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lemonlover1110 · 7 months

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𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 5] Difficult Conversation

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Talks of Abortion, Toji being a major asshole

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Toji helps you set up your apartment, and you try not to cry every single time you look at him. You try to maintain your composure and to not burst into tears at every subtle touch that he gives you. You try your best to remain strong but you’re so fucking emotional that it takes every fiber of your being to not break down every time he speaks. You have no idea how you’re going to uphold a poker face while you have a conversation about what’s going on and what you’ll end up doing.

You sit in the corner of your room, trying your best to hide from him as he does whatever he does. You want him to leave. You hope that by hiding he’ll take the hint, but you should know better. Toji’s stubborn, that’s what he has shown you the past months. Yet you still sit in the corner of your new room, until Toji stumbles in. His gaze falls on you immediately, your hiding spot to no avail. He furrows his brows in confusion, wondering why you’re sitting there with your knees to your chest.

He walks over to you, crouching down and asking, “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing.” You answer. He grabs your hands, pulling you up from your not-so-comfortable seat on the floor. Your eyes fall on the ground, staring at your feet because staring at him will make the tears spill out.

“We should talk.” He says, and you shake your head. His hand goes under your chin and he tilts your head up. You look into his eyes and that’s what causes your tears to spill out. You fucking hate how beautiful they are. His thumbs wipe away the tears that stream down your cheeks, “C’mon, we can talk about this. Don’t cry, baby. You have no reason to cry.”

“I have every reason to cry, Toji.” Your voice breaks. He lets go of you, and you turn your head so he doesn’t see you cry. You stand in tension for a minute before you clear your throat, “I don’t care what you want me to do. I’m keeping the baby, and we’re not getting back together.”

“Why do you want to do this to yourself?” A hint of annoyance appears in his voice and you try to ignore it but it only makes your tears worse.

“I want you out, Toji. You only see this baby as a means to get back together, and since that isn’t happening, you’re upset.” You’re clearly irritated but your emotion doesn’t translate well with the mix of tears that run down your cheeks. “I don’t want to see you again! You’re so fucking selfish.”

“Why do you want to have a baby with a man that you don’t want a relationship with? You’re a smart woman, use your fucking brain.” He completely drops the act of the loving husband, and you wish you could say that you didn’t miss it, that you prefer him being completely honest; but in reality, you don’t. You want him to at least pretend to be sweet. It gives you hope for a better future that isn’t there. “If you don’t want to see me again, get a fucking abortion.”

“Just get out, Toji. I’m not forcing you to stay in my life.” You raise your voice at him, and he clicks his tongue. He takes a deep breath before he mutters,

“I have no idea why you’re so insistent on doing this.” It’s not meant to be heard loud and clear, just something that he wants to get out of his mind without getting an actual response. You’re clearly upset, the last thing he wants is to hear your answer right now. But you do hear it.

“I never want to see you again! Get the fuck out!” Your hands go to his chest and you try to push him out, but his feet are planted on the floor. Toji is huge, too big for you to move. “Get out, Toji! I don’t need anything from you.”

“C’mon, baby. Let’s talk about this.” He puts on the same act as before, his voice sweet as ever. You’re trying everything to get him to move, but he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a hug. You begin to cry into his chest while you continue trying to move him. “I’m just confused, honey. You wouldn’t want to have a kid with someone that you don’t want to see again.”

“I do. I want my baby.” You cry, your arms giving out. You allow him to hold you, but you don’t hug him back. You refuse to hug him back. He doesn’t mind though, there’s bigger issues at hand.

“Why? Why do you want to keep this baby so bad? Don’t you hate me?” He asks, and you finally look up at him. You shake your head. There’s times where you’ve thought you hated the man that stands before you but it was just in the heat of the moment. You could never hate Toji, no matter how hard you try.

“I gave up being a mother to be with you… but now that I’ve lost you, I can have this one thing back.” It sounds ridiculous when it leaves your lips, you can always start over with someone else, but you’ve been given this opportunity now and you might as well appreciate it. You and Toji stare at one another in complete silence for a minute. He gathers his thoughts.

“You think you’ve lost me? But you left me…” He’s genuinely confused. His grip on you loosens, which gives you the opportunity to let go, but you don’t. You’ll appreciate his embrace one last time because you doubt this will ever happen again. You’re sure that after this Toji will stop his foolish attempts of winning you back. You’re sure that when he leaves the apartment, you’ll never see him again.

“I did lose you, Toji. I chose to let you go even though it hurts.” You swallow a lump that’s in your throat. You have to take a deep breath because you feel as if you’re about to sob uncontrollably and you don’t want that to happen; you want to be completely alone before you’re completely vulnerable.

“Why did you let go?” He asks the question as if you haven’t been screaming the answer from the top of your lungs.

“You’re not the man I see myself getting old with– I thought you were but then I realized how miserable I am by your side. I don’t hate you…” You have to pause and collect yourself for a moment. “I don’t hate you, Toji but I’m not happy by your side either. I don’t think that I could ever be.”

“I–” He tries to think of how to respond but his thoughts get clouded. You keep looking up at him, and for the first time in five years you watch as tears well up in Toji’s eyes. He completely lets go and takes a deep breath. He would’ve rather you say that you hated him. He shuts his eyes for a moment, trying his best to not let the tears spill. He’s not a pathetic man. He keeps repeating in his mind how men don’t cry. He has to put up a mean front but he can’t.

You’re watching as the man that you love tries his best to not crumble down. Trying his best to not cry because of you. You bite down on your lip, holding back reassurance, but he doesn’t need any. Toji hasn’t tried to reassure you for the last five years until now.

“We’ll keep in touch about the baby stuff. I gotta get going.” Toji ends up saying. He begins to walk away, and you want to go after him and hug him. To tell him that you’re willing to try and work this out. But you know better, even if it breaks your heart to watch him walk away.

“Megumi.” Toji says when he walks into his apartment. He finds his son in the kitchen, making himself a quick dinner; the teenager is accustomed to making his own dinner after his stepmother suddenly stopped. You’d offer to make something quick, but he’d always refuse. He was used to dinner already being made for the three of you, but things obviously changed.

Megumi doesn’t acknowledge his father as he grabs a pair of chopsticks and takes his cup of noodles to the table to quietly eat. Toji lets out an exasperated sigh, his hand going to his neck as he stretches. He walks to the kitchen to wash his hands, and when he dries them off he informs his son, “She finally moved out.”

“I noticed.” Megumi responds. He doesn’t have much to say, and Toji doesn’t know what to say next. There’s so much to say but it’s overwhelming. Toji is slowly processing everything. Toji takes a deep breath before he lets it slip,

“She’s pregnant.” Megumi begins to cough, and he has to hit his chest a couple of times. It takes him a couple of seconds to calm down. Megumi’s eyes are wide when he looks at his father.

“What?” Megumi asks, completely caught off guard.

“She’s pregnant. She doesn’t want to get back together and she’s keeping it.” Toji continues, and Megumi’s appetite is gone with this new piece of information. It’s definitely a lot to take in. He’s going to have a sibling even if his father just got separated.

“What are you going to do?” Megumi asks when words finally come to him. Toji has that same question. He just shakes his head and shrugs.

“I can’t do anything. It’s all up to her.” Toji answers. Megumi isn’t quite sure what to say or do with all of this. Toji looks down at the wedding band that adorns his left ring finger, and he debates whether he wants to take it off or not. For the first time, it feels so heavy on his finger.

“Did you sign my baseball stuff?” Megumi changes the topic, and Toji rubs his temple remembering how he left it at his desk back at his job.

“I’ll give it to you tomorrow. Remind me. I have bigger issues.” Toji responds. He walks to his bedroom, and shuts the door behind him before he loosens up the tie that feels way too tight around his neck. Toji takes a seat on the edge of the bed, grabbing his wallet from his back pocket. He’s met with a picture of you as he opens it. Maybe he should take that out too.

His eyes fill up with tears again, it’s the second time that day that he’s on the verge of crying and he hates this feeling. He didn’t miss it. It’s a picture from three years ago, and he wonders how he let himself fuck up so bad. He wishes he could turn back time so things wouldn’t end up how they are now. At least not as badly. Maybe if he had done things differently, he’d be able to win you back easily. Maybe you wouldn’t have left in the first place.

He wonders what he’ll do now of all times. Not to just win you back, but how to deal with becoming a father to a baby when he’s almost forty. He thought that he would only have to deal with Megumi as a baby after his wife’s death, but it seems like he has to do it all over again. He has to become a better man for you and for your baby since you insist on keeping it.

Despite what he says and does, he really does love you, he just has a difficulty showing it. He stares at his wedding band for another minute, and he decides to keep it on, he’ll take it off when he loses all hope. He still thinks he can win you back.

#toji x y/n #toji zenin #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #daddy toji #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #dilf toji #toji fushiguro x you #toji fanfic #toji fic

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the-witty-pen-name · 18 days

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Love is Blind (Part 3)

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut in later parts (part 4), reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, tooth rot worthy fluff, Eddie being a major flirt, cursing, mentions of substance use, descriptions of bullying & people being jerks but like also very overdone tropes, mentions of smut

A/N: Please let me know if you liked it!! Feel free to send me an ask if you want to fangirl with me over these two because I cannot stand them at this point. LOL Or if you want to share any ideas/predictions for upcoming parts with me or other ideas for future stories with Eddie, I would love to hear them. Also, if I forgot to include a warning that should be included, please let me know!

Series Masterlist

“Eddie.”

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Earth to Eddie.”

“EDDIE.”

“Shit! Sorry,” he says, breaking out of his thoughts and coming back to reality. He stares at his notes in his DM folder and he literally has no idea where the campaign has left off. He clears his throat and awkwardly flips through the pages. “Umm..”

“We just made it to the fishing town and we were tasked by a local merchant to kill a sea serpent that’s poisoning the local fish in exchange for..”

“Oh yeah,” he interjects, grabbing the correct script he needs to continue. “Uh, did you roll..?”

“Are you kidding me, man! What the hell?” Gareth exclaims, exasperated. “What’s wrong with you today?”

Eddie’s face turns pink, shaking his head and ignoring the question. He was not going to admit to being distracted. He’s not embarrassed to talk to the guys about you, but he hasn’t told anyone he signed up for the study. He didn’t want to admit he was desperate or lonely, he’s too proud. He knows his friends don’t care, but it’s a mental block he can’t pass.

“Nothing, I’m good. Just let it go,” he says defensively.

“No way. Fucking spill it,” Jeff laughs.

Eddie racks his mind for the most sane way to answer their questions. He sighs, pushing a mess of his curly hair out of his face.

“Who is she?” Gareth asks, raising an eyebrow.

***

DAY FOUR

“I’m mad at you,” Eddie says, and you roll your eyes.

“What did I do now?” You ask, playful sarcasm evident in your voice.

“You’re throwing me off my game”

“I don’t even know what you mean by that.”

“Obviously because I’m really cool and popular,” he jokes, “I’m a Dungeon Master as you know.”

“Yup, I’m familiar,” you toy.

“My friends called my ass out so many times last night for not paying attention and I kept fucking up.”

“I don’t appreciate you pinning this on me,” you chuckle. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Lies!” He says in a bravado. “You are the distraction! You have managed to weasel your way into every aspect of mind- I hope you’re proud of yourself. I’m probably going to be dethroned. My reign is over.”

You bite your bottom lip, to hold back the goofy smile you know is creeping over your whole face. Never before has anyone made you feel like this. The notebook to keep track of other “dates” is long forgotten. You only want to continue talking to Eddie. You wonder if any of the other people you spoke to felt a connection this strong. You’re dying to know if there are other people who feel as good as you right now.

“What were you thinking about?” you ask shyly. You can hear the way it makes Eddie stop in his tracks. You assume he wears some sort of chain on his pants cause you can hear it when he paces, but suddenly, his end of the wall falls silent.

“How honest do you want me to be?” he asks, suddenly sounding shy.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I could go the cheesy, romantic, ‘I was thinking about you’ way- which is true. Or, I could be brutally honest because ‘I was thinking about you’ in this context has much more implications than that.”

“You’re confusing me,” you laugh, “just tell me.”

“Do you ever fantasize about when we get out of here? In like, a you know-”

“Like sexually?” you ask, throwing him a bone. He was drowning.

“Yeah,” he admits, and you can hear the chain on his pant leg as he fidgets.

“Yes,” you answer honestly, “I do.”

“I think about it all the time,” he says, the confession spilling out, “The fact that I can’t touch you is driving me fucking insane. It’s not even like just like the thought of getting to fuck you- it’s like being close to you and like feeling your body heat, or like the weight of you sitting on my lap, what it feels like to just touch your skin- just everything that we’re being denied. I don’t even have a visual in my head to go off of it’s just like- I don’t know, man…”

You wince at the mention of sitting on his lap. “I don’t know if you’d want me on your lap for a long time..,” you sound defeated.

“Um, don’t speak for me,” he cuts you off, playfully. “Any man who doesn’t want the full weight of his woman on his lap is a fucking idiot. Ugh, I don’t even think you understand just how amazing it is. I don’t care if you try to fight me on this, princess. You’re sitting on me, and I will love every second of it.”

“I’m not thin, Eddie,” you whisper, feeling defeated. You hear him blow a raspberry and then he knocks on the wall.

“I… don’t… care,” he emphasizes by drawing out each word. “You need to believe me. I couldn’t care less about your weight, your height, your hair… whatever it is. I like you! And that means I like every part of you.”

His voice begins to raise, like he is yelling up, “If these fuckers would realize we’re done already and let me out.” He then lowers his voice like he’s looking back to the wall. “I want you. The experiment fucking works, I wish I could show you what you do to me cause maybe then it’ll finally stick. I’m going out of my mind that I can’t touch you and show you how much I want you, your body, everything. Do you need me to spell it out?”

“Would you have still found me attractive if we met outside of this experiment?” you ask, “I bet you wouldn’t have even looked my way if you saw me at a bar or something.”

“Sweetheart,” he coaxes, “absolutely. I know that I would’ve been annoying the shit out of you for your number. You’d have been the one to reject me, I guarantee it.”

“I would have never,” you reply.

“So if it’s possible for you to know that you wouldn't have rejected me without seeing me,” Eddie muses, “why can’t you believe the same for me?”

“You haven’t asked me a single thing about my appearance,” he continues, “Do you care how much I weigh? Do you care if I’m short?”

“Not at all. I haven’t thought about it,” you admit.

“I haven’t either. Now, please let me have my fantasy of you sitting on my lap please,” he whines, “I need something to get me through the day, Christ.” You laugh at his fake annoyance.

You’re so happy at how he’s able to talk you down. It amazes you how he’s able to see through the insecurities and brings you back down to Earth.

“Okay, okay,” you say, settling back into the couch and getting comfortable. You rest your head back.

“I don’t know, basically, we’re in the middle of the campaign- I literally spent weeks writing it,” he continues, “and I literally just can’t stop thinking about how amazing it would be if you were there. I’m just sitting there, thinking about what it would feel like to just have you sitting on my lap while we’re playing and then I’m thinking about how I want to feel lean back on me and I’d have my arm around your waist holding you, and maybe I’d rub little circles on the side of your thigh and I thought about how soft you probably feel and then suddenly I’m sporting the most embarrassing boner which thankfully no one saw- Fuck, this is what you’re doing to me.”

***

“Is there any way to end the trial early?” Eddie asks, sitting in the interview room. There’s a man putting a pulse oximeter on his right index finger and another testing his blood pressure with a monitor on his left side.

Two other technicians sit across from Eddie, taking notes from Eddie’s answers on a clipboard. They have tested his levels of dopamine and norepinephrine. They’re taking extensive notes on Eddie’s physical reactions to you, and the same is done to all of the candidates- including you. They continue to ignore Eddie’s questions as they ramble on about his levels of oxytocin.

“In order for us to gather all of the information necessary, this isn’t possible,” one of them finally answers.

“But I’m telling you how I feel- I’m telling you it works,” he insists.

“Mr. Muson,” one says, closing a file folder that contains his charts. “This is a study in brain chemistry. You agreed to participate for the designated number of days and in exchange you’d receive compensation. Your conversations between yourself and the other candidates is not our business, nor what you choose to do afterwards. Our job here is to collect data, not the details of your personal life.”

“I can’t believe this,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. He pulls off the oximeter and grabs his jean jacket. He walks out, despite their protests, flipping them off as he goes. He couldn’t care less about the lousy $200. As far as he was concerned, they poked and prodded the two of you enough.

Of course, he did show up the next day. Promptly with a big grin on his face, he walked in with a happy go-lucky attitude that the entire lab team was secretly sick of dealing with. These sudden outbursts and dramatic tirades were becoming a staple of Eddie’s interviews and they equally couldn’t wait to be done with him.

***

DAY FIVE

“Are these dice?” You ask with a chuckle, opening the small, black velvet bag that’s been left for you on the table in the room. You empty the bag out into your hand and watch as the dice roll into your palm one at a time. They’re all red and shimmer as you move them around in your cupped hand.

“Well, I wanted you to have them,” you hear his voice explain from the other side of the wall. You’re beaming as you carefully pour them back into the bag and tie it off.

“This is so sweet, Eds,” you marvel. “I love them.”

“I also brought my guitar and like in a non-douchebag way I was kind of hoping to play something for you,” he says, his guitar perched on his lap. “I’ve just been working on this song and I wanted your opinion on it.”

It's surprisingly soft sounding. You were expecting heavy guitar, something really metal based on what Eddie has told you about his music taste and his band. It’s slower paced, like a dreamy, slow rock ballad.

You wished you could see him, observe how he looks when he’s concentrating or how his fingers look strumming against the cords. You just know he has the most beautiful hands. You imagine his fingers and try to visualize them flexing as he strums. You’re so distracted by it that you almost miss him singing a verse.

“It’s not done yet,” he prefaces, still strumming. “I’m still working on the lyrics so don’t think too much about them, just like the meaning and the melody you know?”

“Yeah totally,” you hum in agreement. “I think it sounds great.” He smiles at the praise.

***

Before

You anxiously sit by the front window, peeking out between the blinds occasionally. You smooth out the skirt of the new dress your mom bought you, and you make sure your hair is still how you requested. Your mom let you wear makeup and you picked eyeshadow that matches your dress and you feel like a million bucks. It’s your ninth grade formal, and the star of the JV basketball team asked you to be his date.

The minutes tick by and the time changes from reasonably late to stood up. You still hold out hope, and reject your parents' offers to just drive you to the dance. It’s been 45 minutes now, and you still hoped he’d be there. It was long past an hour that you admitted that he wasn’t coming.

The following Monday you learned the whole thing was a prank, and he never wanted to ask you to the dance. It’s in the school paper that he’s at the dance, dancing cheek to cheek with one of the cheerleaders, who you can’t help but compare yourself to.

***

Eddie is sitting at the middle school cafeteria table alone. He’s about a hundred pages into the Hobbit and the crusts of his peanut butter sandwich are forgotten about on the crinkly brown paper bag Uncle Wayne packed his lunch in. He’s long forgotten he’s sitting alone, far too engrossed in the story to care, when suddenly his head is yanked back by someone tugging on his t-shirt.

“What’s up, Freak?” the voice asks before shoving Eddie back towards the table. He catches himself on the edge before his head comes in contact with the surface. He winces as anger boils up inside him. The three jocks laugh amongst themselves until a familiar voice shoos them away.

“Sorry about them,” she says apologetically as Eddie looks to see her. Chrissy. He notices how she glances from him to the cafeteria table where the cheerleaders sit, and Eddie knows she doesn’t want to be seen with him for too long.

“You can go, I’m fine,” Eddie says, forcing a laugh to make her feel better. “But, uh, I wanted to ask you-”

“Okay, thanks,” she says, cutting him off and practically skipping to sit next to the prick who shoved him. Eddie recoils as the jock’s arm wraps around her. Eddie rolls his eyes and gets up to have lunch outside. Along with the remains of his lunch, he shoves the necklace he meant to give her in the bin. He’d stayed up past his bedtime, Wayne showing him how to drill a small hole into the top of one of his guitar picks to put a metal jewelry loop through so it could be put on a silver chain.

***

You’re sitting at the table in the dimly lit restaurant and sipping on your cocktail when you see him walk in. He matches the description your friend gave you, and you feel yourself smile at how cute he is- definitely living up to the hype. Your friend spent weeks convincing you to go out on this date- one of her boyfriend’s best friends. They’re in the same fraternity.

You can see as he walks into the dining room, he’s looking around trying to find his date. You offer a smile when he makes eye contact, and you offer a small wave.

“James?” You ask, “you’re exactly like how Donna described you.” He offers a polite closed lipped smile, and a nod, taking a seat across from you without saying anything.

As the date continues, you notice you’re doing a lot of the talking. You ask him questions and you’re met with a lot of one word answers. He looks detached, checking his watch and his attention seems to be wandering throughout the restaurant at anything but you. By the time your entrees arrive, he yawns.

“I’m sorry, did I do something or say something?” you ask, hesitantly.

“No, no you’re good,” he says, straightening his posture like it would correct the behavior he’s been exhibiting.

He pays for dinner, and you ask if he’d like to do this again sometime (just to be polite, you knew it was going nowhere). He sucks in air from between his teeth, and lets out an exhale.

“You’re a nice person,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets as he waits for the valet to bring his car. “I’m sorry, but you aren’t really my type. Tom didn’t tell me anything about you really. I just felt like we didn’t click.” You notice the way his eyes scan your body, the unspoken awkwardness of you knowing what he isn’t saying. You nod, and say strained goodbyes as he gets in his car. You wished you were more surprised.

***

Eddie is met with dirty looks when he approaches a girl at the bar. He feels her eyes on his tattoos and on his clothes, judging him. He sees her friend, who's also looking at him, lean in and whisper something and they both laugh. He knows the joke is on him, yet again.

He opts to hang where he is, leaning against one of the high top tables, when he watches another guy approach her. He’s muscular, of course he is, and Eddie looks down at his own torso in comparison as this guy’s abs strain his shirt. Eddie scoffs, but now feels incredibly insecure at how his own shirt hangs loosely on his figure.

***

DAY SIX

“Are you still worried about tomorrow?” Eddie asks, playing haphazardly with his rings as he sits with his forearms rested on his thighs.

“A little,” you admit sheepishly. “Are you?”

“More excited than nervous,” he replies honestly. “This whole thing has been fucking wild,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Insane,” you agree, laying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“I just wanted to ask, no pressure,” Eddie says, clearing his throat, “Uh the other day, when we talked about, you know- what’s gonna happen when we see each other…”

“Yes?”

“You said to not hold back, I don’t remember exactly what it was but along the lines of ‘I don’t want you to hold back. Just whatever feels right to you in that moment, do it. Kiss me, touch me, I’m down for everything.’ Or something. I just want to make sure…”

“You don’t remember exactly, huh?” you tease.

“Is that still what you want?” he asks earnestly.

“Without a doubt,” you smile.

TAGLIST

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poeticandors · 2 years

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Morning Touches

Steve Harrington x F!Reader

Part 2 of the TOUCH series

Summary: After the events that occurred the previous night, you wonder just how things may have shifted between you and Steve. Turns out, things only go from there in a way you might not have expected.

WARNINGS: 18+ Content (Minors DNI), sexual language, sexual content, mutual masturbation, fingering, curse words, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Thank you all SO MUCH for all the wonderful, positive reactions to this series. You guys are amazing and I only hope that you enjoy the future parts to this story. Song is Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money.

GIF is not mine and belongs to @semisweetshadow

Part 1

Work was a drag. Nothing new. You were bored out of your mind all day, considering you weren’t scheduled to work with either Robin or Steve today, leaving you stuck with Keith the entire time. It also didn’t help that it was a slow morning, there were barely any customers until the late afternoon but you didn’t mind. Having all the time to shelve the videos, check on late returns, and rewind the tapes really should’ve kept your mind off of other things.

It didn’t.

Rather than stay completely focused on your tasks, your mind strayed to the events from the previous night. No matter how many times you tried to push it out of your mind, you would go right back to thinking about it.

You thought of the way you were pressed back against Steve’s broad chest while watching the lewd film. The sound of his voice echoed in your ears as he whispered those small encouragements to you, urging you to keep making yourself feel good. You could still feel the way his big hands felt as one covered your own while the other squeezed and pinched at your breast, and the brush of his lips against your cheek as he whispered against you or the way they glided against your neck as he kissed you there. The way he held you while doing all those things as you rode through your orgasm played on a constant loop in your mind.

A slight shiver travels down your back, and you shake your head as you walk to the back shelf with a stack of videos, ready to place them in their respective places. Just as you go to place one on the shelf, a hand grabs your shoulder, causing you to drop them all to the floor.

“Shit, my fault.”

You glance up, seeing Steve giving you an apologetic look. While Steve often visited you on days you were working while he was off, you honestly didn’t expect to see him here today especially after last night. Clearing your throat, you kneel down to gather up the videos.

“Here, let me help you.”

Steve moves next to you, reaching for a few of the tapes as you stack them up. You mutter a small ‘thanks’, and stand up as you go to stack them again. Steve stands as well, leaning against the shelf as he watches you closely.

“Jeez, it’s dead in here for a Friday,” Steve comments, looking around the shop.

“Oh, yeah. Keith has been working at the counter all day dealing with all the customers,” you scoff, shaking your head. “All ten of them.”

“Leaving you stuck to do the rest of the work, hm? Sounds like Keith.”

“It’s fine. Keeps me busy.”

You place the last tape on the shelf, dusting your hands off on your pants. “So, what are you doing here, Steve?”

“Came to see you, of course. Like always.” The comment makes you smile a bit.“Me? I feel special.”

“You should. What are your plans for tonight?” He asks, watching you shrug your shoulders.

“Same as yesterday, I guess.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow, a glint in his eye as he smirks. It takes you a moment to realize what the smirk is actually referring to, and your eyes widen.

“I- no, I didn’t mean… minus that… part,” you stammer, your pulse racing erratically. “I only meant–”

“I’m kidding, babe. No need to freak out,” he chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he follows you to the other side of the store. “Anyways, I’m asking because you and I are going to go to a party.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Atta girl, you’re catching on,” he grins, lightly nudging your arm with his. “Also, do you think you can drive? I plan on having a good time tonight.”

“Since I really don’t have a choice, yeah. That’s fine. How’s… seven?”

“Perfect,” he walks past to the other side of you, not once breaking eye contact, and leans close to you. The closeness of his face causes your breath to hitch slightly, and he smiles. “See ya later, babe.”

Steve soon leaves, and you watch his back as he strolls out the front of the store. You shake your head, before moving back to the counter.

As you finish up, you think about the way Steve acted when he talked to you. Besides the little jab at you, which wasn’t even truly one, he didn’t bring up what happened last night. Part of you was grateful he didn’t, you don’t think you would have been able to handle the embarrassment. But… part of you wondered if maybe he was thinking about it the way you were.

Did he think about the way you shook in his arms when you laid back against him, coming undone? Was he hearing the sounds of your moans constantly in his head? Did he relish in the feeling of your skin as he brushed his lips against you?

Sighing, you shake your head at the thoughts. Of course he wasn’t thinking about that night. In fact, you know he would never think about you in that way. Every other girl he came across, sure. But not you.

He probably never would, you guys were just friends.

After finishing up with your tasks and clocking out, you head to your car so you can drive home. You only had so much time to get ready before picking Steve up for the party, so you had to hurry. You were ready to have a good time, you normally did when you partied with Steve. The only thing you hoped for was that he wouldn’t go too crazy.

Knowing him, you should’ve seen it coming.

++++++++++

“Holy shit- that party was fuckin’ intense,” Steve claps, leaning back in the passenger seat of your car as you drive the both of you back to his house. He bobs his head along to the music playing on the radio, his sunglasses on despite how dark it already is outside.

“Yeah, it was. Can’t believe you shotgunned that beer.” You actually could believe it.

“Like a fuckin’ pro, too,” he raises his hand for a high five as you laugh softly, obliging.

The song on the radio changes, and you hear “Take Me Home Tonight” start to play through the speakers. Steve fists pumps as he turns the volume up.

“Hell yeah! I love this fuckin’ song.”

Steve was a fun drunk, you discovered that the first ever party you went with him to. Sure, there were times he would go overboard and you would have to drag him out of the house with some help, but most of the time he knew when to stop. Tonight, you were lucky he only had enough to have a good time while not having to worry about him barfing in the morning.

“I can feel you breathe! I can feel your heart beat faster!” Steve taps along to the beat on the dashboard, turning to you. “Come on, baby, sing it with me!”

“Steve–”

“Take me home tonight! I don’t want to let you go ‘til you see the light! Take me home tonight– here comes your part, babe!”

“Steve, come on–”

“Just like Ronnie sang–”

He holds his hand out as if he is holding a microphone. Rolling your eyes, you lean forward and finish the lyric.

“Be my little baby!”

Steve lets out a loud whoot, and you can’t help but laugh. The song soon ends, just as you pull up to his house, all the lights on the inside shut off. You knew that Steve’s parents weren’t home, so you didn’t have to worry about sneaking around.

Steve strode to the front door, dropping his keys in a tipsy haze as he cursed to himself, before you bent down to grab the keys. He leaned against the wall as he watched you fumble while searching for his house key. When you finally unlocked the door, you both made your way inside.

“God, I am beat,” Steve stretches his arms, and you catch a glimpse of skin right under the hem of his shirt. He turns to face you as he takes his sunglasses off, tossing them on the little table in the hallway. “Are you staying the night?”

The question was silly. Of course you were staying the night. You’ve stayed over with Steve after plenty of drunken nights. It was mostly to keep your mind at ease, since he was typically alone at home most weekends. Steve would let you sleep in his bed while he took the floor, but since then the both of you would just share the bed without questioning it. You were just sleeping, after all. Nothing more.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“Then let’s go to fuckin’ bed.”

You follow him up the stairs to his bedroom, and as you do he is already ridding himself of his shirt, tossing it on the floor in front of his closet before digging through his drawer for a pair of pajama pants. Steve liked to sleep with his shirt off so it wasn’t anything new to you, seeing his naked chest and toned arms.

Steve calls out your name just as he tosses some clothes at you, which you catch in time before they can hit your face. Throwing him a playful glare, you head into his bathroom to change into the clothes. It seemed silly, considering he did see and touch your bare chest last night, but you didn’t want to make things more awkward than they needed to be.

When you come back into the bedroom, you see that Steve has already discarded his jeans for a pair of gray pajama pants, and that he is sitting on the bed waiting for you. After setting your own clothes and shoes on top of his dresser, you make your way over to him as he gives you a tipsy smile.

“Thanks for driving me back. Don’t know what I would ever do without you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get your ass to bed, Harrington,” you ruffle his hair playfully as he gently swats your hand away.

“Hair is off limits! You know that.”

Laughing, you watch as Steve scoots over to the furthest end of his bed before you settle as well. Pulling his blue blanket up to your chest, you lie back against one of his pillows, the scent of his shampoo lingering in it.

He groans out in relief, hugging his pillow close. “God damn, it feels good to be back in bed. Started to feel a bit busy.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to barf.”

“Nah, nothing like that,” he rolls to face you, checking you over. “Comfy?”

“Very,” you hum. Steve’s bed was bigger than yours, and the mattress was softer. You very much enjoyed sleeping in his bed compared to yours at home. “I might have to steal your mattress when you’re not expecting it.”

“You could just stay here every night. Then you won’t have to,” Steve states simply, with a shrug of his shoulders. There was something in his tone and the way he looked at you that you couldn’t quite recognize, but you shook it off. You were pretty positive it was just the alcohol talking.

“Sure. Night, Steve.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

After rolling over onto your side, you face away from Steve. You try not to think about how close he is, and how you can feel the warmth of his body just a few inches away from yours. Or how his scent was surrounding you from every direction at the moment. You definitely try not to think about how his chest would feel against the bare skin of your back rather than the shirt he wore last night while he helped you reach the highest peak of pleasure you’ve ever known.

Yeah, it took you a while until you finally drifted off to sleep.

++++++++++

You’re not sure what actually caused you to wake up at that exact moment. Whether it was the light shining through the blinds or just automatically rising as you usually woke up around this time. Taking in your surroundings through a sleepy haze, it takes you a moment to remember that you were in Steve’s room; the ugly patterned wall paper being the first thing you see.

Movement next to you causes you to glance over your shoulder, and you see Steve lying next to you with his eyes still closed. For a split second, you thought that he was still sleeping, and you were about to just roll back over and go back to sleep as well. That was until you heard one of the most erotic sounds fill the room… a soft moan.

A moan, followed by the rhythmic sound of Steve pumping his dick with his hand.

Your breath hitches as you catch a glimpse of Steve’s hand moving at a steady pace underneath his blanket, and you quickly turn back over. Holy shit, holy shit… was this really happening? Was Steve really jerking off while you were in the bed right next to him? Did he forget that you were right next to him? Or did he know and just not care?

Or… was he jerking off because you were in bed next to him?

Stop that, you think. Of course that wasn’t the reason. There was probably a very good explanation for what was occurring. But, you weren’t about to find out. This was a complete invasion of boundaries. You would rather stay quiet and pretend you were still asleep until Steve was done. That was the smart thing to do, right?

Trying your best to stay very still, you shakily let out a breath and try to think about things other than what Steve was doing next to you. What would you have for breakfast? Should you maybe see if Keith needed you to work even though it was your day off? Or should you–

Your thoughts become interrupted as Steve lets out a soft groan, and you can’t help the shiver that flows throughout your body. Why was your body reacting this way? This wasn’t right, listening to your best friend jerking off while he thought you were asleep next to him.

You couldn’t help it.

The sounds emitting from Steve’s mouth were sinful. Each moan released went straight to your core, and you squeezed your thighs together in response. It wasn’t enough. No, you desperately needed to touch yourself, but you wouldn’t do so with Steve right there.

You already did once before, you argue with yourself. He was there the other night and he even helped you.

Flashes from the other night came to mind and you made the mistake of letting out a soft sigh. Horrified, you freeze and try to play off still being asleep, but hear the movements from Steve completely stop.

“Shit…”

He says your name once, his voice rough from waking up only moments ago, and you stay still. He says it a second time, and you close your eyes before slowly turning over. His cheeks look flushed, whether from the vigorous activity he was just doing or from embarrassment at the thought of possibly being caught doing said activity.

“...Morning,” you say awkwardly.

“Fuck, did I wake you?”

“I, uh… I mean… not technically? I did wake up earlier but… I’m not sure if it was from what I was hearing, or–”

Steve runs a hand down his face. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize you were in bed next to me until I…”

Until he heard you. He didn’t need to finish, you knew exactly what he was going to say. Rolling over onto your back, you stare at the ceiling, thinking until…

“Do you do that every morning?”

“Hm?” He looks over at you before you motion down to his covered dick. “Oh, uh… yeah. Most mornings.”

“I see,” you nod slightly, noticing the blush on his cheeks brighten a little more. You have never seen Steve this flustered before. It was kind of cute.

He clears his throat, turning his attention back to the ceiling as he brings an arm behind his head. “I didn’t mean to do that with you right here, babe. I- fuck–”

“Steve, it’s fine–”

“I promise you I didn’t remember you being in my bed. I didn’t even think–”

“Steve, relax. I don’t care.”

He sighs, turning to face you. “Are you sure? Because, like… I didn’t want to freak you out or anything.”

“I am sure, and I am not weirded out. It’s fine. Really.”

“...Okay, because–”

“I mean, you could even finish if you want to.”

Steve stares at you and a tense silence fills the room. For a moment, you wonder if you said the wrong thing. With each passing second, your anxiety begins to build and you think maybe you should just take back what you said and go home. Just as you go to speak, Steve beats you to it.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

It’s your turn to stare and pause for a moment. On one hand, you weren’t sure if this was a good idea. Sure, he watched you do the same thing the other night, but you didn’t know how this exact moment would change things between you both. On the other hand, you honestly wouldn’t mind if he pleasured himself right then and there. It was obvious that you both were very comfortable with one another.

Breathing out, you shake your head. “No. I… I don’t mind.”

“Cool,” he nods, bringing his arm down as he looks back up at the ceiling. “Cool, cool. Right.”

His arm slowly snakes under the blanket, and you watch with anticipation as it does so. But then it hits you: he might not want an audience.

“Um… I could go–”

“You can get yourself off too, if you want.”

When he turns to face you, all you can do is blink at first. Did he really say that or did you hear it wrong?

“...Huh?”

“You can… you know,” he motions along your body. “If you want to, I mean. You don’t have to. If you would rather leave, that’s fine too. I just want you to feel comfortable is all, babe.”

“Yeah… no, yeah. I understand, um…”

“I just know that you… well, you were squirming a lot. And… I heard you.”

You hold back a groan. So he did hear you. That right there should’ve been enough to make you want to leave from embarrassment alone. But you knew Steve wasn’t trying to make you feel that way at all. In fact, he just wanted you to have another chance to feel good.

With your lips pressed together, you look around until you’re back to facing Steve. The genuine look on his face tells you he is not trying to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to. You of course already knew that, but actually seeing the sincerity in his eyes makes the choice easier.

“...Yeah, okay. I, um… I’ll stay.”

Steve gives you a small smile, before you both settle onto your backs, your arm brushing against his as you stare up at the ceiling. Safe to say, you were a little nervous. Despite Steve being there the first time you masturbated, this was different– this time he would be masturbating with you.

“...S-so, do we just…”

“Yeah, um… I guess you could just pretend I’m not here if you want? Or just– fuck it, touch yorself listening to me. Whatever you want.”

“Right, right.”

“You could take your clothes off, too. To get comfortable, I mean. Totally up to you, though.”

You pause, really thinking about whether you should or shouldn’t, when you decided fuck it, and began stripping out of the clothes you slept in underneath the blanket. After discarding them to the floor, you keep the blanket covering your chest as you look over at Steve. He watched you undress the entire time, you realized, but the only thing he did was give you a slight nod, before turning his head.

“Alright, then… have fun.”

Releasing a breath, you close your eyes as you slowly bring your hands underneath the blanket. It was so quiet in the room, you could practically hear your heartbeat. You could already feel the dampness between your legs as you shift, the obvious clue to how turned on you were earlier listening to Steve’s moans.

You roam your hands along your body as a means of relaxing yourself while also trying not to brush against Steve’s arm too much. One hand slowly makes its way down, and you push your legs apart to give yourself access to your wet pussy. A soft sigh escapes you, and you gather up your slick onto your fingers as you go back up, gradually circling around your clit.

The movement next to you lets you know that Steve has gone back to pumping his dick with his hand, and for a moment, you focus on the sounds of each of your hands doing sinful things to your bodies. You bring your other hand up to your breast, lightly squeezing and teasing your nipple as you brush your thumb along the bud.

There was no way this should be happening. You should not be lying next to your best friend naked underneath the blanket while the both of you jack off. There was no reason you should feel this turned on while listening to the way his breathing has changed because he is pleasuring himself.

But it was happening, and you were turned on. Very turned on.

Your fingers soon travel even lower, and you push one between your slick lips, just like the way Steve taught you to. It didn’t feel as uncomfortable as the first time, and was now even more pleasurable. Adding another finger, you feel the slow stretch of your cunt soon become enjoyable and move them at a steady pace. Brushing that spot each time you rocked your finger in and out of your glistening hole you sent lustful waves throughout your body.

How much time had passed? Had it only been a mere few minutes? Or had you both been there touching yourselves for a while? You weren’t sure. The only thing you were certain was that you were feeling so fucking good.

“Shit…”

Being so lost in your own euphoria, you almost forgot Steve was right next to you in his own sexual bliss. The speed of his hand pumping his hard cock increased slightly from what you could hear, and the sounds of his moans only added to your desire for eventual release.

Part of you wondered what was going on through his mind— what type of fantasies was he imagining? Was he playing out the scenes of a porno in his mind? Was he thinking about fucking someone else? Or was he thinking about you and how you were right next to him, unclothed and touching yourself?

You desperately wanted to look at Steve. You wanted to see his hand moving underneath the blanket. You could only imagine how he looked right now: cheeks flushed, his head thrown back against the pillow, and lips parted. But you weren’t sure if he would be okay with you watching him, so you kept to your own fantasy.

Moving your fingers back to your swollen clit, you begin to rub faster than you had when you initially started. That familiar hot pressure began slowly building up inside you, begging to be released, but you needed more. Touching yourself just wasn’t enough.

A thought occurred to you, and you mused at the idea that thinking about something even more sexual would help you. You try picturing the beginning of the porno movie from the other night in your mind, how you got a view of the girl’s breasts and pussy, and how she touched herself. It wasn’t enough. You try thinking about any one of your celebrity crushes, how they might feel against you, but it still wasn’t enough.

A guttural groan emits from the back of Steve’s throat, and you glance at him before stopping yourself. The sight of him was glorious. His hair was messy from sleep, and his eyes were still closed. His cheeks were pink, just as you thought they would be, and you could see how tense the muscles in his neck were as he tried biting back louder sounds. Even still, the sounds he was already making mixed with the pounding of his hand against his skin were driving you crazy.

Turning your head back and closing your eyes, you begin to imagine every possible scenario you could that involved Steve. You imagine that instead of your hands, it was his own pleasuring and touching your body. By listening to his soft moans, you imagine how much louder and filthier they would sound if his mouth was right next to your ear and if he was whispering sweet nothings instead.

I got you, baby.

God, you look so pretty like this.

Let me make you feel good.

Your mind went even further as to imagine Steve kissing every inch of you: your neck, your breasts, and even your mouth. You imagine Steve’s body over yours as he rocks his hard cock in and out of you, hard and fast.

This was what you needed. This was enough.

It was as if a tightly coiled rope snapped between the both of you, because before you knew it, not only were you finding your release, but Steve was as well. As your back arches up off the mattress, Steve’s hips buck up into his hand. Small whimpers and tight groans both fell from his mouth, while moans and whines broke past your lips– the both of you reaching your high.

Falling slack against the mattress, you let the ringing of your ears die down as you pant softly. Your arm relaxes next to you underneath the blanket, and you feel Steve bring his own down as well, his skin brushing against yours. Blinking your eyes open, your surroundings soon come to and you glance over at Steve, who you see still has his eyes closed, and a smile gracing his face.

“Wow…” He breathes out a small laugh, before he turns to look at you. His pupils were blown and god– you realized just how much you wanted to kiss his stupid face.

You keep from doing so, obviously, and find yourself pulling the blanket closer around you. Steve clears his throat, bringing one arm to rest under his head. That awkward silence returns, and you gnaw on the inside of your lip out of worry. What was he thinking about? Was he regretting what just happened?

“What are you thinking about in that pretty little head of yours?” Steve asks, breaking the silence.

“Me? Um… nothing. Just… that was–”

“Hot as hell?”

You scoff, shaking your head. It shouldn’t surprise you that Steve was still acting his normal self as if that didn’t just happen between you both. He turns onto his side, looking you over and you really wonder what is going through his mind at this moment.

“So, are you hungry?”

“Uh-”

Before you can respond, Steve is already turning away from you, tossing the blanket off of him as he reaches down over the edge of the bed, and grabs his pajama pants. You avoid him, giving him some sense of privacy before he stands up.

“I think I have eggs or some shit. I am fuckin’ starving.”

He truly was acting as if this was just any other regular morning. You didn’t know if you should be grateful about it or upset that he wouldn’t really talk more about what was happening between the two of you. The feeling settling in your chest was foreign to you, but you chose to push it deep down.

Keeping the blanket to your chest, you reach over and grab the clothes on the ground as you look up at him. Taking the hint, he quickly turns around and you begin to dress.

“So, do you want to stay for breakfast? Or… shit, I guess it would be brunch now.” He asks, placing his hands on his hips.

You were conflicted. Of course you did want to stay and spend more time with Steve. But, you also needed to think about the last few days and how, despite the lack of response from Steve, things were definitely changing between you both. Whether it was a good or bad change, and whether Steve would actually sit and talk about this, you needed to figure things out first. Time to yourself was probably the best choice so you could decide how to move forward.

“...Let’s do a raincheck on breakfast. I have to get home and do laundry, and clean the house. All that shit,” you stand up. Steve turns to face you and you wished he hadn’t, because all you wanted to do was run your hands through his messy hair and kiss those lips and– ugh. This was why you needed to leave.

“You sure? I can make pancakes, too.”

It almost sounded like he didn’t want you to leave. But if that were true, then he would be outright and say it. That was the type of person Steve was with you.

“I’m sure, Steve,” you force a small smile. “Plus, I’ll see you at work tomorrow. We’re scheduled together.”

“Right… yeah, right. Work.”

He smooths his hair back and nods, watching you gather your clothes from the night before and slip on your shoes. You meet his gaze, seeing a soft look in his eyes as he doesn’t pull away. Almost as if he is waiting for you to say or do something else.

“...Bye, Steve.”

“I’ll see you later, babe.”

Nodding your head, you walk past him, and make your way out of his house. You didn’t look back to see if he followed you or was watching out the window as you got into your car. Gripping the steering wheel, you let out a sigh. What was happening? What was this feeling in your chest? Why did you want Steve to beg you to stay or look at you in that way he did or kiss you?

Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was only the lust talking. Steve was the one who encouraged you to explore yourself sexually without judgement. Were you just feeling something different because he has seen you in a completely different way?

That was it. It had to be. There was no other explanation as to why these feelings suddenly appeared. Maybe it was time to do more. To feel more, to go further than just self pleasure. Maybe… maybe all you needed to do was get laid.

Would Steve be willing to help you after doing so much with you already?

Finally starting your car, you begin to drive off, hoping that some time alone would give you some clarity about the situation.

++++++++++

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featureenvyproductions · 1 year

Text

here’s a bird’s eye view of my comic Eyan Eternal

For people who don't know what it is. Bc I think some of you might find it's right up your alley. Well this is an updated one anyway. I do actually have a volume of this out in print right now, but the low def, basic version is online and complete, and tbh, I just want people to read it. I took almost two years to complete this and quite literally poured every waking moment (after work and when I wasn’t fixing stuff in my house) into this to try and finish it.

Ahem

Here is one of these at a glance things!

If that’s enough to intrigue you, take a look at my chapter masterpost which has convenient links to every chapter post so you don’t have to go figuring out where they are and what order they go in!: https://www.tumblr.com/featureenvyproductions/717516139934154752/eyan-eternal-tumblr-chapter-masterpost?source=share

If you like it and want to support me you can also buy a copy of the first print volume, which collects chapters 1-5 and has a smidge of bonus content (only available in the US right now, but that’s not going to be forever, and I’m working on an e-book as well): https://www.etsy.com/FeatureEnvy/listing/1447399615/eyan-eternal?utm_source=Copy&utm_medium=ListingManager&utm_campaign=Share&utm_term=so.lmsm&share_time=1683565699335

And now here is a more detailed break down if you need more info than that...

*Jonathan Frakes asks you things meme voice* have you ever wondered what you’d find if you REALLY lived forever?

Well, meet Eyan, an immortal vampire.

He’s slowly finding out the answer to that question...

...And it appears to be unbearable isolation.

Eons into the distant future, when most stars have faded in the night sky and the cosmic event horizon has confined any remaining beings to an isolated pocket of the universe, Eyan roams interstellar space in a repurposed generation ship in search of anything that could be considered alive/sentient in the way he is.

So far, he’s out of luck.

That is until he runs into an unexpected former rival on a remote planet - Zero, a sentient android he never expected to be the only other person left alive.

Well. That is, if either of them can really be considered “alive”. What does that mean anyway, when the humans who defined what it means to be alive are all gone?

This is something they’ll have to explore and define for themselves as they attempt to set aside their myriad of differences and try to work together on one of the few ways left to escape the dark fate of ultimate isolation - The Grand Encoder, a machine that can upload minds to a special medium - if it even works for them anyway. In the process, they slowly come to accept that maybe they’d had each other all wrong and weren’t seeing the bigger picture.

You may not find any action-packed Star Wars like escapades here in this sci fi drama. You also won’t find ponderings about the origins of vampires or what gave rise to robot sentience - It’s integral to the plot that these things just ARE. But you will find a thoughtful exploration of identity and how it can cause us to define ourselves and relate to (or abandon) each other depending on the framework within which we are doing that exploration and within which we are compelled to exist. It asks the question, what if the frameworks within which we defined our existence and purpose no LONGER existed...Where would we go from there?

And as two immortal guys who are the only folks left in the universe (as far as they know), Eyan and Zero are just the right people to mull over that.

There is both textual and allegorical queerness in this story - both main characters should be considered gay men, even if it’s The Future TM and terms/exact scopes of identities may not be EXACTLY 1-1 with today’s...But I want to be perfectly clear that it was my intent to make them gay because I wanted to see more gay guys in sci fi and I don’t want anyone erasing that. As for the allegorical stuff - I myself am a trans gay man in my late 30s, so this act of re-exploring and re-framing myself and evaluating how and why queer folks interact with each other the way we do is something I’m very familiar with, and I feel like other folks might relate. (I also peppered in some neurodivergent-person-in-a-neurotypical-world moods tbh.)

Of course it’s not all serious. I do have a bit of fun with some old school vampire tropes, tossing Eyan around and putting him in Situations.

Anyway if this all sounds interesting to you, take a look at my tag and site (above)! I’d appreciate it! I also like to hear from people and see if there’s anything about it you related to! :)

I also do everything. Every last monotonous step (well, aside from literally loading up a printing press to churn out volumes lol - BUT REST ASSURED IF I HAD $10K TO PISS INTO THE WIND I WOULD DO THAT TOO). So if there’s ANYTHING you want to know about my process, I’m happy to tell you so please ask, especially if you’re like trying to get started on your own comic or trying to go to print :)

Edit before I go ahead and blaze this: I want to say, to be honest, the creation of comic was initially motivated almost entirely by the isolation/loneliness I’ve felt in my life. It’s not as bad as some folks’ and I know that, but it is a really prevalent thread throughout my life and sometimes is almost unbearable, and my comic began as an exploration of that loneliness, as well as a narrative exercise to try and express the depth of it at its worst point. I’m putting this out here because ultimately I don’t know...maybe someone will catch my drift and understand the feeling I’m trying to illustrate, and maybe they’ll want to see the plot that came of those feelings. I am not above the need to feel seen lol, especially if other people out there feel like they can resonate with this experience as well.

#Eyan Eternal #my comic #vampire #robot #queer sff #indie comic #indie artist

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 4 months

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Sweet Decadence || Part 1 of 2 || Bi-Han/Sub-Zero

A/n: This is the sequel to 'The Bitter Truth'. I have separated it into 2 parts for my reasons, but I want to thank those who read TBT and supported the story.

Please enjoy.

Warning(s): obsessive behavior, female reader, reader uses magic, kidnapping, fights, sequel, post-game.

No Minors Allowed!!

There is something magical about the rain that makes the colors of nature seem much more vivid to you. Though perhaps it is just the blissful mood you are in, altering your perception of things. A rare sight these days, considering how inconsistent your thoughts have been since your heated run-in with Bi-Han.

Hiding away in your room at the newly set up Shirai Ryu compound, you stare out at the forest beyond your balcony in a dazed state as the summer rain pelts the trees and earth.

It feels like nothing but a dream now, and to be honest, you sometimes yearn to close your eyes and return to that moment again. You do not want to be reminded of the past; of the anger and the betrayal that comes with it. No. You just want to remember the feeling.

He was right, that much is clear now.

“You are in denial. It's clear to me where your loyalty lies, and until you come to terms with the bitter truth, I'll leave you with that reminder.”

A phantom pain seizes you, but you ignore it. Just like your morals at the moment. No, you are not an idiot. You know what Bi-Han desires is immoral, but you can not put aside your sentiments for him; sentiments that became clear when he fucked you.

For fuck’s sake. That sounds bad.

It is true though. Not a day has gone by since then that you haven't thought about him; about the way he made you feel, unintentional or not.

Tilting your head back, you rest it against the doorframe and stare up at the ceiling with the sound of the rain in your ears. Your mind is a labyrinth and you do not necessarily care. This ebb and flow of thoughts proves that you have not yet lost your standards.

So long as you avoid Bi-Han in the future, you should be fine.

A sudden knock pulls you from your thoughts and you tilt your head to the side, glancing at the door to the far left of you.

“It's unlocked,” you announce.

A moment later, Harumi Shirai saunters in. You sit up to address her properly, but she raises her hand to stop you.

“There is no need for such formalities, not when it is I who came to see you.”

You grin.

“As the soon-to-be wife of my Grandmaster, it is indeed needed.”

It is strange to address Kuai Liang as Grandmaster, but after all that he has been through and done to build the Shirai Ryu, he deserves the title. He even found time for love.

Harumi offers you a kind smile.

“It is our secret.”

She wanders across the room and sits in front of your vanity.

“Are you faring well?”

You hum.

“For the most part.”

After you came back from the fortress you reported to Kuai Liang about your run-in with Bi-Han, though you opted not to mention the fact you fucked him. The brand he left was hard enough to explain, but it could not be avoided; you needed medical attention.

Kuai Liang viewed it as a failed attempt to lure you back to Lin Kuei, but it was apparent that he was curious about what dark agenda his brother had regarding you.

In truth, you should be dead for denying him.

“And your wound? I can have someone take a look at it if it still pains you,” Harumi mentions.

You decline her offer.

“Though appreciated, that is not necessary.” You subconsciously rest your hand against the brand on your side. “The pain went away months ago…yet it sometimes still burns.”

Harumi frowns.

“If it begins to bother you, I suggest you tell me.”

You snort. It is no wonder Kuai Liang loves her; she is considerate, yet stern.

“Yes, Madam.”

Harumi nods her head in approval and then stands.

“I will see you at lunch. You missed breakfast.”

You are aware. But you suppose that is what warranted this visit.

“The rain has put me in a strange mood,” you lie. “But I will be there.”

Harumi seems unsure, but she does not voice her concerns. Instead, she wishes you a good morning and leaves you to your thoughts again.

You understand. Kuai Liang and Tomas are worried about you. But it is not their problem, it is yours.

Your obsession with Bi-Han is yours to bear.

Shifting your eyes, you stare in a haze at the forest again. Perhaps soon this fixation will pass. For your sake, it had better.

–

At noon, you tear yourself away from the comfort of your bedroom, following the briny scent of fish to the dining room. A spread of rice and vegetables accompanies it, making your stomach twist in hunger.

Before you sit across from Tomas on the left side of the table, you bow in respect to Kuai Liang, who nods his head.

“I am pleased to see that you joined us.”

You grin and turn your eyes to Harumi beside him.

“I was encouraged to.”

Kuai Liang glances at her, then returns to his lunch. You follow suit, however, you notice that in attendance, there are only the four of you.

“Where are the others?” You ask as you pick up your drink.

“Running exercises,” Tomas answers. “Though some are spread out in the nearby villages.”

An unsure look from Kuai Liang makes you pause a moment. You raise a curious brow.

“What is it?”

The Grandmaster sighs.

“Nothing concerning as of yet…but we have heard rumors of hostiles.”

Hostiles. A neighboring clan perhaps. This is the first time you have heard about it, but you suppose the brothers have their reasons.

Focusing on your lunch, you hardly notice the injured ninja stumble in until he collapses to the floor in a bloody mess. In shock, you rush over to him, followed by Tomas who carefully checks over his wounds. He is in bad shape, but thankfully alive.

“Who did this?” Tomas asks in anger.

The ninja raises his trembling hand. You notice a thin metal plate in the palm of his hand and upon further inspection, you notice a familiar symbol etched into it. Your stomach churns in dread.

“Lin Kuei.”

Here of all places.

Tomas widens his eyes and takes the plate from you. He stands just as Kuai Liang approaches with a healer, handing the plate to him.

“Where?” Kuai Liang asks the injured man.

“W-West,” he manages to say.

Clutching the emblem in his hand, he shifts his eyes to Tomas.

“We shall go.”

Without a word, the latter rushes off. You feel a bit shaken, but despite this, you stand.

“Grandmaster–”

“If you are unwell, then stay and protect Harumi,” Kuai Liang interrupts.

You understand his concerns, but you can not just flee from the cryomancer’s shadow every time it threatens to consume you.

“I can fight.”

He gives you a nod and with a bow, you rush back to your room to change clothes. With your gear on, you retrieve your mask from the vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. The sanguine look in your eyes is not something to be proud of.

A short while later, with the brothers in tow, you arrive in the village to the west. The earthy scent of petrichor mixed with death permeates the air. Multiple bodies are strewn across the dirt road, all Shirai Ryu. You find it strange. How is it that there are no Lin Kuei among them?

A scream echoes through the but before the three of you can move, a pair of Lin Kuei descends from the rooftops of the nearest house. Their appearances are unfamiliar.

“Is that armor?” You hear Tomas ask.

It is. Each of them is decked out in similar armor akin to what Sektor and Cyrax wear, albeit they are dressed in Lin Kuei colors. Why, though? What is Bi-Han thinking?

Another scream from the far side of the village rings out and Kuai Liang grunts irritably.

“We must aid those in need.”

You agree with a nod.

“I can take these two,” you suggest.

Tomas looks unsure but Kuai Liang seems to agree. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Be on guard.”

You nod. This should be no problem. You have dealt with the Lin Kuei before. Suits or no suits, it makes no difference. Tomas and Kuai Liang separate, leaving you alone with the two assassins.

“Two-on-one seems kind of unfair,” you state.

Neither of them comment. That's fine. You adjust the plates on your mask, then take a deep breath, releasing a sonic scream that should disorient the two. However, it has no effect.

What the hell?

One of them suddenly teleports behind you and kicks you in the side, knocking you to the ground. It feels as though you have been hit by a truck. And to make matters worse, the assassin struck you right where the brand is.

Fine. If they want to play rough.

You stand and take a fighting stance. The assassin lying in wait teleports behind you while the other aims a kick at your chest, but you manage to dodge them by shifting to the side. Grabbing the latter by the plates on their shoulders, you yank them off balance and use their momentum to sweep them off their feet.

Lying on their back, you raise your leg in an attempt to axe-kick them in the face, but the other assassin grabs you around the chest and holds you in place as the one on the ground stands. It lifts its hand and an intense heat sizzles from within. You can feel it on your skin.

It has a flamethrower.

You grunt in annoyance and lift your lower body, using your feet to push off the fire-wielding assassin, striking them hard in the face and chest. The one holding you falls back onto the ground from the force, giving you the chance to free yourself and roll into a squat above them.

Adjusting your mask again, you increase the volume of your voice. Then with a deep breath, you release a sonic scream point-blank into the assassin’s face. The metal vibrates at such a speed that it short-circuits, sending bolts of electricity shooting out. The smell that follows is nauseating. You wave away the plume of smoke that pours from the mask, but you are not given a moment to rest as the fire assassin shoots a jet of flames at you.

Barely able to escape its range, you roll out of the way and onto your feet. Heat licks at your leg, but you manage to put some distance between you and the assassin, hiding behind a house, before you put out the small flame.

These suits are no joke. You hope the brothers are faring better than you. It is like they were built to withstand your magic. You are not even certain there is anyone inside the suits. But how else are they moving?

When the flames stop, you dart out from behind the house, but to your shock, the assassin is gone. Before you can search for them, the whir of jet boosters catches your attention, and when you look up, you see a familiar warrior in red armor hovering above you.

“Sektor.”

What is he doing here?

“This is a sight, running into you like this,” he states. “I should be upset that you managed to demolish one of my suits, but there is always more room for improvement.”

You turn up your nose as you look at the smoking hunk of metal lying on the ground. So he is the one controlling them.

“Bi-Han let you make that thing?”

“The Grandmaster has thoughtfully embraced my ideas for the future,” Sektor states.

You snort.

“I'm sure he rewarded you well too. Tell me, does he like it when you spit or when you swallow?”

Sektor laughs.

“You are just as direct and spirited as ever. It’s too bad he considers you a waste.”

It shouldn’t have but his words make your blood boil. Your defiance must have switched the cryomancer’s opinion of you.

“Your potential is wasted with Kuai Liang.”

The brand he left on you felt spiteful, a mark of shame.

“Let's see who is the waste.”

You take a fighting stance but to your irritation, Sektor flies off toward the far end of the village. Where is he going? You tighten your jaw and chase after him. His defeat will deal a massive blow to the Lin Kuei, should you catch him.

Chasing him around the side of a nearby house, you do not consider calling for backup. All that is on your mind is beating Sektor within an inch of his life. But as you cross in front of a side alley, something akin to a net shoots out and seizes you, knocking you hard to the ground.

You groan in pain, arching your back as the rock-littered street bites into your skin. What the hell? You struggle but the neon yellow net will not loosen.

“Do not fight it. The energy net will only grow tighter,” a feminine voice orders.

You tilt your head to the side to see a familiar figure in a yellow suit approach from the side alley.

“Cyrax. I should have known,” you sneer.

She is never far from Sektor. You did not think that in your pursuit of him, she would ambush you. It is irksome.

From above, Sektor flies by and then lands beside her. Both of them ignore your attempts to test the net.

“Are we done here?” Cyrax asks.

“I have all the data I need,” Sektor answers. He pauses, then motions with a finger toward you. “All that is left is dealing with our friend here.”

What is that supposed to mean?

Cyrax removes a spherical gadget from her chest plate and approaches you.

“This isn't personal,” she states, sounding as if she is about to put an end to you.

Leaning down, she yanks off your mask, much to your displeasure, and then presses a button on the side of the gadget.

So this is it. You sneer at her.

“Tell Bi-Han he can rot in hell.”

“You can tell him yourself,” Cyrax states.

Before you can figure out what she means, the device beeps and then pops open. From inside, a sweet colorless odor sprays out and consumes you. Instantly your throat tickles, making you break out into a fit of coughs. You attempt to hold your breath but it does no good. Whatever the gas is, its fast-acting properties take effect and everything fades to black.

#mortal kombat fandom #bi han mk1 #mortal kombat fanfiction #bi han x reader #female reader insert #mortal kombat 1 fanfiction #Spotify

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f10werfae · 2 years

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Designer Love

Pairing: Husband! Chris Evans x Pregnant! Reader

Word count: 833

Summary: Y/n can’t find any darn clothes she loves, so Chris takes his role to the next level

Warnings: None?

————-

Requests are open!

Likes, Comments and Re-blogs are appreciated♥️

—————

(Y/n's P.O.V)

“This sucks, the clothes I’ve wanted for ages are not in my size, and they’re not restocking”

I huffed, scrolling down on the website. Sure they’re just clothes, but it’s so hard to find nice maternity clothes.

“What’s wrong honey?” Chris asked walking in from the bathroom, shirtless with sweatpants, his hands on his hips.

“N-nothing fits me and the clothes I want don’t have my size anymore” I stuttered, my hormones playing with my emotions again, tears building up for the seventh time this morning.

“Honey I think your summer maternity dresses are wonderful on you” He said smiling, a hint of a playful smirk on his lips

“You’re only saying that because it means you can take me anywhere” I laughed in between tears, remembering how we’ve basically christened every surface in our new house, Chris had taken a leave from acting for the foreseeable future. He had done enough projects in one year to earn him a long time off, time we’ve been spending well I say.

“Not only that, I just think you’re so beautiful, keep in mind you’re growing a life in this precious body of yours” With a finger poking into my stomach playfully, he nuzzled into my neck pressing kisses feverishly.

“Stop it and let me sleep, your son needs some nap time”

“Alright baby i’ll leave you to it”

“You not gonna join?”

“Unless you want my snores then-“

“Yeah okay enough said handsome, night night”

“Okay bub i’ll wake you up for dinner”

(1 week later)

“Chris what’s in this massive box?” I asked inspecting the massive amazon box, taking up a lot of our coffee table.

“Just something for my gym babe, nothing to worry your pretty little head about” He shouted from the kitchen, walking into the living room and picking up the box, walking towards the makeshift gym in our basement.

Not thinking anymore about it , I just headed into the kitchen to stuff myself up with more blueberry pancakes, made by yours truly.

“Hey babe, you don’t mind if I go over to Ma's today right? She needs me to paint her walls”

“Can I come Chrissy?”

“Babe you know how I feel about paint fumes, especially when you’re pregnant. I do happen to know though that a certain person called Scott wants to go baby shopping”

“Don’t have to tell me twice hun, let’s get me changed”

(3 hours later)

(Chris' P.O.V)

“Ma how do I work this thing” I asked banging the top of the sewing machine I ordered from amazon, stress evident on my face.

“Press the button to start, hold this part and pull the fabric up slowly” Ma said demonstrating it before passing it back over to me, a smile on her face.

“I’m proud of you son”

“Yeah?”

“You’re sitting here learning how to use this machine so you can literally make your wife clothes, that’s a husband if I know one”

“Thanks ma, it just breaks my heart to see herself so upset over it, because to me she’s genuinely so beautiful and she just doesn’t get it”

“Well you keep working at it son- Oh here she is now calling me”

“Ma if she asks i’m painting walls”

“Heard loud and clear”

(3 weeks later)

(Y/n's P.O.V)

“Bub can you come in here please”

“Coming” I called out waddling into the bedroom, Chris standing there with a big smile on his face, a box in his hand.

“What you got there hun, not another snake is it”

“Not this time babe , no. Jus open it would ya?”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I pulled the box over and took the top off. Seeing exact replicas of the clothes I wanted from the site, reaching for the label on one of the tops I see my size gleaming at me.

“H-how? I thought the site said they were out of stock?”

“I know, I made them”

“YOU MADE THESE?!”

“Damn right I did, look at these needle pokes” He proudly showed off his thumbs, both covered in bandages.

“I love them” I pouted, hugging the fabric close to my chest, my heart swelling with love and pride.

“Hey hey I made those so you wouldn’t cry again”

“I can’t help it baby, i just- you love me so much”

“Damn right I do, or else I wouldn’t have knocked you up” Chris said laughing, his arms coming round me to bring me in for a hug, my head on his chest.

“you are so vulgar sometimes” I sniffed out

“So what’s the verdict Mrs.Evans”

“Yeah you’re getting lucky tonight”

(Bonus Scene)

“What do ya think” I asked trying on the jeans and cute crop top that Chris made

*snap* "Hey no pictures"

"I cant help it bunny, you look so cute n sexy"

"Don't push it, I already said you're getting lucky tonight"

"Two rounds?" Chris quirked up a brow

"Yeah, if you can keep up"

#chris evans #romance #chris evans oneshot #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life).

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves!

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance!

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences!

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

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sweetestofchaos · 3 months

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Have Mercy - One | P.JM & M.YG

series masterlist | masterlist

☾ a/n: here is chapter one of the long overdue series. i was supposed to have this finished back in october and it just didn't happen. i am still working on the next chapters, so please don't rush me. i will post as i go and i hope this lives up the hype! please keep in mind that this is a dead dove story. it will get darker in the future chapters! Shout out to @theharrowing for beta reading, a hi-five to @benkeibear for the support divider and thank you @saradika for creating the wonderful lace divider.

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Sitting in the library, surrounded by silence and written words, you are safe. Safe from the stress of the outside world that stops for no one. Tucked away on the floor, back pressed against the shelving unit with your legs pulled close to your stomach with ankles crossed, is where the librarian, Mr. Pete finds you. The book in your lap is one of your favorites, ‘Beauty’ by Robin McKinley. It is one that you have read many times and know nearly by heart.

A shadow falls on your seated form, and when you look up, standing before you are two police officers. You frown, not sure as to why they would be standing in front of you. You haven’t done anything wrong. No one has come to you with a complaint, and you chew on your bottom lip, closing the book with your finger between the pages so that you don’t lose your place.

Seeing that they have your attention, one of the officers squats down and peers at the book in your lap. You notice her stare and clear your throat, “Um…it’s my favorite book. A retelling of Beauty and The Beast. I know it’s childish but the story is beautiful.” You explain, keeping your eyes on the cover in your lap.

The officer shakes her head with a soft smile, “Rapunzel is my favorite.”

She licks her lips, slowly lowering herself all the way to the floor, and your blood rushes loudly behind your ears. What is going on? Why is this officer still here? What does she want with you? She states your full name and when you confirm that is indeed your name, her eyes dim a little.

“Is something wrong?”

You notice that Mr. Pete’s face is pinched and he is looking at his feet. Something is clearly wrong. Are you being kicked out?

“There has been an accident, I need you to come along with us, okay?”

“An accident?”

Your hands feel damp, clammy as you try to understand what the officer, Wise, her name tag reads, is saying to you. You wipe a hand on your cream-colored wide-legged pants and look at the Officer before you. Why would they come to you about an accid-

“My brother…where is my brother? Is he okay?”

Suddenly the book in your hand weighs a ton, crushing your legs and threatening to break your fingers as you struggle to stand on your own two feet. You stumble a little over your tan leather flats, and Officer Wise is quick to rise and helps you up. Steading you with a strong yet gentle grip of your elbow. You remove your arm from her hold and wrap them around yourself as you look between Officer Wise, her partner, and Mr. Pete. The warmth and softness of your tan boucle sweater is slightly grounding.

“Is my brother okay?” You repeat yourself once more.

Officer Wise’s eyes are muddled with something heavy, it’s a look that you haven’t seen many in her line of work wear. She clears her throat and offers what you suppose should be a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t you come with us, yeah? We ca-”

“I’m sorry, but until I know what is going on, I refuse. I do not feel comfortable right now and you are not making the situation any easier.”

Mr. Pete speaks up from his place beside the other officer the moment he hears the distrust in your voice, “Honey, go with them. It’s for the best. Trust me?”

You consider Mr. Pete’s words. The older man is like a grandfather to you, he has worked at this library since you were a child. You nod and start to hand the book you were reading to Mr. Pete, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll check it out for you.”

Offering a thankful smile, you lean away from Officer Wise’s touch and follow her and her partner through the library. All around, people watch and whisper to each other as you are led outside. Your shoulders pull close to your ears and you duck within yourself, wanting to hide away from the attention. Officer Wise takes you to her squad car and opens the back door. You look at the seat, and she rolls her eyes as her partner jumps in the passenger seat.

“Your brother is currently at the hospital…I am taking you there.”

Your heart drops at the news. The hospital? He should be at the basketball court with his friends like he is every Wednesday after work.

“Will you tell me what happened?” You plea, and Officer Wise shakes her head.

“My Captain is with your brother now, he will explain everything when you arrive.”

You get into the car with a frown on your face. You watch the news, you know what horrors live in the world, and your mind races as you try to figure out where your brother fits into them. The patrol car is cold, the leather is worn, and it’s tiny, hardly any room to move. You do not ever want to be back in this seat again. As the car pulls off, you want to watch the world go by, but your head drops to the book in your hands. Your grip is tight, your fingers pressed as flat as they can be against the cover of the book. Taking a deep breath, you focus on the cover and say a silent prayer in your mind.

You are not prepared for what meets you at the hospital. The sterile scent of cleaning products that aren’t strong enough to erase the subtle stench of death that clings to the very walls is strong. Officer Wise shows you to a room that is blocked by two armed officers. You gulp and follow her into the room, feeling your world shatter at the sight of your brother. Tubes and gauze…what have they done to him? Tears burn, blurring your vision as you push past Officer Wise and stumble over to your younger brother.

His chest is moving slowly, up and down. There is a tube in his throat that is breathing for him, hissing with each pump and collapse of grey bags. Someone clears their throat, and you rip your eyes away from the broken body of your brother. An older man stands closer to the foot of the bed, his face tired and remorseful.

“W-What happened?”

You blink a few times to clear your vision, a single tear escapes and you quickly wipe it away.

“I’m Captain Brighthill. I-”

“Please,” your voice is weary, you have no energy for polite greetings and fake pleasantries. “Why is my brother here? What happened to him?”

“Right-” Captain Brighthill clears his throat and looks right into your eyes. “Your brother was caught in the middle of a shoot out between two armed men and some of my officers.”

The book in your hand falls to the floor, the thump louder than any bomb. The Captain takes your silence as permission to keep speaking, and he glances at Officer Wise. “There was an APB put out earlier of two armed men that had committed an armed robbery. The owner of the home was killed.”

You understand what the Captain is saying but that still doesn’t explain how your brother got caught in the crossfire. Your question shows on your face as your eyebrows pull together, and the Captain continues.

“The suspects split up and the officers on the scene were unable to get a proper look at them. Eyewitness reports gave a description and your brother fit the profile.”

The Captain's words echo in your head. Your brother fit the profile…huh? Now where have you heard that before?

“Get out.”

“Now wai-”

“Get out!” You glare at Officer Wise. Now you understand why she looked guilty when she got you inside her car. Officer Wise shot your brother, it was her poor judgment that put your brother in the hospital.

Officer Wise steps towards you and Captain Brighthill places a hand on her shoulder. He shakes his head and pushes the officer towards the door.

“We’ll leave you alone. I’m sure that this is all quite a shock and I offer my deepest apologies.”

You turn your back on them the moment the door shuts and collapse into the seat next to your brother’s bed. They shot him, an innocent kid, minding his own business…protect and serve, what a joke.

“Look what they did to you.”

Your lower lip trembles and you carefully slip your hand underneath your brother’s palm up. He may be younger than you, but his hands are bigger, it is something he always teases you about whenever he gets the chance. You sniffle and rest your forehead on the back of his hand as tears pour from your eyes. You can’t lose him. Your brother is the only family you have left.

The situation hasn’t improved. Your brother was shot five times from behind, one of the bullets hit his lungs, another shattered his right hip bone and another passed through his shoulder, and the other two bullets are embedded in his spine. The doctors are worried about operating on him, and since he has yet to wake up, things are not looking hopeful.

You visit every day, having put in for emergency leave at your workplace; once your boss found out the reason, he nearly pushed you out the door. He is a good man, and gives you a full week to get things in order and figure out what you need to do.

Every day, you sit beside your brother and read out loud one chapter from ‘Beauty’. You started it from the beginning just for him. When you finish a chapter, you sit in silence for another hour and then you leave. You go to the bookshop that Mr. Pete’s wife, Mrs. Betty owns; that their children take care of once in a while.

Mrs. Betty is an older woman who is big into the spiritual side of the world. She believes that everything happens for a reason, but that doesn’t mean that you have to agree with it. She watches as you walk into the shop and smiles wide before she hurries from around the counter. There is a thick leather book in her hands, and it looks old, very old.

“I did some searching and I have found a way to help you, dear.” Mrs. Betty grabs your hand and pulls you over to the tiny round table that sits in the corner. She sets the book before you on the table, and you notice that there is no title. The leather is cracked, the pages are yellowed, and it smells weird.

You eye the book, confused. It is a book, nothing less, nothing more. You glance at Mrs. Betty and she looks at you with wide, eager eyes. Reaching out, you touch the cover of the book, and a shiver runs down your spin. You hesitate and Mrs. Betty makes a tisking sound with her teeth.

“Read it, dear. This will help your brother, I guarantee it.”

Mrs. Betty pats your shoulder and shuffles off to somewhere in the store, leaving you alone in the corner with the untitled book. The more you look at it, the more you notice that it’s not a normal book, it looks more like a journal, or maybe a diary of some sort. Glancing around, you don’t see Mrs. Betty and sigh. It can’t hurt to read it, whatever it is.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you open the book and there is nothing on the first page. You turn to the next page and see a date in the upper right hand corner.

Oct 9th, 1882

You are right, this book is old, and it seems to be a journal, judging by the handwritten cursive in black ink. You have a second thought about reading this, it is someone’s personal story, and since it is untitled, you think it is safe to assume that this isn’t supposed to be read. Chewing on your bottom lip, you close the cover and stand from the table. Holding onto the book, you search the store for Mrs. Betty and find her muttering to herself underneath her breath as she puts books away.

“Mrs. Betty…I-I don’t think I should read this.”

She turns around, her wide eyes wild as she shakes her head. “Nonsense! You take it home and read it, dear. You will understand once you read it. Just read it!” Mrs. Betty pushes you towards the door, and before you can say anything else, she pushes you out. “Read it!”

The door slams behind you and the sound of the lock clicking into place makes you shake your head with a laugh. Mrs. Betty sure is something else. You glance down at the journal in your hands and sigh. Guess you don’t really have a choice. You lift your face towards the sky and say a silent prayer before you make your way to the bus stop to head on home.

It is a fall night like any other. Late enough for the sun to be long forgotten; the sky a pitch-black abyss embedded with tiny silver-white jewels. The moon is large as it hangs in the sky surrounded by wispy clouds, and the air is cool. The scent of the end - fallen leaves, stale corn, and never-ending dirt sits heavy in the lungs as an owl hoots nearby.

There is a crossroads, a stretch of patchy dirt that runs between a corn field, cutting it in two, and an abandoned stretch of farmland. In the distance a dilapidated farmhouse stands on borrowed time. The telltale sign for the truly desperate and damned that they have come to the right place.

A single telephone poll sits at the edge of the cornfield, its lone domed light acting as a beacon in the night. Drawing all those to it like moths to a flame. White-grey swirls of smoke rise out of sight as someone puffs away at a cigarette. Dressed in a suit made of the finest materials known to man, someone unknown yet highly sought after stands hidden in the shadows.

How long have they been out here, waiting for some unfortunate soul to wonder their way? Doesn’t matter, could be minutes, hours, days… Time holds no real value here at the crossroads. Everything moves off axis, a place hidden from the world that only those truly unlucky few find in times of desperate need.

The sound of an engine echoes in the night, headlights burning bright as a black Rav4 rolls down the road. Jazz music softly spills from the cracked windows as the night air floods the space inside. A woman sits in the driver seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her palms sweat. In the passenger seat an old book, the cover and spin cracked with age and the pages yellowed from time, sits.

Its presence is large. A person in its own right, with what is written inside the untitled book. There is an unseen power that surrounds the book, an almost tangible string that always leads the book to where it belongs. In the hands of the very person who filled its once blank pages with such powerful words.

As the car comes closer to the crossroads, the music is turned down and the woman in the driver seat bites her lower lip. She is out of options, this is the only thing left to do…

Please be real. Please, please…

It is the way the soul calls to him; a guiding light in the middle of a raging storm.

Pure.

Untainted by the evil of everyday life but not untouched. The outer shell is covered in scars from the needless violence and vile allure of life. Innocence is rare to come by in this day and age. Every walk of life has access to corruption from the moment they take their first breath. To see a soul nearly flawless is exciting, and it makes his mouth water. How sweet would this being taste? He can’t even remember the last time he feasted on the soul of a truly innocent being. Even the request is innocent. A life for a life. Oh, how lovely this will be.

As the car comes to a rolling stop, onyx eyes hone in on the unfamiliar scent of innocence. Long days spent in the sun, endless laughter from a game of tag, melted ice cream and the bittersweet sting of calling it quits for the night. A tongue, red-pink and longer than normal licks at smoke and cherry flavored plush lips. A grin pulls the skin upward faintly before cheeks hollow inward to inhale the toxic taste of nicotine and tobacco.

As the engine of the car cuts off, the music is cut midsong and the night is plunged into silence once more. Stepping into the dim light of the bulb above, the man appears. A black bolero hat keeps his face hidden in darkness, the red-orange glow of his cigarette the only other light. He is dressed in a black tuxedo with a crisp white button down underneath, tucked into pressed trousers to show his slim waist. A single white handkerchief rests in his breast pocket.

The collar of the undershirt comes above the jacket, three buttons undone that tease to the honey skin beneath. A sliver of black ink peaks from below the shirt above his pectoral and stands in contrast against the skin of his neck just below his ear. Tailor of chaos runs vertically in swirling cursive.

The click of the car door opening fills the night air followed by a thunk that sounds much louder in the dark. White sneakers kick up dust from the dirt road as the woman from the car slowly walks down the narrow road. The old book is hugged tightly to her chest, her heart beating wildly as they get closer.

The man lifts his hand and reaches up, grabbing hold of the cigarette that hangs loosely between his lips. Taking one last inhale, he pinches the white stick with his fingers and flicks it down to the ground. The red-orange end burns brightly, smoke still seeping from it. Lifting his foot slightly, black penny loafers crush the cigarette with the toe. The silver studs that are embedded into the face of the shoes catch the light from above and shine. He slips his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans against the light pole; face still hidden in the dark.

“What’s a nice girlie like you doing out here?”

Smoke spills from his lips with each word as he watches his newest prey, waiting for an answer. The man’s voice is smooth, black silk and whiskey smooth. The woman in front of him trembles, the sound of her heartbeat loud in his ears. A melody that he craves to make his own. Slowly the woman holds out her arms, in her hands, the very book that he wrote himself is offered. He tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow amused.

“A gift for me, little dove?”

“Y-Yes.”

He pushes off the pole and takes slow, deliberate steps towards the woman. Her arms pull back into her chest and she holds her breath. He circles her, taking in the fruity aroma of whatever perfume she wears.

Her clothing is simple, a pale green t-shirt with a white scalloped cardigan over top and light wash jeans. Her jewelry is tasteful, a gold necklace with a tiny daisy pendant and matching earrings. There is a single red rope bracelet on her right wrist that falls over a recent hospital bracelet. Standing right behind the woman, the man licks his lips. He can see her pulse throbbing beneath the delicate skin of her throat, and he wonders just how quick he can get her heart racing.

“I don’t accept.”

“W-What?”

The woman spins around, her eyes wide and mouth parted in shock. The man clicks his tongue and glances down at the book in her hands.

“That is far from a gift,” He takes a step forward, their shoes now toe to toe. “Did you read it? Did you enjoy my suffering?” The man’s dark eyes flash a startling red, making the woman gasp and jump back. He chuckles as the book falls to the ground, unwanted.

“Y-Your… I didn’t-.”

He hums in acknowledgment cutting the woman off. “Yes. Well, most humans don’t understand what they read, now do they?”

“I didn’t read it.”

The words are whispered but he hears them clearly. Didn’t read it? Now that’s a first, and hearing no jump in heart rate, he knows that her words are true. Interesting.

“Why are you here, dove?” He asks cutting right to the chase. “Surely you know what I am and what I will do to you?”

Reaching up, he removes his hat, revealing his face to the woman. He is otherworldly. Handsome in a way that puts Greek statues to shame, and his own work of art made by the very hands of the devil himself. His black hair is coiffed, out of his face and slicked back in a fashion that matches his demeanor - elegant and cool.

“What is it you seek from me?”

“Please?”

“Please?” He repeats, his lips curling into a teasing smile as he swings his hat around on his index finger.

“Save my brother. I will give you anything you ask for. Just please? He has his whole life to live.”

“And you are the one that decides that? When was a new God crowned?”

The woman shakes her head, eyes filling with tears as she sniffles. Oh, this is beautiful. Such despair on one so pure is unimaginable.

“Please?” She tries again, voice wobbling as she bows her head with tears dripping from her eyes.

A hand cups her chin and softly raises her face. Black eyes shine like the galaxy above, endless and vast.

“Your name, dove? Tell me your name.”

She stumbles over her name but once it is said, the man’s face breaks out into the widest of grins. His teeth are a bright white and slightly crooked to match his crooked soul.

“Such a beautiful name for a beautiful soul.” The man tightens his grip on the woman’s chin and licks his lips, “You may call me Jimin.”

Before the woman can respond, the nail of Jimin’s thumb sharpens and slices the warm flesh of her lower lip. The woman yelps in surprise and pain before Jimin’s tongue flicks out and licks away the red liquid that beads to the surface.

A sudden spark, much like that of static shock, zaps where Jimin has licked and the wound is closed. Swallowing the small bead of blood, Jimin releases the woman and takes a step back. She touches her lip and stares at Jimin with those wide eyes that remind him of a fawn.

Wordlessly, Jimin pulls at the collar of his shirt and exposes his upper chest. Right on his pectoral, the woman’s name sits on his skin in red ink.

#jimin fic #jimin angst #jimin x reader #demon!jimin #bts fantasy #fic: have mercy #soc jimin #exqueuese me

33 notes · View notes

j0kers-light · 9 months

Note

I am not sure if your requests are open but was wondering if you would do a smut one-shot where y/n and joker dress up like their getting married maybe it's y/ns weird fetish or jokers but it is one of thems idea that's up to you

[Most importantly hope you don't mind this but the joker isn't wearing any makeup in this]

Ps. Love his lighthouse love it

His Lighthouse: A White Future (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

A White Future - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

Hey hi @jokerslittlepage 🖤✨please excuse me for taking so long in writing this! This one was tricky to write I'm not gonna lie… I feel like Joker is a little OOC in it since I mostly head canon his against marriage but hey. I did what needed to be done. Please don’t hate me!! 🥹🥹 and at this point Joker rarely wears his clown makeup around Y/n so you’re all good beloved!

Enjoy as I post this in the dark at 1AM!

— Oh and this is definitely not possibly canon with His Lighthouse. You'll understand after reading lol 🤭

Also I'm kinda feeling this song playing in the background as Joker and Y/n dance on the balcony. Its soft and gentle enough yet angst for this ill fated couple 😘

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher

Wanna be included in the His Lighthouse journey? Join the taglist!

Joker blamed you for this.

You unlocked another one of his weird fetishes that he never would have known existed, all completely by accident.

You were cleaning out the closet in the guest bedroom and trying on things to see if they still fit. If it didn't, you were donating it.

Joker had returned from a late night meeting at the main hideout and was relaxing on the bed, still dressed in this three piece suit. This one was all black, giving off mafia vibes, especially since he proudly wore the gold chain you bought him around his neck.

Your initials were on a small charm hanging from it. It was a subtle way for Joker to acknowledge his girl; he never took it off.

Joker washed his clown makeup off in the bathroom and was content watching the strip tease and mini fashion show you were putting on. So far he kept his hands to himself.

No surprise Joker was a great judge with his killer fashion sense. He was honest about the things you tried on.

"It's a no for meee."

"Wait, Bunny! Keep that one. It makes your hips look... mmm. C'mere pretty thing.."

"I dunno.. bell bottoms are making a uhhh comeback. I like the color, doll."

"Don't even try that on. Toss it."

"Y/n, what possessed you to buy that?"

Rude comments and all, you were making progress with Joker's help! You had almost everything cleared out and ready to either return back into the closet or in bins for charity, that is, until you squealed and dug out a white garment bag.

"I forgot about this!" You laid the bag out on the nearby couch and unzipped it.

Joker lifted his head at the sound and watched you eagerly lift up a dress. From here it looked cream or was it white? He spoke up to ask. "What's that, bunny?"

He missed your megawatt smile. "One of my fans invited me to her all white wedding before you and I met. She asked me to be her bridesmaid and I totally forgot I kept the dress!"

You held it up to your body and faced the mirror. She was so happy you made it and they were such a beautiful couple. You were glad you made her day even more special by being there. You smiled while reminiscing fond memories.

You turned just enough for J to finally see that garment in its entirety and his brain swiftly short circuited.

"Put it on."

You turned towards Joker. "Huh?"

He had this hazy look in his eyes as he watched you stand before the mirror. The urge to see you in white struck him hard and fast. He didn't know why.

"I said.. Put. It. On."

You knew that tone very well and scrambled to do what Joker said before he lost patience.

You took off your bra and shimmied into the cool satin material. The panty line was too harsh in the white fabric so without thinking, you peeled off your panties and tossed them aside.

Joker swallowed audibly watching them go. He liked that pair very much. However they looked better on the floor.

"Can you zip and button me up?" You held the front of the dress up to your breasts and moved your hair back for him.

Joker took in a shaky breath. The dress wasn't even on properly and he was already having impure thoughts. The ivory color against your darker skin just made it pop even more. You tried on countless articles of clothing tonight but this was the icing on the cake. He stood up from the bed and walked over to you.

His green eyes met your e/c ones in the mirror before you looked away, hiding your flushed cheeks. For once he didn't comment on your skittish behavior.

He reached out and pulled the zipper up, letting his fingers brush against your skin like a feather.

The intimate gesture sent shivers down your spine.

Joker was so close you could feel his body heat on your exposed skin and his hands were like a branding iron buttoning the two pearls at your neck. When he was done, Joker rested his hands on your shoulder and spoke to your reflection.

"You ahhh need heels." He whispered on your neck.

You didn't understand where he was going with this. You weren't trying on full outfits, just the clothing itself.

Joker rolled his eyes when you didn't move and stalked over to your endless pile of heels for himself. He flung a few to the side and mumbled under his breath when he couldn't find the ones he was looking for.

"J what are you doing?" You walked over barefoot but jumped when J laughed after finding the perfect pair. He wordlessly pointed for you to sit down.

Thank goodness a chair was nearby. Joker meant business when he didn't speak. You flopped down in your sage accent chair and waited for the lion to stalk its prey.

You were speechless when Joker got down on his knees to put a pair of Tom Ford stilettos on your dainty feet. They were the same pair he gifted you recently. He swore he purchased them with real money.

Like you actually believed him.

Regardless if he obtained them legally or not, they made your skin tone pop even more and highlighted the stark white of the bridesmaid dress.

You wore clear heels to the wedding but Joker was in charge here. Only the best for his Light.

"There... perfect." He whispered more to himself than you. His green eyes snapped up to you. Joker's hands were rubbing your calves but they slowly creeped up under the gown to caress your thighs. "A vision in white."

From the halter neck to the draped bodice, you were a sight to behold. This gown, what it represented, was doing things to him. His Light bathed in white whereas he was swallowed in darkness.

Yin and yang. The two of you were polar opposites and he absolutely loved it.

"A-Alrighty.. um it still fits! So um... can I take this dress off now?" You asked with a shaky breath. Green eyes pinned you down further into the seat as Joker's lips inched closer and closer to yours.

"NoPe. It's our big day and you look... phenomenal. You look so heavenly.. n' all for me." Joker tucked a wayward curl of hair back behind your ear.

His words made your eyes widen. Big day? What was he going on about?

"J.. what're you..?"

"Stay right here, doll. Don't. Move." He ordered. He grinned at you before backing away and leaving the room altogether.

You blinked in shock but did as you were told.

Just what had gotten into Joker and where did he go? It was taking him longer than a minute to return.

You tapped your heels on the floor as you waited.

He came back with your fresh bouquet of flowers that you always kept on display in the foyer. This week it was a hodgepodge of wildflowers mixed in with chrysanthemums and snapdragons; the perfect wedding arrangement. You finally had an understanding of what was going on here.

"Did you know it's considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?" You accepted the fresh flora and discreetly shook off the excess water from the stems before it soaked into your satin dress.

Joker just shrugged and helped you to your feet. He kissed your cheek and led you out of the bedroom. "Who needs luck when I have you?"

Now that was sweet.

You bowed your head and let Joker guide you out onto the balcony. He walked you out just like a newlywed couple to the reception.

The night was balmy and the distant lights from the Fashion District cast a neon glow on everything. Joker stepped away to turn on the patio's string of lights to soften things up a bit.

They came on and illuminated you in a warm intimate glow. You were missing a veil for this to truly be a dream come true. Joker would just have to go without. Your smile monopolized all of his attention anyways.

You shined brightly just like the lighthouse he named you after. You laughed when Joker bowed and offered you his hand, like a true gentleman.

You both knew he was anything but.

"May I have this uhh, dance?"

Joker's smile was genuine and without his signature makeup, he looked dazzling under the twinkling lights.

You could stare at J for hours. You didn't care about his scars. Yes, they made him into the fearsome man he was, but in your opinion, Joker was beyond stunning no matter how you looked at him.

How could you say no to such a handsome man?

With your bouquet in one hand– you gave Joker the other as he swept you up into a ballroom waltz right there on the balcony.

You heard gentle music playing from the speakers and knew this must've been what he ran off to prepare.

"But you don't plan things.." You mumbled under your breath.

Joker kissed your cheek to silence his laugh. You loved pointing out his affinity for structure and plans.

The two of you danced along to the soft music and stared into each other's eyes. Yours were more bashful whereas Joker did nothing to hide his desire. The grip he had on your hip clenched tighter when you bit your lip. It wasn't unusual for Joker to get handsy but your curiosity got the better of you at the origin of his passion.

"So... um you're not gonna tell me what brought this on?"

He scoffed as if you should've already known the answer. "Do I need an excuse to dance with my wife?" Joker dipped you suddenly.

You were sputtering and gaping like a fish. "W-Whahh? Wife?" He slowly straightened you back up.

"Do play along, Y/n." Joker said with an eye roll.

"Oh I'm sorry Joker! I didn't know we were roleplaying tonight. I was trying on clothes and you went all... thison me! How was I supposed to know you had a bridal fetish or whatever this is? I bet you wanna skip straight to the honeymoon anyways."

You looked away and missed Joker's licking his scars in agitation. You knew the exact buttons to press with him, it was infuriating.

The scene was set. Why couldn't you just play along?

Joker spun you again but this time he jerked you roughly so your back was against his chest. He kept you steady on your feet with his strong grip.

"I.... didn't know I had one until you found this... this... dress. White looks soo... ethereal on you my Light. So what if I wanna end our uhhh re-cep-tion early and consummate our bond. Hmm? Are ya gonna stop me? We both know that's what you wanT."

Joker leaned down to whisper in your ear. "You wanted me since the moment I came home."

That may be true, but he didn't have to call you out on it!

That matte black suit of his was equal parts sinful and alluring plus you really wanted that gold chain of his swinging in your face tonight.. An airy moan slipped out before you could stop it.

How did he know your body better than you?!

Joker ran his hand down the front of your dress and bunched the satin material up until your legs were bare to his touch. The humid air teased your bare sex, making you shiver.

"I bet you're thinking about it.. righT now, aren't ya? Let's see just how needy my wife is..."

Without warning, Joker plunged his fingers into your wet pussy. You clutched onto his forearms and gasped at the intrusion.

"Told ya, princess.. you're sopping wet for me." He groaned at hearing your wet lips gush out as he thrusted them deeper inside. Your eyes fluttered half mast but flew back open in fear.

You looked left and right, hoping it was dark enough for your neighbors to not witness what was going on your balcony.

Just because you owned the penthouse didn't mean there weren't other buildings surrounding yours. Gotham City was notorious for peeping toms and noisy neighbors.

"J-J... my mmph!" Your complaint fizzled away when Joker's thumb rubbed at your clit. Why did you take your panties off around this man?

J loves when you wear dresses and skirts for 'easy access' and for good reason.

The man was a sorcerer with his fingers and you loved when he worked his magic. He curled them just so and had you hurling straight to the cusp of pleasure in record time.

You were wet the moment he walked in the bedroom but he didn't need to know that. Joker knew his tailored suits turned you on.

Finally getting some much needed stimulation was sending you over the edge. You clawed at J's arms as the heat threatened to consume you entirely.

A flick of his thumb against your bundle of nerves and you were moaning out in ecstasy.

You made a mess of his fingers right there for anyone to see if they looked out their window. The thrill of being seen had you squirming in J's arms. You swatted at his hand with your flowers when he tried to prolong your orgasm.

He easily overpowered you and laughed at your sensitive walls clenching down on his fingers. Joker clicked his tongue when you tried bucking away from him.

"Tsk. Always running away." He sighed.

You squeaked when he picked you up, bridal style, and carried you back inside.

Usually Joker would toss you down on any nearby surface and watch your body bounce helplessly before he dragged you back towards him, but today was different.

Today, Joker stopped into your enclosed sunroom and set you down gently on the couch. He hit the light switch and instantly the balcony lights went out and plunged the both of you into darkness.

Now only the moonlight shining in from the glass roof guided his lips to yours.

You dropped your flowers to cradle the back of Joker's head and deepened the kiss. He let you have control for as long as it took him to discard his suit jacket and rip off his tie. He was working on the buttons on his shirt when you pulled away.

"Ngh, no let me... l-let your wife do it." You moaned out.

Your hands were shaking as you undid the buttons. You were too nervous to look up at the panting dragon before you.

Joker let you push his shirt off his shoulders but he tilted your chin up when you failed to look up.

You acknowledged your role and needed to be rewarded.

He whispered your name amongst the lush plants and flora in your sunroom. The air in here was stuffy since he left the balcony's sliding door open. You were already collecting sweat on your brow and good thing Joker took off his makeup earlier or it would be melting off of him.

He still licked at lips in that nervous habit of his.

"Do you want this? Tell me to uhh stop if ya don't." Joker slowly pushed your dress up to bunch up around your stomach. He had no plans of taking it off. If he did, he'd risk tearing it to shreds and that wouldn't do.

If he had it his way, you would wear white everyday, you looked so beautiful in it. But back to the matter at hand.

You nodded in the dark and wrapped an arm around Joker's shoulder. His gold chain was still cool to the touch and you ran your fingers over it fondly.

"I want this. I-I want you. Please, J."

He left a kiss to your forehead and groaned. "You already have me, Y/n."

Joker moved to remove his pants after earning your consent. The sound of his belt buckle in the dark sent a rush of adrenaline to your core. You were excited and the fact you could hardly see made this encounter even more hot.

Your heart was beating out of your chest when you felt Joker's hands slide up your heel clad legs and yank you closer to him. Your back hit the couch cushions and you scrambled for something to hold onto in the dark.

Joker must've seen you flailing around since he guided your hands back onto his shoulders.

No fair how he could see perfectly in the dark whereas you were blind as a hehe... bat.

"Hey.. I wanna see yo— ah!"

Joker slapped his cock on your pussy as if he heard your joke. You jumped at each impact of his hard on hitting your clit and clawed at his upper back in delight.

He seemed to enjoy the sting and tipped his head back in a groan.

Then a pair of neon green eyes stole your attention. It was unnatural the way they reflected off the lack of light, almost feline at times. Joker's night vision was legendary and it was all focused on you.

Your beautiful body sprawled out on the couch. Your curls framing your face like a halo and Joker swore the white of your gown made your melanin skin glow.

How did he get so lucky? He must be dreaming. If it were a dream, he would enjoy it while it lasted.

Joker slid his dick into you, slacked jaw and eyes filled with longing. Your eyes rolled back feeling him stretch you open and come to a rest inside. Joker panted above you and braced his weight on his hands near your head.

You were now caged in with nowhere to go.

"Yeah? This what you– mmhm d__n, is this what you needed, my Light? If ya want me, then take it. Take. All. Of. Meee." Joker grunted and set a rhythm; steady deep thrusts that jolted your entire body and stole your breath.

You buried your hands into his hair and tugged, knowing J loved that. He moved with the motion and laughed to himself.

"F__k, relax Princess and work with me." He pulled his hips back so he could slam into your pussy deeper.

You cried out and wrapped your legs around his waist. He felt the straps of your heels press into his back.

Note to self, clothed sex was hot.

"See? There ya go.. now I can beat it up just the way ya like it. Ohhhh, I got the best wife. Tight cunt, killer body... sexy moans– louder doll. I wanna hear just how good I'm making ya feel."

You bared your neck as he picked up the pace and plowed into your womb. Each rock of his hips hit your g spot and made you dizzy.

You looked up and watched the clouds distort the image of the moon through the roof. Such a beautiful night spent with the one you love.

Joker noticed your distracted gaze and brought your focus back on him by pressing down on your lower belly. You keened loudly in his ear.

"Haha. Eyes on me, Princess. I know, I know. You can cum if it feels that go~od."

You nodded, gasped sweetly, and then came on Joker's cock. And he didn't stop his powerful thrusts either. He plowed right through your orgasm with no regard for your hypersensitivity.

You couldn't escape his passion and took out your agony on his back. Joker hissed when your nails initially dug into his skin but laughed it off.

"Argh, those d__n nails of yours are sharp! Is it really that good, darling? Too much cock making you go crazy stupid already? You want me to stop? Huh? Too bad, cuz I'm noT done yet." He groaned when your walls clamped down tighter on this dick but he recovered quickly to resume his brutal thrusts.

He picked you up by your waist and positioned you to straddle him properly on the couch.

You cried out when you sank further down on Joker's cock due to the angle.

Now he could see you properly as a beam of moonlight shined down from the roof to a spotlight on you bathed in white.

Your hair was in complete disarray and your lips red from biting them in pleasure but in Joker's eyes, you were absolutely stunning.

You locked eyes with Joker and braced your hands on his shoulders. His fair skin was flushed red from exertion but he still looked every bit of Gotham's City most wanted criminal.

The dark gleam in his eyes was a warning in itself.

Your gaze latched onto the gold chain hanging around his neck, and most importantly, the tiny charm with your initial bouncing with each thrust Joker made up into your pussy.

It was hypnotizing and you couldn't help but lean forward to kiss Joker.

He didn't mind and slowed things down so you could feel each vein sliding against your gummy walls. The wet slap of skin and heavy pants was the only sound in the sunroom. You wouldn't be surprised if the glass behind Joker was fogged up by your lovemaking. It was still too dark to tell for sure.

You were the focal point here so you leaned back and put in some work to get Joker off.

You rolled your hips in figure eights that he loved so much and was quickly rewarded.

Joker placed his hands onto your hips and used them like handlebars.

"D__n Y/n. F__k meeeeee." He leaned back on the couch and watched you ride his dick, chasing another orgasm.

You didn't care that you were getting your dress dirty or that your feet were killing you in your stilettos.

Joker took one look at you dressed in white and gold and smacked your behind. You whimpered softly. The sting spurred you to go faster and you began chanting Joker's name like a prayer.

"Nuh uh bunny. You know what ta call me." J whined when you clenched tighter around him.

You bit your lip, looking away.

He could call you wife all night long but it was something different about returning the favor. You knew Joker needed this to get off but it meant more to you.

"Say it Y/n.. p-plea— nghh just once. That's all I, ahhh, that's all I neeeed, darling. I want you to have it, but I need.."

Oh. Joker begging meant he was serious. His eyes were squeezed shut as he neared his own release but you could tell something was holding him back.

You could feel it with how handsy and needy he became. Anything could spill from Joker's lips as he reached his summit. He needed whatever this fetish was.

You drew in limited air and blew it out in a shaky moan.

Just the sight of Joker, usually so composed and calculated, losing all self control– because of you, was empowering. At this rate you were gonna cum again.

You wanted Joker to cum with you; it felt right with the emotions floating in the air tonight.

You choked back a moan, "I want it! I want my husband to c-cum. I need you, J! Please fill me up!"

His reaction was instant.

"Yeah? Ya want it? My beautiful wife wants my cum? Anything you want, it's yours, Y/n. Ask of me anything. I will defy my own will to grant your desires!! Y-You can have it all just.. stay with me. F-Foreever. Never.. s__t, so tight! Never leave me Bunny."

You recognized your own book quote mixed in with Joker's pleas and moans. If possible, you fell even deeper in love. You wouldn't stop for anything after hearing that.

You felt the moment Joker came undone.

He squeezed you close as his hips bucked up into yours uncontrollably. He didn't care about moaning obscenely in your ear because he babbled his deepest darkest fears to you in between struggling to breathe.

"Stay with me, Y/n.. I need.. I need you please— you complete me. You own me. Don't go.. my beautiful wife. M-My Light. All mine.."

It was the most vulnerable you ever heard Joker speak. He was open about his future with you.

You were uncertain about his plans after he healed up and left, but tonight you got a glimpse of the future. He wasn't going anywhere and neither were you and you never felt more closer to him than in that moment.

You bared down and let a silent scream paint your features as your own climax was ripped from out under you.

The fact you came with Joker made the release ten times more intense and hearing him confess in your ear was like an atomic bomb.

Joker fell back and took you with him as the afterglow hit you both. Shivers and gasps were exchanged in the muggy room.

Your dress was sticking to your sweaty skin and you felt absolutely euphoric wrapped up in the arms of your lover. Joker wasn't in any better shape. The satin fabric of your dress was brushing up against his sensitive skin with every rise and fall of your breathing but he couldn't move.

He was slowly softening inside of you and cum was oozing from your pussy and pooling down to your inner thighs.

It was filthy but neither of you could bear to move. You were right where you needed to be. In his arms.

If Joker had a shred of morals he would carry you to the bath and help wash you up but first he had to address what he said during the heat of the moment.

Joker rubbed his scarred lips along your collarbone and subtly cleared his throat.

"I.. meanT it, Y/n." You turned your head and rested it under Joker's chin. "I dunno what started all of this but I uhh.. I'd like that. Us. You know... together.. Not right now! But ahh uhh.. it's on the table for the future... if ya want."

You tensed up in his arms and he thought the worst.

What if you disagreed and thought he was insane? What if you wanted nothing more to do with him? Was this the end of this phenomenal relationship all because he considered marriage?

Joker sounded so cute, all bashful and unsure of himself and you loved watching his eyes dart around in a panic. You put his worries at ease by leaning up and kissing him soundly.

"I meant what I said too silly. I-I need you too but only if you'll have me." You looped your hands with Joker's much larger ones.

He stared at the clash of skin tones and sighed. He was worrying over nothing.

"Forever then, yeah?" He kissed your palm before looking down at you. That breathtaking smile of yours was highlighted by the moonlight.

Since J quoted The Greeks Among Us, you decided to do the same.

"Until the last star fades in the night sky, I'm yours forever and ever, ο εραστής μου."

He rolled his eyes at your direct quote but attacked you with kisses anyway. His sweet little nerd. However the phrase summarized your love perfectly, all for a man who didn't deserve a single ounce of it.

Joker would spend the rest of his days proving his love for you. He could start by giving you that ring he bought.

#thanks for the ask!#ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #joker x y/n #reader insert #joker #heath joker #dark knight joker #black!fem!reader #romance #cross posted on wattpad #joker x reader #cross posted on ao3 #wedding #ledger joker smut #joker smut #long reads #you think J bought a ring yet?#his lighthouse

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write-and-buried · 2 years

Text

Celestial Navigation

Part One - New Moon

Summary; Chris was supposed to be the next step, not leave you single and with the bill. But that's fine. You just need space out of the storm, somewhere calm and quiet to plan.

Warnings; Dieter has a *very* dirty mind.

A/N; Welcome to this unhinged madness that is a Dieter Bravo coffee shop AU. Massive thanks to @radiowallet, @jazzelsaur, @the-ginger-hedge-witch, & @astroboots for putting up with me hollering like a lunatic about this fic for the last few weeks <3

Also! You'll notice in the summary that it says chris. I changed my mind and called him Josh - and I refuse to fix the error 😅😅

[Series Masterlist] // [Main Masterlist] [next]

You could put the sadness in a box. It was small and smooth edged, easy enough to wrap with other inconsequential things and store somewhere to be dealt with later. It could be a remember when, a funny story, told over cocktails with friends in the distant future, a Thursday night not too late so you can get up for your early meeting.

Remember the time, I got dumped over $2 tacos and he didn’t even pay?

It’s not that Josh was the mythical one. You didn't believe in that to begin with, that there was a perfect twin for a debated soul, someone that filled the gaps you were missing. But you fit together anyway, just a head taller than you, his California blonde hair bright as his smile in photos. He was a junior partner at Kirkland & Ellis, and that was reason enough to leave you with a twenty dollar cheque and a somewhat bruised heart.

You’d called in to the office, telling them you were taking the rest of the day. Your boss hummed down the line and hung up. You were convinced she didn't even know your name. Why would she, one of a hundred interns vying for the same three salaried positions at the end of the year. You were sure you were towards the top of the heap.

But it was better to miss an afternoon and not be thought of, than to be the girl crying in the toilet. One hundred other interns, 86 of which were men, 44 of which had parents in the industry, a good word and a halo already. You knew two of those spots would be nepotism picks. You were hoping they didn’t pick Crystal. Her father was the namesake of the second biggest financial advisory firm in the city. You were working for the first. And you could bet your merger pay check that only one of those spots was for a woman.

All the extra curriculars, all the tests, all the late nights and refusal of party invitations got you this far. Got you into the intern program, only to discover that your grades were the same as your peers, you were all top of the class. And while you mixed and matched your daily suits, they had dozens they could choose from. You dug through thrift stores to find shirts with collars, they had staff to do it for them. Their apartments were paid for by their parents. You wondered if roaches would pay rent.

You had decided to walk, bag tucked close to your side as you swiped away the few stray tears that didn't fit with sadness. Josh was supposed to be the next step. He was supposed to clear a drawer for you, offer you a key. 8 months of dating and relatively mediocre sex had led you to believe that it was going somewhere. He introduced you proudly on his arm at work functions and mostly remembered to refill your drink.

You had a plan. You had goals, dates you wanted them achieved and now the rest of the year in your diary would have to be altered. September - exchange keys, October - move in together, discuss marriage and children, November - begin sharing financial details… He was supposed to propose by Valentine’s day. You were supposed to be married next fall.

Not that he knew that of course, just that it was the best box to fit into. The steady increase of your personal life, on track with both your professionals. The gentle upward slope of adulthood that you were told to expect. Except you didn't. Josh wanted to have fun. He wanted something spontaneous. You were spontaneous, you made sure of it. You had days marked with little hearts to initiate sex, even though he wasnt interested in anything other than missionary with the lights off. In your fifteen minute lunches you googled interesting date ideas, they looked perfect on your Instagram.

It was ridiculous. But his puzzle piece fit in with the rest, without a stable partner, it was difficult to find a stable job. For all its progressiveness, all its eccentricities, this town wanted you to be one thing to succeed. Predictable. Your job didn't care about sexuality, they were even making good strides on not caring about ethnicity, gender or appearance. But they wanted you partnered. The same way they had a dress code, they had a code for your life.

And this was all you had ever wanted. You just needed to figure out how to get it with the corners of your puzzle missing. As if they were laughing at your best laid plans, the heavens chose that moment to open, making good on the threat of grey clouds and your crappy mood.

The storm was sudden and heavy enough to flood the gutters. Every taxi had its light switched to occupied, the streets howling with horns and aggressive screaming as drivers tried to navigate the sudden downpour. The sky crackled purple with electricity, booming thunder that you could feel in your bones as you hid in an alcove, half protected from the rain and tried to order an uber.

85 minute wait. Quadruple fee. Fuck. You tried to search for a Starbucks, a bar, something close by before you lost signal, your phone battery beginning to drain in protest. You had no umbrella in this handbag. That was in your winter bag, tucked in an eco friendly sheath and waiting for the seasonal change. All this bag had was your journal, keys, wallet, and a paperback you’d been promising yourself to read for the last six months.

You could barely see through the rain, no friendly signs that indicated a dry welcome, no golden arches or green mermaids welcoming you as your shirt got wetter, your stockings sticking damp to your legs. The rain don't break the summer, but pressed it on you, feeling the heat stick to the back of your neck as steam rose from the pavement, taunting curls into the afternoon sky.

There was nothing else for it. You’d have to start walking, duck into the first open establishment you came across, hope it was somewhere you could settle until your shirt dried or the storm cleared, whatever came first. You thanked your closet rotation that you had chosen flats instead of heels today as you braved the sticky warmth of the weather.

The first door you find is old oak. Nestled between a block of offices and a backpackers hotel that’s closed for renovations, there’s no sign out front, just a worn cardboard open in electric green. You’re not sure what to expect when you push, the creak of old hinges sounding loud against the thundering rain.

It’s been a slow day. The rain was always going to make it so, even if it only chose to announce itself late in the day. The city can sense a storm, contracting in on itself as people stayed in their comfort zones, their little bubbles where they could flit like hummingbirds from work to home and back, ease of access, restricted movements.

“Close up early?” Owen said, a flicker of hope in his voice.

“You know the answer” Dieter replied, laying further back on the counter, feeling his back crack and letting out a groan of pleasure.

“Nobody is going to come in this storm D” he replied.

“It’s the eighth”

He heard Owen snort behind him, the bored flush of a steam wand. He heard the rhythmic clicking of a smartphone keyboard.

“Silent” Dieter said, without looking up, earning himself another derisive snort. He was sure the tall man was flipping him off.

“Molly said she’d cover for me tomorrow”

“I don’t care”

“Dude, is it going to be this every year?”

“It will happen”

“If it was going to happen, don’t you think this date in 2008, or 2018 for that matter, would have been more appropriate?”

“I thought about that. But I think the duality makes more sense, don’t you? That it’s two, rather than three”

“Or it’s not real, or you missed them on those dates.”

“Hmmm” Dieter mused, scratching at his chin as he studied the exposed brick wall opposite “I was pretty deep in a k-hole in 2008. You might be right.”

“So can we close, please. There’s this…”

The bell sounded before Owen could finish his sentence. The old rusty thing creaked and protested, rather than tinkled lightly. Dieter loved it, the way it warped and twisted. One day it would fall off its screws and shatter into a rusty heap. He was going to make a paint from the oxide. Paint its ghost on the walls.

He didn’t care for customers. Served them only when Owen or Molly told him someone was looking for the owner. He lived for their expression when the owner appeared in a bathrobe, a tidily rolled joint behind his ear. Molly banished him whenever the health inspector came by, and was the one who made sure they passed. Owen begged for a social media presence, Dieter refused. He hadn't even named the place, putting a question mark on all the tax forms, and handing them to his overpaid accountant.

He was lucky to find employees who loved the work, who took on the responsibility he wasn't willing to. He was waiting. They knew it, they’d heard him say it a hundred times. That this, this building, its large studio apartment above it was exactly where he was supposed to be. That the convergence of energy on this particular spot was something, he could feel it in his bones. Five years of waiting.

And here you are.

It was a coffee shop apparently. The smell of dark roast and peppermint on your senses as you shook the rain off your nose. At least it had blurred the tears, the ruination of your makeup could be blamed on the weather as opposed to your very recent breakup. Shivering slightly you took stock of your shirt. Soaked, but not see through. Clinging in a way that made you look like a drowned rat, rather than an extra in a rock music video. You shook the worst of it off your hands, moving to the counter where a tall thin man stood, muffling laughter behind his palm.

“Uh, hi. Could I get… Um, I don't know just a black coffee? And your WiFi password please?”

“Coffee no problem, but no WiFi. Sorry” he shrugged, indicating the machine for you to pay.

"What sort of coffee place doesn't have WiFi?" You mumble.

"This one" came a voice from behind the pastry display. You caught a hint of wild hair, soft curls and flecks of grey before it ducked further out of sight.

You opened your mouth, but the man behind the counter gave a cough, shaking his head subtly as you met his eyes.

You sat in the corner, jamming yourself into the squashy armchair and using some paper napkins to blot the worst of your handbag. Your journal was only wet on the corner as you pulled it out, and you breathed a soft sigh of relief.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say your life was enclosed in these pages. Neat lines broken down into year then month then day, columns for work columns for personal, phone numbers and birthdays and deadlines all combined in one bound book. You had a half dozen empty ones in your apartment. You’d carted the boxes of full ones from your childhood bedroom to college to your closet in your shoebox apartment. Consistency and routine. Everything in its place.

You could feel the sadness ebbing away as you traced the pages. You had so many left, so much more time to formulate a new plan. There were ways around this setback, ways to pour more into work now that your personal column would be empty. There was a satisfaction in going weeks ahead, putting neat lines through dates for Josh, crossing out the love hearts on days you planned to have sex.

You managed a thank you when the barista dropped your coffee. The warmth cupped in your palm chased away the last of the chill from your wet skin, and you looked around as you took your first sip. Eccentric was a word for the place. Though toddler-on-acid seemed more appropriate. Exposed brick was covered in paintings. Some small caricatures, other larger pieces in what seemed to be chalk and charcoal.

The furniture was mismatched past the point of deliberate, a mix of lawn furniture and couches, tables with missing legs that were flaking rust. Glass topped coffee tables that looked as though they had gilded feet. It was somewhere past dumpster chic, well into the territory of someone just picking whatever piece they thought was pretty and shoving it into a space that fit.

The counter was the only place that looked deliberate. Poured concrete with a gleaming espresso machine, bags of beans lined neatly next to grinders, a glass display case with a few shelves of delicious looking pastries. You could hear the humming of a fridge somewhere when it hit you. No music. There was no soft jazz to lull you into staying, no alternative rock to give an edge.

You couldnt see a jukebox either, no novelty record player tucked into a corner. This place was the opposite of curated, it had no vibe of which to speak. It seemed to have simply sprung into existence, wedged between two buildings as it was, some fever dream of a coked out college student and a piece of real estate you knew would have cost millions.

You saw the same flash of soft hair appear behind the display. Could hear the whisper over the sounds of the storm, the scrape of something on the wooden floor. A yelp and half a crash as you watched a man spill out from behind the counter, a milk crate skittering behind him. He was mumbling a string of curse words as the barista helped him to his feet, turning away to muffle laughter into his shoulder.

He was scruffy. That was the polite word. Disheveled. Unkempt. Not dirty, but certainly uncaring of his appearance. He was wearing crocs, mismatched colours at that and what appeared to be a bathrobe, but could also be a Kanye West exclusive worth thousands of dollars. You watched their half argument almost absently as you studied him, the rings on his fingers catching the light as he pushed his sleeves up, only for them to immediately fall down again.

Soft. He looked soft. You watched as he ran his hands through his hair, messing it up more somehow before turning back to your journal, your eyes swimming into focus as you started your daily notes. You had barely scribbled 08/08 in the corner before you heard footsteps, and the sound of a barstool being scraped towards you.

“It’s lucky” the unkempt man said. His voice was like sand, gritty and deep as he put a chipped plate with a muffin on it, steam curling from the top. Rich, fat blueberries had stained the mix, bleeding purple onto the plate.

“I’m sorry?” you asked.

“Today, it’s lucky. The number eight brings power and strength. Self confidence, freedom.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you looked back down at your journal, beginning the measuring of lines to mark the hours you had spent today. Water intake, working hours, tasks completed, tasks not completed.

Another scrape of the chair.

“In love, it symbolises infinite perfection. Your one true mate. Today of all days, the eighth of the eighth, you could find your perfect match the same time they find you”

Looking up you meet his eyes. They're a warm cinnamon brown, creases around his eyes as he smiles for looking at you, the stretching of his soft plush lips as he points at the muffin.

“For you”

“I don’t believe in any of that shit” you say, shaking your head. There’s something about his presence. You’re not tempted to tell him to fuck off, you’re not itching for privacy. The gravel of his voice is soothing, like a human white noise machine. And his gaze is fixed on your face, not the still wet shirt clinging to your breasts.

“It believes in you” he says, before getting up and leaving you with the still warm muffin.

“I didnt order this” you call after him.

“On the house” he replies, not looking back as he vanishes behind a beaded curtain you didnt notice.

Deiter could be having a heart attack. It feels like the time at Tunnel where he took too much cocaine and mixed it with extra cherries in his rum and coke. Everything is too fast, too much, his nerves on fire. But he’s only smoked two joints today, no other pills or powders in his system. Which means it must be you.

“You good?” Owen asks, sticking his head through the curtain. Dieter nods, his brain playing a loop the honey sweetness of your voice.

God you’re more beautiful than he would have ever imagined. If he didnt know it was you, would he be feeling this way? Like a heavenly being had just graced his presence, floated down into his life like a feather on the wind. If he passed you in the street, would he focus on the dent in your bottom lip, the way you worry at it with your teeth.

Would he think about the way you moved, the peek he took from behind the counter to watch your hips sway, your plush ass squeezed into a drenched pencil skirt, the stick of hair on the nape of your neck. God you had sucked on the end of that pen, tapped it twice against your lip as you measured and wrote in that journal. He could have come in his pants.

You look like an old Hollywood movie star. He wants to drag the sheets from his bed and set up the film projector, have you walk in the same way Bette Davis did, watch your eyes narrow like Hepburns, see the playfulness of Garbo, watch the way they all moulded together for him, to make you.

You were made for him. Those hips that were wide enough to grab, how he could watch the ripple of your flesh as he slammed into you from behind. Those gorgeous fucking tits that he deserved a medal for not staring at. They would spill over his palms, your nipples hard like candy as he soaped them in a bath, fucked between them and watched his cum paint your face. It would suit you perfectly, a canvas covered in his spend.

He put his head between his legs on the stairs, taking deep breaths and willing his erection to go down. He had to go and talk to you, had to hear more things spill out of those perfect lips, and he wasnt going to be able to do that with his cock as hard as it was now, throbbing painfully beneath his sweats as his brain offered an image of you straddling his face, your juicy cunt just inches from his mouth as he palmed your perfect ass.

“Stop it” he growled at his crotch, recieving only an angry throb in return. He tried to remember the last thing his yoga instructor has taught him. Remembering that he fucked his yoga instructor and was no long welcome back in the studio was what finally made it go down. Despite how strong their core muscles were he was still irrationally pissed off that he couldnt get back in for a strawberry and mango smoothie.

You were still there, absorbed in the scratching of your pen on a page. He focused fully on your hands, the grip of the pen, the way you leaned so close to the paper, your eyes flicking fast beneath long lashes to follow your own handwriting. He was going to paint you later. He was sure he still had space on his bedroom wall. You were absently picking at the muffin, pulling blueberries from the pastry and slipping them between those sinful lips.

He forced himself through the beaded curtain before his cock got any more ideas. Owen was typing furiously on his phone, probably to Molly or Blake, he was sure this story was being told via group chat on some app he’d never heard of. In a way he was glad. It was a primary source to the first chapter of your story.

The man came back again, this time pulling an arm chair from another corner to sit level with you. He didnt ask you anything, just watched as you studiously ignored him, seeming completely at ease with one pant leg rolled up over his knee. His skin was smooth and looked warm and as soft as the rest of him.

“How was the muffin?” he asked softly, waiting for a break in the rhythm of your writing as you sat back to let the ink dry.

“It was very nice, thank you. But I didnt order it” you replied.

“On the house” he said again.

“Whose house”

“Mine. Literally actually, I have an apartment upstairs” He seemed nervous, his jewelled fingers twitching as he looked at you. If you didn’t know better you thought he was going to try and hold your hand.

“Oh, this is your place?” you asked, matching the eccentric furniture with his fashion sense as he nodded.

“Did you have a bad day?” He asked, running his hand across his thigh. He seemed unable to sit still, grabbing at threads on his robe, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Yes” you admit cautiously. “The muffin helped.”

“Do you want me to read your palm?” he asked suddenly.

You laughed, looking at him with a raised brow.

“You know, so you can see if bad days are ahead” He shrugged. This guy was weird. Not deliberately quirky or acting out a hipster fantasy, but capital W weird. But he smiled whenever he looked at you, and by the laid back nature of the barista currently sitting on the counter, you were reasonably sure he wasn’t dangerous in any way. He owned the business afterall. Maybe this was his schtick, to keep the customers coming back.

“I don’t believe in that shit” You repeated, slipping your pen away, freeing your hands regardless.

He shrugged, reaching for you slowly, as though he was inching towards a feral cat. Both hands in plain sight as you didnt pull away. Shaking your head you offered him your left with a roll of your eyes. Better to humour him you figured.

Electricity zapped through your skin when his fingers enclosed your wrist. Warm had been the right assessment, heat travelling through your veins as he thumbed across your pulse, thick fingers with soft callouses as he traced your palm, encouraged it to lay flat in his own.

“This is your head line” he said, his voice dropping low, the smoky rasp sending an unexpected shiver up your spine. “Deep and long, you’re a clear and logical thinker.”

His touch was like a whisper on your skin as he traced your palm with his index finger. “There’s a break, just here, in your lifeline. Means a change in lifestyle”

You snort at that. “Just got dumped. I guess you got one”

His eyes whip to yours at that, a brief flash of an emotion you cant decipher as he stares directly at you, his lips pursed. He looks back down at your hand, letting out a long breath before continuing his delicate exploration of your palm.

“This here is what im most interested in” he says, stroking back and forth across the pad of softness below your thumb. “It’s called a mount of Venus. Yours is very pronounced”

You go to jerk your hand back, half offended as he tightens his grip on your wrist with a smile.

“No it’s perfect. It’s just like mine actually, its thick and padded, nice and plush. Perfect in fact” he seems so enraptured by it, his fingers drawing whirl patterns on the skin.

“Why is it perfect?” you ask, curiosity finally getting the best of you.

“Best I don’t tell you that just yet” he says, looking at you with a wink. He grins as he does so and you smile back, the smallest bloom of happiness unfurling in your chest at the intensity of his gaze.

“You have a beautiful smile, Bette” he says, his own grin growing wider.

“Bette?”

“Davis” he says with no other explanation.

“So, what’s my future then?” you ask, as he curls your fingers back into your palm, flipping your fist in his grasp so he can stroke across your knuckles, seemingly distracted by the slope of them.

“Oh, you’re going to fall in love” he says.

“Not interested.” you reply.

“Not yet” he says, looking up from the freckle on the back of your hand. “I don’t think it will take too long though. By New Year’s, you’ll be in love - desperately so. Soulmates are like that.”

“I don’t believe in soulmates” you repeat, slightly exasperated.

“Doesn’t mean they aren’t real.” He replies, an edge of stubbornness in his voice. “No, you’re perfect for one another. You’ll end up like an old Hollywood movie, living happily ever after without a care in the world. Dieter Bravo is definitely the one for you”

“And who is Dieter Bravo?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

He pulls your knuckles to his mouth, brushing the barest hint of a kiss across them, his breath warm on your still damp skin.

“I am”.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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runnning-outof-time · 2 years

Text

Research | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - for @zablife ‘s 600 followers celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy enlists a librarian named (Y/N) to help him with research on his latest opponents.

Warnings: language, smoking, mentions of drinking

Word Count: 3109

A/N: this was a very self-indulgent fic to write because I thoroughly enjoy research and would love to be a librarian. Congrats on 600 followers again, Lee! Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) was so busy working on re-cataloguing the returned books that she hadn't even noticed someone had approached the library's front desk. It wasn't until that person cleared their throat that she looked up. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. How can I help you?" she apologetically asked the man standing across from her. He was dressed in a suit with an overcoat on top of it and was wearing a peaked cap.

"Can you help me find a book?" he asked her as he set his hands on the desk and leaned against them.

"Do you have a title?" (Y/N) asked, a polite smile on her face now.

"No. My sister said it was about the bastards that ran away," he gave her the little information that he did have. (Y/N) couldn't help but laugh slightly at his words.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that that's not its title," she pointed out the obvious before continuing, "you said sister...does she work here?"

The man nodded his head. "She does. Her name's Ada."

Realization flashed in (Y/N)'s eyes. "Shelby," she filled in the last name, "which means you're either Arthur, John, Thomas, or Finn," she then rattled off names before blushing slightly, "Ada talks about your family regularly."

"I'm Thomas," he told her, a slight smile playing on his lips, "but Tommy works too."

"Well it's nice to meet you, Thomas. My name's (Y/N)," she formally introduced herself then. "Now can you tell me what the topic of the book you're looking for is? Maybe that'll help narrow it down."

"The Russian Revolution," he gave her the information she was looking for and she nodded her head before she came around the desk and waved her hand for him to follow her.

"You're interested in history?" she asked him, her voice lowered now that they were walking amongst the shelves of books as well as the other patrons who were busy reading.

"Not necessarily..." he trailed off, his loud voice earning shushes in response, "just wanted to broaden me mind," he continued talking at the same volume level as before, unbothered by the disgruntled people.

(Y/N) only nodded her head as she brought him further into the library. She then stopped upon a shelf that she thought would have the book she was looking for. She looked at all of the options before grabbing the ladder and sliding it over to where the book she needed was. Then she climbed the rungs, grabbed it, and brought it back down for the man standing next to her. "Is this your book?" she asked, holding the small, red-covered book out in front of her.

"It is. Thank you," Tommy nodded his head before he took the book from her hand.

"You're welcome, Tommy," she smiled at him, happy to have helped him find the book he needed, "I'll be back at the desk...if you need help with anything," she then told him, jerking her thumb in the direction they'd come from.

"I'll come to you if I do," he nodded once more, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips as she then turned and walked away. He watched her go for a few moments before he found an empty table and sat at it. Then he opened the book and began reading.

"Good afternoon, (Y/N)...I was wondering if you'd be able to help me find some more books." The sudden voice came out of nowhere and it made (Y/N) jump; the pen in her hand went flying and the papers she had neatly stacked next to her book got disheveled as she set her hands on the desk to steady herself.

"You scared me, Tommy!" she exclaimed, knowing who the voice belonged without even having to look up. She had his voice stuck in her head since he first came to the library a week ago.

"Sorry," he apologized, although there was still a smirk on his lips. (Y/N) shook her head at his amused expression, unable to keep the smile from her features. "I need you to help me find some more books," he then repeated the second half of his original sentence.

"Ok," (Y/N) nodded before she went to the project that she was in the process of working on, "let me clean up what I was working on and we'll go see what we can find," she said as she made sure that her materials were in a neatly stacked pile before she came around the desk. "Follow me," she told him, waving him along as she walked through the shelves.

Soon enough, they were at a table with a few books stacked atop each other. Tommy had the same red-covered book in front of him again, and he was flipping through the pages as (Y/N) watched him intently. "You seem to like that book," she commented after a few quiet moments.

"It has the information that I need," Tommy answered her without looking up.

"But you've asked me to find you more books..." (Y/N) pointed out, trailing off as if the statement was a thought.

"I wanted to see if I could find more information," he responded, finally looking up at her. She lost her train of thought the second his blue eyes locked onto hers, and it took a moment to snap out of the trance that they'd brought on.

"I can help you find some," she told him after she finally managed to rip her focus away from his stare.

"Yeah?" he asked, his eyebrows raising slightly. She nodded and then picked her chair up so that she could bring it right next to his. Tommy glanced down at its placement, they were sitting rather close together now, but he didn't comment on it.

"Yes," (Y/N) affirmed with another slight nod before she motioned to the book. Tommy understood what she was getting at and let her take it from him. She then flipped to the back of the book and began scouring through the source notes that were present there. "Is there anything specific that you're looking for?" she asked him after she'd been flipping through the pages for a few moments.

"A man; named Leon Petrovich Romanov," Tommy answered her and she began flipping through the pages once more, "I'm interested in his dealings in Russia...wanted to find out more than just who he is," he continued as she then reached over for another book and started flipping through it.

"Any specific reason?" she asked out of curiosity as she then started searching through the book's index.

Tommy sucked in a breath and let it out, taking a moment to decide if he wanted to disclose any information to her before he responded, "I've been asked to work with him...I wanted to know more about what I'm getting myself into," he gave her a broad response.

She took it without further question and pulled a third book in front of her. Several moments passed before she finally stopped flipping through the pages and looking in his direction. "I've found some stuff that may be useful to you," she informed him. Tommy raised his eyebrows at her statement, his nonverbal way of asking her to continue. "There's information in this book about his family, his role in the Russian Revolution, and the people that he's been linked to," she then listed off the topics of information that she found. Tommy nodded along as she spoke. "The trick to finding more information and sources is looking at the notes included at the back of the book. Everyone skips over them really, but they help a great deal when you need to corroborate your evidence."

Tommy was impressed by her words. "You seem like you know what you're talking about," he commented.

"I'd hope so...I'm studying literature at university at the moment and my professors would have my head if I didn't know how to use an entire book properly," she told him, laughing slightly as she remembered all of her professors' lectures on the parts a book had.

"Literature?" Tommy questioned, intrigue in his voice.

(Y/N) nodded. "Yes, literature. American literature to be exact."

"And why American?"

"Because I read Henry David Thoreau's Walden and was instantly hooked," she answered his question, "now I've decided to devote my scholarly work to him."

"Is that what you were working on when I scared you?" he asked her, grinning slightly as he thought back to the reaction he caused.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes at the mention of what happened earlier, a smile forming on her face as she nodded her head slightly. "Yes. I was doing a deeper reading of Walden. My prospectus is focused on the question of whether or not Thoreau truly could have felt complete solitude amongst the woods when he was only living a mile away from civilization during the time of writing Walden, and I'm sorry...I'm probably boring you now," she ended by looking down at the table once more, feeling slightly embarrassed that she had just delved into what most people would find boring.

But Tommy didn't seem to mind. "You're not a bore," he assured her, "actually I wanted to know if you'd like to get a drink and explain to me more about your project," he then smoothly asked her. She was able to tell that there was a grin on his face without even looking at him.

She confirmed what she already knew when she turned her head to look at him. He still had his eyes on her and a half-smirk adorned his lips. She once again got sucked in by his eyes and had to fight hard not to just fall at his feet right there. "I've done my research on you, Tommy," she finally spoke, her voice now lower because they were rather close together.

"Oh yeah?" he started, his eyebrows raising, "what have you found?" he asked as his eyes widened slightly, the intrigue in them evident.

"Nothing good," she held his gaze, shaking her head slightly as an added measure.

Tommy laughed softly and nodded his head to the side, "sounds about right," he agreed with her, his smirk still present.

"I would be interested though," (Y/N) said almost as soon as he was done speaking. She mentally kicked herself for saying her words in a way that seemed desperate...like if she waited a second after he finished his statement, his mind would have been changed.

"Yeah?" his eyes were on hers again. He couldn't deny that he was surprised by her statement. He thought his chances had flown out the window when she hit him with the 'nothing good' line.

"Yes, but I'll have you know that it's because I'd like to tell you more about my work on Thoreau," she said, the second part of her statement making Tommy chuckle.

"Either way, I'll take it," he shrugged his shoulders.

The two first spent some time searching through the books placed on the table. Once they were finished, (Y/N) told her boss that she was leaving and they set out for one of the taverns that were close to the library. They were immediately given one of the finer tables in the establishment and a waiter came over so fast to take their order that (Y/N) couldn't even comment on the amazing service they were getting. Surely it had something to do with Tommy's standing within the city.

With their drinks in front of them, Tommy allowed (Y/N) to tell him more about the project she was working on and what she hoped to get out of it. Then Tommy, while staying mum on most of the finer details of what he was working on, gave (Y/N) some background on why he'd been wanting to do research on the Russian Revolution and the Archduke that he mentioned earlier.

After those topics were out of the way, they talked a bit more about themselves. Their conversation lasted for a long while without them even noticing until one of the managers of the establishment kindly asked for them to leave. They heeded to the request and Tommy graciously offered to walk (Y/N) home, which she accepted with butterflies in her stomach.

At the door to her apartment, she thanked Tommy for a wonderful evening and then pressed a kiss to his cheek. She immediately became embarrassed by her actions and felt that she went too far, but the grin that Tommy was wearing once she pulled away helped to quell her nerves. They bid each other goodnight and Tommy began walking down the hallway, away from her apartment. (Y/N) watched him until she couldn't anymore before turning the key and entering her dwelling with a smile on her face.

"Thomas Shelby, you can't be smoking in here!" (Y/N) hissed as she approached the table he was sitting at. He was focused on the book that lay open on the table, but (Y/N) was focused on the cigarette that was dangling from his lips.

Her voice made him look up. "Hi, love," he greeted her, the nickname he called her by making her insides heat up and a blush travel to her cheeks, but she had to remain calm. There had been more nights filled with drinks and conversation after the first, and now (Y/N) couldn't hide the fact that she may have developed an interest in this man.

"You need to put that cigarette out," she told him, her eyes still trained on it, “and you can’t be smoking here.”

"Didn't know," he mused as he removed it from his lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he dropped it to the floor and stamped it out with his shoe. (Y/N) gasped and looked down quickly, relief filling her once she saw that it had been extinguished on the wooden floor rather than carpet.

"Yes you did...I've told you a handful of times before," she told him, unable to stop the smile from forming on her face as he looked at her with a lazy grin. "What are you reading?" she asked him then.

"The same old shit," he replied, motioning to the book on the table before he sighed, "are there any more books on this royal family's involvement in the conflict?" he asked her then. She came around to where he was sitting and peered over his shoulder to get a good look at the book he had all while trying to ignore the sensation of her body brushing against his.

"There might be," she told him, glancing in his direction briefly before she took a step back and straightened out her skirt. "Follow me, I'll help you find some," she said, waiting for him to stand before she started walking through the rows of shelves.

"Should I be worried that you're taking me to the other side of the library?" Tommy commented after they'd been walking for a few moments.

"Shut it, Tommy," (Y/N) hissed, turning to shoot him a glare that she wasn't able to keep up for long due to the stupid grin on his face. Soon enough, she slowed down at a shelf of books. "There should be some amongst these books," she told him, her eyes carefully looking at the books' spines in hopes she'd find what she was looking for. Tommy, on the other hand, was too busy looking at her as he leaned up against the shelf. "Ok, so this one..." she trailed off as she pointed to a book on the shelf, "might have something in it about the family itself, but you said you're looking for something more on their involvement in the revolution, correct?"

"Hmm," was all she received, which made her look at him with raised eyebrows. Her eyes locked with his, engaging her in yet another fight to try and keep her right mind.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" she asked, the startings of a grin playing on her lips.

"No," Tommy shook his head, not even seeing the point in lying. He continued before (Y/N) could say anything, "you looked fuckin' beautiful saying it though," he told her, a grin forming on his lips as he took in her shocked reaction.

"Tommy!" she hissed, her eyes wide as she tried to stop her cheeks from heating up.

"Sorry," he shrugged slightly before he pushed himself off of the shelf. In a swift movement, he managed to take hold of her hips so that he could pull her closer to him; close enough that their noses bumped before (Y/N) managed to steady herself by grabbing onto the lapels of his suit jacket. “Forgive me, eh?” he asked in a whisper, his breath fanning off of her lips as he looked at her through his eyelashes.

(Y/N) looked up at him with wide eyes, her heart practically beating out of her chest. His proximity was making her forget how she even got into this position, but she wasn’t about to waste the chance she’d just been given. Taking a deep breath and hoping for the best, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, but then Tommy responded, kissing her with vigor as his grip on her hips tightened. Their lips stayed melded together until (Y/N) pulled back, her lungs screaming for air. She searched his eyes for a moment before exhaling a breath of a laugh and looking at the bookshelf.

“Maybe my research was wrong...” she finally said after a few beats of silence. Tommy’s brows furrowed at her statement, his silent way of asking her to elaborate. “I thought that you spent a lot of time here because you wanted to learn more about the Russian Revolution...when really you were interested in me.”

Her words made Tommy chuckle and shake his head slightly. “You thought I was coming here to read books, eh?” he asked her, quirking an eyebrow as a grin formed on his face.

“Maybe...” she trailed off, her cheeks heating up.

“Love, there ain’t anything I’ll ever be that interested in,” he told her. (Y/N) laughed at his statement before her mouth went dry at the look he was giving her. “Except for you...I’m very interested in you,” he added at the end before he leaned in and kissed her again.

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @easilyobessedbutflighty @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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avatarmerida · 1 year

Text

Sweet Things

Writing pointless huntlow fluff in preparation for For The Future, indulge me.

---

“Wow Willow, you really went all out with the florals!” Luz exclaimed as she opened the door for the plant witch and her impressive selection of dahlias in every possible color.

“Thanks!” Willow said brightly, setting them down to go prepare a vase. “They reminded me of your mom’s tablecloth I found in the hall closet so I thought it would be a fun addition to our special dinner for tonight!”

“It’ll be like an explosion of color!” Luz exclaimed, examining the colorful folded fabric Willow had placed on the counter. “We haven’t gotten to use that tablecloth in awhile, it’s got a huge rip on the side from when I tried to use it as a parachute.”

“Oh, I didn’t even notice,” said Willow, making a mental note to ask about that story later on. “Well, I bet Hunter could fix it.” She finished filling the case with water and called out to the next room. “Hey, hon?”

“Yes?” Came Hunter’s voice, quickly followed by him sticking his head in the doorway.

“Do you think you could fix the tear in the table cloth for me? I wanna make the table look fancy and it matches the flowers I made for the center piece perfectly.”

“Of course!” Hunter said brightly, walking over to take the fabric from the counter. He gathered some sewing supplies from the drawer in the kitchen and set up at the kitchen table as he accessed the work that needed to be done.

“Yay! Thanks so much,” said Willow with a smile, placing the flowers in the vase and admiring the presentation. “I’m gonna go finish up some things outside then I’ll be back to help set the table.”

As Hunter and Willow went to carry on with their tasks, Luz said at the counter wondering if she had misheard Willow. As Hunter focused on his repair work, Luz looked at him with confusion as though an explanation was in order. After a minute, he looked up to find her eye on him and offered her his own look of confusion. “What?”

“Willow just called you ‘hon.’” She stated as though he wasn’t aware.

“Yeah?” he said, not seeing her point. “It’s short for Hunter, like Hun-ter.”

“Are you sure it’s not short for ‘honey?”

“I mean, she calls me that sometimes too,” he said nonchalantly. “But, I guess that’s not technically short for Hunter since it’s the same amount of syllables.”

“Hunter, Willow is not calling you honey because it’s short for Hunter.”

“I know, I just said it’s the same amount-.”

“No dude, I think she means honey likes actual honey.”

Well, maybe? I guess it’s probably because my hair is yellow which is the same color as honey.” Hunter reasoned. “I mean, her palisman is a bee so it makes sense she would know a decent amount about that.”

“Hmmm maybe,” said Luz, not convinced. “But I think it’s because she thinks you’re so sweet just like honey.” She reached out to pinch his cheek and used the baby voice she would speak to King with. “Aww, look at you! Willow’s widdle honey baby boy.”

“Stop that!” he said, turning his face away from her. “It’s probably just because she really likes bees-.”

“Or because she really likes yoooou.” said Luz, not convinced or willing to be wrong about this. “Alot of people call someone honey when they’re, ya know, more than friend.”

The tips of Hunter’s ears turned bright red at the suggestion.

“W-w-well that’s just silly!” He said, not sounding like he believed his own words. “I’ve never heard you and Amity call each other that!”

“No, but she calls me her batata which means sweet potato,” said Luz.

“Do... all terms of endearment have to be food related?”

“I mean, I guess not?” said Luz. “But honey is a pretty common one.”

“What are... other common ones?” Said Hunter clearing his throat, trying to seem like he was focused on his sewing and internally hyperventilating about how oblivious he possibly was.

“Whyyyy?” Asked Luz with a smirk that seemed to read his mind.

“No reason, just curious,” he lied, as there very much was a reason.

“I dunno like ‘sweetie’ I guess?” Luz racked her mind for a list of examples.

Hunter squeaked. Luz looked over and saw he had stabbed himself with a needle, as though something about what she said had distracted him.

She gave a little gasp. “Does she call you sweetie?” Luz asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Sometimes?”

“Hunter!”

“She calls me a lot of things!” He said, sucking on the tip of the finger he has stabbed. “I mean, okay, she calls me flower names-.”

“What? Like what?!”

“She calls me daffodil, sometimes...” Hunter said quietly, the redness from his ears spreading to the rest of his face. “And like, sunflower I guess. But it’s not-.”

“Well you can’t deny that Willow loves flowers,” teased Luz with a smirk. ”Awww, are you her little flower?”

“Wellmaybeiamandyourejustjealous.” Hunter mumbled quickly and almost too quietly.

“What was that?” Luz joyfully inquired.

“Maybe I am and you’re just jealous,” repeated Hunter, not looking at her as he tried to focus on threading his needle. “I mean, you can’t expect me to believe that Willow doesn’t give nicknames to anyone else.”

“There’s a difference between a nickname and a term of endearment.”

That much Hunter did know. He knew what titles commanded respect and which ones were meant to ridicule. The only other nicknames he had received had been negative or ironic, two things Willow was definitely not towards him. He knew the nicknames she gave him came from a place of admiration, but he never dared to dream that it was such a... unique admiration.

“So like, someone would use these terms for someone they... liked?” Hunter asked carefully.

“More than just liked.” Luz said. “Like, liked-liked.”

“Sometimes like which times?” Hunter asked urgently. “Like, is it possible it’s just a coincidence and it’s just purely platonic because Willow just has a vast knowledge of plants that resemble my hair color?”

“I mean, some people use them that way, yeah,” said Luz trying to hide the delight she took in Hunter’s panicked expression. “But I’ve never heard Willow call anyone else ‘honey.’ In fact, I think that’s what her dads call each other. Ya know, her dads who are in looove.”

“So that could be... why.” Hunter said slowly, unable to deny that it made sense. Unable to deny that he was kind of glad that it did.

“Do you have any nicknames for her?” Luz asked, putting her hand under her chin as she took delight in watching Hunter process this new possibility.

“I mean, I call her Captain but that’s more her title than a nickname,” said a Hunter, searching his mind. “Should I have one for her?”

“I mean, if you want to, yeah,” said Luz. “It’s not like a requirement or anything but it could be a cute way to let her know that you like her too.”

“I’m not... very good nicknames,” admitted Hunter and Luz noted happily that he did not deny the implication that he liked Willow. “Most of the ones I've given have had more literal connotations and not in a nice way. And I’ve never really had a reason to use a term of endearment, what are some good ones?”

“My dude, you’ve come to the right place,” assured Luz, pulling out her phone where she kept a list in her notes for just such an occasion.

Hunter sat at the table looking down at his hands as he practiced what he wanted to say in his head. When Willow walked through the door he stood up, holding the folded tablecloth close to his chest as she reentered the kitchen, trying to seem relaxed.

“Oh, uh hi!” He said as though he had not been waiting for her to return. He held the result of his labor out to her. “I finished the tablecloth. Good as new.”

“Oh no, it’s even better!” She smiled, taking it from him to admire the skillful repair. She unfolded it and twirled around the kitchen with it like she had just been given a gown for the ball. “Now it’s got that special Hunter touch, thanks so much buttercup!”

“Of course!” He said, taking the use of the word as a sign to test the waters. “Anytime... babe.”

Willow stopped spinning as her ears perked at the word and she quickly turned her head from admiring the craftsmanship to looking at him in slight disbelief. “What did you say?”

Hunter gulped. Maybe she really just hadn’t heard him?

“I said, uh, anytime babe.” He repeated quicker, leaning against the doorframe hoping it sounded more natural this time as he landed the sentiment with finger guns. He tried not to linger on the word so it wouldn’t seem like her was trying so hard but he did want her to notice so she would notice that he noticed that she-

“Oh, yeah,” Willow cleared her throat. “That’s uh, that’s what I thought you said.” Her voice seemed labored, as though she was trying to adjust her breathing. “Well, uh thanks again... uh Hunter.”

Just Hunter? No marigold? No honey? Not even dandelion? Titan, he had ruined everything! Why had he listened to Luz? Willow hadn’t been calling him those things because she liked him more than a friend! She was just being creative!

“Of course, of course,” he said, now seeing it was his turn to steady his breathing. “Maybe we should uh, start setting up the table? Camila will be back with the take out soon.”

“Yeah, I wonder if we’ll need any sugar.” Willow pondered, still learning when sugar was needed and when salt was meant to be put out.

“Any what?” Hunter asked as though she had not finished her thought.

Willow looked at him with a raised eyebrow before she understood what he thought he had heard her say. “Oh no, I meant actual sugar, like for the table.” Willow clarified, a soft crimson dancing across the bridge of her nose as she realized he had a reason to be confused; she had called him that numerous times.

“Right, right yes of course,” said Hunter, embarrassed trying to look busy as he fetched the plates from the higher cabinet. “But um would you... like if we put sugar on the table? Like, would you say that you... like sugar?”

“Well yeah, I like sweet things,” she said as she gathered the forks and knives. She looked across the table at him, meticulously placing the plates an even distance from each other. Clover flew over and sat atop his head, resting peacefully like Hunter was the sweetest smelling flower she had ever come across. Hunter was so used to this action by now that it did not deter his focus and he subconsciously reached up and scratched her head with his finger and the palisman nuzzled against it affectionately. “You of all people should know that.”

#huntlow #winter toh #toh #willow park #hunter toh #the owl house

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planetariumwriting · 1 year

Text

𝙈𝙮 𝘽𝙤𝙨𝙨

First chapter of my new story, where Niragi is your boss and things start to get more..."interesting" for you both. It's useless to say that this will contain mature content in the future - so, if you're a minor, please DO NOT interact.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @brdpch, @mellmidnightsky

It was becoming a routine for (y/n) to hear Kuina talking about her situationship with Ann. Every Saturday night at (y/n)’s house there were news about this – always. The girl didn’t stop herself from adding spicy details, making (y/n)’s cheeks to get a little bit pink.

“Her skin…oh my,” the pause just to take another sip from the cocktail was necessary, “it tasted delicious.”

“And how was she?”

“Even more delicious.” Kuina said with a proud smile on her face. She didn’t want to admit she actually liked Ann more than a friend with benefits, but she was to scared to say it (probably because she didn’t want to ruin what was growing between them) – but it was normal to think in this way.

“When will you tell her that you like her?” (y/n) smile grew when she saw Kuina blushing at the question. She probably didn’t expect it. For a moment it seemed that she was actually thinking about telling Ann this, but then she changed her mind.

“Uh-uh, don’t try to put the conversation on this topic,” she raised up just to sit next to (y/n) and to look at her. “It’s time we talk about you.”

“Me?” (y/n) was surprised but not to much. “What do you want to know?”

“About your new work! It has been two weeks that you started to work for that game company.”

It was true, already two weeks. A lot of stuff happened, but more like in (y/n)’s head; to the point she forgot entirely to tell Kuina how she felt at her new work.

“Tell me,” she was even closer to her friend now. “How’s your boss?”

“I mean…” (y/n) couldn’t stop herself to staring at her glass, she felt shy for a moment. “He’s good looking, I guess.”

“You guess?!” Kuina was surprised from her reaction, she suspected there was more. Her elbow hit (y/n)’s arm, making her saying a little “ouch”. “Tell me more.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Kuina’s face was angry and (y/n) could feel her blood freezing in her body. They were best friends and it was normal to tell each other everything, so what was the matter? Even if (y/n) told herself that, she still felt shy anyways – but she preferred to not hide anything from her friend.

“Let’s say that…” she felt her breath getting stucked in her lungs. “I heard rumors about my boss.”

“What did you hear?!” Kuina almost jumped from the chair for the curiosity. “Did your coworkers gossip in front of you already?”

“It’s not like that,” (y/n) finally finished her drink, almost if she wanted to have a clear mind. “I heard and saw for mistake.”

“For mistake.” Her friend smiled at that affermation. What a coincidence to hear gossip about your boss in your first days of work, really a surprise. It really felt as a comic story.

“Well, I heard he’s a womanizer.”

“What?!”

It was the same reaction (y/n) had – in her mind, of course – when she heard it. There weren’t so many women to work in this company and knowing this information made her to feel a knot in her stomach. It was true that when she had her first interview, it seemed like he was eating her with his eyes. They were glued to her face and her body - she needed the work, thought, so she simply ignored it at first. But now? It wa salso true she found him incredibly hot, but she didn’t want to be one of those that got an higher position just because they fucked with their boss. Absolutely not.

“And what did you see?” It was Kuina’s voice to bring her to reality. I wonder for how much she was staring at the wall in front of her.

“It happened sometimes to see women going in his office, all arranged and pretty.” (y/n) remembered all those women and she felt almost like a creep for it. “Then, when they came back to the main hall to leave, they looked like if a train hit them.”

“That dick must be good to have this effect.”

“Kuina.”

Her friend smiled at seeing (y/n) getting frustrated. In that mind she was planning something that for sure (y/n) would have never liked – but a friend is a friend, especially a best friend, so she told her anyways.

“Why don’t you try anyways?”

“What do you mean?”

Kuina grabbed her friend’s hands in hers and looked into her eyes. It seemed like when a mother and a daughter have that type of conversation. For a moment (y/n) felt she was about to die inside.

“It’s just casual sex,” Kuina squeezed her hands a little bit more. “What do you have to lose?”

Oh, (y/n) could swear her heart stopped for a second. She couldn’t believe her ears. She hoped for a moment that Kuina was playing with her, but her expression was too serious.

“He’s my boss!”

“And what about that?” Kuina didn’t care if she had to spend to convince (y/n) that some sex wasn’t a bad idea for her. Especially when her work was becoming more stressful. “There are many people who fuck with their coworkers.”

“Coworker is something, boss is another thing.”

“It’s the same level.”

It was impossible to deny that (y/n) wanted to have sex. Good sex, let’s be clear. Her old experiences were all worthy to be throwed into the trash and lately her stress was consuming her, but…she didn’t want to tell her boss to just fuck around – like if it was the most normal thing ever. Damn, he was hot, though. Every time he called her into his office, she felt her legs shaking. The way he looked at her was always the same: a predator looking at its prey. He never tried to push her in different situations than the work one. In (y/n)’s head there was a little part of it that whispered “what a shame”. “Also, why would he have sex with me?” She thought. Especially when he had all those women coming back and forth in his office when he wanted to.

“Tell me his name.”

“Why?” Now (y/n) was feeling scared because she didn’t know what kind of plan her friend had. “What do you want to do?”

Kuina simply sighed. “I just want to know if I know him.”

“Niragi Suguru.”

Kuina grinned at that information and (y/n) didn’t catch if there was something off or not. “No, I don’t think I know him.”

“What a blessing, must to say.”

Kuina laughed at her and hugged her strongly, giving her little kisses on the head. “I just want you to have fun and a little bit of relax, you know that.”

“I know.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Monday was really fast to come. For some reasons, especially after the conversation with Kuina, (y/n) didn’t feel very “happy” to go to work. She hoped she wouldn’t blush if her boss looked at her or called her in his office – in a way she hoped she wouldn’t see him at all.

During the walk to the company she actually thought about it. Kuina was right about having some fun, but probably she had to find another “partner” for it. Even if in that moment it seemed impossible for (y/n) to find one; lately the only one who made her belly “warm” was actually her boss – even when she saw those women and the rumors about him. Maybe if she started to see him as her boss and not a potential friend with benefits, things could change.

When she open the door of the building, her coworkers greeted her – as always. At the beginning working in a place with the majority of the coworkers being male wasn’t really comfortable, but then she got used at it. Not all of them were a creep, luckily. But the flirting was always present. Something she remembered was her boss, Niragi, telling her that she had to dress more…fitting; clothes that emphasized her body. In this way, he said, we could attract more people into buy or collaborate with us.

When (y/n) sat at her workstation, the office-phone rang. It was only seconds after she sat, she didn’t have either the time to breath.

“Hi, this is PlaySoft Company. How can I help you today?” Her voice sounded like the most professional ever, she felt proud of it.

“Hi (y/n), I need you in my office in five minutes.”

It was Niragi that spoke and (y/n) felt her hand almost trembling. She didn’t have the time to say anything that he already disconnected the call. Probably he needed the reports done she did during the weekend. Hopefully. Her coworker, Saori, was already envy-smiling at her. She was planning for so long to have a bigger position in the company, but probably sucking off wasn’t enough. Did she get this privilege to suck Niragi off? It left (y/n) in shock to think in this way – since when sucking Niragi off – I mean her boss – was a privilege? And since when she started to think about Saori in this way?

“What did he say?” Saori smiled.

But it was a fake smile and (y/n) knew it. Also, how did she know it was their boss? Did she blush when she talking to him? This thought made everything more embarassing.

“Oh,” she grabbed the pile of papers on her desk. “He needs the reports.”

Saori didn’t have the time to ask more questions because (y/n) was already running into Niragi’s office.

The sound of her heels was echoing in the long corridor. Her boss’ office was so isolated and far away probably because of a matter of privacy. Privacy of fucking people, (y/n) thought. She shaked her head and started to insult herself mentally. Damn, that conversation with Kuina really changed a lot of stuff.

When she knocked the door, she felt Niragi’s voice touching her skin. Her mind was already creating the scenario for a nasty thought.

“Come in.”

She opened it and walked in the room, closing the door behind her. She remembered that she read a lot of story that started in this way. “You wanted to see me, boss.”

He smiled at the pronunciation of that word. For a moment (y/n) thought he got turned on.

“It’s right,” he stared at her intensely. “I see you took with you the reports I needed.”

She put the papers on his deck, hoping that he would let her go – her mind was going crazy with the imagine of being tied up. “Do you need something else?”

“Yes.” Niragi grinned and (y/n) felt her face going on fire. Was it about to happen?

“Tell me everything.”

“Do you know a piece of shit called Shuntaro Chishiya?”

Confusion on her face. Why this question? And what kind of boss start to call people “piece of shit”?

“He’s a close friend of my best friend.”

There was more about it, but (y/n) didn’t want to tell him. At the beginning Kuina tried to hook up her and Chishiya together, but both were too busy at that time and nothing happened.

“I hate him,” he stood up and got closer to (y/n). “But I was invitated to his party and I bet you are too.”

Her mind flew when yesterday her best friend told her that they were going to Chishiya’s “party”. If before the dress wasn’t a problem, now for sure it was.

“Yes!” She controlled her tone. “I mean, yes. I’ll go to the party too.”

“Then we’ll meet each other there.”

He smiled again and walked out. She didn’t know what actually happened. Was it a date? She was exaggerating right now – but she had to tell Kuina everything. She walked out like if it was a live-or-die mission – in a way it was because she had to know what to wear for the party, but that’s another detail.

#niragi suguru #niragi x reader #niragu suguru x reader #alice in boderland x reader #alice in borderland #ao3

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buckysouvenir · 8 months

Text

at the fair

chapter 3 of healing hearts.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

⋆ series masterlist 　　⋆ steve rogers masterlist

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as days turned into weeks, y/n found herself seeking comfort in steve's company more often than not. with each passing day, their conversations grew more comfortable, and the weight of her heartache seemed to lessen just a little.

they talked about everything and anything, sharing stories, laughter, and even a few moments of comfortable silence. y/n found herself opening up about her dreams, her fears, and her plans for the future. steve, in turn, shared his own aspirations and reflections.

"hey, y/n," steve called out, his voice gentle yet carrying a note of curiosity.

y/n turned, a surprised smile forming on her lips when she saw steve approaching. "hey, steve. just finished a bit of a workout."

steve nodded, his blue eyes scanning her face. "you okay? you looked lost in thought there."

y/n sighed softly, her shoulders relaxing as she met his concerned gaze. "yeah, i guess i've just been going through a lot lately. trying to keep myself occupied, you know?"

he understood the sentiment all too well, given his own history of seeking comfort in physical training. "i get it. sometimes it's good to have a way to clear your mind. you can call me if you want... company to workout, i mean."

she chuckles, "yeah... if i ever need a new punching back, your number will be the first one i'll be calling." y/n says as she grabs her workout bag from the floor and starts to walk away.

"well, speaking of things that might make you feel better, i was wondering if you'd be up for something." he spoke louder to get her attention.

"of course! what is it?" she stopped in her tracks to start paying attention to the super soldier coming to her diction.

"there's a dog adoption fair happening this weekend and i'm invited to help as... you know, captain america... anyway, uh, would you like to go too?" steve said while fidgeting with his water bottle, afraid the other avenger could sense his nervousness but y/n's excitement completely blinded her.

y/n's eyes lit up with excitement. "A DOG ADOPTION FAIR??" she squealed.

steve smiled, encouraged by her enthusiasm. "i thought you might like it. you're such an animal lover, and-"

she jumped and hugged him, "YES! oh my god thank you yes i'll go with you. you have no idea how much i love dogs."

"i'm getting an idea of how much" he said, patting her waist but lingering a little bit longer.

"sorry" she said, embarrassed, letting go of him. "and i'm so sorry i'm sweaty"

steve let out a soft laugh, "it's ok, i'll get a work out in now anyway"

y/n gave him a pressed smile, "ok, uhm... send me the details then?"

"yeah, sure!"

they said their goodbyes as y/n practically skipped away. steve couldn't help but feel a sense of joy himself, her genuine enthusiasm was infectious. with a contented smile, he pulled out his phone and sent her a message with all the information.

the weekend had finally arrived, and y/n's excitement was palpable as she got ready for the dog adoption fair. She stood in front of the mirror in her room, adjusting her outfit and trying to find the perfect balance between comfort and style. the fair was just a short while away, and she wanted to make sure she looked presentable.

as she put on the finishing touches, she heard a knock on her door. she crossed the room and opened the door to find steve standing there, dressed in his full captain america suit.

her eyes widened in surprise, "hey... what are you doing here?" she said, letting out a chuckled laugh but quickly slapping her mouth.

steve looked a little taken aback by her reaction. "i came here to pick you up... what's so funny?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

y/n put her hand down from her mouth, but a smile still played on her lips. "it's just... the captain america in full uniform"

steve's brows furrowed slightly, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "we've been on missions together with me wearing this suit all the time. what's so funny?"

"it's just that... it looks a little out of place outside of a mission context." y/n's laughter subsided, and she smiled at him warmly. "But don't get me wrong, you look great buddy!" she said patting him on his shoulders like a child.

he grinned, rolling his eyes playfully. "i can't win with you, can i?"

y/n chuckled again and crossed her arms. "you win all the time, cap. it's just a little different seeing you like this in civilian settings."

he shook his head, "fair enough", a fond smile on his lips. "you ready?"

y/n nodded enthusiastically. "absolutely! and i promise not to burst into laughter when we're there."

steve chuckled. "i appreciate that."

the dog adoption fair was in full swing, and the atmosphere was filled with excitement and joy. y/n and steve had arrived together, and their presence only added to the event's liveliness.

steve, dressed in his full captain america suit, had become an instant hit among the attendees, especially the children. his charismatic smile drew people towards him like a magnet. he was a natural with the dogs, his gentle demeanor instantly putting them at ease.

y/n found herself busy helping people take pictures with steve, ensuring that everyone got a chance to capture a memorable moment. she laughed as kids lined up, waiting for their turn to stand beside him. grabbing the parents phone, she snapped photos of the heartwarming interactions between steve and the children.

"say CHEESE" y/n called out, her grin matching the children's enthusiasm.

steve crouched down, his shield by his side, as he posed with a wide grin. "CHEESE"

"thanks for doing this, cap!" a father said, shaking steve's hand.

steve's eyes sparkled as he replied, "it's my pleasure."

the children cheered and giggled, their faces lighting up with joy. steve's genuine connection with them was evident, and y/n couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he brought smiles to their faces. amidst the laughter and excitement, her gaze often found its way back to steve, who was already smiling at her. she reminded herself that she needed to focus on the dogs and the event, not get distracted by her growing fondness for steve. after all, they were just friends, and she didn't want to complicate things further, she thought.

however, there was one challenge that y/n couldn't ignore. every time she walked past a dog in need of a home, her heart melted. each wagging tail brought a smile to her face.

steve slowly walked up to her while she was holding a puppy, "you know, you can't have them all y/n" he said, earning a playful pout from her.

"i know!" she replied, rubbing her face on the dogs fur. "it's just... they deserve loving homes."

a fond smile on his lips as he watched her interact with the dog.

"and they will find them, with or without us adopting them all."

"yeah... but i would chose the adopting them all ourselves option if you wouldn't mind."

steve laughed, "i think it's a great idea but i don't think the rest of the tower would agree."

y/n rolled her eyes but agreed with a smile on her face.

"though i have to say, you'd make one heck of a dog mom," steve teased.

"STOOOP! don't give me ideas."

he chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on her. "you just have a big heart, that's all i meant."

y/n met his gaze, her heart fluttering at the sincerity in his eyes.

as the day went on, y/n found it harder to focus on anything other than steve. she caught herself stealing glances when he wasn't looking. she watched as he patiently listened to children's stories, posed for countless pictures, and interacted with the dogs as if they were his own.

each time she caught herself, she reprehended herself for feeling this way, especially given her recent breakup with bucky, especially for the fact that he is her exes best friend.

eventually, she allowed herself a moment to appreciate the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and the genuine laughter that escaped his lips.

as the sun began to set and the event came to a close, y/n and steve shared a quiet moment. they leaned against a nearby railing, watching as families left with their newly adopted furry friends.

"you did amazing today, steve," y/n said with a soft smile.

he looked at her, his blue eyes warm. "it was a team effort. you helped make today special for a lot of people too. mine included."

y/n's heart swelled. as they stood there, side by side, she couldn't help but feel joy.

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#taglist: @yoruse @pattiemac1 @mrsevans90 @lauraashley93 @ozwriterchick @elthoughtzos

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