s hands went around to your back, pulling you closer, as his other hand stayed pressed to your cheek.

He pulled away from the kiss, which made you whimper. He laughed before growling playfully and moving to his knees. Pulling the sheets off of your body, he grabbed your thighs and pulled your body forward, making you lie back on your pillow. “Karl!” you squealed as he made quick work of spreading your legs and lying on his stomach between them.

“I’ve only briefly tasted you...now I want to devour you…” he growled. Both of his arms wrapped under and around your legs as his lips kissed the soft skin of your inner thighs. You sat up on your elbows, your mouth going dry and your heart beating wildly. As you watched him kiss up and down one thigh before moving to the other, you felt your arousal accelerate. You had been intimate before, but you had never had a man go down on you. It had been a fantasy for a long time. You fantasized about it over and over as you pleasured yourself. And now, here is this mysterious, strong man between your legs, moving achingly slow towards your pussy.

“Karl…” you whispered, your thighs trembling on either side of his face. His lips spread in a grin as he hovered over your pussy, blowing softly on your clit. Your lips parted and you moaned loudly, arching your hips up to his mouth. Heisenberg laughed and kissed along the flesh of your labia, his teeth gently nibbling on it. Desire and arousal churned in your stomach and you could feel your wetness pooling out of you.

“Do you like that, doll face?” he asked, kissing around your clit, “does it feel good?”

All you could do was nod your head and move your hips. He was mercilessly teasing you, tormenting you with his skilled mouth and never truly giving you what you wanted.

“Mmmm...you smell so good…” Heisenberg murmured, pressing the tip of his nose to your clit and nuzzling it softly.

“Karl, for fuck’s sake...please...please…” you begged, grabbing the sheets in your fists. His gaze fixed on yours and he smiled, slowly extended his tongue, and circled around your clit.

You tossed your head back and cried out, your lower back arching off the bed. You panted and moaned his name as his tongue curled and flicked over the swollen nub. The pleasure that coursed through your body was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The feel of his hands spreading your thighs wider and his fingers sinking into your skin almost drove you insane.

“Karl...Karl...oh fuck...yes...yes...don’t stop…” you whimpered. Heisenberg chuckled softly, closing his lips around your clit and sucking. One hand released the sheets and shot up to the headboard, grabbing onto one of the railings for dear life. Your body undulated and gyrated on his bed as his mouth gave you pleasure beyond anything you had ever felt before.

Heisenberg became drunk with power as he looked up at you. The way you moved and the sounds that slid past your lips made him unbelievably hard. He found himself grinding his solid cock into the bed, desperate for friction. Your reaction to his mouth was better than any pornographic image he had seen in his long life. His eyes darkened as ideas flowed through his mind. He made mental notes of all of the things he wanted to do to you right here in his bed...and all of the ways he would make you scream his name and shout your ecstasy.

He moved his right hand from your thigh to your dripping pussy. He pulled away his mouth momentarily in order to softly caress your opening with the pads of his fingers. You continued to moan and pant.

“I’m going to make you cum on my tongue over and over again…” Heisenberg promised, “and I’m going to shove my fingers inside of you...fingering you and tasting every part of your delicious cunt…”

Both of your hands were on the headboard railings, your body twisting amongst the sheets. Your hips bucked uncontrollably against his face as he pushed his index and middle fingers inside of you. His mouth went back to your clit, flicking it thoroughly as he rubbed your G-spot back and forth.

“Karl...you’re gonna make me cum...I wanna cum on your fingers...on your face...let me cum on your fucking face!!” you shouted, all manners and discretion completely thrown out of the window. Heisenberg growled and gave you what you wanted. His fingers pushed in and out of your wet opening noisily, the squelching sounds of your wetness audible to the both of you. His tongue flicked your clit hard and fast and within seconds your lower back was arched completely off the bed and your orgasm shook your entire body. You screamed his name over and over until his mouth slowly brought you back down to reality.

Aftershocks shook you as Heisenberg crawled up your body, chuckling against the skin of your stomach. You released the railings and brought your hands to his head, tangling your fingers in his hair.

His lips met yours and you kissed him hard. You felt his skin pressed against yours as his arms wrapped around your body and held you tight. The sensation of your retreating orgasm followed by his strong arms made your heart surge in your chest. You felt wanted, desired, and protected. He had given you more pleasure than you had ever been given by any other guy or even yourself for that matter. The connection you were feeling with him was growing...you hoped that Heisenberg felt it as well.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he rolled his hips against your wet cunt. His hard cock rubbed back and forth between your pussy lips, making your desire accelerate all over again.

Heisenberg’s tongue explored your mouth, sliding and nudging yours into submission. His hands slid up your back and to your shoulders, hugging you close. Arousal and the growing need of his body increased. His lips kissed down your neck and to your chest, licking the thin sheen of sweat that settled on your flesh.

“Karl…” you whispered, moving one hand down along his shoulder blades as your other hand stayed tangled in his hair.

“I love hearing your beautiful voice say my name…” he moaned, kissing down between your breasts. You arched your hips and spread your thighs wider, aching to feel him inside of you. Heisenberg pushed himself up on one hand while his other reached down to grab his cock. He rubbed the tip up and down along your pussy, teasing you mercilessly.

“Karl...please fuck me again...fuck me…” you said, arching your hips higher. You were desperate to feel him, to feel his cock stretch you out and to feel his hips hammering down against yours.

He pushed inside of you and the both of you moaned loudly. His left hand moved up to the headboard, holding it tight as the other hand wrapped around your leg, hiking it higher up on his hip.

The feel of his hips hammering you into the bed was enough to drive you mad. His cock pushed deeper, faster, and harder. It was like he could no longer help himself...now that you were under him, he was possessed.

Your hands reached around to his lower back, moving up and down in time with his thrusts. Your pussy walls clenched around his cock every time he pushed inside of you and his grunts became louder because of it. You gripped him like a vice and he had to hold himself off from cumming too soon. He wanted you to cum again, but this...he wanted to feel it, experience it, memorize every fucking part of your cunt.

“Y/N...oh god pussycat, you’re killing me...your fucking cunt...it’s so damn tight and wet...god dammit!!” he yelled, tossing his head back. Looking up at him losing control and fucking you harder and desperately...you wanted to give him as much pleasure as he was giving you.

His hand released your leg and went to the back of your head, making you look down at his cock thrusting in and out of you. His other hand pressed to the bed, gripping the sheets. “Look at how your cunt is taking my cock...taking my cock like a good little girl…”

Your orgasm was close as you watched his hips crashing down on yours, his cock moving quickly in and out of you. You gripped his hips and screamed his name again and again. Heisenberg moved forcefully, the bed banging against the wall.

“Fuck, Y/N! Fuck!!! Oh fuck, your amazing pussy is gonna kill me!” Heisenberg shouted. You looked up into his face, his features twisted into pleasure so primal and hedonistic. His hair fell in his face, his mouth dropped open, and his eyes were fused to yours.

“Cum inside of me, Karl,” you begged, squeezing his cock tightly inside of you.

“OH FUCK ME!!!” he shouted, tossing his head back. You felt him cum, his cock twitching inside of you and in seconds you came as well, your body bucking wildly, holding tight to his hips. Heisenberg continued to curse and grunt as he pumped every drop of cum inside of you. You trembled under him, moving your hands up his sides, down his chest and stomach, and up his back. He released a shaky breath as he slowly lowered himself onto his elbows, burying his face into your neck.

His body rocked on top of you, still thrusting slowly. You kissed along his shoulder and nuzzled his skin with your nose. The feel of his hot breath on your neck and his sweat-slicked skin against yours was incredible. You never wanted him to let you go.

Heisenberg rolled to his side, pulling you with him, his cock still inside of you. You lifted your leg and rested it atop his hip. His fingers slid up and down your spine, making you shudder.

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” Heisenberg whispered, his lips pressed to your forehead, “so, so amazing…”

You closed your eyes, a smile spreading across your face, as you fell asleep in his arms.

#resident evil village #resident evil village fanfic #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg fanfic #daddy heisenberg #house heisenberg #succession fanfic #succession heisenberg fanfic

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maybedefinitely404 · 3 years

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Day 30: Dukexiety

Day 30 - When you look in the mirror, you can’t see your own reflection, just your soulmate. (Never heard of this prompt before, so I guessed)

Content warnings: maybe some anxiety? Just some wholesome for ya.

Word count: 1.5k

This ficlet is dedicated to @marshymoop.

Virgil was told he had brown hair; the color of a walnut. Sometimes if he grew it out long enough, he could just catch a glimpse of the color when it fell into his eyes. Apparently those were brown too.

A friend of his mom’s was an artist and had drawn him when he’d turned thirteen, but it hadn’t looked right. The face staring back at him from the canvas didn’t feel like his at all. He didn’t recognize the curve to the nose or the bags under the eyes; it just looked like a stranger. The more he looked, the more uneasy he felt, and he’d tucked it into the back corner of his closet, never to look at it again.

His reflection, where he’d seen the face of his soulmate since he was a baby, was far more familiar to him.

Black hair streaked with white.

Sharp green eyes.

A smattering of freckles over olive skin.

Sometimes it was odd, smearing makeup under eyes that weren’t technically his, and trying to fix hair that was shorter than what showed in the reflection, but it was a problem everyone had until they met their soulmate. He just hoped that the dark clothes looked as good on the real him as it did on his reflection.

---

Virgil was struggling to focus on the textbook paragraph in front of him when his phone chimed. It was a welcome distraction from the existential quandaries that came with Philosophy 103. Just a quick break, he promised.

Remus: heyyyyyyy

Aaaand there was that plan out the window. He couldn’t care less though, studying be damned, because now his heart was pounding and a nearly painful smile was stretching his cheeks. It had been a week since Remus had messaged him, and the pent up joy was all coming out at once.

You’re back! He replied amidst flapping hands. How was camping? His fingers hesitated over the keyboard.

I missed your messages. I missed you. I was lonely.

He said nothing.

Remus: i caught a squirrel. i couldn’t keep it though

Virgil: Did you name it at least?

That’s adorable. You’re adorable and a goof and amazing.

Remus: Yep. Squirrely Temple

A picture message showed up moments later, showing a surprisingly relaxed squirrel sitting in a styrofoam cup, a single peanut clasped in it’s little hands. The taker of the photo wasn’t visible, though that was to be expected.

The next one featured what Virgil assumed was the same squirrel, this time wearing a crudely constructed paper top hat. It held another peanut, and once again seemed shockingly unconcerned.

The photo was quickly replaced with a call screen and Virgil accepted it eagerly, still laughing.

“Did you see the squirrel?” Remus asked excitedly, to which Virgil could only laugh harder.

“Why is it in a hat?” He wheezed.

“I made it out of sap and a brochure I found. I think Squirrely Temple looked rather dapper.” The grin was evident in Remus’ voice.

“And you didn’t keep it?” Virgil inelegantly kicked his schoolwork off the bed to lay across it, grabbing his fidget cube from the side table.

“Nah, something about preserving wildlife and not having enough room at home,” he yawned, “Me an’ Roman gave him plenty of peanuts before we left though. A whole pile on a wood stump.”

“You sound tired,” Virgil teased. There was a small twinge in his chest at the idea of Remus going to bed already. He’d been off the grid for a week. Virgil was loath to admit, but he’d missed his friend more than expected.

“I think my body just sees an actual bed and the ‘tired’ protocol is,” Another yawn, “activated.”

Virgil yawned in tandem. “You should probably sleep, then.” He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice.

“Take your own advice, and I’ll consider. When’s the last time you got six hours of sleep?”

“Consecutively?”

Remus snorted. There was a whoosh of air as he dropped onto his bed, and a brief lull in the conversation before he spoke up. “I think I’d rather talk to you than sleep, actually.”

Damn, how was he supposed to respond to that? He pressed a cool hand to his reddening cheeks, glad the other couldn’t see him. “Wow, is that genuine emotion coming from Remus?” Virgil retorted instead. We can talk for hours if you want. I missed talking to you.

“My bad, I think I still have some fresh air in my system.”

God, he’d missed him. A single week had felt like a whole year without their constant interaction and updates throughout their days. They’d only known each other for months (had it only been months?) but in that time, talking to each other had become so ingrained in their lives, it seemed wrong to not wake up with his phone blown up from messages. It was so effortless, wasting hours away but feeling like no time had passed at all. It meant the world to Virgil.

And despite their jokes and snarky conversations, he had a feeling it meant a lot to Remus too.

It was as if he blinked, and the sun had set in the sky. The room had gradually turned dark as ink but Virgil couldn’t be bothered to flip on the lights, not when he was so captivated by Remus’ voice as he recounted his family camping trip. He didn’t notice nor care; this was more important.

Only when Remus’ yawns grew closer and closer together did it occur to him that the other was several hours ahead, blasted timezones. It would be early morning there.

“I think you should try to sleep,” Virgil grinned as Remus tried and failed to keep talking through another yawn.

“Maybe,” He sighed.

“Talk tomorrow?” For the first night in a bit, Virgil felt that same, familiar warm bubble in his chest.

“I actually had a question for you, first.”

Pop.

Remus sounded uncharacteristically nervous, putting Virgil on edge instantly. Everything he’d ever done wrong flooded through his mind. Oh god, how did he find out about the third grade Christmas concert?

“Do you want to vid chat?” He blurted.

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat.

“Like, tomorrow. Or not. It’s okay if not.”

Remus never stuttered. Something about it was unbelievably adorable.

“Just for fun, because we haven’t before, but if you don’t want to there’s no pressure-”

“Yes.”

All blubbering screeched to a halt on the other end, and Virgil couldn’t decide if his predominant emotion was anxiety or excitement. Besottedness, maybe? Either way, it made his face heat up to the tips of his ears and his feet wiggle.

“Yes?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Okay!” Remus let out a relieved laugh that bordered on a giggle, “When?”

“I end classes at one tomorrow.”

The man murmured his way through timezone math for a moment. “Yeah! Yeah, okay! I can do that! Yes!”

Virgil bit his lip, but a laugh made its way through anyways. “I can’t wait.”

-----------

Whatever confidence Virgil had developed the day before, it had completely evaporated by the next morning. His mind wandered during classes, too busy coming up with worst case scenarios. What if the connection sucked? What if they spoke over each other and it was awkward? What if they had nothing to talk about and it got awkward? What if they weren’t compatible face to face? It added a whole new layer to their relationship they hadn’t explored before.

What if they weren’t friends by the end of it?

He was equal parts relieved and petrified when his final class ended and there was nothing between him and the call. The whole walk back to his dorm was spent watching the numbers on the clock tick by, each minute sending a rush of adrenaline through him until he was sure he’d collapse from nerves right there on the path way.

A text from Remus came through three minutes before their agreed time.

Remus: Ready?

NO, he wanted to scream. There were too many variables, they were leaving the comfort zone and that’s where Virgil thrived!

Virgil: 5 mins

He set up his computer and paced around his room for the remainder of his time. His eyes caught a blur of motion in the mirror and he turned to his reflection, his flapping hands slowing as he studied the face before him as he’d done hundreds of times before. Not his face, but the only one he knew as his.

A part of him was suddenly weighed by guilt as he looked into those bright eyes, because the guiltier part of him knew what he had was a crush. A helpless one, at that. And a hopeless one. What was the point pining after someone when the universe had already handpicked someone else for him?

Stupid universe and it’s stupid soulmates.

The chime of an incoming call startled him out of his reverie and he swore under his breath. He tried to soothe down his hair, rub the stress from his eyes, but it was hopeless when he couldn’t see if it actually looked okay.

He sat in his desk chair and took a few measured breaths before clicking accept. The video stuttered and glitched before it finally settled, and Virgil’s breath caught in his throat.

Black hair streaked with white.

Sharp green eyes.

A smattering of freckles over olive skin.

The silence stretched between them for achingly long before Remus beamed into the camera, and it was the most beautiful thing Virgil had ever seen.

“Well, hello there, soulmate.”

Taglist:

@max-is-tired

@joylessnightsky

@marshymoop

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #virgil sanders #remus sanders #dukexiety #sanders sides soulmate au #soulmate september #ts soulmate au #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction

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kireiwoo · 3 years

Text

[7:29pm] # jung wooyoung.

first loves are a peculiar phenomenon.

they’re different for everyone; nuanced and pure, sometimes possessive and confusing. generally, there are a few recognizable traits that people share in a conglomerate of harrowingly differentiating forms; that gently aching thump of a rapid heartbeat, the once annoying squawks of irritating birds turning mellifluous and cherished in the charred dawn, or even skin prickling with heat, particularly on an unnoticeably freckled countenance. jung wooyoung remembers his first love like a meadow of marigolds.

she had the sweetest smile and the softest eyes, with silken skin and frazzled hair tousled by the playful wind. her voice was mild, perfect and laced with an intoxicating slur that beckoned him like strawberries and cream. she smelt like blueberry muffins and shaved vanilla, glasses idly perched on the bridge of her nose crookedly. she enjoyed lazing at the beach with airy shirts coloured variously, and sifting her fingers through smoothened sea-glass and sedimentary pebbles along the shoreline.

wooyoung and her had a special spot by the bay. nestled between oakwood and birch trees laid an undisturbed alcove; a small opening leading to a brief dock. lily pads and rose-coloured flowers entangled around the perimeter of the dock, wet moss and algae absentmindedly creeping up the corroded posts in each corner. the water grazing the horizon sparkled with the pearlescent sun’s rays, and wooyoung usually brought her there for picnics or as a means of fruitful escape.

the last occasion they spent time at their humble, blissfully ignorant getaway, she was wearing a mushroom necklace and mint-leaf hued sandals. he remembers her goofy laughter while they sipped convenience store banana milk and munched on handmade sandwiches. they weren’t gourmet, and wooyoung remembers being freshly introduced to the world of cooking, but they sufficed. the food had a sentimentality attached to it that urged them to devour it anyways.

he remembers times like that, pure and innocent like the crystal waters below them. but he also unwillingly recalls the bountiful arguments; moments where their disagreements turned sour or misunderstandings arose suspicion that led to frivolous octave matches. he remembers the feeling of cold tears on his warm cheeks; the contrast stark and alarming as his scratchy voice pleaded for a resolve, even though he knew he was wrong and that forgiveness was a fever dream. he remembers wrapping his arms around her and promising that he would be better; admitting to his faults in a desperate hope that things would smoothen over and they’d return to their normalcy that was the dock behind the foliage.

but they didn’t.

the separation was painful; comparable to stitches torn apart and sharp decay at the heartstrings. it was strange how the physical feeling of immature heartbreak was a thing. snot bubbled down to wooyoung’s lips and his eyes ran with rivers of tears; he couldn’t accept it. he felt like the world was crumbling. wooyoung would’ve gone lengths for her; down to the rumbling, pressurized depths of the ocean and light-years across an unbelievably bleak and dark universe. but the cosmos would shine with a luminescent illusion simply because he knew he would be returning to her, no matter what. this felt like floating in a pool of watery darkness, down to the impending trenches filled with gory, disembodied dreams and lost aspiration. she didn’t have to leave for it to hurt as badly as it did.

wooyoung eventually picked himself back up. he came to realize that life wasn’t as dim and resolutely dreary as he pictured it to be. he accepted that he wasn’t being dramatic, he was being realistic. unintentional pain isn’t ever something someone can purposefully dramatize, he thought. downtrodden, in the mud, even hitting rock-bottom; the only thing you can do is get up or give up; and he was tired of fantasizing about the latter. months passed and though he knew years of of a reciprocated relationship wouldn’t seep from his mind like steeped earl grey, he understood that it would take time and effort.

he understood that the pain of first loves were apart of growing up, whether he wanted to or not. he understood that the chirping outside would feel agonizing, the thumping would be a reminder that his heart wasn’t specifically beating for someone anymore, and every aspect of his life would seem to revolve around her, but he knew that eventually those feelings of bittersweet melancholia would gradually fade away. he learned that sometimes things have to be hard to get better. sometimes lonesomeness is a lesson disguised by a lust for company, no matter how toxic or tainted it may be.

today, wooyoung sits by himself at the dock. he stares out into a sunset of burnt oranges, crimson, and honeyed magenta, recognizing that he doesn’t need another half to complete his mismatched but beautiful semi-circle. he knows that he’ll fall in love again, and that’ll it’ll hurt, but from that suffering he also learnt that life doesn’t have to be wildly traumatic to have it’s hard moments. he found that living doesn’t have to revolve around finding love in a lost alcove by the bay. a large portion of growing up means to find, to hurt, to heal, and to reminisce. and sure, sometimes he gets that gargling pit of nostalgia buzzing deep in his gut, or that momentary haze of remembrance that stuns him into silence, but he knows that it’s fleeting; monotone but temporary.

first loves are a peculiar phenomenon; they can be achingly painful or addictively sugary, and sometimes they end in more strife than intended. they feel like dancing on clouds of cotton candy, the disgustingly gloomy world suddenly painted with colours you didn’t know existed. heartache is expected, as well as tears of grief and frustration, but it’s part of growing up. because sometimes, growing up means experiencing the brunt of pain before you can enjoy the tangible delicacies of happiness. wooyoung knows that now.

and he’ll sob and mourn from the residual loss, but he’ll always remember her, his first love, like a meadow of marigolds; as a flower he held, and one that wilted, but one he’ll never forget. first loves are such a peculiar thing, no?

— taglist ; @masterninjacow @subways-stuff @neo-shitty @seacottons ! thanks for reading :(

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sunflowersteves · 3 years

Text

𝒏𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ❅ 𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒕

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Geralt likes to punish you when you’re being naughty.

author’s note: this isn’t very holiday themed but i hope you all still enjoy!

warnings: fluff, afab fic, SMUT!!! a little degradation, dom/sub, edging, semi-public sex in snow dont @ me ok, [18+ only]

holiday prompts m.list

Heavy blankets of snow covered the small village whole, prompting everything to look as though it was a winter wonderland. Even the wood-burning fireplaces couldn’t stop the cold from towering over and leaving valleys full of little snowflakes.

Usually, you and Geralt would be situated in one of the pubs, relaxing with a nice pint of ale. Jaskier would be near you, most likely right beside the fire as he strummed sweet tunes. Yennefer would have her arm around you, swaying gently to the music.

But that wasn’t tonight, no.

Tonight, you were pressed up against the outside of the pub while the cold air hit the base of your cheeks.

Geralt was peppering kisses up and down your neck, occasionally stopping to bite down on that sensitive spot.

“What you pulled in there was unacceptable, sweet girl.”

Throughout the whole night, you had been teasing Geralt. It first started with a hand on his knee, occasionally squeezing around him in comfort. Slowly but surely, your hand started to move up to the inside of his thigh.

He had sent you plenty of glares, but every time you’d act like nothing was wrong. Your hand even got to the point where you kept grazing his semi-hard cock. That’s when he had had enough and practically shoved out of the pub.

And now here you were, back aching from the hard wooden wall and nose runny from the cold. Some snowflakes instantly melted when they hit your hair and skin, while gusts of wind blew through you and your Witcher.

It wasn’t ideal to be fucking in the middle of a snowstorm, but you didn’t have very many options. At least the powerful storm could hide your desperate pleas and whines.

But your body still felt fiery, as though the cold wasn’t even there—the heat radiating off of Geralt was practically scorching.

His hands rested on your hips as his tongue ran along your collarbone, sucking just enough to make you whine.

“I know what you were doing, pretty girl. You wanted me to take you out here in the cold and fuck you senseless, hmm?”

You could only let out a whimper as his hand trails slowly down to your throbbing core. He lifted the ends of your dress, your legs fully wrapped around his waist. His hands explored the crevasses of your legs; the rough calloused hands make you shiver as poke and prod.

“Answer me.”

You hated how much control he had over you, your body and mind already melting into him as his lips connect just below your jawline. You hated how much you wanted him—needed him, so fiercely that it burned.

“Yes. I-I wanted you fuck me out here, I—”

His hand was dangerously close to the slit of your entrance. His mind became almost foggy as his abilities picked up the sweet smell of your cunt. His finger teases the beginning of your slit, a gruff moan leaving his lips. You were already so wet.

“Good. Then that’s what you’ll get.”

He inserts his middle finger, and you yelp in surprise, watching as it easily slides in and out of your folds. You couldn’t believe that he let you go without being punished, just immediately giving you what you want. However, you weren’t going to question it.

The squelching sounds would normally be louder, but he could hear it, his cock twitching at it. A smirk rests on his lips as he stares into your half-closed eyes. His finger brings you no mercy, just pounding over and over and over again.

His hands always pleased you to no end, filling you up so nicely. One of his fingers was like three of yours, hitting every single spot you couldn’t.

Your walls clench around him as he inserts another finger, thick and wide as he fucks you relentlessly. Your hands move to grip his forearm, nails digging into the surface of his skin. You let out garbled sounds, on the edge of being a cross between a moan and a whimper.

“Geralt, please!”

“What do you say, little flower, hmm?”

You opened your mouth, but it just hung open, whines and whimpers leaving it. You were so unbelievably close, your core aching for some type of relief. Your slick had covered his whole hand, and you could almost see the end, the sweet euphoric end.

“I’m s-sorry, Geralt. Please, please, let me cum. Please!”

But then, he stops.

You whine loudly, your body thrashing slightly to see if there was any sort of friction. You wanted to hate him so fucking badly. That bastard had taken away your pleasurable bliss. It was all because you had teased him a little in public, and that set fire in your bones.

“Oh, little flower, did you think you could get out of punishment that easily?”

Your eyes widened, “Geralt, p-please, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good for you and your cock—”

He tsked, pressing sweet little kisses along your chest. But you knew better, you knew it was all a rouse. He was ruthless; he was unrelenting. He gave you everything, all at once, to then take it away like it never happened.

“Please! Please, let me feel your cock inside me. I-I need it!”

He has the audacity to chuckle, “begging won’t get you anywhere this time, little flower.”

He drew achingly slow circles on your clit, letting your desperate whines fill the air. Your body squirmed and wiggled, desperate for anything and everything more than what he was giving you. But he wouldn’t comply, he wouldn’t give into you.

“You look so divine like that, little flower, just begging for my fingers to get you off.”

It felt like it had been a millennium by the time he started rubbing faster, sometimes pinching and grabbing the swollen nub.

He’d smirk every single time it made you jump; his eyes never left yours. He was intoxicating, the atmosphere around you was completely taken over by him.

You were getting close again, he could tell. Your face was screwed up, gasps and pants leaving your beautiful lips. Your pleading never ceased, even if you knew it didn’t get you anywhere. You knew he loved it when you begged.

“Are you close, little flower? Do you want to soak my fingers?”

You nodded, wantonly mewling at his fingers seemingly deeper and deeper inside of you.

But then he stopped, again.

“Such a pity I won’t let you.”

He let you plead over and over again, the smirk never leaving his features. He watched you beg so desperately that pre-cum spilled onto his trousers. You were such a sight, and yet he didn’t give you what you wanted.

“You brought this on yourself. You will face the consequences of your actions, little flower.”

He did it five more times, out in the blizzarding cold. Five times of giving you the brink of an orgasm to then take it away like you were just something to play with.

He enjoyed it, that much you could tell. There was a twinkle in his golden eyes when he watched you so utterly dire to feel anything.

Your body was almost entirely frozen. It probably would have if Geralt’s body heat didn’t protect you. You honestly should probably go inside and get warm again, even drinking some of Jaskier’s hot chocolate to feel the hot spices rest in your belly.

But gods—you didn’t give a fuck. You didn’t care less if you got frostbite or froze to death. All you wanted was for Geralt to fuck you senseless. You were getting tired; your body was limp now from all of the teasing and tantalizing.

Your cunt was leaking, slick spread all around your thighs and even on your hiked up dress. Your clit throbbed, your cunt ached. It was torture to feel this way, to feel the pure anguish of Geralt’s punishment.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and Geralt never missed it, a feigned pout on his lips. You started to beg again, but this time your desolation became prevalent and loud.

“Please,” your voice became weak, “No more teasing, Geralt. I need you. I need to feel you. I-I can’t —”

You don’t know when he sprung his hard cock out and shoved it inside of you, but he was pounding into you, fast and hard. You mewl once again, the feeling almost unreal. You were finally getting what you wanted.

“Have I been too mean to my sweet girl? Was I being too harsh, hmm?”

You nodded as he picked up the pace, slamming into you while you’re trying to grab at his broad, large shoulders to brace yourself.

“Fuck, you feel so good, so warm and tight.”

Your back was going to hurt tomorrow, you just know it will. You’d been up against it for what felt like an eternity. He was deep inside of you, his eyes darting from the look on your face to watching his cock disappear in your cunt. Your walls clamp around him, nails digging even harder onto his back.

“Cum for me, my love. I want to feel you cum on my cock.”

Your screams become louder in the air as he hits just the right angle, over and over. You try and brace yourself as your walls flutter. Hearing his low moans of your cunt milking him was getting all too much, the coil immediately snapping. It hits you hard, his name the only thing that comes out of your mouth like it was a prayer.

Watching you come undone so ferociously and hard made his cock twitch. He knew he wasn’t far behind you. Your screams never ceased as he continued to drive into you, hips slightly stuttering as he released into you.

Your body was fully limp now on the snowy ground. You didn’t want to move, your eyes becoming heavy. He lets out a small content sigh, trying to clean you up the best he can. He was especially gently over sensitive areas, knowing that it might sting.

He picks you up into his arms and pressed a light kiss to your temple. The snow falls lightly onto his hair, his warm body just now picking up how cold you’ve become since you laid across the ground.

His heart soared as you snuggled closer into his chest, “let’s go back inside, little flower.”

witcher: @harrysthiccthighss @borkingbarnes @dreams-of-sunlight-and-starfire

permanent: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd @rebekahdawkins @hailmary-yramliah @buckybarnesplumwhore @stardust-galaxies @wiccanmetallicrose @keithseabrook27 @hereforthesunrise

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eddiesdiaz · 3 years

Text

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

for the beautiful @madamewriterofwrongs - happy birthday, angel 💞

read on ao3

They get together with a simple touch.

Eddie’s having the worst kind of day: the kind where it’s painfully, blatantly apparent that he’s a single dad, that he’s in this alone and there’s no one to lean on when he can feel things start to slip through the cracks.

He’d been up half the night trying to make brownies for a class party at Christopher’s school — from scratch, because Chris gave him a guilt trip about always being the only kid in class that brings store-bought stuff — until he finally surrendered some time around 3:00 AM and his fourth barely edible batch. Then he’d overslept, making both Chris late for school and himself late for work, and leaving the kitchen in a state of absolute disaster he’d sworn he’d deal with first thing.

And now, with twenty minutes left until the end of his shift, he gets an SOS phone call from Christopher that he wasn’t anticipating.

Eddie loves his kid more than anything, he really does, but he’s fucking exhausted, and he feels like he’s hanging on by a thread. He takes a deep breath and slips his phone back into his pocket before collapsing onto the couch next to Buck with a frustrated huff.

“Everything okay?” Buck asks him, raising a concerned brow and turning his head to look at Eddie.

“Yeah, just…” Eddie sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Chris is at a friend’s house, and he was supposed to hang out there until later tonight while I ran some errands, but he’s not feeling well and he wants me to come pick him up.”

Buck hums, shooting him a sympathetic look. “No one else can do it?”

“Carla asked for the day off, and my family’s out of town. I can do it myself, it’s fine, I just…”

He hesitates for the briefest of moments, because he hasn’t actually discussed the nature of his “errands” with anyone. He’s been looking for a way to tell Buck, though, so he figures this is as good an opportunity as any.

“I’m supposed to have my first nonmandated therapy session tonight,” Eddie tells him. “I’ve already had to reschedule it, like, five times, and now I’m gonna have to postpone it again and it’s—”

“No, you’re definitely not gonna do that,” Buck interrupts, shaking his head. “I’ll go get him.”

Eddie glances over at Buck, half expecting to find pity or judgment in his eyes, but Buck doesn’t look anything other than completely genuine in his desire to help. It makes Eddie’s heart ache in his chest a little, if he’s being honest.

“You don’t have to do that, Buck, it’s no big deal,” he protests anyway.

“You’ve gotta stop telling yourself you’re not important, man,” Buck counters, without missing a beat.

Eddie ducks his head, staring pointedly at the floor as his cheeks go pink. Before Buck, no one ever bothered to push back when he put himself down, and he still doesn’t know how to respond to it. Mostly, he feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

Buck doesn’t let him hide, though.

“Eddie, hey,” he says gently, tucking his fingers under Eddie’s chin and tilting his head back up so he can look him in the eye. “Let me do this, okay? I know Christopher’s always your number one priority, but we need to make sure we’re taking care of you, too.”

It’s an unbelievably soft gesture, and it feels achingly familiar despite the fact Buck’s never touched him quite like this before. Like he’s something precious, something that needs to be cherished and protected.

What really gets him, though, is the we. It’s like Buck can read his mind, zeroes in on his deepest, darkest insecurities and casts them away without hesitation, easy as anything. It’s unspoken, but Eddie hears it loud and clear: you’re not alone, you’ve got me.

He gets lost in Buck’s eyes for a moment, staring into his own with an intensity he hasn’t felt in years, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, really, Eddie’s leaning in to brush their lips together softly.

It’s barely anything — in fact, it’s probably the sweetest, gentlest kiss he’s ever had — but Buck’s grinning when they part, and suddenly all the broken pieces of Eddie’s heart start to gravitate back together again.

“Wait,” Buck says after a moment, eyebrows furrowing in that adorable way they do when he’s confused. “Just for the sake of clarity: you don’t thank Carla like that when she does you a favor, do you?”

Eddie snorts a laugh, shaking his head fondly. “No, Buck. Just you.”

And then it’s back: that beautiful, pure, made-of-actual-sunshine smile that Eddie has no idea what he did to deserve directed at him.

“Cool,” Buck says simply, glancing around the loft to make sure there’s still no one around before he pulls Eddie in for another kiss, and that’s that.

Eddie comes home that night to a blissfully clean kitchen and Buck sitting on the couch with Chris cuddled into his side as they watch a movie, and it knocks the breath out of him for a moment: the overwhelming sense of safety, of comfort, of family.

When Buck tries to leave later, protesting that he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome, Eddie shuts it down and takes him by the hand, pulling him into bed with him instead. They fall asleep curled around each other, Buck slotting perfectly into place like the last puzzle piece Eddie hadn’t even realized was missing, and for the first time in so many years, he feels whole.

///

They don’t make a big deal of telling everyone the news — aside from Christopher, which Buck had been endearingly nervous about — because honestly, fundamentally, nothing changes.

They’re still best friends, and they’ve always been close; close enough that everyone they know (and even people they don’t) constantly tease them about being a couple. Hen had listened to his pathetic pining on more than one occasion back when Buck was with Ali, when Eddie still didn’t even understand why he was so jealous, and Buck’s admitted that he’s had similar conversations with Chim and Maddie after a few too many beers on their family hangout nights. And Bobby...he’s had them pegged from the start, long before either of them figured it out for themselves.

Everyone already knows, really, so Buck and Eddie don’t feel like they need to broadcast it.

They do their best to keep it professional at the station, for the most part, but sometimes their small but intimate touches seep into the work day without them even consciously realizing it.

Like today, for instance: it’s the end of a shift, and the squad’s making easy conversation about their weekend plans while they change. Buck’s cuter than he has any right to be when he proudly announces he’s taking Christopher to the aquarium, and it’s more instinct than anything when Eddie seeks him out. He slings his bag over his shoulder on the way out and opens the locker room door for Buck, resting a gentle hand on the small of his back to guide him through the doorway.

Buck smiles at him and then takes off running when he spots Karen and the kids here to pick up Hen, leaving Eddie to watch him fondly.

That is, until he hears someone clear their throat to his side and he looks over to find Chimney leaning against the firetruck, smirking at him in a way that tells Eddie he definitely saw the whole thing.

“Your heart eyes are showing, man,” Chim teases with an amused laugh.

“Are they?” Eddie asks, smiling softly as he watches Buck crouch down to talk to Denny with an excited grin. “He just...he makes me happy, you know?”

Chim softens at that, and Eddie’s a little surprised he gave up on the jokes so easily, if he’s being honest.

“You know he feels the same about you, right?” he says, looking at Eddie with nothing but absolute sincerity. “You and your kid are all he talks about, Eddie. He loves you.”

Eddie does know; Buck tells him as much every day, says he’ll say it as many times as it takes to get Eddie to finally believe he’s good enough, but it’s nice to hear it from someone else nonetheless.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You guys have something special, so please, for the love of god, don’t waste it,” Chimney tells him, nudging him with his elbow on his way out of the station.

It’s good advice, but it’s kind of a given, Eddie thinks, because there’s no way he’s ever going to let Buck go.

///

The next time it happens, Eddie swears it’s the longest day of his life.

It had been another sleepless night — this time, because nightmares kept waking Chris up every hour — and even though he eventually caved and called Buck in the middle of the night asking for help, Eddie still got up every time he heard Christopher’s cries. Buck told him he’d handle it, to go back to sleep, but Eddie’s never been able to stand by and do nothing when his kid’s upset. He needed to be there.

Pair the sleep deprivation with the slowest, most boring shift in the history of shifts (seriously, there’s only been one call in seven hours), and Eddie’s practically falling asleep on his feet.

He’s done the dishes, cleaned out his locker, caught up on his reading, and gotten a solid workout in when he finally relents and makes his way over to Buck, who’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone.

Eddie slips off his shoes before settling on the couch, pulling his legs into his chest and laying his head in Buck’s lap. Buck, for his part, just hums in contentment and instantly reaches for Eddie, running gentle fingers through his hair.

He’s not quite asleep, but it’s a very close thing, when he hears someone else shuffle into the room and clear their throat pointedly.

“You two look cozy,” Hen says, and even though Eddie’s eyes are closed, he can hear the teasing grin in her voice.

“I just want to make sure he gets some rest,” Buck answers, voice soft. “He works so hard, and he’s exhausted, but he won’t admit it. He never gives himself a break.”

“That’s our Eddie,” she agrees with a chuckle. They’re both quiet for a moment, and then she adds, “You’re good for him, you know.”

He can’t see him, but Eddie would bet money that Buck’s blushing as he says, “I try to be. He deserves it.”

“He does, and he’s got it,” Hen tells him. “Trust me, Buck, you’re all he wants. All you have to do is show up.”

Suddenly Eddie’s overwhelmed with fondness for both of them, and it’s all he can do to keep pretending to be asleep instead of wrapping them up in a hug.

“Thanks, Hen,” Buck says, voice thick with emotion.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t start crying on me, Buckley,” she jokes playfully. “You can thank me by making me best woman at the wedding when you guys finally get your shit together, got it?”

Buck laughs at that, bright and happy, and Eddie swears he can feel his heart melt.

///

It’s not even a week later when Bobby calls him into the kitchen while he’s cooking lunch.

“Hey, Harry’s been missing Christopher. He keeps asking me when he gets to see him again,” he says with an easy smile. “Any chance I can drop him off for a sleepover tonight?”

“Yeah, I think Chris would love that,” Eddie answers, nodding. “Hey, Buck?”

Before Eddie can even look around for him, Buck’s there, coming up behind him and into his space. He rests his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him back into his chest, hooking his chin over Eddie’s shoulder easily.

“What’s up?”

“Are you up for an extra kid in the house tonight?” Eddie asks, leaning his head against Buck’s.

“Who, Harry?” Buck asks, nodding enthusiastically in Bobby’s direction when Eddie hums an affirmative. “Definitely. He’s always welcome to crash our movie nights.”

“I don’t think it’s crashing if he’s invited, and they’re probably gonna ditch us and our movie to do their own, much cooler thing,” Eddie points out, and he can feel the vibration of Buck’s answering laugh.

“Guess you’ll just be stuck with me, then, Diaz.”

“Oh no,” Eddie teases, grinning. He finally looks back to Bobby and finds him watching intently as Buck brushes his thumb back and forth along Eddie’s shoulder in gentle strokes.

“You know,” Bobby says, clearly aiming for casual but missing by a mile, “For what it’s worth, the three of you make a really beautiful family.”

That knocks the breath out of Eddie for a moment. It means a lot to have the person he looks up to the most reinforce what he’s already so sure of: that after so much struggling and so many mistakes, he’s finally got it right.

“Bobby,” Buck chokes out, suddenly sounding impossibly flustered, “I’m not—”

And Eddie hates that, hates the way Buck closes in on himself when he feels like he’s overstepping or coming on too strong, even though he never actually is.

“Don’t, Buck,” he interrupts, before Buck can get a chance to start spiraling. “You know you’re an honorary Diaz. Have been for years now.”

Eddie reaches up to cover Buck’s hand with his own, squeezing gently. Buck pulls him a little closer, and then the tension and doubt is gone as quickly as it came, dismissed with a quiet sigh of relief.

Bobby smiles at them and gives each of them a clap on the shoulder once they’ve drifted away from each other. He asks Buck to give him a hand with lunch, and as Eddie wanders away to leave them to it, he can just make out Bobby breaking out his serious, fatherly tone to tell Buck:

“Eddie’s right, Buck. You belong in that house with those boys, and he and Chris both know it. You can all be so happy together as soon as you believe it, too.”

///

Today is...it’s a living fucking nightmare, honestly.

They lost a kid on a call; a kid with bright, innocent eyes, a kid not far from Christopher’s age, a kid that died alone because LA traffic kept his parents from getting to him in time.

Although, “alone” isn’t entirely accurate. Buck held his hand the entire time, talked to him and kept him calm all while maintaining a brave face, even though the whole team could see it was tearing him apart. It wasn’t until he was officially gone that Buck broke, openly crying over his body. Eddie wasn’t faring much better, and a quick look around told him the rest of the team wasn’t either. It’s too close to home for all of them.

The ride back is silent, everyone processing their emotions on their own, but Buck and Eddie sit next to each other, pressed together from shoulder to knee, and Eddie clings to that pressure like a lifeline, uses it to ground himself.

When they get back to the station, as soon as they’re off the truck and there’s a little more room to breathe, Buck reaches for him.

“Eddie,” he murmurs quietly as he cups Eddie’s face in his hands and presses their foreheads together.

Eddie lets out a shaky sigh as his hands go to Buck’s sides. They both let their eyes fall shut and then they just breathe together, slow and steady, in and out.

He’s always grateful to have Buck with him at work, but he’s even more so at times like this; while everyone else has to wait until they get home to see their significant other and settle for a phone call in the meantime, Eddie can just reach out and instantly have that warm, reassuring comfort when he needs it most. He still aches to see Christopher, but with Buck by his side, he feels more steady.

Eddie zones out for a minute or two, melting into the moment of him and Buck and how unbelievably safe he feels despite everything, until suddenly he’s shaken out of it by the sound of Hen’s voice.

“Okay, I’m sorry, but we can’t just stand by and watch this anymore,” she says, gesturing to Bobby and Chimney. “Today was the worst day. The kind of day that makes you want to never take your family for granted ever again. Don’t you guys wanna, like...I don’t know, go home together, kiss Christopher, and hold each other close?”

Eddie looks over at her with raised eyebrows, because he honestly has no idea what she’s on about.

“I mean...we were planning on it, yeah,” Buck says slowly, sounding every bit as lost as Eddie feels.

“Are you kidding me?” Hen asks, blinking at them in disbelief.

Eddie pauses to share a look of complete confusion with Buck before answering.

“What do you mean? Of course we’re going home together.”

“Yeah, but when Hen says together, she means actually together,” Chim says pointedly. “Not this sad, pining, quasi-relationship you guys have got going on.”

“Okay, what the hell are you guys talking about? We are together,” Buck says, taking Eddie’s hand in his own as if to prove his point.

At this, everyone’s eyes go wide, and Eddie can’t for the life of him understand why.

“Wait, what? Since when?” Hen and Chim somehow manage to ask in perfect unison.

“I don’t know, like a month? Month and a half, maybe?” Eddie guesses with a shrug.

“And you didn’t think that was something worth mentioning to us at any point?” Hen questions.

“We thought you knew!” Buck protests. “We haven’t exactly been subtle.”

“That’s our point, though. You’ve never been subtle,” Bobby points out. “You’ve been acting the same way you always have this past month.”

“Okay, well, excuse us for wanting to be professional,” Buck says. “What do you guys want us to do, make out in front of you? We’re at work.”

“Says the guy who used to have sex in the truck,” Chimney quips with a smirk.

And that...well, that’s news to Eddie.

“I’m sorry, he did what?” he asks, turning his head to look at Buck, who’s blushing bright red.

“Okay, can we please not?”

“Evan Buckley, oh my god,” Eddie teases, grinning, because he can’t resist. “I hope you know I’m not that kind of guy.”

The whole team starts laughing at that, and Eddie can’t help but join in. It’s nice to be able to laugh again after such a terrible day, and even though Buck rolls his eyes and grumbles about everyone giving him a hard time, he smiles bright and fond when Eddie presses a kiss to his cheek.

“So you guys are happy, then?” Hen asks with a smile once the laughter dies down.

“We really are, yeah,” Eddie answers easily, because not only does he know exactly how he feels, he’s also 100% certain that Buck feels the same way, and that’s...goddamn, it’s a good feeling.

“That’s all we ever wanted for you,” Bobby tells them, so kind and genuine it’s staggering, honestly. “You both deserve it.”

And then all three of them are wrapping him and Buck up in a big group hug, and Eddie basks in the warmth of it all.

///

Eddie does take Hen’s advice about not taking your family for granted, though. That night, over pizza and video games with Chris, he asks Buck to move in with them so they can come home together, officially, forever.

They send an announcement text to the group chat immediately afterwards, in the spirit of keeping everyone in the loop.

#please be gentle with me y’all i am very rusty lmao #buddie #buddie fic #sometimes i write

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sugurus-slxt · 3 years

Text

Our Song – Tsukishima Kei

Type: fluff (SFW)

Warnings: slight cursing, not eating, crying

Note: Guess you could say it’s a college au but I’ve been working at this for a while so I hope you like it.

Word Count: 3388

Hope you guys enjoy the story

Sunday [6:30 p.m.]

You were laying on your bed in your dorm running your fingers through Kei’s hair while he listened to music. This is how you spent most rainy weekends. He was quietly humming to his overly loud music but you were kind of in a daze looking at the wall but not quite. You did this a lot while staring off in your faraway land, thinking of a future with him but it’s not something you would tell him. You were too afraid he didn’t feel the same way. You knew he loved you, nearly two years into college and you both are still going strong but what if he never thought about it.

“Hey, shorty! Whatcha thinking about?” He looked up at you. “Oh, nothing really just some assignment my professor mentioned in class today,” you lied trying to brush it off quickly. He just shrugged and asked, “Ok... Umm…Wanna listen to music with me? I’ll play my playlist you like.” You nodded, “I’ll get my Bluetooth headphone…” he pulled on your wrist. “I’ll share these with you,” he held up his regular earbuds and you agreed. If that’s what he wants, it was fine with you.

Tsukishima would never admit it but sharing his earbuds like this with you made him feel more connected like sharing your energy, a sort of bond, it was romantic for him. The thought of it always made the tips of his ears turn pink. He switched positions to have you lay next to him, your face buried in his chest. Silently, he prayed you couldn’t feel his heart quicken as he rested his head atop yours and hand on your waist. Headphones plugged on the playlist began. A few songs in a familiar song started to play, a love song, one of your favorites. “Babe? This song …” you started but he shushed you. “I know. I know. I added it because I knew you liked it ok now just listen ok. It’s no big deal,” his fingers played along your spine only making you feel more nervous. Your thoughts began to wander as more of your favorite romantic songs played. At this point, it was 7:30 PM and there was one thought that couldn’t leave your mind ‘What’s our song?’ and before you knew it you started talking, “Hey um Kei? What’s our song?” You regretted it as soon as you asked. “Huh? What do you mean our song?” he questioned his voice slightly drowsy and muffled by your hair. “It’s just… you know what it’s nothing,” you brushed it off and tried to continue listening to the music but he paused it.

“Spit it out y/n,” he said looking at you, it wasn’t meant to be rude, he just preferred you to be straightforward. You didn’t intend to make a mini-rant but it happened, “You know our song. It like a song for us that describes us and no matter where or who we’re with when it plays we think of each other. Or like if we are together and it’s just that knowing look that happens when it plays. Our song that’ll make it feel like it’s just us no matter who’s around. And it’s not just us you know its fits us, describes us like it was meant for us. Like it’s a song we can play to dance at our wedding, and again on our anniversary and relive the moment. Maybe even for our ki-,” you stopped in your tracks. You had caught yourself before you went too far. It was unbelievable you just brushed it off a while ago but it still managed to come out. Your most insecure thoughts were poking at you as Kei just kind of looked at you, lips parted. You’ve never seen that expression well except the time he’d see you naked for the first time but still, this was a bit different. He looked away scratching his neck and said, “Oh ok… Well, we can think about a song I guess but I’m kinda hungry and I told Tadashi I would go for pizza with him so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your face fell as he grabbed his stuff and walked out of your dorm. He just kind of brushed it off and you were terrified because he was supposed to stay the night. You knew Kei could be like this, he wasn’t the best with his emotions and you knew that. You even loved it but this time his lack of response just threw you into a blender of bad thoughts. Maybe you just made him nervous but what if he didn’t want that, what if you had scared him off your mind was racing. You went to bed without dinner and tried to fall asleep whilst listening to the playlist he had made for you whilst trying to hold back sobs. It’s a miracle you got any sleep that night, thoughts kept attacking you “What if he breaks up with me tomorrow? What if he doesn’t want that with me? Does he think I’m stupid for thinking so far? ”

-----Out for Pizza with Yamaguchi-----

“I thought you and y/n had plans?” he said sipping his drink.

“Hey … We did but um she started talking about this thing called ‘our song’,” he was hoping he could clear his head and talk about how he felt without messing things up. Tadashi was always good with words and being kind.

“But isn’t that like good?” He asked confused chewing his pizza. Unlike Tsukishima who hadn’t touched his food even a bit.

“I guess but she was talking about marriage and kids and I-,” he paused looking down whilst fiddling with the straw in his drink.

-----The Next Day-----

You put on some concealer to hide your eye bags and puffiness, some regular comfy clothes, and bought a whole lot of coffee, just something to get you through today but it didn’t help. You couldn’t focus and it was driving you mad. Your friends noticed your teachers and even the janitor. There was no doubt Kei wouldn’t notice but he wouldn’t let you just say “It’s nothing…” However, there was one problem you hadn’t seen him all day. It was the end of this achingly slow day and you bumped into Yamaguchi, “Hey have you seen Tsukishima?” He smiled and said, “No, I haven’t seen him since yesterday but I’m sure you could probably find him in his dorm later.” You wanted to ask him if Kei had said anything but in all honestly you were too scared to. You thanked him and quickly went on you way.

-----Next Week------

The entirety of last week had followed a similar cycle to the say after what you consider the “Great Tragedy”. You’d barely eaten or slept, the dark circles were becoming more than obvious. You were convinced you guys were over and it was getting harder to bear. Sure you could have just seen him at his dorm and ended this prolonged misery much quicker but something always came up whether it be a problem, an assignment, or just your cowardly nature towards the situation. At this point, you were just torturing yourself. Tomorrow was your 2 year anniversary and you were more than afraid to face him. That’s if it wasn’t over already.

-----At Tsukshima’s Dorm-----

“You have to go see her,” Yamaguchi pleaded

“But what if she doesn’t want me anymore now? What if I messed up? Worse what if she thinks you hate her? I should have seen her even if I was busy. I’m always such- such dammit I’m an asshole,” it was one of those rare moments in his life where he was having a breakdown and he didn’t know what to do.

“Tsukishima Kei! You better calm down right now!” Yamaguchi held on to Tsukishima shaking his shoulders. “You aren’t going to know unless you find out ok. I know you, even if you’re not good at expressing yourself but you always succeed in getting the point across plus just sleep tonight and execute the master plan tomorrow. And for the record she knew you were an asshole, strangely I think she likes that,” he patted Tsukishima on the back and left the dorm, giving him a small laugh and smile of reassurance.

The words master plan gave him some comfort but he wouldn’t really call it that. It was always the plan it just took longer than he expected. He’s kind of glad you never came to check on him but he knew you, even if it didn’t seem that way. He knew you were hurt and your habits would have taken a turn for the bad he just hoped that he didn’t mess up for good. Tomorrow was your anniversary so in a sense the timing was perfect. The only problem was he’d avoided you for so long he hadn’t even seen you, sure he asked around but his worries weren’t put to rest so easily. He’d never let you know how obsessive he could be.

It killed him to be away from you for so long, especially how your last encounter had ended. He could only hope this would make you see, make you understand how he feels once and for all.

----- Anniversary-----

He was hoping he could catch you around campus for lunch and maybe convince you to take a walk with him to the nearby coffee shop where both of you had your first date, but you weren’t anywhere to be seen. He remembered that date, no matter what snarky remark he made you’d laugh and giggle. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but he wouldn’t show it, instead, he’d made a snarky remark towards you laugh which only made you laugh harder. He was intrigued, captured in a sort of way and he knew you’d keep him that way for a long time but now it was a bit different.

“Hey, Tsukki! I heard she’s in her dorm, she hadn’t gone to classes all day,” Yamaguchi ran up to him pulling him out of the memory.

“Thank you!” He ran quickly, practicing more often really paid of athletic-wise.

----- In Your Dorm -----

You hadn’t moved all day. No breakfast, lunch, snack not even water. Your body ached, your nose stuffed not only from crying but rather because you worried yourself sick, literally. His gift laid unwrapped on the floor, It was a box of various things you thought he might like, new kneepads with a cute little dino on the ends, a jacket with an embroidered moon on it, cute matching dino necklaces, and a plushy which was you guessed it a dinosaur. Now you were wondering if he’d even want anything from you.

As the heaviness of your eyelids started to take over there was a sound of the door opening, you quickly pulled the blanket over your head. Kei was the only one with a key; you wouldn’t let him see you like this. You didn’t want this to be the last way he saw of you, pathetic, weak, and plain loser. You prepared yourself to be broken up with as he called out, “Y/n! Y/n! Shorty! Babe, I’m coming in!” ‘Babe ?” your thoughts lingered on the word, it gave you hope and a bit of courage to call back out quietly because you could barely raise your voice, “I’m in my bed.”

He peeked his head in and the sight made his heart crack, “You little dummy! You got yourself sick; I should have known this would happen. Umm, I’ll be right back.” He ran out and in about 15 minutes he had been back, and even then you were still shocked and confused. “I’m in your kitchen,” He called out. All you could manage was to mumble a simple ‘ok.’ His plans had few out the window and in all honesty, he was panicking just a bit but he still had a backup plan though and he thinks it’ll work just fine. All he had to do was try his best to do what he came here for, he just wanted to make you see and hopefully he hadn’t ruined everything.

Tsukishima waltzed into your room carrying a bowl, “Ok, I’m no cook but I can make ramen. You better like it ok.” He helped you sit up and held the spoon to your mouth which kind of took you by surprise, “Come on open up or I’ll eat it myself. Unless you want me to do that airplane thing they do for babies you’re such a child anyways,” he joked earning a little giggle from you. You gladly took the mouthful and smiled, “Yummy. Thank you, babe,” a small smile quirked his lips to your response. This caused your cheeks to feel even warmer if that was even possible, the fever was already burning you alive. After you finished the ramen, he made you take some medicine and drink water. At this point, the fact that today was your anniversary was completely forgotten but you did the one thing that got you into this mess again. You blurted out, “So you’re not here to break up with me?” He looked sort of taken aback, had he really made you feel that way. He thought maybe his lack of response had made you sort of letting go of yourself but he didn’t think that this could happen. He hated that he couldn’t make you believe in his love, that he always came off as cold but it was time to execute the plan. He hoped this would show you.

“What? No, no I’m not here for that but um we can talk about this after you should get some rest,” He padded towards you and laid next to you wrapping his arms around you. “What if you get sick?” you questioned him quietly. “It’s whatever; you’re the dummy who didn’t take care of yourself so now I gotta do this. Plus maybe then you can take care of me, you owe me anyway because I made you my amazing ramen,” you chuckled at his response, leaning into his touch. “Wait I almost forgot,” he grabbed his earbuds and his phone. He readjusted and started the music, you were four songs in, all happened to be a mix of his and your favorites.

Tsukishima’s heart rate had quickened and his breathes were getting shallow, it was fast approaching and he was nervous. He couldn’t help but wonder ‘What if you hadn’t liked it?’ The song started and you knew immediately, you couldn’t face him your hand over your mouth, tears welled in your eyes it was beautiful, it was perfect. You could feel every emotion, every thought, you knew he loved you before but this was pure, it was his everything and he did it all for you.

The weight shifted on the bed as he came on the other side of the bed on one knee, he pulled your hand from your mouth and kissed your knuckles, “I’m sorry I left you waiting for so long, I’m sorry I made you feel lonely and hurt but most of all I’m sorry for making you didn’t think I loved you. I’m not the best with words so um I hope this comes out right. When I met you, I felt like I finally found my person, you loved my dry, snarky humor, weren’t easily fazed and most of all you never judged me. You made me feel accepted, loved and I could never ask for anything more. I- I- spent the last week thinking about what you said and well you know what else now, I’m sure you can tell. Anyway, umm I want to get married, I want cute kids that look like you and have your cute laugh, I want it all, I’m sorry I didn’t make it seem that way, I just never thought you could want that with me but I panicked though I was beyond happy. I can’t propose to you now but I want to promise myself to you with these,” he held out his other hand with two rings; they were dino rings which made it even cuter. You couldn’t help but giggle as you wiped the tear with your other hand. “That’s if you still want me and we can play this song, Our Song at our wedding, in the car, for our kids, whenever you want if that’s still what you want,” he broke, tears slid down his cheeks.

He was never one to cry, and when he did it was genuine. You shifted your body, your legs off the side of the bed, and him now kneeling in between them. You raised his slightly bowed head, holding his face and wiping the stray tears on his cheeks, “Kei, you’ve never made me feel lonely, I just over thought and you know kind of thought maybe you didn’t want to have kids or get married or the whole shebang. I’m not the most optimistic person so I immediately assumed the worst. This isn’t your fault I’m just a big idiot and I love you so much. So yes I want all those things with you and no one else.” He laughed a bit, “Yep you’re an idiot but you’re my big idiot and I love you too, shorty hmmm shortcake,” he placed a gentle kiss against your lips and slips on the funny little ring.

“Hey you were supposed to say I’m not an idiot but what did I expect, shortcake though I like that,” You leaned in as he hummed in response against your lips. He is incessantly kissing you but a question crossed your mind and you stopped him, “What’s wrong y/n?” He questioned a bit worried. “How did you make that song by yourself? Not to mention your voice is amazing babe. You should consider music as a career you know,” you looked waiting for a response. “Well you see, I had some of the lyrics written about half a year ago and what you said made me finish em. You made me really happy but also nervous and I was scared to mess up so I panicked. I thought maybe if I had finished the song I could get my feelings across so I met up with someone I knew from my time in high school and he helped me out. Semi Eita, the musician he helped me with the tune and the music in the background. I took a bit longer mainly because I needed it to be perfect and I was nervous. So yeah but I’m gonna be a pro volleyball player babe, I didn’t know my voice was good until Semi suggested I sing it myself.”

“Wait like the Semi Eita,” your eyes sparkled, you loved his music, “You never told me you knew him. Wait sorry I’m off-topic, the song was perfect and you wrote these that long who knew you could be so romantic?” He looked at you slightly frowning, “Hey! I can be romantic ok. You try to top that. Humph! I’m glad you like the song though. Oh also I’ll introduce you next week to Semi he’s been curious, something about someone who can handle the Tsukishima Kei. I don’t know what he’s talking about.” You jumped up, “I can’t wait. Yayyyy. Oh wait before I forget I didn’t wrap your gift but it’s over there, I kind of got necklaces, they match the rings.” You twirl around excitedly when suddenly he grabs you by the waist, “Well since your feeling so much better, maybe you can give me another gift,” he pulls you down to straddle his lap on the bed instantly attaching his lips to your neck.

You jokingly cough in his face and run as he chases you around the dorm shouting, “You damn pipsqueak when I catch you which you better hope I don’t, you’re so screwed.” He does eventually catch you but he drags you back to be for cuddles, kisses and a bit more. Needless to say, both of you did not attend classes tomorrow.

I always found it hard to be myself

But you made feel like no one else

A love like no other is what I really felt

So I’m in this in sickness and in health

So that’s what I thought the last verse could have been but I’m no song writer so I’m sorry if its horrible. On that note I hope you enjoyed the story. I encourage constructive criticism and I hope to see you again.

PS I am working on your requests I promise it’ll be here soon.

If you liked my work, maybe you might want to buy me some coffee ☕️?

Question; Do you want what happened if Y/N decided not to be playful aka the NSFW?

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