#it's rough as shit and at best works as an outline
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I have Other Projects that need writing first, but I have this mighty need for like. An SVSSS fic with Shen Jiu getting Tianlang-Jun out from under the mountain for whatever reason, consequently gaining just the worst kind of meddling gremlin matchmaker who is now dead set on fixing his life.
Shen Qingqiu is going to get therapy whether he wants it or not!! Tianlang-Jun can't go enacting vengeance on Huan Hua yet and has nothing better to do with his life right now! Zhuzhi-Lang, tell the prickly immortal master that this is for his own good! Attaboy.
Did I write almost 3k words of an outline for a fic I don't currently have the spoons to write and might never get around to? Yes. It was originally a twitter thread here, enjoy the very lightly edited details of this madness under the cut:
Maybe some business takes Shen Qingqiu near the mountain and curiosity bites him to see the sealed demon emperor - to see how good of a job stupid Qi-ge did because his shizun is singing praises about how Yue Qingyuan did the main seal and without him the whole thing would fall apart.
So he hides his presence - can't have the head disciple of Qing Jing Peak snooping around after all - and goes to take a look. It's soon enough that Tianlang-Jun is not completely out of it yet, he's humming and reciting and singing to himself in the dark to stay sane.
It gives Shen Qingqiu pause because he knows that song the demon is singing in a voice that would be surprisingly nice if his throat wasn't halfway crushed probably. One of the jiejies at the Pavilion sang it to him once when they were talking about composing, one music master to another. She composed it before she came to the city, for a likeable if spoiled young master, who then fell in love with an upstanding cultivator and kindly paid her ten times the original commission fee to please don't ever perform it in public because his beau is the jealous type.
So how does Tianlang-Jun know the song, Shen Qingqiu wonders. There's something very fishy about this. The songstress spoke only highly of the 'spoiled young master', but now that he thinks about it the timeline seems to check out... So he sneaks closer to investigate.
Tianlang-Jun hears him approaching and turns towards him. There are talismans over his eyes so he can't see Shen Qingqiu, but he quietly asks "the immortal master" to please don't be loud, his dear nephew have only just now fallen asleep. Poor Zhuzhi is running himself ragged trying to keep his uncle's spirit up and trying to find any crack in the talismans, but he already reverted to his original form and can't do much. He's curled up next to Tianlang-Jun so his uncle can just barely rest a hand on his head and is deep asleep.
Shen Qingqiu can't resist commenting on how hideous Zhuzhi-Lang is and Tianlang-Jun agrees but insists this is his nephew they are talking about so could the immortal master please not pick on his sweet hardworking Zhuzhi-Lang? Ah, master, did you know in some parts of the demon realm this counts as flirting? No?
They talk some more and Shen Qingqiu is mystified by how cordial the demon is - "What point is there in wasting my energy on raging against you, master Shen? You were not one of those who sealed me and my throat hurts so much afterwards you just wouldn't believe. 0/10 would not recommend."
Gets confirmation that yes this is indeed the 'spoiled young master', he does remember the girl he hired to write him a song, he now regrets terribly that he didn't just stick with it instead of running after romance. Was the money enough for the girl to buy her contract? Oh good. He was worried he didn't give enough.
And the more he hears about Tianlang-Jun's shenanigans in the human realm, the more Shen Jiu has Doubts about what went down. A man who fusses over his unfortunate, hideous thing of a nephew like Zhuzhi-Lang is the most precious good boy, who pretends to be drunk and 'accidentally' rents out a whole brothel for a week so a violent young master and his buddies can't hurt the girls while they are visiting the city is about as high up on Shen Qingqiu's 'good person' scale as a man can ever get, regardless of what else he is.
Shen Qingqiu has a good sense for Men That Are Better Avoided and Tianlang-Jun is tripping none of his badtouch feelers - very much unlike the Old Palace Master. Zhuzhi-Lang eventually wakes up and tries to scare Shen Qingqiu off, with mixed results. His unusual loyalty to Tianlang-Jun is noted, however.
So Shen Qingqiu goes back to the sect and hatches a Plan. It involves Mu Qingfang who knows all sorts of truth pollen, Shang Qinghua who can source basically anything they need and Yue Qingyue because stupid soft-hearted Qi-ge would not stand for being complacent in injustice. Plus they can count on his good nature to cover their asses if they are caught. Always good to have a backup plan in case they get in hot water, head disciples of a notable sect sneaking into another sect's territory to tamper with the sealed heavenly demon emperor.
It is fortunate that Tianlang-Jun currently can't see and Zhuzhi-Lang has no words to tell him Yue Qingyuan is there, because all Shen Qingqiu told him was that they are not with Huan Hua and that he wants to get to the bottom of this - preferably so he can dig a hole there and bury the Old Palace Master for good, the wording of which highly amuses the demon. So Tianlang-Jun is very cooperative, for the relief their company brings if nothing else. They hear all about his enthusiasm for the human realm (now a little bit dampened, he admits with a strained laugh) and figure out that he can't keep a serious lie up for more than 5 minutes. He probably could, Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua agree, finding common ground in their mutual bullshit/lie-radar, but it's not in his nature. Shang Qinghua mimes checking with his sources, goes for a good round of complaining to his ice prince, then returns having 'confirmed' Tianlang-Jun's recounting of the events.
So next point on the agenda: fixing this shit. Getting Tianlang-Jun out and finding out what happened to Su Xiyan. After that: finding a pit of demon ants they can shove the Old Palace Master into for a slow death, getting him to confess all his crimes in writing beforehand optional.
Getting Tianlang-Jun out is easier than anticipated because the sect leader was only exaggerating a little when he said the Yue Qingyuan's seal is the thing holding the whole binding together. With it willingly undone Yue Qingyuan can go wreck the other bindings with his cursed sword to weaken it further. Tianlang-Jun has only been under the mountain for a few years so he's not completely depowered, and after Mu Qingfang gives him some very rare demonic boosters ("Shang-shidi, stop shaking, nobody is going to ask where you got them!") he can break out no problem. It comes with a huge earthquake tho, so they must make a run for it. Huan Hua does find out that Tianlang-Jun got out as a result, but they are not suspected of freeing him for now.
They must hide the still recovering Tianlang-Jun and the now conveniently humanoid Zhuzhi-Lang and they need to track down what happened to Su Xiyan - which is probably the easiest, because Zhuzhi-Lang can remember her scent and her qi and he's a demon snake so he can use those to track her path, even years past. They find no Su Xiyan, but they do find baby Luo Binghe and that makes things uuuh. Not really better, honestly. The washerwoman is glad that the father came to track the child down, he looks like a very upstanding young master ("How?! He looks one bad step away from feral!"). Nobody listens to Shang Qinghua and Zhuzhi-Lang when they try to explain that maybe Tianlang-Jun as a single father is not a great idea, but they are kind of short on great or even passable ideas so they will take it.
Mu Qingfang however discovers the seal on Luo Binghe and declares that it shouldn't be carelessly undone. So they can't go and hide in the demon realm with effectively human baby Luo Binghe and while Tianlang-Jun can actually hide his demon nature very convincingly, they can't go around with Zhuzhi-Lang being so clearly recognizable.
Shang Qinghua and his plot devices to the rescue!
It's the flower of a very rare demonic plant with the ability to change half of a mixed-origin demon's nature - was originally meant for a wife plot with a demoness with similarly incompatible heritages who of course turned into a beauty afterwards...
Heavenly demon blood is very resistant to tampering, but nothing stops the flower from changing poor Zhuzhi's snake half - in this case to that of a human, for easier blending in purposes. Zhuzhi-Lang is not happy about this, but he can see the merits in it.
The drawbacks: the flower blooms once every three centuries (Shang Qinghua gets Mobei-Jun to steal a preserved bloom for him from the Northern treasure vault) so if he changes, he can't change again until then, quite a few decades from now. He will be stuck as half-human. He would lose all his snake traits, which he is not happy about.
The pros: easier hiding among humans, if something happens and Tianlang-Jun dies for real he won't turn back into that awkward half-snake form. He would remain humanoid.
The neutral: Mu Qingfang realizes that his mental health is depended on his snake familiars and sets Shang Qinghua to get a bunch of very rare ingredients for a potion of permanent speak-with-sneks. The family resemblance between Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang is more obvious so they can pass him off as Tianlang-Jun's son to make their made-up backstory more coherent. Mobei-Jun is a little suspicious about Shang Qinghua's sudden interest in rare demonic things, but mostly he's happy that his human is asking things of him, and he can start working off the life debt he owes Shang Qinghua. He might teleport into the middle of shenanigans and get drafted into the madness.
Zhuzhi-Lang never looked very old, but he looks maybe 13-14 now. So after overhearing Shang Qinghua's mumblings that they will have to get Luo Binghe into the sect to start cultivating before his seal is broken so he has the basics of cultivation down, Tianlang-Jun gets a wonderful idea. And unfortunately, the person in charge of babysitting 'runaway young master single dad' is Yue Qingyuan who feels too guilty about sealing him under a mountain to oppose him before it's too late. They end up similarly sealing Zhuzhi-Lang so he can 'scout ahead' and as 'the big brother' prepare a spot for Luo Binghe in the sect.
It's bit of a tossup who gets the newly renamed Luo Yuxi shidi, but Shen Qingqiu will probably call dibs, let's be honest. He can't trust Yue Qingyuan not to go along with more madness and Zhuzhi-Lang has no talent for medicine (and he is getting really fond of Mu Qingfang, nope, not under Shen Qingqiu's watch!). And he still doesn't trust Shang Qinghua, period. They are all in this together and yes, they are terribly entangled with demons and schemes now, but he's not letting Shang Qinghua off the hook for already being all that and strangely knowledgeable about things to boot.
Tianlang-Jun moves into the city with Luo Binghe, fully leaning into the whole 'rich widow who ran away from his responsibilities after tragic death of wife' angle, takes on the washerwoman to help with the child rearing and almost accidentally builds a spy network (he calls it 'gossip club'). And what better gossip than what Zhuzhi-Lang brings him from the sect! While Shen Qingqiu and the others work their way up to peak lords, Zhuzhi-Lang makes it to head disciple instead of Ming Fan (he's just barely categorized as next gen compared to the Qin lords, due to how long it takes him to get the hang of human cultivation as opposed to demonic power) and passes all the juicy bits to Tianlang-Jun. And what juicy bits they are! He could write a romantic tragedy about QiJiu from all the details Zhuzhi-Lang overheard and/or strongarmed Shang Qinghua into telling once Mobei-Jun accidentally let it slip that Shang Qinghua might be something of a seer.
Actually, not just could, he does. Names and identifying details are tastefully changed - and he does a somewhat better job of it than Mingyan, so it's not immediately traced back to Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan. Partially because unlike The Regret of Chunshan, Tianlang-Jun's chosen medium is prose, so it doesn't catch on that quickly.
He can't help himself tho, it is still a yellow book, so there is a lot of added spice to that tragedy that decidedly did not happen and Shen Qingqiu will hound him about when he finally hears about it - lucky thing that Shen Qingqiu doesn't find out until after Tianlang-Jun decides he wants a happy end and starts meddling to make them reconcile/get together. Zhuzhi-Lang is happy that his uncle is busy trying to set Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan up because it means Tianlang-Jun doesn't realize that Zhuzhi-Lang started dating Mu Qingfang somewhere along the way. Luo Binghe grows up happy and spoiled rotten by his father, his Zhuzhu gege and several uncles, including Mobei-Jun.
Linguang-Jun eventually notices that his nephew keeps disappearing to the human world (to babysit Luo Binghe, mostly, but he still often sleeps in Shang Qinghua's room) and comes to investigate, only to be fully drawn into all the matchmaking shenanigans and maybe get surprise wifebeamed by Tianlang-Jun. Tianlang-Jun might cause a ceasefire between Linguang-Jun and Mobei-Jun by accident because the relationship between Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang makes Linguang-Jun reconsider his hate towards Mobei-Jun. He still doesn't approve of Mobei-Jun marrying Shang Qinghua though! Seriously Mobei, at least pick a bride who notices when he's being courted!
Liu Qingge shows up at one point, probably, trying to investigate what's going on with those four suddenly becoming like peas in a pod. Idk what he would achieve other than get underfoot, but he tries his best. Tianlang-Jun might dupe him into becoming his sparring partner, by pretending to be "Luo Tianlu, absolutely legit rogue cultivator who retired into a secular life and settled down as a young master with his two sons". Shang Qinghua finds it funny, so he helps Tianlang-Jun forge evidence for his fake identity.
Binge's gay awakening is one day realizing that the annoying shishu who likes sparring shirtless with his dad is really hot actually. He still ends up on Qing Jing Peak because Tianlang-Jun would cry if his son didn't become at least somewhat aware of arts, and he doesn't want to disappoint his dad. But the Endless Abyss arc is basically just a big Training Montage of Luo Binghe trying to become a worthy challenger to court Liu Qingge. When he finds Xin Mo he leaves it the fuck alone because the adults have taught him not to touch obviously evil swords whispering questionable promises. Besides, he can ask Mobei-shushu to teleport him home - or airdrop a very protective and ridiculously overpowered Tianlang-Jun in - any time he's in actual danger. It's a little bit embarrassing, but Shang Qinghua taught him that surviving is worth a little embarrassment, and he should know, right?
Airplane gets to watch the disaster of a setting he wrote spin towards multiple happy endings instead of tragedy, to the tune of a song about a spoiled young lord, because it was Shen Qingqiu and the others who set things in motion and it fried his System.
He likes it better this way.
#svsss#shen qingqiu#tianlang jun#zhuzhi lang#yue qingyuan#shang qinghua#mobei jun#I sat down to get some thoughts out of my head and this thing fell out#it's rough as shit and at best works as an outline#I'm putting this out here in case anyone feels inspired by any bit of it#I might eventually write it myself once I finish my current projects and find the energy#maybe#hopefully?#tc writes
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SOLUTION.
Art Donaldson x Reader | 5k words
SORRY SERIES LINK.
warnings: pregnancy, implied discussion of abortion, a boy groveling on his knees for his family, there’s a dog (a real one, not just Art), talk about Art’s forced weird athletic borderline disordered eating.
okay, i lied last time. THIS is my best work. this is very out of my brain and i hope you love it. holy shit.
Have you ever sat and listened to a leaky faucet? I mean, really listened?
Steady. Like a heartbeat, if you think about it.
Sometimes, though, if the leak is slow enough, it’s more like the kind of heart rate that sends the nurse with the crash-cart sweeping into the room to shock you out of an AFIB pattern. Or however that worked.
[Y/N] was listening to it. The dripping. The kitchen sink. It hadn’t stopped for days. When it began, it was steady. Now, it was irregular. It started the day Art left
Art had been away at an early season tournament. [Y/N] had an impossible work week, so Art had told her he was happy to go for the better part of the week on his own. They both knew Art really did hate to be alone in situations like that. He had always had one of his people there. His mom, Patrick, [Y/N]; one of them was in his corner at these things. This time, he was truly on his own. Art could not stand to travel alone. He had his team of physios and coaches, but not his family. [Y/N] was going to swing by and surprise him at the end, but her boss had leaned into her for trying to take more days off during release season for the big summer blockbusters. Plus, someone did have to watch the dog.
This context about Art’s being away is important. It’s not that Art was the epitome of a handyman, but he really liked to feel like he was contributing to their home’s ecosystem when a lightbulb went out or a switch needed replacing. The man was incredible with the small things. Yet, [Y/N] sat at the kitchen table with a frown on her face, trying to rough in an outline for an article. With the faucet dripping. If Art were there, or if she was with Art three states over, the faucet wouldn’t be dripping against the porcelain basin.
It wasn’t like the wifi signal was strong enough anywhere else on the property for her to up and move either.
drip drip drip. Said the faucet.
[Y/N] was damn near the point where she was going to run upstairs to the bedroom and get the baseball bat Art kept with the express purpose of running down the stairs in his briefs and cracking up on possible intruders. All she could think about was bringing the wood down against the glass and cheap metal on her kitchen counter.
A new house would have a working sink and a bathroom counter that wasn’t too small and a halfway decent wifi signal.
Instead, [Y/N] set her face down upon the cool blue faux granite countertop. The temperature helped ease the feeling of the hyperbolic corkscrew being driven between her eyes. The dripping kept dripping and [Y/N] wanted to cry.
This agony wasn’t all the sink’s fault, though.
[Y/N] saw on the tennis channel before she even got a call from Art that he’d won that weekend. He still hadn’t called. The lack of a call from made her feel ashamed. Not a soul there to celebrate the success with him. She felt an immense sense of guilt slide across her skin because she wasn’t there to witness that smile he got when he won. Sweaty and angry, but relieved every time. He still got that look when he won. Art was a machine on the court, and a competitor not worth counting out at this point in his career. He still looked surprised and delighted every time he, of all people, hit the winner. [Y/N] loved that look. Art loved how she would celebrate with him after a win, too.
[Y/N] prayed Art made his flight without delay that evening. Selfishly, because she wanted her boy back. Also because Art was mortally terrified of airplanes. Planes made him feel out of control due to lack of trust with the pilot. Without that phone call from him, [Y/N] was scared knowing he was out on his own and that he likely felt anxious enough to give a horse a heart attack. She would have no way of knowing if something had happened between the match end and now.
She did know that the sink was leaking.
She also knew her period was two weeks late.
That, Art couldn’t fix on his own. In fact, it was fairly obvious that the delay was more or less Art’s fault.
[Y/N] hadn’t yet taken a pregnancy test at that time. If she took the time to take one, it would make everything the obvious answer a reality she would have to deal with. She had scares before. Ones that she had never, and would never, tell Art about. She would wait for her delayed—not missed!—period and everything would be fine. Like the other times. It had to be fine.
She checked her phone. It was a blue slidephone with small rhinestone stickers she had applied to the back. Still nothing from Art. He said he would call first right after the match, but he still hadn’t actually called, so maybe it was time to call first. It had been hours since he said he’d ring up. It wasn’t a major concern that Art would blow her off. Ideas of danger and uncertainties flooded her head.
“I’m the one that wants marriage so bad. Not Artie. What if he says no? Or not now…?”
[Y/N] sat on the beach with her back against Patrick’s shins. Art and [Y/N] were completing their first year completely post college. [Y/N] and Patrick were twenty-four and Art was almost twenty-four. His November birthday set him behind.
Patrick’s hands were on her shoulders and his body in a beach chair behind her while they both stared off over ocean as the sun set. “You’re actually stupid if you think he’ll deny you, [Y/N].”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to step on his game, or whatever. The guy is supposed to ask. Isn’t this going to be… emasculating or something?”
“Emasculating for Art? For pretty baby? Yeah, okay,” Patrick teased. [Y/N] threw a fistful of sand at him. “Christ, okay, okay. Cool it.” He spit.
Art had run back up toward to hotel to grab his water bottle, while Patrick and [Y/N] stayed at the dunes. [Y/N] wanted to propose to Art by trip’s end. She thought it would be sweet. Art was extremely forward when it came to her her, but he hadn’t been forward about the whole proposal business. He seemed scared about marriage. [Y/N]he would do it herself.
She was grateful for the time alone with her best friend too. Sitting and doing nothing, or partying. Either was more than welcome. “He’s not going to say no,” Patrick continued. His mouth casually leaned close to her ear. “Because it’s insane how whipped you’ve got him.”
“Don’t say that—“
“He wants to have your babies. Ask him. Trust me, he’ll say yes and he will be all the hell over you.” His fingers worked into [Y/N]’s shoulders, feeling the tension there. He took his hands off of her when Art came running down the beach.
[Y/N] heard a click in the lock. Her head flopped to the left, still pressed against the counter, to glance at the door. Her heart rate increased. She was so tired and the speed of the situation so fast, that she didn’t both moving or attempting to defend herself.
Most fortunately, when the door swung open, it was her Art. The sun was going down behind him. He looked a bit ragged and had a racket bag over one shoulder and two duffels in the other hand. She sat upright sharply on the kitchen barstool. “Pretty baby!”
All Art’s gear hit the floor. The door was left open behind him (taking a big chance that their Labrador mix, Cheese, didn’t run down the stairs and bolt out and away). Art walked toward [Y/N], arms extending. His strong arms pulled [Y/N] in close to his chest. She rested her head against his soft gray t-shirt. Her own arms embraced him back and one of her hands tucked comfortably into the back pocket of his jeans. “[Y/N]… I missed you.” Art said into her hair.
“I missed you… I-I… You didn’t call. How did you get here—“
“Final match actually started on time, so I gambled on moving my flight to the earlier one. I didn’t have time to call if I was taking the early one. I should’ve texted. I got nervous with the-the flight. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
[Y/N] leaned back to look at him. There was no more welcome sight in the world than Art Donaldson. Irish genetics saw to it that Art was freckled from the spring sun. With shaggy hair boyishly covered by a baseball cap tipping back dangerously, he practically glowed. Even though he looked like shit. His sunglasses were hanging on his shirt. [Y/N/] tilted her head up, signaling for a kiss. Hungrily, Art leaned forward to take as many kisses as he wanted. His lips tasted like spearmint gum. Like always.
Cheese did run downstairs when Art’s hand climbed up the side of [Y/N]’s throat and when her own hand started to squeeze from under the fabric of Art’s back left pants pocket. Art had to pull regretfully away to grab Cheese by the collar and shut the front door.
Delightedly, Art did gteet Cheese with ear-scratches and a belly rub. Art received the customary licks and a tailwags in return. Cheese was always pretty down when the whole family wasn’t together. He walked and played a bit, but when his dad wasn’t around, Cheese kind of deflated. He had spent most of the time laying flat on Art’s side of the bed. It was obvious the dog was grieving the disappearance of his boy.
When Art bent down to pat his beloved Cheese, [Y/N] stood from her chair and bent at the waist. She pulled Art’s hat off and set it on the counter. Gently, she kissed Art on top of the head. With a scratch not unlike the ones he gave to the canine to the back of Art’s neck, the man looked up at her from the ground with a half-smile.
“Congrats, baby,” [Y/N] said. Art cut his eyes curiously from her to the tennis channel on the TV playing in the next room. That had him realizing where she would have gotten the information of his win from so efficiently. “How was the tournament? I’m sorry I couldn’t—“
“Sure, sure, but I bet Cheese here is pretty glad you were home,” Art said and stood up with one final pat to Cheese’s flank. “The whole thing was great. I… I’m kind of surprised I won, if I’m being honest.” Art said, wrapping an arm around [Y/N]’s waist.
Naturally, her hands flattened against his toned chest when he tugged her towards him. “I’m not. You’re fucking good at tennis, Art.”
His ears reddened in embarrassment as he tucked his face into [Y/N]’s neck to hide his face. Art was used to praise and loved it more than anything, no matter where it came from. Every compliment from [Y/N] was worth a hell of a lot more. Art hated thinking about why that was the case. He knew why, though. She had seen he and Patrick play and even then thought Art was good. Art still won the match when it came to [Y/N] and he would never tell her that.
“Hush…” He mumbled into her neck, planting a biting, teasing kiss there. She laughed. He laughed. “I played against an eighteen year old kid yesterday. He played really well,” Art leaned back to look at her again. “You saw, I’m sure,” he indicated the TV with a nod. “He would’ve won this weekend if I hadn’t won that match. Just… I’m twenty-six. Made me feel old.”
“…Glad you won, then.”
“I said if I hadn’t…”
“Well, if you’re sooooo down on your win then congrats on flying home all by yourself like a big boy.” [Y/N] smirked.
“Oh, you’re gonna be like that, huh?” Art withdrew his hands from his wife’s body and put them teasingly on his own hips.
[Y/N] nodded. “Yeah. If you’re old, imagine how I feel.”
“Ancient, probably.”
Art leaned in for another kiss. She pushed him back playfully. “No! You called me old!” [Y/N] laughed.
She leaned one way, then the other to avoid Art’s beautifully wrinkled nose and smiling mouth. “Please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You’re-you’re not old!” Art said and attempted to trap her with his arms and give her a kiss.
[Y/N] turned hard over her shoulder and ran up the stairs. Cheese gave a woof from the couch when Art chased after her. Art spent his life chasing after her.
“No! You can’t kiss me! Doghouse! Bad Art! Bad!” [Y/N] accused jokingly. Art jumped up the stairs. He took them two and three at a time.
Art backed her against the bathroom door. Nowhere left to run. His rough hands settled on her hips. “Gotcha. You’re pretty fast for an old lady, y’know. Late for bingo, or—“ Art smirked when he leaned in to kiss her.
[Y/N] shut him up with a kiss. She had missed his stupid boy babbling. His mouth was soft against hers. Art put one of his hands on the wooden door beside her face to hold himself up. The other hand found her belt loop, keeping her body close to his.
“I love you,” Art whispered between kisses. “I love you so much, honey. I missed you.”
[Y/N]’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. Her breath caught in her throat. “I love you t—mmh!” Art leaned in for another kiss.
The joy of being Art Donaldson’s wife was that he never got tired of touching her, or being physically close. Sometimes, [Y/N] would look over at him while she was writing, or making dinner, and he would be staring, or slowly extending his hand to her and seeing how long it took for [Y/N] to acknowledge his presence. It never ceased to make her feel beautiful. “Can we…” his fingers danced over the button on her jeans.
“Can we what…?” She asked coyly.
Art blushed, but smirked and lowered his lips by [Y/N] ear. “Can we fuck? Please?” He asked too politely for as dirty as those words were. Like the good midwestern boy that he was.
She tipped her head back further. Art kissed her neck with all the energy he could muster. “Can I not make you dinner first? You-you a cheap whore as well as old now, too?” [Y/N] jeered. Art snorted a laugh. The warm air from the giggle spread over [Y/N]’s skin, causing goosebumps to raise. “I’m never letting you leave home alone again, then.”
Art nodded against her skin, sucking and licking a spot they both new would bruise dark. The sound she let out was absolutely disgusting and Art loved it. “I would prefer to never be let out of your sight, personally.” He said when he pulled away.
“Come on, house boy… We’re havin’ dinner. And you’re gonna eat some bread,” [Y/N] said, pointing a finger at Art’s chest. He started to put up a fight about the ultra-low nonexistent amount of inactive carbs he was eating during the season, but [Y/N] kept chattering. “Stop talking. Your brain doesn’t work right without carbs. Braindead. Come on, dinner.”
“You’re bad for me.”
“I know.” [Y/N] smiled.
Normally, [Y/N] drank a cup of coffee when the pair made dinner. Art knew the pattern. He made her the cup of coffee every time. It sat mostly unfinished that night, though. She found herself heating and reheating it in the microwave as they cooked. She started to space out as he recapped the tournament in full detail, as she requested. If Art noticed, he didn’t let on. [Y/N] noticed, though. Little stood between her and coffee. She didn’t want to drink it. That was violently unusual.
“Hey, I’m gonna go piss. Can you—“
“Watch the sauce?” Art asked, indicating the creamy pesto she had on the stove while Art cleaned and cut vegetables.
“Mhm.” [Y/N] confirmed. Art slid over to take the spoon from her. He placed a hand at the bottom of her back as she walked away. Art fit perfectly into her life. It wasn’t fair how right he was for her.
She went to the upstairs bathroom instead of the downstairs one. She hoped that didn’t set off Art’s sixth sense about the way-things-had-to-be. Once upstairs, [Y/N] wasted no time yanking open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. It was overflowing, naturally. Makeup, supplements, condoms, hair ties, pill bottles, loose painkillers. It was a disaster. There was also a pregnancy test.
A laughing Art had given it to [Y/N] as a joke the morning after their wedding night and she had hit him hard enough to bruise across the chest. The test sat wrapped and in the box behind the mirror every day since. Just in case.
[Y/N] had officially arrived at just in case.
She gingerly tossed the empty box under the sink so Art wouldn’t see it without looking for it. Then, [Y/N] undid the buttons on her overalls and, well, took the test.
Lacking the time to sit and watch it come back positive or negative, [Y/N] tossed the clean cap on the stick, slid it into the pocket of her overalls, washed her hands and went downstairs like nothing was wrong.
Except she knew something was wrong. Now she felt like she had a loaded gun in her pocket. She was too cautious with her movements due to the fear that the test would slip out of her front right pocket in front of Art.
She was damn near about to step into the pantry and shut the door just to see if the pee stick had one line or two. If he wasn’t already suspicious, that would do it. [Y/N] felt that the anxiety created was easily the worst anxiety she had ever had. Oops.
[Y/N] got quiet. She was talking less and listening more. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she was a chatterbox. Art would notice her blanched face and wrinkled brow eventually, she worried.
Ever the perceptive bastard, Art did. When he sat beside [Y/N] at the counter to eat a bowl of pasta with more inactive carbs than he had eaten in six months, he kept cutting his eyes at her. His bare foot nudged her ankle. Her dish was relatively untouched. “You good, babe? You’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird.”
“You are being weird because you’re not being you. I’ve barely asked you how you’re doing with all the excitement. Long day?” Art asked, setting down his fork to drag his hand across the back of her shoulders.
“Yeah, a bit.” [Y/N] said. What she meant to say was I have a pregnancy test and I bet it is positive in my pocket right now and I’m so terrified that I can practically smell my pit stains right now, baby. But she didn’t say that.
Art spun to face her, taking in her expression and demeanor. There was that contemplative knot perched between his eyebrows. The back of his hand landed calmly on [Y/N]’s forehead to check her temperature. “Art…” [Y/N] said, pushing his hand down.
“No, hang on.” Art said firmly. He tried to put his hand back on her face. Instead, not having a clue what it said, [Y/N] reached into her front right pocket and slammed the pregnancy test down between them. Art retracted his hand and flinched back a bit at the sudden movement. The test was face down on the counter.
Art’s eyes cut from the test back to her. His face was suddenly very solemn. “Are you—“
“—I dunno. I didn’t-I couldn’t look. It’s been in my pocket for twenty minutes. No idea.”
“Do you think you are?”
[Y/N] shrugged and looked at her bowl. It looked too green. sick sick sick. drip drip drip said the faucet.
“Do you want to know if you are?” Art asked wide-eyed. “I want to know, personally. Do… Do you?”
Again, [Y/N] shrugged. “If we don’t look, it’s not real.”
“…That’s stupid.” Art shook his head.
“You’re stupid.”
Art sighed. “I’m gonna look. I mean, I’m going to turn it over,” his eyes frantically reached for [Y/N]’s. He grabbed her hand with his to get her attention. “I’m going to look. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah.” She whispered and it was okay.
And she was pregnant.
Two blue lines stared at them.
“Fuck.” [Y/N] said. She felt both elated and humiliated. She wanted so badly to be a mother. She wanted to cry. How could they keep it? The timing was wrong. She hadn’t agreed to this. The two of them had so many fights about it. She barely understood how this happened. She thought they were being so careful. It didn’t make any sense. Every precaution she could think of had been taken at one point or another.
And the fucking faucet was still dripping. She could hear it. drip drip drip. Over and over.
“Fuck.” She said sliding out of her chair and standing unsteadily. That wasn’t the result one should feel when they get something they have spent so long wanting.
Art ran his hands through his hair. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling when she looked so worried. His face betrayed the wide smile he hoped to hide. That’s exactly what he wanted to see. Fuck.
“Honey… Hey, hey. You’re okay. This is awesome. C’mere.” Art said like he was diffusing a bomb. His arm were wide open to hold her.
“Art…”
“No, uh-uh. Just come here. Please.”
Cautiously, [Y/N] made her way into her favorite pair of arms in the world. “It’s not supposed to be like this.” [Y/N] choked out as Art held her.
“Shh, I know, I know,” Art said calmly. His left hand’s fingers brushed her hair away from her face. “But that’s how it is now. We have to accept that and solve for the next move, right?” It was silent for a while after that. [Y/N]’s arms were tightly wrapped around Art’s shoulders and their bowls of pasta were certainly cold. She felt that she had ruined everything.
She glanced at Art’s face. The small smile betrayed him. “Art… We can’t. Not now.” she had told Art not now so many times that it felt forced and rehearsed. Now that [Y/N] that was actually pregnant, she wanted nothing more than to stay pregnant. The timing was far from good. She had articles that were still very due the next day. She had a husband who very much traveled often for work (who she traveled with too). She had Cheese, who was staring at her weird over the back the couch because he didn’t understand crying.
“What do you mean we can’t?” Art said quietly. “We-We can. We… have. We are… Actively.” He fumbled.
“We can. We did! But… You know now’s not a good time, baby.” [Y/N] countered weakly.
Art’s hands never left [Y/N]’s waist. “Let’s run pros and cons.”
“Pretty baby.” She said accusatorially. Good old analytic Art…
“Let’s run pros and cons.” Art repeated unflinchingly. He sprang up off of his barstool to gather a sharpie and a legal pad from some drawer. Art uncapped the marker harshly with his teeth. Cap between his teeth still, he asked: “Do you want it?” while he found a clean, smooth page.
Before she could respond with her head, [Y/N] responded with her heart. She nodded a yes to him immediately. “Do you?”
Art capped the back end of the marker to free up his mouth. “More than anything ever, I think. It would probably kill me a little bit, actually, if… Yeah. I understand and it’s all up to you, honey, but… Yeah.” His hand created a PRO column and a CON column on the page.
Under PRO, Art added the items he knew would cause no trouble in his blocky capitalized handwriting:
FINALLY START FAMILY
NATURAL/EASY START
SEASON ALMOST OVER
[Y/N] HAS FLEXIBLE HRS
DREAM COME TRUE??
WILL BE GR8 PARENTS
[Y/N] nodded in approval. She couldn’t think of more pros, but Art handed her the marker and she started in on the CON list:
OLYMPICS??
ART’S NEVER HOME
EXPENSIVE
SMOKING/COFFEE
CHEESE JEALOUS?
TOO YOUNG!
Art drew the line at giving up stimulants and assigning the dog human traits and struck both of those off the list with a frown.
Frankly, Art thought the cons list turned out rude.
“I haven’t qualified for the Olympics yet,” he protested. “And if I do, imagine how early on that would be. Before all the hard stuff.”
[Y/N] replied with the thing they both knew was the most real problem. She had waited forever to say it out loud. “No offense… You are never home anymore. You’re busy all the time. Which I get. It’s your job. You’re good at your job. But look how excited the fuckin’ dog got to see you because you were gone so long. You are never here. We can’t put a human in doggy day camp all the time. It would be fucking impossible to raise—“
“I’ll quit,” Art said, wincing. He wouldn’t. [Y/N] felt that this was a bluff. He tried in vain to hide his expression of shame. “I’ll quit tennis.” He said. He wasn’t going to.
“That would worsen the problem. No money.”
“I’ll work at the 7/11. I’ll be a construction worker. I could be a fuckin’ coach. I actually have a degree, y’know, I can use it. I’m more than a racket. I don’t want you to feel alone here. I want to be here for all of it, I can—“
“You know I’m alone here a lot, babe. A lot. You don’t… You’re in a position where you’re unable to help constantly. Because you’re gone. That’s okay. I married you knowing that, right? But a baby, Art? That’s not fair.”
“I’ll bail on a season. I will. I just…” Art stared at her. “Please. I’m begging you. See this kid through with me.”
The sharpie was forgotten on the counter along with dinner. Art’s knees landed on the floor before [Y/N]. Art practically lived on his knees in front of [Y/N]. He gathered [Y/N] hands in his. “Please. It’s your call, but hear me out. Because that thing is part of both us. I don’t want you to hate or resent me or the little stinker forever, but you want it. I know that. Hear me out.” His beautiful two-tone eyes stared up at her.
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“I will give you anything. Please, my world is you. Not tennis; you. I’m telling you, I-I would leave that behind to be anything you need right now. Just ask it. You’re my fucking priority, you got that? I just.. I… Please? I’m not going anywhere.”
“I want to keep it too, but—“
“Then what’s the big deal?” Art asked hopefully.
“It isn’t a good time. It’s too soon.”
Art’s mouth trailed kisses across his wife’s stomach and hips and hands and arms. He let this go on for several minutes. “Please,” Art whimpered pathetically into the skin of her wrist. “Please, please, please. I will do anything, my love. I’m on my knees here,” Art looked up at her through thick lashes. “We can do this. Both of us together. I’ll do whatever you want. You know I will. This can be good for us. I’m really sorry we’re here, but here we are, hon. What time’s going to be the right time? Please. I love you.” Art pleaded desperately.
[Y/N] knew this was going to be a disaster. But she wanted to keep it. What time’s going to be the right time? rung in her ears over and over, like the faucet. They had put so much time into arguing about the time and the place that would be right for a family. Now it was right in front of them. Her hand caressed Art’s face. She loved it when he groveled like that. This time, on his knees and everything. On instinct, he nuzzled his face into her hand and looked up at her through long lashes.
“Will you fix the faucet? It’s been dripping all week.”
“Anything.”
“I’ll… I’ll think about it. I’m going to think about it. The baby.”
“You will?” Art’s teary eyes widened.
“Objectively, this is a terrible fucking idea. We both know that. But if it’s really so terrible, why do I feel, like… happy about it…”
Art’s face lit up. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. [Y/N], honestly, found it very hard to say no to Art. His arms wrapped carefully around her thighs while his head rested against her middle as he knelt. [Y/N] could feel his silver ring through the denim of her overalls. “God, I love you. I love you, [Y/N]. We’re not going to regret this. Holy shit…”
“Love you too. We’re gonna… We’re gonna try, maybe? This doesn’t feel real. Does this feel real? I…”
“It feels like a dream is what it feels like,” Art mumbled into her clothes. “I love you.” Art said, pressing a kiss to her stomach.
“I love you.”
“I’m gonna be a dad…” Art almost wept. “If you, y’know, but… Shit. I’m sorry.” Which part he was apologizing for was unclear.
At that, [Y/N] laughed and tangled her fingers in his curly blonde mop of hair. “Yeah, you’re gonna be a fucking dad, pretty baby.” She smiled.
[Y/N]’s next instinct was to say: I have to call Patrick. Then she remembered couldn’t call Patrick.
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#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson imagine#art donaldson x you#art donaldson#challengers movie#challengers#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader#sorry series#father art
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.—♡ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 { IWAIZUMI HAJIME }
IWA-CHAN has one temptation he cannot resist and it’s you…his best friend’s younger sister; a repost from my og blog
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 ⋮ f!reader, fingering, pussy eating, ass squeezing and some risky position c/o iwa-chan 🙈💦, creampie, dacryphilia, softdom iwa-chan, petname: angel
Hajime had his arms folded, fists clenched and so was his jaw as he watched you bend over while you pick up your jug of water. Your ass on that yoga pants almost hid nothing for his imagination. Not to mention that the tightness of that pants outlined the shape of your pussy.
Shit!
It’s all that shittykawa’s fault! He was the one who’s supposed to work out with you today because he’s finally on vacation in Japan for a while.
This was supposed to be a big brother and little sis bonding time but he phoned early in the morning….“Iwa-chan can you work out with Y/N-chan today….blah blah blah” What a silly excuse he gave!
But Hajime didn’t want to let you down. Not you. He didn’t want to see you upset, so he’d willingly stand in for your brother on this work out he promised.
“Are we done?” You asked, your face flushed from the sweating and it caught him off guard a little.
“Ah, yes.”
Hajime scolded himself as you both walked to your home. You’re his best friend’s little sister! What was he even thinking? Not that you’re a minor or whatever.
Ever since you were younger, Hajime saw you as his little sister too, but things started changing when Oikawa left for Argentina and Hajime went back home from the U.S.
He was surprised that you’re no longer the little girl he once thought you were.
Damn! You grew up so fine that you had been an excruciating forbidden fruit for him to bear. He couldn't help but admire you everytime your mom would invite him for a dinner in your home every weekends.
He felt guilty at times that whenever he would stroke himself an image of you would pop out in his head. His best friend's little- no, scratch that- younger sister.
You didn't seem little anymore.
“Do you wanna have some tea?” You invited him in and he obliged. “Oh, mom's not here by the way but she left something for you.”
“Huh? So who’s home?” He asked, abruptly.
You placed your bottle atop the table. “No one. Just us, I think.”
Oh shit. This was a mistake.
“Just get yourself comfy.” You chuckled. “I’ll just change my shirt and will get right back with your tea.”
“Yeah, sure…” He smiled at you as you headed into your room. As soon as you were gone, he ran a hand on his face.
What was he doing here alone with you?
Suddenly, he was alarmed when he heard a pained sound from you. Immediately, he rushed up to your room to check on you. He couldn’t let anything happen to you.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, standing outside your bedroom with a worried look on his face. Your door was slightly open hence he could see you inspecting your back in the mirror.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a lower back pain. Maybe because it had been so long since I last worked out that hard.” You reassured him touching the area where it stung while looking at it in the mirror.
Hajime went behind you to see for himself. “Where does it hurt?”
Your breathing started to get heavier than before as he stood right behind you so close. “H-Here…” You pointed out the area under your shirt just above your hip.
His rough hand gently caressed your skin. You gasped.
“Here?” He asked, voice now raspy and almost breathless.
“Yes…”
He continued massaging you gently. His hand soothingly rubbing in circles. His warmth and pressure made you moan uncontrollably. Your eyes met through the mirror as you both breathed raggedly. Your gazes were filled with helplessness, need. and lust.
You both gulped.
“H-He’ll kill me if I-” Hajime tried but he could no longer rationalize as you already stepped backward and had your ass pressed against his now hardened cock straining against his sweatpants.
“Fuck it!” He said under his breath as you leaned yourself back on his sturdy body.
Your body moved on its own without thinking. It's Iwaizumi Hajime we were talking about. It had been years since you were admiring him from afar as you thought he couldn't see you more than being his best friend's younger sister.
However, with the way his eyes lustfully raked your body all this time this morning, you knew that you're no longer a little sister in his eyes anymore.
His hand now roam under your yoga pants and your panties, finding its way hot on your skin. Massaging your ass, he breathed against your ear. “You sure you want to do this?"
You nodded your head. "Yes, please," you said, almost running out of breath.
"Then tell me where else does it hurt, angel?” He whispered.
You whimpered and ground against his erection. From your ass cheek, he slowly traveled his hand in between your thighs. “Here? Tell me. Does it ache here too?”
You nodded your head and tilted it back once he began massaging the lips of your pussy with the friction of his rough fingers. Finding out you were so wet for him already, he gained confidence that it wasn’t just him feeling this bothered all along. “I see…you’ve been aching this much, huh?”
Your hand flew up to reach his head from behind you now giving him access for a kiss. He wasted no chance and immediately tasted your lips. His tongue making its way inside your mouth and his fingers starting to explore your folds, tracing your slit and teasing your clit.
You moaned against his mouth and ground even harder against him, which made him groan.
Not being able to contain it any further, he completely pulled down your bottoms. “Face here.” He ordered and you followed. He knelt in front of you and gasped once he’s face to face with your cunt glistening with arousal. “So pretty.” He murmured as his hands parted your thighs. His mouth met your folds and his tongue circled round and round on your clit.
“Hmmn, ahhh,” you cried out and it encouraged him to go faster and press even harder to please you even more.
Grabbing your thigh, he wrapped your leg around his shoulder. You tugged on the strands of his hair, finding balance as he drank you deep. His other hand clenching and unclenching your ass repetitively.
God, you’re just dripping for him that he could drink you bottomless. This alone made it harder for him not to come just by going down on you.
It wasn’t enough though. It never would be, so he hooked another of your leg around his shoulder. His biceps bulged as he stood up, carrying you and eating you out at the same time with his hold on your thighs strong and firm.
You yelped as he held you up high with his tongue and lips focused on consuming you. Your heart raced even faster in this position. Both of your hands gripped on his hair as your hips involuntarily gyrate against his mouth while attempting not to fall. His hand squeezing your ass, he'd probably leave a mark there.
Endlessly, you moaned and whimpered. Your brother might come home anytime but it didn’t really matter now. All you could think of was Hajime’s strong grip on you and his skillful sucking and slurping.
“Aaah…ah! Ah! I’m coming! I-I’m-“
With ease, he threw you in your bed.
Just by the feral look in his eyes as he wiped off his chin with the back of his hand, just with the way his muscular chest heaved from his heavy breathing and just from the way your throat felt dry by seeing how hard his cock had gotten through his pants, you knew.
You knew you were just about to begin.
“Not yet, angel.” He knelt between your parted legs and took his shirt off. “We’re not done yet.”
Your eyes were stuck on the plane of his well-sculpted chest. The sweat that crawled down from his skin made you lick your lips involuntarily. If only your brother wasn’t about to come home anytime, you’d take time getting a taste of Hajime.
Holding your chin, he made you look up at him and took your lips to his. So fuckin’ sexy. Just how he imagined devouring those lips for so long with your tongues entwined with each other like this. While you were busy getting lost in the kiss, he took your hand and pressed it over his sweatpants just right where you could feel him throbbing big and hard for you.
“You feel that?” He breathed against your cheek. “Tell me you want it.”
Feeling tingly in between your thighs, all you could do was nod in response.
“Use your words, angel.” He commanded
Breathlessly, “I…want you please.”
He shifted his pants down and you gasped at the sight of his cock from beneath. You never thought he would be that rock hard so sturdy and huge, but your pussy couldn’t wait to receive him. He parted your legs further. Damn! You’re so wet and it did make his cock twitch. He never felt so needy and hot like this before.
“I’m going in. You ready?” He asked and you nodded your head. “Okay…take a deep breath, angel. That’s right. Very good.”
“Hnghh!” You both winced at the very moment he slid his full length inside of you.
“Did you…Did you just come for me angel?”
You nodded your head and whimpered. You were still sensitive but he started easing in so slow. You clung around his shoulder but you soon found your nails digging his back as he began to hasten.
Fuck! He’s hitting you so deep. You’re so deep and tight, squeezing his girth so snug. “Ahh, shit! Feels so good, angel.” He chanted under his breath. “So long…” Thrust. “I’ve been wanting to do this.”
He swore he tried to be gentle with you, but with you moaning his name like you needed more, he couldn’t help but lose himself. The more he pushed and pull from you, the more he wanted to do it faster, rougher, harder.
“Hah…Ha…Hajime, ahhh~”
Still, he wanted to know if you’re in the same page. After all, you’re his now. “What do you want? Tell me. Now.” He growled.
“M-More…everythingh-“
“Fuck!” There’s no stopping him now. He pulled away from you, kneeling. He raised your legs up high and opened you up wide in a V, gripping your ankles with his strong hands. His cock slammed back inside so deep in you that you spilled a tear or two. You tried to cover your cries but had to hold on to your sheets or you might end up floating.
Groan and growls were escaping him and his jaw was clenched while he pounded you rapidly like he’s in a marathon.
Come to think of it, your bedroom door’s damn wide open. With the way you were screaming his name, the whole neighborhood probably knew that he was fucking his best friend’s sweet little sister like it’s a fucking work out.
Damn! This was a whole lot better than a work out. He couldn’t even remember that he could fuck full force like this. His hips plunging hard that you were sliding further and further at the very edge of your bed. Both of your skins now red with all the slapping.
You’re now feeling light-headed and you knew you’d completely lose it any moment now. “Haah…Hah Haji-“
“Y/N-chan! Yohooo! Can you please open the door for me? I know you’re there. Your lights are on. Forgot my keys!”
Shit! He’s here!
Much to your surprise, instead of slowing down, Hajime pressed your legs together, bringing them to his right shoulder and hugged them as he fucked you harder. Last thing he wanted, was to hear Oikawa’s yapping while fucking you.
“Y/N-chan?! Where are you?”
“Wait- Wait!” You moaned loudly. The more your brother called out for you and whined outside the rougher Hajime was doing it.
“Y/N-chan, faster~” Tooru yelled from the outside.
Faster huh? Letting go of your legs, he grabbed your waist sliding your body to meet his increased speed. He couldn’t care. Not anymore.
Deep. He was in so deep you could feel him almost reaching your belly. “Yes! Yes! Aaaah, mhmmn coming!” You screamed and quivered. “I-I’m coming!”
Hajime kept his pace finding his own release. Shit! Condoms!
“Fuck! Shit, angel!” He hissed not being able to control himself anymore, spilling his cum inside you. Never mind. Never fucking mind! Oikawa fucking Tooru may as well expect not only a best friend from him but a nephew or a niece too.
You both caught up with your breaths, but it was him who managed to get up first as you laid there limping. He covered your almost bare body with a blanket and kissed your forehead, the tip of your nose and finally your lips. “I’ll take care of your annoying brother.”
Oikawa looked so shocked to see his best friend open the door instead his sister. Hajime really wanted to see how he’d react.
“Iwa-chan? What’re you doing here? Oh, you went to see me? Do you miss me that much? We just hang around yesterday.”
Not really, I just fucked your sister so good my fingers were probably imprinted around her waist and ankles. “I just waited for you so that Y/N won’t be alone at home.”
“Wow, I never thought you’d make such a caring big brother, Iwa-chan.”
You bet your ass I’m big and your sister knows it so well.
He might blurt what happened out, but he’s really trying his best to include your consideration in this as well. After all this wasn’t just about him, but damn! This was harder than he thought. Oikawa’s so good at reading people.
Before Hajime could give himself away with Tooru finally starting to become suspicious, you arrived just in time.
You approached him almost tripping, but he caught you in his arms. You couldn’t walk well yet. Your legs still felt like crumbling.
“An- Y/N are you alright?” He asked, concern.
“I just like to thank you and see you off.”
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
“I’m fine. Well, it was just…so intense.” You reasoned out with a reddened face.
He chuckled and smiled gently at you. “Don’t worry. Let’s take it slow next time, okay?” If only Tooru wasn’t watching, he’d definitely kiss your forehead.
“N-Next time?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, yeah I’m free everyweek.”
“I am too.” You grinned in anticipation. “I’m okay with everyweek.”
“Y/N-chan, come on now!”
Hajime swore at that time that on Tooru’s next vacation he’d be welcomed by his new nephew or niece. Might as well both.
“Okay, go on and rest now. You must be worked up.” Fuck! He really wanted to give you a kiss, but… He raised his head and waved at your brother who’s watching keenly, “I’ll just chat with you, bro.”
Bro? Tooru quirked up an eyebrow.
As soon as he turned his back, Hajime grinned. He totally did that on purpose. Once Tooru finally return to Argentina, it won’t only be every week.
JOIN THE 🍷 𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄! Get tagged whenever I update ♡
© nekorei 2023 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.
#iwaizumi smut#iwaizumi x reader#hq smut#hq x reader#haikyuu x female reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu smut
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— his favorite ho.
❀ katsuki b. x fem!reader
❀ outline. teeny tiny drabble because i saw a car sex twt vid and it made me miss kats
❀ w. 18+ content, dirty talk, very light assplay, katsuki has anger issues, riding, car sex
❀ do not repost thx
katsuki has had a long fuckin’ day.
higher ups yapping in his ear and telling him that his poor attitude towards civilians has become a daily topic and he’s had enough. everyone who knew of the pro knew that his temper was short, that he wasn’t saving people to be friendly. no, he was doing his job, keeping japan safe and sound under his supervision without fake flowery bullshit.
not only that, his anger management classes have been kicking his ass. it was a requirement as soon as they threw katsuki on the front lines— he needed to attend regular sessions. it was believed that going to talk about his feelings, forced out of his protective shell of aggression and anger, would improve his performance.
whatever the hell that meant.
you know full and well how katsuki has been feeling about his current predicament. he brought it up all the time over whatever fancy dinner he treated you to, complaining about responsibility and growth and the likes. the man simply needed emotional guidance, he needed to learn healthier ways to deal with his feelings and mental hurdles because they were strong. everything about him was so very strong.
though, when he didn’t feel like running an irritated hand through his mop of thick ash hair while he spewed profanities about his braindead therapist or his dick-sucking bosses, he’d keep you stuffed.
it was a particularly taxing day on his end, seeing as though spring tends to bring out the evil motives and the villains. popping off explosions and knocking wrongdoers the fuck out could only go so far for his stress, for his mental constipation.
no, today he needed more. he needed to shut his brain up, needed to direct the anger and resentment and frustration elsewhere. what better way to deal with his problems than take it out on his pretty baby?
“been forever since i’ve given you good dick, hah?” katsuki hisses as his head lolls back lazily, thunking against the sleek leather of his backseat, rough hand planted limply on the curve of your waist. you look godsend hovering over him, your shoulders flexing as you grip on his thick thighs, trembling like a goddamn leaf as you fight to keep yourself up.
he’s got you riding him because he’d be damned if he put any extra effort into the shitty day. today was your day to take control, a rare one because he couldn’t be bothered. katsuki had called you up as soon as his patrol ended, voice void of emotion in fear that he’d end up snapping at you for any minuscule reason. after all, you hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve his berating.
your pussy cries and sobs as you bounce on his cock sensually, the strain making your mind fog up and blank on your train of thought. it was almost a routine for the pro to use your body for a nice shutdown, you felt it was the best way to thank him as a citizen. he sought you out on his worst days and you never failed to follow through, something he fucking adores about you.
his jaw is slack, blonde stubble decorating his skin, tongue slithering out to lick at his lips. you were so damn wet and tight around him, it was just enough to help him block out the spiel he had received earlier in the day about working on his rescue skills. nah, he didn’t need to change himself for the sake of others, you seemed to like him just as he was.
“shit, you’re filth. jus’ a filthy girl,” the sound of his voice, mumbled and distant, makes your cunt throb. your walls suction him tight, coating him in a glossy mess of your pussy drool. he swears he could die happy right here and his mind is nearly blank as he slips a thumb in your ass, huffing out a quiet chuckle at the way your back arches immediately.
no matter how nasty his attitude can be, you come back for more. you always do.
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★ sick, but never of you . . . (luke hughes)
— when you're feeling incredibly under the weather, your boyfriend is there to look after you the best he can (1.3k)
+ warnings for mentions of illness and feeling sick. yes this is incredibly self-indulgent but i'm currently ill so you have to let me off okay !!!! first time writing for luke so pls don't be too too harsh !! banner from benkeibear <3
luke knew it was bad the moment he woke to the sight of your shadowed outline sitting up in bed, your body hunched over as muffled sniffling broke the silence in the room.
you hadn't been feeling the greatest all day, plagued with an annoying cough and pounding headache, but you had insisted before you headed to bed that you were starting to feel a little better, even assuring him that a good night's sleep would cure everything.
unfortunately, it seemed that sheer wishful thinking alone wasn’t enough.
something happened overnight, and you’d gone from bad to worse within a matter of hours. what had started out as a level of illness that was more of an annoyance than anything had spiralled to an obnoxious level of discomfort.
the blocked nose, the sharp scratch in your throat, the awful cough, and the pulsing headache would all be bad enough on their own, but experiencing them all in one sitting seemed like a level of torture that you definitely didn’t deserve. yet, here you were. and there was nothing you could really do about it.
it took every last ounce of strength in you not to cry.
you were just so frustrated. nothing felt right, and sleep was definitely out of the question; you were left with no other option than to sit and feel sorry for yourself, and hell, who could blame you?
"babe?" luke asked, voice thick with a blend of sleep and concern that already worked to soothe you a little. it was like your own personal medicine, washing over your body and allowing your muscles to relax a fraction.
"sorry," you all but croaked, and luke winced at the sound. speaking had to be impossibly painful for you right now, there was no doubt about it. "y’can go back to sleep, 'm fine."
your attempt at lying was already pitiful, but it was truly ruined when, not even five seconds later, you promptly burst into tears. luke’s extension of care had broken the emotional dam you’d tried to build up, and the wave of upset quickly came crashing over you.
luke swore that he could feel each individual crack splintering across his heart at the sight of you. how he was simply supposed to 'go back to sleep' right now, even if he wanted to, was a total mystery to him.
"hey, hey, c'mere," he mumbled, sounding more like he was addressing a wounded animal than his girlfriend.
without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you against him, his hand tracing circles on the small of your back as you sobbed into him. small ‘i know, i know’s passed his lips, and he hoped to any god that they sounded reassuring and not patronising.
a particularly rough coughing fit interrupted your crying, and you tore yourself away from him to cover your mouth. luke mourned the loss of your body against his, the warmth replaced by the telltale cold of losing your embrace.
"i feel like fucking shit."
your voice cracked at every word, even cutting out completely on some syllables, and the expression on your face confirmed that speaking was hell for you right now.
never had luke seen you so utterly broken, and it was killing him. he knew that if you were any more coherent, you would’ve kicked him out of your room instantly, not wanting to risk getting him sick.
he knew that, because it had happened many times before.
it was like clockwork, a dance you two had mastered over the years together. you’d get a slight cold, luke would offer to take care of you, and you’d shut him down immediately, not wanting your sniffles to be the reason the devils lost one of their defensemen for a game or two.
but this was far worse than a common cold, and no amount of convincing would be able to pull luke from your side.
luke sat for a moment, formulating a plan in his mind with a level of precision only otherwise reserved for his time on the ice. he gnawed at his bottom lip gently as he thought, a hand reaching out to brush the hot skin of your thigh to let you know he was still there.
after a minute, he spoke.
“alright, i’m gonna go grab some stuff for you and i’ll be right back okay?” luke promised, rising to his feet.
a stern, yet caring, look shot down your feeble attempt at arguing with him. nothing you could say or do right now would prevent him from looking after you.
“you just get y’self comfy, babe. i’ll be back before you know it.”
a kiss to your forehead sealed his goodbye, and the soft thump of his feet against the wood flooring became quieter as he made his way into the kitchen. you sniffled once more, wiping away the stray tears from your cheeks with the palms of your hands and propped yourself up against one of the pillows, sighing deeply.
remnants of luke’s warmth seemed to bleed along the sheets, tingling underneath your skin to remind you that he was here, looking after you, and he was happy to do it. a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you held back from burying yourself into luke’s side of the bed despite your heart silently begging you to.
as promised, luke returned not too long after, balancing a few objects in his hands. whilst one hand clasped a steaming mug of tea, the other contained some painkillers and medicine you had in your cabinet, along with a bottle of cold water. luke had apparently grabbed anything in sight that he thought would help you out, and cupid’s arrow snagged your heartstrings once more.
within seconds your bedside table was decorated with his haul, and the mug of tea carefully handed to you with a warning that it would be hot. luke busied himself with figuring out how much of each medication you could take, making a mental note as to when you could have the next dose with furrowed brows.
his fingers stretched out to gently tap your palm twice, a silent request for you to hold out your unoccupied hand so he could drop the pills into them for you. the fact you had woken him up at god knows what time of night and his movements were laced more with love than exhaustion was truly a testament to how much he adored you, and it made you feel giddy despite your awful state.
a sympathetic sound left his mouth as he reached out a hand to cup your jaw, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone as though you were fine china, something delicate for him to cherish and admire.
“drink some tea and then try and get some more sleep, baby,” he said in a hushed tone, pressing a gentle kiss to your clammy forehead. “know it sounds impossible, but the meds should make it a bit easier for you. ‘m not going anywhere either, so wake me up if you need me.”
you nodded, lifting the mug to your lips and taking a small sip of the hot liquid. the fact that luke had brewed the drink in your favourite mug didn’t go unnoticed, and you gave him a fond smile over the rim of the mug as the beverage eased the strain of your throat.
as luke clambered back into bed next to you, pulling you into his side carefully so as not to spill your tea everywhere, your frustration began to fade, curling like the tendrils of steam coming from your mug and floating towards the ceiling.
though your sickness wasn’t miraculously cured, the soft kisses luke repeatedly pressed to the top of your head and temple provoked small bursts of happiness to erupt in your mind, like fireflies carrying a golden glow that paled in comparison to that of the boy next to you.
#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles#luke hughes#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes x you#luke hughes fluff#luke hughes drabble#nj devils x reader#nj devils x you#nhl x reader
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𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑨𝑳𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑩𝑬𝑻 ── austin sommers ₊ ˙ ⊹ .
⇢ 𝐓ags - 18+/nsfw ． fem!reader
⇢𝓐/n- got a little carried away with this, heh.
𝐀 = 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱)
❥┆austin often experiences a rush of inspiration after an orgasm, so he keeps a notepad and pencil within reach. he pops a black pill and goes straight to writing, which kind of kills the mood. after jotting down a rough outline so brilliant that even shakespeare would envy, he makes up by showering you with kisses and cuddles, repeatedly thanking you and telling you that you're his greatest muse and his one true love, etc. you can always count on receiving princess treatment.
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𝐁 = 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 (𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫’𝐬)
❥┆ he's fixated on your neck and wrists. loves to nuzzle against the crook of your neck and feel the blood pulsing through your veins beneath the thin layer of skin. he has the same obsession with your wrists, too, bringing them to his lips and kissing them.
✶ a/n: picture gomez addams doing that to morticia. sort of creepy, possessive and romantic. the best combo tbh.
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𝐂 = 𝐂𝐮𝐦 (𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐮𝐦, 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲)
❥┆ he loves to cum deep inside you, or in your mouth. makes you swallow it, too. he hates to make a mess on his yves delorme bedsheets. not like he can’t afford to replace them, he simply doesn’t see the need to do extra work.
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𝐃 = 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 (𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬)
❥┆he wants to have a threesome with you, including another man.
✶ a/n: *cough* harry gardener-
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𝐄 = 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠?)
❥┆ austin is very experienced. and with both genders, for that matter.
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𝐅 = 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠)
❥┆ missionary - all about the eye contact and the intimacy. sex is like a form of art.
❥┆ cowgirl - he gets to lie back and gather his thoughts while admiring the sight of you bouncing on his cock. what more can he ask for?
✶ a/n: also, he likes to fuck you in front of a mirror.
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𝐆 = 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐲 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)
❥┆ one moment, he's murmuring sweet words into your ear as he makes tender love to you, the words so heartfelt and oh so romantic that they bring tears to your eyes. the next, he's saying random shit and cracking jokes.
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𝐇 = 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲? 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)
❥┆ pretty sparse down there already, but still nicely trimmed.
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𝐈 = 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭)
❥┆ a hopeless romantic with the soul of a whore. he'll light up candles, burn incense, and scatter rose petals— the whole schmear. also a glass of wine and background music to help set the mood.
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𝐉 = 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟 (𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧)
❥┆ austin detests pornography; absolutely hates it. he considers it vulgar and devoid of any artistic value. however, he occasionally indulges in reading erotica while jacking off, but he prefers to fuck you personally.
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𝐊 = 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 (𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬)
❥┆ he’s into rough kinky shit. very open about it, too— he’s into blood play, bdsm, threesomes, choking, and roleplay.
❥┆blood play: very obvious one, i know. he wears his “normal teeth” when he’s licking the blood off your skin.
❥┆bdsm: plays the dom role most of the time, but he’s willing to play the (super bratty) sub, too.
❥┆roleplay: very invested in the “theatrical and artistic aspects”, to the point where he writes out entire scripts.
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𝐋 = 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝)
❥┆ you two have christened the house by making love in every room and on every available surface. austin insists it imbues his “creative sanctum” with the perfect writing atmosphere. whatever the hell that means. his second favourite spot is the back seat of his rolls royce.
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𝐌 = 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐧)
❥┆ he gets very horny after a few glasses of wine. or a few pints of fresh blood– same thing. you could literally breathe in his direction and boom he gets a hard-on.
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𝐍 = 𝐍𝐨 (𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐨, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐬)
❥┆golden showers and gun play. the former is plain disgusting and the latter is too risky, even for him.
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𝐎 = 𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)
❥┆ austin definitely prefers receiving over giving, perhaps it's a side effect of the black pill. he can be rather selfish in this aspect. when you’re on you’re period.. let’s just say that the tables are turned.
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𝐏 = 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐞 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥?)
❥┆ either he's making slow, sensual love to you, like he’s playing a musical instrument with precision and finesse, or he's straight up fucking you like an animal. no in-between with this guy.
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𝐐 = 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞 (𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)
❥┆ austin dislikes quickies in general; he prefers the intimacy and connection of “making love”. to him, quickies are anticlimactic and boring.
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𝐑 = 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐬? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)
❥┆yes. he’s totally game for something new. takes a lot of creativity to even faze him because he’s seen it all.
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𝐒 = 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭?)
❥┆ austin has an unnaturally high stamina; it’s fucking insane. he can last for hours before finally tapping out. 
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𝐓 = 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬 (𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦? 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬?)
❥┆ he owns a bunch of toys, but most of them are either unused or used only once. he has a few favourite ones that he uses on you. oh and he likes to wear cockrings. that too.
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𝐔 = 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞)
to build up tension and dramatic effect? hell yes, he’ll edge you for hours. pretends to get annoyed when you do the exact same thing to him. (he loves it)
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𝐕 = 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)
❥┆ really talkative during sex, you can’t get him to shut up. occasional grunts and groans, but mostly it’s sweet talk laced with filthy innuendos. when you're topping him, then oh my god he’s all whines and whimpers.
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𝐖 = 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝 (𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫)
❥┆sometimes he brags about your sexy time to belle noir. and in vivid detail, too. later, she used it in her latest steamy novel, which was an award-winning bestseller, obviously. when you read the book yourself, you were hit by an instant sense of deja vu. he confessed when you confronted him, shrugging and saying that your love is now permanently engraved in the form of literature. and really, you couldn’t stay mad at him after that.
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𝐗 = 𝐗-𝐫𝐚𝐲 (𝐥𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬)
❥┆ seven inches. pretty veiny, too.
——————————————————————————————
𝐘 = 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞?)
❥┆ when you tease him for his ridiculously high sex drive, he counters you with “now sexual obsessions are the basis of artistic creation. accumulated frustration leads to what freud calls the process of sublimation. anything that does not take place erotically sublimates itself in the work of art” in other words, boy is horny and pretentious 24/7.
✶a/n: that’s a quote from dali and i think it’s pretty cool.
——————————————————————————————
𝐙 = 𝐙𝐳𝐳 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬)
❥┆his mind is buzzing with new inspiration, so he usually stays up and write. rarely falls asleep unless he’s already had a good amount of alcohol in him.
TAGLIST: @slvt4jamesmarch @kaismanwich @maddaline @evpeters87 @lacucarachapisser @officerballs @howtobesasha @lissasharp @feefymo @stveharringtn @kai-slut @nickrhodeslittledarling @bluerthanvelvet444 @r8ttenapples @nahoyasboyfriend @taintandviolent @babygorewhore @newwavesylviaplath + send an ask to be added
fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
#american horror story#ahs#austin sommers#evan peters#ahs double feature#ahs red tide#austin sommers x reader#austin sommers x y/n#ahs fandom
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ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )
ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴏᴜʀ [1, 2, 3] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3
There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.
content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite
word count: 10k
“I have not been meeting with Steve.” you scowled behind gritted teeth. Balled fists return to your side. Pin-point daggers shoot back, unphased.
It’s an absurd notion on its own, that you betray him in the slightest. You also know you’ve had sneezes last longer than that conversation–how the hell did Tony know about it?
“Try again.” He doesn’t return your heat in his voice, leaving that to be felt through his grasp.
“Fine, I ran into Steve, but come on, you seriously think I would–”
“Not sure what to think given how easy it just was for you to lie to me.”
“You’ve been lying to me from the start!”
You pulled yourself from his grasp, tossing the bag onto the island. Cream marble and translucency make for wonderful camouflage, almost losing itself in the light entirely.
“I’d hardly call my personal habits comparable to sneaking around.”
Adrenaline does what it knows best, keeping you pliant and pissed. Two things that erode rationalism like rust. The iron spreads to whatever argument you would’ve made had there been more time to prepare. Or sense to see the mosaic pattern here. Time stills for no more than a few seconds–and that’s all Tony needs.
“So, go ahead, please. Tell me more about what I should think .”
He says it so permissively, you might have obliged if his jaw loosened even a bit to do so. That tiny breadth of space is stalked through by shiny leather oxfords. You’re given a not so pleasant reminder of his stature when he's in front of you again, more overwhelming than before. The cool stone island digs into your back.
“Here I was actually worried something could have happened to you–turn’s out you’re searching for, what , exactly?”
The reversal almost worked, really. The reminiscent guilt came back as it always does. You felt the same way for wanting to leave back in California months ago. Even all that time ago in that dimly lit boutique. Tony showed you time and time again how much he loved you– wanted you, and here you were, finding another reason to push him away.
You were so close to giving in. The marble’s nearly swallowed the powdery bag whole by now, for it takes you longer to see the plastic outline bouncing back at you.
Tony waits, hands tucked into the pocket of his suit pants (in a very deliberate attempt to hide his own unease). His eyes still bore back into you like a hawk, and you wanted to surrender to them until their pin-point, reddened nature dawned on you. Then, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the tempo beating fast your own. The shake in his hands when he held you in place.
To Tony, you meet his eyes with something far more heart-piercing than anger, and he gets a sick feeling of deja vu. You wouldn’t know–his face stone cold from years of practice. But this close, you can see something worse.
“You’re wasted right now .”
You don’t bother making it a question (it’s a quiet scoff). Nor do you bother to wait for the response he’s struggling to muster. Decades of life yet he lacked a great deal of experience in getting called on his shit. All the air seems to leave the room, saving just the few breaths you have remaining in your lungs.
“We’re done.”
You use them wisely, calmly , even, to head for the elevator and as far away from this as possible. Despite the fact your ears are ringing. Don’t ask where you find the willpower. You push past him, rather easily because Tony moves for the sanctity of his shoulder and knee.
Your fingers go to grace the brass buttons, but Tony crosses the threshold with far fewer steps and positions himself between you and the opening door.
“ Move , Tony.” you say sternly, though it feels ridiculous raising your voice at someone whose gaze you have to look up to meet.
“Don’t want to keep Mr. America waiting, of course.”
“Seriously?” you scoff, eyes rolling. “You’re still on that?”
“I don’t know, you still wanna lie to me?”
“How many times do I need to tell you–”
“I know you were with him, so you can cut the bullshit.”
“I told you, I ran into Steve. That’s . It. ” you respond, making another move for the button just for Tony to shift an inch to the left.
“You two looked very cozy outside that bar. Let me guess, he ordered a Manhattan and you just couldn’t say no.”
“For god’s sake, no . He came out while I was waiting and asked me not to tell you–end of story.” You’d hoped that added details would be enough to assuage him–at least to move out of your way.
“So, you decided all on your own to rummage through the bathroom?”
As many of his questions tend to be, he already knows the answer. Even still, the look you give is telling on its own.
“I mean, really–” he chuckles dryly, “Please tell me what is so special about him that you keep trusting him over me.”
“He, for one, isn’t controlling or watching my every move–out of the way, Tony.” you repeat, exhausted.
Tony’s eyes dart down to the elevator panel he’d done such a phenomenal job of blocking, before glancing back at your pleading face. That seems to do the trick, because he presses the call button himself and gestures open arms into the small space.
“By all means, knock yourself out.”
Shocked, but without another word, you enter. As you turn and press L for the lobby, you expect Tony’s irate face staring back at you.
Instead, you catch the patterned fabric lining the back of his suit vest as he walks away.
Once the elevator doors shut, Tony loses his last semblance of composure.
A sheer crystal serving tray by the stove behind him, topped with an array of ornate glasses, is thrown straight across the kitchen where it crashes to a million pieces at the plush living room rug.
He truly does not enjoy your penchant for storming off today or any other day.
Today is the worst, though, for two reasons. One, he’s not certain that letting you leave was the best move in the long-term. Two, you promised never to do this in the first place–you fucking promised.
Another innocent bystander (this time a glass pitcher) joins the pile in the living room.
Stuttery hands brace the counter. It’s of little effort for him to keep a hardened facade in the face of anger, but now that you’re not here to see it, the stone mask cracks. Shame, guilt, anger and that sneaky trickster known as self-righteousness blend up into something new entirely. There’s no pride in this for him, truly.
The billionaire was so certain when he saw the photos. You and fucking Rogers of all people, talking so close. Paranoia and a lack of reasonable perspective means his first thoughts are not pleasant in any shape or form. He wasn’t controlling , everything he did was preventative. This was self-confirmation (and a shit ton of jealousy). You’d simply done the thing he was most afraid of.
Or it was the thing he was most afraid of.
The counter stays tight under his grasp until his hands sport two fresh indentations, cursing himself and trying not to think about how breakable the chandelier is.
Just as he was sure of the photos, he was sure of you . You wouldn’t leave him, you were here to stay, you wanted him–right?
Only now under the cool touch of marble does he realize those ideas could never possibly co-exist.
No one as good to him as you would betray him, you wouldn’t. But you could reach the breaking point he sought so heavily to avoid in the beginning.
All alone in his tower built atop money and bad habits, the chandelier is spared as the great Tony Stark starts to break instead.
That is until he remembers he isn’t alone.
“Jarvis.” he calls out, and the older man emerges from the hallway no louder than a mouse.
Don’t feel embarrassed, the walls and loyal ears have certainly heard worse. Discretion is 90% of his job after all. In fact, right now he’s pretending not to notice the tears running down Tony’s face.
“Find out where she went.”
Tony keeps his head trained to the countertop anyway, just in case. Jarvis turns to follow through his instructions, but stops as soon as he starts. Decades of serving the Stark family is enough to know he’s probably better off holding his tongue. He speaks for your sake.
“Sir, I suspect she went home.”
At this, the wetness is dried by his shirt sleeve, already grabbing his coat to follow you.
“Sir,” Jarvis quickly interjects, Tony’s fingers on the call button. “Might I suggest…waiting until the morning?”
He doesn’t need to say why. Tony can guess well enough.
You actually had no destination in mind. The thought of home felt disgustingly empty, and the reminder that you only still had it because of Tony would definitely stay persistent. You couldn’t bear to think about what you might've done to pay for it otherwise. Going to a friend’s would require an explanation you absolutely could not give. For a while, you wander just as before. You must look insane to the people passing by–makeup definitely stained and running.
A rudimentary pros and cons list is drafted, revised, deleted, and drafted once more. Sure, you didn’t have a slew of loves to compare it to, but you knew the one you had for Tony was irreplaceable. No one ever made you feel this wanted , this loved , this special . No ex of yours left a dozen roses by your door–or waited in the car for hours while you slept. They didn’t fill their lacquer kitchen cabinets with herbal teas just because you mentioned liking them once . Hibiscus and rooibos flooded Tony’s kitchen so long as it kept you happy . Every other relationship was a caustic whirlpool. Tony was a dizzying fantasia. You gleefully closed your eyes so many times that the thought of opening them made you nauseous.
You swallow stale bile and keep walking.
The dusky hue in the sky grows to a fine oceanic blue above you until you gain enough sense to go home. Out of spite (and totally not because you have no other way), you take the subway home, cheeks raw from the night’s sharp wind on your tears.
Your heels clank awkwardly on the metal descent, echoing on the platform. It’s empty, sharply different from the vamping nightlife outside. It’s not long before your train hustles down the track, stepping on to an disturbingly, equally empty train car.
You slump into the first empty seat you see. In a calmer mood, you might’ve bothered with your phone, instead staring into your reflection on the glass pane. The gentle rocking starts soon after, and you work on putting your mind somewhere besides bergamot and red.
Tony does not like waiting.
He would be working, if he could find even a shadow of concentration. All he can think about is you– the grit in your voice.
At some point in his marathon around the penthouse, the small pile of glass is quietly cleaned away. Out of sheer boredom (and latent regrets), he considers creating a new one.
Why would you leave him– how could you leave him?
In the idle night hours, pacing from room to room, Tony almost wishes you had cheated on him. Then, he could be right. He could skip past silly little thought pieces over his vices addiction and fly straight to indignity. It wouldn’t be his fault, would it? He wouldn’t have to explain a damn thing to a world that didn’t care for him.
Everyone betrayed him in the end, even you.
With enough clarity, he might be able to see the shame hiding under all that self-righteousness, but alas. Years of practice and all.
The best he can do for now is scalding admonishment.
And a pinch of paranoia that his own actions caused Steve to seek you out–again. Tony knew the soldier was stupid, but that would be moronic . He made himself perfectly clear this morning, no shot Steve chose this as the method for exacting his revenge. It wasn’t a well-guarded secret amongst Tony’s circle that you were to be left ignorant, you weren’t like them . Really, he’d purposefully (and harshly) informed this as much. If Steve wanted to embarrass him then he failed succeeded miserably. The fact he would even attempt such a thing is the greater offense.
Tony’s self-indulgent, not an idiot. Even under watered layers of complexes, he knows the greatest offense lies ten feet away on his kitchen counter. In fact, it’s what keeps him awake through the night. Awake and thinking–thinking about how fucking flawlessly he was keeping everything under wraps. This infallible image he crafted for you was gone. No longer could he hide behind a glass barrier of false separation. Foolish Tony–believing a second chance would come so freely.
He made the same mistake twice. The odds he’d get a third chance were slim to none. At the time, he felt lucky to even have Pepper. Clearly he’s doing something worth rewarding on this Earth, because then he found you. Or, alternatively, God realized what a disservice he’d done by walking missile Tony’s way in the first place.
You were invaluable. Nothing like his playboy flings or one-night stands. From the moment he laid eyes on you he knew his life would never be the same without you.
You promised , and he intends to make good on it even if you won’t.
Tony can’t recall the last time he waited for a damn thing in his adult life (much less to sober up), and he doesn’t care much for starting something new today. Then, he remembers just how much patience he has for you. He waits for you patiently as you oggle every mural, piece of street art, or weird boutique. He waits as quietly as can be while you sleep, and he waited months for you to feel comfortable enough to spend consecutive nights at his home.
There’s a pit growing in his chest–one screaming that his hard work might be swirling down the drain. How stupid he was for letting you storm off. With each passing second, you were sinking further from his grasp.
To hell with waiting.
After all, he’s Tony Stark –he’d deny himself of nothing he desired. He didn’t work this hard to settle for less than that.
In his defense, he does attempt to do the courteous thing of calling before showing up randomly in the middle of the night. Your phone, hopelessly abandoned deep in your purse, rings to no answer. It totally doesn’t make him more irate.
One extremely lonely, and infuriating train ride later, you make it home. You jump when a knock vibrates through your apartment–though you know there’s only one person who’d show up in the middle of the night. Still, you tiptoe across the living to peer through the peephole anyway. While you were not super enthusiastic about seeing him outside your door this soon, the defeated slump in his shoulders gives you some satisfaction.
A very brief, stereotypical through-the-door conversation ensues. You shout for him to leave, to which Tony provides the usual platitudes to just open the door and you respond further with a stout fuck no . You roll your eyes at his continued pleas, and turn for your bedroom. He could sit out there and talk to the door all night like a madman if it suited him, but you weren’t going to spend a precious second on this earth listening to it.
You don’t even make it past your couch before you hear what you swear to god cannot be your lock turning. God, Buddha, and everything else divine must have been busy, because Tony stands in the entryway, illuminated by the kitchen stove light.
“Have you lost your mind ? Where the hell did you get a key?”
He shrugs and looks around like it’s obvious.
“The lease holder is usually given a key, especially if they’re paying.”
The aghast scoff can’t wait to leap from your throat.
“You know what, fuck you .” you spat, flying past him to the door. “No good deed , huh?”
Somewhere between you storming out earlier in the night and his decision to come here (or maybe walking up the creaking stairs) he seems to have gotten the impression you were in a joking mood. There’s nothing but sweetness in his voice now, yet you still can’t trust that you know where his head’s at. Your night had been tumultuous enough without him showing up.
Your fingers just barely wrap around a cool metal knob, the hall light leaving a thin warm line on your face. Tony braces a heavy palm above your head the second it does, closing it shut with a frame wobbling thud .
“A bit rude to run out on me twice, don’t ya think?” he smirks, looking down at you.
“A bit rude to force your dirty money on someone then hold it over their head, don’t you think?” you mock, stupidly trying to pull the handle open a second time, unbudging against Tony’s palm, biceps testing the elasticity of his silk shirt. You were getting tired of constantly feeling trapped.
You wish you’d stay far away, in the safety of the living room where citrus didn’t take you over. Where that hopeless little part of your brain could stay quiet and not scream to wrap your arms around his torso. Also because the door doesn’t move a fucking centimeter, so it was a waste of energy regardless.
“If you wanted someone who’d let you work yourself to death or end up on the street, you should’ve called that guy from your high school reunion back. You know–the real handsy one with the mohawk.”
“I’ll get right on that if you move out of the fucking way.”
“Please, like I’d ever allow that.” Tony laughs, and you’re wondering why you appear as some sort of one-woman comedy act by every man in this city.
“What the hell do you want? I told you–I’m done with this.”
He ends his chuckle with a tsk , leaving you in the living room to sit at your kitchen table. The feet of the metal chair make a discordant screech across the linoleum and he turns the seat towards you before sitting.
“You don’t mean that, honey.” Tony smiles, tapping his shoes against the floor.
“I meant it.”
He gestures back towards the entryway.
“Nothing but space and opportunity to run away again, what’s stopping you?”
“You just said you wouldn’t let me.” You’re giving it your all not to shout, to scream at him for how insane this is. If you were still at the tower, you might not have bothered–far away from neighbors with loose lips and thin walls.
“I’d never allow you to waste your time with someone else. Storm off as much as you like–that won’t keep you from me.”
It’s all cool words and charisma, with a sickeningly violet weight that flips your stomach. He’s far across the space, and the door is still within inches of your grasp.
“Find literally anyone else to sit here and play this game with you.”
“What part of ‘ I want you, and only you ’ do you not understand?”
The kitchen stove light still illuminates his figure, casting a dim shadow over his back to shadow his figure across the floor. His feet continue to tap idly, head resting on his palms as if confused to why such a statement even needed to be told to you (again).
“You were getting along just fine before you met me, go back to that–I don’t want any part of whatever the hell else it is you’ve been lying about–”
“I’m not letting you go.”
That sweetness is his voice is pushed out to make room for pure desperation. The words waiver as they leave him, clearly fighting against whatever instinct wanted to hold it in, though you can’t help wondering if that’s all that caused the shake. An air of silence falls, where he watches you from the kitchen with stabbing eyes. Walking away is logical, but something unnatural freezes you in place. Plus, you’re not certain he wouldn’t fly to the door again the moment you touch it.
“Why me?”
Another short silence and this time you’re the one to take advantage of it, louder than you needed to be.
“And why accuse me of sneaking around? I barely even spoke to him how the hell did you know–”
“Were you not?”
Your nostrils flare, nails digging into tight wound palms. Water droplets leave the kitchen faucet in out of time drips. This is why your fingers shook and bore a million typos to correct. Lying to Tony Stark was one of the stupidest riskiest things you could do.
“I just needed time to think–”
“To play Nancy Drew..” He corrects. It’s not tempered, just matter-of-factly–like a lawyer pointing out bad evidence.
“I needed to see for myself–”
“ Asking totally wasn’t an option.” Tony meets your volume with too much ease.
“Like you would have told me the truth !”
“I’ve never lied to you–”
“Oh, right , you only speak in half-truths, or say it’s nothing to ‘concern myself with ’!” Your anger pulls you across the creaky floors of the entryway, feet tethering on the wood boundary lining off the tile of the kitchen.
“You’re not–”
“That’s the real reason Pepper left you, isn’t it? Not any of that bullshit you tried to sell me L.A–she left because you play like some larger-than-life billionaire and not the shady piece of shit you are.”
You don’t have to continue your slow stampede into the kitchen, as the chair makes another unsettling screech on the tile when Tony suddenly stands. An indignation only complimentary to your own is expected, but it isn’t what you get.
“I didn’t come here to be judged by you.” His mouth barely moves to say it–as even the slightest parting would cause him to shout back and have the fight you seem to be dying to have.
“Why the hell are you here?” A better phrased, more favored question in your opinion would have been ‘ why did you break into my apartment after I dumped you? ’, but the answer’s surely the same.
Tony can glare down lasers at you as much as he likes, he’s not getting his way (for once)–you aren’t crumbling (for once).
“I need you.”
That disgusting, heart-string tugging desperation comes back and it turns out you still haven’t built your defense strong enough. You’re taken aback, because you had prepped for a full blown argument. You had enough ammo loaded up to keep this going all night. But somehow, it’s a heavier three-word declaration than I love you . It’s not a murmur or with a racing chest.
And it is wholly true. Life had him placed on a giant, constant stage. Where he needed to be someone else–someone stronger and with rougher edges. It kept him enclosed. Where everything he hated about himself was reflected in everyone and everything around him. That kind of cycle is self-feeding. A snake gnawing at its exhausted tail for eternity. It was a spur of the moment decision to stop for a drink that night. Truthfully, he had more than enough already coursing through his veins, but the tower felt emptier than usual in his mind, and this career warrants you very few friends.
Maybe it was the flickering neon signs–glowing brand names across the sidewalk. The bustling noise flooded the rest of the quiet street like an overflowing bucket. It was a grimy, crowded hole in the wall–small, and cut away from the sprawling residential neighborhood around it. It reminded him of his life before he fucked it up. When no one knew his name or where he came from.
You were just an added bonus. He had planned to relish in the chaos of everyone around as he drank for inebriation instead of taste for once. But dark red nails pass him the glass, and he finds himself stuck watching them for the rest of the night. Despite the man Tony was, he wasn't anyone to you, and a woman like you shouldn’t have been anything to him.
He comes back simply out of craving. That anonymity , that freedom. From responsibility, from judgment. Tony realizes he’s befriended the snake too long. He accepted everything around him as a product of fate and piss-poor luck.You changed that. You made him remember a long forgotten fact–that everything he wanted was within arms reach.
Suddenly, your eyes take great interest in grout speckling the tile below. There wasn’t enough room for disbelief in the quaint walls of your apartment.
“You’re the only person who doesn’t see me, as–I don’t know, me?” he exhales, running over his face as he re-takes his seat.
“You,” you trail off, shoulders loosening just to earn a small tremble. “--actually mean that.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
You’re gathering the bravado to say something along the lines of ‘ well asshole you were high as a kite when you told me you loved me and never said it again ’. Maybe without the asshole part. A difficult act indeed.
"I didn’t sign up for any of this." you murmur, trying to quench any further questions and avoid a very stern ‘ I told you so ’. But Tony's gaze remains fixed on your arm, making your nerves spike. “–if I had known everything, your work–”
“You wouldn't have agreed to see me, really ?” Tony grins and cocks an eyebrow that you miss in your deep inspection of the tile. “You weren’t clueless when we met.”
“I wasn’t but–”
“But what?” He sharply interjects. He can’t stand how your eyes land anywhere but him. This conversation is giving him deja vu, and not the whimsical kind. It’s the kind that wraps around the body and stops the flow of blood. “All of sudden you wanna have a ‘ come to Jesus ’ moment and find some moral high ground?”
Tony’s, unsurprisingly, not wrong. You had good enough sense the moment he slipped into that barstool, asking for a whiskey list as if the knife-shaped tear in the cushion couldn’t tell him that was pointless. A brief glance and finger of Jack Daniels was all he got from you. You spent the rest of the hour catering to the usual Friday night crowd of drunks, only thinking of him again when the shiny green bills made a funny reflection underneath his empty glass.
Honestly, you were more surprised no one took it for themselves.
It’s when he shows up a second night that you bother with conversation (purely out of gratitude and nothing else, right?). It’s the second night when you stay so, so much later than you should have, talking to someone you knew you shouldn’t be. You ignored it all then, just as you have for the last eight months. Burying your worries under a mountain of attachment and clouds of insecurity.
You were lucky. Shit, you feel that same gratuitous pang right now. Grateful that he still wanted you. Actually, to put it in his words– needed you. You’re not certain how much longer you could’ve kept it buried if you hadn’t asked Steve directly. You didn’t want him to be right, but all he did was validate every worry and order a swift excavation of everything you hoped wasn’t true.
“I kept telling myself that it was nothing, but–”” you trail off quietly.
“ But ?” he repeats.
You definitely can’t meet his gaze now, waiting for him to call you naive or tell you that this is somehow some huge misunderstanding. He doesn’t speak, though, and you can’t stop your mouth from opening under the weight of everything spinning in your head.
“But Steve says you’ve been doing this since you were in college.”
“That’s how Steve tells that story?” He scoffs.
“Come on, what else? Lay it on me, doll.” You watch a misshapen shadow stretch the length of the kitchen as Tony makes a dramatic beckoning of the hand.
“Why? So you can figure out what you don’t have to admit to?”
He takes a deep sigh that shifts into a short chuckle.
“You’ve been told a very half-cocked story, my apologies for trying to fix that. Trust me, Steve’s had it out for me for a while now.”
“I trust him a lot more than you right now.”
“That would be a bad choice.”
You snap your head up at the scorn. Where you gained this inclination to shoot back at everything with fire–you don’t know. You swear it’s just Tony, where sometimes you just want to match his arrogance tenfold.
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that? I’ve learned more about you from him and so far, he hasn’t been wrong.”
“You know more about me than anyone, without running around behind my back.”
“Yeah, there's just the woman you’re still married to, the cocaine in your bathroom, your company, whatever the hell it is you do while I’m sleeping because you surely aren’t–”
“Alright, alright, okay,” he interrupts, tossing his hands up in defeat and leaning back. “Would you just sit down for a sec–humor me, will you?”
Sullenly, you pull out the matching metal chair across from him. As you sit, folding your arms over your chest, you wonder how fate has aligned that you’ve met such an infuriating and intoxicating person. And why you were even giving this hail mary display the time of day.
“Let me tell you a story, it’s a good one, swear.” Tony flashes a diamond grin and it takes everything in you not to return it. It does cool your nerves somewhat.
“Better be a good one.” you respond, and Tony promises it’s worth hearing.
“I’m in my last year at MIT taking this exam for this real stick-up-his-ass professor–I’m talking this guy doesn’t have the muscles required to smile, just all nonsense. It’s my last godforsaken test before winter break and I’ve gotta pass this to be done with this soul-sucking school–”
“You? Stressing about school? Already this story’s got holes in it.”
“Did you miss the part about this guy being a hardass? Because I could’ve sworn I mentioned it.”
“The test was all about theory and it didn’t matter how much you knew, you had to answer it the way he would. I actually had to focus for once and I’m on this question about integrating quantum computing with electrical grid systems, you know how the ions might–”
“Totally, right.” you remark once you realize a science lecture is inbound. Tony’s ramblings often came late and always flew completely over your head. Tonight, you’re just finding it hard to care.
“You are a really bad listener, you know that?”
That earns an instinctive smirk from you, but you sigh and let him continue.
“I’m ten equations and at least five paragraphs into this question and my pager starts going off. I don’t even bother checking what it is–I just hit silence and keep going.” he tells it like it’s a true epic, the sort you swap at tailgates or weddings to try to one-up someone else’s, but you get the sense it’s not.
“An hour later with like, the worst cramp in my hand and 500% certainty I failed, no big deal, I finally check the message–call Jarvis back and he tells me my parents were in an accident. The weirdest thing was I didn’t even think they were dead–”
“Tony–” you start, though you weren’t even sure what to say.
“Honestly,” he chuckles dryly, the bravado in his voice silking away. “I was kinda relieved, for a second. The old man would’ve ripped me a new one for failing that test and I just thought he was a little banged up–too busy nursing a broken arm or something to check my grades.”
Tony’s laugh fades off into a somber sigh, shifting in the wobbling chair. The count of drips in the sink to your right tells you it’s been silent too long. You still don’t have the words to fill it. What kind of words would they even be? Of comfort? Humor to dispel his sadness? If he even was , that is. You gave up on trying to read him.
“Anyway, my point is . I wasn’t ready to do this– I was 21, getting an electrical engineering degree, notice how that has nothing to do with medicine or biotech. So I did the cowardly thing–let someone else take the wheel and I’m still paying for it twenty years later. Believe me, I’m not loving this either.”
“Then why don’t you stop? I mean you still have a legitimate company, stop using it to make things you don’t want to make.”
“It sounds so incredibly simple when you put it like that. Gee, wonder why I didn’t think of that earlier.” He makes an exaggerated face of amazement. “Look, I didn’t want you to know because I don’t need someone else telling me how to handle things–it’s my company, it’s my job to sort this out.”
“Does your job require you to test the product yourself?” It’s a lot ruder than you mean it to be, but it’s the real issue corroding your mind.
“That’s one of the benefits we offer at Stark Industries.” he laughs.
You still aren’t feeling humorous, scoffing and standing the moment you realize he isn’t taking a word you say seriously. Tony’s fast behind you, stepping between you and the arch into the living room.
“Okay, okay. But you’re worrying yourself over nothing, doll. I’ve got it handled.” he assures you (poorly), bracing your shoulders with his hands.
“Yeah, from here it looks totally handled.”
Contrary to the snare in your words, you weren’t a heartless monster. You weren’t playing moral adjudicator like Tony might think. You can recognize this as one of his rare moments of emotional theater, but you can’t be bothered to care knowing what comes after if you fall for it. Especially when you can tell from how not-serious he’s taking this that there’s not a chance he’d stop using anytime soon. You were just tired of being lied to. And you weren’t going to keep watching him self-destruct. All you needed right now was your bed and hot, long shower to put this day behind you.
Tony sighs, abandoning your shoulders to pinch his nose.
“It’s just…You experience things and then they're over and you still can't explain 'em. This business, Pepper, things I can’t even put into words. I...I'm just trying to make sense of it all. The only reason I haven't cracked up is probably because you’re around a lot more. Which is great. I do love you, I'm lucky. But, honey, I can't sleep, not when there's so much to be done to get out of this.”
You’re stunned into silence again. Because Tony speaks a thousand miles a minute and you’re still getting used to hearing ‘ I love you ’ from a sober mouth.
“Tony, this isn’t–” you stammer.
“I know, I know, you’re gonna say this doesn’t change anything but I can’t do that without you, I won’t.”
Calloused hands brace your sides instead. Warm and loose instead of strict and holding. You can feel the static though. There’s an electric heat jumping between fingertips and white fabric that wants to hold you tight until you can’t tell the difference between his skin and yours. You’ll never see it another time so clearly, but the glaze in Tony’s eyes is desperate– unyielding . You’re scared to give in and only slightly less worried about what it means if you don’t.
You were pissed that he kept something from you– again . You still were. The whole world seemed privy to exactly who Tony Stark was, except you. You were an outsider looking in through frosted window panes. Like the new kid watching everyone else giggle at an inside joke you couldn't possibly understand.
But you couldn’t say he didn’t care for you. The most damning part was that you loved him . Whether it was truly reciprocated was another question, but you couldn’t think of any other reason he’s standing in your kitchen at three in the morning, letting the stained brown walls wash out the blue details in his suit vest.
So, you rather than blindly submit, you place a wager.
“Then promise me you’ll get help.” You force your voice to be stable, confident. You meet his eyes with the same bravado, stepping back from his grasp. If done properly, and he needed you as much as he so claimed, then you win your self-made bet.
You notice he doesn’t reach out to hold you close, instead staring pensively into you for a moment longer than you would like.
“Okay, done.” he answers, shrugging nonchalantly. “That all?”
“Really? That simple?” you ask, baffled
Tony shrugs again, the crisp folds of his vest giving way to a stout laugh then a sigh.
“If that’s what it takes.”
Afterwards, you’re able to easily separate your life into three segments. There’s life before you started dating billionaire Anthony Edward Stark, life after, and life when you started dating Tony . They are too separate individuals, afterall. You learn that in due time.
Anthony Edward Stark is a wealthy businessman, arrogant, withholding, charming, and a few notches above dedicated to you. He hates vegan food and wasting time.He's utterly hopeless in the kitchen, with a preference for iron red and a penchant for dry martinis (always dry, you learned this from serving him a classic out of habit on night two). There’s a collection of Black Sabbath albums hiding under his office desk, and there’s a slightly larger collection of ballpoint pens in the trash can nearby–caps gnawed to uselessness in one too many spirals of concentration.
Tony is much the same, in all respects. Eeeeexcept there’s that ex-wife he seemingly abhors. And the designer powdered death he proliferates through the city. And the addiction he promises to hold at bay. He keeps his end of the bargain, though and vicariously becomes someone new once he sleeps a whole lot more. Okay, okay so there's a lot. Overall, he is calmer. The fiery temper is dulled, replaced with an occasional unwarranted annoyance at the most mundane of things. At first, it’s concerning to you–watching his face screw at tailgating cars or broken zippers. Then, you find it pretty amusing, seeing someone so perfectly sewn together furrow their brows at long lines instead of losing it altogether at moments of chaos. Though you quickly figure out why he avoided sleep in the first place.
It doesn’t happen until your third night back at the tower. A drizzle coats the high windows of the bedroom, the moonlight barely enough to see the rise and fall of his chest beside you. You’re deep into sleep, curled into Tony when you’re jolted awake by a sudden movement. Your eyes flicker open, confused and scanning the silk sheets before he twitches again, muttering in his sleep.
Barely awake, you shifted onto your side, planting a hand on his chest. With his arms no longer wrapped around your side, another twitch sends them flying to his chest. His skin was warm, damp, mutterings continuing to fall from his lips–angry broken pleas for someone or something to stop. You’d think the windows were open with how bad he shivered.
“Tony,” you called out softly, rocking his shoulder. “Wake up.”
It takes a few more attempts, each shake growing stronger as you gain more clarity. One of them must have woken him, arms leaving his chest to push your arms away. Fresh off a nightmare and no more awake than you were, he used much more force than needed, completely overshooting your hands to inadvertently strike your cheek.
You winced at the unexpected blow, your hand instinctively flying to your slight sting. Swearing softly, you met his wide-eyed gaze. He moves away from you in the same instant, breathing heavily at the edge of the bed
“Shit–I’m sorry– Fuck,” His hands ran across his face and through his hair more times than you can count, still struggling to catch his breath. “I didn’t know you–”
“It’s okay-Are you okay?” you interrupted, far more concerned about the way how terrified he sounded in his sleep and barely feeling it anymore regardless.
“Yeah, all good, bad dream.” Tony swung his legs over the edge, head resting in his hands. “Shit, that shouldn’t have happened.”
You wanted to press him about it, but decided against it while his voice is this shaky.
Instead, you move to sit behind him and run a hand over the soft skin of his back until his breath returns to normal. You don’t say anything when the shakes turn to muffled sobs. Instead, you move to sit behind him and run a hand over the soft skin of his back until his breath returns to normal.
Neither of you speak about it. Not then, the next morning, or ever again. It just becomes a new part of reality. Anthony Edward Stark doesn’t sleep. Tony has nightmares that can turn into full panic attacks and render him a tremoring mess. Afterwards, he takes a cold shower and returns to bed without a word. Not that you know what to say anyway.
This is somehow harder. To watch him lose control. You were, as most lovers are, impeccably biased. Tony’s life was enviable to anyone with a brain, and yet he was as fractured as anyone.
“Honey, you plan on eating?” he asks, tapping the rim of your porcelain plate with his fork.
You’re brought out of your deep thoughts and back into the present where roasted lemon fills your nostrils from the salmon below. You blame the restaurant–far too quiet to keep from drifting off. The candlelight flickers gently over the small table, creating small dancing shadows of you and Tony on the white linen.
You met his inquisitive brown eyes, giving a small apology before grabbing the cold metal fork. Despite its mouth-watering smell, the taste is anything but. You attempt to hide your displeasure, but such an act is useless this close.
“What’s wrong?” Tony abandons his own meal to question you.
"Nothing, it's just... a little overcooked for my taste," you reply, trying to sound lighthearted. You were never the kind of person to send a meal back, and certainly weren't about to start at a place with a Michelin star.
“Could have sworn you ordered medium.” His posture stiffens, eyebrows raised.
“Simple mistake, it happens.” you shrugged, preparing for a second attempt.
You don’t get the chance, as Tony stands abruptly, grabbing the plate before your fork could make an impression.
“Be right back." he assures you, a cold detachment in his voice.
Without waiting for a response, he strides away from the table, towards the back of the restaurant, leaving you confused.
After a few moments of waiting, a sense of unease begins to gnaw at you. You rise from your seat and, with hesitant steps, vaguely follow the path he took to a set of wide swinging doors. The soft glow of the overhead lights illuminates the narrow hallway, casting long shadows against the walls.
As you approach the kitchen, a waiter hurriedly scurries out, giving you a glimpse of Tony inside, one hand typing away idly at his phone and the other resting on a prep table, wrapped tightly in a blue rag.
Blood stains the pristine white of the chef's uniform, his nose crimson and dripping onto his graying beard as he flips a fresh piece of salmon. He spares you a brief timid glance when the doors swing. One hand dabs poorly at the splotches while the other white-knuckles a metal spatula. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you step cautiously into the kitchen, abandoning the warm lights of the hallway for the fluorescent kitchen overheads.
"Oh, hey there," Tony says casually, an icy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“He’s remaking your salmon.” he explains enthusiastically, returning his attention to his phone.
You stand frozen, watching crimson bleed through the rag. You guessed the chef didn’t take too kindly to criticism, and you know Tony doesn’t take no for an answer.
Maybe you didn’t know what calm looked on Tony after all.
You assume you should be grateful. Grateful that he did as you asked and stopped hiding behind his own layers. You got exactly what you wanted after, Tony, wholly and entirely bare for you to see. No more paranoia that you weren’t enough or that this would all come crashing you both down into murky waters. Well, there was still a chance of that. Only now the waves are crystal clear, revealing everything you begged to see.
At least he got more sleep this way.
You relished in waking up next to him–when it wasn’t from night tremors, of course. You could watch the sun streak through the curtains and glow around his features, calm and peaceful. It’s a moment of absolute solitude you look forward to each night. Listening to nothing but the faint calls of birds and muffled rumblings as the city woke up 93 floors. You bide the time hill wakes by running your fingers along his chest and shoulder, memorizing scars by feeling alone.
This morning you awake too early, daybreak barely starting and an inability to fall back asleep. Quietly, you pull yourself from Tony’s tight embrace and tiptoe your way downstairs for a cup of tea. You forgo bothering with the lights, getting enough light from the shy horizon to make your way around. You open the kitchen fridge in the hopes of finding a lemon, only to jump nearly out of your skin when a sound comes from the island behind you.
“ Christ !” you yelped, slamming the door shut and turning to the source.
Harley laughs and takes another bite of his apple, making the same loud crunch as a moment ago. “Aw, did I scare you?”
“What is with you people and sitting in the damn dark?” you question rhetorically, walking to the end of the kitchen to turn on the lights. You tighten the short silk robe around your pajamas, standing across from him.
“I was trying to surprise the old man for his birthday, which you are ruining, by the way.” he remarks, pointing a wagging finger.
“Tony’s birthday?” you ask, confused. “I didn’t know–”
The young man interrupts with a dismissive wave as he swallows another bite. “He doesn’t like to make a ‘ thing ’ of it, don’t sweat.” He gives complimentary air quotes, sitting back in the barstool.
“Fair enough.” You turn back to the cabinets to complete your original task. Behind you, Harley’s teeth piercing the fruit fills the early morning silence, interrupted by the flicker of the stove as you heat the kettle. You feel him eyeing you the entire time but decide not to feed into this time for your own peace.
“Thanks, by the way.” Hot water is making its way into a lilac mug when he speaks again.
“For, y’know.” he adds when you pivot with a puzzled face.
“No, I don’t know.” you respond exasperatedly, feeling a dig coming your way. You dip the tea bag into the water, stirring as he just stares back at you. You roll your eyes and head towards the stairs, deciding for certain that conversation with that kid was pointless.
“Were you not the one who got him clean?” He waits until your feet touch the first step to say it, forcing you to pivot.
“I’m not taking credit for his life choices.”
“Fair enough.” he mimics your tone from earlier with a gentle shrug.
With that, you leave and retreat back upstairs.
The lukewarm tea slides down your throat with better ease in the bedroom. Tony continues to sleep beside you as the sun greets the sky, until you're drifting off too..
When you rise again, the chaotic rumbling of the city drifts up and through the windows in full force. You stretch out slowly, tuning into the sound of Tony’s voice and staticky music from the bathroom. You flip over to the source, seeing Tony at the sink fixing a slender graphite tie to his neck. Quiet as a mouse and far too comfortable to leave the silk sheets, you simply observe through the open door. Unaware to his spectator, he continues half-singing half-muttering verse after verse of Back in Black . You have to stifle a giggle–not in judgment but in adoration. You didn’t think Tony Stark would belt rock lyrics as he cursed his hair for not blow drying exactly how he wanted.
Eventually, he spots your watchful eyes, after he secures chrome cufflinks and stoops down to straighten his pants. You smile when you realize you're caught.
“Hopefully you’re enjoying the show.” he grins, exiting the bathroom as he loops a thick leather belt around his waist.
“It’s alright, could have better acoustics.” you taunt.
Tony feigns offense as he kneels on the bed beside you. The soft mattress doesn’t make a sound for his weight to settle over top of you. Suddenly beneath him, cypress aftershave and evergreen shampoo drown out your senses. You know he’s not doing this to turn you on, it’s a byproduct of his nature–but now you just want to ruin the hair you watched him spend five minutes perfecting.
“Anyone else would be appreciative to AC/DC , or is that beyond your generation?” Tony asks, bracing an arm beside your head to fiddle with a free strand of hair.
“I worked in a dive bar–think I know dad rock when I hear it.”
“Ouch.” he winces, a short chuckle following after.
“Hey, never said it was bad.” you add, and he gives you a questionable hmm in response.
You’re fixated on the way his body compresses your own–the texture of his thumb on your face.
“Happy birthday, by the way.” you say after a moment of silence. To this he stiffens, his gentle expression changing in the same way.
“Hmm, guess that is today.” he muses.
“I take it you haven’t been downstairs yet, then.” you say, thinking of Harley. Tony groans you curse the loss of his weight as he stands.
“Nope, and I already know the kid’s down there raiding my refrigerator and getting crumbs everywhere.” There’s a strong disdain in his voice, reminding you of the phone call a few weeks ago.
He disappears back to the bathroom, swiping a watch from the granite sink. You stay silent in the airy cloud of sheets, tongue dancing behind your teeth. Clearly, a moment of silence is too telling for Tony. While you're fixated on the ceiling, he creeps back into the room, startling you when he hits the bed once more.
“You want him gone, say the word.” he declares, playfully. You’re barely listening, or really even bothered to think about Harley. It’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the fact that he’s just hovering over you and not crushing you into the mattress or kissing you or –
Your train of thought is derailed when a hand laces behind your neck, fingers settling at your nape and a thumb below your chin. Tony smirks when your eyes flicker to his, increasing the pressure with his thumb until your lips part for air.
“I believe I asked you a question, doll.” He relents for a moment, only enough for your throat to strain as you answer.
“I don’t mind.” you whisper, letting your legs graze his suit pants. There was a small hope the cool fabric would soothe the warmth breaking out on your skin, but the itch just drives you insane.
“Good.” Tony releases his grip to plant a kiss on your forehead. In the next breath, his feet touch the floor again and you contemplate if the lost pride is worth begging him to touch you.
You don’t get a chance to decide, as he gives some short winded promise about returning before the afternoon and exits the bedroom.
After a frustrating shower, and against both Harley and Jarvis’ better judgment (and very stern insistences), you decide to do something nice for Tony’s birthday. Well, as nice as you can without spending his own money.
It takes the better half of the day, and you have to ban a persistently nosy frat kid from the studio the entire time. You feel guilty about not knowing sooner. Then, you maybe would’ve pulled off something more his style. And then maybe like the finished product. It feels, and honestly, looks rushed (because it is), but in the end you feel worse about giving him nothing after all he’s done for you.
It’s a small canvas–easy enough for you to carry down the spiral stairs without breaking an ankle. It’s a quarter to three when you make the final stroke. Once you’ve managed to get the stained ink from your fingers, voices start to flood from downstairs. You manage to do a half-decent job wrapping, which gets you way too excited to gift it. Sure, you’d given art as presents to friends before, but not since you were 10 and those were C-tier cards at best. This wasn’t your best work, though it still gave you the same sense of love.
You call out Tony’s name as you head downstairs, hearing his and Harley’s voices echo from the living room. The muffled words are sharp and tense. You don’t notice the third voice over theirs, or the thud of the feet. You don’t even see her until you enter the space.
“Well, who do we have here, Tone’?” Two rows of perfect porcelain teeth gleam at you over Tony’s shoulder.
He turns to you the moment she speaks, brows tighter than a steel drum and fists tight by his side. Harley stifles his chuckle behind the kitchen island.
Silence pulls new red heat to your cheeks. The living embodiment of every insecurity you’d forgotten stood ten feet away in Louboutin heels. Tony’s stories painted enough of a picture of a flawless woman. Actually seeing her, now that was new territory. Her strawberry blonde locks were meticulously curled, in a mauve dress without a single wrinkle in sight. You felt embarrassed with your undone hair, in stained clothes and matching ink-ridden hands.
You start an equally embarrassing stammer of your name, to which Tony interrupts.
“Nope, not a chance.” He meets your eyes with fire before turning back to Pepper. “How the hell did you get up here–Actually, I don’t even want to know. Leave now.”
Pepper grins like they're old friends catching up. You feel like you shouldn’t be witness to whatever this is, awkwardly holding the canvas.
“Aw, Tony ,” she drags out with a click of her tongue. A slender hand reaches down into a thin leather briefcase, placing an envelope on the island. “Just thought I’d give you your present in person.”
“An email would have sufficed.” He grits.
“Well that wouldn’t be very polite, hm?” She cocks her head like it’s a serious question.
“Exit is directly behind you.”
Some quippy remark brews and dies on her tongue. A small glance is spared your way again, before she leaves.
Tony doesn’t move until the whir of the elevator starts. Harley clears his throat and retreats to the back hallway without another word.
“Tony–” you call out as he passes you for the stairs. He grants you a dismissive wave that cuts you short and swells your throat. All but stomping he makes his way up the stairs, leaving you alone with all the tension they left behind.
The white envelope goes unattended. Tony didn’t bother with it, but you do. Setting your gift against the stair railing, you tiptoe over to it. It’s unsealed–a solitary white letter tucked away. The ornate New York State emblem is a pale distraction for the words below.
ᴜɴᴄᴏɴᴛᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴇᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴅɪᴠᴏʀᴄᴇ
An agreement for complete dissolution separation of any and all assets for both parties.
Signed by Pepper Potts in midnight ink.
#tony stark#mcu fanfiction#tony stark x reader#tony stark fanfiction#tony stark smut#marvel fanfiction#seikkoiwrites
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Sitting on yorus face...
SUPERVISION 🌺 YORU ..
cw 2,174 words, smut, f!reader, sub!yoru, pervert!yoru (sorry i had to), yoru is a major pervert just a warning, boss!reader, dubcon, unprotected sex, creampie, face sitting
a/n sorry for not making that many fics !! ive been super busy and unmotivated to write the past few months 😭
working at an office was boring as shit. it was the last thing you'd want to experience, but you had no choice. it had a good pay and your rank was pretty high too. you could just—boss people around. you'd help them a bit, but that was pretty much all you did.
there was this rookie, his name was yoru— well, at least that's what you remembered. he always looked so miserable and tired. he was pretty quiet. aside from that, barely anything interesting happens in this uninteresting, miserable workspace. the gray carpet that silences your black heels, the constant buzzing sound of the air conditioner—
"ma'am," some guy rose his hand to call your attention. "i need some help here. a problem came up."
ugh, again. . . you almost dozed off at work. thank god your co-worker woke you up though, because the rough, uncomfortable texture of your desk wouldn't have been a great place to sleep on. you got out of your seat and went over to his cubicle.
"what's wrong?" you ask him with a very clear tone of disinterest in your voice. you leaned in further to see the problem he was talking about.
what you didn't know though was that your ass was practically in the face of the poor rookie who sat beside your co-worker.
his face was flushed even if you couldn't see it. your soft, supple ass, was in front of his face. it's not like he was complaining! in fact, he was hoping you'd arch your back even more so he'd get a better view of your panties under your short pencil skirt. how did they even allow uniforms like this? it seemed like it wasn't even fit for working conditions.
your blouse was always so tight, too tight you had to unbutton the 2 top buttons just to breathe properly. you never really thought much about those 2 buttons, but yoru did. he always loved how generous the cleavage was. he enjoyed staring at those presumably warm tits sent from the heavens itself. you wouldn't notice him starting at your chest basically everytime he's talked to you so far—which wasn't that many, but he's still grateful!
your pencil skirt that didn't do that well in covering your thighs or in best cases, your panties! yoru would try to take a sneak whenever he could, especially since it was you two who went home the latest.
late nights in the office are his ultimate favorite. why? well, it's the only time where he can creep up on you as you sleep and wait for him to leave.
whenever you have your head rested on your desk, just trying to get a good rest, yoru sees this as an opportunity. he gets on his knees and spreads your legs wider to get a better peek of what's under that skirt. just one sight of your pussy lips outlined through your panties motivate him even more to finish his work so he can make you proud.
those black see through stockings that never fit you properly was just the cherry to the cake. he wanted to bend you over, pull your panties down and rip those stockings off!
"oh, thanks! i owe you coffee later." your co-worker said. you saved the day, as usual. time to go back to doing absolutely nothing again.
it was a different story for yoru. he felt that familiar throbbing feeling in his pants. he was hard—again. and it was all your fault! why did you have to be this sexy?
this was gonna be a struggle. how can he work properly with a boner? it's even worse than usual! for some reason, he's really agitated. he's not usually like this when he's horny! what's wrong with him?
it's been a few hours since that encounter with your ass in his face and he's still as horny. maybe his lust has went down, but it was just a bit. he needs to fuck you. he really does. he made up a plan in his mind—he would wait until his favorite time of the day again and maybe. . just maybe. . make a move on you. he's gonna try, at least.
the people in the office kept getting lesser and lesser as time passed. it wasn't that long until he was finally alone with you.
"working hard again, rookie?" you approached him from behind. you leaned in to see what he was working on and your hands were on his chair. your fingers touched him slightly. that feeling of your fingertips touching his back even just a bit made his whole day. was he seriously getting hard again. .?
yoru looked down to confirm. yes. he most definitely was.
he tried desperately to hide the obvious tent in his pants, but you were making it hard—especially since you decided to sit beside him! oh, why were you so mean. . how was he gonna save himself from the indescribable embarrassment he was gonna experience once you see his erection?
"if you don't mind, of course, i'm just gonna sit here. you seem pretty lonely all the time and i feel bad for you." you placed your hand on his shoulder as a way of expressing your care for him.
"m-ma'am— i mean miss! i mean. . it's t-totally fine with me! i don't mind at all!" he said with a very visible blush on his face. he made sure to not look in your direction or he might've died then and there.
you were a bit weirded out by his response, but you didn't comment on it. you didn't wanna give this newbie a bad experience at work—that would've ruined your spot in the company.
you were telling him some stories as he was working to make his work experience a little less boring at least. little did you know he wasn't listening at all—not even one bit. he was too focused on trying to relieve the feeling of his throbbing cock whenever you even simply just opened your lips.
"i'm so sorry in advance for what i'm about to do. ." he mumbled. you didn't quite hear him.
as soon as you knew it, yoru grabbed you by the wrist and had you bent over his desk.
"ah! hey— yoru!" shit. why did you have to say his name like that? now he was definitely not letting you go.
yoru held your wrists together but moved one of his hands to bring your face up to kiss him. he kissed you with force, but passion. it was clear that he was waiting for this moment his whole life. you could tell by the way his hand was gripping your wrists.
"i'm sorry! i love you too much!" he cried. wait—he was seriously crying? what?
he sniffled and rubbed his eyes with one hand as he rose your skirt up with the other one. oh, there it was. that sight he was so eagerly wanting to see. your panties!
he wasted no time into pulling your panties down and ripping your stockings off. as soon as he got that view of your panties, he immediately buried his face in your plump, plush ass. he ate your pussy out as if he was on death row and he asked for your pussy as his last meal.
"ungh. . .! yoru!" he winced as he heard you call his name again. he pushed his tongue as deep as possible and started licking. the feeling of his tongue in your warm folds were making him so hard. he felt precum coming out of his cock, soaking his slacks.
"miss please—please sit on my face. put as much pressure as you can on me. i don't care if i can't breathe, please! i need to feel you!" you two were practically on the ground, but who were you to deny his pleas? the way he was begging was so adorable, you couldn't stop yourself. as he laid on the carpet, you sat gently on his face at first, but that was clearly not enough for him. he removed your heels and grabbed your thighs, pushing them so you can apply more pressure.
the sound of wet noises were the only things you could hear. you were seeing stars. yoru was sucking on your clit like there was no tomorrow. he kept licking up your deepest spots.
"ngh. . yo-yoru. . . calm down—" you tried to get off. your pussy was too overstimulated, but he didn't listen. yoru grabbed your thighs so you wouldn't get off his face. he licked his lips and licked one of your ass cheeks. he squeezed your thighs and went back to his meal.
you felt that feeling in your stomach—you were close. really close. "y-yoru! yoru i—"
clearly yoru knew this too, as he started licking more intensely now. he felt your juices spilling in his mouth. he made sure to take every single drop on his tongue. he gave your pussy one last kiss before making you bend over his desk again. he wasn't done? your legs were already giving out. . .
you saw his face covered in your cum. he looked so cute—tear filled eyes with cum on the sides of his mouth. he made sure to lick those up and wiped his tears with his sleeve.
he unbuckled his pants, showing you his long, girthy cock. okay, it wasn't that long, but what he lacked in length he made up for in width. he was thick. his thick tip was leaking out with cum, presumably after he ate you out.
your legs were already trembling so much, so how could you take all of his cock inside you without your legs giving out?
"yoru. . can we take a rest? even just for a few minutes. my legs are sore." rest? that wasn't a word in his vocabulary. no, no. you two are not resting now! that's for later! you'll get a lot of rest once this is over!
"nuh uh," he shook his head and pouted. you were giving up on him so easily. . he didn't like that. he held his cock and stroked it a few times before rubbing the tip against your pussy lips. yep, this was definitely going to be a hard fit.
you were already so wet, but he was struggling to even put the tip inside of you. he kept rubbing it against your entrance but it just wouldn't slide inside! what was he doing wrong?
since doing it gently wouldn't work, yoru spread your legs as wide as he could and forced it in. it was like he was being sucked in. your pussy clamped down on his cock. you were squirming so so much. you've never taken something as big as this before.
"hngh. . m-miss. . !" he was crying, again. he was pretty sensitive for someone this forceful.
"pull out if you can't handle it, b-baby. it's okay. . you don't have to force it." you manage to get out of your mouth despite you being in worse condition than him. although, knowing his past behavior, he's probably not going to pull out. definitely not.
he didn't even start slow once he got inside you. he slammed his hips into you, making you moan so loudly you swear it echoed.
plap, plap, plap. .
the sound of squelching sounds filled the room. yoru lifted your blouse up, making your tits bounce. your nipples were hard from the contact. his hands roughly squeezed your soft mounds as he flicked your nipples. he moved his face closer to you and kissed your cheek.
you see him from the corner of your eye pocket your panties, but you couldn't focus on it for that long because of how much he was whimpering. "haa! nhg. . ! miss! your pussy is—it's squeezing me so tight!" he cried in your neck while grabbing your ass. you tried to grab onto the edge of the desk.
"i'm sorry! i'm so sorry! i'm gonna cum inside of you! 'gonna fill you up with my cum, miss!" he moaned, his thrusts getting sloppy. his stamina seems to have lowered as you felt his warm cum filling your pussy up. there were some spilling out, which he was trying to put back in with his cock.
he came a lot. he couldn't stop cumming. he was panting so much as he tried to pull out, but your pussy didn't want him to leave. "i don't wan' stop cumming! i wanna keep cumming inside of you!" his voice trembled.
after forcing his load into you, he pulled out with a pop sound. he knelt down and licked the cum off your pussy before giving it a kiss. he looked up at the cctv before looking back at you. he sat you down on the chair and kissed you.
"i hope yomi didn't mind. . i have something to share with him anyways." yoru mumbled, touching the panties he stole from you in his pocket.
©amaderika
#gokurakugai#gokurakugai x reader#gokurakugai smut#yoru gokurakugai#yoru gokurakugai smut#gokurakugai sanbandori no ken
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𝘿𝙪𝙙𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙙𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙩⚠︎︎ toji x femreader
𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: age gap ( 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝟮𝟬𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝟯𝟬𝘀) , shower sex, rough sex, oral ( male and female receiving) dacrphillia, Manhandling, overstimulation, a lil dumbification
Loud mewls and pants echoed out the bathroom if anyone wore to walk in right now they’d see the lewd scene. You moans and incoherent babbles echoing off the walls your tits and body pressed against the shower. And lastly your best friend's dad fucking you so hard from behind you started too see stars.
“ hah shit toji fuck!“ you mewl clawing at the glass trying to find anything to keep your sanity. You don’t remember how long you to have been going at it like this but, it was long enough for you too lose track on how many orgasims you had and the only thing keeping you from collapsing was his strong build keeping you in place. Looking at this you really shouldn’t be doing this not only because he is your best friends dad but because megumi could be home any minute now.
This all started a week ago you and megumi have been friends since the beginning of highschool and into college. And you were having some problems with your apartment’s maintenance so while it was getting fixed megumi owe so kindly offered for you to stay with them. Don’t get it wrong now you didn’t go in expecting to fuck your best friends dad but megumi failed to mention how truly hot his dad was.
You caught a glimpse of toji before a couple years back maybe in freshman year of highschool but it was so long ago you barely recall seeing him. But nothing would prepare you for when he first opened that door to there apartment you didn’t even expect to see someone like that open the door it honestly made you regret not coming over sooner. From his mesmerizing green eyes to that scar on his lips down to the muscles you could see through his shirt and down to his sweat pants where you could see a slightly visible print. The first moment you saw him he made you feel like a highschool girl again.
“ um are you mr. fushiguro….”. You remember saying hesitantly to weak under his strong gaze it looked like he was scanning you up and down studying you. “ yeah Y/N right you can come inside.” He finally broke the silent tension you both had ushering you inside even helping carry your bags giving you a nice view of his muscles flexing at work.
You remember trying to push your thoughts down not wanting to take megumis offer to your advantage. I mean he was your best friends dad he wouldn’t look at you like that right? Or so you thought not even a day of you moving in he seemed to make flirty advances much to megumis displeasure but that was all you needed to start making your needs more vocal. You started parading around in the shortest skirts and shorts you could find that fit you just right. And wearing the lowest cut shirts you had making sure to bend over real nice as you would set his plate on the table to give him a good view.
He was no better though making sure to let his hands wonder a bit whenever helping you with a task. Or making sure to press against your back just right when helping you cut vegetables for dinner. It was a miracle megumi didn’t notice anything yet or just chose not to say anything either way he was in his room most of the time anyways or with yuji and nobara and you’d tag along sometimes too by choice or force since he refused to leave you and his father alone well until today that is.
Today was the day there was a really bad rainstorm forcing megumi to stay at yujis until it cleared up leaving you and toji in the house alone. And even though you knew the guilt would probably eat you up inside who were you not to use this golden opportunity. So here you were sitting on the couch wearing only a thin t shirt with no bra that showed the outline of your nipples paired with a pair of shorts that hugged you just right. And there toji was sitting right next to you a bit closer than he should be his leg touching yours and his hand occasionally grazing your thigh on accident of course right.
You can’t help but let your gaze rack down his figure a bit from his face down to his sweats you barely notice his gaze is off the tv screen and now staring directly at you. “ You see something you like doll?” You break out of your trance meeting his eyes that are boring into your soul with that handsome smirk you loved so much sitting on his face.
“ I don’t know what you mean “. He laughs at your blatant lie causing you to look away for a second slightly embarrassed. You watch as he gets up going into the kitchen grabbing two beers out of the fridge. “ I think we both know that’s a lie I see how you look at me.”
Feeling a bit more confident you get up approaching him gently resting your hand on his arm gaining his attention. “ And if I was your no better yk flirting with your sons best friend .” You watch as he pauses for a second setting the beers down before his eyes return to your igniting something predatory in them as a sharp gasp slightly leaves you as he presses you firmly against the fridge his hands on either side of your head and him being so close that you can feel his breath against your ear.
“ I’ll admit that but you and me are on the same playing field so the real question is how’s this gonna go cause I already know how bad you want me to fuck you I see the glances across the room you give me to way your thighs press together at the dinner table so what’s it gonna be doll huh?”
You inch slightly closer to him pressing your lips against the shell of his ear. “ Up to you mr. Fushiguro you can take it how you want to.” You manage to move out of his grasp as it loosens scurrying into the bathroom closing the door as you lean on it for a second. Even if it doesn’t show your can feel the heat on your face stretching from your cheeks to your ears. You try to calm your self down still feeling the growing ache between your legs but you toss it to the side for now starting up the shower before starting to strip down.
It’s very quiet for a moment too quiet besides the sound of the shower running and the rain pouring outside. You try to brush it off slipping of your top followed by your shorts and your underwear but you can’t help but feel the nervousness in the pit of your stomach a mix of fear and excitement. You finish getting into the shower as it remains quiet for a few more seconds as you soak under the water until you hear the sound of the bathroom door opening alerting you to try to take a look but not being able to see much through the fogged up glass until the glass door to the shower is opened showing toji in all his glory.
You couldn’t help but stare letting your eyes travel down from his face to his bare chest down to his cock. You can’t help the way your eyes slightly go wide at the sight he was absolutely fucking 𝑯𝒖𝒈𝒆. You knew toji was massive compared to most people no matter there height even you but you didn’t expect for him to be packing that much. It wasn’t only big in length but girth as well and it had a slight curve to it that you know would hit all the right spots.
Your pulled out of your thoughts again as his hands wrap around your waist feeling your curves. “ Your not getting scared are you s’okay I knew you couldn't handle it.“ You huff at his words meeting his gaze with that stupid conceding smirk on his face tempting you to smack it off him but you were gonna do something better than that.
“ I can handle you just fine.“ you say pushing yourself more against him as he lets out a chuckle “ lets test that then huh.“ You half whine half gasp as his lips roughly push against yours his tongue darting in your mouth as he starts sucking on your tongue and nipping your bottom lip as you mewl gripping his shoulders for some kind of stability.
His hands start roaming all over your figure trailing up from your waist to your breast roughly kneeding them cause you to whine. “ M’fuck look at these“.you gasp as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth giving it a harsh suck while pinching and tug the other causing you to moan throwing your head back. “ Hah shit toji“ you mewl pressing your thighs together trailing your hand down to touch yourself before letting out a yelp as he roughly smacks your ass.
“ None of that shit yet first you gotta pay for all that teasing you’ve been doing sweetheart“. You cant help but whine at the dull ache between your legs which earns you another smack as he chuckles at the noise you let out.
“ On your knees doll“ you oblige dropping down coming face to face with the monster between his legs. “ Cmon now i’m sure a little whore like you has a good idea on what to do“
You whine softly kitten licking the tip “ m’not a who're.“ He laughs at you before roughly his cock half way down your throat causing you to gag gripping his thighs. “ So you aren't half way down on your best friends dads dick right now“ you cant even give him a response because of the way he's roughly fucking your throat causing tears to prickle and the ache in between you legs to build more weirdly enough.
“ shit hah so fucking pretty when you cry you like this“ You whine against him bobbing your head up and down giving him all the answers he needs. You choke whining as he starts shoving more down your throat. “ Cmon sweetheart I know you can take it all for me cant you.“
You struggle a bit before taking all of him in your mouth watching as his head throws back as he let's out a deep groan. “ Shit hah good fucking girl“. You moan at the sight bobbing your head faster feeling him twitching in your mouth signaling he's getting closer as your hands trail down rubbing yourself as some of your slick is sticking to your inner thighs.
“ Fuck your almost getting your reward hah just a little longer f’me .“ You go as fast as you can allow holding onto him for dear life as your jaw starts to burn. Before you watch as he let's out one more throaty groan gripping your hair as he come undone down your throat. “ Swallow it all “
You swallow all of him down your throat before pulling back sticking your tongue out showing him your good work. “ Good girl now here's your reward “ you gasp as he lifts you up manhandling you like you weigh nothing to him until your in a position where your thighs are on his shoulders while your cunt is face to face with his awaiting mouth.
You don’t even have time to process what happened before he's roughly licking and sucking your folds causing you to grip his hair for deal life. “ ngh toji fuck ah!“ you can’t moan any louder as he roughly takes your clit into his mouth giving it a harsh suck causing you to squirm earning you a harsh slap on your leg and a muffled hold still.
You can’t even process a thing anymore as he continues to eat you out like a starved man giving you pleasure you never imagined. You can't control the way your eyes roll back as he starts fingering you while still sucking and teasing your clit.
At this point you feel like your on cloud nine as he continues lapping at your soaking cunt swirling hid tongue around the pearl in between your folds until you feel tightness in your stomach. “ mm’fuck toji gonna cum!“ you barely have time to warn him before your squirting all over his face as your head throws back as he grips your hips keeping you in place stopping you from squirming away as he laps at your juices.
You pant trying to calm yourself down as he sets you in a position where your pressed against the shower glass facing forward with him behind you gripping your hips your whine at your sensitivity as be presses his tip between your folds. “ m’toji sensitive “
“ shh s’alright you can take it “ You gasp as he waste no time roughly pushing into you roughly pillowing into you from behind as your nails slightly claw at the glass screen trying to keep your sanity
“ toji fuck ahh s’ too much!“ he keeps his arm firmly around waist before taking his other hand and wrapping it around your neck. “ Fuck you can take it and you will“. You feel drool coming from your lips starting to stick to the glass a he roughly pounds you from behind causing your brain to go to mush.
“ fuck so uhhh!!“ you can't even think anymore as he presses his hand against the bulge in your stomach causing him to hit that spot inside you just right. “ shit there it is look at that your starting to go dumb huh“. You cant even respond anymore too busy letting out moans and whines as he pistols into your spot just right.
You feel your legs start to shake as you get closer to your orgasim “ m’gonna cum“ you mewl clenching around him causing him to groan tightening his grip on your throat. “ fuck cum for me “ you let out a loud moan before cumming as he follows soon after pulling out cumming on your ass.
“ thats it, so good for me“ you whine as he pulls you back from the glass as a string of saliva connects between your bottom lip and the glass. He turns you around wrapping your legs around his waist as his lips lock against yours just as you both are about to go for another round you here the sound of the front door opening.
“ Shit “
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A New Kind Of Mystery (Bungo Stray Dogs)
Whoops my hand slipped :D Heyo everyone! Today I bring you some Ranpoe cause I can :3 This is a gift for the amazing @intheticklecloset cause why the heck not? >:3 I hope you like it friend!
Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):
@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07, @sevenincubistolemyheart
Summary: Books are Poe's life, but so is Ranpo and all his antics. Stressed about both, he inadvertently finds a way to make both work.
“Eeheehehehhe, Ranpooooo!” Poe squeaked, nearly breaking his pen in half when fingers pinched his ribs. “Please, I’m wohoohorking!”
“You always say that!” Ranpo teased, snuggling closer to the shy author as he carried on kneading his sides, earning even more giggles and squeaks. “Play with meeeeee~”
“Ahehahahaha, R-Rahhahahanpo STAHP!” Poe twisted around, catching the detective’s hands with his. “I reahally need to gehet this done. I can’t play right now.”
“Okay.” Ranpo nodded, a touch of hurt coloring his smile as he got up to go. “Well…call me when you’ve got down time, okay?” He turned to leave, whistling as he walked to the door.
“R-Right.” Poe nodded, giving the other one last smile as the detective disappeared, shutting the door behind him. When he was out of earshot, the author let his shoulders droop, head hitting the desk with a low groan. Why did books have to take so long? Mysteries couldn’t write themselves, and he always wanted to give Ranpo his best self when presenting a new book. Breaks were rare, and even those mainly consisted of naps and remembering to eat; not much else.
Ranpo, bless his heart, was so patient with him, but Poe couldn’t shake the image of that sad expression. He needed to make it right! He started to get up-
The sound of a car pulling out stopped him in his place. Looking out the window, he watched Ranpo head back to the Agency.
Shit- missed his chance.
“Gggggggrr?” Karl hopped onto the desk, tilting his head curiously up at Poe. The author stroked his head, trying not to cry.
“Oh Karl…I’m the worst boyfriend ever!” He moaned pathetically, gathering the racoon up in his arms. “I can’t even make time for Ranpo! He just wants to play- and here I am working on books-”
Books. Wait a minute…
“Oh…OH!” The ideas were turning in his mind. Karl climbed up on Poe’s head as the author gathered his things- a notebook for outlining, his typewriter for the final product, and most importantly; a framed photo of him and Ranpo the other gifted him when they first started dating.
“Don’t you worry, Ran. What you’re about to read is gonna be my greatest work.”
~~~
Greatest probably wasn’t the best choice of words, but it was certainly his fastest work.
Poe all but leaped for joy the morning he finished it- it was rough around the edges and didn’t have a title, but it was perfect! He could refine the work later- for now he needed to get this to Ranpo!
Taking the world's fastest shower, he texted his boyfriend an assortment of words that he hoped conveyed “Meet me at the park” before flying out the door, running as fast as he could, Karl hanging on to him by the back of his coat. The cold winter chill colored his cheeks, and his breath was frosty without his usual coat, but he couldn’t wait a second longer.
To his glee, Ranpo was where he wanted him, slurping on hot chocolate and kicking his feet against the bench. When their eyes met, he raised his cup in greeting.
“Poe-”
A crash! A flop- Poe came tumbling before him in a heap of limbs and cloth, Karl leaping for safety at the last second. When the world stopped spinning, he found himself on his back, Ranpo’s wide eyes looking down at him.
“Poe! Are you okay?” Instead of answering, the author pulled out the book- holding it up to him.
“It’s done! Here.” He gasped out. “Please, take it.”
Ranpo blinked. Then his eyes narrowed, irritated. “I haven’t seen or heard from you for two straight weeks and this is the first thing you say to me?” Hurt swallowed his anger as Ranpo sat back, hiding in his hat. “And here I thought you were just excited to see me…”
Oh no- this is not how he wanted it to go! Poe sat up, scooting closer to his boyfriend. “I’m sorry, Ranpo- truly I am! I was just so determined to get this book done. It’s a gift for you.”
“A gift?” Ranpo looked at him, somewhat guarded. “Not just me reviewing it?”
“Well- I would like to hear your thoughts on it after you finish it, but yes. I made it especially tailored for you and you alone.” Poe nodded, shaky as he held out the present. “I understand if you don’t want it. Not after me ignoring you for so long-”
“I’ll read it.” Ranpo took the book, running his fingers along the spine. “But I have a condition.”
“Oh?”
“After I read this- I want you to take a proper break from your work.” Ranpo gave him a stubborn glare, cheeks puffed some. “You’re my boyfriend, and I have a two week vacation coming up. I want to spend it with you. If you promise me that, I’ll give you my full attention to this book.”
Poe was..hesitant. He’d only ever taken short half day breaks from writing; never a full vacation. What would happen if he did stop writing for two weeks?
Looking at Ranpo, a worse thought occurred.
What would happen if he didn’t?
“Okay.” He nodded, prioritizing. “Two week vacation.”
Ranpo seemed pleased, lightening up some. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”
Poe nodded, taking the book. He flipped it open and began the tale.
~~~
When Ranpo came to, he was in the usual setup. A mansion- old and Victoria. A handful of staff- maids and butlers and gardener’s alike. There was a dead body in the room to his left- he needed to figure out what happened.
A classic mystery, if not a little simple. He already knew who did it. He was about to voice the culprit-
But stopped. That wasn’t the deal.
“Okay Poe- I’ll play by the rules.” He decided, even if he was kinda disappointed. The way Poe all but crashed into him to deliver this book- how he made it out to be something special- he figured it’d be a bit more complex than this. He went over to the room where the body laid, ready to get this over with. “What’s in here- ehehehehehe!”
The second he touched the doorknob, something ticklish shot up his arm, making him retract and giggle. The detective stared, looking between the doorknob and his hand. There was nothing there that could do it, but it felt as if someone brushed his palm with a feather duster. He knew this was the right door, and yet…
Like a drop of pigment into clear water, Ranpo’s disappointment faded into curious excitement. “Now what is this all about?” He grinned, slowly reaching to touch the knob again. The second he touched it, he was giggling once more, barely hanging on as he twisted the knob. “Cohoohhome on, I knohohoohow this is the rohoohohohohoom!”
Eventually, he got it open. Sure enough, a body was there- dressed in fancy attire and wearing a racoon mask. Ranpo huffed for air as he rubbed his palm, eyes landing on a note pinned to the body.
So you found my victim. Can you find me?
~The Tickler
Ranpo snorted at the name, flipping the paper over to find the same racoon mask imprinted on the back. A feather hung off one of the ears in the drawing. When Ranpo looked up, the same feather was snug behind the mask on the body.
“So this is what you meant when you said it was for me.” Ranpo smiled as he gathered the soft item, twirling it in his fingers. “Okay Poe- you want to play? Let’s play.”
~~~
Ranpo carried on the mystery, growing more giggly as he went. Every correct clue he found had that same ticklish touch, sometimes on his hands if it was an item he had to gather, other times along his sides when he walked through the correct door. By the time he got to the culprit’s location, he was a flustered mess of laughter, rubbing his sides to rid himself of the ghostly feeling. “Ohoohohokay, Mr. Tickler. I finally found you!” He pushed open the door-
And was ambushed by a racoon!
“Ah! Ahehahahhahahaha! Geahahahahahhahah!” He squealed, trying and failing to catch the fluffy creature as it dug into his sides, back to his face so it’s fluffy tail swished and flicked against his nose and neck. “Kahhahahaharl, wahahhahait! It’s yohohohohohohohou!”
“So you figured it out.” The racoon cooed, sounding just like Poe as it carried on tickling him, nuzzling so much the detective was in pieces beneath him, struggling to curl up. “Didn’t expect little ol me to be so devious, did you?”
“Yohohoohohohu gohohohooohoht mehehehehehe! I shohohoohhuld have knohohohohown you’d be so dehehehehehvious!” The detective reached into his pocket with some difficulty, clenching his fist around a very important item. “Buhuhuhut you faahhahaailed to remememeeber ohohohohohone dehehehehtail!”
“Oh? And what would that be?” The raccoon asked, fur standing up when Ranpo shot his fist out. “What-Ah!”
“Yoohohohu forgot I hahahve a wehahapon!” Ranpo sat up, the feather in hand wiggling against the racoon’s face and ears as it squeaked and thrashed in his arms. “Now Karl- or should I say Poe. You’re the culprit!”
The world around them changed. Ranpo soon found himself once again in the park, Poe’s ability ending and returning him to the real world. His body tingled with mirth, and the feather was no more. Before him, Poe was a mess of giggles on the floor, scrunched up and giggly. “Aheheahhaha…yohohou got mehehehe.”
“I sure did! Ehehehehe!” Ranpo raised his chin with pride, something soft replacing the feeling after. “You really did that for me.”
“Ohohof course I did. It’s the least I can do after ignoring you.” Poe sat up, hiding in his bangs as he pulled on his sleeves. “I prioritized my work over spending time with you, and I’m sorry for that. Going forward, I’m gonna work on finding a balance.”
Ranpo took it in, considering. Then he smiled, crawling over until he was side by side with his boyfriend, lying his head against his shoulder.
“I appreciate that. I don’t mind you writing; it’s your passion. Just…remember I’m still here, okay?” He felt Poe take his hand, squeezing it tightly.
“I will. I promise.”
“Good. Cause if you don’t…” Ranpo didn’t give any warning, shooting his hand out and squeezing his side. Poe yelped, falling backwards and taking the detective with him. “I’ll tickle you until you die!”
“Ah! Rahahhahanpo, the groohohohohund’s coohohohohld!”
“Is it now? I’ll just have to warm you up!”
“AH YOHOHOHOUR HANDS ARE COHOOHOHLD!”
“Hm…gotta warm those up too.” Ranpo giggled as he slid his hands up Poe’s shirt, delighted at how giggly he got. “Get ready, Poe. These upcoming two weeks are gonna be full of this stuff!”
“Ahehahhhahaha! Ihihihih’m alehhahhahahdy lohohoooohking fohohohhoward to ihihihihihit!” The words made Ranpo’s heart skip.
This was gonna be a good vacation.
Thanks for reading!
#BSD#edgar allen poe#ranpo edogawa#ranpoe#tickle#tickle fic#AHHHHH! :D#I had too much fun writing this one akljreajreakjrkaje#it's a bit experimental but what the heck#We love a risk here and there lols
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I've done a few himbo transformations with the Chronivac, but I'm getting tired of being dumb. I want to be smarter without risking some crazy permanent change. Can you make it so I steal 1 IQ point from everyone who's in the same room as me? They can have it back when they leave.
You are a super Himbo. Always in good shape, always horny. And admittedly also a real feast for the eyes. I like your idea. It's a little bit experimental. But let's give it a try.
You're always the first one at the gym in the morning. You love to start your day pumped up. And it's wonderfully empty at this time of day. No smart alecks to make fun of you. You have the body, you have the face. An IQ of 89 is more than enough for an alpha guy like you! Normally you're done with your program by 07:30. That's when the gym usually fills up. Today it's surprisingly full. There's a congress in town, so lots of external guys always come to work out. By around 07:00 there are already a good 30, maybe 35 people training. One of the guys is really cute. You approach him. You talk about all sorts of things and train the next sets together. It's rare to find someone who has a similar political opinion and is interested in both Italian opera and astronomy at the same time. And who looks so awesome at the same time. You'll get a boner. He notices. You say that unfortunately you have to go now and you're going to take a shower. He says that he hopes you'll see each other again sometime. You see each other in the shower four minutes later. Not a soul around. And you fuck the guy like only a man with a bird's brain can.
You like your work as a motorcycle mechanic. Your machines are just as simple as your brain. You understand them. And you're really good at making them look hot and getting the most out of them. And you like to work alone. It's difficult in a team. Some know-it-all is always making fun of you. Pure envy, you think, and flex your muscles. But it does annoy you a little. That's why you prefer to do things in the evening that don't involve talking. Dancing. Fucking. Or go to the movies. Like tonight. "The Beekeeper". It's supposed to be good.
Shit, your head is starting to pound. The movie theater is maybe half full. You do a quick count. Yes, exactly 378 people. 78 percent male. That was to be expected. According to a rough estimate, they all spent a total of 3,117 dollars on Coke and popcorn. One guy went to the loo for the third time. You've noticed 67 things in the movie so far that are illogical. Bored, you take out a cell phone. You surf to the MIT website. A very interesting article from the mathematics department about the Riemann conjecture. By the end of the movie, you've finished the proof.
Fortunately, your favorite pub, where you're having a nightcap, is almost empty. Your buddy at the bar, a handful of the usual regulars. Your cell phone vibrates incessantly. Lots of calls from unknown callers. From cities you've never heard of. Boston, San Francisco, Cambridge in Massachusetts, Cambridge in England. Göttingen. Isn't that in Poland? What do they all want from you? You turn off your cell phone.
The next morning you have 189 missed calls. You check a few messages. But you can't understand a single word they're saying. Something about genius. And a brain that only exists once. Hehehe, you've heard that a lot about your cock. You're going back to the gym. You're late today. Your crush from yesterday is already here. And so are 40, 50 other people. CNN is on the screens. The headlines are about the proof of Riemann's hypothesis. Your crush asks you if you know what it is. You explain it to him and outline your solution. As best you can reproduce it. It's really complicated. Your crush stares at you open-mouthed. "You've proved Riemann's conjecture?“ You grin a little sheepishly.
Shit, this guy has a hot ass and a talented tongue. But why can't he keep his tongue in check? After a few minutes, the first reporter is in your workshop and asks you about this Riemann shit. Tell him to go to hell. A second, a third reporter arrives. They're on the floor laughing as you answer their questions. The weaklings are about to get the shit kicked out of them. In the afternoon, a courier arrives from this Cambridge, which is not in England. With a letter. An invitation to a ceremony. Whatever that is. And then there's a check inside. A check for a million dollars.
You like airports. A place where you can do sociological studies. You also really enjoyed the flight. The documents that the mathematical institute in Cambridge sent you are very interesting. But you see a few inconsistencies that you would like to discuss. A driver is waiting for you at the airport. You take a deep breath when you are finally out in the fresh air. It's funny, there's a guy holding a board with a name just like yours on it. You walk up to him. "Mr. Wood?" he asks a little incredulously. "Hehehe, someone must have given us that name one early morning. Do you understand, dude? And by the way, my name is Al." Curt is a cool dude. You get to sit up front and talk about football and stuff. Curt lifts iron too. He recommends a good gym near the hotel and campus. Then he tells you stuff like you can freshen up if you want. Then the dean would like to meet you for a private lunch in private. And then the prize will be officially presented in the setting. Then there is also time for your speech. You say that you smell like a real man and don't need to freshen up. And you ask what a dean does and what the hell the speech is all about. Curt grins.
The dean wipes the sweat from his brow. The food tastes quite good, but you would have preferred an honest burger. You don't understand a word of the stuff the old geezer is talking about. He keeps mumbling something about a catastrophe. You ask yourself why you're wearing that stuffy shirt. It would actually be cool right now to just wear a tank top with all the nerds and show off your muscles. Dinner is finally over. The dean, or whatever his name is, stands up and asks you to follow him. You walk towards a really cool looking building, which is called Kresge Auditorium. Funny name. You enter the hall, which is packed with dozens of people, all of whom are beaming with joy at you. The dean waves you off, pulling you along behind him. You are standing in a huge lecture hall where hundreds of people are already waiting. More and more people stream in behind you. The dean asks you to keep your mouth shut for God's sake. Then he gives his opening speech. He gives a somewhat twisted rendition of the essence of Riemann's conjecture. But as far as you know, he's not a mathematician either… The dean ends with the words "…. And yet this man has obviously proved one of the biggest problems in mathematics. Mr. Wood, would you like to say something?“ You interpret his gestures as him asking you to just shut up. But you're here to chat about math. You stand at the lectern. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is a great honor for me to speak to you today in this magnificent building. I assume that you are familiar with my remarks on the Riemann conjecture. I don't want to bore you with that either. Let's talk about another interesting topic instead, the P-NP problem." The dean faints.
Shit, the day was really exhausting. You're so happy when Curt finally drives you to the hotel. It's already late, but you still want to make your muscles burn. So you make your way to the gym. There's hardly anyone here at this time of night. One guy looks nice and really hot. You chat a bit. You train together. You both end up in your hotel room and fuck the rest of your brains out. Ian says that you absolutely have to come to Springbreak.
Fuck, Ian was so right. Spring break is awesome! The weather is incredible. Eating, drinking, working out, fucking, partying, all outdoors. You're one of the stars here. Because of your body and your cock. Certainly not because of your head. Hehehe, the 200,000 dollars that you've already spent here from your prize money has certainly contributed to your reputation. The party is in full swing. Suddenly the sky darkens and a thunderstorm with hail breaks out. The party people stream into the hotel lobby. And you flow with them. One of about 400 wet, muscular bodies. You take a quick look around. 423, to be precise.
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Meeting Kyle
Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope
WC: 3,120 CW: None
AN: GAZZA BAYBEE! This is my first time writing for Gaz and I know it's not much, but I hope to portray him as something we can all enjoy. Would love to hear your thoughts and comments, as well as any questions, my asks are open. I hope ye enjoy <3
Please see the Introduction for the explanation and precursors to the scene.
Introduction, Biography
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The quiet of the night emanates with the crickets chirping, small scuffles of feet around the block, and a handful of buildings creaking in the late-night wind. You can barely see the outline of words using the dim street lights to help you read over the candidates.
No… No… Yes.
Your eyes, and faint tug of your heart, settle on Kyle’s advert. In a hopeless romantic fashion, you could feel the daydreams begin.
Folding the paper and stuffing it in your shirt, then glancing around before heading off to your home, you walk with a rushed sense of urgency. Everything good, bad, and ugly, flys into your mind. This could be a trap, what if he isn’t who he says he is, what if hundreds of others have already written to him?
Well, it's better than this. It's a quick scan of the hazardous and dirty mess that rages inside your house walls. Passing quickly to your bathroom, you take out the paper again before looking in the mirror.
Can you see yourself in the low lights of a saloon? Helping old bastards get drunk after a day of hard work, smiling sweetly, or raising a fist when needed? Can you hold appearance to being a town favorite so he would get good business?
Your mind steals your active attention while bathing, letting the lukewarm water wash the day’s dirt away from you. No criminal record? Check, and with no debt. No early mornings but now late nights? That's a life you could get used to. Attractive? Well shit, if the politician sought you out, then yes. You’re quite the diamond in the rough.
As if you were in a spell, you blink and break the dissociation you entered to realize yes, you could see that for yourself. You can. Could. Would.
Now in your bedroom after the bath, you quietly maneuver the floorboards to cut any chance of waking up your parents or any sudden appearance that would erase this mission of yours.
Now being able to read, Kyle was one of the younger candidates in the newspaper and even from his short paragraph and singular photo, he seemed like a man who was down to earth. Maybe someone who knows how to have fun, but has enough structure and discipline for himself to become so successful at such a young age. In your writing, you tried your best to express your goals, how you could help his own, and how you could blossom together in his new beginning.
The next few days were filled with constant anxiety and metaphorically looking over your shoulder. Acting like a nervous dog as your parents began to crowd you with an overbearing sense of control. A child with a leash on, constantly trying to pull away.
The 5th day after sending your correspondence leaves you will a dejected heart. Now on the farm working, you heard the bell attached to the mailer wagon approach the gate. Common for you to take the mail for the Laswells, you head to take the mail but give a confused glance as the mailman hands you a letter while reading out your name. “This one here ‘s for ya.” Is all he supplies before heading back down the road to continue his route.
A neat and small scrawl is seen across the front and is enough to make your heart race.
Kyle expressed himself very well; his boyish charm and a hint of his flirty attitude already coming across. Describing himself as friendly, outgoing, and respectful. He confided in how he feels most alone when the customers leave, when he gets into bed in the cold chill of the night, alone.
Even in his writing, his charming and playful lines were able to make you smile, having to bite your lip to keep your bubbling excitement inside. The words he uses, and the sweet-toothed candor in his writing show a difference from your upbringing; daddy and mommy issues on your end, if you will, while the feeling of his young soul shines through with assuredness. You and Kyle wrote of both wanting someone to make life feel easy. Kyle wants to find his muse; the inspiration to his business and light up his world on the cloudiest of days.
In the dark of the late evening after leaving work late, you head to the post office to collect an expected letter. A common habit now so you could dream of him and any fantasies your mind could create. Now just entering the 6th week of exchanging letters, you stand shocked as you re-read the page.
“... I hope to see you soon, enclosed is the means to make it my way. Cheers to you honey, I’ll be waiting for you…”
In your hands lays your one-way ticket to get out of your contained life. In his letter and now in your hands are directions, a map, and a one-way train ticket for you to leave home.
The thrum of your blood is loud in your ears, louder than your footsteps running across the ground. Making your way back home, you begin packing what you’ll need for the barren desert climate.
Fully awake and adrenaline pumping, you slink into your house with practiced ease and silence to determine what you’ve walked into tonight. From the hallway, you can see your parents strewn across their bed with measured breathing; It's safe to move around and get yourself together.
It's an hour later when you make your way to leave, yet when passing through the living room for one last look, you decide to get a small keepsake to celebrate your new beginning while simultaneously giving a big fuck you to your parents.
Plucking a set of fine glassware of your father's, the ones that he valued more than keepsakes from your parent's wedding, the soft clink of the glass buried in your bag brings a sweet grin to your lips.
You’d scold yourself later for not taking a bottle of whatever liquor was there but wouldn’t want to test your luck by getting drunk when it was your first time on a train.
The trip was only four days long, not leaving you with much time to prepare to meet Kyle. Instead, you begged your mind to create a true representation of him, re-reading his letters often as you imagined him. The times that you were able to sleep with the soft lull of the train were filled with possibilities of what your life in a budding environment, alongside a man who had built his life up from scratch and stayed so charming through it all.
On the train into Northern Arizona, the red rock was enchanting, to say the least. Arriving late into the morning on Saturday, you take a mildly comfortable pace after stepping off the train station to make your way to the center of town with wide eyes as the glimmer of the early morning sky creates a calm blue haze.
It takes a bit of time before you walk far enough to come across the sign painted atop a brick building in the the upper edge of Main Street. You could laugh about how lost you knew you looked, but before stopping to ask someone, the creme-colored letters Free Falling Saloon appear before you.
Taking a moment to commend yourself for making it this far, a steady breath draws in and out of your lungs. With a small flutter in your stomach, you push open the saloon doors and are greeted with the sight of the bar; stained oak and birch woods, various colored glass bottles lining the back wall, dried animal skulls hung up, cowboy hats, sombreros, and a large mirror that has a ledge full of lit candles.
The loud sound of a crate being put on the bar makes you startle, hand jumping up to your chest before your eyes find the source of the noise.
“Sorry, pardner, we ain't open till-” The smooth voice rings out with a dreary tone- making him seem tired of probably having to repeat this line over and over again. After a moment, his warm deep eyes move up to find yours but his jolt of surprise doesn't escape you.
His eyes, body, and soul, seemingly freeze as he sets his eyes on you and stares. Granted, you're staring right back while the pull of a growing smile begins to pull at the edge of your lips.
His facial hair isn’t much, but it's enough to shape his face and make him seem like he’s a bit older than the photo he sent. His hair somewhat short and in tight curls on his head, making him have a unique style he could probably attest to developing from home.
Your stomach does flips at how stunning he is, but when he smiles- All gods be damned. He’s the finest man you’ve seen and you wonder if you’re going to chase off harlots from stealing him every night.
“Hi, Kyle.” Is all that leaves you, and it's monumentally soft in how it leaves your lips, making you swear you could see him melt a bit.
The movement of his mouth catches your eyes but the lack of sound coming out draws a soft peal of laughter from you. Taking a step forward, he matches you while bumping into a few glass bottles along the way.
Your bags make soft thuds against the floor, both sets of footsteps soft with trepidation yet building excitement. Each set of eyes scans the other, with sincere and almost unapologetic disbelief as you come face to face.
He whispers your name out in amazement, raising his hands to cup your face. “You’re real… You’re really real.” He breathes, voice soft. His inviting eyes drink in your appearance while his smile grows, and then feel yourself pulled into a tight hug in his strong arms.
A soft noise of surprise leaves you, arms trapped within his hold making you laugh in response. Settling to wrap your arms around his waist, you squeeze right back. He smells like citrus and hints of cinnamon amongst it.
When thinking of the Arizona Territory, you thought it would be the rumored dry barren desert that holds tales of ghost stories; Unbearable heat that beats down and leaves many delusional for an oasis. But him. Kyle. He’s the damned warmest thing you've wrapped your arms around.
But hey, you’ll probably become delusional for this man too.
“You’re real.” You copy back with a muffled voice. Basking against his muscled chest, which you will return to later, you peak up. “Thought this was some dream like I was going crazy coming here.” The addition is a soft and unconfident reply, possibly gaslighting yourself into still believing so.
The rumble of his soft laugh brings a sweet vibration to your chest, "I know, Honey. You're safe now, you're home." He assures while moving his head back slightly so his face is now a few inches from yours, smiling softly. “I wrote you way too much to let you get stuck in some sort of dream world without me. Hardest parts’ over.”
Affirming his response, a grin plants itself on your lips as you hum lowly. “Hardest parts over.” You parrot back with relaxed accomplishment.
The arms around you give a tight squeeze, and the warmth of his lips presses against your forehead. “You’re gonna make me crazy. Can already tell.” He murmurs, the easy smile held against your skin, and you already want to curse yourself for letting him make it seem so easy. Why not let him?
Before you can respond, he takes a step back to look at you, his brown eyes sparkling in the flickering light of the room."You wanna see our place?" He asks curiously, stepping forward to take your hand and guide you to a door behind the bar, a tucked-away staircase hiding beside a wall of crates. "You're not gonna wanna leave once you see where you'll be stayin'. Let's set your bags down first, though." He laughs, confidently leading you while intertwining your hands.
You’re greeted with an apartment-style home; An eclectic mix of furnishings, all the way down to the pictures and artwork on the walls. It's a mix of Western and Southern charm, with just a hint of New Orleans to signify where he’s from.
A couch sits against one wall near a bay window, the curtains drawn back to let in the sunlight. A kitchenette rests in the corner of the room, and you see a separate room that appears to be a bedroom. There is a large bay window at the end of the room, facing the view of the Jerome hills. Kyle motions for you to follow him to the bedroom.
“It ain't much, just a cozy place for two,” he says softly, moving close to you again as he steals your bags and gently rests them atop a dresser.
In truth, he’s right. It’s not much, but it's a beginning for both of you that he has just a bit of a head start on. Yet, it's so much more than you’ve hoped, dreamed, prayed, screamed, and cried for. Just a little piece of heaven to have and to hold.
“It’s us. That's all that matters.” You say, now walking slowly towards him to scan over the view that the bedroom window offers.
You can feel him staring, see him doing it too from the corner of your eye. “What?” The question tumbles from your mouth, turning to him with an eyebrow raised.
He smiles for a moment, chuckling before shaking his head. Slow steps, 1… 2… 3… bring him close enough to pull your hips and bring you towards him. “You’re right,” He whispers, pausing to smile and look at your lips. “Just us.” He answers in a hoarse murmur, leaning in closer and you can feel his breath across your lips.
“Is this where I say thank you for letting me be here?” You ask, eyes falling to his lips in response. There's a sweetness to this moment, that makes your head feel so light and clear while you can barely feel your heartbeat. It's something you’ve never felt before- because you haven't. Not this, not anyone like him. His hands reach forward to find their place on your jaw, the warmth of his palm grounding.
A huff of air leaves him, making your eyes flutter. “No, this is where I thank, you, Honeybee.”
His kiss is gentle and sweet, the gentle drag of his thumb across your hip bones adds to the warmth that floods your chest while his light stubble rubs against your face. Your arms travel up to wrap around his neck, adding to the invitation to make him stay, keeping him so close.
A groan leaves him, his hands squeezing the flesh on your hips before moving to wrap around your back. “You’re gonna be trouble, baby. Here you already makin' me wanna do nothin’ n’ lay in bed.” He grumbles lowly, nestling into your neck with a warm laugh.
You can feel the chemistry building, the close contact, and hold on each other making the scene grow more intimate. He draws a breath in, stealing another kiss from your lips before moving back and directing you to the dresser. “Here's where to put your things, le’s get you unpacked and comfortable. How's that sound?”
Nodding in response, you work on organizing your belongings while he makes room in a few drawers and half of the closet to accommodate you. “Woulda thought you’d have more than this sweetheart. Not keen on carrying much?” He asks, tone curious but a bit playful with the lazy grin on his face.
A small scoff leaves you, not in disdain of him. “Nah, wanted to get to you quick. But didn’t have much that was worth bringin.” You shrug in reply. “Honestly didn’t know what kinda weather was out here, thought I would be melting already.”
Kyle leans against the wall where the window is, watching you cross back and forth between the dresser and closet while deciding where to hang or fold your clothes. “I could get behind that.” He hums for a moment before looking into the distance. “I’ll have to tell you how I traveled all ‘e way out here. Had a few trunks to my name and got a whole wagon to get me out here.” He laughs, a sigh of a breath releasing from him as he recounts whatever memory plays in his head.
“What, you didn’t wanna make it in halfa one?” You respond quickly, almost like it's your second nature to be a little shit, now having the freedom to have some fun and relaxation of your personality.
He thinks, stares, and tilts his head. “You think you’s funny, yeah?” He asks, arms crossing over his chest with a Cheshire grin growing over his lips.
At this point, you think that maybe you should be giving this man more respect, maybe you should already be kissing his feet and thanking him for allowing you here. Eyes widening, your hands fly up in surrender. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t- I don’t mean any-”
He cuts you off with a shake of his head, bringing his hands out to catch yours when he steps to you. “Hey, hey. No, you’re okay. I know you were havin’ fun.” He comforts soothingly as his eyes scan yours.
Your eyebrows de-furrow, your mouth closing, but there's still a bit of alarmed widness in your eyes as you make sure he isn’t mad. “Thought I overstepped. ‘M sorry.” You whisper as your eyes dart over his face for any hint of emotion.
Something in Kyle shifts, a small and almost remorseful smile rests on his face. Are you that obvious? No, per se, since your situation is pretty damn unique.
“Hey.” He starts, “I want you to be comfortable here. You’re not gonna overstep. And if there ever was a situation where you did, I’ll let you know.” His hands bring yours up to his lips, laying soft kisses on your knuckles. “But please, please, tell me if I’m outta line with you. I know we ain't got much space but if you’d like me to sleep on the couch for a bit while we get to know each other, I will, Honeybee.”
In all honesty, you could cry. You didn’t believe in men like this being real, not after the shit you’ve seen. Could this be your lottery ticket after the amount of pain life has put you through?
Fuck, maybe. As long as you get to keep him, you’re in.
#cod mw2#task force 141#call of duty#tf141#call of duty modern warfare#kyle garrick#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz cod#gaz mw2#gaz garrick#sergeant garrick#gaz x reader#gaz mw3#kyle gaz x reader#modern warfare 3#sergeant kyle gaz garrick#WAUMOST#cod x reader#reader insert
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COFFEE: PG.04 — Batfamily Shenanigans
COFFEE: Tim Drake x gn!reader
SYNOPSIS: Tim meets a barista that gives him what he needed most — a large coffee with way to many shots of espresso. Though what happens when just a single action changes the other’s life, forever?
TW: brief mentions of gunshots, bullying (let me know if I misread anything)
coffee master list || prev. || next
MONDAY, MARCH 7 2023 — 11:01 PM
IT WAS ANOTHER night on your shift. Usually things would be pretty boring but this past week was quite enjoyable for you - giving coffee to Tim, interacting with the Wayne family online, meeting the Wayne brothers in real life, and catching up with your old friend and coworker.
But of course, life never lets you enjoy things for long until bashing your head unwillingly into negativity. Another reason why you felt like you were life’s least favorite.
It didn’t take long for you to react to the sound of window glass shattering, crouching behind the counter you worked at.
Trying to keep your heavy breaths quiet, you listen to the heavy footsteps coming from the supposed attacker and the horrified gasps and scrambling of the customers you had served.
Covering your mouth with your hands, you slowly lift your head up to look at the shiny reflection of the coffee machine you had polished just last night.
‘Thank you, past me.’
In the reflection you saw a silhouette of a scraggly hat which made your mind immediately go to one villain in particular - Scarecrow.
That’s when it finally processed in your mind - ‘He’s gonna fill this place up with fear gas.’
“Scarecrows active again,” Oracle announced over comms, “Just got word that he’s attacking your favorite Café.”
“Ah shit,” Spoiler cursed, “Isn’t he supposed to wait for Halloween? It’s almost the end of March.”
“Not all villains are seasonal, dumbass,” Robin scoffs.
“Language Robin,” Batman scolds.
“Alright, tracking all of your coordinates and . . . Red, you’re closest to the café,” Oracle announced, “I’m sending you directions right now.”
“Robin or Hood?” the bucket man asked, sounds of gun shots in the background.
“Robin.”
“On it.”
The sound of a grappling hook and wind was heard over comms before immediately quieting.
Wind was blowing in Red Robin’s hair and howling in his ears, as he landed on a nearby rooftop observing the small corner café.
Observing the surrounding area he sees that there were only a few goons outside of the café but there was a likelihood of more to be inside with Scarecrow himself.
Cursing as he hears maniacal laughter coming from inside he immediately leaps down, drop kicking a goon and soon swiftly taking out the others as well.
TIMESKIP (shhh, I’m saving you all from a cringe fight scene)
After taking care of Scarecrow, Spoiler had arrived and helped some of the victims of the fear gas.
Red Robin on the other hand was checking around for some others behind the counter and it didn’t take long for his eyes to land on you.
The moment you inhaled Scarecrows toxin, you could no longer see your surroundings properly. It was no longer the warm and cozy café around you, it was the middle school you used to go to back in New York and suddenly, you were just a kid.
Old faces of your bullies were surrounding you, laughing and calling you names causing your breathing become shallow.
You didn’t know what hurt worse, the bullies, or what they used to be; best friends who you simply shared a little bit about yourself and they all recoiled in disgust.
They all surrounded you just like how they used to, throwing trash your way, telling you all your intrusive thoughts about yourself were right.
“Undeserving.”
“Worthless.”
“Freak.”
“Hey- you okay?”
Wait, that can’t be right.
Slowly, the image of the your bullies slowly faded away and the only blur were the tears clouding your vision.
The only thing you make out was the rough outline of the shined coffee machine, the color of your pants, and a bit of- red, black, and yellow?
Looking up, you see the symbol of a red bird against the red of the figures chest automatically making you think of one vigilante in particular - Red Robin.
SPECIAL NOTE: apologies for not posting this sooner, my life kinda had a domino effect and not in a good way.
N e ways, I hope you all have a good rest of your day/night and make sure to drink water and take care of yourselves! <33
TAGLIST: @grandstrangerphantom @marsbars09 [ if you would like to join, feel free to send me an ask or to comment! ]
#coffee ☕️ - tim drake#tim drake#batfam#tim drake x gender neutral reader#tim drake x reader#tim drake x y/n#tim drake x you#batfamily#coffee shop au#dick grayson#richard grayson#dc batman#batbros#batman#dc smau#smau dc#red robin#red hood#spoiler dc#oracle#robin dc#scarecrow
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"[...]It wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't been infected and found Sy for help, or if we had come across her and Lewis camping. We would have gotten her away from him as soon as humanly fucking possible because he's a goddamn Feral and I would have tasted dirt from my jaw being on the goddamn ground."
-Mike, Feral Instincts Ch.19
She checked her phone for the umpteenth time as she sat around the makeshift fire pit in the early morning hours, but cell service was spotty at best this far up in the mountains. Too many barriers between cell towers, or however that worked. Stephanie had to admit though, it was peaceful here, with nothing but the sounds of nature around her. No cars, no people, just quiet. Her and her boyfriend Jordan had been going through somewhat of a rough patch the last few months that had culminated in her attempting to break up with him, but he had convinced her to give him another chance. He would be different, he promised, he would control himself better, control his anger. He had been the last six months or so, he hadn't hit her once and she was starting to hope maybe, just maybe, that her threatening to leave him snapped him back to reality.
"Howdy." She heard and looked up, seeing the three men that had walked into the campsite as quiet as ghosts.
"Oh, hey." She said, standing from the folding chair and tucking her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, looking them over quickly. They were handsome, in varying ways.
One had closely cropped dark hair, a beard covering his jaw, the olive green tshirt he was wearing stretching over a powerful chest. The other was striking in his appearance, snow white hair half tied back away from his face, falling to his shoulders in gentle waves, piercing amber eyes regarding her evenly. The third was the youngest looking, with clear pale skin and thick black hair. The hoodie he was wearing unzipped to his waist was a bit big, but the white tshirt he wore underneath outlined a powerful chest, the hoodie sleeves pushed up strong forearms.
"You campin' on your lonesome?" The one with the buzzcut asked, his voice carrying a slight Southern twang.
"Uh, no." Stephanie said, "My boyfriend is getting some stuff from the car that didn't make the first trip."
"Leavin' you by yourself?" Buzzcut asked.
"He'll be back in a few."
"Sy." The one with white hair said simply, his voice deep and rough.
"Shit, sorry." He said, "I'm Markus Syverson, call me Sy, everyone does. This is Geralt Rivian," He gestured to the one who had spoken and he moved his head at her slightly. "And my baby brother, Mike."
"Hey." Mike said, waving at her briefly with a couple of fingers.
"You guys camping nearby?" She asked.
"Actually," Sy said, "This is my territory."
"Territory?" She asked and realization hit, "Oh! You're wolves! Sorry!"
"No harm done, doll." Sy said with a chuckle.
"Well, I'm um...not a wolf." Stephanie said.
"We know." Geralt said simply.
"My boyfriend is, though, but I don't think he knew that this was anyone's territory." She said, "I'll be sure to let him know when he gets back, we'll pack up and get out of your..." She cast a quick look to his scalp, "Space." Mike snorted at that, giving her an amused look and she winked at him, making his smile widen slightly. It was a nice smile, she had to admit.
"Your guy have a pack?" Sy asked but she shook her head.
"I mean, not one that I've ever met." She said, ''He kinda avoids other wolves, actually."
"Why?" Geralt asked and she shrugged.
"Have to ask him." She said and she watched Geralt walk further into the campsite, looking around, keeping it in mind that he was now behind her and in her blind spot as she kept looking at the others. He was big, and a wolf, but she already sussed out his center of gravity as he walked.
"You a local?" Sy asked.
"Town over." She said and he nodded with a sound.
"Baby, why did we bring so much damn stuff?" She heard and turned, a slight wave of relief washing over her as Jordan came up the slightly overgrown path, a duffelbag over each shoulder.
"Because you like to be overly prepared." She said, teasing slightly, but her friendly expression faltered as his jaw clenched, making her look away.
"Who's this?" He asked, setting the bags down.
"This is Sy, Mike, and...Geralt?" He nodded, "We're in Sy's territory, apparently."
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry." Jordan said, "You're uh...you're Alphas."
"Yes." Geralt said, moving around him, his eyes starting to harden. "Knife in his belt."
"Never know what could be out here." Jordan said evenly, his shoulder's tightening. "Bears, mountain lions...."
"Ferals." Geralt growled.
"Doll, come here." Sy said and she looked at him, "Get away from'im. Right now. Come here."
"What's--what's going on?" Stephanie asked, the tension starting to build in the campsite.
"Your boyfriend is Feral, sweetcheeks. Come here." Mike said, "You're not safe with him."
"She's mine. She belongs to me." Jordan said, his voice taking on a frightening growl. He suddenly swung at her, his nails wicked claws and she leapt back. Geralt grabbed the back of his jacket, throwing him to the ground.
"Get her out of here!" He ordered and Sy grabbed her hand, pulling her away and she looked back as Jordan pulled the knife from his belt, getting to his feet as Geralt squared off before letting herself get pulled away.
They didn't stop moving quickly until they reached a cabin, Sy pulling her inside with Mike coming up the back. Another man hopped up from the couch, looking at them as they entered. He was also powerfully built, with a halo of dark curls and a thick dark beard.
"Sy? What's going on?" He asked, his voice carrying a British accent.
"Feral." Sy said and turned to her, releasing her hand only to hold her arms gently. "You okay, sweetheart?"
"Yeah, I'm--I'm fine." She said, seeing the fourth man come from the back, sipping at a mug. He was regarding her with slight suspicion as he lowered the mug, pulling traces of coffee of the mustache covering his upper lip, his jaw covered in the beginnings of a beard. "Jordan, he...he swung at me."
"Yeah, saw that." Sy said, "Claws were out, he was aiming to kill or infect. Nice reflexes, though."
"Thanks." She said with a shrug, "Your friend, Geralt, is he...is he going to be okay?Jordan had a knife."
"Geralt's a Tracker with the Pack Council." The one who came out of the kitchen said, "He's dealt with Ferals before."
"Can we have your name?" The British one asked.
"Oh yeah, shit, sorry." Sy said, "What's your name, doll?"
"Stephanie," She said, "Stephanie Daniels."
#henry cavill#captain syverson#walter marshall#august walker#geralt of rivia#feral instincts#what if#alternate instincts
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Hello darling dearest
Here to request pierre waking up one morning and the only person in the world that seems to be able to see him is charles. Is it a curse? And more importantly can it be reversed?
I have to tag this as never fic and just put it on a shelf because this is in danger of spiraling. Rough outline below.
It opens with a line about how Pierre's life spiraled out of control because of Alex Albon. How none of this would have happened if he hadn't allowed himself to fall in love with George Russell and be painfully cliche about the whole thing and ask him to marry him.
Pierre is sitting on the couch with George and Alex on a Saturday night and they're hanging out and Pierre is happy for the two of them. He really is. They're some of his best friends, but it still stings that they managed to work it out and he and Charles have never.
And then his mom calls and he steps out in the hall to take it and we talks to her about the long weekend that he has coming up and how he and Charles are coming together and when he hangs up, he goes back inside but George and Alex cannot see him?
He thinks it's as bit at first, but then he stands right in front of George for 30 minutes shouting at him and George is just grumbling about how Pierre just disappears sometimes and how annoying it is and Alex finally tells him to take it easy on him because it can't be easy - having to pretend he's fine with Charles on a date tonight and Pierre realizes that they really cannot see him because he has never told another soul about the way he feels.
He finally goes back to his apartment and he is panicked and scared until Charles comes home and he's talking to him like normal and Pierre is like ????? George and Alex cannot see me and now Charles thinks it's a bit so after some argument, he goes down to Alex and George's apartment and they're like, "You seen Pierre tonight? He just disappeared?" and Pierre is literally standing right there with Charles.
Charles and Pierre go back to their apartment and now Charles is freaked out and they stay up all night googling things and Pierre is like, "I'm not dead right?" and Charles is like "don't be stupid, there's no body anywhere and you can pick up that glass."
They decide to put it off until tomorrow - to get some sleep, maybe that will undo it anyway and so Pierre goes into his room and he's trying to sleep and then Charles slips in and he lays down with Pierre and he says really quietly that they'll fix it. Pierre pretends to be asleep.
Pierre wakes up and he goes into the kitchen and he finds Alex over to borrow some tea for George and he still can't see Pierre and Pierre starts to panic, but Charles hugs him and then they eat breakfast together that Charles has burnt and they talk about all the shit they could get away with if Pierre stayed invisible and they're laughing and having fun and it doesn't feel all that awful.
They spend the entire day watching movies and reading articles online and Charles even offers to call that scientist ex of his and Pierre keeps him from doing that and Pierre realizes it's been a long time since the two of them just had a day like this together and it's really nice and they go to sleep that night, Pierre sending an email to his boss that he is sick and won't be in the next day and Charles does the same.
They have like two days just like this. It's them inside their apartment and they don't worry about Pierre being invisible the entire time. They talk about holidays and Charles tells him about that boy he dated last year that broke up with him because he "laughed too much" and Pierre can't help but fall in love with him all over again until!
Charles is talking to him while they're in the kitchen together and they have music playing and they don't hear George let himself in (because he has an emergency key and because he and Charles work together and obviously he's concerned about them) and he finds Charles "talking to himself" and he's freaking out and until Charles manages to convince him that Pierre is indeed there (probably by revealing a secret that only Pierre knows).
George gets Alex and Charles ends up explaining the entire thing to them because they can't hear Pierre and George says, "Oh shit."
And Charles is like oh shit what?
And George is like, "this is kind of exactly what that psychic said isn't it?"
And everyone is ???????? What psychic?
"The one that we all went to see after our engagement party? We were stumbling down the sidewalk and the sign was all lit up and Charles wanted to go in???"
And no one remembers this at all and George has to get out photos of the event and he says, "Well, she told Pierre that if he wanted to find true love, he was going to have to be transparent with the people in his life and she told Charles that if he wanted to find true love he was going to have to face what's been in front of him all this time, and I would say that's exactly what's happening here."
And now they're all staring at each other and Alex is like, "Think that's our cue, Georgie," and ushers him out and Charles is still staring at Pierre all wide eyed.
"I don't remember that," he finally says. "So, this is some kind of...curse? to get us to??? try and fall in love???"
And Pierre thinks about being invisible his entire life because Charles will never love him and he stands up and he walks to the door and he says, "The point of this curse I think is for me to finally tell you that I have loved you every single second I have known you and that love might have started when we were children, but it's not that anymore. I love you more than breath, more than my own well being apparently. I have loved you and I will love you until I stop existing on this planet and maybe beyond, I don't know anymore." And then he walks out the door and he calls out to George who is stood at the end of the hall whispering with Alex and they both turn towards him and they can see him and Pierre jogs to catch up with them and he asks in a tight voice, "can I stay at yours tonight?"
Alex nods once and they both politely ignore the fact that he's crying and he sleeps in their guest room, curled into a little ball and wishing he were invisible again.
He goes back to work the next day, sneaking back into the apartment after he sees Charles leave for work and he changes and he grabs a bag of stuff because he's meant to go to his parents this weekend and when he gets to work, he's clearly still unwell and his boss pulls him into his office and says, "I'm not sure what you've got going on, but you can do this from home, you go handle whatever you need to handle" and so Pierre goes and he changes his ticket and he goes to his parents house.
He explains that he decided to come early and that Charles isn't coming and Pascale looks at him like she knows and Pierre tells her that he's not ready to talk about it, so she sends him to the store for something so she can cook dinner that night.
He has a quiet two days with his family before going into town to meet up with one of his childhood friends and on his way home, he sees a flash of neon - something he's never seen here before and he recognizes it in a sinking moment. That psychic sign is familiar because he saw it that night and he goes inside and it all comes flooding back.
The night they stopped in, the uncomfortable eerie feeling of the place, the way the woman behind the counter had looked at him like she could see through him. It rocks him.
And he says, "So it was real" and she nods. "It didn't work, he doesn't love me" he says.
"Are you so sure of that, Pierre Gasly?"
And then he takes a step towards her to demand she do whatever magic she has to undo it all, but he blinks and he's standing in front of his parents house instead. Transported there somehow and when he opens the front door, there sits Charles with his parents, sipping on a cup of tea and smiling at him.
"Charles -" Pierre starts to ask what's happening.
Perhaps she did undo it. Perhaps she undid the timeline and he was never invisible and he never said that to Charles and Charles and he traveled here today like planned and the Pierre had gone into town because Charles doesn't particularly care for that friend and had elected to stay here with Pierre's parents and catch up and watch some movie, but then he sees Charles' overnight bag right by the staircase - one that wouldn't still be left out unless he had just arrived.
But Charles stands up and he walks over to Pierre and from the look on his face, he knows that she didn't undo shit.
Charles throws his arms around Pierre's shoulders and he whispers into his ear, "I had to see what was right in front of me all this time."
All Pierre can do is wrap his arms around Charles' waist and hold on and try not to sob in front of his parents.
That would be the end of the fic, but the epilogue would be like...they're out to celebrate Arthur finishing grad school and they're out with him and some of his friends and Arthur is kind of tipsy and he's ribbing them for taking so long to get it together and as they're all walking back to Arthur's apartment, they pass by a sign that looks very familiar and Arthur snorts and says, "Oh a psychic, we should go in" and they both shout NO at the same time and manage to wrangle him back home with no more curses, but Charles is laying on Pierre's chest and he says, "What if you were never invisible?" and Pierre kisses his head and says that they were inevitable so he doesn't need to worry about it and Charles tells him he loves him again and that's the end.
#never fic#I am not proofreading this I am hitting post and disappearing#cara do you regret this game yet#piarles
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Hi! I was wondering if you have any tips for outlining your story?
I’m trying to work on one, but it doesn’t really want to cooperate with me when I try to outline.
Do you have any tips for what works for you?
I would say don't force it, most importantly. You won't be satisfied and it won't come out great if your heart and mind just aren't in it. Get your inspiration and creative muse going first.
I genuinely don't know how the fuck I got my plot as fleshed out as it is, I got hella lucky it kept going. It was very fuck it we ball.
I will say, I often reread what I already had planned before letting my little brain movie continue.
I can picture things in my head really clearly, so basically my brain gave me a movie of the first 5 chapters and I just let it "yes and" itself until it just kept going. Or I got specific scenes that popped into my head and then wrote from where I left off and pushed things in a direction that could make the scene true in a way that made sense and flowed well.
From there, I knew I needed to resolve conflicts I'd established ("how does Phil get EK out of his body?"), come back to certain plot points I'd planted the seeds of ("so how is Phil doing while the group is planning his rescue?"), or cover "well what's going on with x during this time?" type stuff ("how is Missa taking care of the kids on his own while this is all going on?"). So over time, I'd make sure to either devote a whole chapter or just a scene to cover the thing, whatever length felt right.
As soon as I get a rough idea of what major points I want to cover, the rest comes organically as I'm writing. For example, in Chapter 3, I did not plot the Pissa date thoroughly. My plan said "fluffy distraction date, but hes hallucinating," and eventually "Phil hallucinates an enderman which exposes he's not doing well so he confesses everything to Missa bc he can't bring himself to lie to him." I didn't plan them visiting an event venue, going on a picnic, taking pictures, anything casual they talked about before that point. I let it come out in the moment and allowed the pieces to just fall into place because over-planning something can sometimes choke the life out of it.
Though that could just be what works for me because I'm taking over a decade of roleplaying skills and fitting them to a fic. A lot of the scenes I write come out the same way I'd start a roleplay. You can see it most in the start of a chapter, because both require setting the scene before puppeting the character(s) within it.
And obligatory mention that the process isn't always linear, flowing perfectly, etc. Shit takes time and the first draft is not gonna be your last, even if only a single detail changes later. Don't expect perfection the first time, you'll limit yourself and you won't be satisfied later. It could straight up kill your motivation to write the thing at all. I've deleted whole paragraphs of text in chapter 4 because even though they were written beautifully, it wasn't what I wanted or didn't match my plan.
So basically:
Ride as long as you can on the initial idea. Milk as much Where Does This Go / What Happens Next from it as possible
Play to your strengths when writing. If you're good at describing setting or atmosphere, go nuts. If you're good at writing dialogue, weaponize that. Whatever you're best at writing, lean into that and it'll make your story shine.
Keep the things you need to conclude satisfyingly in mind. Figure out how you want to resolve the conflict(s) you've started, then steer the plot in that direction however you see fit. If you establish certain things, decide if you Need or Want to actually write it out rather than imply it happening/being done/whatever.
Make sure the events that connect two plot points together flow well and make sense, but leave room for improvising because things that unfold organically are important in order to avoid having a plot feel too "mechanical" so to speak. Not to mention things that miraculously fall into place and just fit in perfectly are super rewarding and motivating.
Don't be precious with your ideas. If something doesn't fit, suck it up and delete it (you can always copy/paste it elsewhere to keep it in case it works later on, or you're just so damn proud of what you wrote that you don't want to banish it to the void). Chances are when you rewrite the scene or steer it in a more logical direction, you'll write something you like even more. If you don't, sometimes sacrifices must be made and you can refine the new thing until it's to your liking as many times as you want. OR you can commit to the new thing you wrote, but make sure to make all the changes to your plot and such necessary to have that thing make sense and flow well with the rest of what you're writing.
And very important: If you're writing for something that has a Canon, make sure what you're doing makes sense for the character. Don't have a "he would not fucking say that" / "he does not have the emotional intelligence for that" (HUGE ONE. Modern fandom has a massive problem with bitching about characters not communicating, but if the character would not spill their guts to someone, don't fuckin do it!! Miscommunication sucks, but lack of communication is a device that often benefits plot and creates conflict necessary for an interesting story!!) / etc moment. Dig into the character's brain and understand how they work, take what you know about how they are in situations and in general and apply that. Binge read character analysis for help, your best resources are your fellow fandom mates who are insane about their little guys. Consult them if you can't find any analyses, they'll write you a whole essay often times. Characterization is extremely important and many readers just straight up won't read your thing if you're butchering their special guy. For example, Phil is deeply allergic to sharing his burdens and hates the idea of putting his friends in danger. Obviously I'm not gonna have him venting to anyone who'll listen that he's being possessed by a god they don't even know of and that he needs their help. Even when you're writing an AU, that will rarely ever make the character's canon way of being irrelevant, you just have to think about how those traits would look in your universe/specific situation. There's still even more nuance to this I won't cover, but just keep in mind that writing a character accurately matters!
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