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solarmorrigan · 6 months

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omg I'm obsessed with your latest "don't fucking touch me" prompt. Would you continue it?

Hello! I know this is actually from earlier in the week than the one I answered a couple of days ago, but I was saving it because, while I don't exactly have a continuation, I do have a little stobin interlude I wanted to share

I'm still working on the "fix it" part of this idea, but at least in the meantime Steve gets a hug?

[Part 1]

It isn’t unusual for Steve to show up at Robin’s house well after any reasonable guest would come knocking. It isn’t unusual for him to do it by climbing the side of the house and knocking on her window (she hasn’t told him that her parents don’t really care anymore if he’s there in the middle of the night; she figures the physical activity counts as some kind of jock enrichment). Unfortunately, it isn’t even unusual for him to appear out of the dark because he’s upset.

What’s more unusual is the way he sits silently on her bed after she’s let him in, the way he’s almost folded in on himself, the way he won’t quite meet her eyes – as if there’s anything he can or even needs to hide from her.

What’s fucking unheard of is the way he starts crying when she pulls him into a hug, his face pressed to her shoulder and his arms wrapped around her waist like she might disappear if he doesn’t hold on.

Robin doesn’t even understand what’s happening at first; she can feel Steve shaking against her as she rubs a hand up and down his back, but when his shoulders start to heave like he’s having trouble drawing in breath, a cold bolt of uncertainty lances through her gut. She tries to pull him back to look at him, to see what’s wrong, but she only gets him far enough away to hear one very quiet sob before he’s hiding his face again and she realizes–

“Oh. Oh, shit– okay, this is happening. Okay.” Robin resolutely does not panic as Steve sobs into her shoulder, even though crying isn’t something Steve does (not that Robin’s ever seen, and she’s seen Steve through a lot); instead, she goes back to rubbing a hand up and down his back, bringing her other up to pet his hair, and tries her best to project literally any kind of comfort. “Okay, you’re okay – well, you’re obviously not okay, but I’ve got you. You can just let all this out and when you feel up to it you can tell me what’s wrong because you’re kind of freaking me out, but not until you’re ready, okay? I’ve got you.”

She feels maybe her success is mixed, but Steve doesn’t complain and he doesn’t seem to be made more upset, so she can’t be doing too badly.

All told, Steve’s breakdown is unsettlingly quiet. Robin tries not to think about why he can cry so silently, and instead focuses on finding the transition from actively sobbing to sniffling and trying to catch his breath. The next time she tries to pull him back, he lets her, still not quite meeting her eyes and automatically bringing a hand up to wipe at the tear tracks on his face.

Robin has seen Steve all manner of beaten and bloodied and bruised, but somehow, sitting here in her room, still half-curled into her space with his face blotchy and wet from crying, she thinks this might be the most upset she’s ever seen him. She can only imagine what’s happened to cause it – at least until she can get him to tell her.

“Get it all out?” Robin asks, as gently as she’s able (she’s never been great at gentle, but Steve’s used to her by now, she thinks he’ll get it).

Steve shrugs, but then gives a little nod.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to give you some tissues so you can clean yourself up, because I love you, but I’m not going to wipe your nose.” This gets a congested laugh from Steve, and Robin allows herself an answering smile. “Then I’m going to go downstairs and get you something to drink, and then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong, because I am this close to being seriously alarmed.”

“Sorry,” Steve says gruffly, ducking his head, moving to pull away.

“Nope, we don’t do sorry here, nothing to be sorry for,” Robin insists, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and keeping him close. “I just want to know what’s wrong, okay? I want to help. So here.” She shoves the box of tissues from her bedside table into Steve’s lap and gets up with one last squeeze to his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

Robin slips out of her room and sneaks down to the kitchen (her parents don’t really care about Steve’s late night visits, but they will be grumpy if she wakes them up), poking around quietly for some kind of suitable post-breakdown sustenance. She ends up with a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and a half-eaten package of Oreos from the pantry – the late night snack of champions, she decides.

Back up in her room, Steve has shucked his sneakers (no shoes on Robin’s bed, it’s a cardinal rule) and settled himself up against the pillows; his face is dry and his eyes aren’t as red, but the tiny smile he gives her when she passes over her spoils still makes him look just as sad as before. Still, Robin valiantly lets him get through half the bottle of Gatorade before she elbows him gently in the side, demanding answers.

“Right.” Steve caps the bottle and rolls it nervously between his hands, watching the highlighter fluid yellow slosh around inside. “So, uh. You know how I’ve been seeing Eddie?”

Robin’s heart sinks. “Oh, shit, did you two break up?”

“Actually, it turns out…” Steve clears his throat. “It turns out that there wasn’t anything to break up. Apparently, we’ve been friends with benefits this entire time and I’m just a delusional idiot who made up an entire relationship in my head. So there’s that.”

There is nothing Robin can think to say to that. There’s entirely too much to unpack, and none of it makes sense.

“What,” she finally manages, a little flat.

“Yeah, he said that, uh. I’m not the type of guy you have a relationship with, and that I’m hot, but I’m just a good friend, and we’re just having fun.” If Steve’s voice cracks on the last word, Robin doesn’t mention it.

In fact, she’s too busy being consumed by rage to really notice. “He said that to your face?” she demands.

Steve clears his throat. He won’t meet her eyes. “Not– not exactly.”

“Steve.”

“The guys were over, and I went out to get some air, and that’s… what I heard Eddie saying to them when I came back in,” Steve says. “So now they know how pathetic I am, too, which is. Great. That’s fucking great.”

The world goes still. Suddenly, everything makes perfect sense. Robin reaches out and squeezes Steve’s wrist. “I’m going to have to leave for a few hours, okay?” she says. “I have to bike down to the trailer park and fucking kill Eddie.”

In a flash, Steve twists in Robin’s grip and grabs her by the wrist in turn. “Don’t leave,” he says quickly.

“No, he doesn’t– he doesn’t get away with this,” Robin hisses. “He doesn’t get to do this to you and not face consequences!”

“He wasn’t trying to– I mean– I was the one who–”

“Are you defending him right now?”

“No, I just– fuck.” Steve lets go of Robin and shoves both hands up into his hair, grabbing and pulling. “I already feel enough like some fucking – loser reject, okay? I don’t want to be alone right now. Please just… stay.”

The rage doesn’t abate (if anything, there’s probably more of it), but Robin’s priorities do rearrange, and she settles back on the bed next to Steve. “Fine,” she huffs. “Munson gets a stay of execution.”

She pushes the package of Oreos into Steve’s lap and orders him to finish the Gatorade. She doubts if he’s going to escape tonight without a migraine, but dehydration on top of stress will only make it worse.

They sit quietly for a while, munching on cookies, shoulder to shoulder on Robin’s bed, before Robin breaks into the silence.

“You’re not a loser, Steve. You’re my best friend, and you deserve to be loved, okay?” she says softly, reaching over to wrap her hand around his wrist again. “And one day it’s going to happen. I’m choosing to believe in love, too.”

For a long moment, Steve says nothing. When he finally does speak, his voice has gone a bit rough. “If you make me cry again, I’m dumping what’s left of the Gatorade over your head.”

Robin snorts, squeezing Steve’s wrist. “There’s that mean girl I know and love.”

Steve laughs, too, small but sincere, and Robin takes it as a win.

Part 3

#platonic stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things #solar wrote #answers from solar #anonymous #I hope this is okay!#as I said earlier this week; I would definitely like to continue that idea I'm just still kinda working out how...

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cutielando · 5 months

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i'll take care of you ~ jj maybank

my masterlist

You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing. You reached our for it and when you saw who the caller was, you immediately sat up and answered it.

"Babe? What's wrong?"

JJ's heavy breath was the only thing you could hear.

"JJ? Is everything okay? What's going on?" you pressed, panic settling in your chest.

"Can I come over? I'll explain everything" his voice was so small, you could barely hear him.

"Of course you can, baby"

"I'll see you in 10 minutes" he said and hung up, not giving you a chance to say anything else.

It wasn't weird to get phone calls from JJ in the middle of the night, but he was never this distressed. Your mind started coming up with all kinds of scenarios, one worse than the other.

The 10 minute wait seemed like forever before you heard the all too familiar knock on your window.

You immediately jumped and opened it, being met with the bloody and bruised smiling face of your boyfriend.

"What happened to your face?" you asked while helping him enter your room without making too much noise to wake up your parents.

"Nothing serious, it's fine. Doesn't hurt as bad as it looks" he shrugged his shoulders and laid back on your bed.

You stood rooted in your spot, staring at him. You knew where the bruises came from all too well, but it didn't help that JJ was still trying to hide them from you.

"J, please just tell me the truth" your voice was small, knowing that JJ couldn't deal with screams and anger.

"I am, it's nothint that hasn't happened before. I'm used to it, it's fine" he was now sitting up, patting the spot next to him.

You bit your lip but complied and sat down, putting your right hand on his knee.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this, baby" tears started streaming down your cheeks by now, sobs fighting their way out of your body.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, it's just how he is. He's not always like this, you know, he has his good moments" the fact that he still tried to defend his dad, beaten to a pulp by him, brought even more tears and sadness in you.

"You don't deserve this, baby. Nobody should ever lay a finger on you, let alone a hand. You deserve so much better" you rested your head against his shoulder, squeezing his knee in comfort.

He brought a hand down to his knee and took hold of yours. You interlocked your fingers and squeezed, knowing how much JJ needed to feel you there with him.

"I have you, and that's all I need. Don't be so hard on yourself, it's not your fault" he whispered, kissing your forehead.

"Please let me take care of you. I'll talk to my parents and see if you can stay here for a while. They can even become your legal guardians until you turn 18. I know they'll do it, and you'll finally have a safe place that you could call home" the idea seemed so simple and easy for you, but it seemed like such a stretch to JJ.

"I can't ask you or your parents to do that, babe. Being a burden to your family is the last thing I want to do" he tried to reason with you, but you weren't having it.

"No, you listen to me. I am not letting you go back home, JJ. My parents love you and I know they are going to want to help you. Please don't push me away, let me help you" you were basically begging him at this point, but you didn't care.

Nobody deserved the life that he had, and you'll be damned if his father touched him one more time. You were going to do everything in your power to make sure he'd never received another punch or insult from his dad ever again.

"Okay" he finally whispered after a while, chewing on his bottom lip.

You let out a big sigh of relief you didn't know you were holding and wrapped him in your arms, silent tears falling down your face.

He buried his head in your neck, taking in your familiar scent and warm hold.

He finally felt like things could finally take a turn for the better. Like he would get a new chance at life.

All because of you.

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jewish-vents · 1 month

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I am about ready to scream at goyim going "imagine if a country that was mostly one religion committed genocide other than Israel! imagine any other country being that awful!" I AM JEWISH AND CHOCTAW. My people have been massacred, forced off our land, raped, beaten, killed, death marched down to Oklahoma, forced into residential schools, been denied tribal membership and access to the reservation (and our own fucking culture) for being too light-skinned, Christians came in and beat and killed and raped everyone trying to practice our ancestral religion, Christian charity was contingent on you being willing to go along with Christianity, the government that has its' boot on our neck to this day is Christian, and goyim really want to act like NO ONE religious has ever done anything bad other than (((some people)))?! Choctaw women are STILL raped and beaten by police at four times the rate of white people and you know what the dominant religion in the state it's being done is? Hint, it's not Judaism!

Do you know why my ancestors converted, goyim? It's because the only people who ever offered them any kindness or support who weren't asking them to give up their language, culture and way of life were Jewish. The only people who agreed being forced off of your land and death marched to Oklahoma was fucked up were Jewish people. The only one who would let my great-great-great-great grandfather work for an honest day's pay and pay him the same amount they would a white person was a Jewish man. When white people wanted to take my great-great-great grandfather and his sister and put them in an Evangelical school to indoctrinate and mistreat them, it was a Jewish woman who straight up lied to them and went, "oh they're not Native, they're my kids, actually! no need to take them anywhere, they're not Native, they're white, the father of my bastards is just tan from working outside a lot!" and thus kept them out of there. They converted because they saw the love of G-d and it sure as shit wasn't from Christians!

And people see me and they think, "oh, he's not white, so he must not be Jewish. I can say antisemitic shit in front of him" and it makes me want to go fucking feral. Do they think I just forgot why my ass is in Oklahoma and why I can speak English and Yiddish and not fluent Choctaw? Do they think I forgot who gave my family a plot of land to live on when my ancestors were declared too light skinned to be allowed to live on the reservation while also not being able to return home because white Christians had built a town atop the ruins of my people's land? Because it wasn't you, Karen. You would have been saying Native kids were better off at a residential school and we both know it! We know it because you're fine hating a minority if you just have something you can spin into an excuse and you're fine dehumanizing people if the opportunity presents itself. "Imagine if any other religion-" I don't have to imagine. I'm in Okla-fucking-homa, Karen!

I've been observant all my life but this has switched it from 'lazily observant' to 'digging my heels in and being as Jewish as humanly possible' for the same reason I work my ass off learning Choctaw despite the obstacles: white goyim do not own me and I do not owe it to them to conform to their culture and expectations.

Am Yisrael Chai Akostininchi li Yisrael

(yes I know how to say it in Choctaw, my parents embedded that in my psyche, even if the rest of our knowledge of the language is spotty)

#jewish vents #antisemitism #genocide tw #american his #anti-native racism #Choctaw

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kneelingshadowsalome · 9 months

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Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place.

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional.

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind.

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book.

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you.

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below.

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously.

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower."

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out.

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her.

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet.

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him.

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness.

"You're awfully quiet," she tries.

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave.

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right.

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams.

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed.

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?"

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus.

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room?

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug.

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?"

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice.

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull.

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders.

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time.

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman.

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met."

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo.

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea.

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist.

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this.

It's her.

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris.

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck.

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv.

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin.

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain."

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust.

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her.

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..."

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are."

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier.

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs.

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine.

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck…

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex.

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…"

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this.

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..."

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering…

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…"

"Yeah? I know."

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength.

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?"

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #cod fanfic

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natalchartnurtures · 16 days

Text

PAC: Mitski, what about me is eternal like the.. moon?

I had so much fun doing this

~~~~~~~~~~~

Pile 1:

'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love mine, mine, mine Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love is mine, all mine, all mine

I'm sitting right in front of your cards in utter awe. I got goosebumps when I laid eyes on your cards, pile 1. Let me begin by saying this: you've seen some DARK and truly terrible times, haven't ya? Even as I say this, it feels like an understatement. There have been times when you were stripped down to bare bones, and you had to "grow back the rest of you." I apologize for the gruesome metaphor (but hey, I'm just the messenger; this ain't really coming from me :p). Maybe you've had to encounter times when you felt painfully lonely, stuck in your head and in your general life too, like your spirit was beaten down. Or maybe it felt as if the universe snatched away something you thought was incredibly precious? But I hear that it wasn't what you thought it was; that's why it had to go. You probably didn't see it that way at all, and THAT'S ALRIGHT because we don't have Spirit's perspective, now do we? I see that you really struggled to put yourself together after that somewhat 'impossible-seeming' loss. It seemed like it came outta left field.

BUT GUESS THE FUCK WHAT. You, my friend, took this PAIN and these fucked up times and turned it into a damn palace of gold. You read that right. What's eternal about you? Your alchemy. Your fire. Your willpower. Your ability to take life by the balls. Your refusal to let it beat you to dust. Your refusal to be small. Literal goosebumps, you feeling it yet? It's your connection to God/Source/Universe. Your faith. Your mastery of your mind, babe. Yeah. You've somehow mastered your mind in this process of putting yourself back together. Acknowledge that ish! 'Cause you really did do that.

Nothing can ever get you to stop dreaming, and much less trying to stop you from achieving them, love. You're a powerhouse of energy, and God bless anybody who ever underestimates that (you included side-eyeing you right now). Not you getting low key called out, haha.

Don't get me wrong, though; being a powerhouse of energy doesn't necessarily mean being in everybody's face trying to assert your dominance, y'know? It can look like silent crying in the middle of the night and waking up the next day determined to overcome the thing that made you cry the day before.

Your light is what's eternal about you. It never goes off. Like ever. Your dedication to learning and growing through whatever, and I mean WHATEVER, life throws your way is what will never die, sweetie. It's like a part of your essence at this point. I hope you're proud of that and know that it's what will bring you to your success in life, whatever that looks like for each one of you beautiful ass people reading this :)

Haha, that's so cute; I just heard Spirit go "you're going places, sweetheart" ><

And with that, let's end your FABULOUS, goosebumps-inducing (btw, I don't say that about just ANYTHING), and awe-inspiring reading here.

Thank you, pile 1, for sharing your energy with me today. I love you guys so, so much and… not gonna lie, I'm low key honored to have been in your presence today. Haha, see ya!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Pile 2:

My baby, here on earth Showed me what my heart was worth So, when it comes to be my turn Could you shine it down here for her?

My god, why is there so much happening as I tap into your energy, pile 2? And I mean it in a nice way, though. I heard T Swift's song "The Last Great American Dynasty" as I was shuffling for you, and I heard Spirit go, "she's sweet and salty," lol. We'll see how all that plays into the reading eventually.

The first thing I noticed was your incredible balance within your mind and heart. It's shocking. Maybe you've been working on getting these aspects of yours to agree with one another and balance each other out, or it's simply your personality, but… pile 2, this beautiful mind-heart balance is what's eternal about you, love. Your peace. Your calm. The childlike innocence of your heart blending seamlessly with your mind's unending curiosity for life. Your emotional intelligence. The way you flow… like water, I heard. Wow! I find that so amazing, ugh, like can we be friends, pile 2? T-T, 'cause I definitely need some of that in my life right now, not gonna lie, haha.

There's that AND then there's a whole other dimension to you where you give 'life of the party' vibes as well. OH, so maybe that's why I heard Spirit say "sweet and salty," like two very different things but produce a wonderful taste together. Complex. Addicting. You make people want to come back for more, pile 2. Mmmmmm! Love that!

You have this laid-back vibe to you as well that a lot of people in your life appreciate. I see that your ability to lighten anybody's day is what's eternal about you awwww. I heard "she's the sunshine of my life." UGH, this is too wholesome for my heart; please save me. You seem to really perk up people's day/week or just life in general. You give, like, Saggi vibes, bro. It doesn't matter if you have that in your chart, but it's just your soul. The eternal aspect of you feels bright, expansive, loving, and so vibrant in energy, my god. You've also got strong feminine energy too… you must be really good at attracting 'cause you're strong in your feminine energy AND you're chill and detached from it at the same time. Effortless manifester, master manifester are some words that come to mind as I describe this.

Your divinity is what's eternal about you. Your 'witchy vibes.' Your embodiment of your highest truth. Your commitment to maintaining this divine connection in your day-to-day. Bro, what's eternal about you is that you can turn any old mundane task/thing into something fun and magical and full of meaning and symbolism. You live life deep, and even though there aren't a whole lotta people who can join you there, you wouldn't have it any other way. It's your raw authenticity, babe. Circling back to "The Last Great American Dynasty" song, maybe you're like Rebekah that T Swift sings about, "the most shameless woman this town has ever seen." People tend to call raw, authentic women shameless, but you couldn't care less. You will forever do what you like 'cause you're a free-spirited divine mystic in the body of a teeny lil human. Love it.

That's all I have for you, pile 2. Thank you for spending time with me! I love you so much <3

~~~~~~~~~~~

Pile 3:

Moon, tell me if I could Send up my heart to you? So, when I die, which I must do Could it shine down here with you?

Ah, my divine activators. What's eternal about you? Your intensity. BS detection might as well be your middle name. Sherlock Holmes who? 'Cause you're the new detective in town, baby, sniffing out illusions, falsities, fake people, LIES, victim mentality. None of that runs free with you around, I'll tell you that. It's your capacity to hold divine truth, lovingly, which is INCREDIBLY hard, btw. You can't stand half-assed people and people who seem to not have their "heads screwed on straight." Lmao, what kinda people are you surrounded by, pile 3? Ooh, I heard that you're divinely planted where you are so you can activate a lot of people into awakening to their true selves, but it looks like nobody wants to actually awaken. Lmao.

-Side note: My heart goes out to you if you've been surrounded by really difficult and chaotic energies that bring you down a lot. That SUCKS so hard, bro. Been there myself too lately, and it's not a fun merry-go-round to co-exist with. Just keep being your amazing cool-ass self, ok? Things will work out eventually. You already intuitively feel that things will get better, so trust that feeling!-

If I could describe your energy, I would use the Phoenix rising from the ashes symbolism to do so. Ohhhhh, as I told you that, I saw a vision of T Swift's music video of "Look What You Made Me Do," where she comes out of the grave and sings, "Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time." I'm a fan, pile 3. Omg. That's some badass ballsy energy, and I'm so here for it right now. You're the epitome of what psychological death and rebirth looks like. You're the textbook definition. And THAT'S what's eternal about you. No matter where you are or what you end up doing in life, you'll always be able to "rise up from the dead" and do it iconically too. Haha, I literally heard that. Lmao. This ability of yours is an extension of the greater aspect of you - your higher self. Whoa… I just heard you've had this ability for lifetimes and you will take it strongly with you to the next ones as well. Powerful. It's etched in your soul, pile 3. You know what you want and how to get it, even if not immediately; you always do eventually. It's the security you possess within yourself that's eternal, love. Nothing can really shake you at this point. Lmao. You've got a strong-ass foundation.

-Side note: I'm really seeing a healed and fully realized root chakra for you. If you haven't gotten there yet, you're well on your way! Good job! Root chakra work is the most brutal, btw, so… you really have my respect. Haha, moving on-

You have warrior energy present quietly in your personality as well. You give spiritual warrior vibes. You don't prefer to live in it 24/7; it's simply something you tap into when a situation calls for it. Otherwise, I see you being quite heart-centered, full of love, looking at the world with rose-colored glasses. Your inner child is what's eternal about you. Your divine sensitivity and your capacity to hold your emotions without judgment and live big from a place of heart. You embody the energy of water in my eyes, tbh. Life-giving but also destructive if need be, and there's absolutely nothing weak about water. Phew. You are eternal as the oceans are.

Ahhh, pile 3, that was sooo much fun! Thanks for stopping by, and I love you soooo much!

~~~~~~~~~~~

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kentopedia · 7 months

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contents. nanami takes care of you after a long day, fluff, very soft, 600ish words

notes. trying to clean out my drafts tbh

the first thing you did when you got home was collapse onto kento's lap.

he'd hardly had time to greet you before you were dropping your bag, crawling over the other cushion to rest your head on his thigh. wordlessly, you curled into a ball, melting into his skin, the dark shadows under your eyes evident.

you'd gotten home later than usual, your projects, work, and errands keeping you busy over the past couple of days. though he saw you every morning, every evening, your time together had been limited recently.

balance had always been difficult for the two of you. kento knew how much you hated overworking yourself, though a part of you couldn't stop it, couldn't dispel the feeling that you were doing something wrong if you stole too many moments for yourself.

the two of you were similar to him in that manner. you did it because you felt like you were supposed to, not because you truly wanted to.

exhaling gently, he placed a warm hand on your head, gently rubbing your temple with his thumb. "everything okay, sweetheart?" he asked quietly, massaging out the tension in your neck, the tightness that you always clasped so tightly in your jaw.

you didn't open your eyes, but you hummed, relaxing into him. "'m fine, kento," you said, your voice so soft in this stillness of the evening. "just tired."

the sky was a deep black outside, the takeout he'd grabbed after work already packed up nicely in the fridge. it was far too late for anyone to be out in the world, and yet, your makeup still smeared on your cheeks, pants wrinkled around your calves.

kento hated seeing you so beaten down, worn out from your long days. a heavy sigh left his lips. "headache?"

"mmhm,” you hummed, tapping a finger against his knee. “how do you always know?”

kento would’ve laughed, had he not felt so concerned for your well being, missing the livelier version of yourself that he cared for so dearly. if anyone knew how you felt, it was him. "you've been working too hard this week."

you smiled, blinking your eyes up at him wearily. his lips were curled down farther than usual, the frown permeating his serious expression. "i'll be okay." you said squeezing his hand. "let me lay down for a few minutes, and then i'll be fine."

kento sighed, placing his warm hand on your forehead as you glanced up at him, hardly able to keep your eyes open. "honey," he said quietly, running his fingers through your hair in a soothing manner. "just go to sleep."

"mm," you hummed, a yawn leaving you a moment later. there was still a long list of things for you to do, and though it was late, you didn't want to leave them for tomorrow. "i've got to do my laundry. and then i have to—"

kento cut you off, letting a heavy hand rest on your head. "it's okay. i'll take care of it."

you blinked up at him tiredly, starting to sit up. "no, no, it's okay, ken. i'm' fine. you're tired too."

"sweetheart," kento kissed you when you were fully seated, not quite on his lap, but leaning over him slightly. "you can barely keep you eyes open." he smiled once more, pushing your back down onto his lap. "i'll take care of it."

though you wanted to protest, you didn't think that you could get your body to move, to even cooperate with you to do the rest of your chores. your exhaustion had seeped into fatigue, and you fell back onto his thighs, slumping over him.

“sorry, kento.” you frowned, a wave of emotion and disappointment in yourself washing over you. but as he threaded his fingers through your hair, you could already feel yourself falling asleep, your eyelids heavy.

he shook his head, a small, breathy laugh leaving him. "don't be sorry. that's what i'm here for. you don't have to take care of it all on your own."

#kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆#beloved kento 💋 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

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markster666 · 4 months

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I'm not sure if I've made a request with you but if I have please feel free to ignore! I just can't stop thinking about reader just going up to Vox and asking if they can play videogames and use his head as the monitor. idk I just wanna fuck with Vox he's hilarious

My Life is Like a Video Game (Literally) - Vox x Reader (SFW)

Pairing: Vox x Genderless!Reader

Tags: Vox, SFW, Comedy, Not a lot of plot, Vox is pissed off, Vox x You, Cursing

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: 575

A/N: I saw this request come into my inbox a bit ago and I died of laughter. I hope this lives up to your expectations. Unedited, so apologies for any spelling mistakes. Enjoy. LMFAO

You cursed in disgust as the lights went and fucked themselves. You knew Vox had a temperament and when it got BAD, the power shut off everywhere. You were in the middle of beating a really hard boss on Dark Souls, one you spent DAYS UPON DAYS trying to complete, only for his fuck-head lookin' ass to ruin your almost perfect run of it.

You threw down the controller and groaned. You decided to get up and mindlessly walk around the room, actually putting in the time to throw your dirty clothes in the pantry and make your bed.

You were hoping Velvette or Valentino would've calm him down by now, but the complete darkness and lack of gaming audio states otherwise.

You hastily put on your comfort jacket and shoved open your door and slammed it behind you, murmuring obscenities as your feet scuttled down the hallway. Your arms were crossed from how cold it was (the heater electricity was shut off too).

You knocked on Vox's door, stabbing back a foot or two in anticipation of the door opening.

After a few moments, you shouted "VOX!"

Still no answer.

You raised your voice even more, "VOX! OPEN UP THIS FUCKING DOOR OR SO SATAN HELP ME-"

The door opened, slamming against the wall and threatening to break.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Y/N?!!"

His eyes were glowing red, a snarl coating his face. His hand was still on the doorknob, ready to slam the door in your face at a moments notice.

You rolled your eyes, "I was in the middle of a Dark Souls boss fight and you decided that THAT was the perfect time to completely cut all power."

He groaned in frustration.

"I'm SORRY, okay? I don't know what else to tell ya."

He started closing the door but you pushed past him and into his computer room.

"There's only ONE working TV in all of Pentagram City now..."

He frog blinked at you, closing the door with a look of confusion on his face.

"Um... What are you trying to say?"

You turned to face him, arms on your hips and looking him up and down.

"May I PLEASE use your head-screen thingy to... beat the Dark Souls boss?"

He looked DUMBFOUNDED. Like there's absolutely no fucking way you just asked him that.

"That is probably the dumbest fucking request I have ever gotten from you. No, absolutely not. Power will be back on soon."

He pushed past you, sitting in his chair and rubbing his eyes in exhaustion and stress.

You smirked and went up behind him, massaging his shoulders lightly, leaning in close to his ear.

"I'll go and spy on the Radio Demon for ya."

He perked up at this thought, swiveling his chair around to face you.

"Oh? Ya don't say?" He folded his hands on his lap. "Fine, then, but ONLY 10 minutes."

You squeaked in giddy, sitting down and crossing your legs on the floor, booting up your controller and he switched his monitor to Dark Souls, trying to stay as still for you as he could.

It ended up taking 8 hours because you had beaten the boss but wanted to keep playing so you just didn't tell him you beat the boss.

And you left him even more angry than he already was. :)

Oh and you also didn't spy on Alastor you truly couldn't give less of a shit.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #vox hazbin hotel

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battymommastuff · 1 year

Text

The Accident (Pt. 2)

Batmom x Batfamily Prompt: At least you did something...

TW: VERY DARK!!!!

Part 1

"She isn't making any progress. We've tried everything from electroshock therapy to simply giving her a journal to write her feelings."

You could hear your personal therapist talking to your husband...well ex husband by now. Your marriage died the day he put you in this damn place. What place? None other than Arkham Asylum. At first he could live with what you did, he understood what you did. Everyone understood why you did it, but what happened after...he couldn't live with it.

Bruce watched as his wife shut down. You became a shell of what you once were. The warm, welcoming mother that everyone knew you to be died. Something cold, and sinister was left in her place. The Gotham criminals began to fear you more than Batman himself. Batman held back...he pulled his punches. You...you didn't. You couldn't. This life, the scum of Gotham took your son away from you. How could Bruce just sit there and be okay with it?

Everything came to a boiling point when he walked into the manor with his newest sidekick, Tim Drake...

"Y/N, this is Tim Drake. He will be assisting us in our...work." Bruce said and rested a hand on the young man's shoulder. Instead of a warm greeting or a smile that one usually got when meeting Y/N Wayne, Tim got a stone cold glare.

"Jason's grave isn't even covered in grass, and you're already replacing him?" You growled as you stood from your seat on the couch. Tim flinched at your tone, and moved back a bit. He heard such good things about you. This wasn't how he was expecting things to go.

"Good job Bruce, get another kid...let's see how long he lasts before he's in the grave too." You spat before storming off. That night, you chose to go on patrol alone. While Bruce and Tim were doing their own thing, you were spending your night alone. As you sat perched on a ledge, watching the city that you've grown to hate, all you could think of was Tim. How could Bruce just move on so quickly? You weren't surprised. He spent most of that night scolding you and lecturing you for nearly killing the Joker. Now the bastard was in a coma, and you wished he was dead.

The sound of a woman screaming knocked you from your thoughts, and you looked down seeing the said woman blocking her young child from an attacker. You don't know what happened at that moment, but something snapped. You weren't going to let another mother's heart be broken, or the child's. No more families were going to be broken because of scum like this. You blacked out again, and this time you came to be pinned to the brick wall by Batman. Robin was hovering over the man you'd just beaten. He pressed two fingers to his neck then looked at Batman. Robin shook his head, and then looked at you. Instead of horror, or remorse...you smirked, "At least I did something." You whispered to your husband.

Now here you were, wasting away in the cells of Arkham. Eating food that was stale, and cold. It made you miss Alfred's cooking. Several inmates tried to gang up on you, and quickly learned why that was a bad idea.

"The doctors are beginning to fear her. She's got a rage inside of her that can't be tamed. Whatever set her off...doesn't seem to want to fade away." Your therapist looked over at you, chained to the table that you were forced to sit at. Bruce clenched his jaw as he looked at you. You'd lost weight, and your face was sunken in. You looked half dead.

"Then we'll find something new. I'm not giving up on her. If you can't help her, then I'll have to find someone who can." Bruce snapped. He knew that keeping you here would kill you in the end. You weren't made for a place like this. He wanted you home with him and Alfred. It was where you belonged.

Little did he know that the solution to his problem was going to be solved...

It would be several weeks later, close to when visiting hours would end. You were sitting in your cell with your back facing the door when you heard it open.

"Mom?"

That voice made your entire body go cold. Yes the tone was deeper, and a little gravely, but you knew that voice. The Gotham accent...it couldn't be anyone else. Slowly your head turned, and you nearly fainted when your eyes met the ones staring back at you...

To be continued...

(I know most wanted a pt.2 with Jason's reaction, but I got a little carried away lol. I promise I will make a pt.3 with his reaction!)

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daydreaming-nerd · 3 months

Note

Hey, I saw that you are writing to Rhys and I have been asking, I just ask that you be patient because I don't know how to explain it very well

Anyway, would you like a fic, like, with two scenarios? where Rhys and the reader LITERALLY love each other with the same intensity? like, a scenario where Rhys defends and protects the reader, and another where the reader defends and protects him?

Thanks!

Unconditionally (Rhysand x Female! Reader)

Summary: you and Rhysand are fiercely protective of each other no matter what the situation is.

AN: I hope this is kinda what you were looking for!

Warnings: fluff, mentions of abuse, Amarantha sighting (brotha ew), blood, death, mentions of rape, SA.

When I found the High Lord of the Night Court I was nothing but a weapon crafted and created from birth by Keir. Chosen for my impeccable beauty, Keir had molded me to be an assassin that could rival Azirel himself. Keir had long sought to own the entirety of the Night Court and he had every intention of using me to do it. My beauty allowed me to seduce any man within an inch of his life. But my sleight of hand and dexterity made me nearly lethal. When Keir wasn’t using me I was locked away deep within the Hewn City, forced to train with men who were much bigger and stronger than me. Oftentimes I thought to run, escape, but I was always beaten into submission.

The night I met Rhys was the mission I had been bred to complete for many years. I walked into Rita’s dressed to the nines and blended in perfectly. The second the devilishly handsome High Lord made to leave I followed him, waiting in the shadows until it was my time to strike, the second I got the blade under his neck he winnowed out from under me and returned the favor with a blade of his own. I’ll never forget his first words to me...

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doing with such a dangerous weapon?” he drawled.

He could've killed me that night, but he didn’t, he showed me mercy and maybe pity too. It turned out he knew much more of me than Keir thought he did. He saw how scared I was offered me sanctuary. At the time I didn’t have a clue who he was to me, but looking back, I think he knew all along. Through months of getting to know each other despite my fear of him at first, we grew to like each other. Soon we grew to have witty banter that kept me on my toes, and intelligent conversation about anything and everything that would surpass the long hours after dinner. After a few months he started sending me on missions with Azriel, and eventually after a year or so he sent me on missions of my own, his way of saying he trusted me.

One fateful mission I was sent on to an Illiryan camp left me battered and bruised. It seemed the Illyrian generals sought to teach me what happens when a woman comes into their camp and causes problems, even if it is at the request of their High Lord. I never would’ve made it home if Cassain hadn’t found my frozen body in the ditch they had left me in. Looking back I was almost thankful for the event, it was how Rhys and I realized we were mates. Ever since then we had been truly inseparable.

“Rhysand, I won’t ask nicely again,” purred that clearly female voice.

Amarantha had been after Rhys since he escaped from under the mountain, but I had never seen her in the flesh. She would send letters and emissaries asking for Rhysand to be her whore, promising him riches and luxuries beyond his wildest beliefs. Yet now she stood in the townhouse, auburn hair cascading down her bare shoulders, her black off the shoulder dress squeezing her tightly. How she got here? I don’t know, but I do know that from where I sat in the shadows she wouldn’t see me drive a knife through her skull.

“Amarantha, I'm a mated male. The answer is no,” Rhysand drawled trying to keep up appearances, but down the bond I could feel a sense of fear.

“She can watch if she likes,” Amarantha mused, and it was my last straw.

I snuck up behind her with the stealth and dexterity that had been bred into me from a young age. I hardly needed to use it anymore, being Rhysand’s mate gave me ample immunity across Prythian. But god if there was ever a time. I press my dagger to Amarantha’s throat and I feel her body try to move but she's far too late.

“Sorry Amarantha I don’t like to share,” I growl, pressing the edge of the blade even deeper.

“Did I mention that my mate is lethal?” Rhysand boasts with pride.

“I’m s-sorry,” she pleads and a tear falls on my black dagger.

“Now mate,” Rhysand smirks. “We wouldn’t want to get blood on the new rug.”

I roll my eyes at his snarky remark. It was little comments and that effortless swagger that had made me fall in love with him in the first place.

“Beg,” I utter in her ear. My voice filled with absolute authority.

“P-please I’ll leave. I-I’ll never come back,” she says through her sobs.

I yank her hair back further, “Why should I let you go?” I smirk.

“Because I’m s-sorry. I-I’m so sorry.” she cries even harder.

“Sorry for what?” I ask condescendingly.

“For what I d-did to R-Rhysand,” she says, like she’s too afraid to reveal the whole truth.

I felt Rhysand tense through the bond but it only made me see red even more, knowing that her presence still affected him.

“What did you do to my mate?” I ask like I don’t already know the answer. She stays silent, choosing to cower. “Tell me!” I shout.

“I’m sorry I f-forced him into my b-bed.” she admits and her knees go weak at her admission the only thing keeping her up is my hand in her hair and my dagger to her neck.

I couldn’t help but see the image of him and her. Rhysand helpless below her as she rode his cock, the reason he still was too scared to let me take him that way. Images of him cumming inside her, his body's natural reaction to what she was forcing him to do. I remember how he told me the stories of him crying himself to sleep while she slept soundly and happily.

“You touched my mate, and for that you’ll pay the ultimate price,” I sentence her. “He’s fucking mine.” I growl before slitting her throat.

Her body falls to the floor in a heaping pile of dress skirts and her own blood and I toss my bloodied dagger over her dead body. I check my hands for blood, but like a trained assassin should have it, not a drop is on me.

“Well so much for the rug,” Rhysand drawls, standing from his chair.

I walk over to him, the rage the mating bond caused me to see drifting away at the sight of him. He wraps his arms around my waist.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “But she was a dead woman the second she stepped in this court. Thinking about what she did to you still makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Shhh,” Rhys coos, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m not mad at you. If you didn’t kill her I was going to.”

“Sorry I kind went all deadly assassin on you, but-”

“The mating bond was provoked,” he cuts in, tipping my chin up to meet his gaze. “Trust me I know the feeling. How do you think I feel when you come home injured from a mission?”

“Holy shit y/n!” Cassian drawls from behind me. I turn to find him nudging Amarantha’s limp foot with his boot. “Mating bond chafing a bit?” he chuckles.

“More than a little bit,” Rhys laughs with male pride.

I simply raise my eyebrows at the Illyrian in a challenge and pull Rhys down to kiss me.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rhys asks me for the millionth time.

“Yes Rhys I’ll be fine! I promise!” I reply but I wasn’t too sure of my answer.

I had never been back to The Hewn City since I left on that mission to kill Rhys all those years ago. But today I finally made my return. I had avoided the city as much as possible and Rhys never so much as asked me to come along with him. Returning would mean the torture, the assault and every nightmare I faced here, I would have to face again. Today I had decided I was done hiding, I wanted to face my fear, show Keir that I was more than just what he made me. I knew I would be more vulnerable down here, most likely off my game. But Rhys had assured me we would only be making a quick appearance at the party and then leaving, so I felt now was as good a time as ever.

“Alight, but if you want to leave at any time you let me know okay?” he says, kissing my brow.

“I will,” I smile.

We walk through the large doors to find the people of The Hewn City already kneeling. The second I come into view their gasps reverberate throughout the room. Everyone knew I was Keir’s pet, but now I stood dressed in black with a crown atop my head, beside the one man I was bred to kill. The High Lord.

We take our seats on the twin thrones at the end of the room. Keir bows to us both and I don’t miss the shock in his eyes as he sees what became of his pet. It becomes clear to me that he thought I was dead for all these years, and now I walk into his city once more with a crown on top of my head.

“Let there be music and dancing!” Rhys proclaims and the room fills with a beautiful orchestra as the festivities begin.

“Welcome Rhysand, who have you brought with you tonight?” Keir asks, faking his innocence.

“My mate of course,” Rhys says, pressing a kiss to my hand. “I must thank you for introducing us. She is without a doubt the most delectable creature I’ve ever known.” he continues nibbling my palm.

“I- uh. Well” Keir stumbles over his words.

“Leave us,” Rhysand orders.

Keir scrambles down the steps to wherever he thinks he might be safe from Rhysand’s death stare. I knew this place always put him on edge, no doubt with me here tonight he was fuming.

“How are you feeling?” Rhys asks, fondling my hand.

“Good, considering I’ve never seen Keir show true fear before,” I laugh replaying the image in my head.

“Maybe next time I’ll have him juggle and sing you a song then too mate,” Rhys chuckles.

I watched as people danced and sang and were generally happy. I never knew this side of the Hewn City. The normal side I should say. Keir always kept me locked in the dungeons, the only time I was ever allowed out was on missions and when he chose to parade me around like his little pet. His way of striking fear into the hearts of his subjects. Seeing the people act like, well, people was almost jarring. They were monsters, but they were still fae just like me.

“I’m thirsty darling, I'm going to grab a glass of wine, would you like one?” I ask Rhys.

“Yes but let me fetch a servant or come with you.” he replies and I can sense his unease.

“No, I want to show them all I’m not afraid of them,” I say quietly so only Rhys can hear. He nods his head and I feel him tug on the bond as if to say ‘be safe’.

I waltz down the dias steps and over to the corner where wine is held in large barrels. I don’t miss the shocked looks from those around me followed by hushed whispers. No doubt all of them were talking about how I used to be Keir’s pet. I keep my head held high and reach for a glass to fill up.

“Well hello beautiful,” a deep voice drawls from behind me and I whip around

My shoulders tense up. I would recognize that voice anywhere. Dante. The man who helped to “train me” in the art of seduction. He would come into my cell and teach me how to seduce a man, which of course led to him taking advantage of me. He was one of Keir’s favorites.

“Remember all the fun we used to have little one?” he grins wickedly stepping towards me.

“Normal people would call that rape,” I snipe at him, trying to act like I’m not terrified.

“Oh but you used to make such pretty sounds for me,” he teases, stepping closer and I feel my back hit the wall. “Lets see if you still do.”

In a second his body presses me to the wall and his hands are hiking up my skirts. I try to push him off or look for help, but here in the Hewn City it wasn’t uncommon for males to take what they want when they want it.

Dante’s motions stop and his eyes go wide, like his brain is about to explode. He falls to his knees before me and every vein in his head and neck look like it’s about to burst. I look up to see Rhys standing behind him, nothing but pure murder in his eyes.

“I would think twice before touching another male’s mate,” Rhys grits out standing in front of me so he can look down on Dante. “Especially your High Lord’s.”

“I’m sorry Rhysand I didn’t know,” Dante wheezes.

“Have you touched my mate before?” Rhys asks and Dante neglects to answer. “Very well then I’ll just have to find out for myself.”

Dante screams in agony writhing on the floor, Rhys no doubt tearing into his mind to find out what he wants to know. I look around at the stunned faces watching one of their own lose his mind in the middle of the ballroom, even the orchestra had stopped. I felt shame fall over me as I realized what Rhys was seeing. Images of me, dirty, bruised and helpless being forced to seduce and please the man writing on the ground. Rhysand’s shoulders tensed and suddenly Dante stopped writhing.

“So you have touched her before,” Rhysand drawls. “What a pity, I almost considered letting you off with a warning.”

Within moments Dante’s screams echoed off the walls and I knew what Rhys was doing, he had done it to the Illyrain who threw me in a ditch all those years ago. He was melting his mind from the inside out. He didn’t even have to lift a finger.

“Let it be known that whoever disrespects my mate again shall meet the same fate!” Rhysand’s voice booms, addressing the crowd now. “Maestro you may continue!” he finishes, turning to me.

Rhysand’s shadows shield us from the rest of the onlooking crowd and the second I look into his eyes I’m immediately comforted.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, taking me in his arms.

“Yeah I’m fine, you got here before anything happened.” I sigh, melting into his touch. “I’m sorry you had to see that, you know, the things he did to me. I hoped you’d never know” I say, casting my head down in shame.

“Hey don’t you dare be ashamed,” he says tilting my chin up. “What he did to you was unforgivable. If I had known earlier I would’ve had his head on a pike.”

“I love you Rhys,” I say, burrowing my head into his chest.

“I love you too mate,” he smiles stroking my hair. “Let’s go home.”

#rhys acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand angst #rhysand fluff #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand smut #rhysand acotar

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lazycats-stuff · 6 months

Note

hi I love your posts and I wanted to ask if you could do batfamily x newest batbro who was created to be a weapon and when bruce saves him and makes him have a childhood he couldn't make choices like the demon slayer kanao please

Hi! I'm glad you like my posts. I would like to state that I have never watched Demon Slayer, but I went on Demon Slayer wiki to get some info, so if there are some incorrect details, my apologies.

Summary: (Y/N) never had a choice. Bruce decides to change that.

Warnings: pure abuse, (Y/N) is a weapon for his father, Bruce and the boys are giving (Y/N) a new childhood, (Y/N) is slowly getting accustomed to his new life, (Y/N) trying new things...

In life, you often don't have a choice where you end up and who your parents are. You often don't have a choice. (Y/N) didn't have a choice. A life full of violence and overall dear and submission. Even the slightest sound of fear or pain could get you in trouble.

He has been training with the others ever since he could remember. As far as he knew, he was in a program that created weapons. Human weapons to be more precise. The program's enemy?

The Justice League.

He is the only survivor of the program's regime and training. There were kids with him too, but they were just weak. (Y/N) remembered one morning where they were all blue and just cold to the touch. (Y/N) had no reaction to it.

Why would he?

And reaction will get him beaten and maybe drowned as a form of punishment. Well, not a maybe, it's a sure for drowning. (Y/N) often thought to himself that they had a list full of punishments. He wouldn't be surprised.

He rarely got punished, because he has learnt what will happen when he decided to fight back. He shuddered every time he has remembered the punishment he got the first time he tried to fight back.

It's better if he doesn't remember.

That punishment broke him. Whatever he was before that punishment, he wasn't anymore. He became a shell of himself, allowing them to break him in and build him back up again, just like they all wanted.

Who was behind the project, he didn't know. But did it matter anyway? He is going to stay in the program for the rest of his life or rather until he is alive.

There was time when he thought he was going to die. Oddly enough, he didn't hope to die that day. (Y/N) never thought about killing himself.

They broke his spirit and soul and yet again put him back together.

Now that was something that only truly bad people can do. (Y/N) accepted it. He couldn't do anything else, could he? If he escaped they would have tracked him down and he would be dead for sure. (Y/N) accepted his fate, not knowing that the Justice League caught wind of this program and were ready to just take them all down.

On a mission gone wrong (Y/N) was caught by Batman and for the first time ever, (Y/N) became afraid. He didn't show any type fear, but deep down he wanted to hide.

He heard stories about Batman and how he works. Not to mention his kids... Especially Robin. (Y/N) knew who Ra's al Ghul was and how ruthless his assassins are. Robin is no different.

(Y/N) remembers waking up in a cell, a warm blanket over him. He doesn't remember having a blanket back in the program. A sheet would be pure mercy and some sort of heating?

A pure miracle.

(Y/N) remembers sitting up, confused as to why his enemies are treating him better than his own handlers. But that could be a ploy to get him to talk. Instead of torturing, he would get treated nicely.

Not happening.

(Y/N) rubbed his eyes as he stood up, moving closer to the glass panels. Well, they seemed like glass, but they are strong. (Y/N) looked for a way out, but had none.

(Y/N) sighed quietly as he sat back down. Oh this is just great. There is no way out and he is going to get tortured. He closed his eyes as he mentally prepared himself.

He opened them when he heard somebody coming. It was Batman himself, standing in all of his glory.

" I'm not going to talk. " (Y/N) declared and Batman simply took a chair and sat down.

" You don't have to (Y/N). I have all the information that I need my other heroes are going after the person running it. In a few hours the program will be gone and forgotten in history. " Batman declared and (Y/N) was shocked to say the least.

" What? " (Y/N) asked as he couldn't contain his surprise.

" Yes. Soon enough no one will remember the program. After knowing what they do to children, I am more than satisfied. Now there is a question as to what to do with you. " Batman said and (Y/N)'s interest got peaked.

What is that supposed to mean?

" You won't be able to function if you are let in the real life. Now, the other course of action is for you to live with someone. I have decided to take you in. " Batman said and (Y/N) was shocked.

" No. " (Y/N) said quickly. Not happening.

" Yes. You will have to stay here for a few more days until a few things are clarified and set. " Batman said as he stood up. (Y/N) watched him leave.

Oh God.

(Y/N) had to sit back down. He really did. The program will be dead in just a few hours...

Is this what freedom tastes and feels like?

And to stay with Batman, one of the people who made the League, his enemy... (Y/N) shook his head as he laid down. This few minutes are a rollercoaster of emotions and it's just something that (Y/N) didn't feel in a very long time.

(Y/N) is usually a few steps ahead of his targets and there was nothing that could surprise him. But now? He wasn't in control anymore, not that he was anyway, but when he was in the field, he had a certain degree of control.

Now he was stripped from any type of control and any sense of comfort was gone. Having control, a little degree, was comforting enough to (Y/N).

But now, everything was gone. The life he knew was gone.

(Y/N) came to live in the manor a few days later, the boys knowing exactly who he was and what has happened with him. Bruce told them to be nice and tone down everything until he got comfortable. Alfred agreed, knowing that (Y/N) had to be afraid of the change.

Now, Bruce and Alfred had agreed on one thing. And that was something called a choice. Alfred and Bruce gave him his first choice when he was allowed to choose his room. (Y/N) was confused as to how he could choose.

It's just a room, why would it matter? Although, (Y/N) did choose in the end a view with the front of the house. The reason was of strategic reasons, (Y/N) has said and Bruce and Alfred are just fine with that.

It's a step in the right direction.

Jason came by a little bit later, helping him choose some of Jason's old clothing. That was a temporary solution. When (Y/N) slowly got accustomed to the new life, they would go to buy some more clothes.

(Y/N) was slowly slow in picking, but Jason didn't mind. He waited patiently, even offering some of his own advice. Which color is good for his eyes, what would be comfortable to wear around the house... Everything he could think off.

(Y/N) was still suspicious and didn't trust anyone in the house. He didn't like how everyone was pretending to be nice to him. Just be pissed at him and what not. That would make (Y/N) feel better.

Not this.

Dick often asked him if he wanted to learn something about gymnastics, showing him what he could do. (Y/N) was impressed, but has said that those just your average moves in gymnastics. For the record, those weren't any type of average moves. Those were just some of the most awesome moves that (Y/N) has ever seen.

Of course, (Y/N) would never admit it, but still. He can think to himself that is cool. Since that he wasn't really trained in gymnastics, he wanted to do it. It looked like flying and like a test of strength.

Tim was just there helping him with TV shows. Every now and them, he would just take a break from working on cases and working overall and that was broken by watching different TV shows or cartoons, depending on what he finds. That break thing was put there by Bruce and Alfred enforced it.

You don't want to piss Alfred off.

(Y/N) found himself in the living room by accident and was interested by the fact that Tim was watching cartoons. Tim invited him and (Y/N) sat down on the far end of the couch. Tim started the original Snow White from the beginning and and (Y/N) was in love with the cartoons.

Of course he told Tim it was stupid and a waste of time. Tim didn't say anything, instead quietly gathered them on an USB when they were done and when Tim was in his room, simply leaving the USB in (Y/N)'s room subtly.

(Y/N) and Tim never spoke of it again.

Damian has started showing (Y/N) his favorite books, saying that he is the only one who is intelligent in this household. Of course, Alfred is an exemption to that rule. (Y/N) had to unwillingly admit that he didn't read any books when he was growing up.

Damian already knew the answer, but didn't push it or show the signs of knowing. He just got a stack from the library and showed him a couch where he could lay and read. (Y/N) took the books and started reading it.

It has become a nightly thing for both of them, just reading in silence, normally drinking something during it. The two don't really speak about it, they just hang out and that is just about it. It brought them together silently.

Alfred was teaching him how to cook. He started with some simple recipes and slowly moved on to more complex recipes. Alfred saw that he was a fast learner and the two were often found together cooking and just experimenting in the kitchen.

And Bruce?

He helped him with just socializing outside of the house. It has started with just other superheroes and it soon turned into full on sessions to speak. (Y/N) was slowly getting more comfortable and Black Canary was helping him out with therapy. He was against it at first, but has decided to confront his demons.

Slowly but surely, he is getting more and more comfortable and slowly started discovering his personality. Black Canary has even given a green light for (Y/N) to go to school with his peers and Bruce was all for it too. (Y/N) was nervous with the sheer suggestion and they understood.

After a few days of just thinking about it, (Y/N) has decided to go to school. It was a breath of fresh air for him, but slightly overwhelming. His eyes, trained to over analyze everything that could be a possible threat, were analyzing everything and everyone. He met a few people and Bruce was happy to hear it.

Bruce has hoped that one day he would get friends, but hey, one step at the time. Soon, (Y/N) was comfortable with physical affection such as hugs. He liked to receive hugs, especially from Bruce. Although, he is still shy about saying it outright.

Bruce didn't mind, he could see it when he wanted it and just gave him a hug. He always asked him beforehand of course. (Y/N) always had a choice and Bruce would always make sure he knew that. Always.

Soon, (Y/N) became a new vigilante, under a new name, under a new symbol. Bruce was more than proud of his son. Yes, his son. He officially adopted him and waited until his birthday to show him the adoption papers. (Y/N) cried that time in front of everyone. It was from pure happiness of course and he hugged his father, brothers and grandfather by default.

Of course, (Y/N) raised the question of how to call him. Dad? Bruce? Or just plain B?

Bruce said that everything is fine. He didn't expect that he would get called dad. Everyone shared a group hug, showing that (Y/N) he finally has a family that he could rely on. It was an emotional moment for everyone, especially for (Y/N).

After it was said and done, the cheesecake was shared amongst everyone and the celebration went well into the night. Considering that they had no neighbors so there was no complaints on that part. (Y/N) was finally happy in his life.

He finally had choices. People he could rely on. A place he could call home. But more importantly, he is happy. For the first time ever.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #jason todd x male reader #batman x male reader #red hood x male reader #tim drake x male reader #red robin x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #nightwing x male reader #damian wayne x male reader #robin x male reader

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purpleberiii · 4 months

Text

"You belong to me"

☆Prompt: Shalom and Reader has been friends since childhood and Reader has always been in love with Shalom until one day, Reader had to move away and she never saw Shalom again. Shalom hadn't figured out her feelings for Reader but one thing she knows for sure is that Reader belongs to her.

☆Warnings: Possessive Shalom, G!P Reader, nothing too intense, quite an innocent reader, Slight Anne x reader, beef between two of my wives (Anne and Shalom)

Growing up in Syndicate, it was not a good life. You got bullied and beaten every day, made fun of because of the way you looked. When you moved to the East Side, under the care of the Nineth Agency, life became immediately better, and it became the best point in your life when you met Shalom. Together you and Shalom battled the world and every danger it threw at you. One thing you knew for sure was that you were in love with her and when you told her, she replied with this, "Oh? You like me? That's quite unexpected. But I can't give you an answer now. I don't understand how my heart works."

The next day, Shalom disappeared. You knew she wasn't dead, but she just randomly disappeared. You grew up years later, still stuck on that beauty. Even after being appointed Chief, and hundreds of women threw themselves at you, you rejected them, your heart and love was for Shalom. But with recent events, you ended up back in Syndicate, and you met a wonderful doctor, Anne. She was gentle and soft spoken, reminding you of Shalom and slowly your feelings dissolved for Shalom and re-grew for Anne. The two of you started hanging out, it wasn't nothing to serious but you saw potential.

You were peacefully in your office when you got a call from the arrest captain that an unknown Sinner was there. She was accompanied by some members of FAC, meaning that she was VIP. She even requested to meet you specifically and when you entered the room, your heart left your body. "Shalom?" You whispered softly.

Shalom had that gentle smile, one you had grown to love and cherish. "Why isn't it the Chief of MBCC? How have you been, old friend?" She smiled, her smile carrying a familiar warmth in it.

"Cut the crap! Where have you been?! Why did you suddenly disappear like that?!" You approached Shalom and pulled her into a hug. Shalom didn't hug back for a few seconds.

"I've been quite alright. How are you? Did you meet anyone interesting these days?" She smiled, a knowing smile.

Now that you met her again, feelings that you've buried deep down resurfaced back again and you suddenly felt it difficult to speak. "I-uh...I no...yeah...."

"Yes? No? Which one is it? Don't be shy tell me." She chuckled slightly.

"...I can't tell you where I was. But all that matters is that I'm back and yes... I've missed you as well." Shalom returned the hug, and buried her face in your neck, inhaling the scent of your body which made goosebumps arise.

"I've heard what happened these past few months. I didn't know my y/n had the courage to stop two black rings," she sat on the chair as you did on the opposite one.

"It was my duty to interfere."

"Hmm? You've gone cold y/n. Did my absence affect you that much?"

"You-" you gritted your teeth before sighing.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you. Shalom I-"

"Shh~ no need to tell me more. I can clearly see how you feel."

"...what do you mean?" You hadn't realised you were crying until you felt a tear rush down your eyes. Quickly, you wiped it away before returning your gaze to a smiling Shalom.

"Why are you here?"

"I've been sent by the FAC to assist the MBCC on their tasks for the next few months."

"I don't need your help. The MBCC is capable enough to handle our own problems."

"Well... don't tell me... tell the FAC."

Facing the FAC was a big no for you. You already have problems with the Nineth Agency so you don't wanna get under the radar of the even higher ups.

You stood up and motioned for Shalom to follow you. The two of you walked through the MBCC building, showing Shalom around. When you arrived at the nurse's quarters, you were immediately greeted by Anne, who had a bright smile on her face. "Ah Chief, I've wanted to see you," she peeked behind you to see Shalom standing behind you with an expression you couldn't read.

"Who is that?"

"This is Shalom, she'll be assisting us for the next few months. Shalom, this is Anne my um... Nurse."

"Nurse? It's a pleasure to meet you Anne," Shalom smiled bitterly. Anne returned the smile.

"Likewise Shalom." Although no words were spoken after that, you could tell that a battle had started between the two. Anne didn't sense any good vibes from Shalom and Shalom didn't like the fact that Anne was close to you.

"Well uh-we-we-i have to keep showing Shalom around. I'll see you later, babe-um I mean Anne."

Anne looked at you with a raised eyebrow. Why did you change your nickname from babe to Anne. "Are we still on for tonight, Chief? I've bought a beautiful red dress that I'd love to try on for you!"

"Ah, yes yes I-we're still on." You nodded before hurriedly pushing Shalom out. The two of you headed back to your office where you immediately collapsed onto the couch.

"Anne huh? More like babe," she chuckled darkly. You didn't understand why she suddenly changed behaviour but all you understood was that Shalom was jealous and it was radiating off of her like perfume. "Do you think that the higher ups will let this slide, Chief?"

"T-they don't know."

"How long do you think this secret will be hidden? Eventually, they will find out. I advice you to quit your relationship with that nurse of yours." Something in her tone suggested that she was pissed.

"Okay? And why do you care all of a sudden about who I date huh?" Shalom chuckled as she straddled your lap, cupping your face while stroking your cheek.

"Because my dear Chief, you belong to me."

#shalom x reader #path to nowhere shalom #ptn shalom x reader #shalom ptn #ptn shalom #shalom ptn x reader #ptn #path to nowhere #shalom #anne #ptn anne

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kunikuyu · 4 months

Text

A punishment...?

F. Toji x Male! Reader x F. Megumi (Separately)

Warning: Dub-con, partially dark content, everyone here is of legal age, dom!bottom! Reader with sub!top! Megumi. dom!top! Toji with sub!bottom! Reader. There is no incest. Toji is a bit of an... Asshole guy here. He clearly doesn't care about his son's feelings. Toji is mischaracterized.

Summary: It was Megumi's 19th birthday, and [Name], like the great boyfriend he is, decided to prepare a surprise for the guy he loves so much. He had been wanting to do this for so long, and now he can, because Toji, Megumi's father, wasn't there. Well, he was wrong.

It was at night, 10 p.m. to be specific. [Name] was having his perfect moment with his boyfriend. It was a romantic moment, and there was no better gift he could give to the boy he loved so much.

The bed creaked softly, soft cries could be heard, accompanied by whimpers of overstimulation. Megumi was on top of [Name], while the older boy gently caressed his thighs, trying to get Megumi to relax. The birthday boy's hands pressed against his boyfriend's chest to seek balance, while scratching gently. [Name]'s eyes couldn't even stay open for long, even though he wanted to enjoy the view in front of him, the sight of his boyfriend whimpering as he tries to ride him harder.

The house was completely silent, much to [Name]'s happiness, as that meant they were still alone. But not for long. He continued to encourage his boyfriend by squeezing his thigh and massaging his waist. [Name] had luck on his side today as Toji wasn't home and probably wouldn't be back anytime soon. It would be bad to fuck his son while he's at home, right?

But...

No one had noticed, because they were too busy with their business, and even if they hadn't been busy, they wouldn't have felt his presence... Two silent knocks on Megumi's bedroom door, which if they had been heard, could have prevented a lot of things.

The two look surprised at the figure standing in the bedroom door, they already knew who it was. They were caught without even having a chance to escape... They don't know what Toji's reaction will be. It must be shocking to see your son having sex with another guy, right?

"You" He points to Megumi, with a disdainful voice, but deep down, you can hear a tone of lust. "Get out of here now." The boy doesn't want to go out, leave his boyfriend looking like he's clearly going to make mincemeat of him? He's not that cowardly. But, [Name]'s hand squeezed his, showing that it was okay to leave him alone with Toji.

The boy stands up, eliciting a soft moan from [Name] as he feels his already overstimulated cock come out of Megumi. Both of their faces burned red, what an embarrassing situation. The reason they were both embarrassed was obvious, but [Name] was embarrassed for another reason... Anyway, Megumi puts on his black hoodie to cover his nakedness, and before leaving, he murmurs, already feeling more confident.

"Don't you dare hurt him. I'll never forgive you if you do that." But he only heard a laugh in response.

Less than a second after Megumi leaves the room, the door slams shut and is locked from the inside out. [Name] barely had time to put on some pants as Toji was already on top of him. What a situation, completely naked, pinned against the bed by his boyfriend's father, while he thinks he's going to get the biggest beating of his life. But he needed to confess, being beaten by a man like Toji didn't seem so bad... No, he couldn't think about something like that, he already has a boyfriend. Plus, Toji sure doesn't like him.

"I can understand why my son chose you." He says in a low voice, while gently licking the youngest's neck. The young man's eyes widen at this, he wasn't expecting it at all. Still, He was too incredulous and surprised to say anything. Toji's knee lightly rubbed against [Name]'s erection, eliciting sly moans from him.

"S-stop it, I'm your son's boyfriend, dude!" In return, he only receives a light slap on the face.

"If you really wanted me to stop, you would have started kicking yourself by now, don't you think?" That's all he says, before starting to take off the pants and underwear he was wearing. [Name] almost fainted when he saw the size of that guy, it was definitely much bigger than his, he definitely wouldn't fit inside.

And when [Name] thought about using lub... Well, Toji had already positioned himself there and was clearly not going to help the younger boy. Maybe this is punishment for fucking his son. To make matters worse, Toji left him in a very uncomfortable position, in a mating press.

"Nghh! Ah, ah~"

That was all Megumi could hear. He was worried, almost crying in despair because he had already understood what was happening. His father was actually able to do this to his boyfriend...? Right on his birthday... Everything was completely ruined by his father. He is burning with hatred, he can't even describe it in words. And unfortunately, he can't get in there, the door is locked and he wouldn't stand a chance against Toji.

Well, while Megumi was worried, [Name] didn't even know what to feel, he just knew he was on the verge of fainting. His dick just dripped drops of cum, as he had already climaxed several times. His mouth was leaking drool and his face was completely red. His lips were bitten and were constantly kissed. The only one who was perfectly fine was Toji, and he was the one who took advantage of the situation the most. And how could it not? A cute boy with this one in his hands, just being used as a cum dump. He didn't even care anymore if the young man was his son's boyfriend.

The bed seemed like it was going to break at any moment, and the neighbors were clearly going to complain about the noise, but it's okay, Toji will deal with it tomorrow. It's been a while since Toji has had to make do with cheap prostitutes, but now, he has the perfect person to satisfy him, and he's not going to let this opportunity pass him by anytime soon. His cock was quickly moving in and out of the boy, who no longer felt any pain, he just felt his prostate being crushed every time by Toji's disproportionate size.

It was already 3 p.m. when Toji finally decided to give [Name] a rest. Various positions were tested, and the bed was filled with the liquid they both gushed out as they reached their climax. The young man clearly won't be able to walk for quite some time.

The two kissed in a disorganized way, as [Name] barely had the strength to move his tongue. He moaned softly when he felt Toji's length come out of him, feeling an emptiness in his body. The older man just put on his coat and pants, a small smile on his mouth. Toji clearly doesn't regret doing it, he doesn't care and he would do it again.

He opens the door and goes into the living room, approaching his son. "You have good taste, congratulations.” He was clearly making fun of his own son after fucking his boyfriend for hours. He grabs his keys and leaves the house, without looking back, as if it were all a joke.

Megumi runs back to his room and locks the door so Toji can't come in anymore. He doesn't even bother to turn on the light, and just runs towards his boyfriend.

"...I'm sorry..."

He sits on top of his boyfriend to hug him. Megumi doesn't normally like hugs, but he wants to be comforted and he wants to comfort his boyfriend. [Name] hugs him back. He barely had the strength to speak, and even if he had, he wouldn't say anything, because he wouldn't have the courage to say he liked what happened, even though he was forced to do it at first.

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji smut #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #smut #spotify #jjk #toji x male reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x male reader #SoundCloud

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auteurdelabre · 5 months

Text

Daddy Morales (one shot)

Rating: 18+ mdni!!!!

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f! Reader

Warnings: Daddy kink, oral (m receiving), power imbalance, infidelity, finger sucking, public sex (truck) dirty talk. Gentle Dom Frankie.

Authors note: I took a poll and you wanted this! This is glorified pwp. Just so horny for Frankie these days. Came to me in a daydream. I blame the fever I've got. Frankie fever.

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Frankie has come to despise date night. What started as a prompt from their couples counselor as a way to connect has swiftly become an evening every week for his wife Carmen to shit on everything he does.

It always starts the same - dinner out where she complains that they can't really afford it on his salary. This is usually followed by observations that her other friends wives don't need to worry about this. That they're good with their money. That if Frankie hadn't been caught on the job with coke they'd be set.

And he sits there listening, head slightly bowed under his baseball cap and he takes it. He takes it because it's true. He fucked up doing coke. He fucked up back in Columbia. He's always fucking up.

He thinks there's a sick part of Carmen that enjoys how beaten down he is. A part of her that feels superior. He was a pilot and she a secretary when they met. When he didn't work for a year because of his license being revoked she supported them and she likes to remind Frankie of this. Often.

But tonight is the last straw.

"You're a shit father, Frank."

There's a lot Frankie will shoulder. Shitty provider, sure. Emotionally distant husband, yep. But a shitty father? No. That's where he draws the line.

"You're never around," Carmen insists, eyes out the window as the truck rumbles into the driveway. "And when you are you're sleeping. Luca barely knows what you look like."

"I'm doing shift work to save money that you say we need," Frankie grits out, fingers curling around the steering wheel. "Flying helicopters isn't a 9-5. You've always known that."

"We wouldn't be in this mess if your coke-"

"Oh don't fucking start that shit again," Frankie all but shouts as they exit the truck and walk towards their front door. "Every spare minute I have, I spend with my son. Can you say the same?"

Carmen's cheeks go red. She knows he's alluding to her shopping trips and visits to the salon. Yeah, Frankie fucked up for a bit but Carmen has always had a spending problem.

She is furious but she drops her voice so it doesn't carry as he unlocks the front door and they push inside.

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"What else is new?" he growls, tension high. "Just go to fucking bed. We'll talk tomorrow."

He and Carmen both end their bickering as they come around the corner to see you in front of the television. It's on low in the background while you read your textbook.

You've been babysitting his son Luca for months now. Always on time, always cheerful, always thankful when he drives you home. You're doing your masters in education. You talk about your future with the kind of hope Frankie used to at your age.

Carmen doesn't even say hello. She just rushes upstairs to their bedroom and slams the door behind her. Frankie winces at the sound and you start, dropping your book.

"Oh hi Mr Morales," you say cautiously. "I didn't realize you were home. Luca is already asleep."

Frankie gives a wan smile, striding over and grabbing your fallen textbook. He shoves it into your hand, smiling down at you.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Ready for me to take you home?"

He watches you gather up your bag and books, eyes floating away when you bend over to grab one of the books under the couch.

He walks you to the truck, waiting until you have your seatbelt on before turning over the engine.

You don't live too far but Frankie always drives you home at night. He doesn't trust the big bad world outside his doorstep, especially not with a sweet thing like you.

You chat about Luca the entire drive and Frankie is pleased to hear that his son was well behaved.

It's not until Frankie parks in front of your apartment building that you suddenly grow somber. You want to say something, that much is clear. But he sees the hesitation in you. Sees the way that you gnaw at the corner of your mouth in concern.

"What's up?"

"I'm sorry I know this probably isn't my place," you blurt. "But Is everything okay Mr. Morales? You seem off."

He's heartened in the delicate way you speak to him. Maybe that's why he lets it all spill out without thinking.

"Uh no, actually. Apparently I'm a terrible father," Frankie says with a humorless laugh.

"What? No you're not!"

He's surprised by how emphatically you say that. He glances up to see the sheen to your eyes and his heart lurches.

"I've been your babysitter for months now and I've seen how you are with your son," you tell him, coming to shuffle so close to him on the bench seat of the truck that he feels your thigh press against his.

When he turns his head he can see the size of your quickly expanding pupils.

"You're the most wonderful father I sit for," you say passionately. "You know Luca says that? He tells me every night when I tuck him into bed that he's so happy you're his Daddy."

For some reason this comment is what breaks Frankie. Knowing how his son feels about him. The kindness you're showing him. The quiet comfort just being near you brings him. He isn't thinking when he lets his forehead fall to your shoulder, eyes wet with tears.

He doesn't even take time to think of how inappropriate this is but you hold him regardless, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders. When he feels your gentle embrace he clings to you, tears spilling from his eyes as you whisper soothing words of comfort.

"You're a good Daddy," you say as he nudges his face into your shoulder. He feels your fingers glide through his hair soothingly. "So good."

At the sound of Daddy in your hushed voice at his ear Frankie feels his traitorous cock lengthen in his jeans. He jerks back slightly in shame, pulling his face from your neck and gazing at you, suddenly affronted with a very disturbing fact.

You're incredibly attractive.

He's never realized how enticing you are. Sure you're a good looking woman, but he's never noticed how your breasts fill out your sweatshirt until just now. Maybe he's forced himself not to notice.

What the fuck are you thinking?

You're just sitting there beside him in the truck with a concerned look in your face. He feels disgusting for thinking of you in that way when all you've tried to do is comfort him.

"You're the best Daddy," you say in a voice so sweet Frankie actually feels his cock twitch. His pulse ticks along with it as he watches you drag your tongue over your lower lip.

You don't even realize what you're doing.

And as if in a trance Frankie watches his own hand go to yours. You make a little sound of surprise when he takes your wrist in his grip, tugging gently. Your arm goes limp, allowing him to guide your hand between his legs. He drags your slack fingers over his hard cock overtop his jeans.

He watches your eyes widen in surprise, fingers trembling as you realize what's happening.

"S'okay," he reassures you. "Go ahead."

He urges your hand underneath his boxers, eyelids fluttering when your tentative fingers graze the head. But he is silent when you begin stroking him with gentle tugs.

Fuck that feels good. It's been months since he and Carmen have fucked. She's so mad at him so often he's often forced to find his relief in the shower most mornings, coming against the tile with a whimper.

He feels his hips jump when the tip of his head begins to bead with precome and you use it to aid in your strokes. He sees you staring at him, aroused and flushed.

He watches your delicate hand wrapped around him, fingers not even able to span the entire width of him. He sees his cocks rosy head appear and disappear with every stroke of your sweet hand.

It looks debauched.

He should stop you.

"So big," you say softly, eyes wide on Frankie's burning face as your hand works over his weeping cock.

"Ever seen one this big before?"

You shake your head, blushing prettily. Frankie smiles gently at this, head tilting forward as he watches you jerk him off.

She's my babysitter. I'm married. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Frankie pulls your hand off of him gently, his palm sliding up your spine. He feels as you quiver under his touch and his balls tighten.

"Should stop," he says breathily heavily. You don't say anything, but he thinks you look disappointed.

Unconsciously his hand goes to your face, thumb trailing over your damp lower lip. He pulls it down gently, showing him your slick bottom teeth. For some reason this makes him groan.

He feels his breath catch when your mouth moves forward to capture his thumb in your mouth. His eyes are transfixed, watching as you suck the digit into your mouth, your eyes never leaving his.

Frankie moans gently when your tongue circles his thumb inside your wet mouth, the promise of more.

"You're such a good Daddy," you murmur from around his thumb, eyes growing heavy-lidded. Frankie glances around, thankful it's dark and that the parking lot of the apartment is deserted.

He slowly removes the finger, dragging it down over your lower lip, urging your mouth to part. His wide palm moves to the back of your head, carding through your soft tresses.

"Show Daddy how good," Frankie whispers.

You allow him to slowly guide your face to his cock, your tongue darting out to lick the beads of arousal already there in the slit. Frankie gasps at the sensation, hand tightening in your hair. He feels his cock aching when you turn your eyes up on him, smirking.

Frankie groans something in Spanish, his hand pressing firmer now against the back of your head. He relishes in the fact that you don't even hesitate to take him fully into your mouth.

Frankie let's out a string of garbled noises as he begins to thrust shallowly into your scorching mouth, sure not to overwhelm you. You take it all with your hands on his thigh, moaning in pleasure.

He lifts his hand from the back of your head, watching as you bob your mouth up and down his cock without direction. You feel eager and you twist your tongue, flicking the underside of the mushroom head of his cock.

You pull off only to lick at him, long rapid stripes like he's melting ice cream. Frankie listens to the wet sounds you make as you do this, feeling his spine tingle.

"You're doing so good," Frankie manages to get out between whimpers. "Fuck, your tongue is..Mmmm... Oh fuck, yeah you like sucking Daddy's cock don't you?"

You hum around his cock in approval before he feels your hand coming to the base of his cock and stroking. Frankie gasps raggedly at that, letting out little whimpers as he gets closer to his release.

"Daddy's gonna give you his come now," Frankie grunts out, hand back to your head, but just resting there. "And you're not gonna waste a drop, right babygirl?"

You pull off of him slowly, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to the glossy head of his cock.

"No Daddy," you tell him earnestly. "Gonna swallow it all for you."

Frankie stares at you as your mouth descends once against upon his cock, slipping him deep into your throat. Frankie cannot believe this is happening. That he's actually fucking the mouth of his babysitter and about to come down her throat.

This is so wrong. I'm sick.

You must sense his hesitation because he feels your head drifting.

"Want it Daddy," you gurgle from around his cock, eyes tilted up at him from his lap. "Please?"

Everything in Frankie comes alive at this request.

"Fuck yeah babygirl. Take all of Daddy's come. Uh huh, just like that. Yeah down that tight little throat. You suck Daddy dry."

Frankie finally comes with a shudder when you begin whimpering around his cock, pulsing into your waiting mouth as he cries out your name, his hips bucking into your mouth until they stutter to a stop.

You swallow every drop just like you promised.

He watches you slowly pull yourself off his slick cock, wiping your mouth delicately with the back of your hand. Your face is flushed, mouth slick and Frankie wants nothing more than to go up to your apartment and fuck you until morning.

"Goodnight Mr. Morales," you say with a soft smile.

Frankie can only offer a dazed nod and a scratchy goodbye as you exit the truck with your purse slung over one shoulder and your textbooks gathered into your arms.

He waits until you're safely inside the lobby of the building before he turns the truck on rumbles towards home. Home to his too-small house and his upset wife.

But at least he knows he's a good Daddy.

#frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #catfish #pedro pascal smut #filthy smut #smut smut smut #smut #power imbalance #fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #francisco morales

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